I had been hoping all along, I suddenly realized, that Dalt would kick Eric’s ass-not just because he was on my side and Eric wasn’t, but because of the rough time Eric had given my dad. On the other hand, I doubted there were too many people of such ass-kicking prowess about. Unfortunately, two of them stood on the other side of the line I had drawn. Gerard could have outwrestled him. Benedict, Master of Arms at Amber, could have beaten him with any weapon. I just didn’t see us as having much of a chance against them all, with Caine thrown in for good measure-not even with a ty’iga on our side. And if I were suddenly to tell Eric that Dalt was his half brother, it wouldn’t slow his thrust by an instant, even if he believed me.
So I made the only decision I could make. They were, after all, only Pattern ghosts. The real Benedict and Gerard were somewhere else at this moment and would in no way be harmed by anything I did to their doubles here. Eric and Caine were, of course, long dead, Caine being the fratricidal hero of the Patternfall war and subject of a recent statue on the Grand Concourse, on the occasion of Luke’s assassinating him for killing his father. And Eric, of course, had found a hero’s death on the slopes of Kolvir, saving him, I suppose, from dying at the hands of my father. The bloody history of my family swam through my head as I raised the spikard to add a footnote to it, calling again for the wave of incineration that had taken out two of my Hendrake kin.
My arm felt as if someone had struck it with a baseball bat. A wisp of smoke rose from the spikard. For a moment, my four upright uncles stood unmoving. And my fifth remained supine.
Then, slowly, Eric raised his weapon. And he continued to raise it, as Benedict, Caine, and Gerard drew theirs. He straightened as he held it before his face. The others did the same. It looked strangely like a salute; and Eric’s eyes met mine.
“I know you,” he said.
Then they all completed the gesture, and faded, faded, turned to smoke, and blew away.
Dalt bled, my arm ached, and I figured out what was going on just moments before Luke gasped and said, “Over there.”
My line of fire had gone out some time ago, but beyond the mark it had left, where my faded kinsmen had just been standing, the air began to shimmer.
“That will be the Pattern,” I said to Luke, “come calling.”
A moment later the Sign of the Pattern hovered before us.
“Merlin,” it said, “you certainly move around a lot.”
“My life has become very busy of late,” I said.
“You took my advice and left the Courts.”
“Yes, that seemed prudent.”
“But I do not understand your purposes here.”
“What’s to understand?”
“You took the lady Coral away from the agents of the Logrus.”
“That’s right.”
“But then you attempted to keep her from my agents as well.”
“That, too, is correct.”
“You must realize by now that she bears something that contributes to our balance of power.”
“Yes.”
“So one of us must have her. Yet you would deny us both.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s her whom I care about. She has rights and feelings. You’re treating her like a game piece.”
“True. I recognize her personhood, but unfortunately she is become both.”
“Then I would deny her to both of you. Nothing would be changed, in that neither of you has her now, anyway. But I would take her out of the game.”
“Merlin, you are a more important piece than she is, but you are still only a piece and you may not dictate to me. Do you understand?”
“I understand my value to you,” I said.
“I think not,” it responded.
I was wondering just then how strong it really was in this place. It seemed obvious that in terms of energy expenditure, it had been necessary for it to release its four ghosts to be able to manifest itself here. Dared I oppose it with every channel on the spikard opened? I had never tried accessing every Shadow source it controlled simultaneously. If I did this, and if I were to move very quickly, could I get us all out of here before the Pattern reacted? If I couldn’t, could I punch through whatever it raised up to stop us? And if I succeeded-either way-to what place should we flee?