We hurried past the clump of shrubs. My mausoleum was just up ahead. “You know, there really is something I feel obliged to tell you right now, though,” he said.
“Hold it. Please.”
“It is important, though.”
I ran on ahead of him. He began running, too, to keep up.
“It’s about your being here at the Courts, just now.”
I extended my hands, used them to brake myself when I came up against the wall of the stone building. I swung myself through the doorway and inside. Three big steps, and I was kneeling in the corner, snatching up an old cup, using the corner of my cloak to wipe it out.
“Merle, what the hell are you doing?” Luke asked, entering behind me.
“Just a minute and I’ll show you,” I told him, drawing my dagger.
Placing the cup upon the stone where I had been seated earlier, I held my hand above it and used the dagger to cut my wrist.
Instead of blood, flame came forth from the incision.
“No! Damn it!” I cried.
And I reached into the spikard, located the proper line, and found the flowing channel of a cooling spell that I laid upon the wound. Immediately, the flames died and it was blood that flowed from me. However, as it fell into the cup it began to smoke. Cursing, I extended the spell to control its liquidity there, also.
“Yeah, it’s weird, Merle. I’ll give you that,” Luke observed.
I laid the dagger aside and used my right hand to squeeze my arm above the wound. The blood flowed faster. The spikard throbbed. I glanced at Luke. There was a look of strain upon his face. I pumped my fist. The cup was more than half-full.
“You said you trust me,” I stated.
“Afraid so,” he answered.
Three-quarters…
“You’ve got to drink this, Luke,” I said. “I mean it.”
“Somehow, I suspected you were leading up to this,” he said, “and, really, it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. I’ve a feeling I need a lot of help just now.”
He reached out and took the cup, raised it to his lips. I pressed the palm of my hand against the wound. Outside, the winds were gusting regularly.
“When you’ve finished, put it back,” I said. “You’re going to need more.”
I could hear the sounds of his swallowing.
“Better than a slug of Jameson,” he said then. “Don’t know why.” He replaced the cup on the stone.
“A little salty, though,” he added.
I removed my hand from the incision, held the wrist above it again, pumped my fist.
“Hey, man. You’re losing a lot of blood there. I feel okay now. Was just a little dizzy, that’s all. I don’t need any more.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “Believe me. I gave a lot more than this in a blood drive once and ran in a meet the next day. It’s okay.”
The wind rose to a gale, moaning past us now.
“Mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked.
“Luke, you’re a Pattern ghost,” I told him.
“What do you mean?”
“The Pattern can duplicate anybody who ever walked it. You’ve got all the signs. I know them.”
“Hey, I feel real. I didn’t even do the Pattern in Amber. I did it in Tir-na Nog’th.”
“Apparently, it controls the two images as well, since they’re true copies. Do you remember your coronation in Kashfa?”
“Coronation? Hell no! You mean I made it to the throne?”
“Yep. Rinaldo the First.”
“God damn! Bet Mom’s happy.”
“I’m sure.”
“This is kind of awkward then, there being two of me. You seem familiar with the phenomenon. How does the Pattern handle it?”
“You guys tend not to last very long. It seems the closer you are to the Pattern itself the stronger you are, too. It must have taken a lot of juice to project you this far. Here, drink this.”
“Sure.”
He tossed off a half cupful and handed the cup back.
“So what’s with the precious bodily fluids?” he asked.
“The blood of Amber seems to have a sustaining effect on Pattern ghosts.”
“You mean I’m some kind of vampire?”