Ten paces, then a swirling filigree of fire confronted me, I essayed it, my sweat vanishing into the waters as fast as it sprang forth.
It was tricky, so devilish tricky, and it seemed that the waters of the room suddenly moved in great currents which threatened to sweep me from the Pattern. I struggled on, resisting them. Instinctively, I knew that to leave the Pattern before I’d completed it would mean my death. I dared not raise my eyes from the places of light that lay before me, to see how far I had come, how far I had yet to go.
The currents subsided and more of my memories returned, memories of my life as a prince of Amber. . . . No, they are not yours for the asking: they are mine, some vicious and cruel, others perhaps noble—memories going back to my childhood in the great palace of Amber, with the green banner of my father Oberon flaring above it, white unicorn rampant, facing to the dexter.
Random bad made it through the Pattern. Even Deirdre had made it. Therefore, I, Corwin, would make it, no matter what the resistance.
I emerged from the filigree and marched along the Grand Curve. The forces that shape the universe fell upon me and beat me into their image.
I had an advantage over any other person who attempted the walk, however. I knew that I had done it before, so I knew that I could do it. This helped me against the unnatural fears which rose like black clouds and were gone again, only to return, their strength redoubled. I walked the Pattern and I remembered all, I remembered all the days before my centuries on the Shadow Earth and I remembered other places of Shadow, many of them special and dear to me, and one which I loved above all, save for Amber.
I walked three more curves, a straight line, and a series of sharp arcs, and I held within me once again a consciousness of the things which I had never really lost: mine was the power over Shadows.
Ten arcs which left me dizzy, another short arc, a straight line, and the Final Veil.
It was agony to move. Everything tried to beat me aside. The waters were cold, then boiling. It seemed that they constantly pushed against me. I struggled, putting one foot before the other. The sparks reached as high as my waist at this point, then my breast, my shoulders. They were into my eyes. They were all about me. I could barely see the Pattern itself.
Then a short arc, ending in blackness.
One, two. . . And to take the last step was like trying to push through a concrete wall.
I did it.
Then I turned slowly and looked back over the course I had come. I would not permit myself the luxury of sagging to my knees. I was a prince of Amber, and by God! nothing could humble me in the presence of my peers. Not even the Pattern!
I waved jauntily in what I thought to be the right direction. Whether or not I could be made out very clearly was another matter.
Then I stood there a moment and thought.
I knew the power of the Pattern now. Going back along it would be no trick at all.
But why bother?
I lacked my deck of cards, but the power of the Pattern could serve me just as well. . . .
They were waiting for me, my brother and sister and Moire with her thighs like marble pillars.
Deirdre could take care of herself from here on out—after all, we’d saved her life. I didn’t feel obligated to go on protecting her on a day-by-day basis. Random was stuck in Rebma for a year, unless he had guts enough to leap forward and take the Pattern to this still center of power and perhaps escape. And as for Moire, it had been nice knowing her, and maybe I’d see her again some day, and like that. I closed my eyes and bowed my head.
Before I did so, though, I saw a fleeting shadow.