He looked back out over the Pattern.
“So this is the object which decorated it,” he said. “How did you fetch it forth?”
“It was gotten,” I said. “It is not your work, is it?”
“Of course not. I have never set eyes on the boy. But this answers your question, does it not? If there is another generation, your children will destroy it.”
“As we would destroy them?”
He met my eyes and peered.
“Is it that you are suddenly becoming a doting father?” he asked.
“If you did not prepare that Trump, who did?”
He glanced down and flicked it with his fingernail.
“My best pupil. Your son Brand. That is his style. See what they do as soon as they gain a little power? Would any of them offer their lives to preserve the realm, to restore the Pattern?”
“Probably,” I said. “Probably Benedict, Gerard, Random, Corwin. . .”
“Benedict has the mark of doom upon him, Gerard possesses the will but not the wit, Random lacks courage and determination. Corwin . . . Is he not out of favor and out of sight?”
My thoughts returned to our last meeting, when he had helped me to escape from my cell to Cabra. It occurred to me that he might have had second thoughts concerning that, not having been aware of the circumstances which had put me there.
“Is that why you have taken his form?” he went on. “Is this some manner of rebuke? Are you testing me again?”
“He is neither out of favor nor sight,” I said, “though he has enemies among the family and elsewhere. He would attempt anything to preserve the realm. How do you see his chances?”
“Has he not been away for a long while?”
“Yes.”
“Then he might have changed. I do not know.”
“I believe he is changed. I know that he is willing to try.”
He stared at me again, and he kept staring.
“You are not Oberon,” he said at length.
“No.”
“You are he whom I see before me.”
“No more, no less.”
“I see. . . . I did not realize that you knew of this place.”
“I didn’t, until recently. The first time that I came here I was led by the unicorn.”
His eyes widened.
“That is-very-interesting,” he said. “It has been so long . . .”
“What of my question?”
“Eh? Question? What question?”
“My chances. Do you think I might be able to repair the Pattern?”
He advanced slowly, and reaching up, placed his right hand on my shoulder. The staff tilled in is other hand as he did so; its blue light flared within a foot of my face, but I felt no heat. He looked into my eyes.
“You have changed,” he said, after a time.
“Enough,” I asked, “to do the job?”
He looked away.
“Perhaps enough to make it worth trying,” he said, “even if we are foredoomed to failure.”
“Will you help me?”
“I do not know,” he said, “that I will be able. This thing with my moods, my thoughts-it comes and it goes. Even now, I feel some of my control slipping away. The excitement, perhaps. . . . We had best get back inside.”
I heard a clinking noise at my back. When I turned, the griffin was there, his head swinging slowly from left to right, his tail from right to left, his tongue darting. He began to circle us, halting when he came to a position between Dworkin and the Pattern.
“He knows,” Dworkin said. “He can sense it when I begin to change. He will not let me near the Pattern then. . . . Good Wixer. We are returning now. It is all right. . . . Come, Corwin.”
We headed back toward the cave mouth and Wixer followed, a clink for every pace.
“The Jewel,” I said, “the Jewel of Judgment . . . you say that it is necessary for the repair of the Pattern?”
“Yes,” he said. “It would have to be borne the entire distance through the Pattern, reinscribing the original design in the places where it has been broken. This could only be done by one who is attuned to the Jewel, though.”