The cone was beginning to descend.
Turning then, he stepped onto the blackened area, faced south, raised both his arms and cried out something I could not hear above the wailing.
The cone fell toward him, but he seemed to grow two-dimensional as it approached. His outline wavered. He began to shrink-but it did not seem a function of actual size, so much as an effect of distancing. He dwindled, dwindled, was gone, a bare instant before the cone licked across the area he had occupied.
With him went the Jewel, so that I was left with no way of controlling the thing above me. I did not know whether it was better to maintain a low profile or to resume a normal stance on the Pattern. I decided on the latter, because the whirlwind seemed to go for things which broke the normal sequence. I got back into a sitting position and edged over to the line. Then I leaned forward into a crouch, by which time the cone began to rise. The wailing retreated down the scale as it withdrew. The blue fires about my boots had subsided completely. I turned and looked at Fiona. She motioned me to get up and go on.
So I rose slowly, seeing that the vortex above me continued to dissipate as I moved. Advancing upon the area where Brand had so recently stood, I once again used Grayswandir to guide me through. The twisted remains of Brand’s blade lay near the far edge of the dim place.
I wished there were some easy way out of the Pattern. It seemed pointless to complete it now. But there is no turning back once you have set foot upon it, and I was extremely leery of trying the dark route out. So I headed on toward the Grand Curve. To what place, I wondered, had Brand taken himself? If I knew, I could command the Pattern to send me after him, once I reached the center. Perhaps Fiona had an idea. Still, he would probably head for a place where he had allies. It would be senseless to pursue him alone.
At least I had stopped the attunement, I consoled myself.
Then I entered the Grand Curve. The sparks shot up about me.
Chapter 12
Late afternoon on a mountain: the westering sun shone full on the rocks to my left, tailored long shadows for those to the right; it filtered through the foilage about my tomb; it countered to some extent the chill winds of Kolvir. I released Random’s hand and turned to regard the man who sat on the bench before the mausoleum.
It was the face of the youth on the pierced Trump, lines now drawn above the mouth, brow heavier, a general weariness in eye movement and set of jaw which had not been apparent on the card.
So I knew it before Random said, “This is my son Martin.”
Martin rose as I approached him, clasped my hand, said, “Uncle Corwin.” His expression changed but slightly as he said it. He scrutinized me.
He was several inches taller than Random, but of the same light build. His chin and cheekbones had the same general cut to them, his hair was of a similar texture.
I smiled.
“You have been away a long while,” I said. “So was I.”
He nodded.
“But I have never really been in Amber proper,” he said. “I grew up in Rebma-and other places.”
“Then let me welcome you, nephew. You come at an interesting time. Random must have told you about it.”
“Yes,” he said. “That is why I asked to meet you here, rather than there.”
I glanced at Random.
“The last uncle he met was Brand,” Random said, “and under very nasty circumstances. Do you blame him?”
“Hardly. I ran into him myself a bit earlier. Can’t say it was the most rewarding encounter.”
“Ran into him?” said Random. “You’ve lost me.”
“He has left Amber and he has the Jewel of Judgment with him. If I had known earlier what I know now, he would still be in the tower. He is our man, and he is very dangerous.”
Random nodded.