FicWad

Chapter 13 – King, Knight, Rook

Sarah was abruptly awoken out of a dead sleep by a different type of screaming for a change: the high-pitched buzzing of Shara’s watch-alarm. Reaching beneath her pillow, she quickly located and silenced it; she had borrowed the thing and buried it so it would wake her (and hopefully no one else) at 4:45 A.M. It was every bit as ungodly early as it felt, but she had to be able to escape the house again without magical assistance. Groping for her Chaosian-style clothes that she’d left on the floor at the side of the bed, Sarah dressed herself in haste in the dark – there was literally no time to do anything else. She was on the verge of strapping her trump pack to her hip again when she suddenly thought better of wearing them so openly here, and, lifting the generously-sized blue blouse, strapped the adjustable hollister x-wise to her abdomen instead; the contraption was a bit more awkward to wear in other ways like this, but she reasoned she could get to them fast enough in an emergency.

They’re invisible, good, she approved the decision, tucking her shirt back in, hoisting her stocked carryall over her shoulder (such as it was; the overnight kit still had enough stuff in it to be serviceable at least once more), the brooch pinned into the inner pocket. The girls had raided the pantry the night before, looking for supplies she could take with her; Sarah’s powers, while impressive, were still too unreliable to count on for emergency provisions, and she had no idea just how long this little escapade was going to last. All they’d managed to come up with was a bunch of individually wrapped, hard, old-fashioned granola bars, though; Karen wasn’t in the habit of buying a lot of snacks in the hopes of encouraging the eating of more produce. Sarah would have to purchase at least a couple bottled drinks (although she was now glad that she had been taught to never, never bring carbonated anything along on shadow travel – things tended to explode from pressure changes that way.)

Sarah produced a small spirit-light and looked down at Shara: the girl was just zonked out and she didn’t have the heart to wake her at this hour just to tell her goodbye. Her doppelganger knew just how grateful she was for all her help with…well…everything. Her ‘life’ here was in pretty good hands, all-considered, until further notice. Or was she technically Shara’s shadow, since the girl was from closer to Amber? Their predicament was just plain freaky if she thought about it too much.

Extinguishing the light, she noiselessly slipped out of the room, padding down the stairs in the morning darkness as quietly as she could manage. Tiptoeing over to the front door, she eased the deadbolt up; it squeaked a moment and she held her breath. Silence. She rapidly unlocked the door the rest of the way and let herself out, locking it all up behind her with the emergency keys that were ‘hidden’ on the porch beneath the welcome mat (who wouldn’t think to look there? At least it was a quiet neighborhood.) On a whim, she set the newspaper by the door, remembering their old delivery boy who used to just drop it on the edge of the driveway; whoever had the route now was chucking it into the bushes just under the dayroom window! Stifling a yawn, she crept down the wooden steps of the porch, then took off through the yard, goosing the only witness to her flight: a large raccoon who’d been rooting through their neighbor’s garbage cans - it screeched at her as she ran by, then continued about its own business.

Darting through familiar unfenced yards and back-alleys with all the speed and heightened awareness of her training, Sarah had soon gained the commercial section of town and slowed down now that she was in a more public place, leisurely making her way over to the local all-night diner. After doing what she could for her toilette in the small, harshly-lit bathroom, she ordered the house breakfast special: steak and eggs, hash browns and pancakes, with a bottomless cup of coffee with plenty of creamer and sugar, having no idea what was in store for her today, much less when she would be eating a decent-sized meal again. Her current state of dress (not to mention just her presence here at this hour) had garnered some curious glances from the handful of regulars who were already here at 5:00 A.M., but thankfully there was no one who actually knew her; coming here openly had been a calculated risk, but it paid off nicely. She polished off almost the entire meal with the exception of some of the hash browns in just half-an-hour, tipped generously, and was out the door before the server could even finish asking what she was late for. Stopping in a convenience store a couple blocks away that was just opening for the day, she got a small bag of mixed nuts and two glass-bottled drinks, carefully following Mandor’s example; she hadn’t ever really thought about it, but there was probably the small risk of plastic denaturing during this kind of travel, too. But that meant…

Oh well, it’s too late for the rest of it, she thought resignedly, paying the cashier; if the problem arose, she’d deal with it somehow. It took a little rearranging to keep the two Snapple bottles from clinking together, but with all the other stuff shoved in the middle the carryall evened out and she was off again. The sky was starting to lighten with just a few cirrus clouds, the late waning moon still up but riding lower toward the horizon. She heard the old colonial clock tower away in the square chime a quarter-to-six right around the time she jogged across the stone bridge into the park; she had made good time. Quickly pacing further into the thick of the trees that were clumped about the large property, Sarah stopped for a moment, catching her breath. She had known since last night what she had chosen to do, but for the very first time the sheer enormity and responsibility of the decision slapped her upside the head and she went cold inside. There was no safety net here, no one to help her if anything should go wrong, no one to even know she was missing. No amenities, no outside protection of any kind – just her haphazard powers and her own wits to survive on. And that haphazard power was far more likely to be a liability than a help.

Technically, the process of a standard shadow-walk was simple enough, not unlike lucid dreaming: she had to believe the place would change, and it would; the difficulty lay in the level of concentration necessary for the task. Slow, small changes were needed here, but she didn’t know how long she could stand to do it in one go before getting fatigued; Suhuy had always been careful never to push her too far beyond her natural limits during her training. It had taken Mandor a very long day to gain the Dancing Mountains driving in a car, but then he’d wasted considerable time, it seemed to her, in the attempt to replicate the Chaosian sky too soon. Perhaps one tried for the sky first when shifting to Amber – that would make more sense – and she suddenly reflected on just how cumbersome that initial trip had to have been for one accustomed to getting pulled through shadow and not the other way around. It had probably just been his personal lack of experience in using the method, she decided; he had proven scarily capable with types of shifts he was more practiced with. She didn’t remember anything particularly unusual about the sky in the shadow that housed the Labyrinth, so she would try for the land first; that was logical enough.

Starting from where she stood, Sarah commenced walking slowly through the trees, trying not to notice anything but the ground directly in front of her feet, telling herself that there would be trees for a hundred feet more, and at the end of that there would be a left-turn and a clear dirt footpath, with the spruces dividing evenly, becoming a straight lane…

…and when she turned, she saw that the ground now bore a well-worn dirt path that did not exist in the park – she looked up to see the perfect line of spruces ahead of her and shouted for joy, giving the air a victory-punch: she had done it! She wasn’t on Shadow Earth anymore! And then she did a double take – the sky overhead was distinctly lavender; this was not the same shadow-world she had seen coming this ‘direction’ the first time, and a glance behind her confirmed her suspicions: the building in the distance was not a large, stone manor house, but rather a noisy brick factory of some kind, belching oddly-colored smoke from the tall stacks. The grounds were devoid even of grass and someone was just walking out the front door – there was something not quite human in its very long gait…

Sarah ran down the lane into the forest, anxious to be away from this place. The ground ahead turned hilly, which was welcome; it was easier to affect larger shifts this way. Over the next big hill, the forest abruptly gave way to a thick, grassy plain as she had desired – far too lush, though, but it was a step in the right direction, so-to-speak. She could no longer hear the factory; standing at the peak of the third big hill and looking back, she could see that the forest was gone, too. All around her were insect sounds – crickets, cicadas, other minute species she couldn’t immediately name but probably had the right to, being the first woman in the land. Were those pterodactyls circling way up there in the sky? She kept moving, doing her best not to imagine other prehistoric creatures hiding in the marsh she had just noticed to her right. The grass was getting much thicker, ancient ferns towered over her head…

No, she forced herself to stop. Her nerves were getting the better of her – that was all. None of this was real. There was a sudden rustling behind her but she deliberately ignored it, pressing on through the pampas, confident now of what she wanted. The ground gradually became drier, drier, until the plant life about her started to wither and die off, baking in the afternoon heat of a sun that she saw had grown too large – it could have been a red giant star – but she forced it to set quickly, timing its descent as she paced along, humming to herself. She was remembering a snippet of a peculiar song that she had heard Jareth sing, something about a crystal moon?

The biggest, most brilliant moon she had ever seen outside of Chaos – half the size of that giant star – rose in the exact place where ‘sunset’ had just occurred, sparkling and shimmering an eerily beautiful pearlescent blue. Something bioluminescent in the parched earth reacted to the light, flickering back and forth across the plain. The effect subconsciously reminded her too much of water and soon there was an ocean ahead, completely blocking her way! Sarah sighed in frustration – her mind was simply wandering too much for the task. She could strike out in a different direction, of course – they were all strictly arbitrary when one did this - but goodness knows what other phenomena would occur about her in the meantime. At least there was no sign of precipitation… an umbrella! She knew she’d forgotten to pack something! Better to remember late than never. Summoning her version of the Logrus, she screwed up her nerve and directly reached into that inky aberration in space-time, reaching, reaching… she felt what she thought she was looking for and pulled it out by the handle – only to realize that it was alive! The material part was undulating, snapping at her hand! With a scream, she threw it back into the blackness and banished it, sitting down where she was, shaking and panting. She was definitely too nervous to do any of this.

And then a terrible thought occurred to her: could she even get home from here? If she couldn’t even keep loose enough to effect simple shifts, there was no telling where she could end up! She could literally die out here.

A thought nearly as terrible quickly followed on the first one’s heels: how would she even know if she’d found the Labyrinth?! The ‘real’ one, that is? There could literally be dozens of parallel worlds that ostensibly looked similar enough from the outside that she might not even be able to superficially tell them apart!

A luminescent moth the size of her hand lazily glided by; it smiled at her.

There was only one way that she might be able to guarantee that she could arrive there alive and in one piece, she realized with a note of disgust and more than a little worry: she would have to wish herself away. The old incantation would work - she knew enough about them to know that much by now – but she wondered if she could tweak the wording any, if it would lose its effectiveness.

Sighing, defeated, she cracked open the strawberry-kiwi juice and took a swallow. If she was successful, she’d be verbosely having to explain herself to the Goblin King in about five seconds flat. Stashing the bottle and securing the carryall closed as best she could, she stood back up… and briefly wondered if she should just try walking across the surface of the water instead while thinking really land-like happy-thoughts. Yeah, right.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away to the hill just outside of the Labyrinth,” she tried experimentally, wincing her eyes closed, anticipating getting grabbed by those ugly, smelly, horrid little creatures, the rabble of the mind of the most imperfect of the Logri, “right now.”

She was not disappointed: there was a sudden sound at her feet like cockroaches scattering away from where she stood – the locals running for cover, apparently; some creatures she hadn’t seen in the dark – and tiny, grubby little hands, at least two-dozen pairs, lifted her clean off her feet, making her fall backwards but catching her. She heard wicked sniggering as they ran, smelling their foul breath and…alcohol? On and on and on they sped through world upon world after world; the effect was bewildering and she quickly lost all track of time and where she was, but there was finally daylight coming ahead – she could see the directional brightness through her closed eyelids. Without any warning at all, she was unceremoniously dropped to the hard ground; she would’ve hit the back of her head, but tufts of dried grass cushioned the blow. She dared to crack open her eyes…

And found the Goblin King standing above her in his shell-like black armor, arms crossed, glowering down at her!

“Not only have you obviously failed in your mission,” he uttered darkly in his normal, sophisticated-sounding English, “but in coming here in this manner expressly against my wishes, you now fall directly under my power to do with as I please. I warned you I would not be generous with you a second time.”

“Oh, believe me, getting bodily hauled here by your minions was certainly not Plan A!” Sarah quickly retorted, not about to let him bully her; she painfully sat up, then stood up, brushing the dirt off as best she could. “I really thought I had found somebody who could help – he was my transportation for a while – but he bailed out on me, and the ‘walk’ was turning all wonky and dangerous… what the heck was I supposed to do?!”

“That’s none of my concern,” he answered rather coldly, “and neither was this indignity any part of our agreement.”

“This-!” Sarah was ready to verbally lay right into his arrogant, ethereal face but forced herself to breathe, closing her eyes for a moment. “Fine,” she stated a little more calmly, albeit tersely, starting to walk away from him back up the hill, “if accepting any help is such an imposition for you, I’ll just will a talking blue horse into existence that wants to give me a free ride home!”

Jareth was silent for a moment, but then he spoke again.

“Wait.”

Sarah involuntarily stopped in her tracks – she literally couldn’t move! She heard him chuckle as he climbed up beside her.

“As you can now undoubtedly see, those words do have power,” he studied her shocked expression with amusement, pacing in front of her. “But I believe from your reaction just now that you didn’t brazenly use me like this with no one lined up to trade against yourself, hmm?”

Sarah was genuinely sweating at this point, but she did her best to keep up a brave front… only she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Look,” she said quietly, “before we go any farther with this, I want to make one thing very clear: I’m not doing any of this for you - I’m doing it for him, and possibly anybody else you could trick into coming here for your own twisted amusement in the future. You’re definitely not my favorite person in the world and I don’t really trust you, but I think the feeling is pretty mutual, actually, so I’m willing to voice as much.” She finally glanced up; his expression was a little difficult to read at first – too many conflicting emotions – but he finally snorted a laugh.

“Noble to the end,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I should take it from that that you did manage to locate him, then?”

“I was lucky enough to speak with him privately in the Ways of Sawall.”

Jareth’s eyes flashed open a little wider. “Really. And you told him the general gist of our plan? About me? What was his response?”

“Oh, he sends his regards, I guess,” Sarah sighed, “although they were far from friendly. Basically he called you a moron to your face via proxy for sending a kid novice to do a master-sorcerer’s job. He also extended an open invitation for you to join him in his cramped, dark cell – really, I think he just wants to see how fast you’d crack in there just for kicks since he’s got nothing better to do. Imagine,” she smirked.

The Goblin King looked none too pleased, but after a moment he relented with a small, rueful smile of his own. “A man after my own heart, it would appear,” he remarked, commencing to pace. “Where was he in Sawall?”

“The art gallery.”

At this piece of confidence, Jareth abruptly burst into maniacal-sounding cackling, briefly applauding. “A most novel display! Oh, well done indeed!”

Sarah was taken aback by his reaction – it did seem just the teensiest bit crazy in truth – but she continued on calmly, trying not to sound perturbed. “He’s not on display as such… well, not for the general public, anyway; he’s up a hidden way in a chapel dedicated to him, genuinely weird setup. Dang, I never thought to ask him why!” she exclaimed, the true oddity of the thought suddenly dawning on her.

At her own reaction, Jareth seemed to have mostly recovered himself, although he was still in a very puckish mood. “He’s a prisoner in his own church?”

“Looked like it – I saw a projection of him above the altar like a picture that came to life. That’s how I talked to him, but he wasn’t directly behind the thing.”

“How’s the position of the cell from there?” he asked more seriously.

“It’s in a pictorial representation of Chaos on the floor to the far-right, kitty-corner to the altar – I’m telling you, this place is freaky, you can see leftovers from some kind of occult ritual all over the floor! He warned me to stay away from that part of the picture because it hides a strong one-directional way. From his own description, the setup of the cell itself sounds pretty straightforward, but there is one peculiar thing you should probably be aware of: the energy from the walls of the cell is directly responsible for keeping him alive this long – he should’ve…disintegrated, ‘naturally’? Is that right?”

He nodded, motioning for her to keep talking; he had stopped pacing.

“He should’ve been gone ages ago – he’d sort of planned on it, actually. He’d never imagined he’d still be in there. No one ever looks in on him anymore, let alone feeds him – I guess that’s one thing going in our favor: he probably won’t be missed. In any event, if you really want to save him, I’m thinking once he’s out of there we’ll have to return him to his Pattern as quickly as possible; he could literally fall apart very rapidly if we don’t.”

The Goblin King had been listening intently, but by the end his expression had gone decidedly black. He quietly uttered a word Sarah didn’t understand but it was clearly a curse from the tone of voice and the delivery; it was followed by an irritated little sigh as he shook his head.

“That would’ve been far too easy. Fate isn’t that kind. I should’ve anticipated this,” he commenced pacing again.

“What is it?” Sarah asked, genuinely worried now. For both her and Corwin.

Jareth stopped and looked at her. “A small but flawless arcane device used only in the Courts, and only by a handful of very powerful lords at that, in private dungeons,” he expounded. “Its very existence is a state secret. Figures it would be deployed somewhere on the Sawall compound - never speak of this,” he warned direly, pointing a gloved finger at her.

Sarah’s eyes were wide. “What in the worlds is it?” she barely dared to whisper.

He crossed his arms, standing directly in front of her. “You didn’t hear this from me. And neither will you breathe a word of this to any soul, living or dead. Do you swear?”

She nodded eagerly.

“They’re called Shadow Vacuums,” he said then, very quietly, “not unlike miniature black holes, but under a form of extreme outer control using direct, unfiltered Logrus power. They are capable of discreetly sucking up the energy from other shadow-worlds and using it as a localized…’pressure device’, I suppose one could say; the concept utilizes more than a little quantum mechanics and is a bit difficult to explain to a novice in plain speech,” he demurred. “The result is easily demonstrable, however: it completely eliminates any chances of shadow-walking out of a predetermined locality. They are always operated at considerable distance from the Courts, but usually with multiple singularity endpoints within a compound itself. Our ‘friend’ is currently trapped inside one of them; it has to be linked up to the way adjoining his cell,” he ran his fingers through his unruly, white-blonde hair. “As you can well-imagine, those blasted things are far too powerful and complex to easily dismantle; it would take a power equal to the ‘vacuum rate’ just to jam such a device for even a fraction of a second. A Chaos Bomb would be needed to truly destroy one – and in the process, one would have destroyed most of the connected compound by proximity, as well as probably many other adjacent estates, if not most of the shadows to which they are attached. Not that the idea doesn’t have its own appeal,” he looked up thoughtfully, stroking his chin, “but our spectre would obviously be destroyed also in such a venture, practically sitting on top of one of the main detonation points as he is.” The king exhaled, closing his eyes. “I suppose it was only a fool’s chance after all.” He met Sarah’s worried eyes again. “That really was the best you could have possibly accomplished, but you could’ve found a better way of informing me,” he quietly scolded her, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. Just depressed. He snapped his fingers – and Sarah physically jolted a little, then did a full-body shiver: she had literally forgotten that she had been frozen in place this whole time! She took one pace back away from him, almost a little scared; he seemed much more at his leisure now.

“I see you were successful in ridding yourself of that ring,” he noted offhandedly, “although you’re still claimed by the House of Sawall as a whole. What did you think of the Thelbane?”

Sarah openly gawked. “How the heck do you know all of this stuff?!”

The king merely gave a small, secretive lip-smile. Did he employ spies? Some of his goblins might not even be noticed in the Courts, she suddenly thought.

“If you stay here with me long enough, you’re sure to find out a great many things, little girl,” he deliberately said in a tone of voice that made her squirm. “But I suppose I might be persuaded to ferry you back home in exchange for a vague future promise to give me your firstborn child, should you ever reproduce.” The statement was simply insane, but it was delivered with such casualness – almost friendliness! - that it threw Sarah for a loop.

Alrighty then, there is officially something seriously wrong with your head and I’m not sure I even want to know what it is, she thought, eying him dubiously; he had the nerve to look genuinely put-off by her reaction.

“I am merely attempting to provide you with an option; you put yourself in this corner,” he stated as calmly and matter-of-factly as if she had just refused a ride with an honorable, sane stranger who was trying to save her from being stranded in the middle of the desert. Which was probably where they were.

“Okay,” she said, forcing herself to breathe, fighting down a real wave of panic, “let’s just try to deal with this problem logically first. You said this vacuum can be jammed?”

He gave a clipped, annoyed sigh. “Yes, but such a counter-operation would take far more power than I could possibly sustain alone from that kind of a distance – you can’t do this at all; the effort would render you a statue, probably killing you on the spot.”

Sarah gasped – but not at that. “I nearly forgot – you’re only powerful right here!”

It was Jareth’s turn to look truly shocked and aghast.

“Hey, I lived with your original for a while, remember? He talked about you up front,” she lightly teased him, almost relieved to be able to get a little of her own back.

He did not appreciate the joke. “You will never say that word in that context in my presence ever again, is that clear?” he snarled menacingly.

Touché. “I’m not trying to insult you,” she annoyedly soothed his ego, “I’m just trying to gauge what kind of resources you do have at your disposal instead of flat-out giving up. I know you probably can’t understand this, but there is no way I can possibly accept that offer of yours.”

The king smirked at her gumption. “Of course, until such time as you are at liberty again, I get to add your own ‘resources’ to my list in general. You obviously received arcane training as it is given at the End of the World. What is your own power like? What are your strengths? Tell me.”

Sarah shrugged; there was no point in him not knowing anymore. “Mostly geologic/seismic – that’s the stuff I can control best. There rest of it is so… well… chaotic,” she laughed a little helplessly, “I can’t ever really predict the results. I guess you could say I sort of classify as a ‘wild card’. I doubt my particular brand of talent is what you need here from what you’re telling me. I mean, I could probably make the ground fall out right beneath his cell and that vacuum thing would just keep sucking him right…” The words died in Sarah’s throat just as she was about to say them, her eyes widening in immense realization. If she was correct…

“What?”

“Right back in,” she breathed, openly staring at him. The intimation was not lost on her companion; his own eyes flashed briefly, the spark of the idea igniting; he looked away towards the Labyrinth thoughtfully then, extending his left arm towards it, reaching out: Sarah could swear that the air visibly distorted inbetween, stretching out – then the effect was gone.

“It’s actually a worthy thought,” he admitted, sounding a bit surprised, turning back, “but I honestly don’t know for certain; the tensile strength of my connection to this place has never been put to such an extreme test. Besides, there’s still the nuisance of having to break through the magickal defenses of the compound without being detected at all – patently impossible from the outside,” he waved it off.

“Couldn’t I just wish you there? I mean, I altered your old spell and got here myself. It works that far.”

Jareth openly stared at her as if she had just fallen from the sky, dumbfounded.

“You literally never thought of that?!”

He started pacing again – probably to save face, she reflected, because he was turned away from her at present. “It’s still a monumental risk for yours truly,” he resumed calmly. “The wording of that incantation would have to be flawlessly precise to ensure we returned hale and whole to this shadow.”

“We?”

“Our shred of an Amberite prince and myself. Of course.” He turned back, looking thoughtful. “It has to be your own choice of words; I can’t feed you any magical formula to use on myself – the effect will cancel out. If I may make one small suggestion, I believe it might be advantageous for you to wish us to return to the center of the Labyrinth; the pull of the Logrus here appears to be strongest at the nexus point.”

Sarah eyed him uneasily. “But that would just effectively make him a prisoner again – yours.”

“Perceptive as always,” the Goblin King genuinely complimented her with a small smile. “I’m beginning to believe you actually were worthy of the trial.”

“I’m not about to trap him like that,” she answered firmly, ignoring the flattery – then smirked. “In fact, I haven’t even agreed to wish for you at all,” she crossed her arms, looking away imperiously; Ghost-Corwin was right – this was kind of fun.

Jareth was silent for a moment, then chuckled appreciatively with a devious smile; he came right up to her, putting his left arm about her shoulders, and, turning with her, proceed to walk her down the hill towards the outer wall.

“My dear Sarah,” he saccharinely addressed her with just a touch of teasing in his voice, “do remember that I am technically chief of a band of thieves, and as such it has greatly benefited me over the years to already have the developed reflexes of a stage magician.”

Sarah was immediately on her guard then, but it was already far too late – he had nabbed the brooch from where it was pinned all they way inside her carryall! The only telltale sign of the physical nature of the theft was that the bag now stood completely open – he had done it faster than she could blink!

“Hey!” she reached for it – only to find her feet magically anchored to the ground! Jareth easily paced out of range, casually looking the bauble over; the topaz-colored glass glowed brightly in his hand.

“You had made it through the course with this,” he mused aloud, “I had nearly forgotten. It would be a shame if something were to happen to it,” he glanced back at her.

Sarah’s fists were clenched, her teeth gritted as she fought down her anger and frustration with him. “Jareth, have you ever even considered attempting to parley with anyone without resorting to blackmail?”

The king sighed a little irritatedly. “This is hardly blackmail, child; it’s more of a vague threat. Now this on the other hand,” – and Sarah’s trump of Merlin appeared in his left hand! – “this might actually qualify. You really need to learn to save the appropriate euphemism until it’s actually needed.”

Sarah lunged at him and nearly toppled from her fixed feet! She summoned her Logrus into readiness and felt it sympathetically resonate with the gigantic physical one just ahead of her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the king uttered menacingly. “What would your new patron think of your wandering about out here unsupervised like a lost pet? Shall I call him and introduce myself on your behalf, just to let him know where you are and what you’re really up to?”

Sarah silently fumed at him. He had her and he knew it; he was thoroughly enjoying toying with her like this.

“Now then,” he smiled easily, “let’s not waste any more time in bad feelings for one another. You comprehend the stakes: formulate a potent incantation for me to get our ghost-knight here safely and you will receive your things in return as well as your personal liberty – more than generous on my part, really. You have my word as king of this shadow; I will not go back on it. Oh, and the answer to your previous question would have to be ‘no’ – I much prefer leveraging the odds in my favor. Now think out that spell carefully, no rush. Even in this much, I am still sticking my neck to a rather dangerous degree. Regardless of your current emotional state, I don’t believe you have the heart to intentionally kill me.”

The comment was rather offhanded, but it was very sobering; Sarah sighed, closing her eyes, forcing herself to calm back down. Him taking her stuff like that hadn’t been blackmail at all: it was insurance - against his own life. He clearly didn’t trust her at all, either - at the very least not her judgment - and he had wanted to ensure that she took this every bit as seriously as it was. Slowly and carefully, Sarah eased herself down into a sitting position, leaning back on her hands to balance herself against the edge of the incline. He was right in that it would take a rather complicated incantation if the result was going to be safe and accurate. And then, of course, unbeknownst to Jareth, there was the complication of Corwin’s sword – the weapon on that altar had to be his somehow. She wasn’t really certain what all his Pattern-ghost existence entailed, but it didn’t seem right that he should be deprived of the thing; in all probability, it was his only serious method of self-defense. And she wasn’t about to leave him at Jareth’s mercy, either…

There were too many necessary points to formulate the whole thing clearly in her head. She reached into her still-open carryall and grabbed the new, empty journal; it had seemed like a possibly useful thing to pack last night and now she was very glad that she had – the task at hand required real composition. Clicking open the ballpoint pen she had stuck in with it, Sarah began formulating the canto… only to stop in mid-sentence, crossing it out, and starting again below it in Thari script; magic-work seemed to respond better to that language. It felt a little funny translating the old, familiar words into the very different grammatical structure of the ancient, totally unrelated tongue, making sure that the meaning was as accurate and precise as she could reasonably manage. Just working it out silently on paper, she could already feel the attention of the Logrus…and she had a sudden thought, stopping again. Looking up, she saw that Jareth had wandered on down to the wall and was casually studying the pale-blue flowers and the other scanty plant life that grew there; the pixies were fawning all over him, but he was completely ignoring them! Just seeing that nearly made Sarah forget her question, but she presently remembered it.

“Your Majesty?”

His gaze swung back to her; one of the enchanting little creatures had started kissing the exposed part of his neck, but he casually flicked it off with his thumb and middle finger as if it had been a mosquito – it gave an irritated-sounding little cry and flew off in a huff, arms crossed and nose up! “Yes?”

“Do you ever feel Her – the Logrus, I mean – when you’re not using your power?” Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth Sarah immediately smacked herself in the forehead. “Sorry, that was an outrageously stupid question. Forget I even asked,” she bent to her task again.

Jareth slowly sauntered back over to her, genuinely intrigued. “She troubles you when not called upon?”

Sarah uneasily looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment, before staring back down resignedly at the page in front of her that she was filling with foreign sigils.

“Fascinating,” he muttered quietly, starting to walk away again.

“Hang on, it’s almost finished,” she stopped him, hurriedly scribbling down the last few words, followed by the single-word Thari command that translated to ‘right now.’ She carefully rescanned the text to make sure that she had gotten it all just right, then chose three words at random and lightly crossed them out; they were still legible, but she would omit saying them until the very end, utilizing them as ‘guide words’. Oh, all right, the last word marked out was a very deliberate choice, but with any luck the Goblin King would already be speeding away through time and space before he could possibly overhear it. She mentally ran through the formula one more time, double-checking her pronunciation, and gave a small nod of approval. That should do it. Then noticed Jareth attempting to read over her shoulder; she breasted the journal, looking up at him a bit irritatedly. “I thought you said you couldn’t know the words ahead of time!”

“No, what I said was I couldn’t coach you,” he easily corrected her. “Although from the little I did see, it looks like you actually tried.”

“It’s your own fault if this doesn’t work,” she warned, crouching, then standing back up with her feet still affixed. And gave an aggravated huff. “Will you at least have the decency to release me? I want to check something out before we try this,” she gestured toward the wall.

He looked a little surprised. “You said that your sympathy with the Logrus was unsurpassingly strong!”

“I said she won’t leave me be,” Sarah laconically corrected him in turn, “my ‘sensing’ abilities are actually pretty crappy.”

The king stifled a small laugh, but made an odd sign with his left hand – and she instantly felt the pressure holding her feet in place let up. Jogging down to the nearest section of the wall, Sarah held the written side of the journal to the stonework, concentrating, establishing the connection… and physically leapt back a second later, panting and trembling! She gave her head a quick shake, clearing it. The feeling of the old, familiar dark smile lingered.

“Well, offhand I’d say we have a possible winner,” she nervously laughed, backing a good distance away from the outer wall. “All the same, do you think I could have my trump back? I think I understand why you took it,” she met his eyes frankly.

The Goblin King’s expression was incredibly guarded.

“It’s the more fragile of the two items,” she qualified. “That other piece of junk has literally been to hell and back and it’s never changed one bit; once I found out what it was, that I’m stuck carrying it forever, I nearly wished it would. That’ll survive whether I like it or not.”

Jareth studied her sideways for a moment… then cautiously offered her the card with just the beginning hint of a frowning smile.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, taking it back but not pocketing it in his presence. “I’m not even going to pretend that I know just how this spell is going to act upon you, but all I can say is you’d better not lose that stupid brooch; it might not be much of a power artifact, but it’s all I’ve got.”

His lip-smile was far more relaxed now. “I’m certain if you’d had any inkling that you were going through such an initiatory ordeal you would have chosen your token more wisely,” he patronizingly teased her, pulling a gauzy black scarf out of his left sleeve and wrapping the bauble carefully in it before stuffing it down the front of his breastplate from the top, unconsciously touching his own amulet with his free hand as he did so; it was currently embedded in the armor.

Of course, Sarah suddenly thought – it was too obvious, really. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are. Speak slowly and distinctly, child; this is no race,” he advised, backing a few large paces away from her. The dispassionately cold resolve in his eyes made him look so much like Mandor…

Sarah closed her own eyes and took a deep breath to center herself as she had been taught, then – with her heart hammering in her chest in spite of it – she commenced sounding out the short paragraph of Thari text, skipping the ‘guide words’ as she came to them, in the manner of Chaos; as she continued, the building tension about them was palpable, sliceably thick by the time she reached the end. Going back, she uttered the last three words resoundingly one at a time; each was like a physical blow. She closed her eyes and pronounced the final one that should send him flying: ‘sword.’

When she opened her eyes, Jareth was gone; all that showed that he had been there at all were some fading sparkles in the air. She was all alone with the Fixed Logrus – not a comforting thought. Sarah stole a swift glance at the trump of Merlin - the successful computer software developer gracing its front-side, still looking thoughtful as ever - then untucked her blouse and hastily replaced it in the pouch quick before anything else happened. Remembering that the pixies weren’t normally that friendly, she climbed back up the hill and sat down under the dead, leafless tree at the top; she could see part of the way into the Labyrinth from here, but she reflexively averted her eyes – just even seeing it like this brought back a touch of her original post-trial flashbacks. She closed her eyes, gripping the dried grass, waiting for the effect to pass; once it had subsided sufficiently, she crawled around to the opposite side of the tree and indulged herself in one of the granola bars. It was totally silent out here: no birds, no insects, just a slight wind noiselessly making the grass and bracken tremble slightly every now and again. Even with the presence of any plant life after a fashion, this was truly a desolate world. She took another swallow of juice; the first bottle was already one-third empty, and she was beginning to worry that she should’ve bought a water canteen besides. There was a certain trick to ‘finding’ potable water when traveling through desert shadows, but she was stuck in this one and unable to alter it at present. Hopefully everything was going all right out there; she had absolutely no way of knowing. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true: if he didn’t make it back in about an hour or so, she could probably consider the mission a failure and try to head home on her own, cutting her losses; Jareth’s power likely couldn’t hold her if he himself was being ‘held’. She absently wondered why she hadn’t remembered the blue horses sooner, feeling really stupid for having not, but then she reflected that it could be surprisingly easy to overlook an obvious solution when one was embroiled in the midst of a problem.

She shouldn’t have worried – not about that, anyway: the Dark Lady of the Abyss has only ever had one aim, desire, and ambition, and that is total destruction for its own sake. Sarah had been nervously pacing the summit of the hill, studying her boots to keep from looking at the view, when she suddenly heard Corwin’s bright, hardy laughter, and she looked up to see…

Jareth had reappeared with his prize not twenty feet from where she currently stood, but the tip of that mythical-looking saber she had seen on the chapel altar was currently leveled at his throat!

“Nice thinking on your feet, kid – good to see you again,” the prince’s Pattern-ghost complimented her. “I never thought for a second you could pull this off; looks like I owe you one after all. And this, I take it, is the sorcerer in question?” His gaze had never once left his prisoner, whom he towered over by a good six inches.

Jareth was currently glaring at Sarah with an intensity that could’ve burned paper.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty,” she cautiously picked her way over to them through the dried plant material, “but I just couldn’t let you get the drop on him like you were planning on.”

“By allowing him to do the same!” the king shot back angrily.

“By giving him the chance to defend himself! You realize that I could’ve wished us all away to a completely different shadow, but I didn’t,” she let the intimation hang without voicing the explanation to the newcomer. “And I hate to break your momentum here, your Highness,” she addressed the prince, unsure of how to properly address him at all – she had literally never had to do it – “but you do remember that you’re a ghost of sorts, right?” she asked uneasily.

“Yes,” he answered a bit tersely.

“…and that sword is…real?” she quirked an eyebrow.

A slow, smug smirk spread across the Goblin King’s face, replacing that glare.

“Real is such an ugly term, Sarah” Ghost-Corwin lightly reprimanded her. “By my own definition, none of this is. Let’s just say the weapon is solid enough to be effective against present company and pretty damned sharp, to boot.”

“Just thought I’d check,” she murmured, eying her own boots – then took another quick glance at Corwin. The prince was dressed every bit as resplendently as that portrait of him had been in the chapel: he was in black from head-to-toe – something Sarah was rather used to at this point – but the style was less ‘Chaos-morphic’, more ‘historical Shadow Earth-looking’, with many silver accents, including his thick, protective leather gloves which he was now wearing; they had been looped behind his black leather belt before. His knee-high leather boots looked like military issue from some bygone century, his floor-length black cape adding to the epic image; the silver clasp at his neck had been meticulously cast in the form of a blooming rose. His physical presence even in this ephemeral state was surprisingly powerful.

“And I know you’re pretty ticked off with me, your Majesty,” Sarah addressed Jareth once more, “but I technically did what you asked of me: I got the both of you back here, safe and sound. Now, can I please have my brooch back?”

Jareth certainly looked plenty irritated at being kept at sword-point. “Do you mind?” he scowled at Corwin, taking one whole pace backwards; the prince kept his weapon poised but didn’t move. The Goblin King unceremoniously loosened the side-straps of his breastplate, dug out the small, swathed bundle, and literally threw it at Sarah’s feet with an accompanying glare before readjusting his armor; she stooped to retrieve it without her gaze wavering from him. Jareth sighed tiredly. “Put up your weapon, ghost-knight,” he addressed Corwin again. “You truly believe I would bring you here to molest your person when my intent is to parley with you peaceably?”

“I don’t really know the first thing about you other than the fact that you’re dangerously powerful on your home turf,” the prince replied guardedly. “That and you’re deceptive by nature and probably more than a little crazy, from the account I’ve heard. And I know that you must think that stating your intent of joining my side regardless of the perils such a move entails will automatically gain my trust, but in my own experience… oh, fine, in my borrowed memory from my original – once a traitor, always a traitor. I may technically owe you a single favor in exchange for your risking your life to break me out of that dungeon, but what could possibly make you truly worthy of what you’re asking me to let you do? That’s taking for granted that the Argent Pattern will accept you at all – it’s physically repelled others it hasn’t cared for, won’t even let them try to walk it rather than bothering to consume them.”

“Fair points all,” the king admitted quietly, looking down as he straightened one of his own thin, black gloves. “You call me ‘traitor’ for wishing to abandon the Power I have chosen, although ‘apostate’ might be closer to the spirit of the thing; in either event, I suppose I cannot deny the label. Do figure into your considerations, however, that I was first betrayed by none other than the Logrus Herself.”

Sarah actually felt a visceral surge of black anger emanating from the Labyrinth down below!

“Vent at me if you desire, Lady!” Jareth brazenly yelled back, “but you know perfectly well that I speak the truth!”

The feeling receded, like a poisonous tide quickly going back out to sea. Sarah simply could not believe just how dangerously rash he was being with Her!

“I risked all – my body, my sanity, indeed, my very being - walking that disjointed, half-frozen course, and in the end, rather than granting me a hard-won liberty and respite, She made me Her prisoner! I’ve been biting my nails within those endless walls and corridors for over three centuries now, feeling my sanity slowly ebbing away. I cannot escape Her, I have tried; were I to shadow-pull halfway across the spectrum of existence, She would reel me back in within minutes! I have to get out of here while I have any mind left! You of all people should know too keenly the mental anguish of even a normal prison.”

He paused a moment, studying his unmoving, unmoved audience of one. “But you have no sympathy for my plight – you believe me to be a fool for entangling myself so in the tendrils of the Dark. So be it. Consider, then, your own plight. I have watched you long and with vested interest. I saw you first spring from the center of your Pattern, with that look of dawning realization bestowed upon you of what you were and where you were and why – ah, yes, do not look surprised,” he suddenly smiled; he actually had a fairly nice smile when he wasn’t being a prick, Sarah thought. He sweepingly gestured to himself. “You see before you a man with nothing at all left in the world but the time and resources to watch his enemies and those he hopes to win as allies. I have seen also another Pattern-ghost diligently guarding your Pattern all by himself in your long absence – he alternately seems to curse your name for stranding him thus alone in the middle of nowhere and to anxiously look for your return with the genuine concern of a friend. I believe it also says something of an unusual sense of loyalty in your Pattern, that it has not bothered to attempt to make a replacement for you when it could have easily done so long ago, had it wished. Such a Power is seeking friends and followers at present, not slaves, which I can appreciate to an immense degree, having been so long subjected to the latter. A third man would give you the beginnings of a true rotating guard schedule – more freedom of movement for you and your confederate, less possibility of internal conflict, less stress,” the king smiled persuasively.

Corwin was clearly not impressed. “First of all, you can cut the bullshit line you’re trying to sell me; Luke is the resident salesman - I don’t need two. Which brings me to the next point: while my original did draw it into existence, the Argent Pattern doesn’t belong to me – I belong to it. Even if I were gullible enough to blindly accept your offer at face-value, the choice isn’t mine alone; I’ll have to talk this over with both it and him. Thirdly, you do realize that walking any of the true Patterns successfully will completely expunge the imperfect Logrus imprint from your being? You would lose all of your power save the ability to walk in Shadow – and that not always when you desire, either. You would take on an equal share in our immense responsibility, and to be brutally honest you don’t look strong enough to defend much of anything without some form of occult power at your disposal.”

Jareth seemed to take the prince’s rebuff rather in the stride. “I wasn’t entirely powerless before I embarked upon my first trial,” he casually formed a crystal out of thin air, idly rolling it back-and-forth with his left hand, “although I grant you a point in that I may be currently a little rusty from lack of practice.”

Sarah, of course, had seen him do this a few times before, but never so… completely. It was literally mesmerizing to watch, the outside world seemed to be melting away…

Without warning, the crystal became a sizable black-bladed dagger and Jareth was suddenly behind Corwin, holding both his wrists extremely tightly in one long-fingered hand, the edge of the dark weapon poised against the prince’s throat faster than Sarah could blink, his sword knocked out of his hand, lying a couple feet away! He looked genuinely stunned.

“Brawn isn’t everything,” the king remarked with a self-satisfied little smile, letting him go, giving him room. “I realize my own style is a bit more mercenary than you probably care for, but do remember where I’m from. As you pointed out, my better strength is in deception. Use my training for your purposes! Learning to fight like a Chaosian lowlife could potentially serve you well, especially with your small number of defenders, so-to-speak. I might even be able to teach you basic divertissement spells you yourself could physically master, simple animus magic that draws on neither of the Powers. What do you say?”

Corwin was definitely thinking as he carefully crouched to pick up his blade, his wary eyes not leaving the obnoxiously amused visage of the Goblin King for one second. He sheathed his sword.

“Sarah,” the prince addressed her without looking at her, “could you do me a big favor and walk over to that dead tree behind us, turn away, cover your ears and sing a song to yourself? I’d like to speak frankly and openly with our mutual acquaintance for a minute. Don’t stop until I come over. This shouldn’t take very long.”

Sarah tried to stifle a smile, failing miserably, but nevertheless did as she was instructed; soon, a mostly-in-tune acapella version of ‘America’ was in progress about fifty yards away.

“Nice touch,” Corwin quietly noted with a slight lip-smile, crossing his arms. “Alright, you crazy-ass, tight-panted superhero wannabe, listen up, I’m going to level with you: personally, I don’t care for you at all, but we could legitimately use some help, especially since it really isn’t forthcoming from any other quarters at present. Being a new Power, our position in the fabric of things is still more vulnerable than I like to think about. If – and this is a very big ‘if’ – the Argent Pattern accepts you and you survive the re-imprinting, I would expect you to take this job seriously; you would have to be willing to sacrifice your life for our cause should it ever come to that. Guarding our Pattern is not a free-pass for you to dick around doing whatever-the-hell it is you do to amuse yourself. And if you ever even think about betraying either of us or the Argent Pattern to anyone, I will have no compunction about personally carving out your eyeballs before feeding you to the nastiest Chaos-based shadow-beast I can find. Do I make my terms perfectly clear?”

Jareth ruefully smirked. “I would’ve expected no less of a Prince of Amber, even if only in spirit; I would have been far more insulted had you not even considered me worth threatening. My favorite way of dealing with traitors in the past has involved adroit use of a bog so damnably foul that the stench literally never abates until the body decomposes; the victims usually die slowly of asphyxiation. Your taste in torture is far more lenient than mine.”

“Then we at least understand one another,” Corwin wearily conceded. “I still have no plans on trusting you unless you are accepted – and then you’ll have to earn it. Stay right here; I have to go talk to the girl a moment.”

“Where else have I to go?” the king laughed a bit desperately.

Corwin strode through the long, dried-out grasses that carpeted the hill, up to where Sarah was standing, whole-heartedly attempting the third verse, and put a hand on her left shoulder; she instinctively jumped and looked back, letting go of her ears.

“Offhand, I’d say your instincts were right on the money with this fruit we’ve got on our hands here,” he quietly murmured, discreetly gesturing back to Jareth, “so I’m getting you out of here first before dealing with him. He’ll probably try to follow, but I should be able to block him. Be prepared to run.” He turned back around, very discreetly taking Sarah’s left hand. “Okay!” he yelled, “get as far away from the Fixed Logrus as you possibly can while remaining in this shadow,” he pointed outwards toward the dried plain with his free hand, “and wait for me! One way or another, I’m coming straight back here with reinforcements. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“What?!” Jareth screamed.

“He heard,” Corwin quirked a smile. “Time to go.” He turned and made a mad dash down the steep side of the hill, dragging Sarah along; she didn’t have to look back to know that the Goblin King was furious – the sky was suddenly turning very dark with threatening-looking clouds! Coming up ahead was the remains of a thin, dead-looking wooded area filled with dried briars and bramble; they flew into it with the sound of close thunder on their heels.

“Stupid bastard!” Corwin cursed him. “He seriously thinks he’s God here!”

“I’m not so sure he isn’t!” Sarah gasped, dodging a bush that nearly tore a hole in her right sleeve. Maybe all of a hundred yards away, she saw a blue-glowing, circular squiggle drawn in the middle of the air; the wind was nearly hurricane-force by the time they reached it! Corwin ran headlong into it – Sarah barely had time to inhale before she was enveloped also.

The punishing weather stopped on a dime: they had come into a pearlescent tunnel that was perfectly cylindrical and straight with little starlights sparkling here and there – considerable restraint in the glitter department, Sarah decided, but she wasn’t given much time to take in the view as the prince kept up the pace. The shadow-world that housed the final Fixed Logrus was cosmically situated surprisingly close to the Divide, and – unbeknownst to many as yet – the first shadow-world cast by the Argent Pattern. The end of the tunnel was visible from quite a distance away, their destination glowing green and blue in that order: green grass, blue sky. Stealing a quick glance over her shoulder, the pearly tunnel seemed to stretch on to infinity and they were alone within it. In under a minute more, they gained the exit point and Corwin stopped just outside of it, letting go of her; he appeared to not be winded in the least, basking in the nearness of his power source once more, but Sarah was just about out of breath.

They had arrived in a world entirely carpeted in short grass like an immense, manicured golf green. There was a very large, mature oak-type tree beside them, but it was the only one, and to their immediate left the ground dropped off rather sharply into a fairly deep, lush valley that was completely shrouded in thick mist. Something large and indistinct at the bottom was glowing a silvery blue.

The Argent Pattern, she thought, the hairs on the back of her neck automatically rising, the second Order, rival to the first. It has to be. Even stranger was the presence of a collector’s cherry-red-and-white 1957 classic Chevy BelAir, parked just a little distance off to the right; Sarah wasn’t even going to ask. At least they might have an alternate form of transportation to how they had come in just now; that had been very uncomfortable, to put it mildly, only her adrenaline had kept her from overly noticing the outlandish sensation. The obverse power-source it utilized had actually been sufficient to temporarily weaken her Logrus-strengthened stamina.

“You holding up all right?” Corwin asked her then.

She nodded but didn’t speak right away. “That felt really freaky,” she panted, “and I know freaky – I spent almost a year in the Courts!”

“The power used just there is a complete antithesis to your own imprint,” Corwin mused. “If your friend back there is even allowed this trial – and I really hate the idea – what you just went through will look like a walk in the park by comparison. I know I sound ungrateful when you clearly went to a lot of trouble to liberate me, but I meant what I’d said back in the art gallery: he really isn’t worth this hassle.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Sarah sighed, “ I was trying to find another way – nearly thought I had with your son’s… computer construct? I logically know that’s technically what he is, but I have a hard time thinking of him that way – it, I mean. But it turns out that it’s programmed too well; it wouldn’t veer off course for me. Still, I just couldn’t abandon you there out there – I would never have been able to live with myself,” she stated finally, looking up at those unearthly emerald eyes. Arden green, she suddenly thought.

The Pattern-ghost of Prince Corwin gave her a faint smile but there was a definite sense of mockery in the expression. “You really are a kid. I’ll be the ‘good guy’ for a second and be the one to warn you: don’t say such things too freely around too many of us, regardless of state-of-existence. Anyone with less scruples than yours truly would be sorely tempted to abuse a genuinely sweet nature like that.”

“As long as we’re not counting that one little episode of you and Uncle Bleys personally duping an entire shadow-army of hundreds of thousands into marching on Amber to fight for you,” a medium-baritone voice echoed up from downhill, followed by a young-looking, brawny, red-headed man dressed in a historical-looking green-and-gold riding suit, the tunic emblazoned with a rising phoenix, climbing up to meet them.

“You just can’t let that go, can you?” Corwin rejoindered, obviously in high-spirits upon seeing him. The two men briefly embraced.

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“A Chaosian prison, standing in for my original. Thought I would have dissolved ages ago and our good Pattern would have made you a brand-new Corwin to keep you company. Sorry I was wrong.”

“Yeah, it thinks you’re special, all right,” the interloper laughed, turning to Sarah; his eyes were just as bright as the prince’s, albeit a much more natural shade of green. “And who do we have here, and that we’re speaking in English for, no less? Friend, prisoner, other?”

“A well-meaning shadow-girl from Earth America who comes in peace,” Corwin wryly quipped. “What did you say your last name was again? In the excitement I can’t place it.”

“Sarah Williams,” she introduced herself, presenting her right hand not to shake, high enough that the gentleman wouldn’t have to bow far over it if he didn’t choose to, a courtesy toward rank that Mandor had taught her. “And you would be?”

The stranger smiled at the gesture and reciprocated in kind, taking it and very lightly kissing the back. “Call me Luke,” he straightened, letting go, “the rest of the name and title doesn’t mean much here – I’m pretty much in the same predicament as he is,” he glanced at Corwin. “I take it if you thought her fit to bring her here she’s been told. I gather you’ve done a bit of traveling yourself,” he addressed Sarah again in a friendly enough tone. “The way you did that just now is actually peculiar to the Courts, am I right?”

Sarah’s eyes widened a little at being singled out so quickly!

“It’s alright, kid,” Corwin reassured her, “his original’s mother has ties to the House of Helgram.”

“Small universe,” Sarah observed, stunned; Luke laughed.

“Hardly – but what brings you all the way out here?”

“I’d better explain that,” Corwin interjected, “and I could probably use another sorcerer’s input on this one: it’s conference time again. I’ll join you down there in a minute.”

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway, Sarah,” Luke nodded politely in her direction, “good luck with wherever-it-is you’re headed off to next.”

“You, too,” she replied generically, not really sure of what she should say. Once he had completely disappeared into the thick mist, she turned to Corwin. “Who is that man really? I mean, who’s his original? I thought I knew the royal roster of Amber; learning it was part of my tutoring.”

Corwin shook his head with a bitter lip-smile. “His original has a proverbial tail a mile long; it’s amazing he hasn’t been executed. He, on the other hand,” he gestured downwards, “has been nothing but a great help to me here and a good friend to my son. Leave well enough alone.” He took a sweeping look about them, inhaling deep the fresh, clean air. “I know it doesn’t look like much at present, but it’s home for us. Maybe in a few centuries the spot where we currently stand will be in the middle of the fortified city-state of Corwinia – that’s my vote, anyway, but it’s contingent on my original ever coming back at all, let alone wanting to do something with the place. For right now, feel free to make yourself at home up here, but whatever you do don’t venture down into the valley – I see in your eyes that you already know why. No matter what happens here, however the catastrophe with Jareth falls out, I’ll be taking you wherever you should wish to go at the end of it unless you have another form of repayment in mind. I’m an old soldier-of-fortune, Sarah, not a trained sorcerer; any ‘wishes’ you want for me to grant you have to ultimately be of a practical, mechanical nature. Is that understood?”

Sarah nodded. “A lift home would be really appreciated. Apparently, my shadow-walking skills aren’t quite as good as I thought they were,” she uncomfortably looked away at the memory.

“You got the yips your first time out alone.”

“Pardon?” she looked back.

“You were too nervous,” he clarified with a small smile, “and it all kept falling apart.”

She sighed, looking at his rose pin instead of meeting his eyes. “Yes.”

“I’d like to just encourage you to keep practicing on a very minute level at home, but I honestly don’t think the Logrus is ever comfortable with working shadow that way, from what I’ve seen; the method is literally counter-intuitive to the Power.”

“Which you’d think would appeal to Her,” Sarah remarked wryly; the prince gave a laugh.

“Chaos wouldn’t be Chaos if it wasn’t irrational. I’ll return for you as soon as I can. Just take it easy and don’t worry: you’ll be fine. Shadow Earth and I go way back,” he stated a bit sardonically, then started picking his way down the steep embankment, disappearing into the mist himself.

Sarah was truly developing an almost pathological dislike for being left completely alone like this, but she wouldn’t let her nerves get the better of her this time. He was coming back. He’d given his word. He still owed her.

The thought wasn’t as reassuring as it should’ve been - the immediate circumstantial stimuli felt too much like being the only human being on an entire world – but she did her best to shake herself of the mood, parking beneath the old tree and digging the bag of nuts out of her pack. Leaning back against the trunk, she was surprised to find that the organism seemed to have a kind of consciousness and the tentative beginnings of a personality, possibly skewing male.

Of course it is, she thought with a note of sarcasm, absently munching; it might’ve been a rather stereotypical thing to think, but it seemed like the scant population of these crazy hinterland shadows was entirely male and she had yet to see any evidence to the contrary.

It was an absolutely beautiful day here, though; warm sunshine, not a cloud in the bluish sky, just a little bit humid. The place felt surprisingly Earthlike – or perhaps not so surprising if these were the basic conditions that Order in general favored. There was no wind; it was perfectly still and peaceful. Of course, who knew how long ‘peaceful’ was going to last with Jareth here; in hindsight, Sarah nearly rued the decision herself. Getting him permanently away from the Labyrinth might make that place more safe for the other creatures who were native to it (or, rather, that he had made – she kept forgetting that point, but the fact hardly mattered now), but in doing so she had probably just relocated the problem of him elsewhere. Somewhere he could make far greater mischief, possibly real damage if he was careless enough. She would have never thought it before, but Corwin had most likely been right in his own inhuman mode of thinking – talk about someone completely comfortable with who and what they were!

A very familiar visual phenomena – the chromatic, holographic fluctuation that signaled trump travel – unexpectedly caught her attention not far from where she sat, a little ways off to her left, and Sarah hurriedly put the nuts away, closing the carryall and standing, thinking the party with Jareth returning already. That was fast!

Upon the resolution and solidifying of the image, however, she saw that it was a complete stranger. He resembled both Corwin and Luke strongly, and yet his figure was slighter, his curly, fiery-red hair a bit shorter, his face clean-shaven, his green eyes both cool and rapidly calculating. He was garbed in grass-green from head to toe, save his leather belt and boots; he could’ve passed for Robin Hood! A heavy, ornamented sheathed sword hung from said belt; there was a sizable emerald embedded in the pommel. Sarah was definitely on her guard now – the livery was simply too common of too many places, this could literally be anyone! – but it was rude to just stand there and stare, regardless, and she furiously wracked her brain for something even vaguely appropriate to say; the stranger seemed to be sizing her up also and quickly broke the awkward silence - only a few seconds had elapsed but the tension made it feel like hours to Sarah!

“Hello, there!” he hailed her in perfectly accentless Thari; it wasn’t so much a greeting as a polite exclamation of surprised discovery.

“Hi,” she answered him quietly. Then added, “Don’t mind me; I’m just waiting for someone to return.”

He gave a slight smile. “Then I perceive we are in the same business at present.” He could tell from her relatively unpracticed scrutiny of him that she could not decipher whether she beheld friend or foe, which was well considering her own fairly obvious livery, but this terse silence would never do; she was still nervously eying his scabbard. His smile widened. “Fear not, fair maid! This mysterious yet illustrious personage you see before you has absolutely nothing to do with you whatsoever and certainly no reason to do you harm, especially since you wear the cut and colors of the noble House of Sawall, if I am not mistaken, one of my allies in happier times. Perhaps it is well that we do not exchange names, however; I know not your purpose here, either. Were you sent to attempt negotiations as well?”

What negotiations?! “Just stopping over between here and there, hopefully. I’m waiting for my ride.”

Her naïveté was intriguing; he briefly studied the girl again.

“You are not native Chaosian, then? A recent recruit, perhaps?”

Sarah automatically gave a humorless, desperate little laugh without meaning to, shaking her head. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it; I don’t know what you’d call this, really.”

“Involuntary conscription,” he answered promptly, suddenly serious, catching her off-guard as he slowly took a few casual paces closer. “I am sorry to hear it for your sake – you nearly seem too young to be playing the game – but the act alone on the part of the Logrus is academically fascinating. So it has truly come to this; I suppose the step is logical enough even though I failed to foresee it. But enough of such unpleasantry when our time here together is likely to be brief. I know that you have a great many questions about me, none of which you dare voice - perhaps wisely - but if you would be a dear and conjure me a cigarette, I may indulge you with some of the better parts of my tale. I guarantee from the outset that it is full of adventure, romance, and high sorcery, and that the telling will be completely devoid of that boring, moralizing patina so many would feel the need to paint over such a biography.”

What a collection of cheeky, neurotic narcissists this is, Sarah thought with a smirk. Still, she had to admit that he was right about her curiosity and they did seem to have the time. The prospect of so simple an act was still daunting, though. “I’m afraid my power’s a bit erratic,” she apologized in advance, bringing her version of the Logrus up before her, “I can’t guarantee what you’re going to get, but I can still try if you want me to.”

“The quality hardly matters at this point,” he waived off her concern. “I am, by all accounts – including my own – dead. Truly.”

That last statement stopped her in her tracks; she openly stared him up and down – she would have literally never been able to tell!

“Alright, I officially can’t make any sense of this anymore!” she nervously laughed.

“Don’t even attempt to,” the stranger half-mockingly reassured her, “it doesn’t make sense from a strictly Order-based paradigm, even if there is a certain poetic harmony to the process. Go ahead anyway,” he gently encouraged her.

Sarah took a deep breath and plunged her arms and consciousness into that terribly alien, inky blackness that threatened to swallow her whole the more times she did this. Her eyes were still open but she couldn’t see; her whole mind was reaching, searching with singular purpose for something that was at once repugnant to her and yet terribly familiar – many of the actors in her mother’s theater troupe had been smokers – until she grasped the object of her quarry, dead-certain this time, and began to pull it in. She was only vaguely aware that the man she took to be some itinerant spy had walked over to her; when he spoke again, his voice was practically in her ear.

“The end smolders already - behold the glow,” he suggested deeply; within seconds, a single cigarette was in her fingers, already lit! She quickly handed it off and immediately fought down a powerful wave of hysteria from the backlash of the use of the Logrus power in this place, gritting her teeth as it passed, suppressing the irrational urge to cling to this stranger for dear life! The man coolly observed her inner turmoil very matter-of-factly, unperturbed.

“Fixed Logrus, correct?”

She nodded yes, catching her breath.

“I appreciate the difficulty, but there is no shame in it. My own dear wife was an initiate of the Broken Way,” he offered quietly, taking his first drag, pacing a short distance away.

The thought of him being married served to humanize him a bit, and as Sarah recovered she realized that she found him less intimidating now and was almost looking forward to his story.

Of course, this was the moment Corwin had to return; he was alone. Where Luke and Jareth had gotten off to was anybody’s guess. Maybe they were already down below. The stranger turned back and saw him.

“But here comes the man of the hour now!” he sarcastically hailed Corwin, his cold glance raking his figure. “Or, rather, what’s left of him.” His green eyes flicked over to Sarah. “Alas, my true purpose here interrupts us. Should you ever see me again and I am neither busy racing through shadow nor in the middle of attempting to kill someone, remind me of our meeting here and that I yet owe you a lively tale and you shall have it,” he gave the slightest of bows, then turned his attention to the other man.

“Don’t believe a word he says, Sarah,” Corwin warned her, “although I have to admit that in spite of the bullshit ratio, his storytelling technique is actually worth seeing: Brand Barimen was one of the world’s better actors – he even took me in once.”

Brand Barimen?! Sarah thought, suddenly afraid, staring at him again. Brand the Traitor?! What in the world…

“An unsolicited compliment! Has death leant you a wider scope, brother mine? May we finally see eye-to-eye at last?”

“Unlike you, my original yet lives and I too am well-preserved. For once I am willing to allow you to talk yourself to death; even as you go through the motions of your preamble you are physically unraveling. I must confess to a passing curiosity, however: which of the powers saw fit to reincarnate you this time?”

“The True Pattern, which I never should have abandoned, has graciously given me this second chance.”

Corwin scoffed. “You were a pawn of the Logrus in life, now a pawn of the Pattern in death. Will you never act for yourself, brother?”

“Acting for our own selfish interests got us all into this mess,” Brand replied seriously. “Think of this sending of mine as a form of existential penance, if you will, and listen closely; as you correctly perceive, I only have the time to say this once. We both know that while the original Corwin made the vague, misguided attempt to save the worlds in creating this place prematurely, his new Pattern is terribly upsetting the balance between the two powers. The Logrus has already attempted to destroy it seismically once and should Chaos ever send you an envoy in like manner as myself, I can nearly guarantee they will be far less open to reason and negotiation. The True Pattern, on the other hand, recognizes your personal predicament here – being dependent as you are upon the abomination for your survival - and, while not pleased with your original, is willing to cut you a deal. If you would but allow the forces of Order to consume this renegade Pattern, you will be granted permanent existential continuance from the True one in gratitude, a rarified state of grace not even bestowed upon your humble servant,” he executed a low, mocking bow, quickly rising once more. “Take the word of someone who knows firsthand: the Courts will never offer you quarter, let alone amnesty; they are beginning to go to outrageous lengths to offset this damage,” he glanced briefly at Sarah. “You will never get a better offer. Your refusal means open hostility, and while the idea of facing an army single-handedly may still flatter your ego, you will find the bitter reality far less amusing.”

“No deal,” Corwin answered flatly. “This Pattern an I have a standing arrangement: I protect it and it keeps me alive. No matter how many times I die, I’ll keep coming back and with my complete memory, no less - you can’t damage it again; it’s being actively archived as I go along. One way or another, I’ll exist as I am right now until the end of time. You’ll have to do better than that.”

The Pattern-ghost of Prince Brand sighed, shaking his head. “You disappoint me, you really do. I had truly hoped that you would be more reasonable than your original, but it is only too clear now that regardless of your state, that which is Corwin will never change,” he stated darkly, drawing his bright rapier – ghost of the legendary weapon Werewindle, the Daysword – from its scabbard; it lightly smoked as he did so. He dropped the remainder of his cigarette to the pristine lawn and ground it out with the heel of his boot, killing about an inch-worth of that perfect grass.

“Sarah, get in the car and stay down until this is over,” Corwin ordered her, tossing her the keys. “Wait,” he suddenly added, “better take this, too,” – and he rapidly unclasped his cape, rolled it in a ball and chucked it in her general direction; she just caught it.

“Chivalry for me?” Brand inquired in a sarcastic tone. “You are entirely too thoughtful.”

“You’d use it to trip or blind me every bit as readily as I would to you – this way it can’t become an issue. Do we really have to go through with this right now?” he unsheathed a perfect copy of Grayswandir, the Night Blade, pacing towards Brand. “Can’t I just get a raincheck? I’m a little busy at present.”

“Busy foolishly making enemies of both factions, it would seem, especially if you are actually the one aiding and abetting that girl’s escape from Chaos. Do you never tire of playing the hero?”

“Ask me again this time next week,” Corwin fiercely grinned, saluting.

Sarah didn’t have to be told twice to get out of the way; she was in the Chevy, bent over in the back seat, before the two men even finished baiting each other. It was clear that this was a duel to the… well, not death, that wasn’t really accurate, termination might’ve been a little closer – and regardless of who won, there was no sense in exposing her to the psychological violence of the act. She could still hear them, though; they had started in almost immediately. As terrified as she was for Corwin, the fencing student in her was just dying to see what all they were doing out there, how they were mixing in the cut attacks with the thrusts; the closest she had ever personally come to saber-style swordplay yet was that fast fiasco with the trisp and Mandor’s coat pocket. For two beings that barely existed in any technical sense, they were certainly making a lot of noise out there; those old swords had to have some weight to them, and yet from the speed of the parries and attacks they had to be handling them as if they were as light as foils! It made her own skill level seem very rudimentary by comparison, even if she did know enough to beat a reasonable opponent. It was true that she had legitimately bested Mandor during six of their regular practice bouts (it was easy to forget that – he had worn so many other faces at the time), but even at that, a lord of Chaos was usually more adept at sorcerous dueling; physiologically they were not forced to live and die by the sword as the men of the House of Amber were. That was the real deal out there; all she could do was hope that Corwin could hold his own.

There was a sudden audible break in the action, followed by Brand’s laughter; she held her breath.

“You’ve lost some of your finesse, brother,” she heard him chide in a mockingly superior tone. “Balance and emphasis, sequence and order; your style was once far better than this. Your memory is slipping away from you anyway; it didn’t really require the help. But you do. Badly. Shall I remind you of how this is done? With each stroke of Werewindle like a paintbrush upon canvas? Shall we see which colors you bleed now?”

“Cut the shit; you can’t psych me,” Corwin calmly shot back, “and I’m not about to waste my time dancing fancy circles around you just to skewer you.”

“So be it!”

The sounds of clashing steel recommenced; a mere two seconds later there was a sudden cry of pain. It had been so indistinct that Sarah couldn’t honestly tell which of them it had been, and being unable to stand the suspense of not knowing any longer she mustered the nerve to peek over the edge of the window.

She still wasn’t perfectly certain, but she saw that Brand’s forearm was now emitting a long, steady stream of… smoke? They didn’t bleed?!

“Yes, Corwin, feast your eyes upon the damage that you have wrought in my unflesh! A most intriguing design, isn’t it?” Brand threw his parries wide, making the gray plume dance. “See how it swirls and eddies?” He slashed for Corwin’s head, but the cheap shot was easily ducked.

“Such a preoccupation with visual stimuli is your own weakness, not mine,” Corwin answered with a feint to the head, “Will enough combined strikes form a Pattern, do you think? Let’s find out.” He made two further beats on the outside of Werewindle, feinting a third, then, as Brand disengaged, Corwin blocked the blade and lightly pierced him in a low-line thrust that Brand couldn’t completely parry, evincing another gray trailer and grunt of pain. “Nope – not yet.”

“Damn you!”

Being a fair distance away from the duelers put Sarah at a distinct visual disadvantage, but it truly looked like Brand’s body was beginning to take on a vague translucency as he retreated, executing a complicated feint-parry-beat combination, nearly succeeding in making it through Corwin’s defense high-and-inside, aimed to slice straight through his shoulder! The cut was stopped in sixte, however, followed by a false head-cut, parry in quarte, and an equally devastating riposte to the chest that Brand nearly didn’t parry in time, forcing him to vault out of line. He immediately charged right back at Corwin, hoping to catch him offguard with a sweeping low-line cut to the flank, but Corwin beat him to the punch with a low-starting cut upwards – like how a tennis player slices the ball – that would’ve ripped his opponent from groin to chest if it had landed; Brand parried it hard in an incorrect seconde, his own previous momentum saving him – it was a difficult move to block.

“That was hardly sportsmanlike, Corwin,” he ground out, holding Grayswandir down with all his might; his opponent was still trying to execute the cut by brute force!

“This isn’t the Olympics, either,” Corwin noted, finally releasing the position, swiftly retreating in turn as Brand slashed widely for his midsection.

As they closed again, Brand precipitated a false attack to the inside of Corwin’s arm, parried by quarte-counterquarte, and riposted right underneath his wrist, managing to slice into his glove; the thick, silver leather was all that kept the bright steel of Werewindle from biting into his flesh similarly! They both knew this was a contest of attrition; even sufficient surface wounds would end in personal destruction.

But it was in this unfortunate hour that Luke and Jareth returned via the Pearly Road; upon seeing the duel-in-progress, Jareth vanished almost instantly, giving the visual impression to any who might look afterwards that Luke had suddenly appeared alone. It took only a second for Brand to see him.

“Rinaldo! My son!” he cried out in surprise and joy. “The Unicorn is truly merciful to send you thus in my hour of need! Help me to dispatch this imposter and we may return to Amber together with high honor!” The momentary distraction almost cost him his left eye; he literally had to swerve to miss the tip of Grayswandir!

But the ghost of Rinaldo – whose original had taken the name of Lucas Reynard on Shadow Earth, long ago – couldn’t look at him at all.

“Save what breath you have left for the fight,” Corwin chided him, retreating for a moment, “that’s not your kid; he’s a Pattern-ghost just like us, and while your Pattern would not have sustained him any longer than to get a word of warning to his cousin Merlin, my Pattern has adopted him outright. It sustains us both. You might want to add that into your calculations of destroying the thing.”

“No son of mine shall ever bow and scrape before you, nor anything you make!” Brand growled, closing viciously fast for a moment before being repelled by sheer physical strength; it was an oddly karmic reminder of when he himself had become capable of incredible, superhuman feats after his treatment in the Fountain.

“Corwin!” Luke called from the sidelines, “if he surrenders to us, could you find it in your heart to try to save him as you saved me? I know you have no love for him, but in all probability he’s all I’ll ever have left of my father! Why are you dueling?”

“I have repented the grievous error of my ways,” Brand interjected, keeping Corwin busy with a one-two riposte in turn to the sword arm, followed by several feints and another low-line thrust which was stopped, “and the Unicorn demands this traitor’s death in payment for my own sins!”

“I’m handing your old man his spectral ass because he wants to destroy what’s keeping us alive,” Corwin finally managed, lunging again, beating him back. “And I can’t save him; he’s too far gone in all senses,” he ended grimly. It was the truth; Brand was fading even faster now as they fought. Had he been of Chaosian origin, he would’ve gone up in a pillar of flame some minutes ago already; it was a small miracle on the part of the Pattern that he was still alive at all.

“Rinaldo!” Brand continued to yell, starting to sound a little desperate, “Rinaldo, I’m your father! Help me!”

“You were lost to me long before you died!” Luke shot back bitterly. “Your entire personality changed! You abandoned us to go destroy everything you had once loved! You abandoned Mom! She grieved for you as dead while you yet lived!”

“If you have any compassion for that boy, you’ll leave him alone – this is between you and me!” Corwin roared. “This is for taking my sister Deirdre with you to the grave, you filthy son-of-a-bitch!” he stamped and succeeded in landing the touch on Brand’s high cheek he had tried for earlier – just a superficial scratch, really, but the resulting plume of smoke worked to partially occlude his opponent’s vision, adding to the level of distraction he was having to consciously negotiate.

“Rinaldo!” he screamed.

Sarah knew she shouldn’t be watching this, but by now her eyes were glued to the terrible melee. Corwin was continuing on valiantly like the old soldier he said he was, but he was beginning to make slight mistakes just due to their outrageously accelerated pace. It seemed the one true danger to himself lay in the fact that his blood was finally up; the game had turned to one of personal vengeance for him, not just defense, and some of his instinctive attacks and counterattacks now seemed familiar to his adversary, who would probably have been fairing better had he only been leaking normal bodily fluids. As it was, Ghost-Brand – whom she had literally just met – was fighting wildly for what was left of his life, and while she recognized him now as a true enemy, she couldn’t help but pity him even though the thought still sort of oddly rubbed her the wrong way. And poor Luke – Rinaldo, the Pattern-ghost of Rinaldo Barimen, she corrected herself – torn cruelly between his loves and his loyalties, agitatedly fingering the hilt of his own utilitarian, modern saber, almost ready to burst out of his skin. If he entered that duel…

But where was Jareth? It suddenly occurred to Sarah that he had in fact returned with Rinaldo - she had forgotten it already! Had the Labyrinth pulled him back in so quickly? It was then that an ominously dark shadow slowly materialized some yards away from the combatants, behind Brand. As it silently coalesced, Sarah saw the Goblin King smoothly form a crystal and her eyes widened in dawning comprehension and horror; he must’ve felt her gaze for his own cold eyes flicked to hers momentarily and he put a finger to his lips, signing for her to remain silent. She shuddered – he looked like the angel of death! Compactly winding up as if it were a baseball, he pitched the crystal as hard as he possibly could, his leg kicking out behind him from the force, just as Brand was sliding beneath Corwin’s blade, starting to drop to one knee, about to perform a final deadly upward thrust that would cut straight through all of his opponent’s innards (if he’d had any) – the crystal changed into a black throwing dagger in midair, spinning end-on-end… and whipped into the back of Brand’s neck! With an inhuman scream, he suddenly ignited from head to toe, dissolving into a blue-burning human-sized vortex; in seconds all that was left of him was the remains of his cigarette and a second circular charred spot in the grass. The hilt of the small, black Chaos-blade lay within the center.

“Hey!” Corwin yelled angrily. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Are you completely insane?! That was a private honor duel! You could’ve missed and hit me!”

“A pleasure to see you again as well,” Jareth replied calmly, walking over and retrieving what was left of the small weapon from the ground, making it vanish. “I was only saving your life; he nearly had you a few times there, not to mention nearly guilting Rinaldo into attacking you also – you were about ready to, don’t deny it,” he turned and pointed to the party in question, “and before the hour was out he would’ve figured out who she was,” he vaguely nodded toward the car and Sarah, who was pretty badly shaken, “and attempted to use her original’s blood to ruin your Pattern before he expired, whether he would’ve had sufficient time left or not. I also have taken the emotional burden of his demise upon myself: rather than hating you, to whom he appears to be bound for all eternity, fine young Rinaldo here can hate me, a complete stranger, who – with your gracious assistance – you may hurry on his way, not to trouble either of you long enough for most of the immediate homicidal anger to subside. Now, do I make your team or not?” he asked callously, standing akimbo and looking genuinely irritated that this ‘interview’ was taking so long!

Luke looked at Corwin. “He’s right,” he said uneasily, “I was this close to trying to break it up, even logically knowing that it was hopeless. I just couldn’t watch…” he looked away, shaking his head. “And he’s also right that I hate his guts right about now,” his heated green gaze – so much like his father’s - met Jareth’s, “but he’s technically proven that he can keep a cool head and deliver under pressure when he has to. I still say let him try it; if the Argent Pattern consumes him, I for one won’t be broken up over it.”

Corwin gave a great sigh and nodded, resheathing Grayswandir. “My own sentiment is similar. If he’s going to be an annoying meddlesome bastard, he might as well be our annoying meddlesome bastard.”

“Your Amberite flattery knows no bounds,” Jareth oozed in a brittle, saccharin tone, “but shouldn’t you be paying just a little attention to the weakest member of your party?”

In spite of the fact that they had all just glanced in her direction only moments ago, it was as if Sarah had ceased to exist in their minds until just this moment. Corwin instantly had a look of vague, belated guilt and concern cross his features as he began to walk over to the car.

“I told you not to watch for a reason,” he started to scold in English, even though the reprimand didn’t sound like it had any teeth, but Luke put a hand to Corwin’s chest, stopping him, and went himself.

Sarah was still in shock, trying to process what she had just witnessed; it felt surreal. The inside of Corwin’s cloak that she had been gripping in her lap during the fight still held warmth from his own body. “I heard one of you cry out in pain and I was afraid for you…that you…how in the world…” she shook her head, looking away with tears in her eyes.

Rinaldo opened the left rear door, leaving his sword belt just outside on the ground, and got into the back seat with her, closing it. “Hey, I know that was really rough for you to watch; it was for me, too, in a way. Wanna talk about it?”

“It was horrible,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes dry on her sleeve, embarrassedly setting the bundle of black material aside on the section of seat to her right before turning back, “I’m so sorry for your… but I just can’t get my head around… are you technically alive?”

“Me, personally? Not really – well, not as you would define it, anyway. I mean, the last time I checked, my original is alive and well and unwillingly ruling a distant shadow-world kingdom called Kashfa in Amber’s Golden Circle as we speak, and Corwin’s original is most likely off exploring the new set of universes he accidentally made, but of ourselves… we have a kind of existence, but that’s about all I can say with certainty. I don’t even have to eat anything to stay functionally corporal now that I’ve been adopted by Corwin’s Pattern. The Pattern of Amber generated me for a similar purpose as the specter of my father that you just saw – as a one-time messenger – ages ago. By all rights I shouldn’t be here at all; there’s a reason we’re colloquially called ‘ghosts’. That copy of Dad would have most likely dissolved in minutes anyway, as much as I hate to think about it; as soon as he delivered the Pattern’s message and Corwin rejected it, the Pattern would’ve stopped sustaining him. They just hurried along the process is all. Brand Barimen died a traitor’s death years ago at Patternfall, and since he was my father I avenged myself upon his killer with honor. It’s over and done with. It might seem like it on the surface after seeing this, but you can’t actually kill somebody who’s already dead. If it ever desires to do so, the Pattern can regenerate his image, or anyone who’s ever walked it, any time it wants. He’s gone and of course I miss him, but I miss him as he was before he got so messed up and I choose to remember him that way. The Pattern does, too, obviously. Perhaps it will let me see him again someday, a version of him that does not remember the evil that he later wrought in the name of an ill-conceived revolution. When he was still just my dad.”

“Although I would strongly advise against reminding him of this interview in the one-in-a-million chance that you ever see him again, Sarah,” Corwin interjected, leaning against the open window. “It might incite him to search for this place again in order to deface it. I can’t believe he actually thought to say that to you, even in this state. That wasn’t the Pattern’s idea; that was all Brand. That’s now dangerous he was. But Luke is technically correct; we’re little better than nominally sentient and animated 3D photographs of a person from a specific point in time; Brand was just overexposed. If it’s any consolation, you allowed him to indulge in an old favorite habit before he went, a kindness he certainly didn’t deserve,” he smiled a bit ruefully.

Sarah knew they meant well, that they were trying to rationalize away her natural reaction to what she had just experienced, but the stimuli was just too strong for her human instinct to be overridden like that. It looked like death. It felt like death; he was extinguished in anguish. She had just met him – he had been genuinely friendly towards her, nearly sympathetic – and now he was gone, just like that. No remorse, no tears, no nothing, not even from a semblance of his own son. Their general callousness in regard to the situation was nearly terrifying; it reminded her of something Lord Suhuy had taught her about Amberites, how they culturally tended to look down upon the stuff and people of Shadow as if they were expendable, unimportant, versus the Courts’ more selfishly opportunistic and inclusive worldview. Currently, the whole thing made her feel a little nauseous. Maybe she had been chosen by the right side after all.

“As per usual, you gentlemen leave it to the token Chaosian to clean up your messes for you,” Sarah suddenly heard from the opposite window and automatically glanced over: Jareth was standing there – she couldn’t see his face from her vantage point – but in his right hand there was another crystal; he lightly tossed it to her through the open window. Having no idea what it was (and especially after those knives!), Sarah wasn’t about to catch it, but it landed smartly in her lap anyway. As a peach. Jareth got into the front passenger seat and turned around to face her, kneeling with his arms crossed behind the headrest. His expression was actually amused.

“Remember this? Remember what it does? By virtue of who and what you are, the effect appears to be only temporary, although even a temporary oblivion may help to blunt the trauma. By the time you fully come back around, you should be miles, indeed worlds away from this shadow and its painful associations. Do the prince a favor and buckle in first.”

“Just what are you playing at now?” Corwin tersely interjected.

Jareth’s gaze lazily swung over to his. “For all of your cold, precise, scientific logic, you fail to take into consideration one simple thing,” Jareth lectured a bit irritatedly.

“Oh really, like what?”

“Like this entire situation is too damn much for her weak, limited human brain to handle, that’s what!”

It’s too much, isn’t it? Mandor’s darkly compassionate voice echoed in Sarah’s memory as she picked up the peach and looked at the construct through her extremely limited Logrus-sight, now that she actually knew it for what it was. For one moment she wished that Mandor was here; if there was anything she would choose to forget, Brand’s cruel demise was a tempting candidate. But that avenue of recourse was closed to her now. She had made her bed and now she got to lie in it. She also recognized in this act of Jareth’s a vague, indiscriminately inaccurate reflection of Mandor Sawall’s clean, precise power: under the construct of the fruit, under the crystal, there was a faint, small globe-shape that kept flickering in and out on the very knife-edge of existence. Concentrating, she collapsed the other forms down into the one she knew well, letting the worst of the backlash fall upon her memory of her guardian, and offered Jareth the mock-up of Mandor’s metal sphere, shaking her head no with a sad smile.

The gesture was not received kindly: Jareth’s good humor instantly blackened as he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and stormed a few paces away, arms crossed.

“Oh, come on!” Corwin stood up. “What was that for?” The sooner they could be rid of this temperamental mess of a man, the better.

“I remind her of her blasted mentor!”

Sarah had to suppress a laugh as she got out of the car and walked over to him, unperturbed. It did not escape the notice of either Pattern-ghost that Jareth had unintentionally managed to distract her from the problem at hand, and in a way neither of them could have possibly done.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said when she reached him. “Really, you should take it as a compliment. There are worse fates,” she suddenly glanced over her shoulder at the area where the duel had taken place with a shiver.

“Like having an original who’s probably a spoilt 12-year-old Amberite brat,” he countered glibly, turning to face her with only half-teasing sarcasm. “You do realize that no matter how hard you may try to act otherwise, you’ll be physically and mentally underdeveloped for years? It certainly explained a lot, finding that out about you.”

“Luke,” Corwin groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “one way or another I expect this drama queen to be gone by the time I get back, do you understand me?”

“I certainly do,” Luke smiled grimly, getting out of the car himself, retrieving his sword belt, putting it back on, and walking over to Jareth. “Goblin King, you’ve just won the grand-prize vacation for one!” he announced, sounding every bit as cheesy as a television game show host. “But your choice of destination will be directly determined by your relative success or failure yonder,” he executed a stage-worthy ‘after you’ sweeping arm gesture in the direction of the mysterious valley. “And if somehow you do make it, you’re not king of anything anymore. We’re all on first-name basis here – what do people normally call you? J? Jarey?”

“Jareth.”

“Jarey it is,” Luke smiled insolently, following the former Goblin King downhill into the misty oblivion below.

Sarah just stood there for a quiet moment, looking at the spot where both men had disappeared, listening for them. No sound came back up. Corwin walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I know you’re concerned about that flamboyant nut making it through, but you’re not responsible for what happens to him down there,” he stated gently. “You did everything you could for him – probably more than anyone ever should have – but remember that this crazy gamble was his idea in the first place. He knowingly steps into danger. Probably the best outcome would be if the Pattern changes its mind upon actually sensing him and physically prevents him from even setting foot on the line, in which case he would simply be dragged home by the Logrus eventually. Then again, if by some miracle he could make it, the Pattern might very well fix what’s wrong with his mind, from both the Logrus damage and the psychological isolation he’s been subjected to.”

He stood beside her in silence a few moments longer, then remarked, “It’s past time I got you on down the road, kid; we don’t want your parents worried about where you’ve run off to. Come on,” he starting walking her over to the classic car.

Sarah suddenly gasped. “Oh my gosh, I’d nearly forgotten about Shara!”

“Shara?”

“My… double,” Sarah awkwardly looked away. “Yeah, I’ve got one too, apparently, just of a different order; she’s a shadow like me. Mandor found her to take my place while I was gone in Chaos and I talked Merlin’s computer out of ferrying her home, offering to do it instead, but really just to buy time in order to do this. Would you mind terribly driving her home, too? I have very detailed notes of the route to take that the Ghostwheel left behind for me to use.”

Corwin smirked a bit ruefully as he opened the passenger-side door for her, closing it after she climbed inside, walking around to the other side. “I’m not accustomed to being used as an inter-dimensional taxi service, but you’re really only asking for so little for yourself I should count myself lucky,” he said, opening the other door and taking his sword belt off, carefully depositing it at the foot of the front bench before sliding into the driver’s seat. “And believe you me, that second trip is going to be accompanied by a lengthy in-car lecture on the inherent dangers of taking any more world-jumping trips with magickally inclined strangers in the future – you are not setting a good example for her.” He put the key in the ignition and revved up the engine; turning away from the valley, they started across the lawn at a fairly slow speed. “Although I suppose that means there’s no rush. Was there anywhere else you’d like to visit along the way? Anywhere at all, even fictional? My treat, but just pick one or two – I have to get back to my post sometime this century.”

Once Sarah would have leapt whole-heartedly at a chance like that, but everything that had happened to her over the past year, coupled with the past several hours, had left her feeling sick and disillusioned, jaded and tired.

“Please just take me home,” she said quietly, closing her eyes, not wanting to see anymore.

Corwin glanced over at her in concern but instantly read her mood and simply nodded, turning right. He would return her to Shadow Earth via a very leisurely route with almost imperceptible shadow-changes along the way to minimize the trauma; he could have her back by bedtime. Maybe that crazy sorcerer had had a point back there, he mused: in spite of everything she had been through, everything she had learned in Shadow and the Courts, Sarah was still very much a human child – and she was already being played as an adult pawn in the contest of the Powers. And she knew it. Neither of the ‘official’ ones really gave a shit about anyone, as far has he had ever been able to tell. At least he could protect her from both of them for a little while, he thought, watching her stare out the passenger-side window, overcome by curiosity anyway; he made sure there was a rainbow on that side of the vehicle when they came around the next hill before heading into the forest on a brand-new paved road.