The mirror frames were of every shape imaginable. I walked very slowly, observing the contents of each one. I told Luke to do the same. For several paces, the mirrors seemed simply to be giving back what was before them. Then Luke stiffened and halted, head turning to the left.
"Mom!" he said explosively.
The reflection of an attractive red-haired woman occupied a mirror framed in green-tinged copper in the shape of an Ouroboros serpent.
She smiled.
"So glad you did the right thing, taking the throne," she said.
"You really mean that?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied.
"Thought you might be mad. Thought you wanted it," he said.
"I did once, but those damned Kashfans never appreciated me. I've got the Keep now, though, and I feel like doing a few years' research here--and it's full of sentimental values as well. So as long as Kashfa stays in the family, I wanted you to know I was pleased."
"Why--uh--glad to hear that, Mom. Very glad. I'll hang onto it."
"Do," she said, and vanished.
He turned to me, a small ironic smile flickering across his lips.
"That's one of the rare times in my life when she's approved of something I've done," he said. "Doubtless for all the wrong reasons, but still... How real are these things? What exactly did we see? Was that a conscious communication on her part? Was--"
"They're real," I said. "I don't know how or why or what part of the other is actually present. They may be stylized, surreal, may even suck you in. But in some way they're really real. That's all I know. Holy cow!"
From the huge gold-framed mirror, ahead and to my right, the grim visage of my father Oberon peered forth. I advanced a pace.
"Corwin," he said. "You were my chosen, but you always had a way of disappointing me."
"That's the breaks," I said.
"True. And one should not speak of you as a child after all these years. You've made your choices. Of some I have been proud. You have been valiant."
"Why, thank you--sir."
"I bid you do something immediately."
"What?"
"Draw your dagger and stab Luke."
I stared.
"No," I said.
"Corwin," Luke said. "It could be something like your proving you're not a Pattern ghost."
"But I don't give a damn whether you're a Pattern ghost," I said. "It's nothing to me."
"Not that," Oberon interjected. "This is of a different order."
"What, then?" I asked.
"Easier to show than to tell," Oberon replied.
Luke shrugged.
"So nick my arm," he said. "Big deal."
"All right. Let's see how the show beats the tell."
I drew a stiletto from my boot sheath. He pulled back his sleeve and extended his arm. I stabbed lightly.
My blade passed through his arm as if the limb were made of smoke.
"Shit," Luke said. "It's contagious."
"No," Oberon responded. "It is a thing of very special scope."
"That is to say?" Luke asked.
"Would you draw your sword, please?"
Luke nodded and drew a familiar-looking golden blade. It emitted a high keening sound, causing all of the candle flames in the vicinity to flicker. Then I knew it for what it was--my brother Brand's blade, Werewindle.
"Haven't seen that in a long while," I said, as the keening continued.
"Luke, would you cut Corwin with your blade, please?"
Luke raised his eyes, met my gaze. I nodded. He moved the blade, scored my arm with its point. I bled.
"Corwin--If you would...?" Oberon said.
I drew Grayswandir and it, too, ventured into fighting song--as I had only heard it do on great battlefields in the past. The two tones joined together into a devastating duet.
"Cut Luke."
Luke nodded and I sliced the back of his hand with Grayswandir. An incision line occurred, reddening immediately. The sounds from our blades rose and fell. I sheathed Grayswandir to shut her up. Luke did the same with Werewindle.
"There's a lesson there somewhere," Luke said. "Damned If I can see what it is, though."
"They're brother and sister weapons, you know, with a certain magic in common. In fact, they've a powerful secret in common," Oberon said. "Tell him, Corwin."
"It's a dangerous secret, sir."