7.       The Broken Pattern of Kashfa.

 

Fiona did send someone to attend Ambrose in the morning, but just servants, who brought him a rather large breakfast and made up the bed.  Questioning them proved useless, as he did not know their language and they most definitely did not understand him either.  Their tasks complete, they silently disappeared leaving him to his thoughts, which, by that time, the excitement of the last night gone, were not very comforting ones.  So he had started the last evening by staring at the card in his den and ended up in a completely different world.  To be precise, he had been told it was a different world, but he did not really know.  The guest suite was rather nicely appointed, but did not look much different from those of fine hotels he had been accustomed to, except that the windows were blocked by shutters and there was no electricity, just a great number of candles.  He tried the front door and was not overly surprised to find it locked.  He was still unclear, just how exactly he got in here.  Seemed Fiona had produced a card similar to those she had taken away from him, and then somehow stepped into it pulling him along.  It did occur to him that perhaps nothing of the kind had happened, and that he had been simply drugged and was now held for ransom.

 

He found a few leather-bound books but he did not even know the alphabet.  Fortunately, they had pictures too.  Some looked a lot like Trumps, but apparently were not, as they never turned cold, no matter how hard he stared at them.  Others depicted war scenes.  There was a black knight wielding a battle-axe in the midst of demon-like creatures.  There was another knight in a white, scaled armor riding an enormous gray horse after what unmistakably was a Mercedes car chased by a number of huge dogs.  There was a man dressed all in black and silver running his sword through the chest of another large man in a horned helmet.  To his amazement the black knight turned out to be a woman, as there was another picture, this time with the helmet off.  She was being pulled by her long black hair off a high cliff by a man in green with a large precious stone hanging around his neck and an arrow protruding from his throat.  The man in green was red-haired and his features looked vaguely familiar.

 

Eventually he was brought another meal and a bottle of exceptionally good wine.  He slept somewhat better, perhaps due to the wine.  By the end of the second day, which was equally uneventful, there was no doubt that he was in fact a prisoner and therefore was entirely justified in making escape.  The most immediate way would be of course to attack the servants, and with the element of surprise being on his side overpower them and take his chances in finding the way out of the building before someone finds him.  He wished he had a weapon, but there was none, so the wine bottle must suffice.  When the door opened the next morning he was ready.  But instead of the servants, it was a blue-eyed girl in her twenties with bright red shoulder-length hair, dressed in a red gown made of the finest silk.  It was not at all like a formal but quite contemporary evening dress he had seen on Fiona, but reminiscent of a different age, that of dragons and chivalry and fair maidens.  He was almost disappointed to hear generic Californian instead of Gaelic.  Fiona must have been a bit older than he had thought as the girl introduced herself as her daughter, Scarlett.  She brought another thick leather-bound volume, which she handed to him with instructions to read carefully “the Chronicles penned by the elders” or something of that kind, and left abruptly before he could ask a single question, and he had so many.  He sighed with much relief when he opened the book.  It was in English, which meant he was not the first one to be brought to here.  It also subdued his worst fear – that he had been drugged and abducted – no one would go through a setup as elaborate as to print books.  The reading was fascinating indeed!

 

She looked much differently when she returned the next day, wearing black, tight-fitting leather leggings tucked into reddish-brown, calf-high boots and a loose, crimson tunic covered by a silver chain mail, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.  A sword with a jeweled hilt hung on her left hip.

 

“Greetings to you, Ambrose.  Have you started on the book?”

“Yes… started… and finished.”  He had been reading all day and most of the night, hardly able to put the book aside to gobble down something that had been brought to him; he did not even remembered what it was.  “It’s fascinating.  A bit disturbing as well...”

 

“In what ways do you find it disturbing, dear Ambrose?”  Scarlett seated herself in a chair across from him, gazing deeply into the young man's eyes.

 

“I’ve only been to one Shadow for any extent of time, so I don’t really know much about it.  Apparently it isn’t completely... real, but I have to admit that it seems rather real.  However... I’m not sure if I like looking at it that way...  My friends, neighbors... I don’t really like to think of them as ghosts.”

 

“If you’re a creature of Shadow, I could understand why…  But then I think that’s what Mom wants to know, whether or not you’re truly a creature of Shadow.”

 

“Me?”  He shrugged, “Well, I’ve always sought to wrestle with the enigma.  I mean in a more general sort of way, trying to pierce the veil of mystery and get at the… magic so to speak.  I always sensed something was there.”

 

“Yes, you have the way about you.  I’m not surprised you should sense many things.  How came you by the Trumps?”

“The cards were in an antique shop.  They fascinated me and I bought them.  I’m not really certain why that’s such a mystery.”

 

“Why did you go to the shop?”

 

“I’ve been there before.  They have, among other things, a fairly good selection of 18th century weaponry.”

 

“Ah,”  She smiled at the handsome young man.  “You like weapons?”

 

“One of my favorites is in the trunk of my car.”

 

“And what sort of weapon was that?”

 

“It was a saber from the revolutionary war, still in excellent condition.”

 

“Do you know how to use such weapons?”

 

“Of course!  I was the captain of the fencing team at Yale.”

 

“I’ve been tutored extensively in the art by my Uncle Bleys.  Mind you, Mom isn’t happy about it.”

 

He shivered recalling a multitude of rings and iron fingers like vises.  “He’s... hmm… must be an expert.”

 

Scarlett drew her blade and deftly handed it to Ambrose.  “What think you of this, collector of weapons?”

 

Ambrose looked it over briefly and critically, feeling the balance.  “I don’t suppose you’d sell it?”

 

Scarlett laughed taking the sword back and sheathing it.  “It’s mine, even a part of me, always there when I need it, even when I left it elsewhere.  But you can have this…”  She pulled a single card out of a small pouch attached to her belt at her right hip and passed to him.  “Mom’s sent it to you and asked I instruct you how to properly use it.  You must know by now what it does.  Trumps are like Shadow Earth’s telephones... and more.”

 

He took Fiona’s Trump, which was exactly the same as the one in the deck that had been confiscated from him, or perhaps it was the same, unless they had means of mass producing them.  “So... how do I properly use it?  The book was never very explicit, really.”

 

“If one has a strong psyche, one simply focuses on the image and the person pictured senses the attempted contact.  It’s like a dull ache in the base of your neck.  When the contact’s made many things may be made to happen.  One can speak with the person, or battle wills, or transport one or the other to the other’s location.  Do you understand these concepts?  Speak freely if not.”

 

“Sort of gives the old phrase ‘reach out and touch someone’ a new meaning…  I do have a question, however.  What if the image on the card is of a place instead of a person?”

 

She giggled at the strangely appropriate phrase.  “You’re a fast study.  Then you can move to that place by simply concentrating and willing it to be real.”

“Ahh, I see now.”

 

“So, if you chose to battle.  What determines the winner in a battle of wills using Trumps?”

 

“I suppose it’s like anything. Skill, experience, how tired the participants are...”

 

“Yes, but mental energy – an ability called psyche – is a major factor.  Somehow I sense psyche beyond that found on Shadow Earth in you.”  She was watching him closely wondering if he knew or was hiding something.  “And so does Mom, and she thinks you’re not of Shadow.”

 

“I don’t know.  Apparently no one else does either…  Does Dworkin have a hairbrush?”

 

She could not help laughing, “It’s rumored not...but you heard that rumor not from me.”

 

“Well, what about hmm... some other personal effect?  Something with a part of him... an old bandage perhaps… or a shirt?”

 

She looked confused now.  “Does Dworkin have such, you ask?”

 

“Yes, it’s something we do on Earth to determine paternity or ancestry.  Called a DNA test.”

 

“I know not the answer to this question.   In Amber one’s ancestry is determined by one’s ability to walk the Pattern, but paternity isn’t always clear.  My true father is unknown to me for instance.  As for your heritage…  If you’re up to it, we shall depart immediately on a quest that may help to clarify it.  Do you wish to join me on a journey to another land?”

 

“Sure!  That’d be great!”

 

Scarlett smiled broadly, flashing her perfect, ivory white teeth at him and brushed back her shoulder-length flaming hair.  “I thought you might agree to something that’d get you out of this stuffy room.  But first let us retrieve your treasured saber, as you require a weapon.  Tell me, where will your vehicle be on Shadow Earth?”

 

“The hospital’s garage, I suppose.”

 

“Ahh… that makes things much easier.  Uncle Brand made some Trumps so we could easily get to the hospital.”  She reached into her pouch again, but this time she pulled out not a card, but a piece of paper while her other hand took a firm hold of his.

 

“Aren’t they supposed to be cards?”

 

They were standing in a small room dimly lit by twilight descending through a cleft in window drapes.  There was a hospital bed surrounded by much electronic equipment, a round table in the corner, and a few chairs.  She was lying on her side, a half smile on her face, her breath steady and her long lashes quivering now and then.  Her dream must have been a happy one.  Badly burned?  Her hands were bandaged, but otherwise there was no trace on her thin but still elegant arms or the mother of pearl complexion face framed by long smoldering locks.  His eyes moist and his heart beating fast, Ambrose made a step toward the bed, but Scarlett yanked him back.  “Ele needs all the rest she can get.  There’ll be another time.”  Her grip felt almost as strong as Bleys’ had been as she dragged him out of Room 561.  

 

Many a head turned at the bewildering clank of Scarlett’s sword and armor as they navigated the quite populated at this hour hospital halls.  Under some other circumstances Ambrose would have found this attention rather embarrassing, but his mind was filled with too many memories and too many questions. 

 

Like they go through walls or something…  “What if someone was in the room when we…ugh… appeared?”

 

“Oh, we have the means to… hmm… make them forget.  Though at times we just let them find their own explanations.”

 

“So the Trumps don’t have to always be cards?”

 

“Most of them are – the older one ones made by Dworkin, and the newer ones drawn by Merlin.  There’re other people endowed with this talent of making Trumps, they’re called Trump Artists and employed by the Court.  Yet Uncle Brand, Ele’s father, always made his own.”

 

“What about you?  Or Ele?”

 

“Not me… though Mom says it might come… in time.  As for Ele…  I’ve seen her doing it once.  But she’s…hmm… different.”  Scarlett recalled her talk with her mother and suppressed a shiver.

 

There was no trace of the red Ferrari in the parking garage.  “They must’ve impounded it,” he sighed and frowned a little at the thought.  “I hope they didn’t scratch it.  But it was only two days…”

 

Scarlett giggled.  “Two days in Amber, yes.  But the time doesn’t flow the same everywhere.  Here in your home Shadow almost a week has passed while you were in Amber.”

 

Now, perhaps for the first time, the sheer weight of the whole thing had finally come upon him and he stooped, completely overwhelmed.  There she was, standing right next to him and, take away her medieval weaponry and issue instead a blue jeans and a halter top, no different from any pretty young girl – and he knew many.  And her mother and Elektra, and even Bleys – all of them looked like just people, which invited to treat them as such.  But they were not just people.  They were aliens… or gods moving between the worlds through such barriers that the science of those worlds could not even imagine far less uncover, moving through time itself…  He said nothing, just asked her to wait in the garage while he was making inquiries, which she did not mind – there were enough puzzled looks already – and within a few minutes they were in the back of a cab riding toward the impound lot.

 

“Scarlett, how old is your mother?” he asked suddenly.

 

She was silent for a long while, just her lips moving as if trying to calculate something.  “I… I really don’t know,” she said finally.  “She did much studies under Dworkin when she was my age, and that must’ve been a very long time ago.  When I was a little girl she would often tell me bedtime stories.  Many were of Shadow Earth… of a mighty empire called Byzantium, and of boundless steppes coming alive with Mongolian riders and of great cities on fire…  I know from your history that it was centuries ago, but she could’ve been talking of another Earth.  There’s an infinity of them in Shadow, as you’ve read in the book…”

 

The dusk already turned to dark, and the impounding lot was locked up and looked lifeless. 

 

He sighed helplessly.  One of Amber must be watchful of one’s appointments indeed.  They had left in an early morning.  “Perhaps we’ll have to come back tomorrow…”

 

She glanced at the locked gate.  “Stand back!”  She drew her sword and parted the lock with a brief swipe.

 

“Wait!  This isn’t how one does this!  We must pay them…”

 

Scarlett giggled.  “No need to bother.  Just lead me to your vehicle.”

 

The red Ferrari was easy to find, but nothing happened when Ambrose pulled a little device from his pocket and pushed the button.  “I knew I needed to replace the battery!”  He frowned.

 

“Look out!”  They hardly had time to turn around at the sound of deep furious growls behind them before three German Shepherds charged.  Scarlett pushed Ambrose behind her, the sword flashing from her side as if it were alive... then she looked stunned, as the huge beasts were already lying dead as if by magic.

 

“Ambrose?  You did that?”

 

“I... don’t know”

 

“You did!  I know you did!  I'm sure you did...  I think you did...  I felt powerful psyche...it must’ve been you!

 

“I did?  How, though...?”

“We’ll talk of it later!  Open the vehicle and get your weapon!”

 

“The remote’s doesn’t work...”

 

“Force it with your hands then!”

 

“Force it?  Even if I could... it’s ... my Ferrari...”

 

Scarlett waved her saber about, looking warily for more trouble.  “Yes!  Break in!  This traveling vessel is of no use to you where we’ll be traveling to!”

 

“This... this isn’t how things are done here...”

 

Suddenly two more dogs came out of nowhere and were upon then in a flash, but Scarlett’s blade ended their threat swiftly.  “Open the vehicle or I will!!”

“I can’t!  The remote’s down!”

 

Scarlett smashed her slender feminine wrist into the back of the car ripping through trunk door.

 

Ambrose winced, helplessly watching tens of thousands of dollars being burned.

“Get your weapon!  We must leave.  I sense more trouble on the way!”

 

He took the saber out, a fairly horrified expression on his face turning into a total terror as she grabbed him by his jacket collar, whipped out a trump, and stared at it intently...  Instantly they were in her room in the Castle, the morning sun shining through a large opened window. 

 

Ambrose shook his spinning head to clear it.  “Err…  How did you punch through the Ferrari like that?”

 

Scarlett grinned thinly putting the Trump away.  “I’m not as weak as are those of Shadow.  May I see your weapon?”

 

He handed it to her, still in its scabbard.  She drew the blade out, swished it a few times and slid it back into the scabbard handing it back to Ambrose.  “Not worth the journey... or your money.”

 

“It’s one of the few usable antique sabers... Valued at thirty thousand...”

 

“Still a waste, but never mind.”  She smiled.  “Well, you’ve learned something of Amber...and Amber of you this day.  But we must depart at once, for our journey toward a broken Pattern is a tedious one.

 

“Right now?  After all that?”

 

“Yes, belt your saber and let us get on with it.”

 

She led Ambrose along a long hall decorated by numerous paintings, mostly of the same people he had already seen in the books and on the Trumps, though in here they were posing in-groups as well, and down the wide, balustraded staircase of white marble.  They walked out into the colorfully decorated courtyard, which was surrounded by green and golden spires and sweeping terraces, and filled with decks of flowers, golden and red.  They continued through the Great Arch, which marked the eastern entrance of the Castle and down the steep, narrow steps that descended Mount Kolvir.  Scarlett giggled happily for it was a wonderful day to begin a new adventure.  Ambrose, with his eyes wide opened, beheld a wondrous land.  Below the Castle Amber, under the deep blue sky and large golden sun, there was a vista filled with a high mountain range splashed in green, mauve, purple, gold, and indigo.  Beyond it he could see a large, thick forest, deep rich green and tinged with gold – the Forest of Arden, and a surrounding royal blue, almost purple, sea with the enormous, gray tower that was the Lighthouse of Cabra in its mist.

 

A young squire holding the reigns to two saddled mounts – one, a mare, of the blackest of black, the other, a stallion, of chestnut brown with a white diamond between his eyes – was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Ambrose, can you ride?  Horses I mean.”

 

“Yes. I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I’m passable.”

 

“The black will be your mount.  Mother named her Fury.  I ride Flame!  Mount up!”

 

She climbed quickly atop the chestnut-colored horse she had called Flame, while Ambrose mounted the black, and they rode side by side towards the Forest of Arden.  The pace was kept a leisurely one, but steady and they closed on it quickly.

 

“So what think you of the One True World, Ambrose, now that you’ve spent a bit of time in it, outside the confines of your quarters in the Castle?”

 

“I’m not really certain.  It isn’t what I’d expect...”

 

“It’s a beautiful world, is it not?”

 

“Yes, I suppose I expected crystal spires reaching into the clouds and mermaids frolicking in the waters…”

 

Scarlett giggled.  “Mermaids…” She chattered somewhat, as young girls sometimes do, while they rode along a well-worn path in the deeply shaded forest, the rich, golden sunlight sparkling like fiery jewels through the thick canopy of trees above.

 

“Do you miss your home on Shadow Earth, Ambrose?”

 

“Not yet.  I’ve been away far longer.”

 

“Indeed, to where have you journeyed?”

 

“Other places than Connecticut.  I spent a winter sailing in the Caribbean one time.  Of course, the usual summers in Europe, that sort of things.”

 

“Caribbean... I’ve heard of it, a tropical place.  Many of the Elders have spent much time on Shadow Earth.  Me, except for a recent adventure with a cousin of mine, I’m spending my time at the Court.  This is my first approved mission away from Amber.  I crave adventure, and I thank you for providing this excuse.”

 

“I sorta figured you haven’t spent a great deal of time on Earth.  Travel can be enlightening, certainly.”

 

She grew silent after several hours of steady riding, now thinking hard on how things must be.  The mounts grew visibly nervous, for though both had been through Hellrides before, it is never an easy thing for an animal to do, not understanding only sensing that what was is not and what is, is slowly changing.  For a while, Scarlett slowed the pace to give the steeds a chance to adapt.  She began humming slightly as the leaves around them grew grayish green, and the tree bark greenish black, in the ever-thinning forest.  They passed through an aquamarine-colored stream, the water strangely warm.   Soon there were only occasional small trees in grassy meadows, and then they entered treeless plains, so boring compared to the One True World that she was struck hard with homesickness.  The air was growing frigid and the ground was turning white with snow.  Icy mountains suddenly rose out of the sparkling landscape, not too far distant.

 

She pulled out a cloak from the saddlebag and clutched it about her.  “We’re almost to the caverns of Kashfa, our destination.  How are you doing?  Are you warm enough?”

 

“It’s a bit like a winter in Connecticut here, I must admit… but fortunately I’ve brought my gloves.”  He zipped up his jacket and put on his driving gloves.

.

“I hate this cold.  It’s so unlike home, even Tatuine wasn’t this strange.  Let’s hurry the horses.  I need no further shift Shadow.”

 

Scarlett sighed in relief when they finally came to a huge cavernous opening, warm air blowing outward, where oil soaked torches stood ready at the entrance.  She lighted one of them and passed it to Ambrose, then lighted another for herself.  They continued onward for another hour before the tunnel widened and another supply of ready torches was found, and a pile of fresh grasses, perhaps a form of hey, nearby.

 

She dismounted.  “We shall spend the night here.  If I’m right, a cavern with the broken Pattern will be found but an hour further in.  I want to make sure we’re well rested before proceeding further in case there’s trouble, and to give you the best chance you can have.  Tomorrow you shall walk the Pattern and then you’ll be able to traverse Shadow on your own.”  She paused.  “That is if you survive…”

 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  His smile was somewhat forced.

 

She smiled back broadly.  “I do like your confidence.  It’s the only attitude to take in such a situation.  You’re a brave young man!”

 

“That’s all part of grand adventures is it not?”

 

“Yes, a grand adventure.  But, mother, I think, is being very cautious.  Even mortals can survive a broken Pattern.  Certain death for them with the Primal Pattern of Amber or any of the true reflections.”

 

“There is a difference?”

 

“Yes. A broken pattern is imperfect, so Shadows accessed via it are always blemished; still it’ll suffice for now.  A starting tool if you will.  Feed the horses, build a campfire, prepare a meal.  There’s a warm pool just a few meters to that side.  I’m in need of a bath!” 

 

By the pool she wedged her torch between the rocks, undressed and stepped into the water, her sword always nearby.  She washed her clothes first, then herself, the torchlight dancing over her young, athletic frame.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

She looked up abruptly and sunk lower into the pool covering her breasts with her arms.  “I thought you knew not to come here!  Please let me bathe in peace!”

 

“There’s a small matter of the division of camp chores…”

 

“Division of chores?  I’m Lady Fiona’s daughter, Royal Princess of Amber!  Chores are not for such as I, besides…”  She never finished the sentence.  “Look, go get the chores started, and I’ll help when I’m done.”

 

She watched him walking back to the main chamber to start the fire, and resumed washing herself, looking around nervously.  Then she climbed out of the pool and dried herself with her cloak.  She returned to the main cavern wearing just the cloak, carrying her saber and clothes; she spread them on rocks close to fire he had started, her flesh flashing briefly as she did so.  “Your turn to get cleaned up.  I’ll finish preparing the food.”

 

Her eyes followed Ambrose heading for the pool while mixing some pouches and water into a handy pot that was in the cavern already.  Then, after a moments hesitation, she sneaked over to watch him removing his jacket and then taking off his pants, folding carefully and setting them on top of the jacket.  Her eyes grew big while the handsome young man was unbuttoning his shirt, setting it down in the pile, then sticking his toe in the water.  She covered her mouth suppressing a gasp – she had not seen many men in her young life – when he removed his underpants and set them aside, and stepped into the pool still not noticing being watched.  He turned around looking for the source of the sound, but she quickly withdrew into the shadows, back to the pot, just in time to stop the food from burning.  Her cheeks still blushing, she stirred the pot and waited for her companion’s return, which was not a long wait at all.

 

He seated himself near the fire cross-legged.  “How’s the dinner coming?”

 

“Just finished and I bet you’re famished.”

 

She served the food, a stew of sorts, and they ate in silence, both with thoughts on their minds and then rolled out their blankets, preparing for sleep.

 

“Do you fear the morrow, Ambrose?”  Scarlett smiled at the young man.

 

“Not really.  Things usually work out for the best.  I’m sure this will, too,” he said without much sincerity.

 

“I’m not yet sleepy.  How about a little exercise, other than sitting all day on a horse?”

 

“Like?”

 

“Well, I though I’d see if you knew how to use that saber of yours.”

 

“I was a captain of the fencing team at Yale, but I haven’t fenced in a while.”

 

“Indeed!  Then take care not to draw my blood… and I’ll do the same with yours.”

 

He blinked watching her picking up her sword, still dressed in her cloak, skin peaking through as she moved.

 

“With live steel as they say?”

 

“Yes, it does little good to practice with a weapon that you don’t plan to use.”

 

“That’s… not quite what I’m used to.  I suppose it shouldn’t be much of an issue though, really.”

 

“Aahh... I see…”  She could not help smirking, recalling something that had not been at all funny then, but seemed so now.  “Perhaps another type of sword would be more to your liking?”  Her smile became rather

sultry when she moved closer tossing her blade back to where the empty scabbard lied.  “You were naughty to spy on me while I bathed, you know.”

 

“Oh?  Not naughty enough to have stopped you from doing the same.”

 

She blushed deeply.  “You knew?”

 

“I do now.”  He chuckled.

 

Silently she took the young man in her arms and kissed him deeply.  He returned the kiss, holding her firmly against him, her cloak open and her breasts brushing his chest.

 

“I bet, you’ve had many women in your life, Ambrose.

 

“Some, only a few of any note.”

 

The white gazebo in the perfect moonlight... gray eyes stabbing as if points of daggers…  He struggled to expel the image from his mind as his hand found her breast, kneading it slightly.  Scarlett blushed again, and sighed deeply, feeling the hand at her bosom.  Then she pushed the handsome young man onto his back on the blanket.  They continued the age-old dance of love for a good while until she felt him holding his breath and tightening his muscles.  She gasped three times, her own body quivering in pleasure.  She kissed him once more before rolling slowly off of him.  “Let’s get some sleep, it’ll do us good.”

 

She woke him up six hours later with a gentle prod of her booted foot.  “It’s time!  Get dressed.  A new day greets us and, whatever happens, this’ll be a day that shall be long remembered.”

 

Ambrose yawned and stretched, reaching a little groggily for his clothes; he put on his shirt, then his shorts, then pants, then he actually buttoned the shirt, slipped his jacket on, and finally put on his socks and shoes.  “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”

 

“Coffee?   Ohh, a Shadow Earth drink.  No, I’m sorry...”  Elektra of course would have just pulled some from Shadow, but Scarlett was not sure how it was done, so she just gave him a well-returned hug.  “The walk to the cavern will wake you up.”

 

They left the horses fettered where they were, and she led him further into the caverns – mirror images of the caverns below Mount Kolvir.  Soon they came to a large room with a dimly glowing incomplete, inexact copy of the Grand Pattern on Amber.  They both could not help shivering.

 

“You sure you’re up to this, Ambrose?”

 

“I think so, yes.”  Something occurred to him and seemed to strangely fit the surroundings.  “Should I wear your colors while I make the attempt?”

 

Her blue eyes filled with delight and encouragement, “Yes, do so… and wear my colors well.”  She took off her glove and tied it to the hilt of his saber.  Then she kissed his forehead holding his head in her hands and looking deeply into his eyes.

 

“Ambrose, to walk a broken Pattern is something I haven’t done.  Nor will I now.  Listen to my instructions carefully.  You must walk the interstices between the half-formed lines.  Step first into the broken Pattern at the closest break in the lines, then proceed along the spaces until reaching the center.  If you succeed in reaching the center, think of your chambers in Amber, and there you’ll find yourself, and I’ll return as quickly as I may with the mounts to congratulate you.”  There was a long pause before she continued in somewhat trembling voice. “ If not... well... then farewell.”  She kissed him again and stepped back.

 

He walked to the closest break, took a deep breath, shrugged, and headed through it beginning to move toward the center, a little at a time.

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