“Uh… Mind telling me what’s going on?” I inquired.

“Damn you, Merlin!” he snarled, and I recognized the voice.

I moved in a slow arc, stepping over the fallen ones. Coral stayed near to my side, moving in a similar fashion. He turned his head to follow our progress, and when the light finally fell upon his face, I saw that Jurt was glaring at me out of his one good eye — a patch covered the other — and I saw, too, that about half of his hair was missing, the exposed scalp covered with welts or scars, his half-regrown ear-stub plainly visible. From this side I could also see that a bandana suitable for covering most of this damage had slipped down around his neck. Blood was dripping from his left hand, and I suddenly realized that his little finger was missing.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“One of the zombies hit my hand with his dagger as he fell,” he said, “when you expelled the spirits that animated them.”

My spell — to evict a possessing spirit… They had been within range of it…

“Coral,” I asked, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But I don’t understand…”

“Later,” I told her.

I did not ask him about, his head, as I recalled my struggle with the one-eyed werewolf in the wood to the east of Amber — the beast whose head I had forced into the campfire. I had suspected for some time that it had been Jurt in a shape-shifted form, even before Mandor had offered sufficient information to confirm it.

“Jurt,” I began, “I have been the occasion of many of your ills, but you must realize that you brought them on yourself. If you would not attack me, I would have no need to defend myself — ”

There came a clicking, grinding sound. It took me several seconds to realize that it was a gnashing of teeth. “My adoption by your father meant nothing to me,” I said, “beyond the fact that he honored me by it. I was not even aware until recently that it had occurred.”