“Corwin,” Random said, “that looks like Grayswandir hanging in front of her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I said. “But as you can see, I am wearing my blade.”

“There can’t be another just like it… can there? Do you know what is happening?”

“I am beginning to feel as if I may,” I said. “Whatever, I am powerless to stop it.”

Benedict’s blade suddenly came free and engaged the other, so like my own. In a moment, he was fighting an invisible opponent.

“Give him hell, Benedict!” Random shouted.

“It is no use,” I said. “He is about to be disarmed.”

“How can you know?” Gerard asked.

“Somehow, that is me in there, fighting with him,” I said. “This is the other end of my dream in Tir-na Nog’th. I do not know how he managed it, but this is the price for Dad’s recovering the Jewel.”

“I do not follow you,” he said.

I shook my head.

“I do not pretend to understand how it is being done,” I told him. “But we will not be able to enter until two thing have vanished from that room.”

“What two things?”

“Just watch.”

Benedict’s blade had changed hands, and his gleaming prosthesis shot forward and fixed itself upon some unseen target. The two blades parried one another, locked, pressed, their points moving toward the ceiling. Benedict’s right hand continued to tighten.

Suddenly, the Grayswandir blade was free, and moving past the other. It struck a terrific blow to Benedict’s right arm at the place where the metal portion joined it. Then Benedict turned and the action was blocked to our view for several moments.