They were lost to my sight much of the way, as the course I had takenbore me through areas of fairly dense foliage. Abruptly, however, I knewthat I was near when the rain ceased to fall upon me and I no longer feltthe pressures of the wind. It was as if I had entered the still eye of ahurricane.
Cautiously, I continued my advance, winding up on my belly, peeringamid branches at the two old men. Both regarded the invisible cubes of athree-dimensional game, pieces hung above a board on the ground betweenthem, squares of their aerial positions limned faintly in fire. The manseated upon the ground was a hunchback, and he was smiling, and I knew him.It was Dworkin Barimen, my legendary ancestor, filled with ages and wisdomand godlike powers, creator of Amber, the Pattern, the Trumps, and maybereality itself as I understood it. Unfortunately, through much of my dealingwith him in recent times, he'd also been more than a little bit nuts.
Merlin had assured me that he was recovered now, but I wondered.Godlike beings are often noted for some measure of nontraditionalrationality. It just seems to go with the territory. I wouldn't put it pastthe old bugger to be using sanity as a pose while in pursuit of someparadoxical end.
The other man, whose back was to me, reached forward and moved a piecethat seemed to correspond to a pawn. It was a representation of the Chaosbeast known as a Fire Angel. When the move was completed the lightningflashed again and the thunder cracked and my body tingled. Then Dworkinreached out and moved one of his pieces, a Wyvern. Again, the thunder and