"Hall Of Mirrors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

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.