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He stands in the center of his father's Pattern.
Last appearance of the Hall of Mirrors has suggested that he should get very far away from both Amber and The Courts, and Ghostwheel has managed to talk him into exploring the limits of Pattern's ability to transport people.
With Pattern of Amber and Logrus of Chaos both still rather cross with him, there's really only one option for that.
So, he stands in the center of his father's Pattern.
Rinaldo-the-pattern-ghost and the glowing disk of Ghostwheel's presence were both there, watching him depart.
He's not exactly clear on how he's planning to return, so he's geared for trouble - all Trumps he could possibly need, and a some blanks, a dozen spells using Cowrin's Pattern as the scaffold (Sigil of Logrus does seem to obey him for simple magic, but he isn't going to rely on it continuing to behave), a good sword from The Courts, Frakir around his wrist, a pocketful of blue crystals, and various supplies.
Unfortunately, taking the spikard unknown distance away from its ties to shadow is probably not safe, so there goes his source of unlimited magic.
"Well, here it goes." he says, and then concentrates on his destination.
Take me somewhere far, where no-one could have gone before
It spits itself on the sword pushing right up to him, until he can feel its hot breath slavering in his face, teeth snapping and snarling.
Off it pushes! And makes to leap right back at him.
Also, two more of it are approaching from either side, these ones slightly smaller.
This is getting out of hand, and he doesn’t even have anywhere to run.
He says a word, and releases a spell that conjures a jet of water that should be enough to push the leaping one off-course.
In the brief moment when the Pattern flashes before his eyes, do the dogs suddenly look different?
They look like a worst nightmare! Not his specifically anymore, just kind of generalized essence of nightmare.
(If he's paying attention, he may also notice that the woman-figure still looks like the old woman, but now with an 'essence of faith' underlayer.)
Okay, so not actually Julia’s dogs, that makes sense.
After he sees this, he holds the image of the Pattern before him, and continues to evade/sword/push the nightmare things.
"Any advice on dealing with nightmares?"
Well, technically he doesn’t have any reason to fear those particular dogs. Julia is in fact alive, and the last fight with it ended pretty quickly.
Now’s not the best time for reflection, so if it doesn’t do something quickly, he’s going to try running.
He's quite good at running. He doesn’t quite have a place to run to, so he tries bending this place to go up to the hole again.
It seems there is a mountain path that will lead him up to a point where he might be able to make it to the rift.
There is also now an entire horde of monsters pursuing him as he runs, and an awful voice delighting in his fear singing into his mind. So sweet the fear, so rich the experience, the terrible chorus goes. Give it to us, let us feast on your memory.
He runs towards the mountains, still shifting the world around to shorten the path as much as he can.
The voice is rather disturbing.
Why, yes it is. And it comes with the bonus feeling of something nebulous nibbling away at the back of his mind, in a hard-to-notice-or-define manner.
He doesn't know what to do about it, though he can try to blast it with raw power, if he can see something with pattern-sight, or blast the nightmares if he can't.
And he's still running, that he has a lot of practice on.
He's getting closer to- that big hole in the sky? Why is that there? A glowy female apparition in front of him urges him onwards. A smaller rip in reality tears itself open on the cliffside above him and she says that one may serve as well.
It's just a little too far for him to make it, but the glowing person is up there now, extending a hand down to him, and the giant pack of doglikes is about to catch up-
An ashen, blasted landscape reveals itself, lit by flickering green flashes. Distantly, cries of battle and the clash of steel. In front of him, soldiers threatening him with swords.
The pain in his hand is really quite intense now, matched by a pounding in his head. He feels like now might be a good time to pass out.
He could probably push thorugh a few more moments of consciousness, but it's not like he's going to manage to hide anywhere safe. He passes out.
A cord on his hand relaxes slightly from the tightened state it's been ever since a nightmare appeared, though not entirely.
When he regains consciousness, he's in a dark cell, lying on a straw mat on a cold stone floor. A bald, pale-skinned man with pointed ears is examining the marked hand.
"Feigning unconsciousness is often an effective strategy for gathering information," the man says. "Though less so when I can feel your pulse so easily."
"That's a good skill to have I guess."
He can't feel anything in his marked hand, but it's pretty localized. Weird.
"I don't think I know where I happen to be, and I don't quite like it."