Current Log

Months Of The Year:
Horseman (Winter Solstice 1 Horseman)
Cat
Soothsayer
Knight (Vernal Equinox 8 Knight)
Archer
Coins
Tower (Summer Solstice 15 Tower)
Scales
Harp
Boatman (Autumnal Equinox 22 Boatman)
Huntress
Dragon
Warrior

With some help from Folly and particularly from Martin, who's clearly not a newcomer at guiding ships back to Amber, Fletcher's ship arrives at Amber. They arrive in the harbor and the Harbormaster comes out to meet them. He's extremely deferential to Martin and Folly, and a bit less so to Fletcher (not rude, just not as deferential as he is to His Highness Prince Martin).

If he's paying attention Fletcher will notice that while the bigwigs are deferential to Martin, the sailors and dock workers are particularly friendly to Folly, who is well-known and apparently popular among them.

The Harbormaster reports that Caine is in residence and serving as Regent. Folly, who knows Martin well, can tell he's not pleased, but he arranges for transport up to the Castle anyway. They also arrange to unload Martin's goods and have them brought up to the Castle and places for Fletcher's men to stay.

As they came into port, Fletcher could clearly see the Castle with his spyglass. It's bigger than he remembers but one of the older towers has suffered some serious damage and is under repairs.

[I am ready. Please clarify one point though (this need not hold us up): did Fletcher observe Folly using the Pattern?]

[That's a question for Karen A to answer. Quite possibly yes but I don't want to say either way for her. I don't think she has the reflexive habit of using it the way Martin does and Fletcher probably does too. On the other hand, Martin may be using the journey to teach her Shadow transitions, which would be pretty obvious.]

[I think the real question you're asking is whether Fletcher can figure out that Folly is Family -- which will become obvious when she gives him that family tree she promised him. She appears on it as Julian's great-granddaughter. She doesn't include her own paternity. As for pattern-use, she lets Martin do most of the heavy lifting of Shadow-shifting, but she did spend some of the trip learning from him about it.

[[And now I've got a question of my own: Are Soren and Haven still with them, or are we assuming that they (and Random's stuff) got trumped to Xanadu at some point during the journey?]

Fletcher remains very observant of the feel of Shadow and the presence (or lack) of Pattern. He ponders whether perhaps Amber is now somewhere "between" the two new Patterns. Along the way he'll have used the Pattern to adjust his clothes into something a bit more snazzily formal for arrival in Amber, perhaps a neatly pressed suit and hat similar to shadow Earth upscale city/outdoor wear circa 1910.

Martin sighs and puts away his rubber-soled tennis shoes in favor of leather boots.

Upon arrival in Amber Fletcher gladly defers to Martin, stepping in only to sort out details of his ship and crew. He takes in the changed city, occasionally asking about minor points of interest. In what seems like no time at all, he finds himself arriving home at the old family rock pile with his newfound cousins.

On the way up to the Castle, Martin points out several items of interest, including a very odd public monument to the Sundering. "Ossian designed it," he says, as if that should explain everything.

Folly nods in cheerful agreement.

They're ushered toward Caine's office as soon as they arrive. Folly pulls Martin aside for a brief moment of whispered conversation, then politely excuses herself, leaving the two men to their appointment with their uncle the Regent.

Fletcher greets Caine warmly. "Martin here tells me you're Regent now. Congratulations are in order. But then Martin's told me a great many things. If you can vouch for him that will do for now. I've brought news of the moonriders."

Fletcher looks for signs that this really is Caine.

Caine moves to offer Fletcher a friendly, avuncular clasp. "Fletcher. I had no idea you were still alive after all these years out of contact. I'm surprised Dad hadn't put a monument up for you next to Corwin's." He turns to Martin. "Have you told Ben about this?"

Martin gives a single shake of his head in the negative. "I thought I'd wait until I talked to you. Someone should do that, though. If you'll excuse me, I'll take care of it now." Looking at Fletcher, he adds, "No offense, cousin."

Fletcher nods to Martin. "Of course." Turning his attention back to Caine, Fletcher continues. "Well, there's out of contact and then there's out of contact. I'd always assumed that if something seriously bad came up Grandad would use the trumps to call me home." He pauses for a moment and his features take on a more pained expression. "It's true then, about Grandad?"

Martin, having made his excuses, departs.

Caine nods. "Father has been dead for months or years, depending on where you were when it happened. We attended his funeral in Chaos, where he returned to the living void. While I have my own opinions on the question of whether some part of him lives on, those sorts of questions have not been welcome in Amber for some time.

"The city, as I am sure you noted, is diminished, but still spectacular. I have no doubt that one day, sheperds will graze sheep on the hillock covering the ruins of the clothsellers grand guildhall, if the bay doesn't silt up over it.

"Until we abandon it, this city is protected and those who leave it will do so in an orderly fashion, as the King has decreed."

Caine stops for a second, leaning against the window frame, bathed in the multi-colored glow from the stained glass window. "Enough about us. What brings you here, besides the King's firstborn?"

Glad to change the topic however briefly, Fletcher answers. "I was sought. Far out in what I think of as the far sideshadows, but that can wait. The ones who sought me and chased me through shadow were Moonriders. I know I wasn't here when they attacked Amber, but you can be sure I was about related crown business at the time and I know them when I see them. They've turned their eyes toward Amber again, and this time they're saying that Bleys tried to arrange some unpleasantness for their Marshall and he failed. They also mentioned something about, a "Stealer of Brothers" trying to pluck a "Silver Rose" and failing. The allegory is, as always, ominous, and the fact that they chased me across shadows just to ask me to deliver the message to Amber doesn't exactly make me optimistic. I wrote down the details, but that's the gist of it."

"What a pleasant missive to hear. Doubtless you shall entertain the King with this tale as well. The Marshall was at Father's funeral. He caused no offense there, but met with Prince Bleys and Sir Brennan along the journey back, and it did not go well."

Caine listens quietly, looking at a paper in front of him. At particularly interesting parts, Caine makes short notes in the margins. He turns back to Fletcher. "Speaking of offense at the funeral, do you know who Dara is?"

"Based on the family tree Lady Folly was kind enough to sketch out, I believe you mean my niece rather than my... illegitimate half-sister. I've never actually been introduced. I take it from your expression she's a problem?"

"Grand-niece, if my sources are correct. She attempted to kidnap her son and kill a fair number of people at Random's coronation. Look out for her. She's the bad news in the family these days."

Caine pauses. "I can't decide if you'll find the new order more accommodating than the old, but it's not the same. You saw the city, you can tell."

"I've seen Amber, but I haven't seen Xanadu yet or Paris for that matter. You're right that things here feel different. However the surface order may have changed, I can feel that on some level the Inspiration of True Order remains, and each of us are still its symbols. I'm told people are fleeing Amber, but it is still home. I would still do all I can to help. There's a lot I don't know, and probably introductions to be made. I don't even know where the moonriders intend to hit, but wherever they do we show them that the light of Order has not gone out. Sadly my own status seems to be seen as more apocryphal than legendary. That much, at least, I would change. You've done well. Any advice on navigating the new order?"

"Materially changed, Fletcher," replies Caine. "In the bottom of that dusty crate of books we will find a starfruit, a rare foodstuff that came in by boat this week. Doubtless some worker who was moving the crate dropped it from his lunch.

"I'm absolutely certain it is there, even though I've never seen inside that box."

Fletcher feels the telltale signs of pattern manipulation. He knows what Caine is about.

Caine opens the box and reaches in blindly. He pulls out the fruit, a star-shaped, juicy thing, and takes a bite. "Want some?", the Regent asks.

Fletcher declines politely.

"The most important thing to know is that Xanadu is the new Amber and Random is the new King, better in some ways than Father, but worse in others. Make no mistakes about the order of Order, Fletcher. While some things are the same, you will find much different, including the Princes, old and new."

"I understand that order need not be stasis. These differences...who am I likely to meet in the near future? Are others in residence here? Who is likely to be interested in the news about the moonriders, other than the new King? I assume some of the family are still tasked with the defense of Am...the realm."

"Few are in residence here, for reasons of policy and to encourage the migration to Xanadu. Julian keeps Arden, I ward Amber, Benedict and Corwin have their places, Llewella has just installed her daughter in Rebma, and very few of us do not serve, in some way, at the King's pleasure." Caine pauses.

"Some more satisfactorily than others, of course. The Moonriders are a threat, so are many others, including Dara, including Huon. We seem to be more troubled by relatives than we do by neighbors, but I'd hate to see the Moonriders working with our other foes."

Caine puts the fruit down and crosses his arms. "We don't really have the luxury of having idle princes these days. My advice to you is that if you wish to stay in the realm, expect to be put to work, somehow. If that does not meet with your expectations and desires, then you should head back out into shadow for a few more centuries."

"For the last few years I've been waiting to be put to work, waiting for a summons that I now know will never come. With what I know now I can't just turn my back on my responsibilities as a knight. You know I had my reasons for leaving. That was another time and my time away has been...educational. I suppose my first order of business should be to meet the new King. Then again, I've only just arrived here, and I would like to take a closer look around before taking off. I'd at least like to see the damage to the Pattern with my own eyes."

Caine nods. "Seventh opening on the left. Don't get lost. Come back here afterwards and I'll trump you to Xanadu. Or you can go back with his highness the Prince."

Fletchers nods. "Thank you, your highness." His tone runs the gamut from respect to congratulations to mourning.

A short while later finds Fletcher shining a pair of lanterns around the Pattern room deep beneath the castle. He sets one by the door and carries the other around the circumference of the room, inspecting the damage. Completing his physical inspection, he sets his lantern down and sits near the edge of the Pattern. He recalls that when walking the Pattern, one moves forward but leaves a glowing trail of what has passed. He summons the Pattern within him to the front of his consciousness, savoring its Reality and feeling its ebb and flow on the metaphysical tide of shadows. Fletcher extends it, tracing the broken line and probing the cracked earth before him seeking not to control or alter but to understand the reality of this place. He spends a watch doing so in a quest to answer his questions: Is this truly Amber, somehow broken and humbled? Is this shadow now adrift, or is it being acted upon by the unbroken Patterns in Xanadu, Paris, Rebma, or even the Primal Order Martin mentioned? Does any trace linger of Amber's connection to the Faella-Bionin? Or any hint of Oberon whose hand last touched the living Pattern?

When finished Fletcher takes a sip from his flask, pours the rest of his flask out onto the cracks in the Pattern, and carries whatever answers he may have found up the long climb toward the castle's more comfortable regions and a much bigger drink.

Seeing the future has always been a gift of the family of Oberon, and the use of tools like cards and Tir Na'Ogth merely aid in the concentration and focus. On the other hand, self-delusion has also always been a gift of the family. The shadows lie well for those who fly the Unicorn banner.

Despite this, and despite knowing this, Fletcher is convinced. This is what was and is no longer real, not as Fletcher knew it and its reality so long ago. Fletcher has no doubt that he is where he thinks he is, and it is no longer the source of shadows, or even the first shadow, as Martin implied, but one of many, notable for history and not much else.

But it is hard to be in this place, under this mountain with the castle nestled in her arms and think that Oberon and Amber are truly gone. Amber, of which all other places are but shadow, may have been brought low--many places are, somewhere in shadow. Nevertheless, it is here and is not totally destroyed, so how could Oberon the King, the living embodiment of Amber be totally gone?

There is no sign of him, but he must exist somewhere outside of Prince Martin's eyes.

Arriving in the above-ground portions of the castle, Fletcher goes in search of liquor. With the aid of a member of the castle staff, he finds a suitable selection. He pours himself a tumbler of something appropriately brown, quickly downs it, and contemplates his next move. He needs to find Martin and/or Folly to see if they need a ship-ride to Xanadu or if he can hitch a trump ride with them. Then he needs to see Caine, to offer his farewell, offer Caine the use of his ship in the migration to Xanadu, and quite possibly bum a trump-ride if Martin isn't going soon.

Het sets his glass down, and sets off at a determined pace.

Then he quickly returns to the liquor, refills his flask, and sets off again.

Fletcher sits in the red ante-room, named for the color of the decor. As he sits contemplating his drink, Caine walks in.

"Well?", his father's brother asks, abruptly, "convinced?"

Fletcher rises. "Yeah. I'm convinced. I'd better wrap things up and head to Xanadu. I've got a ship and a crew in port, but you mentioned a trump? I gather the trumps are used a lot more frequently these days, and I suppose I should report to the king sooner rather than later. I imagine you could find a use for the ship and crew in the general migration from here to there." Remembering that he'd rather not have to explain how he came to 'lose' his father's trump, he adds, "Speaking of which, are there any spare trumps about? My deck is incomplete, even by the standards of when I left."

Caine shakes his head. "All of them were taken to Xanadu when we shipped the library there. I'll put your ship at the First Admiral's disposal and he can add it to one of the voyages going to Xanadu."

Caine pauses briefly. "You can borrow one of mine, if you wish to use it before I send you to the King." He lets the question hang for Fletcher to answer.

Fletcher pauses to think for about half a second. "No thanks, I should probably get this done. Please just let Martin know I've gone on to Xanadu if you see him. Thanks for your help. It would be nice to catch up on family news some more. If it looks like I'll be around more maybe we can catch up sometime."

Caine nods absently and replies "perhaps at a funeral sometime soon."

Caine pulls out his trump deck and expertly turns over the top card with his thumb. The well-worn card on the top was a young man, hardly full-grown, with straw colored hair in a doublet and hose. He could've been Martin's younger brother, but Fletcher could guess, even though he'd never met him, that this was Random, now King.

Caine holds up a finger, requesting that Fletcher wait. He concentrates on the card and in a moment, confirms Fletcher's suspicions. "Your Majesty, I am here with Fletcher, Benedict's son. May I present him to you?"

Caine reaches for Fletcher's hand.

[Assuming Fletcher takes it...]

The trump contact is instantaneous, and has the odd familiarity of an old habit not recently practiced. Fletcher looks at the man, now older but not particularly more regal than his trump.

"Your majesty, Fletcher," Caine's introduction is as succinct as he can possibly make it. While Caine doesn't seem unhappy, he does not seem inclined to prolong his role in the proceedings.

"Fletcher! My son told me about you. You took the long way home, I hear."

"Yes indeed your majesty. All this time I figured home would be here waiting. I understand that nearly wasn't the case. It seems proper I should pay my respects in person, and I'd very much like to see Xanadu. As you probably know I have news of the moonriders to share. I am at your service immediately, or could await your convenience here in Amber if need be." Fletcher holds out a hand, inviting Random to bring him through from Caine.

Random reaches out and takes his hand. "Thank you Prince Caine, Tell my son it looks like we're a tennight away from the services, assuming his cousins can be reached."

With that he pulls Fletcher to Xanadu. The King, and therefore the ancient Knight from Amber, are on a great flagstone balcony overlooking a lake. The lake is fed by a mighty waterfall and in turn feeds another. It is reasonably noisy, but beautiful. Behind the king is a great house; a palace, not a castle. It is built into the very rock of the cliffside.

"Welcome to Xanadu, the home of happiness. And of me. My historian doesn't know who you are, by the way."

"Oh, that makes this awkward. I'm here to offer you my oath of fealty. Would you like to hear my story first?"

"Well, as King of almost everything, or at least almost everything important, I'm qualified to take your oath of fealty. It'll probably go better at the end of a story, though." Random turns to a nearby servant. "Two, no make that four beers. The good stuff, not that swill Ash makes."

When the man leaves Random gestures towards a pair of large, low chairs that look as if they have no internal supports whatsoever. "Sit, get comfortable, and tell me about yourself. Where've you been?"

Fletcher removes his scabbard and overcoat and sets them on the floor near the indicated chair. After waiting for the King to sit, he plops down himself.

"I'll try to sketch out the historical part first. I don't know how well you know my father but I'm given to understand he was something of a handful for granddad to deal with, especially after he divorced my grandmother. I never quite got all the details but among other things he was hanging out with the wrong crowd, unsavory influences, that sort of thing. Granddad's solution to that and a number of other problems was to bring in my mother, Lady Emerald, to keep my father in line. So a grand wedding was held in Amber and in due course I arrived on the scene. This was when Corwin was young, a little before Caine's time.

"I grew up at court, with my education overseen by my mother and granddad. I spent some time sailing with the ships of Amber, laying down trade routes, and that sort of thing. I was inducted in the Order of the Unicorn, and was later named a Knight Commander of that same order. At Court, I was named Defender of the Faith. It was a job at court principally dealing with spiritual and ecclesiastical matters. In those days people in Amber were more spiritual than they are now, and religious too. Organized religions had a lot of clout back then, which was double-edged sword. Faith, morality, and purpose are vital to civilization. The Order our family embodies makes such things possible. Without it we'd all be Chaos creatures running around randomly eating anyone smaller or weaker than us. Some shadow gods are still like that, dominating their followers, which is not the kind of belief I'm talking about. At the same time, good ideas change and not always for the better. Religious institutions gained...too much influence in Amber. It helped Amber grow, but their thinking wasn't always in line with granddad's.

"I ran into some trouble with church hierarchy and things got ugly. While we were wrestling with that, the Queen - Faiella - died, which through the court out of whack in a lot of ways. I decided I needed some time away. I took my trump deck, such as it was, and began a tour of Shadow." Fletcher pauses to gauge the King's reaction and sample the beer that has arrived.

The beer is carbonated, a trick that requires refrigeration and bottles that seal well. A Maibock, it has a rich amber color and almost no hops at all.

"Fascinating. We know very little of Ben's rebel days. Although, it makes some sense of stuff like Reid. Did you know Reid? Osric's kid? For that matter did you know your father's older brothers?"

The King drinks about half of his beer and wipes off a foam moustache with his forearm.

"No, I never met any of them. They were gone before I was born. From the notes Lady Folly gave me I saw that Reid did return at some point though. There are some gaps in my knowledge of events while I was away. Most of my news came from the occasional trump contact with granddad, or secondhand reports. Of course, I lost contact entirely when he died, and everything out in shadow got turned around quite a bit. I was still trying to make sense of it when I ran into the moonriders. But I'm getting ahead of myself there. For most of the time I was traveling around. There's a lot to see, and I took advantage to learn what I could of options that are available in shadow. Although technology is different, some areas of knowledge are somewhat more advanced than they were in Amber, at least in my time."

"I'd be pretty damn concerned if you hadn't lost contact when he died, let me tell you." Random shakes his head. "I am, by your standards, by Reid's, by Caine and Corwins, even, a young punk. I didn't really bother learning how to King because of the whole 'last son' thing. I expected that I'd be able to bum around amusing shadows forever, if it suited me. And it did.

"But now that I'm in charge, this part of the cosmos is in my image, not Dad's. I happen to like electric lights and electric guitars, so we have them."

Random stirs in his seat. "Tell me what you did for Dad. And what oaths you gave him."

"In general terms you could say I was an explorer, sometimes a courier and problem solver. And that's not a euphemism for 'hit-man'. I was far enough out in shadow that things got pretty exotic. Sometimes 'exotic' meant 'interesting' and sometimes it meant 'strange shadow entities who we don't want messing with Amber down the road.' I'm not really sure how granddad found out about some of them. Sometimes I'd find something weird and call it in, like 'hey, there's a black hole the seems to be collapsing dimension around it' and sometimes he'd call me and tell me where to go. It wasn't exactly a full-time job. As for oaths... there were four. The oath of fealty, the oath of loyalty as a knight, the oath to serve in the office of a knight commander, and my promise not to lose my sword, which was a gift from him." Fletcher indicates the sword and scabbard next to him. If properly cleaned, the term 'priceless antique' might apply.

Random listens closely. "Most of our problems are closer to home right now," he observes. "Well, I'll leave you to your own recognizance on the sword thing, and take your fealty again. That's a fine thing to do in public, of course. In private the old oath still holds, unless Oberon changed it in the past few centuries.

"Now tell me about your order of knights. You may be a Commander of an order of one at the moment."

"I suppose on a strict seniority basis I may have advanced considerably." Fletcher smiles. "I am a K-C-O-U, Knight Commander of the Order of the Unicorn. In my youth it was the most senior of the three principal orders of chivalry in Amber. If I read the family tree correctly, I see that there are at least a few more orders that have been introduced. I must confess I'm not up to date on matters of precedence and protocol in Amber, or for that matter how or if they translate into precedence in Xanadu. So I have no idea how the hierarchy of the Order of the Unicorn currently stands. It wasn't exactly my highest priority, either, though it was on the list. How does all that work these days?"

"As far as I can tell, 'about like it used to', which is to say that there's a defined policy and people who care a lot about it, but at the royal level things work out by what you can get everyone to acquiesce to." Random nods. "If you can convince your Uncles and Aunts that you should be called 'Fletcher, Lord of the Underworld' and that they should defer to you in all matters related to Sewers, then that's your title and domain. Let me know if that's you're life's dream, by the way, because I can make it happen.

"Now I don't know if this is a change, but I tend to use Knighthoods to reward service, and to show people that I reward it. I consider it binding, but I make an effort not to make it chafing. Mostly what I'm looking for is the ability to call on you if I need to go to war and the ability to tell you to knock it off if you're doing something I think hurts the interest of Amber and Xanadu. Things like destroying the universe, that sort of thing.

"That's the minimum. If that's out of the question, then we're not really talking about an oath of fealty. You still in?" Random raises one eyebrow and sits back in his chair.

Fletcher responds immediately. "Of course. And although it's important I don't have a particular urge to claim suzerainty over the sewer system. As for protocol, from what you've said I'm guessing that you're considering Amber and Xanadu to be one kingdom officially as well as in practicality, so for now I'll assume most of the old rules and modes of address apply. I've apparently got a lot of family to meet and I'd hate to make a bad first impression by offending them. Are my uncles considered Princes of Amber and Xanadu, or just Princes of Amber?"

Random shakes his head. "As you may expect, it's not that simple. Your uncles are, as usual, reserving judgement on how they wish to style themselves, but I'm tagging my children 'Princes of Xanadu', so their pride and reticence serves me well."

"Regardless, I don't know how the Order of the Unicorn is currently occupied, or how they're currently distributed between Amber and Xanadu. I'm here to help, and if that's where you need me to get involved, I can. One does wonder, based solely on Caine's descriptions of affairs in Amber and the view of the Xanadu from your window, how much defensive force could be marshaled in the event of a Moonrider attack. I don't know how serious that possibility is. But something is going on. A couple of them gave me a message for Bleys. "

Fletcher leans forward and offers Random his notes on the Moonriders' message.

Random looks over the note. "How interesting. Any idea what in the all the drippy, unpleasant Rebman hells he was talking about?" Random looks at Fletcher for a second. "I suppose that's more of a question for the Prince of Princes. Have you met Bleys? I'm told you and the redheads are more closely related than most of us."

Fletcher looks a bit surprised. "I only know Bleys by reputation. I couldn't get any more details out of the accusers about what actually happened. How am I more closely related to the redheads? Do they have ties to house Chantris?"

Fletcher takes a sip of his beer.

"Other side of the family. Their mother is your father's granddaughter. Was this not in the briefing? I'd avoid calling Bleys 'Grand-nephew', because he's also your uncle. Is there even a term for that? Nephuncle? " Random finishes his beer. "We'll ask Brita, her father's people probably have words for that, they're gods. She's your cousiniece, by the way. Hmm. She's cousin on two sides, so I'm sure it's worse than that."

The king takes the second beer and immediately drinks half of it. "Welcome back to the family."

"Brita was in the briefing. . . . . . Clarissa was not." Fletcher's expression might indicate that his beer has a sour after-taste. "I'd heard of Borel and Madoc, at least that they exist. I was not aware that Lintra had other grandchildren. How public is this information?" Fletcher takes an unhealthy gulp of his beer. Perhaps the beer isn't the cause of his expression.

Random waves the half-empty beer bottle around like a conductor's baton. "Hell if I know. I know it, which means it's not a redhead above-top-secret secret. We met her at Dad's funeral, where she showed up in mourning colors. She doesn't look a thing like Fiona, or only in passing, but she seemed familiar. The best I can tell, the redheads got the way they were because she was their mother. Sort of a trial by fire."

Random shakes his head. "It's nice, once in a while, to find some remnant of the Amber of old and not have it be out to destroy us all. Hey, that reminds me, where were you when the pattern got fixed? Reid and Brita said they thought they were going to be engulfed and erased by a black rain, then everything when white, or spangles, or flying puppies or something, then they were just in some shadow they hadn't been in before. Different or like that?"

"I've been thinking about that. From what Martin and Folly told me I think I've figured out when that was in my own personal timeline. It translated into very bad weather like that. I was on the move at the time, so I wasn't totally sure (at the time) that it wasn't something normal to the place I was passing through. The earth jiggled and there was lots of lightning. The rain looked like dollops of liquid darkness (well dimness anyway) falling out of the sky. It was quite unpleasant. I'm glad it's passed. Any idea what our next big crisis will be?"

"Like that? Hopefully, nothing soon. Less epochal? The contested Kingship of Rebma is still a brangle, the Moonriders are restless, there's a dragon in the woodpile, I've got two relatives to bury this week, a brother who used to be forgotten who is being unforgettably homicidal, Corwin's former girlfriend showed up at the coronation and tried to kill everyone, again, and we've got a state wedding on the horizon.

"So, no idea." Random finishes his beer.

After excusing herself from the meeting with Caine, Folly makes her way toward her quarters, looking out along the way for a page or a maid to help her with the things she needs to do next. The castle staff seems much diminished in the few months since she was last in Amber; but she eventually tracks down an eager page to help Soren and Haven find the kitchens and whatever else they need to freshen up, and a young chambermaid whose discretion she trusts to help Folly in packing up her quarters.

Folly sets the girl to sorting her closet into things to be packed and brought to Xanadu, and things to be given to the poor -- the latter mostly the relatively conservative everyday dresses in the Amber style that she reckons she would not get much wear out of in Xanadu. As the girl works, Folly selects a dark dress for herself, changes out of the clothes she'd worn on her voyage to Amber, and pins up her hair in a style appropriate to mourning her cousin.

That it also suggests the style recently favored by young married women in Amber is not lost on her.

Leaving the maid to the sorting and packing for a few moments, Folly moves to the desk in the small sitting-room to write letters. It doesn't take long: one of them is short enough that a barely-literate page could memorize it and recite it to the barely-literate addressee; the other she's already written in her mind so many times that it's like scribing the lyrics to a song she knows by heart.

Then it's out to find another page to go first to the Grouse to deliver her brief message for Ever -- that she is back in Amber, will be at the Grouse that evening, and wants to talk to him -- and then on to Red Mill to deliver the second message. Folly gives the page explicit instructions to wait to escort the recipient of the second message back to the castle, or to bring her reply if she will not come.

Then she settles back to wait in her sitting-room with a beloved and dearly-missed grey cat in her lap.

Rumbling purrs tell Folly that she has also been missed. Making up for lost time carries her through until the page returns. When she calls to allow the boy to be admitted, he says, "Lady Folly, the, uh, lady is in Rilga's parlor."

"Oh, good, thank you," Folly says, rising with the cat still in her arms. "If you would, could you have tea sent up for us? And when Prince Martin is done with his meeting, let him know where I am." She dismisses the page with a smile and then takes just a moment to pluck some of the more egregious patches of cat-hair from the front of her dress before making her way to the parlor.

She announces her arrival by rapping her knuckles lightly and rhythmically against the doorframe before entering. "Hullo, Violet?" she asks, extending her hand -- carefully, since she's still balancing a cat -- to greet the woman within. "I'm so glad you could come -- it's nice to meet you, finally. I'm Folly."

Violet is tall and olive-skinned, with long dark hair that she's put up in a respectable style for this visit. Her clothes are relatively modest, but well-made and of rich, if somewhat dated, fabrics. Someone has an eye for value and color and Folly suspects it's not Martin. She's made up, but hastily, as if she hadn't been expecting a call to the Castle.

She doesn't reach for Folly's hand immediately, as if it takes her a moment to realize what Folly is offering. Her clasp is a bit tentative. "Yes, I'm Violet. You sent for me, my lady?" Her accent is foreign to Amber, but not one that Folly can trivially identify.

This does not appear to be the conversation Violet was expecting to have, whatever this is.

Folly's return clasp is warm, firm, and reassuring. "I did," she says with a nod. "I wanted to talk with you about your plans for the future."

She gestures toward a grouping of chairs around a low table. "Please, sit, make yourself comfortable; I've sent for tea, and I hope Martin will be able to join us presently, once he's done with his current meeting."

Violet takes one of the indicated chairs and seats herself carefully and precisely.

Folly settles into a chair herself, carefully, and waits just a moment for Fathom to situate himself comfortably before continuing: "I suppose you're aware that the new king intends to make the seat of his power a new city far from Amber -- a young city that is still growing. And as that city grows, Amber will fade -- as it has already begun to do -- until it is but a dim shadow of its former self."

She leans a little forward and regards Violet with an air of friendly curiosity. "Have you given much thought to what you might want to do next, if Red Mill goes as the city goes?"

This seems closer to the conversation Violet was expecting. She looks a bit warily at Folly, and replies, "I have some ideas, but nothing definite."

Folly can guess she's reluctant to say what those ideas are, probably because they involve Martin.

Folly's smile is wry with perhaps a faint trace of amusement. "It's all right, Violet; you may speak freely and frankly. Of course I expect that you are in love with Martin -- what woman wouldn't be? -- and would prefer a future in which you continue to get to spend time with him. I also know that he cares about you; and anyone who is dear to him is also dear to me. I have no objection to your continuing to be a part of his life -- although since his father has gone and gotten himself made king, we may need to handle it with some discretion. I hope that you will feel free to share with me your hopes and your expectations, so that we can try to work out a circumstance that is as mutually agreeable to all of us as we can make it."

Violet looks like she's swallowed a bug. It takes her a moment to decide what to say, and when she does, it's a question. "My lady, did His Highness ask you to send for me?"

"Well, no, not exactly -- that is to say, I think I was the one who first brought up the subject of how best to accommodate you in the relocation from Amber, and he wisely suggested that perhaps I should meet you and talk to you about it before we made any decisions." If this is supposed to be some kind of a trap, Folly is an exceptional actress; by all appearances, her candidness is genuine.

The door opens, Martin walks in, and Violet's eyes get even bigger, if possible. Martin comes over to give Folly a kiss and then moves to give Violet an affectionate squeeze, which she really doesn't know what to make of. "How are my two favorite girls getting along, then?"

It's clear that Folly is going to have to be the one to answer that question.

"I think we're still in the 'You--- He--- We--- You mean--- What?' phase," Folly replies brightly. "Quite understandable, really. Any sane woman steeped in the traditions of Amber would be wondering by now whether I were half-mad or simply toying with her." She makes a slight gesture for Martin to take a seat closer to Violet than to herself; she figures the other woman is in far greater need of the reassurance of his presence.

To Violet, she says, "If it helps, where I'm from this sort of thing is... well, it's still far from commonplace, but it's not nearly as scandalous as it is here. Things there are more egalitarian, less... less patriarchal, among other things. There's a bit more freedom in how one can define one's relationships." She smiles, gently, almost apologetically. "Where I'm from, a woman deciding to see to the well-being of her lover's other lover would certainly be considered eccentric, but it's far from unheard-of."

Martin settles safely between the two women, letting Folly carry the conversation for the moment.

Violet looks at him, and he nods.

"As it happens," he says, after a moment of silence, "I'm in dire need of a trustworthy secretary." Martin's gaze comes to rest on Folly for a moment, and he raises his eyebrows slightly.

She nods slightly, and then turns her gaze to Violet. "Might you be interested? Martin already trusts you, and your discretion -- points that speak very highly in your favor." She looks for a moment as if she might be about to say more, but she waits for Violet to respond first.

Violet looks back and forth between Martin and Folly. Her gaze ends up resting on Martin. "If this is what you want." It's not exactly a question.

"The Heir Presumptive rarely gets exactly what he wants, but in this case, yes, it is what I want," Martin says firmly.

"Then I will do it." Violet bows her head. "What do I need to do next?"

"We'll be remaining in Amber for at least the next day or two," Folly replies. "How long will it take you to gather your personal effects and be ready to depart?"

Folly meets Martin's gaze. "And do you think it best if she moved to a room here until we're ready to go?" she asks with an obvious undercurrent of concern. Part of the reason for making Violet part of the household, after all, is to keep her safe from Martin's enemies.

"I do. I'll send word down to Red Mill. Silken can pack your things, Violet. I have a message I have to send her anyway." Which, Folly intuits, is a subject Martin would rather not discuss just yet, and also one weighing on his mind. He comes to his feet and uses the bell pull to summon a page, and instructs him to have a room prepared for Violet and that there will be messages sent to Red Mill.

Violet is still wary, but seems to be willing to let events carry her where they will. Martin's presence has reassured her somewhat, but she can tell that something is a bit off.

"And if you have any messages you need to send yourself, we'll find you some paper and a quiet place to write," Folly says to Violet. "But first, tea," she adds, as a servant arrives bearing the requested tray of refreshments. Clearly the kitchen staff were well aware Martin might be joining the party: the tray is laden with rather more sandwiches than even two very hungry people might reasonably be expected to eat.

As the servant gets the food situated, Folly catches Martin's eye and, with a slight nod of her head, lets her know she's following his lead now. She can tell he's got something on his mind, but she's leaving it up to him whether he wants to bring any part of it up now or wait until Violet is better settled and they can speak more privately.

He waits until after the light meal--and it's clear that Violet is more than used to his appetite--and Violet has been excused to the guest chamber where she'll be staying for the next few days to broach the subject.

"I talked to Dad. I have a metric shitload of news and it's all bad. Get comfortable and let me find you a cat, 'cos you're gonna need it," he suggests. Martin starts looking around for said feline.

"Oh, dear. That does sound bad." Folly hands Martin a little plate on which she's saved back a few scraps of sandwich meat, and nods toward a little side table: its long ruffled covering sways gently in the absence of any obvious draft, as if it were being nudged from behind by a tail or a paw.

Martin scoops the feline out from under the tablecloth without needing the lure, almost as if he decided it was improbable that Fathom would resist him. He hands the cat to Folly and lets her curl up with it, leaving the tidbits with her for possible feeding later.

Then he sits down in the chair Violet vacated. "I don't even know where to start or end, so I'm just going to lay it out.

"Lucas is dead. It looks like my grandmother murdered him through a mirror, because he was making a trump of her. She was in Paris at the time because she was fleeing from the civil war, which it looks like Khela may have won because she was in the right place to lead the defense against Huon. Now she's missing.

"Huon, meanwhile tried some sort of funky trick involving blood bombs and the Rebman Pattern. Between some luck and some cooperation and some magic that I don't understand, Jerod, Conner, and Brennan foiled him. But he got away with Khela's sword, which looks to be the Rebman equivalent of Werewindle, and ended up with half the family giving chase and getting into a massive clusterfuck of a fight with a nest of dragon-things. Net result: they chased Huon down, disarmed him, and Robin dumped him through into the courtyard with no instructions, so he ended up getting away before Caine and everybody else in the fight got back."

Martin really ought to be stopping here, but apparently there's more even after that.

"And Solange stole Cambina's body so she could get Vere to talk to her and tell her what happened to Vialle, and Gerard had to exile her over it."

As Martin runs through the litany of misfortune, Folly listens in concern... then alarm... then horror. At his last remark, she closes her eyes and breathes out a plaintive sigh. "I should've called her," she mutters ruefully; she knew Solange and Gerard had quarrelled over that very question, but she'd had no notion Solange would actually go through with such a contemptuous plan.

Ah, well, nothing for it now. Folly leans her face against Fathom's fur while she regains her composure, and turns her attention to the more pressing matters in Martin's litany.

"I'm sorry about Lucas," she says softly. "I know you two were close." She meets Martin's gaze. "Did you know he could draw trumps? I didn't." Something in her expression, her tone, suggests that she is working her way along a disturbing train of thought.

"No," Martin says very flatly. "I didn't know that. I would have handled a number of things very differently if I had. Apparently he had a trump he'd made of Solange somewhere in his things. It's missing, which means he's got a stash somewhere that we haven't found. Who knows what trumps we might find there. He could have made sketches of anyone he knew reasonably well."

Martin looks at her meaningfully. "Anyone he knew well. And they could be in my grandmother's hands."

Folly pales, but presses on: "Was the trump made with Solange's knowledge, or secretly? And was it known to work? I just can't help but suppose that your grandmother could have arranged to make it look as though Lucas were skilled in that art -- to make it look as though she'd had to kill him in self-defense, if she had a reason to want him dead. It certainly wouldn't be out-of-character for her." Her lips press together in a thin, grim line. "Still. I'll know better than to accept any unexpected trump calls for a while."

She frowns for a moment, thinking. "Your grandmother has never walked a pattern, correct? Do you know whether she had trumps of her own, or knew how to use them? And if she didn't, what other route would she have out of Corwin's shadow, besides the stair?" Now it's her turn to give Martin a meaningful look. "Of course, if she really does have Lucas's trumps, and knows how to use them, that's probably her best ticket out. And it narrows down where she's likely to end up next."

Martin listens to Folly all the way out, although something she said early on clearly didn't sit right with him. "How she gets out is easy. A mirror. She doesn't need Trumps for that. But there are limited places she could pass between the mirrors too. And--" he sighs "--we're sure about Lucas. Solange knew about the Trump because apparently she asked for it. She was in on the dirty little secret."

This thought clearly doesn't sit any better with him than Lucas' having the secret in the first place.

It clearly doesn't sit well with Folly, either, but she's not yet ready to sort through all the implications. Not unless it becomes apparent that Solange's role in all or any of this was actually sinister rather than merely foolhardy.

"I don't think I ever realized mirrors could be used for transport as well as communication," she says instead. "Or if I did, I forgot, and I blame Pregnancy Brain." She offers up a halfhearted smirk that falls after only a moment; she doesn't feel much like smiling. "And I suppose that brings us to Huon. Do we know yet what he is or was after, ultimately? To screw Rebma? To screw Rebma so he could take their magic sword? And do what with it?"

"He's got a grudge against Bleys and he seems to want the sword to even his odds. But that doesn't explain him threatening what he did, so---" Martin shrugs. He takes a few moments to dredge up another piece of information: "Your mother was with Bleys when they rode after him. She's OK as far as I know, and Dad would have mentioned it if she'd been seriously hurt."

"...and I suppose it's also safe to assume that he didn't mention, or perhaps no-one thought to mention to him, how she and Huon reacted to seeing one another?" Folly thinks about that a moment, and then snorts. "Although if the answer is '...and she immediately jumped to his side', that would have come up in even the short version of the report, too."

Her thoughts return to the question of Huon's ends and means. She stares into the middle distance and says, slowly, as if she's still piecing the idea together, "The sword Huon took -- you said it was 'like Werewindle'... meaning that it's linked to a Pattern, yes? Your father said... something about swords like that coming with a price. No, not a price -- a cost. An obligation. Maybe that attempt on Rebma's pattern was because Huon wanted the sword without the obligation. Which," and now Folly does smile, wryly, "I suppose makes him sort of the opposite of me."

Martin shrugs and pulls outs a few strands of his hair between two fingers. "Still not red. That could be it, or it could be something he, or someone he was working with, did. Or any of about a thousand other things. I don't know. I just know I took some private time with you and the world fell apart and went crazy. And I'm going to do it again after this funeral, somewhere that we can hang long enough to for you to have our daughter.

"But first we're going to hang in Xanadu long enough for everyone to see you're pregnant and hear us call each other husband and wife. Because I can't solve every problem in Amber and Xanadu, but I can solve the stupid wedding problem. If Dad wants a big party, he can do it for the naming instead."

Folly cocks her head and regards Martin with a little smile. "I sent word to Ever that I'd be at the Grouse tonight. We should stop in for rings on our way down. If there's still a decent jeweler in Amber, that is."

"I'd say something about how you should have grabbed something from the family homestead on your way here, but ... no." Martin grimaces at the very idea, but the expression morphs into something more thoughtful. "You know, technically everything here is Dad's, and I can probably lay claim to some of it. Do you want me to have Vent look into where the royal jewelry is? Because we can probably solve the ring problem that way without even leaving the house."

He thinks about that for a moment before adding, "I'll understand if that's a bit too--" and he leaves the last word unspoken, knowing Folly will understand.

"Well, I'm not after anything too showy," Folly says; whether in rejection of her mother's taste in jewelry, or the likely selection in the royal treasury of heirlooms -- or both -- isn't entirely clear.

"On the other hand.... In light of recent news, it might be politic to lay stronger claim to my distaff heritage, you know?" She leaves unspoken the paternal heritage from which such a move would implicitly distance her. Her gaze shifts to a watercolor painting on the far wall of a woman in late middle age reading to a cherubic group of barefoot ragamuffins rendered in soft-focus romanticism, a portrait of the woman in whose parlor they now sit. "If there is anything left here of Rilga's... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look, at least. If we find anything suitable, I'll ask Gerard and Julian whether they'd mind if I wore it."

"I can't imagine they would. And I figure that's a better answer than me digging in my mother's jewelry right now for something for you. Speaking of unfortunate parental associations and all." Martin makes a face.

Folly nods in grim agreement.

"Let me ask Vent about that and getting Violet settled and then we can clean up and go down into the city. I need to get Violet's things from Red Mill. And tell Silken about Lucas." Martin looks like that's the last thing he wants to do.

"All right," Folly says; her soothing tone makes it almost sound like an abbreviation of everything will be all right. She sets Fathom down for a moment to enjoy the plate of sandwich-scraps while she moves to offer her husband a hand-up that turns into a hug.

After that night, Silhouette begins a regular routine that she follows over the next few days. She begins each morning sparring with Ettrio in the garden, each the conversation of blades engaging the boy's mind and body alike. After breakfast, they part ways -- Ettrio retires to the library for his daily research, while she attends Huon at the hospice for much of the afternoon.

Most of her afternoons are spent inquiring ceaselessly about Amber and Bleys, as well as playing the supportive companion. Her seduction -- if it can be called that -- attempts to enthrall Huon's heart in a fashion not wholly unlike the smelting of primitive alloys. She recognizes that a male's passion -- like tin -- possesses a low melting point, while his true yearning -- like copper -- requires a more prolonged and hotter flame. A combination focused more on rousing passion rather than inspiring affection creates a malleable, but inevitably weak bond -- pewter. But a combination that stirs true fondness rather than empty passion creates a durable and unwavering bond -- bronze. It is the latter she attempts to inspire during their days together through a skillful balance of flirtation and coyness -- playing games of chess, speaking of uncomplicated matters, and feigning ignorance when appropriate.

When the sun touches the green waters, she returns to the foundry to discuss the day with Ettrio over dinner and further his education in the Grand Design. It is these moments Silhouette discovers herself enjoying the most -- much to her surprise. The boy's thirst for knowledge matches her own, and she relishes the opportunity to play mentor and friend. They usually speak until the candles turn to shallow pools of dim light and the moon is dipping toward the dawn. The midnight hours are spent at the forge and anvil, crafting the mechanical guardians that will protect her home and secrets in her absence -- vicious, clockwork rats with gnashing teeth and scything claws. A scant hour or so of sleep is more than enough for her to begin her day anew.

And thus the week passes -- cyclic, unwavering, peaceful, yet never tedious. Before Silhouette recognizes the passage of time, the Badjao return to Vanderyahr's shores to announce the approach of a new Travelling.

Silhouette senses Huon's eyes on her back. Framed in sunlight, she knows her sheer dress will offer him a sensual outline, while obscuring enough to tease his imagination. She holds her arms around her protectively, appearing suitably anxious.

She allows a pregnant moment before tilting her head toward him. "Shall we discuss your intentions for sending me to Amber, my Prince. I regretfully lack the skills required for navigating Shadow. And escorting me will place you in danger. That I shall not allow." She blushes faintly, her kissable lips mimicking timidity.

"So, how may I be your emissary in a realm I cannot reach?"

"The reason that Amber did not conquer Vanderyar ages ago to provide her merchants access to the same far-flung clients that you serve is that they have ships and captains capable of following the routes laid down by Princes of Amber. I will give you a rutter to follow, which will allow you to sail there by a path of my making that the King himself knows nothing of.

"Will that do? The danger to me is in my past, and your future."

Silhouette nods and returns to the bed, sitting at its foot. "That will be suitable, my Prince. As long as you are safe."

She smiles thinly, "However, will you provide me with a Trump, so I might contact you once the negotiations are complete? Or must I seek you in shadow? I feel it is best that the crew return to Vanderyahr immediately after transporting Ettrio and myself to Amber's shores.

"No doubt coins will loosen stories of the Wounded Prince and his whereabouts. Given the choice, I would kill the crew myself."

"I will send with you, in a cage, a bird of my desire. When you have need of me, attach a message to her leg, and she will fly to me.

"Oh, and let the men land, and talk. This place will not be hospitable to my kinfolk if they were to discover it and attempt to track me down here." Huon's smile is wholly feral.

Silhouette returns his predatory grin. It pleases her when Huon speaks this way -- but not for reasons he likely suspects.

With the adroit pace of a lazy cat, she crawls up his body and curls into his warmth. Playful fingers run through the hair on his chest as she gazes up at him. "And what of this little bird of desire, milord? Will you wish me to fly back to you?"

Huon pets her soothingly. "Only a fool or a madman would not, and while I have been called both, I claim neither title. I have seen the future, and the cards are like my siblings--deceptive and cunning, but ultimately true to their own natures. You can expect to be tested in all your strengths. Have faith in me, and do not waver."

A happy purr answers his caress. "Oh but I do have faith in you, milord." Moist lips touch his shoulder, "Perhaps more than you'd scarce believe."

And then -- much like a feline -- she playfully shies from his affections and sits up. "I intend to approach the King long before I entreat your brother. It might be best to win his favor before I solidify a peace between you and Bleys. In such fashion, I will have the King's influence to strengthen my negotiations. But might you have words of guidance for dealing with either?

"I suspect you would have more insight into the latter than the former. But all advice will be of use to me."

"If Random is King, a peace is his to make and enforce. I'd be perfectly happy to be welcomed home and have Bleys be named outlaw for attempting to murder me after Random negotiated a quit-claim between us." He pauses, momentarily. "Assuming he didn't succeed, of course.

"I can outlast his patience, I think. Or I can trump something up." Huon changes the subject. "They will not believe I am reformed, of course. Do not try that approach. Merely suggest that, having learned the true situation, I have realized that my self-interest lies in reconciliation, as long as the price of such is within reason.. See what they might have to offer for peace."

Fluidly, Silhouette swings her leg over Huon's and waist and then straddles him. Despite the intimate position, she maintains a dignified composure. She ties her hair back, "I had no intention of espousing your redemptive enlightenment, my dear Prince. Such penitential declarations are best reserved for children and the clergy. And I am neither, so do not treat me as such." A libertine shift of her hips emphasizes this point; perhaps more than the steel in her voice.

She begins drawing labyrinthine spirals on his midriff with a coy fingernail. "I shall expound upon the benefits of embracing the Second Law. Even this young King shall recognize that a former adversary is more loyal than any comrade, as they have more to prove. He will embrace you willingly, for he has more to fear from his 'friends' than you."

Silhouette leans forward, draping her breasts upon his chest, nuzzling her lips against his chin. "And you shall become the embodiment of my honeyed words, yes?"

Huon lifts her chin with his hand and leans forward and kisses her. "The honey is sweet, but do not offer too much, lest it attract none but flies. I want freedom, not shackles of a different sort."

Silhouette offers a wicked smile, "If I have my way, the only shackles you shall wear will be made of silk and employed solely at my choosing."

She kisses him again, the lips first and then his throat. Her fingers soothingly stroke his brow. "Tell me of your brother? Even if you must embrace familial harmony, I wish this man undone. He troubles my Prince and thus is my adversary. You cannot be forsworn if it is my hand that brings about his end."

His hand touches her wrist stopping her, but gently. "He is a pot of poisoned honey. Sweet and pleasant to be with, and in the end, painful death. He is my father's assassin. I wonder that he outlived him, his time has passed. I wonder if the new King pities him or uses him?

"He has children, and grandchildren. I would never have thought it of him. He never seemed domestic to me."

"Spilling one's seed is no more inexplicable than more malodorous bodily functions. And both can coax life from well furrowed soil," Silhouette says, rolling her shoulders with an annoyed shrug.

She drums her fingers on his chest, "I have suffered tortures even you cannot imagine, Lord Huon. An assassin -- even one such as this -- does not instill fear in me. Respect? Indeed. But not trepidation.

"If you wish Bleys undone, I shall endeavor to do so. If you do not, I shall shun his company. It matters not to me either way."

Huon laughs, and she feels it throughout his body. "Careful, tiger-cub. If he turns his full attention to you, you would do well to fear him. Not because he offers a simple threat, but because he offers a subtle one."

He smiles at her. "He will be undone, but I am in no hurry. We immortals have no need to hurry."

Silhouette smiles. It is good to hear him laugh. She turns her head to offer her delicate throat. "You are correct, milord. On occasion, I forget that -- for us -- time is little more than a paper tiger. Forever chasing, but toothless."

A brow rises. "Do you have children, milord?"

He laughs again. "I am past that period in my life, and children are rare jewels in our family, to be hidden and protected.

"I have descendants, if they yet live. I was locked away from my home for five centuries by Bleys' hand, and I have not walked into Bleys' trap for me in that shadow, if he did not destroy it."

Silhouette offers him a smile, so profoundly tender that it might even be genuine. "Oh, my sweet prince. To have your home denied you for so long. My suffering has been but an eye blink in comparison. How do you endure it?.

She slides atop him like silk and kisses his mouth. "Let us lose ourselves, yes? If but only for a moment. Let our last night together strip away the illusions and insults. Dismiss the shadows and hatreds. Let there only be you and I, and nothing else between us."

He laughs. "At a century, you may realize that such a thing is not possible. At five, you may realize that the striving for it is worth it despite that."

"We shall see," Silhouette whispers. "We shall see."

As she stands in drizzling rain, Silhouette remembers how much she hates ships of timber and cloth. They remind her too much of the Before. The creaking whispers of wood and rope, the sharp cries of and laughter of men, stir memories she cares not to explore. Memories of darkness and pain and grimy hands. She adjusts her umbrella and stares out at the ocean beyond Rethora's protective harbor. A line of grey slate stares back, mysterious and somber.

Soft chirps call her attention away from the ashen waters. She smiles down at the covered cage in her hand. She can feel Huon's farewell gift - a bird of fiery plumage and golden eyes - hopping about its home. Oddly, the creature provides her a modicum of comfort. It is a living link back to him -- her lover, her patron. Such noisome sentimentalism should be beneath her, but for once she tolerates it.

She adjusts the cage in her hands and turns her head. Nearby, Huon is engaged in last minute discussions with the ship's captain. He appears in his element -- thriving off being in charge of men once more. It pleases her to see him this way.

Farther down the dock, Ettorio oversees the loading of their luggage. A touch of pride warms Silhouette. The boy is coming along perfectly, she thinks. He will be an excellent tool for the Grand Design in short order. And for now, an excellent companion.

Her eyes drift back to Huon. He has dismissed the captain and now stands there, staring at her intently. She smiles and walks over to him, "Is everything prepared, milord?"

His nostrils flare as he takes in the sea air. "All is. I am not one for sentimental farewells, and I know you are not either. You know what to do." It's not a question.

"Indeed," she replies. She graces his cheek with a chaste kiss. Then, without another word, she turns and ascends the gangplank to the ship. She pauses only once to glance back at him, more for Huon's benefit than hers.

"Set sail at your earliest convenience, captain," she tells the ship's master. "I shall be in my quarters unless there are matters that require my attention. When my manservant has completed his duties, send him to me with some hot tea."

The captain nods, and looks at Huon, who nods slightly at him. The quarters are well-appointed, but small and tightly constrained, as is necessary on board a working ship. Her young charge arrives within a quarter watch and has both news and tea.

"The tea is tasteless, Lady, but may be spiced adequately." His tray has a variety of tools for fixing the beverage. "We sail in half a glass."

Looking up from her working schema, Silhouette offers him a thin smile, "Thank you, Ettrio. This will do." The quill is set aside and the sketch book closed momentarily.

She pours herself a cup of the bland tea -- adding a bag filled with dried corn mint, wild carrot seed, and rue. A grimace passes over her features as she sips the bitter liquid, her stomach rebelling almost immediately. But -- considering the previous evening -- the concoction is a grave necessity; ensuring Huon's seed will not take root. Granted, the Amberite physiology generally inhibits conception, but as an Earth magus Silhouette is abundantly aware of her disproportionate predilection toward fertility. A ruined appetite seems a small price compared to the possible consequences.

"I shall join you on deck promptly," she says. "I would like to witness our departure. Afterwards, would you join me for a game of Gateway, perhaps? I have found your company most tolerable of late."

Sil will remain in her cabin during that time, putting together a mechanika raven that can move about, spy, and record messages. Sort of like a flying tape recorder. She'll only use temporary parts (roughly a season's 'duration').

Ettorio wants to know how that's done.

Silhouette gestures to the seat across from her. She folds her hands together and offers a sad smile. "Ettorio," she says in a motherly tone. "You ask the impossible. My work is of arcane origin - manipulating the laws of Draig-talamh to my will. This cannot be taught to the Unenlightened. Teaching you Mechanika at this point would be as effective as explaining Fermat's principle to a cave bat."

She cocks her head, "Only those willing to give themselves over to the Grand Design might learn this high magick. And I doubt that you could endure the five Ordeals to even begin this path to Enlightenment. I do not mean this as an insult. Your intelligence intrigues me. But this path is all-consuming and your heart belongs to other realms."

He says "Yes, Lady", but his heart is unconvinced that there is something he cannot know.

She says nothing more. But over the next few days, Silhouette begins surreptitiously testing the boy with the Ordeal of Humility -- requesting him to undertake dull and mundane tasks, such as recording water depth or joining the sailors on dog watch. She notes his reactions for later assessment.

After a few days pass, the lookout on deck cries out. "Land! Cabra rocks on the port bow!"

The captain sends work to Silhouette. Amber is twenty miles to the North and the ship will make the harbor that evening.

"Thank you," Silhouette says to the sailor -- too busy to look up from her work.

She takes a smoldering coal from her palm and sets it into the heart of her mechanikal raven. As a red glow flares, she shuts the boiler plate with a satisfying clink. White puffs of smoke rise from its beak -- the bronze wings springing to life. She leaves the simulacrum to its self-discovery, brushing the soot from her unblemished hand before heading for the upper deck.

It flies away. Silhouette wonders if it was as well-made as she'd like. It seems to be less ... something than she expected.

This erratic behavior both alarms and intrigues Silhouette. Her work had been above standard -- the poor working conditions notwithstanding. Something else must have influenced the simulacrum's development.

She instinctively tightens her cloak as the cool sea breeze hits her. Locating the captain, she joins him on the quarter deck and nods politely to the helmsman. "Captain," she says in greeting. "Have we encountered any Amberite patrols as of yet? Or do we remain undetected?"

The old captain turns to her, his face a mirror of his thought process. "This far out? They don't patrol here. This is far enough away that they'll notice us from land a lot sooner. We could land you and your boy, and horses, and be in the harbor waiting for you in a day, if you wish discretion."

"Then do so," Silhouette says with an edge of finality. "Never underestimate the benefits of cultivating an air of unpredictability. My family will wonder how a non-Initiate traversed Shadow, particularly this close to Amber. Let them waste time with speculation.

"I also I prefer to have an out, as it were. Make harbor, trade and carouse, but say nothing of your association with me or the Lord Huon. Wait for one week before sailing with the tides. If I do not return by that time, it is likely I shall not return at all."

He nods and arranges it. In a half a glass, Silhouette and her servant are on the shore, with their horses, watching the boat that ferried them here row back to the ship.

The horses are saddled and fed and happily on the dry land. The city is visible in the distance, or at least the castle, glimmering in the sunlight on the side of the only mountain for some distance. It is a singular sight.

Silhouette pauses for a moment -- overcome with a rush of bothersome emotions. Wonder, admiration, awe... and burning hatred. This glorious bastion of stone should have been her home. It should have been her birthright. Instead, she'd been abandoned to cruel hungers and grimy hands, robbed of everything sacred and innocent. Beautiful and cold, it is a perfect representation of her mother's betrayal.

As she begins riding toward the edifice, she erases her sentimentalities beneath an icy wave of soothing logic. She evaluates the landscape for the possibility of siege -- prolonged and expedient. Mentality dissecting the castle's weaknesses provides her with intriguing thoughts for the future -- but more importantly calms her nerves.

Going up the mountain in the face of an active defence would be a slaughter, and the other direction would go through dense forest of unknown safety. The castle walls look tall and thick, and the stairs up the steep face look slick and narrow. If the castle can project force outwards as well as it can defend, it is nigh impregnable, at least with the technologies and magics that are supposed to work (or not work) in Amber.

Silhouette smiles faintly. The castle becomes an intricate puzzle box urging her to unlock it. She considers the stronghold's architecture and positioning for a moment, when a possible key becomes apparent so swiftly that she cannot stifle a delighted laugh. The solution is so decidedly obvious - so ridiculously simplistic - that it has probably been overlooked by her more grandiose-thinking uncles. She notates this working hypothesis for investigation later.

She leads them along the road, making certain to be noticed by any observers. Indeed, she wishes to attract as much attention as possible.

Silhouette turns to her companion, "When they come, I shall speak for us both. No matter what, do not interject or interrupt. We walk upon glass from this point forward."

Ettorio has been scanning the mountain, the forest, and the beach-side road. "Five leagues or more to the city, but if the road is good, we shall be at the gate by nightfall. I will be your eyes and ears, Lady, and you will be our voice."

"Thank you, Ettorio," Silhouette says, pleased.

They ride in silence from then on -- accompanied only by the soft chirp of Huon's blood-bird from beneath its hooded cage.

In time, the city gate looms before them and Amber's sheer scope instills Silhouette with a renewed appreciation of her grandfather's vision. Despite the numerous improvements she would incorporate, she feels a warm sense of pride to be a part of this bloodline -- this legacy.

Considering recent events, Silhouette suspects that new visitors will be viewed poorly -- if not ill-treated. She cautiously guides her horse within ear-shot of the guards before finally pulling on its reins.

"Hail!" she calls. "I am Kabeiro ap Cadmilus and I hereby invoke the Right of Hospitality, as is granted me by birth and by my status as emissary. Will you guide me to the King, so I might parley?"

The main gate is open, and a young officer of the guard is there. "Emissaries and Ambassadors must send word to the castle within twenty-four hours of arrival in Amber. I suggest you find lodgings in the harbor district and prepare to wait, Lady." He seems bored, as if her arrival is part of his normal day's events.

Silhouette's smile is like a line of polished daggers. "I see. And might I have your name, sir? So I can inform the Princess Florimel that you've been ever-so helpful to her daughter. I am certain that she and my cherished uncle -- the King -- will wish to reward you personally for following protocol, despite the unfortunate delay to our reunion."

She removes a notepad and pencil from her cloak and waits patiently.

He stands slightly straighter. "Sir Gradient, Lady Cabero." He looks to the castle, and sees which pennants are flying. "The Princess is not in residence, but I am sure the Regent will send word to her and your uncle once he is apprised. Through the city to the Plaza of Remembrance, there's a big statue there, you can't miss it, then turn left up the big boulevard, out the Kolvir gate, and up the mountain. They will assist you at the castle.

"Most considerate of you, Sir Gradient," she replies, "I shall remember you."

She clucks her tongue to get her horse moving once again, heading into the city. Her ride through Amber is both enjoyable and informative. She studies the architecture more closely -- the composition of buildings, the angle and width of streets, and, in particular, the drainage and water sources.

Following Gradient's instructions, she turns left upon reaching the Plaza of Remembrance and begins the steep ascent to the castle proper. As she passes the Kolvir Gate and the magnificent and imposing structure comes into better view, the censure for her uncles Bleys and Corwin intensifies. What fool would assail this bastion with mere flesh and steel? Even with siege engines at elevated positions, such a task would be formidable at best. An unforgivable waste of manpower, when a more subtle -- if risky -- solution to achieve victory offered itself to the trained observer. She shakes her head in disgust.

"Remember this day, Ettorio," she says, urging her horse onward. "You shall not see the likes of this again, I suspect."

Upon seeing the castle guards, she hails them. "Goodmen, I am Princess Kabeiro ap Cadmilus. As emissary and niece, I claim the Right of Hospitality and would speak to the Lord Regent. Can you assist me in this?"

The guards are quiet and a young officer appears. "Of course, Lady. Please come in. We will see to your horse while word is sent to the Regent." Silhouette thinks he dresses and carries himself in the manner of a seaman.

"Thank you, sir," she replies humbly.

Grooms come forward and are ready to help her dismount and to take her horse to the stables.

Silhouette plays the part of the innocent, young noblewoman -- leaning on the groom's shoulder as he helps her down. She blushes shyly, letting the moment linger before speaking in a gentle tone. "If you could store my luggage in a guest room, I would be most appreciative. Nothing fancy, please. My manservant will assist you." She nods to Ettorio.

"Welcome to Castle Amber, Princess. If you would care to step into the guard tower, we can wait inside for a return messenger."

Silhouette follows the guard, hands folded over her belly. It is a demure stance, but also provides her easy access to the needle-thin blade strapped to her wrist. As friendly as these men might be, she prefers caution at this uncertain time.

"My thanks to you again," she chimes. "I find myself a little overwhelmed. My uncle's stories could not have prepared me for seeing Amber for the first time. It is a rather... humbling experience."

She laughs musically, "I am sure you must think this all prosaic by now, Captain."

"Ensign, Princess," the young officer corrects her absently. "I was born in the city, so it seems to be .. normal to me."

Silhouette exchanges enough pleasantries to learn the young man's particulars, as all are important instruments in the eyes of the Grand Design.

Another young officer appears in the door. "Please come with me, Lady. The prince will see you now."

The officer escorts her to what is obviously a receiving room, where the Prince is waiting for her.

He is young, blond, and handsome, and carries a blade. He has the nondescript and pleasant demeanor of a minor courtier and the eyes of a killer. "Kabeiro ap Cadmilus," he says, "Welcome to Amber. I'm Martin fitzRandom. Your mother is not in residence, but we'll send word to her. Unfortunately she gave us no word of your impending arrival."

The Prince Regent? An intriguing choice, Silhouette muses. And an appealing fellow -- the eyes, in particular. Men of predatory nature have always appealed to her.

He gestures to her to take a seat. The chairs are heavy leather, and well made, but have seen better days.

"I was told you claimed rights of hospitality as an emissary, but the guard didn't advise me of whose emissary you were."

"Firstly, my thanks to you Prince Regent for meeting with me," she replies, bowing her head. "I am certain that news of my arrival will catch my mother equally unaware. As she left me for dead many years ago, doubtlessly she remains entirely ignorant of my existence. Indeed, my true motivations have little -- if anything -- to do with her."

She leaned forward in her seat, resting her arms on the table. "I come before you in the name of Prince Huon. He seeks an agreement of peace with your goodly King Random. I shall be his voice in settling this matter." She falls silent, allowing this revelation to truly register.

Prince Martin is either really hard to read or extremely unflappable. To the extent that he should be shocked, he doesn't seem to be.

[OOC note: known as the high-earth champeen of the youngers, and don't play poker with him.]

"I'm sure my father will be pleased to hear that Huon is ready to negotiate a peace. But I'm afraid negotiations will have to wait their turn, as there is other family business to be carried out first. I would arrange for your mother to return to Amber for a reunion, but I'm afraid she's unavailable, as she is currently seeking the murderer of your brother Lucas."

The Dutch Defense to my Queen's Gambit, Silhouette muses. Perhaps I shall enjoy this game after all.

She silently debates continuing an aggressive stance or utilizing a fianchetto; dismisses both and settles on any entirely different gambit. Her fingers knit into a tight bundle and grief shimmers in her forest-brown eyes -- the cold resolve dismissed and a mask of empathy slipped on.

"My brother is dead?" she says in a pained whisper. "Lord Huon did not tell me this. When? How? And has Vendetta officially been declared? Pray tell me, cousin."

Martin moves to take Silhouette's arm and guide her to a seat. "I doubt Huon knew. There's a lot about the family he's unaware of. We don't have all the answers yet, but it happened in Paris, and Corwin's daughter Celina, who was acting as Regent, is investigating."

Silhouette is light as a feather in his arms -- a shy smile painted on her lips. "Perhaps you're right. I... I had hoped to meet my brother. I lost my sisters. And now this." She touches her hand to her mouth, shivering.

Her body stiffens and she shakes her head, as if to cast the grief away like molting scales. Her hand seeks Martin's, patting it chastely. "Forgive me, my prince. My duty is to Lord Huon. I should not allow my personal feelings interfere with our initial meeting. I am sorry." Sad eyes plead with him.

"No, it's quite understandable. Initial dealings with the family can be a shock." Martin relinquishes Silhouette once he's sure she's not going to fall over or make any such womanly display of weakness. "I'll arrange to contact your mother as soon as possible. Am I correct in assuming that you'll wish to attend his funeral?"

"If that would not be an inconvenience," Silhouette says, settling into her chair. "As his sister, the Rite of Blood and Ash demands I be present."

She takes a steadying breath and sits up. "However, as much as I appreciate your kindness, my concerns are secondary. Please relay to your father that Lord Huon wishes to accept the offer of amnesty previously offered him. In return for your father's reprieve, he will cease all hostilities from this point forward, as well as renounce his vendetta against his brother, Lord Bleys.

"I suspect he would be happy to retire into Shadow without further incident."

Silhouette offers a rueful smile, "He is fully recuperated from his previous encounter, both physically and logistically. He is also -- if I may speak plainly -- overly fearful of retribution. So, any harsh dealings from wayward family members would complicate matters at this sensitive time. My limited communications with him -- a precaution -- make it difficult to defuse a potentially volatile situation. As such, time is of the essence."

Strength returns to her eyes, "Until the matter is resolved, I offer myself to your father as an ostaticum. Will you accept my surrender, in his name?"

Martin straightens once he's sure Silhouette is properly seated. "I can provisionally accept your surrender on my father's behalf and make arrangements for you to speak with him as soon as possible. I know he'll be pleased to achieve a peaceful resolution of this division in the family."

Silhouette bows her head, "You are most kind, my prince. As Lord Huon's ostaticum, I freely give myself over into your custody. I am now your hostage."

Her eyes seek his -- tinged with pain. "However, before my incarceration, will I still be provided the opportunity to pay my respects to my brother? You have my word that I shall not shirk my responsibilities. I would not take advantage of your hospitality so unduly and endanger our agreement."

"There's family business in Xanadu first, but my understanding is that most of the family will be in attendance in Paris for Lucas' funeral. I don't know of any reason you wouldn't join us for the service."

There's a pause and Martin adds, "I'm sure his wife and children will be comforted by your presence."

Silhouette tilts her head like a curious cat. "A family? Another item my Lord Huon apparently neglected to inform me of. How many children and how old?"

Martin nods at the word 'family.' "Two. Young enough to still be with their governess but out of arms, both of them. A boy and a girl, named Philippe and Hope."

She taps her chin, "I doubt a lost sister could offer them much solace at this dark time. I would be nothing more than a stranger to them. But I shall endeavor to provide what comfort I can."

Silhouette raises her head and smiles, "Thank you for informing me of this, my Prince. I have lived a great many years... alone. In a matter of moments, you have dispelled a lifetime of solitude."

"We are, as one of us once said, a bunch of immortal superheroes. Other people come and go, but family remains." Martin smiles pleasantly at Silhouette. "If you'll excuse me, I need to see about arranging your transit to Xanadu to speak with my father. Has Huon instructed you in the use of the cards?"

"The Trumps? I regret, no," Silhouette says. "Nor do I have access to them. He allowed me only one method with which to relay missives and I intend to reserve it until I speak with your father.

"However, if provided access to Trumps, I do believe I can utilize them with little difficulty."

She stands up and curtsies, "Shall I retire to my quarters until further notice?"

Martin nods. "I'm sure you wish to freshen up after your journey. Dinner in the Castle is a family affair, so you'll meet the members in residence here--assuming that my father doesn't want me to send you through to Xanadu at once."

"Of course," she replies. "I will make myself available to your father at his convenience."

He moves to the door and pulls a long cord hanging by it. Moments later, the door opens and a youth, presumably a page, enters and bows to the Prince and the lady.

"This is the Lady Kabeiro. She is Princess Florimel's daughter and will be staying with us at my father's pleasure. Please see her to the chambers Steward Vent will have arranged, and obtain anything she needs." Martin glances back at Silhouette to see if she has anything to add.

"Thank you, my Prince," Silhouette says, curtsying once more. "And please, you may call me 'Silhouette'. It is the sobriquet I am best known by now. I look forward to seeing you again." She turns to the page and gestures for him to lead the way.

Quietly attentive, Silhouette studies the halls of Castle Amber. She pays particular attention to the structural system, noting strengths and weaknesses, as well as form and function. The calculating aspect of her personality appreciates the architect's skill at satisfying the Three Principles of Firmitatis Utilitatis Venustatis. Although she notices areas for improvement, she cannot help but feel a heart-swell of respect for this talented craftsman.

Even as she considers this, another aspect of her personality disturbs her thoughts like a wriggling snake. Self-indulgent thoughts wonder what her life may have been like here as a child. Playing hide-and-seek with her cousins in the vaulted chambers and impressive grounds. Exploring the servant passages and lost rooms. Walking hand-in-hand with her mother through the decorative halls. Growing up as a child should -- without the knowledge of pain and blood.

A bitter snort escapes her nostrils. And what good would such a sheltered life done her? She'd be nothing more than a wastrel by now, a vain shadow of her true self -- just like her mother. She crushes these juvenile fantasies before they can interfere further. The Grand Design has little room for such indulgent ponderings. There is work to be done and no time to be wasted on lost childhoods.

When she arrives at her room, Silhouette discovers that Stewart Vent has accommodated her in surprising luxury -- at least, extravagance for one more accustomed to far more Spartan conditions. She finds her traveling bags set out and easily accessible, as well as a turned down bed and plenty of amenities. Having initially expected a jail-cell, this is more than she could have dreamt for.

"Thank you," she says to the page. "Might I have some green tea brought to me? And a quill and paper, if possible? Oh yes. And please see to it that my servant is informed that I may be departing from the castle for my brother's funeral, but I shall return shortly thereafter."

Once alone, she settles in and lays out a dress for the evening. By the time she has unpacked, her tea and the requested writing materials arrive. After politely dismissing the page once more, she sits down at her vanity and begins to write a letter:

Lord Houn,

I have arrived in Amber and spoken with the Prince Regent Martin. He has provisionally accepted your surrender in his father's name. Amber and your lordship are now at peace. I will ratify your amnesty with King Random shortly.

However, there is a minor delay. Negotiations are postponed due to the funeral of my brother, Lucas. I am to attend in Paris. It is there I shall most likely meet the King. From all indications he wishes a peaceful solution to this matter.

Please send word of any requests you may have. This method of communication appears the best for the time being.

Your faithful servant, Silhouette.

She seals the missive with wax and uses her thumb as a stamp. Collecting Huon's blood-bird, she leaves the room and begins searching for the nearest outside window or balcony from which to launch the creature.

The creature departs and quickly flies out of sight.

As Silhouette watches it disappear from view, she idly ponders the fate of her own bird. She makes a mental note to investigate this later.

A man walks up, clearly a warrior, lithe and easy in his person and his place in the world. "You are the Lady Kabeiro? I am your Uncle. Caine, Regent of Amber. My sister wishes to speak with you."

Silhouette strikes a demure pose, lowering her eyes in respect. "That is I, my Lord Regent. Although most know me as Silhouette. It is a pleasure to meet the man my Prince has spoken of so highly."

Caine nods politely, as if bored with pleasantries.

She tilts her head, providing him a glimpse of her elegant throat. "Your sister? I assume, then, you do not refer to my mother. Shall we, then?" [Assuming he allows it] She slides her arm into his, as if it had always belonged there.

He allows her to take his arm and leads her back towards a sitting room. The castle looks as if it has been half-abandoned, with some things clearly gone, such as paintings on walls and books from shelves. The actual furniture seems to be staying.

After a moment of companionable walking. "I confess to some curiosity. Why would you assume any of my sisters other than your mother would be interested in speaking with you?"

Silhouette turns her head toward him and smiles kindly, "Firstly, it was your choice of words. It would have been more advantageous for you to state 'your mother wishes to speak with you,' rather than 'my sister.' It would have created a greater emotional reaction and thus a deeper desire to answer your invitation. Secondly, with my brother's murderer still at large, I suspect Florimel's attentions would be elsewhere. And is she not in Paris at this moment?

"I would suspect that Princess Llewella might desire my presence when one considers my association with the man that recently undid her realm. Princess Fiona is a less likely choice, but not out of the realm of possibility."

She gives a self-effacing laugh, "Or perhaps my prolonged proximity to Prince Huon's mistrust has clouded my judgment enough to read far too much in your words."

Caine nods. "His judgement is not necessarily assumed to be sound, here. One option to consider is that my relationship to my sister is more important than yours is. The other consideration is that I may be reserving judgement as to the truth of your parental identity."

This inspires an odd smile, but Silhouette says nothing further. She has learned what she requires. And there are so many delicious sights to partake of.

Caine opens a door behind a painting--there are a lot of doors behind paintings. This part of the castle is awash in art, floor to ceiling. He leads her into a hallway and into a utilitarian office dominated by a massive wooden slab that can only be called a desk because it was being used as such.

He leads her to a group of seats that almost look comfortable and offers one to her.

Silhouette sits down, folding her hands modestly over her lap. While Caine seeks his own seat, she breaks the silence. "Lord Regent, may I make an inquiry of the proper etiquette required for vendettas in this realm? And do they extend to other realms as well? I do not wish to inadvertently cause insult when I seek retribution for my brother's murder. For example, in my original homeland, a letter of warning is required thirty days before an official vendetta is called against those of noble birth. This allows the offending family enough time to offer proper compensation.

"But after mother abandoned me, my education into Amberite politics degraded most profoundly. And -- Unicorn bless him -- my current mentor's attitudes toward vendetta are slightly... skewed."

Caine shakes his head. "The rules differ depending on whom you wish to kill, child, and derive from the qualitative differences between us and shadows.

"A person of shadow is yours to kill for the insult or not if you see fit. Were I with you, and you chose to take offense at a stranger's actions, it wouldn't be my place to gainsay your choice to kill him or not." He pauses. "Just because a person was yours to kill or not, doesn't mean I won't judge your choices, but that's the way the world works.

"Where a person is under the protection of a family member, the family must be satisfied that the cause is just. Were my secretary to insult you would come to me for satisfaction. I might tell you to leave him alone, or give you permission to act as you saw fit, or kill him myself for putting me in the position of having insulted you by proxy.

"Where the giver of offense is a family member, one can either appeal to authority, or one can take care of one's own business." It's clear from his tone that the former is not commendable. "If you or your patron's choices lie in that direction, recall that all of the family are vassals of the King thus under his protection. The Lesson of Osric and Finndo was 'don't annoy the King, even if you're in the right'.

"Now, those are the rules, and an ugly world it would be if we failed to understand that they are the extreme limits, to be approached only in time of need and not on a routine basis. That was the flaw of Eric, of Huon, and of Brand. Have a care which relative you choose to emulate. We survive best and get along best when we treat people as people rather than chattel."

Silhouette nods to this, "Thank you, Uncle. I shall reflect upon your council. Fear not, though. I understand this is my mother's Vendetta to carry out and shall not intrude without invitation. However, a Preceptor's approach to Vendetta is as sagacious as their approach to mathematics. As such, until both terms of the equation are satisfied, they cannot dismiss the impression of something left incomplete.

"I cannot suffer such a deficiency ad infinitum."

He reaches for a pouch at his belt. "Now, shall we trump your mother?"

"Please. It is time we were reunited."

Caine pulls out a card and looks at Silhouette. "When I reach out, place your hand in mine."

Without waiting for her response, Caine pays attention to the card. On it, Silhouette can see a woman with reddish blonde hair, wearing a low cut green dress that highlights her figure and brings out her startlingly blue eyes. Caine says nothing for a long, long moment, then reaches out for Silhouette's hand.

Silhouette slips her fingers into his, squeezing his hand. Seeing the image stirs old memories. Those blue eyes. Like the Mesogeios Sea at midday. Infinite, alluring, mysterious. She'd been framed in sunlight last they'd been together; standing on the south balcony of their home's gynaeceum. The scent of olives and lemon myrtle hung in the air, carried up from the kitchens below. A faint breeze tugged at her mother's sea-green chiton, its sheer fabric moving like the waves. Her smile had lost its softness, now wistful, pained. Silhouette -- Kabeiro, then -- knew unease, as if she could sense the coming betrayal. Could sense that she would soon lose a piece of her innocence to forces she could not hope to understand.

"I must leave you, Little Meliai. But only for a time," she'd said.

"I shall return to you, I promise."

It had been the first time her mother had lied to her.

But as Silhouette holds Caine's hand, a lifetime away from that fragile moment, she doubts it would be the last.

Once Silhouette takes Caine's hand, she comes into the contact, and Florimel is present almost as if Silhouette were looking through a magical window.

Her mother is dressed in a style unfamiliar to Silhouette. The ruffles and frippery are alien, but suit Florimel perfectly. The color is dark, and Silhouette understands it is mourning. Florimel wears it flamboyantly, almost aggressively, as if it is a weapon in her own grand design.

Her mother is angry.

"Who are you," she says coldly, "who claim the name of my daughter? If this is Huon's idea of a peace offering, I'd hate to see him try to offend."

Despite herself, a derisive snort escapes Silhouette upon seeing her mother for the first time in twenty-five years. Emotions -- hate, anger, bitterness -- bubble to the surface like sulfurous impurities rising from smelted copper. Emotions she'd long thought purified from her heart. This revealed weakness disturbs her greatly, but guides her voice nonetheless.

"An elegant dress, Mother." The word drips from her tongue like acid. "I wonder, did you wear such finery when you mourned for me? Did you shed perfect tears for your husband, my father? Did you cloak yourself in black for my sisters, who loved you as their mother? Or is such doleful elegance reserved solely for your favored son?"

Caine can feel Silhouette's hand tighten with rage. "I am the specter of Kabeiro ap Cadmilus, your precious Little Meliai. The eleven-year old girl you abandoned to the flames of war and cruel men. The child you left to die and be reborn from the ashes. And no matter how you deny it, I am your Daughter. I am your Blood. I am your Sin.

"And I shall no longer be forgotten."

Florimel's eyes narrow. She does not appear impressed or even particularly fazed. "I'm sure that's what Huon told Pinabello, too. If you don't understand what that means, ask Caine before you die in flames.

"This conversation is over. Do not disturb me again, imposter."

The connection closes.

Silhouette's anger flares again. However, it is not directed at her mother's dismissal, but her own loss of control. She closes her eyes and whispers the first stanza of the Iron Heart, "Once wrath hath entered thy heart, thy life's work is at an end. Even the stone may crack when placed in the fire. Be forever diligent and turn thy back upon contemptible passions." The chastising words soothe her wounded heart.

She realizes she still holds Caine's hand and promptly releases it. Her back straightens as the cold, comfortable mask falls back into place. "Forgive my outburst, Regent. My antipathy poisoned my words. But it does not change the truth. I am her child.

"However, I suppose that matters little to you now, yes?"

Caine slides the card back into a pouch at his waist, just beside an elaborate jeweled dagger that Silhouette is only half-convinced is for decoration.

Upon seeing the dagger, she begins mentally calculating the outer limits of Caine's reach -- incorporating body height, arm length, and the additional blade length. Once the mathematical approximation is acquired, she tries to remain constantly aware of his movements. She doubts he would attempt anything so rude, but caution appears prudent.

His smile is the bland one of a courtier, and is entirely and obviously merely for decoration, unlike the knife. "What matters to me is my duty. The preceding scene merely delayed it while I allowed my sister to conduct her business with you. Now, onto matters. What assurance can you provide us that you do, indeed, speak for Huon?"

Silhouette produces a sealed envelope, "My Prince provided me with this missive to the King to authenticate my identity as his emissary. Prince Regent Martin, did not ask for it, nor did he question my purpose here. If you are willing to take responsibility for this letter, I shall surrender it at your request."

She sets the envelope on the table and then leans back. "On a personal level, Prince Huon has been my patron for some time now. You may have witnessed some of my armaments in action, yes? I am also a skilled healer, of which he happened to be in need of following his encounter with... how did he put it? 'Two brothers, a sister, a brace of assorted nieces and nephews, and an ex-girlfriend all screaming for my blood.' And a dragon from the appearance of his wounds.

"I believe this prior -- and continued -- patronage influenced the decision for me to become his liaison. And witnessing an opportunity, I accepted the role."

Caine looks nonplussed. "Well, he can thank the King kindly for the generosity of his kindred in not using him to keep the dragons occupied while we departed.

"I hope, but am not convinced, that the King intends to extract a very high price from Rebma for Huon's head. They are most vexed following Huon's attempt to massacre everyone living in the city." The regent picks up the envelope and flicks it open. He scans the contents quickly.

As he reads, Silhouette remains mute. Her thoughts dwell on Remba and the possible conflict over the King's future treatment of Prince Huon. Schemas begin to materialize, each one serving the Grand Design to varying degrees. Firstly, the ultimate destruction of the now weakened Rebma might revitalize Amber, providing it dominance over this section of the Real. Secondly, euthanizing the ailing Amber in a war of vengeance might be a mercy and spawn a new, stronger legacy. Thirdly -- and matching her current goals -- fueling their current animosity into open conflict could weaken them both and make them vulnerable to a final strike from the Queen's Exiles. Time would reveal which path -- or other paths -- to take, but allowing the status quo to continue would only invite Stagnation.

"How long will you need to prepare to be taken to the King? He is in Xanadu."

Silhouette offers a sparing smile, "I require no preparations, as long as my manservant is cared for in my absence. With your leave, I'll attend the King immediately."

She rises, smoothing her dress with long, elegant strokes of her hand. "Before I depart, may I inquire as to the meaning of my mother's comments regarding Pinabello. Should I recognize the reference?"

"Huon murdered his brother Pinabello by tricking him into walking the Pattern in Rebma. Pinabello burned alive. I had the misfortune to see it replayed in a vision recently." Caine shakes his head.

"His hatred of Bleys, of course, is a displacement of his hatred for Oberon for judging him for it. Bleys was merely the instrument of the King's displeasure." Caine shrugs and reaches for his belt again. From his pouch, he pulls a different card, this one a slim man, or older youth.

He wears clothes not unlike the Venzanian traders who sometimes visit Vanderyahr--bright, blousy silks in a riot of colors. For all his youth and slightness of build he does not look unable to use the sword by his side. His hair is a shade lighter than Silhouette's mother's, but one could envision them as brother and sister.

"My brother, the King," Caine replies, then concentrates on the card.

"No, your highness," he says with a slim, unwelcoming smile. He pauses. "I'm with the one we discussed. ... Yes, she has. Flora has disavowed her, as I'm sure you'll hear about in detail. ... From our brother." Caine picks up Huon's note, and it disappears from his hands.

"Your hand, Silhouette." It's not a request so much as a command.

[OOC: Assuming she gives it to him, feel free to roll back to here if you don't cooperate with Caine...]

The man is as she saw, just as young, but not as trouble-free. He is holding, open, her bona fides from Huon.

"Hello, Silhouette. My son told me of you, so did my sister. How'd a nice girl like you end up with a louse like Huon?"

When Martin comes into his torn up, half-packed chambers, he finds Folly in the sitting room where she's been supervising (and helping Violet get things in order). Giving Violet an apologetic look, he dismisses everyone for a break of a half-glass or so for a private discussion with his wife. The workmen have the good taste not to snigger in front of the two of them, or Violet, but Folly can imagine what they're thinking.

Martin can too, because as soon as the door is shut, he rolls his eyes. "I have news. Finding the cat and sitting down kind of news. The good part is nobody's dead."

Folly slides a partially-packed trunk to one end of the sofa so there will be room to sit. Instead of hunting for the cat, though (who will probably materialize out of thin air -- or whatever box he's hiding in -- as soon as her butt hits the cushions anyway), she reaches for Martin. "And the bad part is...?"

After his conversation with Celina, Conner allows himself the luxury of a long nap in whatever sleeping quarters he can procure. Upon awakening, Conner takes the time to locate Brennan's entourage of squire and Aelfs and sends a swimmer to inform Queen Khela that he will be departing to attend the funeral in Xanadu. He then concentrates upon Mother's trump.

Fiona replies at once. "Conner. How are things in Rebma?"

"Wet." Conner smiles at his mother warmly and continues sending his thoughts. "Most everything else is in enough flux to defy detailed analysis but I can offer a few bullet points. Huon's army is dispersed and Rebma stands secure against outside aggression. Queen Khela is settling in to consolidating her power and riding the wave of the conquering hero as far as she can. The city still stands but was struck by a seaquake during the course of the battle. The damage pattern is reminiscent of the Sundering but not as severe. I have plenty of detail to add but it is better suited to more secure surroundings."

Conner speaks out loud for the first time. "Brennan left his squire and some warriors behind and they are rather eager to find him again. Can you bring us through?"

"Of course." Fiona draws them through and calls for servants to arrange for housing for Brennan's entourage. She waits until they are alone again to turn back to the subject of Rebma. "So, Conner. Details."

For a comfortable mile or so, Robin just paces through the forest, little hisses of frustration and anxiety leaking through her lips. Eventually she calms down enough to take stock of her surroundings. She smiles to her wonderful flying friends and croons warmly. They did so good! That must have been so very hard on them, but they didn't attack anyone! Oh, they are the best. The very best!

After making sure that everyone's okay, Robin decides that she doesn't really want to walk all the way to Xanadu -- she is under some time constraints after all. So she starts looking around for a horse or two. After all, she and her family abandoned several (and at least one malcavallamico) in the vicinity recently so Robin thinks it's likely that she'll be able to scare something up.

Her intentions are to get herself and Venesch mounted, then head for the waterfront. If she can firm up the forest around herself along the way with some good ol' Dragon-resistant order, she definitely will. Once she hits the coast, she wants to start hell-riding with the winds blowing toward Xanadu. After about an hour or two, she'll see if she can't conjure Venesch's clothing into something more form and face concealing. Or 'find' some such attire along the way.

[OOC: Is Venesch draped across the saddle like a sack of potatoes? It is increasingly improbable that he's both still unconscious and not in need of medical attention. By the time you get to Xanadu, he'll need to wake up. In fact, he'll be in bad shape if he doesn't wake up by tonight...]

[Ummmm, no on the sack of potatoes theory, but I don't know what the alternative is....Leslie has no idea how one arranges bodies and horses, but I expect Robin's done her fair share of evacuating wounded Rangers. If necessary, they will ride double leading a relief mount.]

["Sack of potatoes" and "slung on a travois" are the two methods I know of if he's on his own horse. Riding double is probably safest.]

Horse and clothing are easily acquired, and a hell-ride leading a prisoner/wounded companion/what-have-you is a task that Robin is capable of, although it has been a long day with much travel and little rest. The firelizards settle on the horse, apparently planning to ride the entire way to Xanadu.

[How close is Robin going to get? She can't hellride more than a day's ride from Xanadu, if it's like Amber used to be...]

Shortly after Robin starts out, she begins making changes to the environment, the wind at her back and the scent of shadows she doesn't stop in filling her nose. Subtle at first, then faster and the horse she rides and the one she leads become accustomed to the change.

Rain .. soft at first, then harder... a bird startled from a wading pool ... a dune with a great fish skeleton washed up against it. Robin rides up and down the dunes, because the closeness of the horizon makes the hellriding easier.

The sand grows grey and rocky, then black with volcanic residue, then inexplicably pink... two ships founder at sea, both burning... a ship sinks alone... a bell tolls, from no clear place ... people crowd the beach ... workmen ... children ... no one.

Venesch moans and Robin stops. She's come quite a distance, and it's unclear how much time has passed. She tops a dune, knowing she's not quite to her destination.

A lone firelilly burns cheerfully on a piece of driftwood near the lapping waves, which are almost Xanadu's. Peep peeps, questioningly.

Robin peeps back in confirmation. Yep, she's tired and hungry and just plain wrung-out too. This is as good a place as any. She nods to the little queen to indulge herself with the firelilly. Eat it up, yum.

The three lizards take off, circling up and around each other. Peep dives at the flower, and scoops it up without landing.

With a weary sigh, Robin lowers herself from the saddle. She takes a moment to stretch before assisting Venesch done. Gently, she lowers him to a comfortable spot. Her brow furrows. That moan worries her.

Robin works quickly and efficiently to get a camp set-up and the horses seen to. Then, as dinner cooks away on a small campfire, she looks over Venesch. Huhn. Does she really want to get yelled at more? Ah, well.

With a sigh, the girl makes sure that all of Venesch's weapons are clearly visible but outside of easy grab or even lunge range. She gets food and water ready. And with no small amount of trepidation, gently wakes Venesch up.

Venesch opens his eyes quickly, taking in the sights and smells of this new place.

He's tense, and ready to act, but makes no move. He seems to be waiting for Robin to speak.

Robin leans back from where she.s crouching over Venesch with a satisfied nod. Tense and ready to act means not too much damage inside or out, good. Robin is ready to act as well, but not hostile -- just tired and business-like.

"You hurting anywhere? Hungry?" She gestures the nearby bowl of trail stew and water skin.

Venesch shakes his head and makes no move towards the food or drink. "It used to be the practice, amongst the Bodalian Savages that were the ancestral enemies of my people, that to save the life of a man from certain death was to make oneself responsible for his life thereafter. You had delayed his passage to his ancestors and were obligated to keep him hale until he passed onward.

"We, naturally, considered this a barbarism, but I find myself not unsympathetic to the perspective that would lead to such a heresy."

Robin nods with a wry smile. She understands the practice completely. It's not her particular heresy, but close enough. And it's good that the civilized honorable man has at least some frame of reference for dealing with savages. Even if only as ancestral enemies.

"What is your intent, Lady?"

"Broadly, it's my intent that we both stay alive to serve Amber for many, many more years. I'm flexible about the details." She shrugs one shoulder off-handedly.

"Currently, we're near but not in Xanadu. Before we met, I was ordered to report to the King." She shrugs again. "I need to do that.

"What is your intent, Venesch?"

Venesch stretches his muscles, moving what are clearly stressed and sore arms and legs. "It is the nature of my kind to act properly in all circumstances. I am your prisoner, and will act as is proper for a man of my station to do when he is a prisoner. What are the terms of my captivity, Lady?"

"Don't kill yourself. Don't make war on the King." Robin's definite on those. "Ummmm... I'd rather you didn't attack me or run off into Shadow. Other than that, I'm flexible on the details." She finishes with a shrug. Venesch may be her 'prisoner' at this point, but that doesn't change his status in her eyes as a valuable servant of Amber.

He nods. "I hear your terms. I want my weapons, in case I need to defend myself. I want to ride on my own horse."

Robin raises an eyebrow. They.re negotiating now? Ah, well, it's not like she wants to be his captor any more than he wants to be her prisoner.

"Agreed," she nods. "And you?"

His eyes narrow. "I shall not kill myself nor make war on the King while in your custody. It is dishonorable to ask a prisoner not to attempt to escape."

"Really?!" Robin leans back in surprise. "You've no concept for 'parole'?"

She shakes her head. That can't be right. The honorable Captain of the Guard's never heard of parole? Venesch's obviously been hanging around her uncles too much.

"Wellll, okay. I won't ask then. But no parole? No weapons, no horse." She shrugs with a wry twist of her lips. And subtly braces for Venesch to attack her.

He shrugs as well, and Robin believes that he noticed her bracing. "Then we have nothing further to discuss, Lady."

"Ah, well." Robin fluffs sadly.

"Try to eat something, please. Is there anything else you need to address before I tie you up for the evening?" Robin frowns to herself. She should know better than to take prisoners, it never works out well.

Venesch nods, and takes the food and eats it in silence. "You may now bind me," he says after he is finished.

[Do you have more you want to do? How closely will you guard him? Will you sleep? Eat? Let him go off into the woods for privacy? Inquiring GMs want to know!]

[No more on my agenda. Robin will guard Venesch very closely. Again, she pays him the compliment of assuming he's very good and very dangerous. However, she is also not sanguine about attempting Xanadu in her current state. Sooooo, the theory is to let him go off behind a dune -- not far away -- with the firelizards keeping an eye on him if they can. After that, to truss him up pretty good, eat, then Ranger nap lightly nearby. Being careful that he neither escapes or gets eaten by anything wandering by.]

Venesch is neither liberated nor masticated in the night. The firelizards are excellent guards, if only because Venesch doesn't know their capabilities.

Venesch is awake when Robin opens her eyes. Being bound, he hasn't really moved. "Peep", says Peep.

"Good morning and good job," Robin peeps back to the little queen. Robin takes some time over breakfast, praising and rewarding her little friends. And then, yep, on to Xanadu. She'll tie Venesch sitting into the saddle with his hands tied to the pommel while she leads his mount. When they start getting into civilized lands, she'll stop and draw his veil across his face. Otherwise, onward and upward.

Robin finds herself looking at the majestic waterfall of Xanadu with the Castle beside it, this place which once had so much potential, and does again, but differently. In the way that Amber as a giant, ancient city was overwhelming, Xanadu looks like a city poised on the brink of becoming, although it is not clear what.

It is a good distance away, possibly a score of miles. The civilization of Xanadu does not reach this far up the coast, and the forest is nearer.

Robin and Venesch come to a river, wide and fast and cold looking. It runs back into the forest. Two boys are fishing on a small raft anchored in the middle. They have not seen Robin.

Robin sighs as she takes in the potentiality of Xanadu. So young, so new, so... reactive. She hopes she can keep her heavy hands to herself while there.

In the meantime, there's a much simpler and more familiar issue in front of her. River. She raises her voice to carry over the water.

"Hail the raft," she calls in a friendly voice.

They turn around, and the smaller one drops his fishing pole. He scrambles for it while the other one laughs. "Hail the shore!" he replies, and waits. Neither one has reached manhood, and the one who spoke still hasn't had his voice change, yet.

A big grin spreads across Robin's face as she remembers her own youthful days with Fetch spent on many a raft on many a river. "Is there a way to get two horses and a non-swimmer across?" She gestures vaguely upstream, hoping for a ford, ferry or bridge.

"We could ferry you across!," shouts the younger one. The older one slaps the back of his head.

"We can, if you can pay us, Ma'am. Back that way is the forest, and you'll have to go up the cliffs." the older boy answers.

"I can pay," Robin calls back with a smile. While she has no problem with forest and cliffs, she also has no problem with youthful enterprise.

The boys both smile and with more enthusiasm than skill begin poling their raft to the shore. The current is strong enough that the boat is tied to the river's edge, so it traverses a quick arc to come to a stop somewhat inland from Robin. It's not strong enough to bear two horses at once.

"We can take you over one at a time, Ma'am," says the older one.

"Hmmmm... Can you take both of us and one horse for the first trip?" Robin considers.

"And what would you charge for your service, Master Ferrymen?" she finishes with a smile, digging into a belt pouch.

He eyes the horses. "I think so. Probably. My brother can stay with your other horse. 5 Randomheads for the whole thing."

[OOC - Okay, I've looked up Amber currency and I *think* this young capitalist just asked for 5 pounds to ferry them all across the river. I realize that I am very unfamilar with the local economy and Robin is somewhat unfamilar, but... that strikes me as an exorbitant amount. If I'm incorrect, please let me know and I'll change the post below. -- LL]

Robin stops fiddling with her belt pouch, raises an eyebrow and gives the young man a long look. "Really." she says flatly.

The young man stands his ground for a moment, then the younger one hits him with his hat.

"Stop, alright! Can't blame a lad for trying. Three groats. Two for me and one for my brother. He's a half-wit, so he's half price."

"Am not!," says the smaller one, whose punch at his elder is ineffectual.

"Three groats, it is." Robin says, the smile returning to her face. She hands the older boy two groats, promising the remainder for when the passage is completed.

With careful maneuvering and a cautious eye towards her prisoner, Robin eventually manages to get two horses, two folks and three firelizards across the river intact. Once on the other side, she gives the boys an additional two groats for a job well done and then proceeds forward to Xanadu.

Ossian and Brita take a couple of weeks to sail from Amber to Xanadu, long enough for Brita to complete the two trumps she was working on. Ossian has a chance to spend some time with his daughter. Both of them have a chance to spend time with their cousin's, Daeon's sons, if they wish. Their travel is uneventful.

Soon enough, Skilbladnir is approaching the small but surprisingly bustling harbor of Xanadu. In contrast to Amber, it's busy and vibrant. There are ships with the Amber flag pennant and a similar pennant in red, which also flies over the harbor.

Brita flies the flag of Asgard on Skidbladnir as she does not have any other pennant on board. She follows whatever protocol is needed to lead the small armada to the docks.

[Brita's a Pattern initiate; she can find one or direct someone in the fleet to find one and send it across to her. Surely someone packed an Amber pennant in the fleet somewhere.]

[Duly noted. We can say that she flies Ambers pennant above the Asgard flag.]

The fleet comes into harbor and the Harbormaster arranges for transport for Ossian and Brita and their goods up to the Castle.

The new Rangers will be quartered temporarily at the edges of the city until Paige makes further arrangements or the King orders otherwise.

Ossian will need to make arrangements for where Darling and Jasmine should stay. There's not much in the way of free accommodation in the city. There's a lot of building (Lucas was having a house built, for example) but most of what's already been built doesn't seem that suitable for a royal. It's bustling and lively but very much a frontier town.

If they have any business in town, Ossian and Brita can conduct it. Currently in residence in the castle are the King and Queen, Fiona, Bleys, Gerard, and Julian. Of their cousins, Brennan and Signy for certain. (Others, e.g., Garrett and Lilly who are about to trump in, may be present.)

Brita sees to the placement of the Rangers and leaves a note for Paige detailing Couth's inclusion of Daeon's children in the mix at Uncle Julian's bequest. She assists Ossian in settling Darling and Jasmine if he needs it and then sets off to find her mother.

Ossian will try to find someplace for Jasmine and Darling to stay temporarily (in the castle if there is nowhere else). He will then try to commission the building of a house in town for them. He will make the drawings himself (he is quite an architect, after all), after discussing with Darling.

For a royal child, the castle is definitely the safest place for the time being. Ossian may have a time dislodging Darling if she gets too settled, but the prospect of her own house excites her.

Commissioning the building of the house will take some time. He can rely on some of the royal aides (a number of whom seem to be musicians and friends of Random) and so on for help. The Lord Mayor is up at the Castle a fair amount so Ossian will have no trouble asking him for help.

That sounds good. Ossian will use the help.

[What is Ossian going to tell Darling about Lucas?]

He will somberly tell her that Lucas is dead, and that the funeral will take place somewhere else.

Darling wants to know whether Jasmine (and by extension she herself) is obliged to go. Ossian is pretty sure this is a pro forma offer; she knows about Solace and the other children. It would be a showy mess for Lucas' mistress to be present and force notice on the family.

Ossian tells Darling, that, no, Jasmine is not expected. And he doesn't want to inflict more travelling upon her at the moment either.

Darling accepts this with good grace.

Do not think bad of me
little broken flower
for not being there
in your time of drought

I now walk a desert
path that must be walked
storing sun and water
for flower days to come

Ossian.

Lilly reads the words several times, allowing new meanings to flow into her each time. Carefully, she refolds the elegant origami starflower. Though done correctly, it lack the freshness of the original old. Still, it is enough to bring a smile. She places it on a bedside table to remind her of her friend. Then she allows herself the indulgence of a well earned nap. She too needs to replenish her stores so that she might fight another day.

Over the next few weeks, as Lilly awaits the start of the funeral, her focus will be primarily on healing. Certainly, there will be time spent in her rooms resting or visiting with Garrett. She also plans to find as many books as she can on histories involving her family. If there are books in the library with pertinent information on Chaos, Amber, the Pattern, and so on, she will find them. If one can't fight physically, at least one can prepare mentally. She also intends to spend time in the salle doing strength training and learning to fight in a seated position. The leg is a hindrance. Allowing the rest of the body to go soft would be a mistake. By the time the funeral comes, Lilly will be the picture of health, provided that health has a limp and uses a cane to walk.

Jerod wipes away the tear spot on the page of the music score, careful to avoid smudging the notes he has carefully placed, making a mental note to tell Random about ball-point pens. He is sure the King knows all about them, but whether he sees them as particularly useful is another matter. He smiles slightly, looking over at the small pile of music sheets, crumpled and smudged from tears and grief, then his finger tips, blackened slightly from the wiping of ink.

"Yeah, note to the king." he says quietly, marking an accidental on the staff, adjusting a clef for readability.

"So, where was I?" he asks, looking up over his shoulder to the table top where his sister lies resting. "I covered Huon and dragons and swords and Patterns, Robin and impulse control, Vere and questionable practices. What else?" as he ticks off items on his left hand.

"Khela, Llewella, Conner, Celina, Merlin, Martin and Folly, Brennan and Chaosians, Tritons and Shadow armies, mom and Moire and sisters Rebman. Corwin and Random and everyone in between." he says, sifting the list, looking up again. "I suppose that just leaves you and me."

He sits for a minute, looking at the door. The guards had not bothered to look in except that one time, a few hours ago he figures. He does not blame them for being curious. It's a good trait for a guard to have, especially when the brother of a dead woman goes into the chapel and doesn't come out after six hours.

Things take time. Even sitting in an octagonal room with blackened wall spaces. The King needs to hire a new decorator, Jerod observes silently. Makes Ossian's painting of him look positively extravagant by comparison.

"I'm not angry with you." he says quietly. "I should be, you know. You always spoke about how you were going to die and I was going to need to be there to revenge you. And you know what I think about all that pre-destination crap. It's crap." he says, breathing heavily, waiting to see if the grief returns, another episode of many in these last few hours. But it remains quiet, still present in the background but not intruding. Perhaps grief has had enough for now.

Jerod picks up the flask, shaking it slightly. "Fate is giving up your choice and accepting what someone else tells you." he chides. "You never accepted anything that anyone told you to unless you thought of it first, or you saw it for yourself that it was a good idea. If you hadn't, you would've been married awhile ago, just like Dad wanted. You certainly wouldn't have been hanging with Brennan that's for sure."

He takes a swig of the water and ginger, the odour strong when the flask is uncapped. "You wouldn't be dead." he says, taking another swig before re-capping the flask, the heaviness of the grief fading a bit, the air no longer so thin he observes. For a moment he remembers his coming to Amber, the thinness of the air, the harshness of the light. He remembered how much he hated it. He could hate it that much again he knows, but it would change nothing of what had happened.

"He's not a bad guy, you know." Jerod says. "Not that I'm going to be telling him that any time soon. He is a redhead after all. Took five years to find a balance point with Paige, and she had the advantage of being a lot cuter." and he grins slightly. "Yes, I'm a guy and I like the women around me to be pretty. Just like you liked what you liked." and he stares into space for a moment. "But you picked him, and I'm guessing you picked right.

"So I'm wondering why you picked the Queen and Tir?" he asks, looking back up. "Why there? Why now?"

No answer.

He looks back down at the score, making final notations to the rough draft. It's enough he thinks, though he will need to make adjustments later, to try it out. The King will have a studio around here somewhere. If he's pushing for electric lights, he'll have a studio, Jerod figures, even as he wonders what it will contain.

The papers are tucked into the leather packet, the quill and ink carefully stored and he stands up, looking at his sister once more, the black funerary packet placed beside her head. "Why now? What were you were looking for? And why a blind queen?" he asks again.

"Were you looking to see if Tir had changed? Or if the prophecies you had seen were no longer true, about your death? About everything you had seen?" he asks, circling the table slowly, his gaze never wavering from her face.

"Was it that? To prove that the prophecies had changed? Or were you hoping that they were still the same?" he asks quietly. "Were you looking for your death, to prove you were still right?"

No answer.

He stares at her for a long moment. "You never could give me a straight answer." Jerod says finally, reaching into his pocket for the conch shell. He opens her hand, ignoring the coldness and places the shell in her palm, closing her fingers around it. "An old Rebman superstition. You'd like it, lots of fate and stuff." he says.

He picks up the leather packet, removing his old uniform from it, neatly folded and pressed and he looks at it only momentarily before he places it on the table at her feet. For a moment he wonders why there is no regret or hesitation in his action, but he knows that all things change, even in a bastion of Order.

Nothing is eternal.

The straps of the packet are closed as he walks back around the table, picking up his sword and belt, buckling them on silently as he looks at Cambina. The spear is retrieved and he moves back to the head of the table. "Say hi to Dad for me." he says quietly. "Tell him I'll keep an eye out for my mother, do what I can. Let him know, things are okay. Not great, but they're okay." and he leans down to kiss her forehead.

As he walks towards the door, he remembers something and stops, turning back towards the table. "I'm going to get my answers, Cambina. No one's stopping that." he says, determination hardening in his voice. "Not Corwin, not Random. Not pissant psycho uncles or scheming aunts.

"No one." he says. "Stay dead Cambina, and stay safe."

Fiona is supervising the preparation of a laboratory for her work in Xanadu. It looks as though she's brought some equipment into the castle from Shadow and some workers are setting it up under her instruction. When she sees Brita, she leaves the workers to their task and comes to greet her daughter.

She reaches to put her arms around her daughter. "Brita. It's been too long. How are you?"

"I'd be Better if there were Fewer Deaths to Deal With," Brita says wryly as she hugs her mother. "What have You Heard of These Incidents?"

"Of Cambina's, quite a bit. Of Lucas's, less so. Which one do you want to talk about first? And shall we find somewhere more private to have this discussion?" Fiona suggests.

The workers don't appear to be listening, but there are some matters that need to be discussed in privacy.

"It is Cousin Lucas's Death that I have heard Little About although Both are Of Concern. Do you Have Rooms we could Talk in? I have Just Returned with Cousin Paige's Armada from Former Reality Amber and would Rest as well." Rest here obviously means eat.

"We can go back to my quarters," Fiona says. She moves to lead Brita there, stopping only to arrange with a page for a substantial meal whose details include an emphasis on meats and starches to be brought to her chambers. Along the way there is some small talk, or at least apparently small talk, about various features of the castle and various personages they see on the way: lessons about who and what matters in the new regime in one form or another.

Once Brita is settled in her chair, Fiona speaks. "The gist of it seems to be this: Lucas made a trump of Moire and she killed him for his presumption. The murder weapon was a mirror shard through the heart."

"Cousin Lucas Made a Trump of Queen Moire." Brita blinks. "Did he Have to Use it to Alert Queen Moire or Does the Act of Making it Alert the Subject? Or was she just Spying on Cousin Lucas at the Wrong Moment?"

Brita looks up at her mother with a slight frown and asks, "If Cousin Lucas's Murder is As You Say - a Rebman Vendetta - that would Seem to Imply it is Unrelated to Cousin Cambina's Death. Has anything New been Discovered about Cousin Cambina's Demise?"

"No, but there's all sorts of trouble with that, too." Fiona presses her lips together tightly for a moment before returning to Brita's questions about Lucas. "We don't know how Moire became aware of it, exactly. But she did, and early on. The report of the murderer comes through Vere, who arrived in Paris soon after the murder. He has a gift for speaking with the dead." The tone invites Brita's thoughts and comments on Vere's gift.

Brita cocks her head to one side, thinking. "Where does he Go to Talk to them? Valkyrie Radgrid was Good at Counseling the Dead - She had a Simple Hut near the Lake of Memories, but it Was decorated Well - Soothing for those Troubled by their Deaths."

Brita becomes pensive, "Mother, How would I Protect Myself if I were Making a Trump of Someone and they Did Not Wish it? I Did Not Feel anything - any Alert - when I Made the Trump of Myself."

"Vere's problem isn't where he goes to talk to them; it's how they're brought to talk to him. But--I don't know that you can detect when a Trump is made of you."

This is clearly a more interesting question to Fiona than speaking to the dead, at least for the moment. "You must always ask first." She reaches out to take Brita's hand. "Promise me that you will never make a trump without consent of either the subject or, absent that, on the King's orders."

"I Promise, Mother," Brita says. "I am Only Making Place Trumps right now."

"Good." Fiona squeezes Brita's fingers. "Because that is what your uncle Brand did--made a trump without permission and then used it to attack someone. If Lucas had lived, and people had learned that he could make secret trumps, it would have gone ill for him."

"And Cousin Cambina's Death? You Mentioned Trouble with That?"

Fiona sighs and relinquishes Brita's hand. "You know that she fell from Tir at the same time that Queen Vialle went missing?"

Brita nods and adds a "Yes, Mother" for emphasis.

"Your cousin Solange became convinced that if she could speak with Cambina, she could find out from her what had happened to Vialle. It was an interesting plan, but one that would have required some careful negotiation to carry off without incurring a certain amount of family wrath."

As a redhead, Fiona speaks with some expertise on that topic.

"Solange asked Gerard, who was acting as Regent, and he forbade it. Apparently Corwin was in the room and he didn't like the idea either. So Solange stole Cambina's body and took it into Shadow where Vere was to get him to speak with Cambina. When the body was returned, Gerard exiled her for her disobedience."

Fiona presses her lips together for a moment. "If you ever have to take a chance like that, be sure you have someone's backing first. And for the Unicorn's sake and your own, be sure you succeed. Success obtains forgiveness where permission will never occur."

Brita digests what is said, but she looks confused. "But Mother, Finding the Queen was Critical. Why would Regent Gerard Deny an Opportunity to Find Out Key Information?"

"That's a complicated question. Had Solange been willing to ask Jerod, or Corwin, who were Cambina's nearest kin, Gerard might have agreed. But Corwin forbade it for his own reasons--" and Fiona frowns here, as if she doesn't entirely understand them himself "--which probably have to do with his own experiences with magic in Shadow. Or maybe he thought Jerod wouldn't approve. I don't know; I haven't asked them.

"In any case, once Corwin said no, because he's so senior in the family's council, it would have taken Random's word to override him. Solange didn't wait for that; instead she acted on her own."

Fiona purses her lips and considers the question from a different angle. "Had Corwin known or understood exactly what she was proposing, he might have said something different. But she's a woman and Corwin always underestimates women. And worse, she'd already argued with him about something he considered vital for his trip to Tir with Hannah. So she was already withholding information important to Vialle's rescue, or so he thought.

"But I think a lot of it goes back to whatever necromancy he expected Vere to perform. Most of the family isn't comfortable with that kind of thing. To them, it's as if Solange stole Cambina's corpse and desecrated it."

Brita looks attentive through all of this. When Fiona is done, she merely nods in acceptance and then changes the subject. "Mother, the Silver Chain that the Gaunt Marshall used on the Apparitions of Cousin Robin and Uncle Random, do you Think it Resembles Valkyrie Herfjoturr's Magic Chain - the one that Earned her the Name 'Freeze with Horror'?" Fiona can see worry in Brita's eyes.

Fiona narrows her eyes to think about that. "They might be related. I don't think you could call Herfjoturr's chain a shadow, necessarily, in that there was something Real about her. But the power of Tir--and that seems to be what was in play--reflects many Real things. Or perhaps both were related to a third chain. I don't have enough information to be certain." This answer is clearly not entirely satisfactory. "What do you think?"

"Uncle Huon was Traipsing about Through Shadows to Gather his Armies. What if Others have been Gathering Forces Too? In Shadows like Shadow Asgard? Dara and cleph, Uncle Huon, Moonriders, Queen Moire - How many Enemies Do We Have? Is it Really Many or One?" Brita shakes her head. "I am Young, Mother, and have No Politics. Even in Shadow Asgard I could Not Understand the Infighting and Back Stabbing. How am I to Understand the Reality of it all?" She seems a little lost.

"What of My Brother? Is He Well? Have you Heard from Him?"

"Conner has come back from Rebma for the funerals, so we'll see him soon and you can ask him yourself. Perhaps when we're all together in Paris, we can all speak of what we've seen and heard and decide how to advise the King on dealing with these threats," Fiona suggests.

She reaches over to brush Brita's hair, now almost the same color as her own. "If your strength isn't in politics, don't be a politician. What do you think your strength is? Because you can hardly apply your strength if you don't know it."

"Cleansing. Seeking. Unfortunately, I've been Finding More than I Want and Not what I Need."

"What do you want, then? And what do you think you need?" Fiona asks.

"I Want Time to Learn and Appreciate my Family. I Need to Know my family is Safe." Brita is quiet for a moment. "What do You Think I Need to Do to Achieve That, Mother?"

"I know you cannot make them safe," Fiona says sadly. "If I knew how to do that, your Uncle Brand would never have gone mad and died."

Brita pats her mother's hand in comfort. "Some Chart their Own Path Regardless of what We would Wish. I Must Ask the King what he would Have Me Do. There are So Many Enemies at the Gate. He will Likely Need to Delegate Defense. I would Wish Dara and clef Neutralized Soon; they are like Uncle Loki - insidious and Sneaky. Uncle Random may Wish my Services on a Different Front, however."

Fiona's delicate eyebrows arch slightly. "How would you neutralize Dara, if the King grants you that task? She's an initiate of the Pattern and a powerful sorceress in her own right. Assuming you don't want to kill her, what would you do to bring her to heel?"

"Uncle Loki was Neutralized by Tying Him Down with Entrails from one of his Innocent Victims, but That may be Difficult to Do with Dara. I Assume that the King will Find One who is a Better Match in Sorcery Skills to Best Dara. What do you Think are Her Weaknesses, Mother? Or clef's? I have Battled them Twice and Lost Each Time."

"If you fight them two against one, it's no surprise that they can work together to defeat you. You must find someone you can work with as well as they work together to even the odds." Fiona delivers this piece of maternal advice with a smile.

"Dara's weakness in the past has been her overconfidence, and her affection for Corwin. Now, she seems obsessed by her son, and perhaps by this woman Meg. That is a weakness. Cleph--I don't know enough about him to say. We'd have to learn more about him to defeat him."

One morning Ossian knocks on Brennan's door.

Brennan comes to the door dressed casually, and apparently a little in the middle of something. He starts to reach out to clasp Ossian's hand, then notices that it's got dark dust of some sort on it. Ossian can probably tell that it's stone dust or residue of some sort. There's a little on his clothing, too.

"Ossian," he says. He looks around for a rag in sight, and steps back to put his hands on it and wipe them. "Come in."

"Thanks." Ossian says as he steps in. He might look slightly older than he did last time Brennan met him, but calmer.

"Working on something?"

Brennan gives a sort of a half-shrug. "Something to occupy my time and my hands, really." To keep from going crazy. "I've had a few projects going on for a while, now, in various stages of neglect. Seems like I should finish one."

Brennan's suite looks more like a workshop than a dwelling place... which suits him. True to his words, it does seem like Brennan has more than one project on his mind. On one bench, there are the fragments of a broken sword-- one of Brennan's own, if Ossian has an eye for that sort of thing. On another, there is something about the size of a bowling ball, but it's under a drop cloth, and there are enough papers around it and poking out from under the cloth to fill a medium sized notebook. Some of the notation is Thari, some is that horrid, cramped ideoglyph language they use in Uxmal.

The third one is very obviously the one that Brennan was engaged with. It is-- or will be-- a stone statuette about three fists high, the same color as the dust that was on his hands. Also, the same color as the Pattern chamber under Amber. It isn't finished, but the outlines are clear enough for Ossian to be sure that it is the figure of a broad, deep, solid-seeming man. There is no convenient scale object associated with it, but it suggests height as well as breadth. The proportions are wrong for Brennan, so it is clearly not a self-study. The figure looks like it's walking forward, though hunched forward as though walking through hurricane force winds, and one hand is holding something-- it might become a lantern-- ahead of it.

The dust on Brennan's hands-- which is also on that bench-- is there because Brennan has started the fine detail phase, although he's started at the bottom with the boots. One feature that Ossian's trained eye is likely to pick out, though, is the flaw in the stone at the statuette's chest. Among other things, that flaw makes the work very delicate, with no room for error. Evidently, whatever anyone might think of Brennan's meager artistic talents, he has a steady, disciplined hand.

Once Brennan's hands are clean, he offers one to Ossian in a proper greeting. He stands in a way that does not block access to the work benches. "Social call?" There's some irony in Brennan's tone, but not the nasty kind.

Ossian shrugs. Brennan might notice that Ossian is keeping some comments about the sculpture to himself.

"I promised to look into the question of children. I am not certain, but you might have a granddaughter."

Brennan looked as though he was going to invite comments on the sculpture, but when Ossian mentions a daughter, his focus changes. He doesn't even bother to feign disinterest... or if he is, he's exceptionally bad at it. Ossian has Brennan's full, undivided attention. "Might?"

"I have claimed the fathership. But it is hard to be certain. I know of no method to find out that I would want to impress on the child." Ossian smiles. "But I won't press grandfathership on you if you don't want to."

Brennan's eyes narrow, just a bit, in the suspicion that someone is, once again, keeping back vital information. "I can think of several that would be reasonably conclusive and reasonably painless to establish whether she is or is not Family," he says. There is a question nibbling at the center of that sentence that Brennan would prefer not to voice, so he gives Ossian the chance to address it.

Ossian smiles "She is family alright. And without me she wouldn't have a father anyway. How would you do that, anyway?"

"To establish Family status? Present her to the King," Brennan says. "Present her to Brita. Present her to me. In order of decreasing certainty." Brennan's eyes are still narrowed, as he asks, "Just what is this girl's situation, that her Family status is not in doubt, but her parentage is?"

Ossian sighs. "Lucas could be the father too, I have learned."

Brennan favors Ossian with a flat stare. "I doubt that the first two methods would suffice to determine paternity," he says. "Does she have a name? This girl, and the girl's mother, both."

"The girl's name is Jasmine. The mother's name is Darling." Ossian's eyes narrow. "Does paternity really matter?"

By Brennan's expression, he must have thought this would be one of their few points of agreement. "Ask Flora if it matters," he says. "Or better yet, don't, until we actually know something. Are they coming to Xanadu, going to Paris, or staying in Amber?"

"They are here. I did not consider Amber safe."

Brennan nods. "Probably wise, but in one way unfortunate-- it will be harder to establish paternity here than there."

"As for Flora. If I was a child I'd rather have you as my grandparent."

"Maybe so," Brennan says, "And I don't doubt your motives in this matter. But put on your practical hat for a minute and ask yourself this: Should Flora decide she has an interest, and should you be unable to prove your claim-- or be wrong-- do you want to be involved in a custody battle with her? This may be a concern over little or nothing, admittedly, but it is a concern. What, if anything, does Flora know, or did Lucas know?"

"Lucas knew. Knowing Lucas, I doubt Flora knows. And I'm willing to risk her wrath by not informing her either. But yes, a custody battle with her would be rough. Let's hope I'm not wrong, then."

Ossian thinks for a moment. "What would we need to do to establish her paternity? It might be best after all."

"That's a good question," Brennan says. "And we want to consult with Fiona before proceeding. And perhaps Brita. Fiona may know her sister well enough to tell us this is not necessary. But the thing that comes to mind is to have objects important to or well-used by all of you, Lucas, and young Jasmine in the same place at the same time. That might be difficult to arrange, given Lucas' fate. Failing that, having a strand of her hair provides another path." Brennan thinks about how that might sound, then adds, "And we are firmly speaking of methods that do not involve working Sorcery on the child."

Tactfully, Brennan does not suggest introducing the child to Clarissa.

"That's a relief. I'll see if I can dig up something that belonged to Lucas." Ossian sighs "It's hard to think he's gone. I never learned what happened to him or..."

Ossian goes quiet. "Do you want to talk about her?"

Brennan thinks that over for what is-- for him-- a respectable amount of time.

"No," he says. "No, I want to talk to her. I want to ask her why she left. I want to ask her what she thought she was doing, that a blind Queen was the right choice for a spotter in Tir. But I can't do that, can I? Ask your cards that," he adds, bitterly, "Ask them, if you think they'll answer."

Ossian ponders for a moment. "I can do that. She probably consulted them before." Ossian flinches a bit at that. "Do you want me to?"

To the extent that Brennan even expected an answer to his question, this isn't the one he expected. Still. "Yeah. Do it." He looks around, sets his eyes on two chairs, and a table that can be configured appropriately for the task, and sets about doing that.

"Do you have any cards you want to add to the reading? Cambina's Trump? I don't have much except the standard deck."

Ossian sits down and starts to shuffle his deck with nimble hands. "Now we don't want to make Brand's mistakes here. Don't involve your desires in the reading. It's not that easy."

"I don't actually have one of her," Brennan says, "Nor did she have one of me. Presumeably she would show up as Eric, reversed. The only ones I have that you're not likely to are Uxmal and Huon, and I will be very cr--" Brennan breaks off and at least tries to follow Ossian's directions. If Ossian wants to include the Uxmal, or the Bleys, Fiona, Caine or Amber that are also in his pack, he'll hand them over. "I would prefer not to use the Huon card, as he might not even know it exists, much less that I have it, and I see no need to do anything at all which would even slightly activate it and alert him that it remains." Huon's card remains face down or in the pack.

Brennan follows any reasonable instructions Ossian gives.

Signy finds one of the stewards of Random's castle, and inquires to see if Bleys or Fiona is in Xanadu.

The stewards direct Signy to a suite of rooms in on the waterfall side of the castle. The view from the great window at the end of the hall is breathtaking. The door on the left is Bleys. It's wide open and the prince is sitting at a writing desk, penning something. When he sees Signy at the door, he puts some papers in the desk and shuts it.

"Hello, Signy. What brings this familial visit?"

Signy opens her mouth to introduce herself to her uncle, and then closes it with a slightly surprised look. "I'm...ah...yes. I wanted to talk to you on Brennan's recommendation. There were some things that happened during the rescue of the Queen that he thought you should hear, and I had some questions about the swords my father made."

She takes a step or two into the room and towards Bleys before stopping, a slightly uncertain look on her face.

"Come in," he says, gesturing to a seating group by the window. Signy notices the light here is excellent for reading.

"It's been quite a while since I last spoke to your father. He confirmed some things I only suspected about number theory." Bleys leans in towards Signy.

"What happened with the Queen? I've only heard a bit about that."

Signy walks over to the seats and perches on the edge of one, facing Bleys. "Well, we rescued her. Beyond that, I'm not sure."

She takes a breath before continuing. "We left from Benedict's castle, and rode for a bit before we ran into someone named Robin, who called the King 'Brandom' before attempting to kill him with a device. We drove off her and her men, and then came to this large depression. It was filled with dead bodies -- Robin's men, and these things called 'Grackeflints'. The Queen sat on a throne, and this Robin and someone that looked like the King were in chains in front of her, being held by the Marshall. We attacked, the Marshall, Robin, not-Random and the bodies all disappeared, and we were left with the Queen. And a silver chain."

She gives Bleys a quizzical look. "Some people think that all of that is just nonsense and looking for meaning is pointless, but Brennan thought I should talk to you or Fiona about this."

She pauses, and then tilts her head slightly. "And why would the Queen be with these people, and order the death of someone that looked exactly like the King, and then seem to have no memory of any of what went on."

Bleys pulls a cigarette from a silver box and offers one to Signy. "Tir is an odd place, and it's easy to attach too much meaning to what you see up there. Formerly, the only known way to get to Tir was the intermittent stairs in the moonlight of Kolvir, but now, that's not the case. And it never made sense that there was only one way up. The equations don't balance unless the metacyclicals are freely transformable in a ring. I think I may have to visit Benedict's castle soon. It sounds more special than we'd been led to believe.

"As to the Queen, in Tir you can often see people you know, and the odd ways in which they act are the portents and signs that people interpret to mean whatever they hope or fear they'll mean before they head up to it. So imagine the Queen is there, held, unable to see or hear. The image of the Queen does whatever images do, then when the magic is broken, the real queen is there, as if you'd seen her act.

"That's the most likely explanation, I'd expect. I'm not in love with fortune telling. It's been done so poorly by our family in the past." He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

Signy looks at the cigarette, before shaking her head and declining the offer.

After Bleys speaks, Signy is silent, clearly working through the things that Bleys said. "So, first. These equations that you mention. Is all of this, the Pattern and everything, governed by them? And if they are, who can teach me?"

"There are a few of us who could teach you more about reality and how it is calculated. Father offered it to all his children, but few took advantage of it. The benefits of a higher education are many, but finding an agreeable tutor is not always simple.

"We were taught by Dworkin, who is genially insane these days."

She takes a breath, before continuing in a slightly slower pace. "That still leaves open the question of how the Queen got there in the first place -- are abductions like this routine? And even if people attach too much significance to what happens in these sorts of places, it sounds like you think they may be devoid of any significance entirely?"

"So, the Queen was last heard of leaving Xanadu late at night with the Lady Cambina, to investigate the stairs to the Dreaming City above. She didn't return, and Cambina's body washed ashore the next morning. That someone could stay in Tir beyond the setting of the moon is a thing that has not been reported before. What happens in that case is wholly unknown, since the Queen cannot tell us."

Bleys takes a long, slow drag on his cigarette, more for show and to give Signy a chance to respond than for the flavor of it. It hardly smells of tobacco at all.

Signy quickly quashes a hopeful gleam that tries to burst forth from her eyes. "Would you be one of those people?" she inquires.

"As for the Queen, I don't think we were in Tir, exactly. It sounded like we were in something congruous to it, but not it exactly."

"In all the time I've been around Amber, I've never known anyone to have a back door to Tir, so that makes sense. I wonder if it could've been a shadow of it. Moonshadows are not out of the equations, but of a necessity, they haven't been well-explored."

He blows some smoke from his cigarette. It twists and turns upon itself as if building something, then dissipates.

"And I know enough to teach, but I'm not looking for an apprentice right now."

Signy deflates at this. "Is there anyone else?" she asks in a quiet voice.

He nods. "Yes. Your great-grandfather is the most knowledgeable, although he's still mad. It wasn't a popular course of study and of those who were trained in the ways of Kingship, I was the only one who kept at it, although I daresay that Random and Corwin have a journeyman's education in the field by dint of their patterns. Still, one never knows what one can ignore if one diligently sets out to do so.

"My sister is also quite knowledgeable. As is my mother, but you probably don't want that education."

"Your sister Fiona," she asks, not quite managing to hide the uncertainty.

Bleys nods, encouragingly. "I see someone has given you the guided tour of the genealogical rolls."

She gives Bleys a considering look. "Was my mother given to Weyland as a debt for one of these Pattern blades?"

Bleys looks surprised. "Unless I miss my guess, your mother wasn't born when the Pattern Blades were forged, and there'd be no keeping them from their masters. She also," he says, pausing, "seems unlikely to have agreed to any such bargain."

He tilts his head and looks at Signy. "What makes you ask that?"

Signy shakes her head in the negative. "It was an educated guess -- Brennan mentioned you and her as the two to talk to about what happened with the Queen."

She exhales sharply. "My mother left my father when I was very young, and apparently took my brother Marius with her, but not me. It seems there's a lot with my father that I have yet to learn." She looks at Bleys quizzically. "What are these Pattern blades, exactly?"

Bleys opens a wardrobe and takes a highly decorated scabbard from it, he unsheathes a blade from it. "They're tools for reinforcing Order, and a specific vision of Order to boot. They are a particularly shaped reflection of the thing that gives us our power of shadow, and they are damned useful in imposing your will upon others, with caveats." It's one of Weyland's blades, clearly. And if it's balanced the way it looks, the best work of his she has ever seen.

"Werewindle, by name," he say, introducing the weapon to Signy. "Did your father tell you nothing of them?"

Signy starts to raise her hand to touch the blade, before visibly restraining herself and giving Bleys a questioning glance.

"No, he didn't mention anything about them. This is his work, but I've never seen its like in my years working with him at the forges."

"There are, to the best of my knowledge, only two others. It sounds as if your father plans more. I frequently find it disappointing when an artist returns to a completed theme. It's unlikely that they find anything new to say on the topic." He pauses. "Not impossible, of course. And it matters how 'completed' the theme was."

Bleys reverses the blade and hands her the pommel. Even in the low light, Signy can see the burnished blade has the pattern itself inscribed on it. She feels it resonate with the pattern that is in her.

"Yes, you feel it. But it's not quite the same. Werewindle is Amber's blade."

If there is one thing Lilly simply can not do, it is sit around and wait for her body to recover. Yes, she made promises. Yes, she told loved ones she would take the time to heal. But healing and growing soft were two different things entirely. While it might be a while before she can fully bear her weight on her leg, her arms still work perfectly fine. After several days of following doctor's orders, Lilly decides to take charge of her convalescence.

Making her way to the salle, proves to be a bit of an effort. Moving about a castle of crutches is a workout in and of itself. Still, Lilly is determined. It may take twice the normal time but eventually, she finds herself in the salle. The next order of business is finding a suitable blade. Doing this serves as a painful reminder that she needs to return home. The ruin of her sword remains carefully hidden away in her rooms. Hopefully Mallett would be able to repair it. At the very least, he could provide her with something close to it's equal. For now, however, she would have to make due.

Lilly tests the weight of nearly every sword available before deciding that she likes none of them. With a sigh of frustration, she takes the least annoying of them, and moves towards a chair. After all of that, she needs a bit of a rest before beginning a true work out. She closes her eyes and shuts out all distractions until she is one with her breathing. Slowly, she lets all cares flow away until her mind is clear. Meditating, Lilly has found over the years, is always the best way to begin.

Jerod views the environs of the salle quietly, having finished another exploratory walk through the castle hallways, the metallic tap...tap...tap of the spear end echoing quietly as he memorized the layout, noting the changes in this new Order compared to the others that he had become familiar with.

Having seen Lilly, he stops himself from approaching, remaining at the edge, noting the behaviour and recognizing the situation for it's strangeness. Data filters through the back of his mind, bits of information gleaned from servants like a whale sifting krill through baleen. A seated Lady who should more likely be standing, a pair of crutches, kitchen staff comments on food for guests, mention of royal physicians and their regular visits to certain rooms, the collected minutae of dozens of conversations, forming a conclusion in the barest fraction of a second.

He steps forward onto the sand, absently noting his own ribs previously broken, a lifetime ago it seems. His pace is measured and steady as he approaches and stops on her left forward flank, just outside of sword range. Once there, he waits patiently. He too understands the value of meditation and patience.

Slowly Lilly opens her eyes and looks Jerod's direction. She allows for the briefest of smiles. "I see Garrett and I are not the only ones of our generation present in this fair city." Her smile flares for a moment then recedes behind a mask of stoicism. "It is good to see you, Jerod. I trust all is well? Or at least as well as we can expect these days?"

"The latter I would say." Jerod replies, nodding to her as he leans slightly on the spear, the grey of his new colours a contrast to his previous ones. "The preparations for my sister's funeral have occupied some of my time but not enough I'm afraid. I find myself spending more time here than I normally would. So much that I am lacking for sparring partners. I'm guessing my reputation has caught up with me."

He motions to her seated position. "You appear to have had a run-in of sorts." he says, leaving it open for her to respond as she wishes and at her own comfort level.

"Of sorts," Lilly replies with a nod. "Brennan's sister. Lovely girl, really. Perhaps just endowed with a bit too much of her father's psychosis. Though, I will admit, meeting her makes me glad Brennan is on our side." She pauses for a moment. "I can also safely say the outcome might have been quite different if not for Edan. I'm not sure how, but it would have been significantly different." She shrugs.

"I can give you all of the messy details if you'd like but the moral of the story is be wary of the redheads - particularly when they are being helpful."

Jerod smiles a little. "Tell you what. I'll trade stories. You tell me about psycho-bitch of the redhead clan and I'll give you an update on psycho-nutbar Huon.

"Edan did not strike me as being one who was...extravagant in his behaviour. I'm guessing he did something that didn't quite work as it should have?"

"Edan is a sorcerer. I think there is a rule somewhere that they all must be extravagant at some point or else risk loosing their power," Lilly quips. "I was with Martin. We were attempting negotiations with Maddoc. It went poorly. In a fit of sorceral rage, he cast me out into Shadow and as fate would have it, I ended up very near Edan and Clarissa in Uxmal, Brennan's home Shadow. There a war was being waged between Chantico and Ambrose. Edan and Clarissa were there to extract Ambrose from the situation and so I agreed to help." She gives her hand a small shake. This, of course, Lilly now recognizes as her first mistake.

"Clarissa opened a portal for Edan and I to use to track him but she was unable to follow due to some type of mystical trap laid forth by Ambrose. You will have to forgive me, my knowledge of sorcery is minimal at best and, as such, I am unable to give you much more information then that." Lilly says with a shrug. "But once Edan and I made it to the other side, we were able to track the path of the armies with ease.

"In fact, everything went fairly easily. We managed to infiltrate Chantico's army causing unrest and accomplish the task of getting to Ambrose without much effort. A little sword and sorcery seemed to go a long way. But in the end, the whole set-up played out like an elaborate trap though I think that was less the plan and more a set of circumstances that worked in Chantico's favor. In the end, it came down to Chantico and I battling one on one. And that is when things got out of hand.

"Is this making any sense so far?" Lilly asks not wanting to get too far ahead of herself.

Jerod nods, motioning to one of the men-at-arms on the side lines, a hand signal for refreshments. "Your narrative has been quite clear, though as always there are many questions forming." he says. "I promise to keep them in abeyance to allow you to continue."

"All right then," Lilly replies as she shifts her weight subtly to find a more comfortable position. Pausing for the briefest of moments, she reaches into her memories and decides how to best present this Jerod. "Do you know that moment? The moment in the heat of battle when everything is going just as planned and you feel as if you are one with your blade? That invincible rush that rarely occurs? So rarely in fact, that when you become aware of it, it immediately loses it's magic because you start to become suspicious? You start to wonder why it is all going so well? And then you notice, through it all, that your opponent has never lost their swagger and their confidence seems completely unshaken? And you realize, right then and there that you have lost the battle somehow before it even began." She falls silent and averts her gaze.

Jerod remains silent. He knows that moment, has known it several times. He does not comment on her words though, for he wonders of her need that she would offer them.

In a quiet whisper Lilly continues on. "My blow landed clean. Her head separated from her shoulders with the barest bit of skin keeping it from flying away. And she laughed. She actually seemed to enjoy the whole thing." She turns back to him, eyes still down and sighs deeply. "We had walked into the middle of her trap. I with my honor failed to recognize her utter lack of such. Or, as my father chided, her difference in perspective when it came to such things. Her form was incorporeal and the force of my blade ripping through non-existent skin threw my balance. In that moment, she was able to land just one decent blow. Perhaps it would have killed another. Perhaps I am lucky I was merely thrown rather than cut deeply about the center. I can not say for sure. But I landed hard on rocky terrain and felt my hip give way.

"Edan realized the treachery of her actions and intervened. Somehow, he forced her into a more corporeal form and bade me to strike again. By then, I had accepted the prospect of certain death as she neared me, ready for the killing blow. I knew I would have but one chance... Before that final confrontation could commence, it began to rain fire from the skies burning everything it touched." She shakes her head. "I took cover, of course. Better to allow to sorcery to work on the enemies, I decided." Her mouth twists into the ghost of a grin. "And then, just when things seemed to be at the darkest, it all ceased and Edan, Ambrose, and I stood alone on the field. I did not see the cause but can only tell you this - Edan believes the entire army was swept up, somehow, by a coyote spirit of sorts. Or that was what I though I heard. At that point, the pain and the shock of it all had begun to affect my senses. He went to investigate and sent me through to Amber. If have not seen or spoken with Edan since."

Jerod nods when she finishes, accepting the jug of water and the plain cups from the guardsman who has brought them. He fills them both, rough hewn and simple, but more than functional for what is needed here and he offers one to her, keeping the other.

She takes the cup with a grateful nod and sips gently.

"Shortly after the return of the King, I managed to get back home to Rebma. Was snooping around in Court business and got my ribs busted by a Triton." he says, smiling at the remembrance, his expression at odds with his words. "A rather unpleasant experience. Got caught like a flat footed squige surfacer, even using a sword instead of a decent spear.

"I gather you consider your situation on the unpleasant side." he says, drinking from his cup.

At this, Lilly laughs. "You might says that." She takes another sip of the water before becoming serious once more. "I'm not used to such a sedentary lifestyle. Even as a small child I refused to sit quietly and 'act like a proper' lady as my foster mother would put it. I need to stretch... and run... and spar. Something. Anything. And so I came here. But now that I am here, I'm not quite sure where to start."

"So if I may be so bold, to sum up, you appear to be faced with a situation where your considerable talents appear to have no benefit." Jerod says. "You are not in direct control of your surroundings but like all family you want to be, and you either have no training or experience, or at best limited experience, upon which to fall on to guide your next move. Would that be fair to say?"

Finding himself with royal introductions out of the way, Fletcher's concerns turn toward closer family introductions. Borrowing a room temporarily in the palace, he asks the castle staff to let him know which members of the royal family are in residence and takes a bit to clean himself up. Upon learning that Lilly is in residence and Benedict is not, Fletcher determines that decorum dictates that he introduce himself to this newly-discovered sister as soon as possible. Employing the palace staff as his allies in this endeavour he sets out at once to find her in Random's palace.

It takes the staff very little time to discover that she is in the library. If pressed, they will note that most days, she can either be found there or in the salle. Today, her reading load is modest and only a small pile of four texts occupy the table in front of her as she reads from a fifth.

A tall man in a suit of clothes more fashionable to Paris than Amber appears in the periphery of Lilly's awareness. He is tall and of middle years. His suit is more appropriate to Court or the city than for battle but he carries a long sword in a scabbard slung over his shoulder. In his lapel is a stick pin bearing the insignia of the Order of the Unicorn. He pauses at the periphery, as if certain she is aware of him but does not approach before announcing himself. "Pardon me, please forgive this intrusion I am Sir Fletcher, Knight Commander of the Order of the Unicorn. I am told you are Dame Lilly, Knight Commander of the Order of the Ruby and the third child of Prince Benedict. When I was told you were here in residence I wanted to take the first opportunity to introduce myself." He seems to assess her condition with a physician's eye and awaits her reply.

Third child? Lilly thinks to herself. Father what have you managed to leave out now? Certainly, life should not contain these sorts of surprises.

Lilly turns slowly at the torso to look at him fully. Her right leg is propped up on the chair on front if her and she is careful to not move her hips as she pivots. Raven black hair is tied loosely at her shoulder and her almond eyes are a deep shade of brown. Normally, she refuses dresses and gowns in favor of more serviceable attire but today is different. She is wearing a simple, deep red gown with a squared neckline. As she moves, her right hand come to rest on the cane that had been leaning on the table beside her. Her face carries little expression but the set of her shoulders betrays the wariness within her mind.

"I am Dame Lilly," she replies in soft tones. "How may I be of service?"

He approaches closer, but remains standing. "This is my first trip to Xanadu." He pauses, blue eyes taking in Lilly's posture and the cane. "I didn't know you were injured. I trust you're recovering well? If there's anything I can do to help...I suppose one should start at the beginning. From your expression I'm guessing that you've never heard of me, which is a reaction I'm starting to get used to, actually. I was away from Amber for some time. My mother was Princess Emerald, you see, and by virtue of my father being Prince Benedict I'm told you and I are brother and sister." He half-smiles, not knowing what to expect.

Lilly nods once, very slowly, and manges, somehow to hold back the gape mouth expression that is currently residing within her mind. "My... Our father is rather adept at holding back details he deems to be either inconsequential or dangerous should they be known. But I suppose you already know that," She takes a deep breath and gestures to a free chair, "Please, have a seat. I having to look up at people all the time a bit disconcerting. And I suspect this is not a conversation we will be able to complete in a matter of minutes." Her voice has less of a formal edge but remains flat and devoid of emotion.

Fletcher takes a seat and sets his scabbard at his side. Leaning forward, he gives Lilly his full attention. "I imagine you have some questions."

"I hope I'm not the only one," Lilly promptly returns. "But first, put something into perspective for me, as much as you can anyway because I know this is a dangerous question," for the first time she nearly smiles before continuing on. "You said you had been away from Amber for quite some time. About how long is that? Do you even have a way of counting it? I confess that I only counted 20 turns of the seasons before my first arrival in Amber and that was... well... not that long ago. And yet, even still, with the way time passes in Shadow, I would be hard pressed to give you an age but let's just say early twenties and leave it at that. How old do you consider yourself?" Lilly's interest is genuine and may have something to do with the books of Amber's history and lineage that are sitting before her.

"I was born in Amber, so I suppose I tend to keep the Amber calendar and let the shadow math work itself out. I'll try to put it in terms you might be familiar with. I was born during the reign of Queen Faiella in Amber, when Corwin was a young man and Caine had not yet arrived on the scene. That was, by Amber reckoning, about 1800 years ago, give or take. I'd need to check the calendars to be more exact. I left shortly after Queen Faiella's death, and have only been in intermittent contact since. Most days I don't feel a day over a thousand, but today isn't one of those days. It must have been strange coming to Amber after being raised in Shadow. Was it very different from Amber?"

The scrape of the pencil on the page is barely noticeable even in the stillness of the room as Jerod finishes the notations to the page. The departure of the other musicians has left the studio quiet, the thin silence lingering in a place that seems bereft of purpose under such circumstances.

He looks at the paper, the neatness of the staves filtering through his thoughts. Not what anyone would expect from him, he thinks. Yet inspite of appearances, some things never change.

A glance up at the door, a mental check of the time frame. He wonders where the page that he sent out could have gone. It's not like the instructions were that tough. Find Prince Gerard, ask after his guest and have her come to the studio. How hard could it be to find a bright green haired, and green skinned woman in Xanadu?

Jerod looks around at the studio, the disorderly yet oddly neat pile of beer cans left behind by the musicians. Given the number of people in the King's employ possessed of at least adequate musical talent, Jerod wonders if it might not be as simple as he first thought.

The door scrapes open and Carina's head appears around it. Her eyes take a moment to become used to the uneven pools of light as she makes sure that Jerod is alone. Seeing him so, she rushes into the room, and stops suddenly right before him, as if she fears that her welcome will not be the warm one she expects.

At the sound of the door scraping, Jerod's head snaps to view her entrance. He does not move as she rushes in, the flash of emerald green hair a blur in his thoughts, perhaps so as to not cause a collision. Where normally there is a flatness to his expression, the mask of control firmly fixed in place, there is now an expression of brief sadness. For as long as the time that he will be here with her, it is more likely that something will draw him away in the future.

He gives his heart a shake at that thought. Down that road lies nothing good he knows, and he will not spoil this moment. He puts down the pencil and rises up from the chair at the small table, not bothering with the uniform jacket. He always considers what he wants to say when these moments come, always the time in between each rejoining seeming too long, too protracted. Each time there is earnest desire to bring forth some new words to tell her how he feels, but in the end, he always comes back to the same three words.

"I missed you." he says simply, and holds his arms open.

She slides into his arms and buries her head in his chest, just breathing and letting him enfold her.

She laughs, briefly, but not at anything. "We have spent years only seeing each other occasionally, so I am quite used to missing you. I have now been forced to flee two kingdoms, and am here as a guest of the Queen, who has no reason to treat Rebman courtiers kindly. I have not had time to miss you properly until I arrived in your home." She looks at him.

"I'm told you saved Rebma from being destroyed by Huon."

He kisses her forehead as she looks up. "After a fashion." he says. "While my parents will surely be displeased that I do not claim as much credit as possible, it is fair to say it was a joint effort, though very much a pragmatic one. Given a choice between taking on Khela or Huon, the latter was the bigger threat at the time. I'll explain details in a bit."

Dark eyes always serve to capture his attention and her's most of all. "A hint concerning the Queen. Despite the fact that Random is the king, I like him. He might even turn out not bad at the role - I'm waiting to see how long he keeps bluffing and when he's going to put his cards down. I also like Vialle and she knows this. That I like you is a point that can be used in your favor should you need it." Jerod does not bother to explain how it can be used. She is old enough by far to understand what can be done with it and he trusts her not to abuse it.

Carina nods. "Thank you."

"The Queen. Mother. Leaving Rebma." he says simply. "What happened?"

"It was... difficult. We were told that only a personal appeal from the Queen to the King of Paris could possibly save us from the oncoming armies. Your mother argued against it and offered to go in her place, but the Queen was adamant.

"It was untrue, of course. She wore the face she wears when she tells a courtly lie. I had not determined what her real plan was."

She looks at Jerod. "I do know that she spent some weeks prior acting as if her death in the war or shortly thereafter was preordained. When this mission came up, that was no longer mentioned."

As much as Garrett would love to explore in Shadow, the impending joyous events of his mother's arrival in Xanadu and the upcoming funeral mean he will simply have to wait. He dares not leave the realm given the unpredictable time flows. There certainly are worse places to wait, however. Garrett uses the time to ride and explore the town and surrounding countryside.

Early in his stay in Xanadu, probably at that first dinner with the King and Queen, Garrett finds out about Lucas's murder. He is clearly moved by this unexpected event and offers any help that might be needed. Despite their skirmish over Martin's trumps, Garrett liked Lucas and held no grudges. He writes a letter of condolence to Solace and the children, which he asks his Aunt Flora to deliver when he calls to offer her his regrets.

He also questions Soren and Ash, privately, about the protocols involved in bringing Anna and the girls to Xanadu. Just exactly how DOES one settle the unpredictable, hot-headed former lover of the King who also happens to be the mother of a Prince of Xanadu? He ponders the problem of having his sisters educated as the Queen has requested while dealing with his mother's raging temper. Suggestions on proper housing arrangements and the best liquors to drown out the desire to wring necks are welcomed.

Ash tells him that there are a few options. He can give his mother a giant pile of money and a pony and some ice cream and make her a countess and she can retire to terrorize servants for the rest of her life, or he can give her all that and settle her is some shadow where she can do basically the same thing, or she can hang about, raging on all the time, and getting ignored. Worse case, she commits the kind of treason that can't be ignored and we don't.

It's not really up to us, but her and you.

When word comes that the ship is arriving in the harbor, Garrett dutifully is there to meet it. He greets his family warmly and spends the day showing them around, settling them into whatever accommodations have been recommended and asking them about their trip. When he has a few free moments, he commissions the armorer for a handsomely crafted short sword to reward Abdallah for his patience.

And though it probably does not need saying, Garrett checks in on Lilly frequently.

On an evening a couple of weeks after his arrival in Xanadu, Garrett searches out his Uncle Bleys.

Garrett finds Bleys in the library, supervising the librarians who are unpacking crates of books. "Hello your highness,looking for a book?" he says. He picks up the reading glasses that are on the table beside him, folds them and places them inside his jacket pocket.

A castle page, barely younger than Garrett, finds the Prince. "Your pardon, your highness, but Lord Soren requests your presence outside as soon as possible."

The page doesn't explain why. [If pressed, he will say that the Lord is with Ash and Lady Robin.]

The city, when Robin sees it, is much smaller and more open than Amber. Built mainly from wood with some stone structures under construction, it looks more like an overgrown town than a city. It sits around the arms of a giant, perfectly circular bay and the bay is perturbed by a great waterfall that cascades down the cliffside in two bounds. At the level where the first falls hits the rocks, there is a lake. Robin recognizes it immediately.

What is new, aside from the growing city, is a great house made of stone, built with wide windows and porches that sits beside the lake. The town doesn't look defensible, and the cliffside is all that protects the castle. Flying from the house is Random's Red Unicorn banner. The king is in residence.

As Robin rides through the town, her green eyes take it all in. As does her Hearing, listening for the symphony of the new Pattern and the new center of Reality. By the time she reaches the 'Castle' there are tears of both joy for the new and mourning for the old glimmering in her eyes.

Castle Xanadu has a ledge rather than a wall. As Robin reaches it, so does a man, on foot. He's tall and shaggy-looking. He waves at Robin as she rides up the cliffside road.

As the man approaches, Robin snortles inelegantly and rubs her eyes clear.

"Hail the Castle." She says with a wave back. "I'm Robin, daughter of Prince Julian, with an honored prisoner. The Regent of Amber sent me to report to the King. But, if possible, I'd like to use the..." she wrinkles her nose, "Trump Booth first?"

The man nods. "We saw you coming. I'm Ash, Lord Mayor of the future city below us. The Trump Booth is a humongous Royal Secret that the King wants us all to pretend we don't know about, so you'll need his permission to even be allowed to pretend to you don't know about it. Do you and your prisoner need to rest or will you be able to see his majesty right away?"

Robin takes in the information regarding the non-existence of the Trump Booth with a blink. "Okay," she acknowledges as she dismounts.

"Well met, Ash." She nods with a friendly smile. "Brij mentioned your name to me recently. It's nice to meet you.

"There's no hurry to bother the King right away. A rest and a cleanup would be nice. But.... do you think his majesty would be able to meet with us in private? There's some kind of delicate... things... in the air." Robin waves her gauntleted hand vaguely.

Ash raises an eyebrow. "We're pretty low on cells, in fact the only one we've got wasn't really supposed to be one and it full. Who have you captured, Lady Robin?" Ash comes forward and leans down to look under the hat she's placed atop Venesch. "Not Huon, is it?"

Robin moves gently but quickly to intercede Ash, using the excuse of untying her guest from his horse. "No," she chuckles with heavy irony, "it's not Huon. In fact, it's one of the delicate things I was mentioning. I'd appreciate it if he could stay with me until further notice."

Her head cocks and she looks back to Ash. "Uh, by the way, who's in the not-cell? And why?" She's not looking worried or guilty, oh no.

"Hmm? Oh, well. It's not Huon, from what I hear."

Venesch speaks up, in a clear voice from under the veil covering his face.

[OOC: Note, Robin can interrupt him with more or less violence as he speaks, as she sees fit.]

[OOC: Thanks for the thought, but Robin's not going to interrupt. :) ]

"I am Enguerrand du Venesch, a soldier of the King of Amber, and I have been attacked and kidnapped. I protest my imprisonment and demand freedom or to be taken to the King immediately."

Ash looks up at Robin, questioningly.

A wry smile ticks the corner of her mouth and ironic humor sparkles in her green eyes. "Everything he just said is true," she says to Ash.

Then turns to Venesch in fond exasperation, "But we have already discussed your freedom, Venesch, and it's not up to us to decide if the King is immediately available. After all, no one is injured or dying here and the King just might have more on his mind than your or my little concerns." She chides gently with a chuckle.

"Lord Ash, Lady Robin has confessed to assault upon a soldier of the King, which is treason and a breach of the King's Peace. It is your duty to arrest her and free me, as I am not even accused of anything by the self-confessed traitor."

Ash looks annoyed. "Lady Robin, I'm really sorry you told me that. Lord Venesch, I am outside of my jurisdiction, which extends to the City of Xanadu below us." He reaches out, and unless Robin makes a definite move to stop him, removes the hat that has been covering Venesch's face.

"Lady Robin, do you have any reply? And failing that, do you have a suggestion of what I, and more importantly the castle officials should do now?"

Robin doesn't make any move toward Ash other than to smile sympathetically.

"Well, I can't stand here and call the man a liar, Ash. But I can say that I find his logic flawed -- really flawed -- and his statement incomplete. And without going too much into it for Venesch's sake, it's kind of important that he stay in my custody.

"Ssssooooo," the Ranger drawls as she rubs her chin in thought, "I guess I'd recommend that you and the castle officials find somewhere, preferably outdoors or at least fairly exposed, to stash us. Together. Until someone with sufficient jurisdiction to handle a dispute between a soldier of the King of Amber and a member of the Family Royal can be found. Oh, and someone should probably tell Prince Jerod what's going down." Robin finishes with a nose-wrinkle. Oh, yeah, that going to be fun.

Ash looks uncomfortable. "Alright, without at least a charge, he's pretty much got the law on his side. Lady Robin, it would be easier if Gilt, or Soren, had some inkling why you've taken him prisoner and dragged him here."

Gilt Winter walks out of the castle doors -- gates wouldn't really be a good description. Robin can't quite tell exactly what is passing between them, but Ash looks Gilt and Gilt shakes his head, minutely.

Ash speaks before Gilt can ask, at least with words. "This one's over our heads. Who's in residence?"

"Prince Ger--, no he's not to be disturbed. Prince Garrett."

Ash looks at Gilt, who nods.

Ash turns to Venesch and Robin, with a bland smile on his face. "We're sending for Garrett. He can sort this, in the King's absence."

Venesch nods. "And Commander Thorn, please. One way or another he shall be needed."

Robin nods to the mayor. "Sorry to make this so difficult on you, Ash, but as I said, it's delicate. And I'm not one to air dirty laundry in the courtyard like some fish-wife." She shoots an exasperated look to Venesch. "So I'll just hold my peace until the Prince and Commander are available."

Garrett, Garrett... that name seems familiar. Wait, the lad at dinner, the one her firelizards... ooog. Ah well. But that does bring up another point.

"Ash? Can I introduce you to some folks?" Robin lifts her head and delivers a piercing whistle.

Down out of the Xanadu sky, where they've been circling high to avoid the temptation and attention of the City of Xanadu, flutter the two bronze and one golden streak of Robin's friends. She greets the firelizards with open arms and a big smile, settling them on her shoulders and within her arms.

"These are Peep, Chirrup and Ooot." She introduces each firelizard in turn to Ash and Gilt. "They're with me, but they're just babies yet and still a little wild. If they get into anyone's business, I'd appreciate it if anyone came to me. Instead of taking it out on the little ones." She says with earnest goodwill.

Ash nods. "I wouldn't worry about the castle staff. A word from Gilt here and all will be fine. I can take care of the town, as well. I can't wait to explain these to Soren. It's like the time Folly and Haven brought a kitten on tour with us."

Gilt shakes his head. He holds out an arm and Ooot lands on it as if it were a branch. They stand looking at each other.

Thorn comes out a side door of the palace and walks over to the group, looking inquisitively between Venesch, Robin, and Gilt.

Robin beams to Ash. "Thank you. Kittens are good," she confirms with a nod, "but these little guys? Oh, they're wonderful." She beams further at the sight of her bad boy so calmly perched on Gilt's arm.

"Commander," Robin nods to Thorn. "I find myself in a dispute with here Captain Venesch. We're waiting for Prince Garrett. And then we can--- hopefully," she glances meaningfully at Venesch, "go somewhere quiet to discuss it."

As if on cue, Prince Garrett strides out of the castle behind a young page. He's not dressed as one ready to adjudicate a dispute, but then again, those knowing Martin would recognize the "dressed for comfort" look. The only difference is that Garrett's casual style is more Amber-like, with a loose shirt, dark trousers and well-used boots.

He surveys the assembled group with a furrowed brow. Finally settling his gaze on Ash, he says, "Um... Report?"

Ash nods. It's almost a head-bow. "Your Highness. She showed up with him as a prisoner and asked to see Sy--Random and has not explained why and he says she kidnapped him illegally and wants to be let go."

Gilt and Thorn look at each other and quickly turn back to Garrett.

Garrett quirks an "Is this so?" look at Venesch before Robin continues.

Robin nods to Garrett as well. "Ash is correct, Your Highness." She sends a smile to Ash and another nod for the nicely even-handed report.

"But, if I may, I'd also like to add my request for further discussion to be private and for Prince Jerod to be notified."

"Fairly taken," Garrett concedes with a single nod. "Thorn, we'll use the office in the guard house. Gilt, I'll need you to take notes. And... Ash." He turns to the scruffy lord mayor, but before he can say more, Ash anticipates him.

"The Lord Mayor will go fetch Prince Jerod now, and Thorn, can you clear the guards' office for us?" The two men bow and leave.

Gilt smiles. "Now, your Highness, my Lords and Ladies, let us retire to the guards quarters."

Robin nods to Gilt and returns his smile. "Thank you." She'll let Prince Garrett proceed her and then escort Venesch into guard house herself.

Garrett, still unused to being on the receiving end of such prompt service, chuckles slightly, then turns more serious as he leads the way toward the guard house. He observes Robin's handling of Venesch and the warrior's reactions with sidelong glances, but he does not stare.

Once they are inside the guard house, the young prince stands before the desk. He waits quietly for everyone to settle into place.

Venesch sits in a chair, the ropes binding his wrists clearly on display. Thorn reaches for his knife, then looks to Prince Garrett.

Gilt leans against the mostly closed door. It might seem disrespectful if it wasn't clear he was strategically placing himself to prevent them from being interrupted.

"I'll get it, Commander." Robin says to Thorn. "After all, he is still in my custody." That she directs pointedly to Venesch as she moves to untie him.

If that goes well, Robin backs up to lean against a wall and settles her fair around herself. She's been ridin for a while and doesn't really feel like sitting. There she waits for how the Prince wants to do this.

Garrett observes the process wordlessly, studying the posture and body language of both parties. He does not direct either party to stand or sit while he waits for Jerod. Their choices will speak for themselves. After a moment, he leans back against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest to give himself something to do with his hands. He glances down at Robin's little fair. "They gonna behave?" he asks dubiously.

If she's heard anything about him, Robin might remember that Prince Garrett is more of a horseman than a dragonman. And horses and dragons notoriously do not mix well.

Robin looks at Garrett with sincere eyes, "We're all gonna behave, Highness. It's important to us."

The prince nods once. "Very good."

He turns to Thorn and inclines his head toward the door. "When Prince Jerod arrives, show him in."

Gilt turns to Robin and says, "Lady Robin, will you explain to us why you have brought a soldier of the King's to this castle as a prisoner?"

"Certainly," Robin nods firmly.

"Gilt, Highness, Commander," She looks between the three of them. "Captain Venesch is not in my putative custody, he is in my protective custody.

"About 2 days ago, our time," Robin gestures between herself and Venesch, "I came across Captain Venesch in the palace gardens. He was preparing to commit suicide because 'he had destroyed his honor' he said. I tried to talk him out of it -- to help him -- but Venesch was adamant that his only options were to kill himself there, to kill himself in front of the King or to make war upon the King. Since none of those options were acceptable to me, I hit him. Once. To restrain him. Then I snuck him out of the Castle so that none of his men would have to see or wonder about the incident.

"On the way here, Venesch was kind enough to promise not to take his life or make war upon the King while in my custody." She darts a pointed glance at Venesch. Loudly calling her a traitor in the courtyard of Xanadu Castle comes dangerously close to 'Suicide by Royal' in her book. "But he couldn't promise not to try to escape. So I bound him. Other than those two indignities, I have treated Venesch humanely as possible.

"You see, I brought a soldier of the King to this castle against his will in the hopes that someone here could help him. Could save his life. My understanding of his injury is limited and my bedside manner?" She gestures with the rope. "Rough and ready, at best. But I'm gonna do what I can for one of Amber's best men. Including enduring his accusations and his anger."

She finishes with a flat unhappy line to her lips and determination in her eyes.

Garrett listens patiently, nodding at places to indicate his understanding, but otherwise giving no indication of emotion. At the end of Robin's speech, he gives a final nod. "Thank you."

Venesch sits straight and tall, unmoving throughout the recitation of Robin's actions and reasons.

He turns to Venesch. "Captain, you may speak. I'd like you to recount the events from your point of view from the time you first encountered Lady Robin until you arrived in Xanadu. Do not argue her points. I will question both of you when I have heard both sides cleanly."

"That you for your kindness, Prince Garrett. I must inform you that I no longer hold that commission. There is little to tell beyond what you have been told. The Lady Robin treated me as an animal, unfit to make moral choices as if I was her steed and the people her stable. If word of this insult to me and to my family were to reach my homeland, my family would be in double jeopardy, first from others who would consider them weakened by my state and second from the righteous anger that they would feel against Amber, which might lead them to rash and reckless acts," Venesch says.

It is on the tail end of Venesch's comments that Jerod arrives, Commander Thorn in tow. He is wearing his new colours and his father's sword, but the spear is not in evidence. He registers the scene in a single blink but remains silent for the moment.

Garrett acknowledges Jerod's entrance with a glance, but his attention remains on Venesch.

"It is therefore that I demand satisfaction from the Lady Robin, who is a disgrace to her ancestors and a danger to Amber, in whose service I will gladly kill her on the field of honor."

Princes are supposed to act, not react, but Garrett is unable to hide his surprise at the request for trial by combat. With effort, his reaction is limited to a slightly arched brow, however.

Robin is not capable of keeping her emotions off her face at Venesch's recital. Though she remains standing where she is -- arms folded, lizards under control -- her feelings shoot through her like lightning and are quite apparent.

First there's shock, 'Wow. He is _really_ mad.'

Then wry sympathy, 'Well, I would be too in his situation.'

Concern, 'There's the family and allies again. But if they are in danger, why doesn't he just ask for aid as instead of threatening the King and...'

Anger, 'Me!' and she fights back a feral snarl.

Thoughtfulness, 'He _is_ trying to commit Suicide by Royal, isn't he?'

Anger again, '@#$*&!!! He promised!'

Finally she fights herself to resigned acceptance, 'What a bloody mess.'

And nods to the Prince who just entered the room.

Jerod returns the nod precisely but remains silent, his attention focussed mostly on Garrett but including Venesch. He smiles to himself at the thought that the King's youngest will be deciding his first case of Court importance, and hopes that he does as well or better than Jerod did on his first try. A comment his father once made, about "playing with the big dogs" enters his consciousness for a moment but he ruthlessly suppresses it to prevent himself from chuckling at a time which is most certainly not appropriate for such behaviour.

Garrett purposely does not look at Jerod as he considers the arguments before him. He is extraordinarily aware of his presence though, much as a newly-knighted squire is aware of the seasoned veteran in the stands watching him ride in his first joust. There is far more at stake here, however. The young prince's posture remains as straight and formal as he can make it.

"Lady Robin," Garrett begins, pausing for emphasis and to get his words in proper tone and order. "Though my first-hand Shadow experience is not yet extensive, I already understand that the peoples in different shadows maintain different values. While it may seem the admirable course for someone from Amber to keep a valued individual from harming himself, if that individual hails from a shadow in which death is required to maintain honor or position, you've done him an extreme wrong under the rules of that culture. This is so regardless of what our own culture tells us is right and proper."

Robin draws a quick breath in at 'extreme wrong.' For a moment, her memory assaults her with the sounds of Cloud's pain-filled whinnies and the feel of Danu shredding under Jovian's desperation. And the girl can't help but fear that she's harming something she cares about by forcing it to live.

But just as quickly comes the memory of Girth dying under her blade and the words she used to let Canareth go. And Robin knows that she has not turned from her Ranger's convictions.

Her eyes dart to Venesch. Who is not dying in pain, who is not killing a world, and who has -- as yet -- not attempted to murder his commanding officer. Yep, 'extreme wrong' or not. It's not affection that's keeping him alive at this point, it's duty.

Because regardless of the lad's misunderstanding of who belongs to what culture, Robin remains committed to her oath to the King. And that oath supersedes both her own cultural bias and Venesch's. That Venesch can't seem to understand that, well that's just something she's going to have to grow around.

So while Robin's expression may show a certain sulleness, there is no rebellion or denial in her eyes or posture.

"However...," the young prince continues, turning to look intensely at Venesch, "those of us in the Royal Line don't take kindly to threats of vengeance against Amber or to insults hurled at members of the Royal Family. Lady Robin, daughter of Prince Julian and granddaughter of King Oberon, in her attempts to keep you from your 'honorable death', may have wronged you in your own culture, but the words that you have aimed at her here before me and those assembled have wronged her in ours."

Garrett pauses, then asks pointedly, "Lady Robin has quoted you, Venesch, as claiming that you must either kill yourself in front of the King or make war upon the King. Is this statement correct?"

Venesch thinks for a moment His eyes move towards Jerod, but snap back to Garrett. "I beg to differ. It is not necessary for the King to be present. There is a fourth path open to me, which is to have my satisfaction against the Lady as I have demanded. If I lose, then my family's honor is maintained. If I win, the King may dismiss or exile me, and it will be mete."

Jerod's gaze does not shift one iota. There is no evidence of the Court mask however, only a patient focused expression, a waiting in the "now". It is doubtful that either Robin or Garrett would recognize this change in Jerod, given how little Court experience they might be able to associate with him, though Venesch is certain to recognize a difference.

"Sooooo," Robin drawls to Venesch, "If I hazard my life against you, you'll live? No more suicide attempts? You'll remain in the King's service?"

There's a note of suspicion in Robin's voice. These civilized men and their civilized words, so much like lies, justifications and escape clauses. She wants to be sure.

"I don't reckon it's that simple, Lady Robin," Garrett interjects. "Venesch resigned from the King's service for allowing Prince Huon to escape the dungeons of Amber. He apparently received the prisoner with no knowledge that he had an inherent means of escape and no instructions regarding his placement." He lets that hang for a moment. "Prince Caine, as Regent, accepted that resignation."

Venesch nods. "Thank you, your Highness. Yes, I have insulted the Lady, for that is required for one to duel. Our mutual insult is such that we cannot be reconciled and must face each other on the field of honor. It does not matter, as it would in less dire insults, that I was first injured by her.

"I have issued the challenge. To refuse would be the act of a coward, and while I name her traitor, I do not think the Lady so base as that."

He turns to Robin. "If the King would have me after I dueled you, I could return to his service. Or retire. I have served long enough. But it is an unseemly act of vanity for a gentleman to consider the possibility that he will survive a duel."

Paige crests the rise, leading her horse toward the cliff's edge, hoping the Children will appreciate the view as much as she always does. "This is Xanadu, King Random's new creation, and our new beginning. Once we arrive, I'll introduce you to the mayor and we can find you all a place."

[BTW, while I understand that Lalal is always with them, is she with them?]

[You think you see glimpses of her throughout the trek, but unless you seek her out with the priestesses, not in any way you can chat with.]

The people stand with her on the cliff's edge, looking down from the forest verge over the caves to the beach and the sea. The city is growing, but still quite incomplete and the palace, flying the ruby unicorn flag, is magnificent. The waterfall is a ribbon of silver, and cannot be heard from this distance.

"Lady, we are glad you brought us here, but we are a forest people. We were told we would be here." The speaker is a woman, not a priestess, but clearly of some social standing. She looks to be one of those women who barely age between 25 and 55, but she speaks with some confidence.

Paige replies smoothly, "Those that take service with the King's Rangers will live where they work.

"As to what other woods are available for settlers, you can speak with the King's man in town." She indicates where she last saw Lord Ash.

The woman looks down at the town in the same way Robin looks at the Castle. "We will stay here. It is close enough. Send the Man to us."

The body language of the people indicates that they agree with her.

Paige nods, drawing her Trump deck from her saddlebags, a pleasant expression on her face even as she silently curses herself. Shuffling out her Father's card, she concentrates on his warm eyes.

Bleys' eyes smile his genuine smile, and his smiling face follows. "Paige. Are you in Xanadu already?"

Paige smiles at her father, "Broceliande at least. The passage was uneventful, almost enough to make one worry, if they're inclined to do such a thing.

"Lalal's Children of the Moon and I are atop the cliff. I've explained that there will be no settlement within the wood, save those that serve in the Rangers. As such, they would like to speak with someone from the City as to other options. Are you aware if the Lord Mayor still serving in that role?" she asks, stepping a few paces from the refugees.

"Ash? Yes." Bleys nods. " He was up here yesterday, but I haven't seen him today. He usually disappears into Random's confidence with Soren when he climbs the cliff. If you need a suitably impressive official to snow the rubes, I can certainly come through."

Paige extends a hand, chuckling, "I warn you though, I told them that I was looking for a King's man."

Bleys steps through with a cheery smile of his own. "To the extent that I'm not, they'll never know the difference."

His daughter nods, and taking the lead turns back toward the Children.

"This is Prince Bleys, brother to King Random," she introduces.

Bleys grins and says to Paige, "well chosen spot." He bounds upon three rocks arranged in a stair at the edge of the cliff. He turns towards the Children and bows. "Well met, oh Children of the Moon. The King bids me bid you welcome in his name. Our lands are new, and they are raw and rich, and none who sets his mind to prospering will fail."

He gestures towards the city. "Who speaks for you? I would have words with your leaders."

The High Priestess steps forward, although for a moment Paige things the woman who spoke to her earlier was about to.

Bleys leans in towards Paige. "See if you can find Lalal. I'll butter up old hatchetface, here."

Bleys smiles at the older woman. "Come, let us discuss your needs and ours." He leads her quickly away.

The messenger comes from the Danaan camp by motorcycle, and requests to speak with Vere and King Corwin immediately. Corwin summons Merlin and Celina, and the group meets in his private receiving room, where, on Corwin's orders, food and drink have been brought for the guard. The lad has waited to deliver his message and for the King and the Prince to question him before eating.

"I bring news from Commander Siege of events in Camp. Queen Moire has appeared in camp by some magic unknown to us and some of the Children of Lir have rallied to her cause." The young man stops there, clearly waiting for questions.

Corwin doesn't bother to keep the disappointment from his expression. What's missing is any hint of surprise.

Vere's control slips for a moment, and a flash of anger crosses his face, then is quickly suppressed. "How many, and has she taken them from the encampement?" he asks, his face once more calm and his voice steady. "Or do she and they remain?"

Celina is surprised by this turn of events. She allows that to show, but waits on her father and Vere to have the say about this military stratagem of Moire's.

"Perhaps a third of them," the messenger says. It's clear he's reporting what he's been told and not as a witness with understanding.

Merlin looks to the others. "This is enough for a guard for her person, and perhaps Rilsa, but not for a military action against Rebma, correct?"

Vere nods. "An excellent size for a bodyguard during a time of trouble. A dozen on duty at any time, another dozen relaxing nearby, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice, and a third dozen sleeping. However, it is also an excellent size for a strike force for targeted action. Small enough to be moved quickly via arcane means. Well trained warriors who have fought both under the sea and on the surface. Men who have demonstrated their loyalty to her by violating their oaths of allegiance to me and their fellow warriors in the Children." He smiles grimly. "Though no doubt they would argue they are following a higher loyalty."

Captain Raven has heard many times of the great waves spawned by undersea earthquakes, but in all her years on the sea, she's never seen one until now. The lookout in the crow's nest calls down to report the peculiar pattern that precedes a tsunami. They are far enough out to sea that it appears to be a swell, but closer to shore the water will suck out and then the wall will come crashing in.

The ship is beginning to rise on the water. If Raven is not careful, she will be drawn along to shore and her ship wrecked, her crew lost and scattered.

Raven swears under her breath; she wasn't fond of this place to begin with, and now this? She searches her memories for a moment. There had been an old sailor she'd shared drinks with back in Amber that had a few things to say about tsunamis. A lot of it, she suspects, was utter garbage - clothes sucked off corpses and fish in trees, for sure - but there's always a bit of truth to such things, and his comments on how his captain dealt with it seem sound enough.

"Turn us hard to port and put the bow to the waves," she orders, and by habit she scans the faces that turn towards her to see who disagrees. There should be an exit from this world somewhere two or three days up the coast, or so she's been told, and it's moments like this, when she has to order a change in course that takes them away from the next possible way home, that she clearly recalls how she became captain of this ship. The last world had been kind - or more properly, prosperous, and so her men are well-fed now and look better than they have in months. And richer as well, she notes with amusement as she spies touches of gold and embroidery on clothes and around necks. If - no, when - they make it back to Amber, there will be some very heavy trunks carried off this battered ship... her own included.

She paces restlessly as her orders are carried out, waiting to see if she's chosen correctly.

The Captain's men move to do as she says, not without grumbling. The officers quieten it; some of them have sailed long enough to see the swells that are coming and read their meaning. The ship slowly turns to port as the wave rises slowly.

Soon the ship faces out to sea, cutting through the rising water, running parallel to where Raven is sure the rift should lie, if the old rutters are true. Since the storm that sent them running and lost away from the double-dozen seas of Amber, the rutters have played Raven false more than once.

Something has happened to make this tsunami. Perhaps when she's ridden it out, its source will give her answers.

And maybe that source is something useful. Maybe it's even a way home; they have seen things as strange. Their passage to this land had been through the belly of a black fog, and some months back, there had been a ride on the edge of a whirlpool that still haunts Raven's dreams now and then.

She also considers that if they were to, say, continue the port turn once the swells had passed and make a loop of it, they will be unlikely to end up right back on top of it. And if they can stay behind the deadly wave, there might be a bit of salvage to be had - at least if the tales she's heard are true. Salvage, she knows, will go a good way towards making up the detour with her men. What she has been told about the exit down the coast sounds like she has a few more days than the days it will take to get there, so as long as they keep any other detours to a minimum, they shouldn't miss it if this tsunami turns out to have come from nothing they can see.

Raven nods to herself and continues to pace, keeping a sharp eye out for the end of the waves.

The waves continue to rise for hours, and it's close to nightfall before something changes. The lookout reports something in the water: first one, then another, then still more.

They are bodies, bodies that have come up from the depths of the ocean.

Raven stands at the rail, watching the corpses float. In normal waters, she would expect to be able to follow the corpses back to some great drowned wreck, probably a victim of whatever had caused the tsunami. Here? Well, who knows. There's nothing to do, she thinks, but to investigate with the hope that it's something to benefit her crew.

"Follow the bodies," she orders. "I want to see where they're coming from. Never know; it could be a way home."

The ship continues on its course, which seems to be heading toward the where the bodies are coming from.

The first mate turns to Raven and asks, "Shall we bring one up?"

Raven considers for a moment. The floating dead are macabre, but it might be useful to know what they're headed into. And - well, salvage is salvage. She smiles thinly at the first mate, an old drinking mate turned assistant with a face to match his namesake. "Do it, Mister Stone," she answers. "And make sure you give it a thorough search."

Stone nods and moves off to obey the order. A few minutes later, they retrieve one of the bodies. It's not, by consensus of the crew, costumed as a man of Amber or Rebma. The weapons, or rather, general lack of them, aren't right. The decedent could have lost his spear, though.

Nor is it immediately obvious what the animal horn on a knotted leather string around his shoulder was for. It seems to have some sort of cap on one end, designed to seal it against water. He did die of injury and not from drowning or (solely from) crushing pressure.

The condition of the body is not great since it has been in the water for some time, but the crew has strong stomachs. They haven't had to handle it closely, though.

Raven walks over to the body and nudges it with her foot. If it doesn't immediately explode or do anything else untoward, she snorts. "Right. Somebody go pull Stern out of the mess." Stern has probably the strongest stomach of the crew; he'd told her once he had taken on a number of odd jobs before joining the Navy, including a brief stint working with the dead. And it's not the first time she's called on him for this kind of task, although she has to admit that the other times, the bodies had been a bit less soggy when they started. "Tell him there's a body to be dealt with again."

"Aye Cap'n." Someone runs off to do just that.

She works the horn free while she waits, turning it over in her hands for a moment before looking up again. "Miles." The owner of the name is terribly thin and always has been, and jumpy even when he doesn't need to be. "See if you can get this open," she tosses the horn to him, "without dumping it all over the deck or yourself. And stay in my sight this time, you hear me?"

Miles comes over to take the horn. "Aye, Cap'n."

Soon enough Stern comes up for instructions. Meanwhile, Miles has been working on the horn, which he's managed to open. He shows its contents to Raven: a strange powder with an odd smell that the horn has kept dry, perhaps magically.

Raven eyes the powder suspiciously. "Somebody pull up a bucket of sea water, and get me a spoon. Make sure it's dry."

She turns to Stern. "Strip him," she says bluntly, indicating the body. "And then chuck him over the side before he starts to stink worse than he already does. Let me know if you need a hand."

"Aye, Cap'n." Stern doesn't even wrinkle his nose, but begins work on the body. The rest of the crew finds excuses to be somewhere else as best they can.

Once she has both bucket and spoon, Raven wipes the latter on her shirt briefly - just to be sure. There are any number of reasons why this stuff was being kept dry, and she isn't eager to lose a hand if it reacts badly to water. Then she scoops out a tiny amount of the powder and drops it - and the spoon - into the bucket.

The spoon falls into the bucket and the powder gets wet. There's no chemical reaction that Raven can see: certainly nothing instantaneous.

Stern, meanwhile, finishes his gruesome task and there's a splash as the body goes overboard. He brings back a pile of goods. He hands what seems to be the coin purse to Raven without opening it separately from the rest of it, which he drops on the deck.

"He had a knife--" which Stern shows to Raven "--but that was his only weapon. And he had markings, tattoos, on the skin. No clue what they mean. Never seen anything like them."

Raven tucks the purse into her belt for the moment, still keeping a wary eye on the bucket. Just because it hasn't exploded doesn't mean it's safe - or, for that matter, that it won't explode soon. If the spoon dissolves or rusts or turns into a lump of unidentified goo, or for that matter if the bottom of the bucket dissolves, that will tell her something about the powder. And if none of those happen in the next few minutes, there's always the step of catching whatever was scuttling in the hold a few days ago and dropping that in the bucket to see what happens. Unidentified powders didn't make her happy; they never had.

"Think you'd know the marks if you saw them again?" she asks Stern as she examines the knife in his hand. "Seems a fair guess that there will be one or two more of those out there."

"Aye," Stern says, and makes shift to help hoist another body or two out of the water.

While Raven waits, the men haul up another body and Stern repeats his task. When he reports back, he has another horn of powder and another strange, fringed coin purse, which he gives to Raven. This man had tattoos of a similar design, but they weren't identical.

Meanwhile, the bucket has remained intact.

"See if you can find one without a horn to pull up," Raven tells him. "Let's see if those are any different."

She pulls the first pouch out of her belt and compares it with the new one. Fringed things always remind her of a rug her mother had insisted on hanging in her childhood bedroom, and she frowns at them. It's kind of... girly too, even if they'd both come off men.

At length, she opens the first one and shakes the contents out onto her palm.

It's not a money bag at all, as it turns out. There are objects in it: a couple stones of different kinds, one of which might sell for some money if it were polished up nicely, a feather that was probably very elegant before it was submerged in water, a small carving of an animal--maybe a bear?--that Raven can hardly guess what is, and some herbs, which, like the feather, are submerged in water.

She takes some time to examine these things while the men pull up another one. Once they get it on deck, Stern calls over, "Cap'n, you'll want to take a look at this one."

When Raven does, she can see that his gear is easy to recognize, at least for an Amber sailor. He's Rebman.

Raven pockets everything but the feather and the herbs, which she decides aren't worth saving. She tosses them over the side to join the rest of the waterlogged dead before heading over to the latest corpse.

"I'll be damned," she says. "Looks like we're closer to home than we thought, lads." She turns on her heel, locating her first mate, and calls across to him, "Make sure we're keeping an eye below the water as well as above, Mister Stone. And if anyone spots a landmark they know, don't be shy about calling it out.

"You lot," she adds, turning again to the body and the crew that had pulled it up, "back to work. Stern and I have it for now." She kneels next to the Rebman, indicating Stern should start on the other side with a gesture, and looks him over.

The crew disperses and heads back to work, or back to stations where they can look for the signs of Rebma. There's a palpable excitement among the crew now: hope that they'll make their way back to Amber soon.

Stern and Raven look over the the Rebman's body. He doesn't appear to have been killed by weapons. It's more like he died of falling rocks or some other crushing damage.

Raven frowns at the body in puzzlement. One killed by weapons, one killed by crushing... and presumably all three had come from the same place. And it could be that they all came from the source of the tidal wave. It's interesting, she admits to herself, and not a little baffling. "Well, he doesn't look like an officer," she says quietly. "Let's strip him and chuck him, same as the rest. How did the other one you pulled up die? Anybody that looks like an officer out there?"

Stern says, succinctly, "Battle. But I've been looking over the edge, and some are dying of both. I saw one bloke, one of the others--" by which he means not a Rebman "--who looks like he got crushed and squoze." Stern makes a wringing kind of a motion with his hands. "You know what that means?"

"A messy death," Raven answers drily. "I've a thought on the matter, but I wouldn't mind hearing yours first, seeing as how you're the expert on dead bodies around here. And if you've got another on why we're seeing the crushed and the battle-marked all floating on the same sea, I'll hear that as well, because I don't much like mine."

"Why the one that looked like something fell on him was like that, I don't know. But all squoze up like that means Tritons, Cap'n. The Rebmans brought the Tritons to war."

Legend has it that nobody has done such a thing since before Moire was Queen, perhaps not since the Tritons were bound to serve Rebma. Only in direst need would the Rebmans do such a thing. It speaks of disaster of an epic level.

Raven whistles lowly. "That's worse than what I'd come up with. Guess it was too much to hope we'd come home to what we'd left." She settles back on her heels, frowning at the corpse. Doom and war come to Rebma - but was it just Rebma, or would it be in Amber, too? Better keep a sharp eye out. Not - and her frown twists towards a smirk - that she was going to have to tell a ship full of homesick sailors looking for landmarks of home to keep a sharp eye out. If more than bodies get by, she'll be surprised.

And then, of course, there's what she has to assume is the other side of whatever's going on. She fishes out the two purses and the contents of the first and drops the handful on the dead body - since it's between them, it can serve as a table as well as it can rot. "Interesting coin purse you found. Stones and this thing," she pokes the carving, "and some bits of plant. I bet the other's the same. The closest I've seen to anything like this is that port months back where they were handing us shells instead of proper money." She regards Stern with her best prompting stare, although she's not hopeful; he probably would have mentioned recognising the other corpses by now.

Stern shakes his head. "If this is money, the hinterlands they came from were more broke than most of the stale backwaters Amber can't be arsed with." And it's true, no two things are alike. And it's not like they're carrying gems of quality that they could use as money in different Shadows.

It's reminiscent of the troubles in Amber after Oberon left, when Eric took the Regency and then the throne. When strange things came out of Shadow, and the rumor was that one of the Princes had sent them against his brother, or worse, when there were armies led by Bleys and Corwin that the navy had had to defend against. At least this lot seems to have been human.

"That we're seeing folks with clothes we don't know at all means the Royals were involved," Raven counters. "Just because Amber wouldn't give a rat's arse for it don't mean someone couldn't have got an army of them anyway. They brought in those ships full of whatsits, right? Don't suppose those things used proper money either."

She eyes the objects for a moment longer and then scoops them back into her pocket. "I bet you're right that it's not money, but why are they carrying pouches of trash and horns full of powder that don't seem to do anything?" She shakes her head, thoroughly puzzled by this. "Strip this one and throw him back, Stern. And see if you can spot me an officer or two; seems like we're sailing into a nasty bit of business, and it'd be nice to know what it is."

"Aye, Cap'n." He lets Raven retreat before he starts the business of stripping and dumping the body.

It takes about a half-glass for them to find a Rebman officer, or one with enough of him left to be worth saving. Miles appears at one point to report they think they have one, but he turns out to have been a meal for a shark, so there's not enough of him to be worth bringing up.

The officer's corpse doesn't seem to reveal much other than that he had a nasty encounter with a spear that ended his life. He's not carrying dispatches or any such.

One of the sailors, Vado, whose mother was a Rebman, approaches Raven to speak. When she permits, he says, "Captain, I've been watching the bodies. Not all those Rebmans are army. Either they summoned reserves or there were Rebmans on both sides."

Raven frowns at the information. Tritons plus non-army Rebmans and foreigners adds up to two very different pictures in her mind, and one of them is likely to be more hospitable than the other. How all this might be affecting Amber is another question, and one she has even less of an answer to so far. "You probably know more about Rebma than I do," she tells Vado. "Anything from before we left that might point to whether we're eyeballing the remains of an invasion or a civil war?"

Vado shakes his head in the negative. "There's been no civil strife in Rebma since before Prince Martin quit Rebma, and that's been more than a century. But if it's true what they say about Rebma and Amber, that the undersea city follows the landward?" He shrugs. "It's above my head, Captain."

"So, it's likely invasion." Raven nods. She understands the feeling, but she's not going to admit it quite yet. "Keep an eye out for anything else that strikes you as odd and let me know." She doesn't bother with a formal dismissal, but a dismissal it is, as she moves back to the group pulling up bodies. "Keep fishing until you find me a useful officer," she orders. And then she snorts in amusement; dead men weren't exactly useful, unless you were desperate or starving. "Or at least someone with papers. A courier'll do."

Papers are less likely in the undersea, but they might happen. Unfortunately, in Rebma, the information couriers had is likely to have died with them. They might get lucky and find a written message with the surfacers, though. The men redouble their efforts.

Assuming they have nothing to add, she turns on her heel, surveying the deck, and locates Stone. "How ready are we," she asks as she reaches him, "if trouble should come looking?"

"Close quarters combat, we're good for. Better than we were, if we take any decent weapons from the Rebmans and their foes." Stone flashes a smile at the idea of spare weapons he might leave in his enemies. "Ship to ship, depends on their weaponry. Thraxian fire might be a problem, but not so many carry that."

Raven nods. "Good enough. I'm not sure of what we're sailing into still, but it's as like as not an invasion into Rebma and who knows what into Amber beyond. It'd be best if we're keeping a sharp eye on the water as well as below." She smiles thinly in answer to his, not at all disagreeing with the sentiment. "We've got a few weapons so far, and some clothes for those that want it. Holler if I'm needed; I'm going to help fish 'em up."

"Aye, Captain."

From above a voice cries out. "Sails Ho!, Land Ho!" The man on the top of the mainsail is pointing in the direction of both the stream of corpses and the prow of the ship.

"What flags?" Raven calls back up.

Then, to Stone as she heads back down to Stern and the others, "Have someone run up the Amber flag, or what's left of it, anyway."

"Aye, Captain!"

As soon as she reaches the group, she directs briskly, "Strip 'im and ditch 'im, boys, and no more for now. Any of you need clothes or weapons, take from what we've pulled so far and then pass the rest out to those that need it. Miles, take the horns and stick them with the rest of the crap we've not made heads or tails of." As she speaks, she picks up the bucket she's left sitting all this time, fishes out the spoon, and dumps the rest of the contents overboard.

There is no effect from dumping the pail overboard.

Raven's men scramble to obey her orders as the news filters down from the crow's nest.

"There's a gate, Captain. And on the other side, they fly the flag of Gateway!"

Gateway is the end of the trading route, but there's a way back to Amber from there. The news is electrifying and the off-duty sailors pour up from belowdecks. They explode in cheers and cries of relief.

One of those cheers is Raven's. It's a relief to finally be sure she hasn't been leading them the wrong way. Rebmans on the water or not, it has to be easier sailing from here to home.

As the noise dies down, she moves among the off-duty men, detailing them in ones and twos as necessary to duck back belowdecks. There are some assorted little tasks that need taking care of, just in case there should be someone from Amber's Navy about: things to hide for now, mostly - trinkets and treasures from ships they had met along the way, most of which were obtained in ways the navy definitely would have frowned upon. None of the tasks take more than a few minutes, plenty of time to get back up on deck as familiar sights come into view; she hasn't the heart to chase them all below where they should be, anyway, not as long as they can stay out of the way.

The orders are welcome--except for any that involve staying below decks--and in a little while, they've sailed through the gate, leaving the bodies and their mysteries behind, and are headed toward the familiar docks of Gateway.

By long custom, a naval vessel like Raven's doesn't anchor at the docks proper, but in the harbor, and the Captain takes a rowboat ashore to settle papers and the like. The men are anxious for her to do so, because by custom, when the Captain returns, they'll find out about shore leave.

Raven can see the Harbormaster's men coming out on to greet her before she debarks from her own ship.

Raven ducks into the captain's cabin long enough to exchange her comfortable coat - pilfered off another captain some time back, albeit not a Navy captain - for the coat of her ship's former captain, which is a bit too small in the shoulders for her and perhaps a bit too large about the waist. She had never quite mastered enough sewing to fix it; she can patch holes in sails and people, and that's about it. Still, she doesn't figure it will hurt too much to at least look the part. She gathers up whatever else she thinks might be necessary while she's there.

Then she boards the rowboat and heads across, aiming for the nearest location to the Harbormaster's men to come ashore.

The Harbormaster's men wait for her boat to arrive and for her to step up onto the dock before greeting her and asking her for her ship's papers, which the Captain keeps in his cabin. The papers should tell where her vessel, the Vale of Garnath, has been.

Raven has kept the records as tidily as she can. The deaths of the captain and upper officers are noted over the space of several days, with a final note detailing the cause of the deaths as either disease or a poisoning; they weren't sure which, given the unusual surroundings, so they dumped any food reserved specially for the officers overboard just in case. Curiously, none of the regular sailors seems to have acquired the disease, if disease it was, and it didn't touch anyone of Raven's rank or lower. The officers were too weak to work up any official paperwork in their last days, but it is recorded that Raven's appointment as acting captain was witnessed by Stone and the master-at-arms, who died some time later during a brief stay ashore (that entry reads: "Locals are foul. Lost Hook. Left quickly."). Each journey through a rift is documented, along with observations of the new world taken as soon as they came out the other side; each landfall is noted, along with a few concise notes about the place. Salvage operations are also noted, always as a sad necessity to keep the ship provisioned. And, of course, the usual observations of wind and wave and weather are noted regularly.

In short: nothing to point to any acts of murder, mayhem, mutiny, or piracy, on board the Vale of Garnath or off. Nothing is forged, though there is almost certainly a fiction or three and a certain amount of omission.

The Harbormaster comes out to review the documents and haggle for the harbor fees himself. There's some hmming and hawwing about various points, but that doesn't seem too unusual to Raven based on what she knows. When they've agreed on the fee, he invites Raven into his office to weigh out the goods, also as usual. There will probably be a drink for her as well.

[How hard does Raven haggle over the fees?]

[Enough to make it look good, so long as they're not ridiculously outside the range of normal harbor fees; if they are, then enough to get them back down into that range. She's not terribly fussed by handing over money at this point. Shore leave, now - that, she'll haggle for in earnest if she needs to.]

Raven accepts the invitation, of course. The more smoothly this goes, the quicker she can find out what she needs to know and get back to the ship. The crew aren't the only ones looking forward to at least a few days on dry land.

When they enter the Harbormaster's office, the Harbormaster's men move to subdue Raven and her sailors. They outnumber the sailors, but aren't as strong as men of Amber, much less Captain Raven.

"I see the hospitality of Gateway is in full force today," Raven says curtly, the anger in her eyes hearkening back to a night on the open seas, when a plague of knives in the darkness hit the Vale of Garnath and left her temporarily captainless. "Come on, then."

And with that, she wades into their opponents, with every intention of subduing them first with fists or whatever comes to hand.

Following Raven's lead, her men also join in the attack. The Harbormaster's men subdue her sailors quickly, especially as more of the harbor patrol pour into the office from behind her.

Raven is made of heartier stuff than her sailors, though, and it takes a fair number of the Harbor patrol to come to a standoff, with Raven holding them off with a chair. Raven thinks she might have a chance of getting away until the Harbormaster points something at her.

It looks like a small version of the thing the invaders of Rebma were wearing. If she hadn't been sure of what it was, she is now. It's a weapon.

"Stand down and I'll spare your life, Captain."

"I'd rather it be done the other way 'round," Raven answers. "But for the sake of not being killed like a cornered rat, let's compromise. How about you let me in on what that thing in your hand is, and I'll consider not throwing this chair at you and making a break for it until you've done?" She isn't making any openly agressive moves, but she's definitely continuing to defend herself in case anyone else comes at her.

"It's a gun and it'll blow your head off if I fire it at you," the Harbormaster explains.

"Ah." Raven considers this for a moment, frowning. "And if I stand down, are you just going to kill me anyway?"

The Harbormaster shakes his head. "There are questions for those who come from Amber. I can't say what happens after that, but you'll not be killed by my men if you stand down."

"If you're expecting recent news, you'd do better let me go and keep hunting," Raven says flatly. "But fine. I always did prefer alive to dead. Better be quick about the questioning, though; I've a ship full of men that haven't had a decent shore leave in longer than I care to think about, and haven't been this near to Amber in longer. If this takes too long, I can't promise that they won't be taking action to find out what's gone wrong this time." She smiles thinly as she sets down the chair and steps back from it. "Last time they had to find me, they burnt down half the town."

"Burning down half of Gateway would be harder work than that," says the Harbormaster, keeping his gun generally pointed in Raven's direction, but no longer aimed straight at her, once she lowers the chair. Raven knows he's right; the magicians of Gateway can do a lot to stop that kind of thing.

[Assuming no further resistance]

Raven's men are separated from her and sent off to what she expects is the harbor gaol. She's taken to another building that seems to be a makeshift lockup of a slightly better sort. There's furniture, including a bed that someone brought in, and there's actual food and wine on the table, if mostly consumed.

The other resident of the room rises to greet Raven when she's locked in with him. He's dark-haired and bearded, unkempt, and pale. He moves like a man healing slowly from bad wounds. He's not in naval garb but even so has the gait of a sailor.

"Captain?" he asks. "Which fleet?"

"Aye, name's Raven," she answers agreeably. "Southern Fleet." She glances around briefly before settling her gaze back on him. "Hope you don't mind me being blunt, but - you been here a while and had a time of it, or were you half-dead when you got here?"

He throws back his head and laughs. "Oh, I doubt you have what they wanted from me." He offers his hand, and despite the slowness of it, his hand (if she takes it) proves strong.

"Marius. Once a captain of the Southern Fleet and now--" Marius trails off and smiles. "Now, I think, an enemy of the Gatwegians and their ill-chosen ally. Give me a day or two, and I'll be ready to break out of this place."

This seems unlikely to Raven unless the man's a Prince of Amber.

Raven squints at him for a moment. "Right," she says finally. "So you've been in here too long, then. Got any recent news from Amber? It's been a while."

Marius eyes Raven with some interest. "How long have you been gone? Were you lost before what they call the Sundering? Who was king when you left the Pearl of Cities last?"

"The what?" A beat, and then Raven snorts in amusement. "Well, that'll answer that question, I suppose." She frowns, clearly thinking, and finally says slowly, "Near as I can recall, who got to be king was still being sorted out when we left Amber. That was right after King Eric bit it. Heard later from a passing merchantman that the old king was back - that was before we got lost - but this is the first place we've been that we know since then, so I can't say if that was truth or not."

"Oberon did come back, but he's left us forever now. I was there when he was put in his grave, such as it is," Marius says. "Random is King now. The civil strife of the last war seems to be over; the princes will remain united for a time against external enemies. Some of them are dead, and others have left the city, for good, I believe. You'll find Amber much changed when we return--assuming I can travel with you for the price of showing you the path home." He tilts the end of the sentence up, not quite enough to make it a question.

Mad he may be, but he seems quite lucid.

"Yes, yes, of course," Raven says absently; she's clearly chewing over the rest of what he said. "Though I take no responsibility for what might happen if you lead us astray." She grabs a chair, turning it around to sit in it backwards, and eyes her cellmate again once she's settled. "Sit down, will ya? You look like you might mean to fall over if you stay up too long, and I have questions. What do you mean, 'much changed'?"

Marius takes the other chair in the room and sits down with a bit more care. He seems to be favoring one arm in particular. "When the armies came back from the far end of the universe, after we defeated the foes of the Black Road, we found that there had been an earthquake under Kolvir. The castle was damaged and there was fire and destruction in the city.

"There were other changes. The sea paths have changed--but I'm sure you've noticed that."

"A bit, yes," Raven answers sourly. "If we're counting 'lost for the last few years' as noticing." Drumming her fingers lightly on the back of the chair, she considers her growing list of questions and settles on, "What's this 'far end of the universe' crap? How did the docks fare - and the Navy, for that matter? Oh, and why in the name of the seven hells of Kari-Hum did we follow a line of dead Rebmans into Gateway?"

"The far end of the universe is the place the Black Road sprang from. We went to the other end and defeated the army that sent us there. But it cost us the lives of many good men, and some of the Princes and Princesses as well. And King Oberon." He pauses there, as if that death means more than the rest somehow. "The measures he took for the defense of the realm--for its salvation--wiped the sea paths away. Yours wasn't the only ship stranded. Every vessel that was at sea, be she navy or merchant marine or mere fishing boat--was lost."

Given what Raven knows about the size of the navy, and what she knows about their rotations, the scale of the loss is awful. In the merchant marine, it's likely to be even worse, since they ship out as quickly as possible to keep from losing money on idle cargo space.

Economically, Amber must have been destroyed.

Raven whistles lowly. "That's - " and she stops there, frowning. A little silence falls, and when she speaks again, her voice is very thoughtful. "Keep that little tidbit under your hat for now, all right? Not that I don't think you're telling me the truth and all" - which she isn't entire sure of, given that he seems to think he'll be perfectly fine in a few days - "but I need to come up with a good way to break it to the lads." 'A good way,' of course, being a way that won't cause a riot or a mutiny. "Just how bad is it?"

Marius laughs.

"Bad enough that they're abandoning the city in favor of a place Random founded and another Corwin founded. And the shadow paths that are re-forming lead to Xanadu and Paris now. I've heard that some of the merchant marine ships have found their way back. So might you have, if you'd not stumbled into this trap first."

"I'm pretty sure it was luck that brought us here," Raven observes. "We've been following holes to other places the whole damned time. And we're going to Amber." That is a distinctly stubborn statement. "Ain't no reason to head elsewhere when we don't know if our families are still there or not." She taps her fingers against the chair for a moment. "So Random and Corwin are running their own kingdoms, huh? I suppose that means they don't have the whole kingship deal sorted, then. Who's the Navy gone with?"

"Caine." He says this as if it's self-evident. "Gerard stayed in Amber through the war, as Regent, and when the earthquake they call the Sundering took Kolvir, it broke his back. He lived, but he gets about in a wheeled chair now. So Caine is the only admiral left, and the Navy follows him.

"He swore to Random, but Random treats him like Julian now: with the deference that comes from knowing his brother has a military he can't match."

"You're just full of sunshine." Raven shakes her head. "That's a damned shame, about Gerard. Not that I've got problems with Admiral Caine, mind, but I've been Southern Fleet my whole service, and I've never seen or heard anything but that he's done right for us. I don't have that kind of intel about Northern affairs. Never had much need to ask, to tell the truth. I'm guessing that's public knowledge?"

Marius has to stop for a moment to think about that. "It is, if only because he ruled Amber for five years from his chair." There's another pause, and he says, "Tell me about the bodies."

"There was a tsunami, and then there were corpses," she supplies, with the air of one who wishes that this was the weirdest thing in recent memory. "Lots of Rebmans and lots of... well, not-Rebmans. Didn't look like anyone we'd expect to see near Amber or Rebma, and carrying things I still haven't quite made sense of. Knives and such, I get - but they had these little bags full of rocks and trash." She pats her coat pocket and then shakes her head at its emptiness. "Other coat, or I'd show you. Our best guess is that there was some sort of invasion or civil war...?"

Marius is nodding slowly as she speaks. "So he did invade. Did he win or lose, I wonder?" He blinks a couple of times; his words are slow and seem aimed mostly at himself, not Raven. "Whatever happened, it's beyond changing now," he adds, and refocuses on Raven. "We need to rest. Tomorrow I may be well enough to get us out of here."

Raven holds up a finger. "Wait. He who? 'Cause I thought you said all the princes were getting along for now."

"The royal family as we knew it is. I suppose," Marius says, thinking about it, tasting the words, "I don't like to think of Huon as family." Refocusing on Raven, he adds, "Huon is one of Oberon's bastards. The Gatwegians have allied with him. And if the battle in Rebma is already over, we need to get out of here sooner rather than later."

"Glad they're not my family," Raven remarks off-handedly. "I've got enough trouble with the one I've got. Thanks, though; that explains some things. Gives me a bit to chew on, too. One more thing, before you go back to resting - anything I need to know about the grub around here?" She smirks. "Not that I'm a suspicious soul, mind, but I didn't exactly volunteer for this." She waves a hand in the direction of the door.

"They haven't tried to poison me, if that's what you mean. Ensorcel me, yes." Marius gives her a smile whose sanity is questionable. "Poison me, no. But if Huon's been taken, it's only a matter of time until something unpleasant happens."

Raven laughs. "Story of my life, that. I'll see if I can't come up with a plan or two while you nap; I'm not ready to rest yet."

Marius gets up and retreats to the bed, lying down for his nap. Soon enough he's asleep, and not long after that, dinner is brought, or at least shoved through the tray slot, such as it is. It's stew, and hearty, and there's a hell of a lot of it more than Raven thinks she and Marius ought to be able to eat together.

There's also wine, but only a bottle of that, and a lot of water.

Raven mutters, "Huh," under her breath as she examines the meal, but after a moment she shrugs. If her - their, she amends with a glance at her questionable cellmate - captors want to waste food, so be it. They must just have more food than sense.

She takes a generous portion of the stew for herself and, bowl in hand, moves around the room as she eats. Not that she had any particular qualms about inspecting the place while Marius was awake, but there had been questions to ask, so while he was asleep was as good a time as any. She's mostly interested in what's there and what might be turned to their advantage if he's serious about an escape attempt in a few days at the moment, but she'll stop and examine anything else that seems interesting.

The makeshift jail seems pretty solid. It's a stone building with windows that have been barred so Raven can't break them and escape easily. The door was barred from outside when she arrived, and she remembers hearing the bar fall into place, but when Raven tries it, she finds that she can't make it budge. It's probably Gatwegian magic of some sort.

Well, it is a prison. Raven chuckles to herself. It wasn't really a surprise that they'd have to wait for the door to open to get it. After all, it didn't make any sense to do half a job if you meant to keep someone in. Particularly if one of the someones believes himself a Royal. Speaking of which... She saunters in the direction of the bed, pausing a short distance away to address the sleeping occupant loudly. "Food's here."

Marius is a light enough sleeper that that's enough to wake him; he may have already been partway awake from the look of him. He makes an "mmph" noise and sits up. "Thanks," he says after a moment, rubbing his eyes in a fashion that might almost be described as boyish.

Then he comes over to the table and inspects his dinner, nodding at the state of the table. "You've eaten?" he asks Raven.

Raven nods. "Figured you could use a few more minutes," she says. "It's not cold yet."

There's a moment's pause, and then she adds, "I took a bit of a look around." She shoves her hands in her coat pockets and jerks her head in the direction of the door. "Tidy little prison we've found ourselves in. I don't suppose you're saying you'll be fine in a few days means you can do anything about barred doors what should give a little and don't, does it?"

"If you can force the door, physically, I should be able to take care of the rest of it."

Marius serves himself generously, and it becomes apparent why they brought so much food: he eats for two. At least.

He looks surprisingly better after that nap, too. Or maybe he just seemed worse off than he was when Raven was brought in.

"I can try, but no promises until I have," she answers. "Is that the grand plan, then? Shove the door open and make a run for it?"

Marius grins and nods at Raven. "The old plans are the best sometimes. We'll need to arm ourselves, but I think we can arrange for that by the time we get to your ship. It seems likely enough." The grin curls a bit higher, as if Marius has made a particularly funny private joke.

"Huon's the only one I worry about being able to take me blade to blade. And without his backing, the Gatwegians will fold against Amber. Or Xanadu in any case. Your arrival is particularly convenient for everyone involved, Captain. The Gatwegians get to say I recovered and escaped, you get to go home, and I get to leave before Huon gets back." The smile has turned sourly cynical now.

In no wise has the discussion impeded Marius's prodigious intake of dinner.

Raven laughs. "Well, if you're not too fussy about being down a chair if this fails, we can have some passable weapons to start with.

"And before you go calling me 'convenient', I have two complications. One, two of my men came ashore with me, and I'm guessing they're in the regular jail with the rest of the miscreants. I won't be leaving here without them.

Marius glances up from his dinner. "That's a minor problem unless the Gatwegians have some reason to put them in special holding. Like this." He gestures around their chamber with his fork. "We can let all their prisoners out and keep them busy that way. And the other complication is?"

"Well, the last I saw of the papers and the log was the Harbormaster's office," she says. "And I ain't leaving without those either."

"We'll get them." He sounds remarkably unconcerned about both items. Either he's crazy or he really is something special. Instead of worrying about that, he changes the subject. "So, Captain Raven of the Southern Fleet, I've told you what I know of Amber. Tell me your tale while I finish this fine repast our jailers have left us with."

"Mine, or my ship's?" Raven answers, and then waves a hand with a thin smile. "Never mind - the one isn't as interesting as you'd think. We've wandered, seen some strange things - just trying to get home. I already told you about the corpses; did I mention the tsunami before that? Or the fog so black, it made a crow's wing look as white as a lady's arm? The lightning eaters of Orchid Hill? The fish men of the third tier of the seven hells of Spak?" She snorts. "Half of it sounds absurd, and the rest like we've been to sea too long."

"Oh, you might be surprised what I'd believe. I've had an adventure or two myself in my Navy days, and since then I've had a few more. Tell me about the tsunami. And tell me about how you got lost," Marius suggests.

"Not much to tell on the tsunami front." She shrugs. "We had only been in the area a short time, and we were headed for a rift we'd heard about from a passing ship. All of a sudden, there was a big wave. Decided to head for the source once it passed, and that's when we encountered the dead bodies. We may have found Gateway before we actually found the center - but gotta admit I'm not sure how you'd find the center, so we could have passed it and not known.

"Now, as for getting lost." Raven frowns, thinking. "Near as I can recollect, it started with a storm. I know it ended up a hurricane fit to wipe out half a country, like that one twenty years back that just missed Karboras and flattened that neighbor of it that I can never remember the name of. Don't matter, it's not like we dealt with them, then or now. I'd just bunked down for the night and missed the first part; by the time they woke me and I got on deck, we were somewhere with a green sea that boiled Red Jones when he went over the side." She shakes her head. "At least, we figure he was boiled; we hadn't seen him match his hair before. We were set to fish him up and see if he still lived when the sky went silver and the rain started - rain like nails, hard and cold. The sea went blue, just as sudden-like, and whatever gods might or might not have been in that place must have decided they didn't like us, because the blue sea's rain fair near drowned us right there on deck. It got stranger after that, but I didn't have much time to look - the weather got worse, and there's more to do in a storm than gawk, ain't there? And I weren't captain then, I was bosun. Didn't make captain until later. When the storm stopped, we were near some little green islands, just big enough to have something that looked like a camel, ate like a bird, and tasted like someone'd boiled shoe leather in garlic."

"Was there a moment when it all just seemed to stop?" Marius asks, watching her intently now. "When it just seemed as if there were nothing?"

"Maybe..?" she answers, drawing out the answer slowly. "There might have been. Things was a bit chaotic at the time, if you follow me. There might've been something like that, some time between the storm and the eye of it, but I don't rightly know if I could say if it's what you're asking for or not." She pauses, clearly still chewing over the question. "It was the stillest damned eye of a storm I've ever been in, I can say that much. Full moon up, not a breeze to be found, and water like glass - the fancy stuff what has no bubbles or flaws."

Marius nods slowly. "That could be it. That could be very well be it." There's a pause, and he adds, "I was just wondering."

Raven gives him a slightly skeptical look, but lets the subject drop.

Marius finishes his dinner at long last. He really did eat all of that food. He looks quite a bit healthier than he did when Raven came in and he seems to be moving more steadily than he was when Raven entered the cell.

"I think I could do this," he says. "Are you ready?"

"As charming as it is to stand around watching someone eat, this ain't exactly my idea of a good time," Raven answers. "I'm ready."

Marius smiles as he comes to his feet and moves to the door. It bodes ill for the Gatwegians.

He gestures to Raven to get into place. "You force it, and I'll deal with their magic. It should come free quickly enough."

Raven positions herself appropriately and then nods. "Ready." It has not escaped her notice that she'll be first through the door and first to find out if there are guards out there (and how many). Not that she blames him, but it's nice to know that her fellow prisoner is self-serving enough to let someone else be attacked first. It's not the most charitable of thoughts, but given some of his claims so far, it doesn't seem entirely undeserved.

As soon as Marius indicates he's also ready, Raven applies her boot to the door with extreme prejudice, aiming for the weakest point. If it's actually going to give, it'll give there, and she'll give it her best effort.

The door rattles on its hinges. Whatever Marius is back there doing, it's having some effect, because when Raven inspected it before, it wasn't moving at all. "Again," he says, and there's some strain in his voice.

She assaults the door again, with no less vigor, and will continue to do so until either the door breaks, stops moving, or Marius passes out, all of which seem to be reasonable outcomes to her. And if she happens to be taking out some of her irritation at the Harbormaster on the door at the same, well... it's not undeserved, and the door is there whereas he is not.

It takes two more tries before the door falls. Marius almost does the same, but then he picks himself up to make good his departure. Breaking the door and the bar are a feat of strength Raven hardly thought she had in her, but still, people can do amazing things in extremity, and this is extreme.

Once she's sure she won't have to sling Marius over her shoulder and carry him out, Raven makes a point of being first out the door. "You been out of the room enough to know which way we're going?" she asks as she looks left and right for guards and witnesses that might cause a problem later. "Or are we going off my memory of how I got here?"

Marius takes a moment to recover from his exertions but once he does, he's moving through the door as fast as he can. He has no more desire to stay in the gaol than Raven. "You'll need to be our guide. That took more from me than I expected."

He's moving steadily, despite the appearance of a splitting headache: wincing at the sunlight outside and care for how his head moves when he jogs.

"Done, and done."

She does her best to navigate them back to the Harbormaster's office, although she'll choose whatever seems to lead towards the docks if she isn't sure. After all, finding that particular office from the docks is supposed to be fairly easy. She keeps half an eye on her companion - enough to make sure he doesn't fall too far behind (or over) with the fast pace she's inclined to - but otherwise leaves him and his headache to commune with each other in silence.

Assuming they make it as far as the dock area, she'll momentarily stop their progress, turning off into an alley if there's one convenient. "Right," Raven says lowly. "So is part two of this plan 'walk casual' or 'charge in swinging'?"

Marius grins in a way that shows his teeth. "We'll 'walk casual' until we need to break heads, and then we'll charge in, or out as the case may be, swinging. Let me see if I can find something to make it a bit easier to walk casual."

They're in a nest of small warehouses like the one that served them as a gaol. As they move along between the buildings, Marius finds a door and tries it. Surprisingly, it comes open and he ducks inside, gesturing to Raven to join him.

It's a bit strange; Raven wouldn't have expected the building to be unlocked.

"I'm starting to think this isn't your first jail break," Raven says, sounding amused, as she follows him. She frowns slightly and quirks an eyebrow at the door as she passes it, despite her amusement; it's strange that it wouldn't be locked... but then, Marius seems to be a bit strange all around. On the other hand, this could also be a set-up; it would be a shame if it was, though - he was doing so well at lulling her into a sense of fellowship to go and screw it up with a 'luckily' unlocked door. She shrugs just slightly as she looks around. Time will tell, after all.

"It is a useful skill if one travels a great deal," Marius says agreeably. He looks at the crates and locked trunks in this warehouse. "There should be a crowbar around here somewhere. See if you can't get one of those crates open--quietly. I'll work on this." His foot nudges a trunk with a padlock on it.

"I got more sense than to make noise fit to wake the dead," Raven answers drily. "Say something if you need help."

A bit of searching turns up a crowbar on top of one of the crates, as though someone had set it down to do some other task and forgot to pick it up again. She hefts it for a moment, testing the weight, and decides to take it with her when they leave; she'd always liked the utility of crowbars. And then, badly humming a tune about a particularly bloody sea battle under her breath, sets off along the row of crates in search of a likely suspect: a crate with shipping marks indicating it contained clothes, boots, hats, or some other useful thing.

Searching through the warehouse, Raven finds and opens what proves out to be a crate of bolts of cloth of the right weight for cloaks. When she digs around the edges a bit, she finds two cloaks that she wouldn't describe as perfect fits for herself and Marius, but certainly adequate for disguise. When she looks down from her perch on top of some boxes, she finds Marius has joined her. He has a sword in hand and looks like he knows how to use it, which is no surprise.

"Can you make do with knives, or should I keep looking?" Marius asks.

"Knives'll work," Raven agrees, "and I'm taking the crowbar, too. Might come in handy. Here." She tosses down one of the cloaks. "Finder's right - I'm taking the less ugly one. 'Ware below; I'm coming down."

Marius catches the cloak, laughing at the comment about finders, and steps back to clear a space for Raven to leap down into. When she's steady on her feet again, he passes her the knives, haft first. They seem like they'll do for throwing from the way the weight is distributed, which leaves her with the crowbar for any melee they get into.

The blade Marius took is a bit longer than the ones sailors use for close-in work; more of a landsman's duelling weapon. He draws the cloak around his shoulders and fastens it with his free hand. "Lead on, Captain Raven. We have your men to free and your vessel to escape to."

"And my papers to collect," Raven reminds him pointedly as she tucks away the knives and hooks the crowbar on her belt. "I ain't about to try explaining the last few years to the higher-ups without 'em. And I hope you're planning to hide that thing," she adds, with a gesture at the sword. "You did say 'walk casual' and not 'stalk around like a young idiot with more gold than sense'?"

She fastens her own cloak and leads the way back out of the warehouse, returning to where they'd turned off. She picks a pace that is not so fast as to be conspicuously running away from something, but brisk enough to look like they have someplace to be and something to do - which is entirely true - and sets off down what she thinks is the correct way.

"We'll find them," Marius says, closing his cloak in a way that somewhat conceals his blade, but not enough to suit Raven's taste. But he walks behind her swiftly and silently, and as if he's well used to moving with the blade, not just sitting and dancing.

When Raven identifies the Harbormaster's office, Marius nods and suggests they see if they can't get behind it, with an eye to entering via a back door or some such. He judges the risks as being more likely to be seen if they bluff their way in, and more likely to be caught by magic if they try to sneak in. He'd have an easier time if he went it alone and Raven rescued her crew, but he certainly understands that she's unlikely to think much of that plan.

The just slightly mutinous look that briefly crosses Raven's face when he suggests the plan of splitting up is probably a good indication of how she feels about it. She tempers her actual reply to a succinct, "Terrible idea."

The back door seems like a reasonable plan to her, and she somewhat prefers bluffing over having magic tip off unknown and unseen numbers of people and maybe just catching them like flies in honey. At least if they're bluffing, they have half a chance of seeing who they tip off and a fighting chance of getting away.

Marius slips into an alleyway with Raven right behind him. The two escapees are reasonably sure their initial escape has not yet been detected. The harbormaster's office is a low building of two floors.

Marius straightens his hair unsuccessfully and places his makeshift weapon behind his belt. He gestures at the back door. Behind it, Raven hears voices, too quiet to understand. Marius is grinning, as if he's enjoying this.

Raven eyes him for a moment, and snorts in amusement. At least he'd finally put the sword properly out of sight.

She moves up to the door and - just on the off chance - tries the doorknob. If it doesn't budge, she knocks on the door, pauses, and then knocks again, more urgently. Then she ducks her head slightly, her plan to pretend to be servants sent on an urgent mission, and waits.

The door opens, and one of the Harbormaster's men, not one Raven knows opens it. Marius steps up and speaks. "Message from the Collegia Arcanum for the Harbormaster. We're to wait to bring it back." He holds up a sealed parchment that he did not have when they left their gaol.

The Harbormaster's man looks at Raven expectantly.

Raven nods helpfully, shifting aside to let Marius hand over the supposed message - which she rather suspects is just a list of contents from whatever chest he found the weapons in. "They said it was quite important," she says. "And somewhat urgent."

Marius hands over the paperwork and the Gatwegian opens it, scanning the list. He frowns. "Hold on, I'll get it." Then he disappears into the innards of the building.

"I decided it was likely he'd interpret that as your paperwork," Marius says to Raven half under his breath.

If he had said, "By the way, I can transform into a dolphin and I'll swim us out to your ship," Raven might have given him a stranger look.

Maybe.

As it is, Marius is treated to a look that could not say any clearer that she has at best half an idea of how to take what he just said, and that she suspects he may be slightly unhinged. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she says, "Riiiight. That's probably better than us going inside."

"As long as we don't run into one of their mages, we'll be fine," Marius says in a tone that's clearly meant to be reassuring. He scans the area, perhaps looking for any of the aforementioned mages, and waits.

[Assuming that Raven is happy to wait.]

A few minutes later, the Harbormaster's man comes back and hands a stack of familiar paperwork to Raven.

Marius beams. "Thank you, good sir. We'll be sure your cooperation is noted."

Hannah makes her way back to her room, distracted by everything that has happened in the last day. It feels like a year. Her thoughts are on Cambina. She's disappointed they weren't able to figure out what happened in Tir. She is disturbed by Cambina's visions, and the idea that they'll never hear them again. She feels guilty over not giving Vialle the attention she needed - the dreams. Hannah is certain Vialle went to Tir with Cambina looking for an answer to her nightmares.

"Choices, choices, choices," she mutters. She'd been focused on Gerard and that answer isn't here. It may not be with Grandfather Bear, either. The answer may be that there is no answer.

She packs a simple bag, and pulls the purple feather off her mirror to tie it into her hair. She catches her own eyes and shakes her head. "Who would know me well enough to ground me? Gerard... and he cannot go." She reaches out to poke herself in the forehead. "You will have to do."

A quick note for Folly and the pot of salve handed off to a page, and she's off to recover Misae. Hannah ties the second feather onto her mustang's bridle. She mounts up and heads up into the woods, and makes a beeline for shadow.

Once she's up past where she and Paige started there spirit walk, she starts slow and easy, shifting as Gerard taught her to do. She resists slipping over into the spirit lands, but isn't entirely certain anymore that they are a different kind of shadow so much as that they may just be shadows.

She stays to the woods for some time, and stops to sleep before trying to shift over into the plains of her people.

Hannah is able to shift as she gets further and further off the mountain. Gerard's practical teaching is solid, and she's able to navigate the shadow transitions easily. Her night's rest is easy and uneventful, and Misae is rested and ready to ride again in the morning.

Hannah sees them fed from the simple pack she made so shortly before Gerard's latest regency, and they clean and drink at a wild stream.

Before she walks back into Makado, a world dangerous for women as well as her people, Hannah must make herself a new medicine bag. A bag for protection, and a place to draw energy from. So here as the woods become plains, in this quiet place with so few people and so little technology, she rides to the cliffs to look for an Eagle's nest.

Using the hide she already prepared from her clothes ruined by Griffon blood, Hannah sits on the shore and works beading, looking up at the nest she will have to climb to. On the front of her fetiche, she sews the sign of the star to match the one she earned walking the pattern, in the blue of Makado, to draw her home. She puts this around her neck, and meditates, until she is ready to step across into the spirit world. She takes Misae's lead to bring her along with, trying to very gently shift shadow as she goes across - a step closer to home, into the spirit realm she hopes is North of her people's lands, still along the river.

Leaving Misae there on the shore, she scales the cliff's face to gather a few smaller Eagle feathers. She keeps her hold one-handed while she slips these under her hair for the trip down. She uses what Gerard taught her to discourage the wind. Once down by the river again, Hannah calls up, "Master of the Sky, thank you for your feathers. Give me through them your wisdom, the eye of the Creator, your power and strength. Spirits of the North, watch over me through this gift from your shores. When I go to the East, I will smoke for you." She ties the feathers together and hangs them from the center of the blue star.

To the East she goes to gather strong tobacco leaves, which are stuffed into the pouch, and the dryer of whom are burned and waved into each direction. She calls out to the spirits of all the places to watch over her, and to Sky Mother, to guide her home. To the West she gathers red beans for luck, and to the South, sand from the bank of the river, dried - to ground her.

Finally, she digs her knife out of her pack and ties it onto her belt.

Hannah heads out for the plains of her people, crisscrossed with cliffs and rock chimneys and rivers. She rides along the river and south, hoping to come in from the North, along the Missouri, on the reservation side of the river - the side her people... she smiles... her father, really, kept for them in all the treacherous negotiations with the government. Most of their lands, and all the sacred spaces saved between their reservation and that of the Winnebago to the North. Where the Gateway lies by the river under the cliffs of Black Bird's Hill, where the Sacred Tree burned with Blue Fire, where the Horses spoke to the War Chief, and the caves...

Black Bird's Hill would be a good place to ride to, to slip back across at, a touchstone. Where her grandfather, Big Elk was buried, following the tradition of his father, and his father's cousin, Chief Black Bird. He'd ruled the Omaha and bullied the Ponca and made the Winnebago and Sioux and Whites come begging. Black Bird whose spirit is restless because a painter stole his skull away to a museum, and because he planned it that way. "A ghost come to talk to a ghost, seems fitting," Hannah mutters.

It is different from spirit walking, where one finds paths that are there but unseen, where one pulls back meaning to find other real things.

It makes things, or else it finds them on such a much grander scale that it isn't possible to distinguish it from making.

The required mindsets war with each other.

Still, the Hill is the Hill, and she knows when she is there. It feels right. Hannah sees an old woman at the base of the hill, looking towards the river. She turns and Hannah can see that she was an Omaha: one Hannah doesn't know. She is dressed in Eastern clothes.

The woman greets Hannah in the manner of their tribe. "Who are you and why have you come here?"

Hannah nods to the woman. "I am Ohanzee of the Hanga gente of the Hangashenu gens and I have come here to respect my grandfather and to determine if I've found the Blue Earth of my upbringing. Who greets me here at the Gateway?"

"I am Migina of the Inewakhubeadhin gente of the Inshtasanda gens. Be welcome, Ohanze," the old woman says to Hannah.

In Thari, her name would be Returning Moon.

Hannah's eyes slip to the key-shaped alter at the base of the cliff, taking in the graffiti there. People have always been drawn to leave a mark on this sacred space, even the people who were here before her people.

She looks back at Migina. "I am not certain I've found the right place. Will you tell me the year, and who is Chief of the Omaha?"

Migina names a year. In the calendar of the Omaha, some time has passed, more than Hannah feels she has been away, but not so many years that Ohanzee should be completely unknown. And to the other question, she spits. "The warriors have followed the white man who came to join the Hethuska Society. They heard his words of conquest under new stars, and now they follow him and not the ways of our people."

Hannah takes a breath and nods slowly. "I had seen a vision of such a thing, but in a place that sometimes gives false visions. I was the medicine man amoung my people and the Chief's eldest daughter. Do you know of me, or someone like me?" she asks calmly.

Migina nods at Hannah. "I know of one such, but she is long-gone, or dead. Are you a spirit out of time, Ohanzee?"

"Hm. Or a spirit out of place. Or both." Hannah sighs and looks around. "Why are you here today, Migina?"

"I wanted to ask the spirits for a sign, if the warriors were coming home. If my warrior would come home." Migina frowns. "I hoped when I saw you that you would know where they had gone, and what had happened to them."

What is ever worse than the truth, Hannah thinks, but nods to the lady. "I went to a spirit realm called Tir Na Nog, that is said to show visions. The King of Xanadu, where I was, said as often as not it shows us our greatest fears or desires. So often, the visions are false, but every once in awhile, they're true. I will tell you what I saw, but you must bear in mind it is likely a false vision.

"I did see a warrior of the Ponca tribe there - a man called Horses West. I spoke to him. He said that yes, they and the Omaha had followed Conquers Worlds to a battle in an underwater realm called Rebma, and then on to another in Amber, where Conquers Worlds had taken the throne. These places are all monarchies, ruled by immortals," Hannah explains in an attempt to keep it simple. "But he also told me, when I asked about the women and children, that they'd brought them with them - which seems to be untrue.

"If any of this vision is true, it must be a vision of the future, because when I left Huon - this is one of the names of Conquers Worlds - had not been in Amber and I had not heard he'd been in Rebma. Now that is a lot, but there is more you need to understand."

Hannah takes a breath and pats Misae for comfort. "Our tribe had a vision of a great tree - the blue fire tree, the axis, yes? And with that we who were honored women, we aligned the tribe to the axis, and the axis aligned to the universe, so us too. I think, having traveled to many worlds now, that we were aligning to the poles of the universe. That the universe is not these stars in this space, but other places entirely, side by side with ours," she gestures. "And if that is true, then there are many tribes of Omaha, side by side. And I think your tribe and my tribe are sisters, because I do not think this is my Blue Earth."

Hannah shifts aside her shirt and pouch to show Migina her mark of the star. "I did a ritual in Xanadu that aligned me with the power of that place, and when I was done I had the Mark of Honor. I have wondered ever since if this meant the Blue Fire Tree was now aligned with Xanadu, and if... if my people would find a way to come there. But no one has come, and I have been on a quest I think best served here, or near here. But I do not really know how to find home. The King of Xanadu warned me it might be so."

With another sigh she reaches out to Migina. "So we are at least sister-cousins. What is your man's name?"

Migina has listened to Hannah's explanation, nodding, but with an expression that's less than certain about its agreement with Hannah's statements. She lets Hannah touch her without flinching. "He is called Horsehide, and his brother is called Crow." The way the names are formed tell Hannah that they're of the Ponca cousins.

"If your Blue Earth is not mine, I cannot help you, but perhaps I can help you if you will come to mine in the flesh."

Hannah shrugs. "Why not." She tries to step she and Misae from the spirit realm into the earth realm here. She takes a deep breath to taste the air.

Hannah finds that she and Misae are standing in a clearing with a fire made of woods and herbs. It smells similar to home, but not exactly right. Migina's mortal form is slumped in a trance before the fire. It takes her a moment to return to her body.

She rises, slowly, and stiffly, and comes to offer her hand to Hannah. "You are powerful, sister-cousin, or you could not have done that. I welcome you, on behalf of the Omaha here."

Hannah takes the offered hand. "My thanks, Migina."

Misae gets another reassuring pat. "What is your medicine? Do you think it might help point me in the direction of my people?"

"My medicine is small enough that walking in the spirit world is taxing. So much has been lost since the warriors left. Now those who remain take up the ways of the white people. The whites know many things, but I worry at what we lose." Migina shakes her head. "But when I have rested, I will help you search.

"Will you come to my home for a day and rest, so we can search for your people?"

It would be rude not to, so Hannah says, "Certainly. Why don't you ride Misae? She may become difficult if she goes much longer without a rider."

"Thank you, Ohanzee. Let me finish here, and we can go." Migina does those things that are necessary after spirit walking and making a sacred fire. Then, with Hannah's assistance, Migina mounts up. To Hannah it's clear that Migina is at the end of, or even past, her child-rearing years; if she's looking for her man it's for children he already gave her or for companionship.

With Hannah walking the horse and Migina telling her where to go, they make their way to Migina's home. It is like a white man's home, with the framing and the wood and several rooms. Inside, though, there are simple furnishings, showing the influence of the white people's styles but with the Omaha and Ponca traditions respected as well.

Migina lives alone, but she has food to offer, and prepares a meal in her small kitchen for Hannah.

She insists on helping with food preparation - something she's missed. Hannah starts to offer to sing Migina to sleep, but realizes that she is essentially a spirit creature to this woman and it is too much trust to ask of her.

Hannah sees to Misae and sleeps herself, knowing she'll need rest if she is to convince jaded tribesmen of anything.

In the morning, they rise and Hannah and Migina prepare breakfast. The foods in the kitchen are familiar, but some of the implements are unfamiliar. So much is different that the changes from what Hannah knows seem both subtle and jarring at the same time. When they are done with the eating and washing up, Migina is ready to attempt to help Hannah find her way home, or if Hannah needs some other help, whatever she needs first.

Hannah tries to smile through her struggles. She describes for Migina the refrigerator in Xanadu that is not so different than the one here, except for its size.

"I think, my friend, if we go to Blackbird's Cliff here, in this reality, that may be the best place to start. It is... what is the word - it is liminal space, there. Is that where the warriors departed from?"

Migina nods. "That's where they marched away, them and the wagons and even an automobile with supplies. The one you called Conquers Worlds, Hew-on, promised that they would find fuel for it where they went. I have my things--" and she indicates a bag that has her medicine and other things inside "--and we can go now."

Hannah nods and leads the way. "Huon," she pronounces, in full-out Thari, "is how they say it in Xanadu." Hannah falls into a thoughtful silence.

When they reach Blackbird's Cliff, Hannah walks over to the alter carved into the bottom, shaped like a key. "Grandfathers, please help me find my path. My uncle does not have time for me to wander through every place our people's people may be." She rests her forehead against the cold stone for a moment.

She turns back to Migina. "Do you have tobacco?"

Migina nods, and pulls a pouch containing leaves from her bag. "Real tobacco," she says, sounding satisfied. "Not the white man's machine-made cigarettes." She says this as if it is a difficult thing to obtain, and perhaps it is, in this earth.

She offers the leaves to Hannah.

Hannah smiles in appreciation at the difference. She takes it and sets only a small amount on the temple's lip, then hands Migina back the pouch with thanks. She lights it and calls out her invocation. "Spirits of the East, I ask you to lead the way through troubles. Spirits of the West, I ask you to clear the way. Spirits of the North, I ask you to strengthen the light. Spirits of the South, I ask for your protection."

Hannah eyes the smoke, looking for signs.

(Card draw: Trickery Reversed.)

Hannah can see the way to her own Blue Earth from here through the paths of Spirit Walking. What she can also see is that someone has brought many people through the paths in the other direction. They walked lightly, but Hannah recognizes that they did walk, nevertheless.

Hannah nods unhappily. "I can see, Migina; it looks like they came to here from where I must go. This pleases me not at all. My thanks to you, again. Horsehide who has a brother called Crow. I will remember."

Hannah reaches back to check her hold on Misae's lead and give Migina an encouraging smile before she heads forward into the spirit realm.

"Farewell, sister-cousin," Migina says. "I will ask the spirits to aid you in your quest. May you find your home better than you fear."

As Hannah heads off, she can see the trail leading back toward her own Blue Earth. Clearly whoever was working with Huon had great medicine to lead an army this way.

Hannah checks her purple feather as she walks along, and hums a little tune to keep Misae focused. She runs her free hand over the tall grasses and listens to them sigh.

Hannah moves along her route, her senses somehow knowing the path, knowing where she is going. Her newfound ability with shadow is difficult not to use, but she manages to stay in the place she is.

After an oddly timeless trek, Hannah finds herself where she intended to be: on the south ridge overlooking the medical facilities she worked so hard to bring to the people.

They're there, and they're much bigger, and the flag of the white-man's nation flies over them, and their soldiers' barracks and workrooms beside them.

Hannah swears. "That is not good." She looks south, as if she could see past the miles between the ridge and Council Bluffs. "Well, Misae, if they're still here and not down in the territories, we can safely assume the reservation has shrunk. And they'd take the southern portion first, because it is richer in land and buildings, and because it is in-between the rails in Omaha City and the river on down."

She bites her lip. "What say we sneak back up around the hills here, head up toward Macy and see if anyone is left up there? Once we get past the road it'll be fields... we'll walk til we can find a good trail."

Hannah watches her little hospital turned fort for activity a moment and changes her mind.

"No, sweetie, we'll go up to Horsehead Creek to see if father's village is still there."

The ride to Horsehead Creek is uneventful, although the landscape is altered--by roads, by buildings, by fewer trees. The village is where Hannah expects it to be. She sees a few old women and men, and some young children, but no men or women of childbearing age, except one. He wears the uniform of the army of the Eastern Lands' People.

Hannah dismounts and whispers to Misae, "If you get requisitioned you just be good until I can come back for you, darlin'."

She puts on a smile for the military man. "Good afternoon, sir. I was out for a ride and thought I'd trot up this way. This is Horsehead Creek, right?"

He looks like a Ponca or an Omaha, except for the uniform. Of course, Hannah looked like a Ponca except for the clothes when she was back east. "Yes, Ma'am." He waits a moment or two. "Do I know you? Because I can't imagine why I don't." He's got the easy manner of a warrior talking to women.

His uniform has sergeant's stripes on it.

"I headed Eastward awhile back and lost touch. I was looking for the Le Corbeau family. They used to live up here. Do you know what happened to them?" Hannah asks, as casually as she can, but has a hard time keeping her interest out of it as she glances up the road.

The stranger nods. "Oh, yes. He went East, to the capitol. Important man, with the Bureau of Ethnographic Research. I met him when our unit left for the Old Country."

Hannah blinks, and takes a deep breath to try to keep her racing heart and frantic emotions under control. She steps closer, right up to the porch, bringing Misae behind her. "I... well, damn."

She smiles. "I can't ask you much else without venturing off into lying. I need your help, because I don't want to lie to you. Will you help me? No money or land involved, I swear."

"Only if you tell me your name," he says smiling and stepping closer to her.

Hannah nods, and quietly laughs. "And so it begins. I am Hannah Ohanzee Le Corbeau and I disappeared, along with a painted Mustang, from a spot just between the hospital and Council Hall in 1902. I was the medicine man of the Omaha at that time, as well as the official Indian Bureau physician for the tri-tribal area. I was the only doctor in a day's ride of here... hardly ever slept a night.

"And I'm not lyin', but I have no way to prove that to you. I need you to tell me what year it is now, and who you are, please," she finishes with a smile.

He stares at her. "You don't look nearly old enough for that to be true, Miss. My name is Sergeant Arthur Elm, and I was born in 1901. I can believe a lot of things, but not that you're older than my mother."

Hannah delivered him, in the Autumn of 1901. And his twin sister. He looks to be twenty years, or near it.

Hannah puts her face in her hands a minute. "Strength, strength, find your strength, doctor," she whispers to herself.

The Sergeant gets a hard look when she straightens back up. "I'm not older than your mother, sir. I am who I say I am and you were born in one of the old lodges in Rosalie three minutes after your sister, just before dawn. Your mother didn't need my help, which is good, because I didn't get there until the her last hour of labor - and she was feeling well enough to let me know what she thought of my tardiness. I was late because Jim Murphy had drunkenly upset a wagon full of lumber the night before. His journeyman was pinned under it and then we had to do surgery right on the river road because he had an artery ruptured by the fracture in his thigh."

She takes a deep breath, realizing this probably isn't helping. "If your mother's still around, I think she'd know me."

He frowns, almost involuntarily. "She died in the Peninsular Influenza epidemic two winters ago, but I'd heard that story a score of times." He looks confused. "Why did you come here, after all these years? This is an Army hospital."

Hannah stands quiet a moment, absorbing the most evil word of all, 'epidemic'.

Then, "I... I was in the spirit realms. It hasn't been that long for me."

She looks around again, takes a painful breath. "He was right. You can't go home. So, Sergeant, is there an Omaha Tribe here yet, or is this what full assimilation looks like?"

He frowns. "This is what war looks like, Miss, I mean Doctor. The whole world. First we fought things, and when we beat them, we started to fight each other. Between that was the pandemic, during the False Dawn. So many of the Omaha were gone, we mostly got assigned to medical corps."

He pauses. "War ... makes things go faster, children grow up faster. We lost so many men in the old world in the first war. Lots of children being raised without parents."

Hannah nods unhappily. "That's a lot of information. What things? Do you know where they came from? What do you mean when you say old world and first dawn?"

"You really have no idea, do you? Thing-things. I wasn't old enough, by white-man rules, to fight against them, but I've seen the pictures out of Franconia. Nobody knew what they were, but they weren't of this earth. The medicine men said they weren't from the spirit world, either, but they weren't very popular by then.

"'The Old World' is what they call the homelands of the Easterners, across the Eastern Ocean, which they call the Western Ocean over there. I don't know if there is an Omaha word for it. We didn't used to have much to do with it." He frowns. "The False Dawn was about six months between the end of the monster war in 1918 the start of the Great World War.

"Half the countries you've heard of have dissolved into smaller things, and there's agitators here who want to break up the country. That's why they've built hospitals this far from the coasts."

He smiles, that same easy soldier's smile. "You know, nobody goes to the spirit realms and stays for decades. Certainly not beautiful young girls who come back saying they're ancient medicine women. You look like you're Omaha, but you're not like anyone I've ever met. Who are you, really?"

Hannah smiles and shakes her head. "I really am Ohanzee, and my father lived in that house over there with his wives," she points, and looks. "I grew up here."

She looks back with a sigh and holds her hands out. "I was lured past the spirit realm by a unicorn who lead me to my mother's family, who are not of this place. And that sounds even more mad. When I came in here, there was a trail out of here through the spirit realm. Can you tell me about that? Where did all the Omaha go? Was Huon here?"

"The tribe's been dwindling for years, Ohanzee. I think if it wasn't for Mister LeCorbeau at the Institute, the government would have begun detribalization proceedings against us. That and the war. A lot of Omaha went with the Ponca, when the Ponca left."

"Where did the Ponca go?" she asks unhappily.

He pauses, not sure what to tell her. "I was a boy, too young to really know, but my mother told me. They left. They didn't agree with the chiefs who wanted the tribe to assimilate, so they took a boat down the big water, and were going to sail to a foreign land, where they could set up their own lands far from the eastern peoples.

"Nobody has heard from them since. Some think they died in the Isthmus-lands, or in the ruins of Old Darien, but nobody can find a trace.

"You didn't see them in the spirit world, did you?"

"No, but someone definitely came through there, from Blackbird's Cliffs, from the temple there, I'm guessing. Someone who knew what they were doing." Hannah takes a deep breath. A relieved breath. "I hope they found that. I was always for assimilation, but now it seems like so much was lost so fast...

"It isn't the first time our people moved, for a better place. Can you tell me, my father, Joseph Le Corbeau, has he..." she braces herself. "Has he passed on?"

His lips tighten. "Like I said, I was too young to be involved, so I don't really know anything. But he left, or was kicked out when the Ponca were leaving. Fought with them. He didn't name a successor."

That makes her smile a little. "Well, that sounds like him. Sir, I thank you for... indulging me." She holds her hand up. "Many blessings on you," she adds, formally.

She tugs on Misae's lead and begins the silent meditation she needs to calm her mind enough to cross over into the spirit realm without shifting shadow.

"Wait! I don't-- Can I h-- Do you need someone to go with you?" He seems anxious about it, and it occurs to Hannah that he may never have entered the spirit realm before.

Hannah opens her eyes and smiles. "I probably could use help. It would be better when I seek out Grandfather Bear if I do not have my horse with me, and yet she must come, as she is my sacred trust."

Hannah assesses him. "It may be harder than usual, since you haven't fasted or been prepared properly. But perhaps we can do it. I should be able to find the right herbs, even if my mother's old garden up the hill here is long gone. Come on, then," Hannah grins, and leads Misae up toward her father's old backyard.

She is after strong tobacco, fennel seeds, bearberry leaves, and hemp. Two out of three will do.

"Oh, grab some blankets, 3 or 4. How long will it be before someone comes looking for you?"

"I'm on furlough, so a few days, I think."

Hannah looks for and finds the herbs she's seeking. It's unclear how strong the tobacco is, but it's there.

The Sergeant returns with the blankets and his easy grin. "I left a note saying I was going fishing. It's not completely untrue."

Hannah looks him over with a sigh. "When I was young, we always had a spotter, someone to warn us if the authorities were coming, or to force water down throats were people too long on the other side. Then later, when I was a teen, we started sending the spotters away, because it meant jailtime to be caught assisting. But someone always knew to come looking. Now you're young, you're healthy, you can probably make it five days without water in these conditions... but if there is anything wrong with you we don't know about..."

She runs a hand through her hair. "Just be aware you're risking your life. Is this still illegal?"

She leads him and Misae up over the hill and starts cutting apart a tree. She makes a very crude shape and covers it with blankets. "I'm going to do this a bit differently than usual, as I'll be going in corperal and you'll be going in spirit. Just so you know. Used to be we'd all just go in spirit, our bodies staying here - but I believe," she smiles, "that I need to be there in body. So I'm going to walk you through the normal steps, hand you across, then come back and grab Misae and meet you there."

She checks to make sure he still wants to do this.

"We don't, so nobody here tries to arrest anyone for it." He shrugs. "Maybe it's still a law. Why not take me through your way? It doesn't sound any more or less safe, but it sounds like I'd be less likely to be prosecuted." He grins. "The stockades are in Kansas, but they'd just send me to the front if I was causing trouble."

The idea of a tribal member going into a stockade puts a fierce frown on her face. "I don't want to take you through my way because I'm not sure I can get you back. And I've never done it with anyone else before. You're already risking your life - but that'd really be dangerous. You're a grown man, vision quests or no, so you can make your choice - but if I do manage to pull you all the way over there you could be stuck over there, rarely if ever seeing another human again. Again, if it didn't kill you. So, you decide."

She holds out her hands. One is empty. The other has a small pile of seeds and leaves. "You want to go all the way over, we'll just sing awhile, relax, and go. If you want your body to stay here, a connection back to this place - a gateway - then you'll want to chew on this pile of nature, but don't swallow."

"When I was a child, things were tough, and the people were in decline, but we were ourselves and we had our ways. Now, it's diminished. There's not much for me here, and what there is is the chance to make the least bad choice. I'll chance it, because a man must risk to gain. Lead on, Medicine Woman."

Hannah shakes her head at him and ties up Misae at the flap, but leads him inside the quickly constructed hut. She makes certain there are a few openings for airflow, and then she digs a small pit and lights the weeds and seeds all in the center.

She reaches across and takes his hand and smiles with a memory. "I remember your mother calling you her little foxes. Just breathe, and you can sing, if you know this song."

She sings the first song the medicine man taught her as a little child, the spiderweb song, to calm herself and all her fears and open her mind, and his, to the connections all around them. She hopes someone sang this song to him when he was a child.

He sings along in a pleasant baritone. Someone has taught him to sing like an Easterner.

She breathes deeply when she's finished and says, "Remember the power of the spirits, and don't let Coyote trick you. Respect them, but do not cower, for it is bravery they admire. and tobacco they crave."

"It's like alcohol to them, isn't it?" he asks, but it isn't something he'd know.

"It is more that it gives them power than takes it from them," she tries to explain, "but you aren't exactly wrong."

She checks her tobacco stash one last time, and leans out the flap to take Misae's lead. "When you feel ready, we'll go. Just stay with me, don't let go." She looks back to meet his eyes, and when he looks ready, she'll take them across and blow the smoke into little eagles to fly around the hut.

It takes longer than it would for a member of the tribe in her day, but not so long as she expects for a first time initiate, then Hannah decides he is ready to go.

Before very long, the little eagles fly around the hut, streaming smoke behind them in small puffs. They call out to each other and search for a way out.

Hannah smiles the first delighted smile she's had for awhile. "Well, little fox, let's see if we did it." She moves back the hand she has Misae's lead in to pull open the flap more. She whistles the eagles out first. Keeping her grip on her young charge, she sticks her head out and emerges slowly, checking her surroundings.

Hannah sees a sky the deep blue of Amber and a round and golden sun. High above and far away, she can see some sort of giant eagle spirit soaring. It looks smaller than her smoke birds.

The forest is vast, and a well-worn path leads to a clearing.

Sergeant Elm follows her out and looks around, gape-jawed. "This is amazing!"

She checks Misae first to make sure the mare moved all the way over with her, and then she takes a good look at Elm for the same purpose, even popping her head back in the smoke-hut to make sure his real body is outside with her.

His body stands next to her, as she expected. So does the mare's.

She grins. "It is, isn't it? You ready to see where this leads?" she asks, heading for the path.

"Yeah! How do you do the thing with the smoke?" he asks, walking in step with her. The path leads towards a clearing in the forest in one direction and downhill, probably to water, in the other.

She heads up into the forest, keeping an eye out. "Years of practice. I studied under the old medicine man from the time I was four until he died, every spare moment. And then I've been making these trips ever since. In other words, I have no easy answer for your question. Everything is connected and to come across you have to... embody those connections, and then you can sometimes influence them. But very few people can do it. That's why not everyone is a medicine man."

She gives him an apologetic look before she says, "That's why I use the spider song with children. It is very simple but sometimes triggers that cascade of knowledge in them. The spider and the fly and the field and the horse and the hay and the field and the cow and the milk and the baby... Sometimes you can find someone with a gift that way. But sometimes it takes people longer to find it in themselves."

He nods. "I spent some time in France with an Irishman. He used to sing a song that always reminded me of that. 'The egg in the nest and the nest on the twig and the twig on the limb and the limb on the branch and the branch on the tree and the tree in the bog and the bog down in the valley-O'. It's about twice as long and he sang it twice as fast as that, usually while dr-- while we were on leave." Arthur Elm smiles.

Hannah gives him a sideways look to let him know she doesn't approve of the drinking.

It's not clear if he has a gift, but it's not clear that he doesn't.

In the clearing is a small patch of cultivated ground. Across the clearing is a low hut. There's a smoky fire inside and it looks like the work of a Ponca.

Hannah stops. "Now, that's odd. That is downright odd. Who'd be living over here? You can't just up and live in the spirit world." She gets into the saddlebags and gets out her knife. She tucks the sheath into the band of her pants. "I mean... you'd have to have a spirit helping you."

She sighs and starts to approach slowly, keeping an eye out for other horses. "Careful, Arthur. Someone should be home. No good Ponca would leave a fire like that. If we're lucky, it'll be a woman."

Hannah and Arthur approach the hut. As they round the corner of it, towards the door, they see a stallion wearing a saddle. Misae whinnies at him and his tail twitches.

"That's not US calvary standard issue," says Arthur.

She nods at Arthur to acknowledge she heard him and then whispers at Misae, "Thank you for the give-away, princess."

Hannah reaches up and touches the purple feather in her hair for luck. She calls the Omaha greeting from a woman to a stranger, then the same in Ponca, then rounds it off with a final greeting in Winnebago, just in case.

The blanket over the entrance is pulled back and reveals two men, or spirits in the shapes of men. The one man she recognizes, if he is who he looks like. Her brother Francis. The other is a stranger, but one who looks familiar to her, somehow. They blink in the bright light and have not yet spoken.

The stranger is tall, with cinnamon-brown skin and dark hair with a strong hint of red, especially at the ends. He's wearing a robe of grey and black, tied with a wide sash that also holds a straight and a curved sword. He looks thin, almost to the point of emaciation, and must have gone through six kinds of hell to get here if the burn marks and the score of scratches and half-healed cuts tell any kind of story. He looks like his body has long since called it a day, and is only going now on pure willpower. He might also have been credited with a thousand-yard stare, but the eyes are too disconcerting; they're the color of bright, molten gold. Seeing that the other man is smiling, he offers a tentative smile as well.

The woman's face breaks into a bright smile that lights up her eyes, but it is almost immediately replaced with a polite one and a cautious look. She slowly reaches for the smaller pouch she carries, and lifts it up tenderly. "I bring a gift in greeting," she says in French, and pulls open the pouch a little so the tobacco can be smelled as she steps closer, "and if you are not Coyote, perhaps you will share it with me."

She watches the man who looks like her brother very closely for his reactions, considering him the greater threat, but doesn't completely ignore the poor fellow who looks like he's had a rough quest. He does, after all, have a sword.

The man who looks so like Francis seems to be holding back a laugh. He replies in Thari. "Ohanzee, may I present your cousin Dances in Fire, the son of your birth mother's brother Uriel. Firedancer, this is my daughter, who pleases my vanity by not recognizing how I look in this place.

"Come in daughter, we were about to share tobacco and will happily share yours as well. This is where you were born."

"Papa?" She seems rather stunned a moment. Then she is moving to embrace him, smiling. She hugs him perhaps a little too hard. Out of politeness she stays with her father's Thari. "Could not have told me that sooner, could you? No warnings, no wisdom, just had to leave me to find my own path!"

She lets him go, and turns her now wry smile on Firedancer. "My name is Enana now. And this is Sergeant Arthur Elm, who I found living in the village of Horsehead Creek." She motions to said gentleman. "Of course we will come share your hospitality, Papa, but where..."

Her eyes focus behind them to the opening the hut. "My mothers?" she asks quietly.

Edan looks more wary as introductions are exchanged, but still smiles as he bows. "As-salaamu alaykumu," he says. "I am pleased to meet you, Enana bint Estimaza, and you, Sargeant Elm. I continue to be suprised to learn that there are people who live, and indeed were born, in this place."

Sergeant Elm bows, or tries to. He's not very good at it. "Hallo. You don't look like a Turk."

Hannah's eyes swing to Elm and she looks somewhat mortified. "Ah, the joys of military familiarity."

She turns back to Edan with a nod. "It is our pleasure to meet you as well, and we join you in your surprise," she grins, as she looks back to her father. Her grin falters.

Edan smiles, just a little. "I know of this Turkey, Sargeant," he says. "I come from a place much farther away, but very similar. There are many deserts."

Hannah's father looks her over. "I live alone, Enana. Two of your mothers are dead, for they could not live here. Yet you can find me. It seems you did well enough without my advice. I told your birth mother, before she died, that I would not seek out her family, nor tell you of them. But you found them yourself, and it is as it should be.

"The people now follow another, a stranger to us, and wanders in lands far from here. I came here after they so chose, because I hoped to learn how to fight the man who stole them from themselves."

He reaches out and traces a mark on Hannah's forehead, and frowns, slightly, and looks at her, questioningly.

She stands silently under his regard a full minute before she looks down. She unbuttons the top two buttons of her shirt so the four-pointed black star centered just below her collarbones is visible. "I thought you didn't want us to take the Mark so as to move freely in society. I never thought there might be another reason. So I have stood at the center of the universe, Papa, and felt it align around me, and I have seen the bonds that connect every thing and seen through the eyes of my ancestors," she explains, tearing up, "but if what I also did in pride was open a gateway to the people, then I shall grieve the mistake the rest of my life."

Still facing Hannah, Edan glances at her father, then back to her. He stays silent, perhaps recognizing the drama of this fragile moment.

He stares at the mark a moment longer. "You are who you are, and that you are marked thus is now a part of you. You need not grieve for no recent action opened any path for the thief. Your birth-mother, who was my wife when I was here, once speculated that I was descended from one of her brothers and that others may have preceded even him. Our lands must be a cross-roads for that family, like your cousin the Fire Dancer, who was surprised not just to find me, but to find someone who knew of his kind.

"As for us, we are sprung from a curious folk. Look at Arthur Elm, who followed you here, more interested in adventure and mystery than safety or duty. Nothing you did caused any harm to the people, and even had there been something, it was the choices of the people that took them where they went."

Hannah absorbs this with a nod. "We are the people who travel against the stream, Papa," she smiles. Then she pulls him into another hug. "Thank you. I am so relieved you live."

She lets him go and turns that smile on the other men. "Come on Arthur, come cousin, let us smoke." She reaches out to take hands.

It is only a second's hesitation before Edan places his hand in hers. "Smoking, yes," he says. "And then, perhaps, a little magic."

Estimaza laughs. "The smoking is part of the magic. It is different here. More essential, if you will. It will make you more receptive to seeing things as they are or will be or could be, if you let it."

He stops Arthur by the door with his hand. "I am not a chief here, just a Ponca living alone. You are welcome, regardless." Arthur Elm nods, and enters.

The Ponca explains the ritual, as he or Francis might to a white man. It is clear that Estimaza considers it to be less indirect here. He teaches simple words to chant to Edan and more complex ones to Arthur Elm.

Edan doesn't say anything, but there's a smile that starts about a quarter of the way into the explanation and doesn't go away. He nods when it is finished.

He turns to Hannah. "Enana, Firedancer wishes to look into his future, either in the smoke or by the ways of your birth-mother. We shall be looking at him, if we have choices in our visions."

She nods at her father, and turns her eyes on the man in question. "Are you trying to avoid something, or find a certain path?" she asks quietly.

"Both, really," Edan says. "I know the way I wish to take, and I wanted to know what will rise to oppose me if I do. If I cannot find a peaceful path, it would be nice to have at least some idea what is coming. I am weary of being blind-sided." He pauses. "Since there is smoke, and fire, the vision should be strong. Stronger that what I would otherwise expect..."

He trails off, frowns, and adds, "You may already know all this, but I must be complete. Many of our blood carry cards, magic cards, that they use to speak with one another. They also use these cards to foretell the future. I do not have these cards, but I don't necessarily need them; I remember their shapes, and I expect to see them in the smoke. The... vision... would not normally be as accurate as if I had the cards themselves. But, I am a sorceror. I speak the language of fire. Rituals are as common to me as breathing, and where there is fire, I am strong... very strong."

"And this is a place of visions, but that is why you sought it, isn't it? That's why I came back," she grins.

"I know of the cards." She nods. "I even have a few, but not enough to help you in this. I would encourage you not to limit yourself with them. What if you can find something more, someone you've never seen in the cards, here in the smoke, hm? Let it find its own form." She gestures broadly, smiling. "Yet we will be a circle around the center in a circle. Sometimes there are hidden truths behind the truths revealed."

Estimaza gently puts his hand on Edan's arm, not dissimilarly to how he touched Aramsham. "Listen to her. She is a medicine woman."

She grins to hear her father say this.

Edan nods to Hannah, and says, "So be it. I respect your advice, since you obviously have done this many times. I... do not. Free imagery for me, it is like boating down a river and using a spyglass to see the ocean far ahead. Instead of a definite direction and purpose, I see thousands of waves that peak and disappear, none of them necessarily joined. And under the circumstances, I may be seeing the waves on the far side of an ocean six planets over." He smiles. "It's funny, I just had a conversation not too long ago about the problems of seeing ahead in Time. Please, stop me if you see my visions leaving the stratosphere."

Hannah gestures. "Come, let us sit around the fire." She settles herself to the south side of the small fire pit at the center of the round hut, a motions Elm to sit on her right. "Okay, Little Fox, this leaves you in the east, where the sun rises, where we think in the quiet of dawn. I'm here in the south, since I'm planning. Father, if you will sit in the west, since you are the most in action right now... that leaves our guest in the north, evaluating, looking for the right path and action." She winks at Arthur as she finishes this lesson. "I'm glad we have four people."

"Sit, sit," she orders, just like she's the woman of this house.

[Estimaza] pulls some tobacco from his own pouch and mingles it with hers. A simple pipe, with a thin, fragile stem, is packed with the stuff. The pipe resembles a bird, and in this place may well be one. Estimaza takes the first draw from the pipe and holds it out.

Edan takes his assigned place. He looks like he is visibly trying to relax. He takes the pipe next, takes a long draw from it, and his eyes widen as the taste and smell of the tobacco hits him. He passes the pipe clockwise to Elm, then finally seems to relax.

Hannah enjoys the smell of smoke rising up around them. "When I think about it, I am not sure grounding you here is wise. I can't imagine all your answers lay here, in this place. Or do you just mean, I should try not to let you leave here, literally, while you are searching?"

Edan blows a lungful of smoke into the air. "I meant allegorically," he says. "Not my best attempt at humor, I'm afraid. But come to think of it, you probably shouldn't let me float out of here, either."

Hannah takes the pipe from Arthur when he's done, right hand under and left hand over. She looks at it fondly before she smokes. She makes a very pleased sound in the back of her throat as she slowly breathes out, eyes closed. Then turning the pipe so the cup faces west, she offers it to her father.

He takes the pipe, in the appropriate fashion, and breathes deeply of the smoke, passing it along afterwards.

She tilts her head, watching Fire Dancer a moment, before she speaks again. "I don't want to let you carry the impression I do this all the time. I am content to shape the future without doing magic to find where all the paths go. They should go everywhere. I fear I would limit myself if I knew there were difficulties down one way, but then I fear the best outcome for the far future, many generations out, is through that difficulty. This is really a religious problem for me, because I need to consider how my actions will impact my great-grandchildren's great-granchildren's offspring. They should be first in my mind."

She smiles and holds her palms up. "So for me, I would have to look such a long way, so far ahead... and I don't think I could do that and remain healthy. I have to make the best decisions I can in the present, and find the paths to correct the mistakes all my life. I have never intentionally looked into the future before. And I'm not even sure I can hold you here," she laughs, "but I'll try. I will do my best."

Edan nods several times as she speaks. "I was taught thus: that to take the easy path, that of least resistance, always leads to stasis and stagnation and death." His smile fades a little. "The other thing was that even the wise cannot tell all the consequences of their actions."

Estimaza laughs. He looks young enough to be Hannah's son, not her father. Especially when he smiles. "This is why we are not prophetic, our line. We are a practical family. Firedancer, your horse-lord would be at peace here, but not, I fear, your spirit creature." The smell of the tobacco is strong, both appealing and slightly overwhelming. It has a calming effect.

"What do you think it means, Firedancer, that my daughter arrives here just as you have a question about your path?"

"The same reason that a griffon would lead me here to you, just before that question is asked. It is more than the natural affinity of our blood to one another. I think it is part of an omen, that Enana will help me see a path, or even help me along that path."

"Or I am just supposed to make a salve for your hands," she gestures with a wry grin. "There was a griffon? Is he purple?" She reaches behind her, tugs on her hair and brings forward a purple feather. "Did he speak?"

"Yes, purple. Like that," Edan says. "He didn't speak... he just led me here."

She shakes her head. "Perhaps paths are converging. I don't know."

She waves the feather back and forth through the smoke a minute, and whispers "Wa-kon'-da dhe-dhu wah-pa'-dhi a-ton'-he." [Great Father, here needy he stands; and I am he.] She pulls the feather up and blows on it, then tucks it back into the leather bands in her hair. She gives her father a long look before she looks back at Edan. "The worlds are full of mystery. I am a holy man and a scientist and always trying to balance on a knife."

She shrugs and half-smiles.

Estimaza looks at them both, drinking in the smoke and fingering a pouch at his neck. "But is it not harder to argue against the need for balance? We are lucky, in that I am half french, and thus have roots in the land of science and half of the people, who have long roots in the lands of spirit and magic that my father's people deny.

"You know as well as I do, Enana, that when I speak of assimilation for the people to survive, I mean for all the people to assimilate. Just as the map of the continents shows a great jagged rip where they may at one time have been united, the east and the west have taken different paths, but both are necessary.

"Firedancer, if you came here to gain an example from our home, it may be that it is to learn how and when not to choose, but to insist on being both things, and to swallow your dual natures.

"While trying to balance invites the possibility that one may fall, balance is required to stand, and standing is required to reach, to walk, and to run. If your life is out of balance, you may stumble, but you will miss the joy of running where you can."

He hands the pipe along again.

Edan draws deeply from the pipe, and blows out a lot of smoke before he passes it along. He looks much more relaxed. "Those are wise words... it has been very hard to follow them. It is sometimes like the rift between Chaos and Order, Sorcery and Pattern. They are inimical to one another. Such is the nature of myself. And yet, how can one side be even defined without the presence of the other?"

He leans back a little and regards the cloud of smoke forming above them. "I can relax, and unfocus, and let the visions come to me... or I can use sorcery. Will visions come to me if I let them? If I don't interfere?"

Hannah nods, serious. "I think they will, if you seek them - but without invoking power. It is... tricky, but I think you can do it." She grins. "And if is doesn't work, you can push it over the edge with sorcery. Do you really think sorcery is inimical to Pattern?"

Arthur Elm looks a bit confused, but keeps quiet. Estimaza's eyes dart between his daughter and his nephew-in-law.

Edan's hand raises in a lazy gesture, turning and twisting with the smoke. What would otherwise be a purple griffon forms before he drops his hand and it disappears. He relaxes his posture further and glances back to Hannah.

"I have experienced it," he says. "One is a drag upon the other, like friction. Sorcery can be used in places of high Order, but it is very difficult. It takes a deft hand to juggle them both. I'm sure the effect can be expressed mathematically on the Order side, but I haven't had the time to derive the formulae."

"Hm, and yet I could spiritwalk very close to the Center without a real problem. I always thought spiritwalking was like sorcery, but it appears that was an erroneous conclusion." The smile that accompanies this admission is brilliant. "So it must be something completely different. Hm."

She shakes her head as she takes the pipe from Arthur. She gives him an apologetic look. "The Universe turns out to be quite complicated, Little Fox." She contemplates this as she smokes, used to the smoke now and inhaling deeply.

"So, Fire Dancer, I will refrain from asking you a thousand questions to test your knowledge and expand my own. Right now. About formulae. As I am relaxed. Instead," she grins, "I am curious about this spirit creature you 'have' my father mentioned."

"Kyauta? It is my affine," Edan says. "A creature of Chaos. It is my servant until it wishes to leave, or grows and matures to the point that it will no longer need my support and protection. It is out hunting, but should eventually return to me." He pauses. "Right now it looks like a small white dragonet, but I don't know what it will look like after it hunts and feeds. From what I have seen, personal relationships in Chaos can be in turns, annoyingly simple and incredibly complex. If you asked Kyauta about our relationship, it would likely answer that I have agreed not to Eat it, or let other Lords Eat it. Technically, we could have said the same thing about Oberon while he was alive."

It takes Hannah a moment before she manages to ask, "You knew Oberon?"

Estimaza looks interested at this question.

Edan smiles a little and shakes his head. "Forgive me if I gave that impression. Oberon is-- was-- my father's father, and I have never met him. I have recently been on the other side of the Tree, and have an affine, so my thoughts have oft come back to the nature of relationships in Chaos."

She bites her lip and holds some comment back. "Hm. What is this tree?"

Estimaza says one word, softly. "a-kon-da-bpa."

Edan looks suprised, and then slightly confused. "I do not know that name," he says. "I know it as Ygg, a great tree that is the border between Order and Chaos. It is a nexus, a place where one set of rules ends and another begins. Shadow is infinite, but if one is to cross between Order and Chaos, all roads lead through Ygg."

"Ygg. Is Ygg just a boundry marker then? Or is... it... more than a tree? Do you know?" Hannah asks, looking troubled.

"More than a tree?" Edan raises an eyebrow. "I must admit, I was in the middle of a race at the time and feeling a little bruised from the trolls, so I wasn't looking very closely. What does that name mean?"

Hannah sighs, unsure at first how to explain this. "A-kon-da-bpa is a person who protects and... guides our tribe from the form of a tree. He..."

She grins suddenly. "Here, firedancer, we have fire in our tribal history, again. A-kon-da-bpa was found many generations ago by a young man of our tribe, and spoke to him. A-don-da-bpa burned with blue fire, but never felt it, and gave us instructions. Thunderbirds sat in his branches."

She gestures at the fire pit. "Even our traditional huts are built around fire. Our creation beliefs tell us when we first came to earth it was from water, onto land created by fires rising up. So we build this way, with the fire, the round earth," she gestures around, "the sky. I think the symbolism here will help you."

Edan suddenly looks excited as Hannah talks, but visibly squelches it as he notices how it is interfering with his emotional state and the ritual. "That is most interesting, Enana." He looks very much, at least to Hannah, like he wants to say something but is holding off. "I... did not see anything like that at Ygg. I should have tried to talk to it. Him."

"Or her," she smiles, but it fades. "So do you not think forming a relationship with a creature from Chaos is somewhat incautious? What makes it worth the risk?"

"There may be a number of people in Amber that have lately been asking the same question," Edan says, dryly. "As it so happens, caution was the reason I took Kyauta as an affine."

She doesn't even bother trying to hide her disbelief. "Well, then, I'm sure it will all work out perfectly. And if it is hunting here, I'm certain nothing bigger will eat him. Grandfather Bear will probably consider it a bird, and beneath munching on." She takes her turn on the pipe.

"Is that your spirit-animal? It is a strong one," Edan says. "Let us hope they do not encounter one another, then. If Kyauta turns the tables and Eats your Grandfather Bear, he will almost certainly grow beyond my protection and all my efforts will be lost."

Hannah looks unhappy.

He smiles, but there's little humor there. "You misunderstand me... I was not referring to the well-deserved caution involved with taking the fealty of a Chaos creature. I meant finding out, and watching, those who might spy upon me through an affine that came to me under an almost ridiculous series of circumstances." His voice trails off. "Knowing the giver, I don't think that was the case, and I have seen no evidence of it, but there was another reason. I calculated a twelve to fifteen percent chance that the affine was a remnant of a creature called Aisling, and had its memories. By the time that was disproved, Kyauta had proved its loyalty to me several times over, and I was loathe to give it up."

Hannah nods, but looks grim as she says, "It will indeed be beyond your protection if it manages to 'eat' my spirit guide. I would be deeply offended by that. But that's academic. Let us assume the best.

"I would love to meet your creature. So, why don't you take a deep breath, and try to shape him for me? Like this," she says, and blows into the lingering smoke, trying for little eagles once again.

The eagles come easily. They are well-formed and have clear markings. They may even be making tiny screeches, but it's hard to tell over the fire.

"Enana," says Estizima, "fear not for Grandfather Bear. Spirits cannot be eaten and more than Rabbit can catch The Sun in a Snare. Which is to say he can, but it will leave a mark and not harm Grandfather Bear."

He turns to Firedancer. "Shape the smoke and give it life, wife's nephew.'"

"Without power," she whispers. "Just breathe, and desire."

Edan gives them a long, low bow of his head, and lets his eyes unfocus as he looks up into the smoke. His chest rises, silently, and then he blows into the smoke, willing it into Kyauta's dragonet form.

"Kyauta can be whatever form he wants," Edan says dreamily. "He was a tiny horse when I first saw him. He has taken several shapes. I think I will ask him to be my spirit animal, next."

The smoke swirls and after a moment and several near-shapes, settles into the form of a dragonet. It's still recognizably smoke, especially at the wingtips, but it is also recognizably a dragonet.

It's not a distinct nor as detailed at Enana's creations.

"Will you?," asks Estimaza. "What do you think it would mean were your Kyauta to be your spirit animal?"

Edan frowns at the smoke. "I'm a sculptor. I can do better than that," he says. Turning his head towards Estimaza, he says, "I said that wrong, didn't I? I meant, 'take the form of my spirit animal', ghanii the sand tiger. When I return home, I think it would cause less of a stir than a flying dragon."

"The medium is delicate. My wife here compared it to travelling as your kind do, but in reverse. Let it fly and turn and let each pass through the center return a being changed. Think on it as an allegory for life," Estimaza says. "While you are meditating, you can tell me about your sand tiger. What is it to you? I saw a tiger once, penned by the white men and being taken from town to town to be displayed for money. They are not creatures native to our home. Then again, neither are you."

Arthur looks are Edan, but addresses Hannah. "Wait. If he's not a human person, and Miss Le Corbeau is his cousin, are you..." He lets his sentence tail off.

Hannah grins. "Well, I'm not sure he's not human. What do you mean when you say that word? The medicine man used to call my mother a white buffalo woman - and what did that mean? What do you mean by Miss? And yet, if this is my father," she notes, with a look of longing that such be true, "he does seem quite too young for that. But there is a society of people it is right for."

She shrugs. "There is some physical difference, at least, sir, but I promise we bleed and break too. Just... it is harder to damage or kill us. And we age very slowly, if that's even right, and we can walk the worlds. But I am also Omaha in my upbringing and Ponca in my blood - so I say I'm human, and the Blue Earth has a part of me." Hannah touches the tiny dot on her forehead.

She glances at Edan. "But everyone has opinions, don't they? In Mahkato, 'human' is a word the Easterners have to define who they will treat right and who they will treat wrong. There was a trial over whether or not a Ponca Chief was 'human'. So it is a hard won title I wouldn't set aside easily. The tribes have always interacted with beings Easterners wouldn't call human. For a time, the tribes were not considered human. So, Arthur Elm," she looks back, "I am gratified that you can sincerely ask that question. Your mother's generation had to fight to have their humanity recognized. I am Omaha, so I am human. I am also something else, and also, French." She laughs. "Just French enough."

"I am human and afrit and of the blood of Amber," Edan says. "I was born in the coastal cities of the Land of Peace, raised as a merchant prince, you could say, but turned away from that to join the seven tribes of the deep desert."

He puffs on the pipe when it comes back to him, more carefully this time, and works to bring meaning to the smoke as he speaks. "Ghanii, the sand tiger, is strong and clever, the strongest of the great cats. He triumphs through the strength of his body, knows its abilities and limitations. He is wise, and hunts and moves at night when it is cool and other animals are more vulnerable. Many see him as a symbol of war, of victory. I respect him, for like him, it is reliance on my body and mind that leads to survival. I dance, and know each muscle and nerve, for they are integral to my sorcery. Ghanii is proud, even as he follows the subtle social rules of his kind. I would weep to see one such as him caged and put on display for the entertainment of those who would not even understand what a terrible thing they have done."

Hannah agrees. "There is a great deal to be sad about in the world, and many ignorant people."

She shrugs. "I have seen bears in cages and it is the same. My experience with my spirit guide... has shown me more differences between us than similarities. He helps me see inside myself, and find my strength. Perhaps it is that he already has the knowledge, manners and traits I want to have, but feel so far from. And sometimes he is just there, showing me that there is a peace and quiet when one is alone. He is a great comfort.

"But I did not choose him - he chose me. Is it this way with your people?"

"Not at all," Edan says slowly. "I chose, knowing the similarities between myself and the sand tiger. And later, when I was helping the tribes to fight their oppressors, it was a label that was given to me by others. I was never chosen by a spirit animal." He frowns and is silent a moment. "I regret that."

"So you chose an animal you feel represents your spirit? Have you ever... spoken to a spirit sand tiger?" she asks a little more gently.

Edan shakes his head. "Only giant fire-lions. Obviously, there are talking sand-tigers out in Shadow somewhere, but I have yet to meet one. How... did you meet your Grandfather Bear?"

"I was nine. I was here with our holy man, learning how to seek knowledge. Training," she smiles at the memory. "And I was feeling anxious because my mother was about to have Frank, and it is never sure that even a healthy young woman will survive childbirth. He," she laughs, "he snuck up on us. A bear - a huge bear - and he was following along so when we stopped he poked his nose into me. Which tickled."

She shakes her head, blushing. "I was very young and had an immortal mindset then, so I poked him back. But just a little, because I had been taught about the spirit of the bear. I thought he was bringing me flowers because he had them and I was nine. But it was black cohosh, to help with my mother's contractions. Then he gave me a ride on his back. I didn't understand then that he was my spirit guide. I just liked him a great deal. It wasn't until I was older that I realized he was... guiding and teaching and protecting me."

Sadness floats over her smile. "I have been missing him."

Edan frowns a little more. "Missing him as in, 'He's here and I don't get here often'? Or missing him as in, 'I get here a lot and he's somewhere else?' Were you planning on looking for him?"

"Yes, the first, and yes, I need his help. I came here to find him. I haven't seen him...since I left Mahkato nearly twenty of their years ago to... um'" she clears her throat and grins, "follow a unicorn to a hurt gryffon."

Edan's jaw doesn't quite drop, but it's close. "I tell all these great tales, and everyone has a better one," he mumbles. "Er... the unicorn? As in, our great-grandmother? I have, ah, never seen her."

Hannah shakes her head. "Someone told me she was our great-grandmother, yes, but... I haven't seen her since then. And she didn't speak with me."

For some reason she seems to find all that faintly embarrassing. She changes the subject. "Do you think you're ready to try your... reading?"

Edan's frown disappears; he smiles a little. "I have already been trying," he says. "Yes, I'm ready."

Estimaza laughs, easily. "Perhaps you should try less hard, Firedancer. The future is a delicate thing, and you want to read what will be, not what you will to be."

Edan raises his eyebrows, then settles back and tries to relax more. "Time is but a Principle," he says, "and it is hard for me not to lash the Principles of reality with the whip of my ego. Harder to relax, and see events as they will be rather than as I wish them."

He sits back farther, leans forward a bit to stretch the muscles in his lower back. "I was always taught that Time is connected, simultaneous. Some would argue that events are predestined, despite our power over probability. We know better... but always, there is the urge to pick the safe path that leads ever downward into stagnation." He sighs. "Is it any wonder that I do not enjoy looking into my future? All I wanted was to find peace. But the looking ahead can be as frustrating as feeling my way blindly along Time's thread. I understand that I have a cousin, Cambina, who does this regularly. I don't know how she stands it."

Hannah seems to have frozen with her last breath, and only when she releases it does she move again. "I don't think our cousin remembered her visions. And she has died, perhaps persuing... the future. I saw her injuries shortly before I left to come here."

Edan stares at Hannah with bright golden eyes, and she is sure she has his full attention until she stops speaking.

"And if you did not get to know her I am even more sorry for your loss, because she was kind in her blunt way - at least to me, and she would have cut through things to get us to our goals much faster than we have. That's a gift too. She was a historian as well. I don't think she only saw the future. I was taught time moves in a loop, so that makes sense to me." Hannah looks honestly grieved.

She looks at her father. "I apologize if our speaking of the dead makes you uncomfortable, papa."

Turning back to Firedancer, she explains, "Omaha don't usually speak of the dead once they have passed on, for fear they will be disturbed or distracted. Perhaps... if you really seek peace, you should seek it through your actions. Not by trying to force a path to it."

Edan very much looks like he wants to ask What Happened To Cambina, but he nods instead. "Your father and I spoke on this before you came," he says. "I agree. I know what path I wish to take- what I want to know is what will rise up and place itself in my way when I do. I'm tired of being blind-sided." He pauses. "Perhaps... we could speak when this is done, before you go on your search."

"Yes. I'd like that," she nods and motions to the pipe. "Just breathe in deeply, let it fill you, and then let it go into the air and show you the shape of things to come."

Edan nods, takes the pipe when it comes to him, raises it to the cloud of smoke, because it feels right to him, then fills his lungs with pipe smoke and blows it slowly into the air.

Edan blows and the smoke swirls about. He feels a certain detachedness from the effort, which is probably related to the strength of the tobacco.

The smoke swirls, and, at first, seems patternless, but shortly it becomes apparent that it is showing pieces of the pattern, transformed, warped, and three-dimensional. Those are only transitory. The smoke settles into a shape, a smoky rectangle. Inside it is what looks like a human figure, an upside-down silhouette hanging onto a stick in the top of the frame. Behind the upside-down man is a stray wisp of pure white smoke, probably from the central fire.

Edan makes an exasperated sound. "That looks like the Hanged Man."

"I don't know what all the," she clears her throat, "gypsy cards mean. So let me tell you what I see. Someone in shadow. Perhaps in Shadow. Someone with a strange skill or strength to hang and balance like that. Maybe there is a fire behind him - maybe he follows you. Perhaps he is you."

She shrugs with a little half smile. "What is the card supposed to symbolize? And what does it mean to you?"

It is a moment before Edan speaks. "When I was younger, my father took me on a tour through many shadows. It was as much an exercise in learning sorcery as it was learning the mathematics of Pattern and the art of survival. If this vision comes from my head, then I should at least mention these cards, for I am a veritable encyclopedia of such things, and this may be part of those experiences. It may be the tarot of the Hanged Man, or it may mean something else.

"The Hanged Man is all about paradox. He hangs upon a tau cross made from his own labors, yet he is calm and serene. He hangs in between the earthly world and the spirit world, and his perceptions are altered, so that he gains insight that he would not normally have. He hangs there in a moment that seems timeless, but in reality he knows he must climb back down and act upon what he sees. If there was a vision that says, 'this is the clear-cut path to your future', this would not be it. The Hanged Man is all paradox and mystery. If there is a message, it means to sacrifice one's earthly ties and plans to gain greater insight into the universe."

Edan draws a breath, holds it, looses it. "I will tell you what I see. I see a man. I think that it is me. Yes, he is in shadow, or in Shadow, or he is in darkness, or tainted by darkness." He moves his hand, pointing. "He has left purity and the singleness of purpose behind him- that is the white, straight line. He hangs upside-down- his perceptions are changed, seeing things he did not see before. He is trapped in this moment of clarity, or he is there because of his strength or his acrobatic ability. Either way, he cannot stay in this position, or he will perish. It will be a fleeting moment, and he will have to make new decisions based on what he sees here." A pause. "I also saw fragments of the Pattern, twisted, transformed, three-dimensional. That worries me."

Hannah shrugs again, smiling now. "I didn't see the cross. I thought it was a tree. I wish you could have had a better answer, but sometimes you can't see past a turn, yes?

"The Pattern... it was even harder for me to accomplish than I had been warned it would be. It may be there is something here that doesn't sit easy with it."

"A tree..." Edan smiles. "Yes, that makes sense, too. As far as the vision goes, I suppose it could have been worse." He focuses back on Hannah. "Your connection with this place, it somehow gave you trouble with the Pattern?"

"Trouble might be the wrong word. Or..." she sighs. "I don't know. Maybe it really is just that hard for everyone. For me it was a ritual of ancestors and connecting to them and their trials - but it may not have been the truth as it happened in fact. And myself, and my past, and my... trials." She grins. "Which were pretty much how I remembered them. There isn't a large enough sample for a scientific answer - not for anything for those of the blood. It is all guesswork. Form a hypothesis and poke at it. Mine is that perhaps there is something about my connection here that is a bit unordered. I don't have enough data about the universe to answer the question."

She turns and pokes her father in the arm playfully. "I spoke with you at the end of my ritual. I told you I would come back someday, wearing a purple feather, just in case it had connected you to a vision. You were being insistent about the tribe needing me sooner." She looks a little less happy. "Did you have a vision? What did you see in Firedancer's smoke, papa?"

"There are many things to see, and things that are not to be seen. Each of us bring something to the fire and the ritual and viewing, but I think my wife's side is dominating. These are visions as her people would have them.

He turns his head. "I see a man stabbing the ground, or perhaps a warrior grounding a spear, but upside down. Behind him is a treasure that he is protecting, but he does not look on it. Is that Firedancer, apart from his fire? I do not know."

The image shifts and turns, and a new segment of the pattern slides through momentarily-- or perhaps it is a mere tangle of threads, that happenstance makes look like the pattern would, were it three-dimensional.

Another rectangle of smoke, this one larger than the last, forms. The smoke seems better defined and less inclined to wander off. Inside the rectangle a figure of a man forms clearly. Much bulkier than the last time, this figure seems to be falling downwards while scrambling to go upwards.

Estimaza straightens his head. "Now I see a man who cannot swim."

Hannah just stares at it until her eyes fill with tears. She says nothing.

"Drown... Drowning in Armor?" Edan stares at the ground a moment, then back at the smoke. "Maybe... maybe this is following how the Trumps would read a fortune, after all. Maybe I was all wrong. If this is like the Trumps, this would show my present. A plan of protection, turning against me. And the other image, my past. A defender, maybe, or more likely a Soldier. Reversed." He looks away, and his voice is rough. "Blind obedience."

Edan notices Hannah, then, and his hand rises a little towards her. "Enana?"

She blinks and lets the tears fall, though she quickly wipes them away. "Too many people feel like this, or find themselves... falling. Do you feel like this?" she gestures at the image, troubled eyes hard on him.

Edan's face registers mild suprise, or maybe a confirmation of an unwelcome truth. His hand drops, his expression hardens, but his eyes stay with hers.

"Yes," he says. Yes, I do. And for all I've done lately, all that has happened to me, all the sound and fury and fire that's followed in my wake, I feel as though I have accomplished... nothing. Or worse, hurt the ones with me."

There is a hint of anger to her nod. "You are the one who has to stop it. There are always outside forces acting on us. You have not fallen out of the sky with no one to catch you. You are not damaged beyond repair. You can... you can drop the armor and learn how to swim." Her hand gestures impatiently toward the image again, agitated. "It is like you were saying before about the paradox of releasing control to gain it."

"Drop the armor," Edan echoes, his voice hollow. "Release control to gain it."

He finds it is his turn to gesture at the smoke. "Another way to read the first image is that of the Defender, reversed. It means 'Peril'. The Defender becomes a danger to the thing he is trying to defend. That image also applies, Enana. The Seven Tribes- my very own people I had adopted and saved!- grew to fear and loathe me for the power I had gathered to use in their cause, what I had to do, the creature I had become. My hands are covered in blood. In a flash of anger, I gutted Brand's temple with fire and rained death on the jungle for miles around. In a fit of pique, I tore apart a creature's soul. I have Eaten. I have abandoned my faith. I nearly killed Lil- the Sword Maiden- in an explosion meant to save her, an explosion that completely leveled a battlefield." He draws a short, shuddering breath. "I am like the fire itself- lawless, dangerous, prone to get out of control if my emotions are not held strictly in check. I have all the subtlety of a nuclear blast. I am here, as much as a respite from war and death and killing as I am to find a clue to the future. Because the harder I try, the more destruction I leave in my wake." He looks down. "Drop the armor? Release control? Invite all that in again?"

As he goes on her mouth forms a thin line. "You are making choices. You have the good nature of fire and the bad nature of fire to chose from. You are not powerless within your own nature. It you can't completely avoid the bad nature of fire, you can at least balance it."

She shakes her head. "You make it sound as if you are the puppet of your instinct. You are more than a fire animal. Take your time here to find the good nature of fire. You seem to have lost touch with it. Reach for that, be warmed by it, instead or burned hollow."

And then she gives him a wry smile. "And I will try to take some of my own advice too."

Edan looks up. "How do you mean?"

"I don't feel like this," she motions at the smoke, "I just work too hard. All the time. Yet it ends the same way if I don't find some balance - a burned hollow. So I should give what I need some attention while I am here, so a hundred years from now I will still be a good doctor - but it is easy to know and harder to do. That is how I mean."

Edan nods in understanding. "Taking my own time here, it might be... difficult," he says. "I asked my sister to Trump me if I didn't contact her first. I have a day here, maybe two, if I don't avoid her call. I had actually, ah, planned to come back."

She nods slowly. "I know what it is like. Time getting away from you. Responsibilities. I hope you will make time for this when you can."

The smoke changes again, and again the upside-down man appears, replacing the drowner. Again he has the stick or spear that he is hanging onto or, if it's reversed, that he is poking into the ground. This time he has a bag with him, bulging and heavy.

Arthur Elk looks at it, and turns his head until it's almost upside down. "I don't think it's a warrior," he says.

"The future," Edan says. "I think... poking holes in the ground... the bag... I think this is Sowing Stones. Reversed. That's a good sign, actually. It means 'ceasing fruitless labor'." He hesitates. "This has been clearer than I expected. The past, Peril. The present, Drowning in Armor. The future, Ceasing Fruitless Labor. All of it is accurate. At least, I hope the last is accurate. Then there is a Virtue, a Fault, and a Fate."

"Hm, how do you know? I mean, couldn't these three be a virtue, a fault, and a fate?" Hannah asks.

"We shall see," says Estimaza. "It changes again." The smoke turns again and another figure appears. It's quite clear the smoky image in this rectangle is inverted. Near the top is what vaguely looks to be a city or town, with a mountain rising behind it. On the mountain is a lone hut and next to it, a man.

"Why are they all upside down?" asks Arthur.

Hannah laughs. "Perhaps Firedancer is dizzy," she teases.

Edan snorts. "That would explain a lot," he says. "This one, I think, is the Hermit, Reversed. It means isolationism in the pursuit of wisdom." He frowns. "It also means a loss of compassion and caring. That's a virtue? That helps me?"

Hannah shrugs. "Sometimes compassion and caring hurts too much, and you have to step away from them to do what is best," she offers.

He turns back to Hannah. "It's a good question you just asked. All I can say is what I did before- if it's coming from my head, this is how I know it is done. The cards are arranged in a pyramid, then read bottom to top. Past to future, virtue, fault, fate. If these images are in a different order, how would I ever be able to tell which is which?"

"Well, you wouldn't," she grins. "Let us hope they are behaving."

The image that forms next from the strands of smoke is a four-legged one and is clearly an image straight from the Court of Arms-- A Lion. Given the smoke, technically "Or, a lion rampant sable within a bordure sable".

Arthur looks at the image. "So this is the fault, right?"

"The Lion." Edan nods. "The Body Prevails. Physical prowess. Victory in contests. If it were a spirit animal, this would be my tiger." A rueful smile begins to form. "Temet nosce, Firedancer. I think I see where this is going. I'm not going to like it."

Hannah studies the big cat. "Yet you began this exercise from a position of changing the future - so how seriously can you take fate? Abyssus abyssum invocat, right? You haven't changed your path yet. I would be surprised were it good based on what you've said."

"Omnes gurgites tui et fluctus tui super me transierunt," Edan says, absently. His smile grows wider. "I've been, shall we say, aware of the element of choice in the equation. I knew that our choices change the paths, even when we see the paths laid before us. But this... ahh, this includes a choice. I want peace. How do I get there? What helps me? Not to care. What hinders me? My own nature, my own abilities, the desire for victory. Abyssum invocat, indeed. When I saw the men of the desert exploited and used, I cared. When I saw Feathered Serpent and his people about to be destroyed by his sister, I cared. Whatever mistakes I have made, the decision had already been made to act. How do I reach a time of peace? Ignore the urge to care, to make a difference."

"And if that is the only path to peace, is it worth it? What good lies beside destruction? If a man is ill and I take a knife to him to try to take away his sickness, have I done more harm than good? The answer lies in if he lives or dies, usually. I, perhaps, have learned too much how to turn the other cheek. You, perhaps, know nothing of how to do that. What is your obligation to the universe? I'm not convinced you need peace. You may just need rest," she shrugs. "Peace is an abstract thing.

"So I come all the way around to this question: what would cool your soul down for awhile, and let you rest in quiet?"

"You are a wise woman, Enana of the Omaha," Edan says. "Unfortunately, I don't have a good answer to that question. Considering how I was raised, and how I have lived my life, I don't rest well. Even the dance is tied in with everything else that I do. My plan thus far was to 'go somewhere with no people and a place to see the future' - you see how well that's worked out." He smiles more fully and shakes his head. "If you have suggestions, I am all for them. You would seek rest here too, would you not? I see that you have your own great stressor, your own Drowning Man, one in whom you have placed great care."

"Guidance and balance. I'm not so good at rest either. As for suggestions, a wise woman asks many questions but offers few answers," she grins.

The smoke re-forms, making a new symbol bound by a rectangle, this one wider than it is long. In it is a figure, hooded and gaunt, bearing an ankh and a staff. It's not human, even if it's humanish in shape. It is neither upright nor reversed.

"Death," Edan says. "But sideways. Either great change, or stasis. Not... unexpected." He's nodding. "So. As to the question of finding peace: I had become a peril to those I had defended. My protective plans turn against me... but in the future, I shall cease my fruitless labor. A lack of caring or compassion helps me. Physical prowess, my nature works against me. Great change is possible, if I choose the right path."

Hannah nods. "Now all you have to do is do it," she smiles. "May finding your path be easy if that is what helps you most."

Edan bows to her. "And you, Enana, may you find what you seek, as well. Including your Grandfather Bear." He glances back to the smoke, then to her. "I think I need some air. If my gracious host, your father, would not be adverse, perhaps we could walk a bit and talk of home and Family?"

Hannah looks to her father. "I will come back so we can talk. I have hints of where your thief may be headed. Do you think it is safe for Elm to stay?"

Estimaza nods, almost casually. "As safe as it can be. He and I will talk of the people, and how they are doing. Do not forget to return, this time. Even if you see a unicorn."

"Even if I see the unicorn, Papa, I will tell her we have to come see you first," she agrees. She watches her father a moment to make sure he's got the pipe well in hand, and then she stands, slowly. Once sure of her feet, she grins across at Firedancer, and heads outside.

She immediately looks around for the horses, Wixer and other creatures.

Edan stands afterward, a slow, lithe unlimbering that makes the eyes ache to watch. He nods to both men, then follows Hannah outside; at the change in air, he gives one discreet, polite cough.

"Yes, it is a lot of smoke, isn't it?" she asks, and clears her throat.

Edan hazards a smile as he steps away from the lodge (and if there's a door or flap, closing it). "And quite... pungent."

She laughs and turns to look at him. "Well, it is relaxing, even all things told."

She tilts her head and starts walking East, toward the horses.

Edan chuckles as they move away and off by themselves. "I tell Aramsham to stay, he wanders off. If I had told him to wander off, we would have found him standing by the door."

"Oh, he's like that, is he? My mare never wanders too far. She's called Bright Star in Omaha, which is Misae. Call her Missy half the time. What does Aramsham mean?" she asks.

"It means 'exalted one'," Edan says. "And he knows it well. He is the most spoiled, contrary horse I have ever bred and raised. Then again, he is also the strongest, fastest, and steadiest. So I keep him, and forgive him his nature."

"Do your people consider horses sacred?" she wonders.

Edan shakes his head. "Not sacred, no. They are held in high esteem, considering that a man may die in the desert if he does not have a horse or a camel. Breeding thoroughbreds like Aramsham is considered a sport, almost an art, where I come from. And it shows... he has just won the Race to Madness, near the Tree Ygg, and has been steady in battle, around sorcery, even hellrides. He even knows a few tricks, when I can keep him from biting or stepping on my foot."

She laughs. "And we do consider them sacred. So Misae is very special among my people because she was born free and we had to save her from being part of the slaughter that was..." her smile fades and she shakes her head. "Nevermind that. Anyway, she is a little monster of endurance, but we don't breed them for it. They have to choose.

"Maybe then they're not so cranky as your Exalted One," she teases.

"The Sword Maiden found him and led him back to me in Uxmal," Edan says. "He didn't give her any trouble. Nor did he your father. It's not as if I can't handle a horse... perhaps he just does it to me, because he thinks I'll let him get away with it." He smiles, then is silent a moment as they walk.

"Your father told me about his wife, your mother. I was... suprised."

She seems about to say one thing, stops herself, and then asks, "What surprises you about it?"

"Father told me about the Family, when I was out in shadow," Edan says. "I had not yet been introduced to anyone, not even my sister. He told me that Rilga had a third child, a daughter, who spent much time away from Amber and, as I found out later, had probably perished." He glances at Hannah to make sure he isn't passing along unexpected and unwelcome news. "That was the last I had heard until your father alluded to her. I have not been long present at Amber or Xanadu, but I certainly had not heard of you."

Hannah nods. "It's nice to know people haven't been gossiping about me. I've been busy, working, and learning how to use newfound skills. But it isn't like I've been hiding.

"On the other hand, I didn't know who my mother was when I got there. It never mattered to me, because I had perfectly good mothers. Really, the best a girl in my position could want." Here the grief emerges in her voice and tightening expression. "I didn't know my birth mother, and what I know of her doesn't inspire great admiration. There had to be something interesting about her to get my father's attention, but that's between them. And I haven't announced who she is in any public sense. I'd rather be judged on my own faults and merits.

"If I've heard of you, I don't know it," she finishes with a grin, but lets him keep his secrets. She approaches Aramsham confidently, turning to come in from his side. "Do you think he will be offended if I give him a nickname?"

"Not at all," Edan says. He reaches into a pocket and produces two cubes of sugar, which he holds palm-up for Hannah to take. "My father is Seeker-Beyond-Seas, and my mother is the Firemaid. Who, and what, my mother is has always made me something of a pariah. I won't say anything about your birth mother if you won't say anything about mine." He grins.

Hannah takes the sugar. "Agreed," she smiles. She lays a hand on Aramsham's neck like an expert.

"So if I call you Shammy that's just taking it too far, isn't it? I will call you Midnight, since you are so dark next to Bright Star here." She offers him the sugar. "You're not going to bite at me now, are you?" She talks at him a bit, and once they seem to be friends, she gives him another pat but resists a full appraisal.

She turns her attention to her mare. "Is he being nice to you?" she whispers very quitely to the much smaller horse. "If he bites you, you kick him in the face."

Edan chuckles. "He won't bother her. She's a mare, and he's all boy. If you were riding a stallion, well, then there might be problems."

She smiles big and nods slowly. "As a... conscientious guardian I must be a little concerned about the behavior of stallions who may be... overbred. I hope you won't take offense at that. She's a vicious kicker, and has her own mind, so I'm not too worried about her." She colors just a little, but is still grinning.

She turns back to her horse. "And watch out for Wixer too, though he didn't seem to want to eat you last time."

Edan raises an eyebrow at the 'overbred' statement, but still looks amused. "Wixer? Was that the griffon? You know him by name?"

She waves her hand, strokes the horse's nose once more, and then gestures eastward. "I was told his name. He's never spoken to me."

Hannah runs her hands over the top of the grasses as they grow higher. "I feel like I should give you the tour, but it can be unpredictable. There should be a river ahead here." She looks at him a moment, then, "What was it you didn't want to talk about in front of my father?"

Edan looks suprised. "Cambina's death. Amber. Xanadu. Family things. Part of the Family protocol, really, that we often catch each other up on the Family when we meet. At least, that is how I was taught things should be. And most of our relatives, they are private people, and prefer to keep such information between ourselves. Estimaza, he may or may not be your father, yes? There is information you would want him not to hear, either way."

Hannah laughs. "Well, no, but that says a great deal more about who I think Estimaza is as a man than anything about you."

Edan looks like he very much wants to say something, but stops himself when Hannah continues.

She stops laughing. "But here, I will tell you what I can. When were you last in Amber and Xanadu?"

"Weeks ago, subjectively," Edan says. "When I left, Huon was still marching through Shadow on his way towards Rebma. I have been in Chaos for a time, but I have heard a little from my sister via Trump. The last I heard, Huon failed in his bid, was captured, and then escaped from Amber. I sent Lilly and Ambrose to Amber for help after she was injured in battle. Someone named Robin now has a trio of dragonet... affines, perhaps. Paige has been named warden of Xanadu's forests, and was leading Arcadians there. Lilly failed in her bid to negotiate a new cousin, Meg, from Count Madoc." He meets Hannah's eyes. "That's the latest I've heard, if it fixes the time for you. I can go into more detail, of course."

She shakes her head. "I... this is all mixed up in time for me. I had not heard that Huon had failed in his bid... for Bleys' head? Or that he'd been to Amber, and then escaped. That is news to me. In Xanadu, Gerard's wife has come to live with him, which I think is a very good thing. And then Cambina's body was found and it was discovered the Queen was missing. Corwin and I went up to Tir, since it seems she fell from there, but it was... unhelpful. By the time we were done the Queen had been recovered. Since I don't understand what happened to her, I can't really explain. That's when I left. I knew if I didn't leave pretty quick, I'd be drawn into something else.

"Can you tell me more about what happened with Huon?"

"Huon marched on Rebma, after gathering an army through Shadow," Edan says. "Basically, he threatened to destroy Rebma's Pattern if they didn't give him Rebma's Pattern sword, which our newly-discovered cousin Khela holds. I think. Huon objectified his plan through a combination of subterfuge and sorcery, apparently, and had a blood-bomb ready to explode in Rebma's pattern chamber. Brennan, Jerod, Conner, Llwella, and Khela all opposed him. They managed to disrupt the spell, and most of the principals were dragged through a Trump to Amber, where Huon made a grab for the blade and ran. He was eventually stopped and sent back to Amber, where he subsequently escaped, without the sword. The army back in Rebma, without their leader, was defeated. Huon's on the loose somewhere in Shadow, probably recovered by now.

"Huon wanted Rebma's Pattern sword to put him on a parity with Bleys, who holds Werewyndle, the Pattern sword of Amber. Huon doesn't have the math to understand that having Rebma's sword wouldn't have helped him."

"There are so many new questions in there. Do you know what Rebma does with her prisoners?" she asks.

"Rebma? I don't know, I've never been there." Edan makes a face. "I assume, being a reflection of Amber, that there is a court system that runs up to the Queen's justice. Or, on the political side, the possibility of prisoner exchange... Jerod or Conner or Llwella would know the best, I suppose."

He gives Hannah a sort of appraising half-smile. "If there's lots of questions, perhaps we should do another time-honored tradition, that of trading questions. I think my first one would be, who is Robin?"

"I don't actually know too much about Robin. She was raised by Julian, and is engaged to Gerard's son Vere, and may be my sister. But we've only spoken once, really. She seems... a tomboy." Hannah grins and shrugs. "You can have another question if you like."

"Well, alright," Edan says. "I met Gerard before I left. He was in a great wheeled chair, and I heard the story of his injuries. How does he fare, now that the king has returned?"

"Much the same, only now he is free to pursue his healing rather than run a Kingdom. More than that, I really couldn't say unless he gave me permission." She stops momentarily, river coming into view in the distance, to think of a question.

Then she shrugs. "Enough of these games. Let's swim." She tilts her head toward the river and raises an eyebrow.

"Eh?" Edan looks up at the river, then at Hannah, then back the way they came, then back to the river... but not so far that Hannah can't see an upturned mouth and a brilliant golden eye. "Race you."