Current Log


Note: Previous logs can be found here.

Recent Logs:

Cousins meet at the Gazebo to exchange news
Cousins have post-gazebo sidebar conversations
Misao, Delta, and Alex awake in a Klybesian facility
Penthelisea tracks the green sickness and meets Julian and Robin
Cousins report to the king and discuss their next moves until Brita requests backup for Huon
Cousins join Misao, Alex, Delta, and Huon to help rescue the archivists
Cousins wreak havoc on Greenwood and rescue the archivists
Cousins return to the Xanadu infirmary and Brennan incinerates Greenwood
Edan, Fletcher, and Signy take a prisoner and Brennan talks with Martin
Delta meets Celina, and Alex and Pen are fitted for clothing
Garrett and Fletcher interrogate Brother Sebastian and Jerod and Robin go to the studio
Misao, Brita, and Signy meet in the baths, and Alex and Delta find the Giraffe Room
Hannah, Pen, Robin, and Solange discuss mothers with Gerard and Corvis
Brennan talks with Ambrose and Raven and Jerod talks with Martin
Folly and Huon get to know each other
Alex and Delta meet a magician and trump to Bleys on a ship
Garrett and Fletcher make calls, Hannah talks with Robin, Garrett looks in on Misao, and Brita, Robin, and Pen make plans
Folly talks with Martin and Lark, Alex meets Gerard and Garrett, Misao goes into town, and Delta consults cards
Celina, Conner, and Vere go to Paris and Vere talks with Avis
Celina and Merlin discover a kinswoman in a crypt
Jerod, Ossian, and Regenlief go to Reme and retrieve a rutter
Tricksey patrols Tyrell City and breaks into the monks' complex
Signy visits Tomat, Fletcher trumps to Amber, and Robin and Pen collect water and visit with Brita, Fiona, and Dworkin
Celina, Merlin, Vere, Jerod, and Ossian reunite in Paris and discuss the rutter
Conner tracks a shadowpath by sea
Gerard hosts an informal dinner
Brennan and Raven have a picnic with Clarissa and Moonriders
Tricksey breaks out of jail and finds a path Elsewhere
Family finish dinner and Edan talks with Random while Hannah checks Delta
The Paris crew pursues monks through the catacombs
Brita and Conner track a path to Tyrell and meet Brother Able
Raven and Brennan discuss her background and future plans
Brennan talks with Firumbras and plays a game with Raven and Moonriders
Rowen infiltrates a wizard's tower and meets Martin at dinner
Harsh finds himself Elsewhere and meets Martin
Folly escorts Alex and First to their quarters, and Edan and Hannah talk
Misao goes to the Grove and Folly talks and makes music with Random
Delta and Misao go into town for a massage and lunch at Scarlett's
Rowen and Alex join Martin on the Queen Vialle
Alex, Harsh, Rowen, and Reynart have dinner with Martin and Lark
Tricksey talks to a realtor about a hospital, and Brita and Connor have noodles
Tricksey returns to Tyrell and meets Fletcher, Brita, and Conner
Celina, Vere, and Merlin find a case, Celina talks with Corwin about jewels and Patterns, and Misao talks with Solace
Jerod, Ossian, Regenlief, and Cordelia pursue monks to a monastery
Vere pursues a ghost, and Celina talks with Bend, Misao, and Llewella
Garrett talks with Random, Delta talks with Carina, and Fletcher, Alex, and Misao depart Xanadu
Brennan and Raven trump Random via Folly, and Delta talks with Huon
Edan trumps Bleys and joins Folly and First in the library
Robin and Pen send the Ladies to Rebma and Paris, and find Vista in a tree
Jerod, Ossian, Cordelia, and Regenlief find a trump cabinet
Vere and Misao take a stroll in Paris and encounter Lucas's shade
Jerod and Vere report to Corwin and Misao trumps to Llewella
Celina talks with Delta about her background and Merlin makes a trump
Brennan and Raven arrive in Ghenesh, attend dinner, and talk with Sir Hydrargyrum
Harsh, Rowen, and Alex discuss ships, and Martin talks with Rowen and Harsh
Brita, Conner, and Fletcher join Tricksey in her lair
Brita, Tricksey, and Edan report to Random while Rowen and Harsh go with Martin to meet Gerard
Hannah works with Kyril and Rowen, Martin, Folly, and Harsh join Brita, Tricksey, and Edan in the meeting with Random
Ossian reports to Corwin, Hannah has tea with Harsh and Gerard, and Brita trumps Conner
Jerod, Vere, and Cordelia go through the cabinet trump
Robin and Pen see a play with the Queen and meet May and August
Delta, Celina, and Merlin go to the Pearl to talk with Delta's grandmother
Delta, Celina, and Merlin trump to Rebma with Coral, and Delta explores
Celina talks with Llewella and Coral and Lamell and the Hierophant
Raven encounters Signy and Brennan talks with Sir Quicksilver
Raven, Signy, and Brennan trump Bleys and talk with the Marshall and Shield
Fletcher investigates a shadow instability in a cave laboratory near Tyrell


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

And because I keep losing track of it, the Fortune Deck: http://www.whiterose.org/houseofcards/rules/fortune.html http://whiterose.org/hoc/amberway/fortune.html


Xanadu


(early Horseman)
Edan and Tricksey go to the armory and spar
Folly trumps Ambrose and sees the commotion of arriving cousins
Jerod, Rowen, Cordelia, and Kimiko bring the unconscious Chew to Xanadu on Random's trump, where Hannah looks him over and Brita fills in Conner
***Folly talks with Random and Lark about Chew
***Harsh talks with Gilt Winter
Vent attempts to show Tricksey to her room
Brita, Jerod, Cordelia, and Jerod head toward Misao's quarters and encounter Vent and Tricksey along the way
***Brita and Kimiko continue to Misao's quarters
***Tricksey continues following Vent to her new quarters
***Hannah and Rowen take Chew to the infirmary and are joined by Jerod and Cordelia
***Vere talks with Gerard and Corvis about his new brother Harsh
Edan scouts west of Xanadu with his knights
***Harsh settles in
Harsh talks with Vere and Tricksey
***Edan seeks his affine

Amber


***Robin tells Pen about Adonis and the goddesses of Arcadia

Avalon


Gateway



Rebma

Misao joins Llewella in Rebma and asks to walk the Pattern
Misao walks the Rebma Pattern Misao finds her mother and Lucas, who question her about her place ***Misao follows her mother's trail into a cave

Paris


(Early Horseman)
Ossian and Regenlief discuss the rutter with Tomat and trump to Abford
***Ossian, Regenlief, and Meg follow a Klybesian tunnel from Abford to Heerat

Shadow

(Early Horseman)
Conner checks up on his sailors
***Conner takes a trump call from Merlin
***Fletcher follows a path in a cave to Hikariguni
***Signy talks with the Shield
Brennan trumps Paige
Chirope asks Raven to carry a message back to Pontus
***Raven and Brennan meet with the Chancellor of the college
Celina hosts Delta at dinner
Delta walks the Rebma Pattern
***Celina talks with Delta about Moire's spymasters


**************************************************


"...there yet?"

Edan leads them both at a good pace towards the practice rooms off of the armory. He looks at Tricksey. "You said you use knives? And a pointy stick? And rebar? I’ve seen rebar. I think we can find a much better weapon for you."

As they walk, Tricksey drifts back and forth across the corridor. She touches and explores things important and insignificant alike, delighted by this strange world and all it has to offer. She jerks a nod to Edan, "Samurai films. Crow Girl watch lots of holos. Like swords. Momma wielded naginata. Tricksey too young. But watch."

She spins around, falling into a gunslinger's stance. "Tyrell use guns. Pew-pew. But like swords better. Rule of cool."

Resuming her circling, she offhandedly says, "How many die on Pattern?"

"Hmm," Edan says. "I don't know, exactly. My father told me that it has happened. He also laid out an equation for the chance of survival, but I think he was trolling me. It looked like he just smooshed the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle and the Sitnikov Problem together."

Tricksey shrugs, "Sounds celestial mechanics meets Schrödinger's Chinchilla. Think King buried lede. But Crow Girl want timey-wimey stuff. So put up with." A broad grin follows, "Plus getting stabbies and shinies."

She turns, walking-skipping backwards so she can look Edan in the eyes. "You walk Pattern. If go anywhere, why here? Edan more than guard. Tricksey see. That chin could travel far."

Edan pulls down a few swords from the walls. It looks like he’s finding one for himself, too, and being extremely picky at it.

"That's a really good question. You're absolutely right, I could go anywhere. Even go back home and take it over. But it's not the same, you see, it's all Shadow. But this, this is Real."

Tricksey hears the capitalization behind the word "Real". Edan is clearly related to Brita. She has noticed something about Xanadu and it does feel somehow different; like everything done here matters and the place is central to things working. Even the most malign monk in their stupid pyramid was a side note compared to this place. It makes Tricksey want to be here, where things happen.

Edan shakes his head. "It's kind of hard to explain. But there's also that I'm needed here. And Hannah and I have a baby, and this is a very safe place now." He holds out a long, light straight sword. "Try this for size. Or did you want a naginata? There are a few blades on sticks, if you're into that."

Tricksey takes the sword, swinging it, spinning it, barely avoiding self-injury. She switches hands, repeating the chaos, grinning brightly.

She changes hands again. And something odd happens. The swings and thrusts become more controlled. Powerfully focused. Shockingly fast. For all her previous insanity, the girl has natural skills, her style something akin to Jukendo. Also, it's likely apparent to someone as skilled as Edan that Tricksey is also using her offhand. Purposefully putting herself at a disadvantage to learn faster.

"Crow Girl take this one," Tricksey says.

She nods, "Protect nest. Build home. Serve people. Tricksey understand." Her head tilts, "Chick how old?"

Edan doesn't answer, instead he holds up a hand, palm out, and shakes his head.

The next search takes longer; but eventually he finds another sword with the same width of blade but a much longer hilt, almost like a zhanmajian, but smaller and lighter. He twirls it with two fingers near the guard to show how good the balance is, also to demonstrate it's just as easy to use with one hand as two. "Try that. Let me see you with your good hand."

For himself, he picks from the collected blades of the Land of Peace, a longer curved saber and a shorter sian for parrying. Both blades have a Damascus pattern to them.

Only then does he say, "a few days old. And the Order of the Lamp that the king has given me, that is new, too. I have a lot of work to do. Want to spar? Try not to stab me."

Tricksey follows behind Edan, watching curiously as he picks out the new weapon. She takes the blade, testing its weight and balance, nodding. As instructed, she keeps it in her good hand, raising the edge in front of her - mimicking the salutes she's seen in holovids. "Crow Girl wants sparring, yes."

She slips back into a loose stance, both hands on the hilt. A concerned expression darkens her features, "Days?! Why spar Tricksey? Be with chick. Crow Girl not be bothersome."

Despite this apparent worry, she launches her attack. No finesse. No wasted movements. Just brutal offense. The girl is all street-fighter.

Edan is more curious; he's fought bayonets before, but a whole fighting style based on this is new. He mostly works to contain and deflect thrusts, until he finds an opening to get inside Tricksey's guard. Maybe a lunge of his own doing a forward split and an attack from below, if she overextends herself.

He says while he spars, "We have so much going now...ow... Hannah is wiser than I in these things, she has a schedule worked out for the both of us, I think it works very well. There's time to do this, then... oof... I will have some time with him before I ride out in the morning."

Edan is a master swordsman, better than the best Tricksey has ever seen, much less fought, and the sword and Edan seem to be as one. Tricksey is amazingly good for someone who hasn't dedicated years to the craft.

It is a duel between a virtuoso and a chainsaw. She just keeps coming at him, and Edan thinks that if she had a better balance of defense and offense, she might just outlast him in a fight. As it is, he has several opportunities to end the fight early. Shortly, one comes that won't require him to hurt Tricksey. He can disarm her or put a touch on her sword arm. If he wanted to hurt her, he could cut her arm. He has to make an instantaneous decision.

Tricksey is having fun. Capital 'F' Fun. Happy hack n slash Fun. It's rare for someone to best her. Test her. Make her learn. The thrill is addictive. And she craves more. Maybe too much so. She grins through the breathing. Feeling the fire in her arm and lungs. Savoring it.

"You go away?" she says, lunging again. "But just met. Tricksey like. WIll be sad. Miss Edan. She help Hannah if need. She good with chicks. Spoil rotten."

Another calculated - if crude - attack, "Where go?"

Edan doesn't talk, but instead slips in past Tricksey's guard. She's fired up enough a sword touch might not be enough, and he certainly doesn't want to hurt her prior to a Pattern walk. So, step-beat-beat-envelop, and he lets good technique spin the sword out of her hands.

"No, no, just a patrol. I want to see what's around the mountain. The Lamp needs to expand its coverage. I'll be back."

Tricksey watches the sword slip from her fingers and clatter to the floor. She blinks at it mute for a moment. Processing. And then she jumps, giggling with glee, spinning, and hugging herself. In a blink, she (if allowed) sweeps Edan into a rib-groaning, organ pulping hug of elation and revelry. "Beat Crow-Girl! You good. Very good. You teach Tricksey more!"

Upon depositing him, she deftly kick-flips the blade back up into her hand, swishing it back and forth. "SO much stabby!"

"Are Monks here? Or more enemies?" she says, crow-mimicking Edan's previous movements. "Patrols mean danger. Who we fight?"

Edan rubs his arm. If he's bothered by the hug, he doesn't show it "Wow, that's a good grip. No, this place is fairly new, like you've seen. It needs to be better scouted. There are whole armies to the northeast that protect this place, but not enough known what's closer to the castle. Monks are possible, but it would be foolish for them to attack directly. I'm more worried about the Moonriders. Have you heard of them?"

That gives Tricksey pause. "If new, how is Real? Did King make Real? Then can make other place Realer?" Returning attention to her sword, she tries another series of stabby-stabbies, thrusty-thrusts, and a swingy-swing for good measure.

"Crow Girl not know Moonriders. Sound cool. Like K-Pop band." A sweeping gesture to the sky follows, "MooooonRiiiiders."

"First off, it's Real, because it is. It's a terrible answer, but I think you'll understand it better after you walk the Pattern. That's the most important thing for you right now.

"And the Moonriders, they're an old enemy with special abilities related to Time. They used to be in a truce with us, but no longer. Their Queen has committed grave affronts against us since Random has become King, and I don’t know right now how it will go."

"Sound bad queen. Like Rock Star King," Tricksey replies, finishing her series of mimicked moves. "So many capital letter words here. Crow Girl not used to. But try understand. And help. What we do.

"Why Queen turn? Always reason. Unless Fox. Not true friend."

"Which Queen? The Queen of the Moonriders, our our Queen, Vialle?" Edan suddenly looks very tired. "The answer may be the same."

Tricksey pauses. frowning with concern. "There two evil Queens?" She thinks on this, "First, tell Crow Girl about K-Pop Queen. Moonriders."

"There are different realms. Each has a Pattern and a Ruler, except for Amber, whose Pattern is broken and it is slowly dying. Technically, Random is over all of them but one, since their rulers are Family and swore fealty to him after the war with Chaos and the death of Oberon, your... great-Grandfather. Now, Tir-na Nog'th is a realm in the sky and is revealed by the full moon, and that realm is ruled by your K-pop Queen, the Queen of Air and Darkness. She possessed Random's Queen Vialle and was working on Random himself when we stopped her."

Tricksey resumes her sword swinging, hopping around the floor like a frantic magpie. "One in same? Need exorcist. Shaman. Maybe dance off. To the death." Swish-swing-stab.

She pauses, gesturing to Edan's weapon, as if in invitation. "Was this war killed papa? Family not liked. Many wars it seems. We make enemies easily?"

Edan picks up his sword again, but this time he flows into the movements of a form he knows for swords with a two-handed grip. The slow-motion dance is perfectly executed and timed. "You could say that. Nowadays, I would rather leave well enough alone, but we're probably not going to get the chance." A step back, another posture. "Adonis didn't die in the war. It was the Dragon of Arden, and I'm afraid I don't know many details. Robin would know more, or Julian."

Tricksey resumes her attacks, albeit more calculated and controlled now. A quick learner and mimic, she adjusts her posture and technique accordingly. Not aggressive, but studying, learning. "Robin," she says. "Another bird name. Crow Girl must meet. And grandfather. Can Tricksey Trump them? She need cards. Or booth. Can you hear me now?"

She suddenly shifts her tactics, trying to score a light hit under Edan's elegant guard. "Do we kill or all or make peace? Tricksey saw clinic. Seemed overkill. Were foxes, so understand. But tempers blind. Grudges bleed. Dead enemies make more enemies. If Moonriders once friends, can be so again." The latter sounds like both question and statement.

"I don't think they were ever friends," Edan says. "But we could not be enemies. I think less about the monks; they have done egregious things to Family and I think too many of us are not inclined to forgive them."

Now that he's got the hang of it, he shows Tricksey a few series of moves to practice on her own.

Tricksey grins brightly, immediately sensing what Edan's up to. She gathers up these new moves like a crow finding precious shinies. She learns fast. Voraciously fast.

"Not like Monks. Foxes all. Not trust new cousin," she says firmly. "Able smiles too right. Too often. Has Fox blood, Tricksey think."

She tests her new acquisitions, tentatively attacking Edan. "How should Crow Girl help Family? Edan wise. She listen."

Edan smiles a little as he finds himself on the defensive. "I don't know about wise. I'm wise enough to tell you I'm not the person to ask. But I can say this, you're vulnerable in ways you don't even realize yet. The first step is to take the Pattern, like Random was saying. And you'll want to be rested and ready before you do."

Tricksey continues her assault, the attacks focusing more on strength than speed this time. She's probably testing how to incorporate her close-combat training into sword fighting. "Will rest after Edan teach. But Crow Girl get room? Noodles? No such thing as free lunch."

Another attack, then retreat. "Should talk with Grandfather? Pay homage? Tricksey not have Trump thingie though."

"Does he know who you are, yet? Knowing how the Family gossips, if he hasn't, he'll probably learn by tomorrow. But in any event, we have a collection of Trumps in the castle to reach him. Julian is very... controlled. Very stoic. But no one likes a surprise, and the down side to Trumps is that you don't know who's calling until the connection is made.

"Of course there will be a room for you. After this, we can run down a page and get you set up." Edan tries the same enveloping trick, gets rebuffed, and nods. "Good. Very good. That two-handed style is really going to help you."

Tricksey takes some pride in this praise, smiling brightly. "Edan good teacher. Crow Girl learn. Hope for more lessons. "Maybe best Tricksey speak to Grandfather and Robin together. Not wish shock them. Will be upset enough. And Trumps strange. Only tried when people in room with her."

She repeats the previous movements, trying to solidify what Edan's taught her in mind and body. "Will Crow Girl get Trump? Brita say 'sketch' us, but sense something... more. Do all Family have Trumps?"

Edan keeps his smile, but a little of the golden light fades in his eyes. "No, not at all. Some of us can make Trumps, including my sister, but a proper Trump takes a long time to make. Those with the skill can also make a faster sketch, I understand, which may work a couple of times and then fade out. That's what Brita was referring to. Someone came up with a brilliant idea to keep many of our Trumps together here in Xanadu, in a place called a 'Trump booth', I don't know why. It's actually a room.

"There are whole decks of these things around, mostly kept by our Elders, and consist of the older Family and at least a couple Trumps of places, like Amber. They are an amazing resource and advantage, used for communication and travel and fortune-telling. And sometimes, escape."

Tricksey shifts back on her foot, then launches forward, trying to force Edan back. Steady, precise, and strong. "Hope Brita capture Crow Girl's good side. Hate bad picture. Too pretty."

She changes positions, trying to turn him. Keep him reacting. "Tricksey see history in Trumps. Muddled. Many emotions. Very strange. They connected to Pattern? If reach People. Places. And Pattern does same. But different. Sound like reflect the Real."

Edan is very difficult to maneuver around; he's got a swordsman's footwork and a dancer's physique. He gives ground during the press, but Tricksey pays for it with an arm-numbing exercise in defensive movements with practically every step.

"I...don't know, really. I was taught how to use them, and what not to do when I'm not, but I don't know that much about the connection."

"Want see Pattern soon," Tricksey says. "And Trumps. Graffiti Trumps for Crow Girl." This intensely brilliant idea makes her smile to herself.

Despite the taxing effort required, Tricksey keeps up the assault. With a final burst of speed, she presses forward, fluid and fast, trying to bind Edan and then topple him through pure strength. It's inelegant and brutal, but obviously what she's best at.

Edan smiles as he lets the bind come. If he had had any scars, they would come from Werewyndle doing the same thing. Already Bleys's voice hammered in his head: 'If you spend ninety percent of your fighting time avoiding a bind, you'll never know what to do when you get one. Now get up and try again.'

Sure, he was being pushed back, but Tricksey was going in a straight line. He has the balance and the footing to hop backwards and mostly keep his posture. He also has way more experience feeling her movements and intentions through the edge-on-edge contact; he doesn't really need his eyes any more. 'Eyes can be deceived. Now get up. Again.'

She's going hard. Edan goes soft. The parry is in quinte. He feints with a shoulder, shoves his blade up and forward so the contact is more towards the hilt, and uses that extra leverage to wind the top of Tricksey's blade high and to her off hand. Normally he would follow with a thrust at his opponent's face with a second blade, but he tries to spin out of the rush on the opposite side and break the contact completely.

Edan spins away and Tricksey finds no resistance to her headlong rush. She slams into the wall that Edan had been backed toward hard. It doesn't knock the wind out of her, but it's a wake up call.

Edan is just a superior swordsman.

Tricksey isn't sure if she could beat him in a martial arts competition, but it would definitely be closer.

For Edan, he's winded. If he had any doubt that Tricksey was a member of the family, it's clear to him that she's got endurance, strength, speed and some great instincts with the blade. If she could've made the fight last longer, she might've worn him down.

Tricksey rubs her shoulder, grinning brightly. It's not the expression of someone defeated, but truly excited. As if blessed with something special, to be cherished, and remembered. "Edan better than Crow Girl think. Been too long. Used to many at once. But this fun. Actually learn. Not yawn."

She sheathes her blade, as if claiming it. And perhaps she has. A memory to hold onto. "Hope not bore Edan. Tricksey wants to do again. Maybe after Pattern? And no baby duty."

Edan brings his sword up, then down in a serpentine salute that looks much like crackling flames at the edge of a campfire.

"Not boring at all. And no baby duty. I'm often here or out in the big exercise yard away from the falls. If you want someone to practice with, I'm happy to oblige."

Tricksey mimicks a bow; practiced at first, devolving into something comical and limb-tangled. "Tricksey think Edan cool. Make her work. Teach her things. Is grateful Crow-Girl."

The bow ends, her posture returning to something akin to normal. "But now noodles. And nest. Maybe both at same time. Where Crow-Girl go?"

She looks at the various exits, blinking.

Edan takes them both out through the exit in Vent's general direction, ready to ask a page for a little guidance if they run across one.

Tricksey circles Edan again, skipping, "Crow Girl owe Edan. Until next we meet. Hope soon! Hug baby and partner for Tricksey."

She follows the page. Little does the young fellow realize the chaos that's been bestowed upon him.


Folly sits on the floor and concentrates on the sketch.

Ambrose answers and they exchange greetings and bona fides. He's shipboard somewhere. "What can I do for you, cousin?"

For the benefit of Random and Brita, Folly holds up a high thumbs-up without looking away from the sketch. "Mostly just checking on your well-being. I'm here with the king and Brita, who is currently taking a call from her brother, the contents of which raised a bit of concern for anyone who might be out and about by themselves." Ambrose can likely infer that Folly thinks Brita's particular concern is more specific than general. "How goes your quest so far?"

"Fine, thank you," Ambrose says, sounding not at all concerned about himself. "We're still en route; the rutter is giving me enough information to make the shifts. I'm still familiarizing myself with the trade documents Gilt pulled for me, so I'm not ready for negotiations, but I will be by the time we get there. This is routine business in the old Golden Circle, so I don't expect much trouble, though I'm aware there are threats out there.

"I left a note for Brita," he adds. "Do you know whether she got it?"

"Well, it looks like she did just come from her quarters," Folly says, "so I'm guessing that's what prompted her to ask after you. Routine or not, do keep your guard up; per Brita's report from her recent travels that at least one member of that organization that's been causing us trouble is actually Family, although it sounds like he was not involved in the recent abductions. Still, if he's a resource for them, they'll know the places we frequent and may have means to get there. What options do you have for calling for backup -- or an escape route -- if you need it?"

"I have sorcery for an escape route," Ambrose answers. "If there's a family member about with strong enough gifts to block that, I do have some cards. If His Majesty wants to send someone else to join me, I wouldn't be sorry for the company. But barring military or sorcerous opposition on a significant scale, I think I should be all right. I planned to touch base before I went ashore," he adds.

Over the top of the card, Folly sees Lark moving to get between her and something, her back to Folly. There are a lot more people who've arrived by Trump and they're all talking and it's hard to keep concentration on the call she's on.

But Syd hasn't given her the "time to panic" cue, so he must think it's under control.


"Well, best bring them all here. But Misao took the pattern outta here, so that's not going to make anyone happy. Unless she left a trump, we're just assuming she'll show back up.

"Let me become properly oriented." Random pulls himself to the normal vertical self and stands beside the throne.

"Bring in the first Mrs. Lucas, and please don't forget to introduce us. And make sure I know which one is Chew."

Random holds out his hand, and Rowen appears in the expected flash of light and color. She's carrying Dr. Chew, who is bleeding and unconscious.

"Welcome back Rowen, dump the monk on the ugly carpet over there."

Once there's a body draped over the shoulders, there's really no graceful way to get out of it. Rather than brusquely drop the man like a three large tubers in a trenchcoat, though, she goes down to a knee at the edge of the rug and then drops him off her shoulders as she rolls across to the other side.

The carpet looks no less ugly when it's half-covered by a bleeding, unconscious monk.

Hannah slips in from the kitchens when she hears the noise level change. She notes more new people, and Rowen's maneuver catches her eye. She heads over to the injured person to start a medical evaluation.

Random holds out his hand again and another young woman comes through. She's pale and wearing black lace and has a parasol over her arm. Strangest to Brita, she doesn't smell like a woman. She may be family. She may be dead. She may be a draugr. It's not clear what she is, but it's disturbing.

"Hello, Miss," he says to Cordelia, "please stand a bit aside."

Random starts to laugh uncontrollably. Eventually he catches his breath and holds out his hand. "Hello, Kim. Do you want me to call him after I bring you through?"

Kimiko takes Random's hand. "That will not be necessary, Your Majesty. I am here to find my youngest chlid."

Random shrugs. "Welcome to Xanadu, then."

He pulls through a tall woman, dressed in an elaborate, multi-layered robe that does not seem to impede or restrict her movements. It is decorated with wolf motifs. She looks both dignified and fierce.

Jerod steps through the Trump, nodding to the everyone not part of the Trump call as he puts away his card.

"Uncle." he says to Random, his familial term laced with just the right amount of courtesy that Kim will have no trouble seeing Jerod respects the king's position.

He does pick up on a few pieces of information during the call naturally and adjusts his order of introductions accordingly.

"Introductions I believe your majesty? Kim appears to already be known so I won't bother on that front, and same with my new sister Rowen." he says. Jerod seems quite pleased to be saying that.

He glosses over the unconscious monk sack on the floor as he continues. "This is my daughter, Cordelia." he says, motioning to her, encompassing the room but primarily including Random and Brita. "Cordelia, my cousin the Lady Brita, Goddess of Asgard. His majesty, King Random of Xanadu and head of the family. The one sitting on the floor is Lady Folly...she appears to be busy and she's definitely someone you want to be friends with."

"And last but not least, my favorite niece...Lark." as he looks at her, waiting to see if there is a hug and a search for chocolate in his coat pockets.

Lark is standing between her mother and Dr Chew. She has a little knife in hand.

Hovering over Dr. Chew, Rowen makes sure that his bindings are secure. No doubt, Vere did a good job of it when he tied him up. She floats a wink over at Lark as she goes about her work, reapplying the gag to make sure Chew can't utter a sound or see a thing. As best she can, she also plugs his ears to minimize his ability to hear. There didn't seem to be the right tools around to properly seal that off completely.

Brita can tell without too much effort that Jerod seems inordinately pleased to be introducing Cordelia....she could almost swear he's happy.

Brita has been relaying the proceedings to Conner. "Uncle Random is Taking Another's Call. They have Caught chew and are Bringing him Here!" She rises from the steps at this point. And as they come through, "Cousin Rowen with chew - unconscious. A Lady... Kin?" Brita gets an odd look and both her brow and nose wrinkle a bit as she tries to sort what she is scenting. Then her expression goes to shocked, "Our Uncle is Laughing At Someone...Uh, A Lady Kim. " Brita tries to see if she can get a sense of this person as Kin or not around the confusing smells of the previous one. "And Cousin Jerod..."

The environment is chaotic and there are so many new people that Brita isn't sure. She smells blood and Cordelia and her various kin, and the smell of wolves, and a touch of rapidly melting snow. The only thing she's very sure about is that Kim is angry. Perhaps furious. She is suppressing her feelings, but her blood is hot.

When Jerod comes through and makes his introductions, Brita grows a wide grin, her green eyes dancing, and says, "It is a Pleasure to Meet You, Cousin Cordelia, Daughter of Prince Jerod, and You, Lady Kim, Mother of Misao. We are Honored to Make Your Acquaintance." Brita is a tall woman dressed in a white shirt, soft brown pants, and a long fur trimmed red coat. Her red hair, plaited and hanging down her back, shows one streak of blond. "Misao was Well the Last I Saw of Them."

She turns her smile to the card in her hand. "My Brother Conner will be Happy to Meet You When He Returns from Shadow Tyrell. Cousin Folly is Speaking with Our Cousin Ambrose who is Also Away."

Cordelia turns to her father. "I will need a list of our relatives. Or perhaps a diagram."

"I'd like one, too," Rowen adds.

Kim nods serenely to Brita. To Random, she says "Where is my child, now?"

Random raises a finger, then two as he makes his points. "One, Misao left the castle by magical means known to our family, so they could be anywhere. But Two, realistically, they don't know a lot of places to go, so I'd expect they're not too far from the nest, as it were. They should be fine.

"And 'C'," he adds, ticking off another finger, "Can we get you anything? Snacks, something to drink, bloodstain remover for your robes?"

Kim looks down to where she'd gotten a bit of Chew's blood on her. She shakes her head. "No, thank you. I am here for Misao and no one else."

Random raises an eyebrow and says "Gotcha, no water for now." He turns to Cordelia.

"Cordelia, welcome, Jerod never told us he had a daughter. We are mostly informal here, amongst family and close friends."

Cordelia curtseys and murmers "Your majesty."

Random looks at everyone and picks Jerod. "OK, start far enough back to give me some context."

"After Bend became our guest in Paris, we had leads on a lost daughter of Rebma. Celina and Merlin decided to chase that down after our not so super-secret meeting, while I headed out with Ossian to track down a monk's rutter that his mom had hidden away.

"Of course, just before that we had our little side trek to collect Misao and the others from the monks which went off swimmingly at the hospital, along with Huon and the archivists.

"Once we got the rutter, Ossian and I were in Paris studying it when Merlin and Celina showed up with Cordelia. They found her in a mausoleum underneath Paris...way underneath Paris if you get my meaning uncle, where a monk's outpost was also located. The monks were trying to kidnap Cordelia, no doubt for experimentation and she was teaching them the error of their ways. How they knew about her is a question I need to figure out since her mother Marissa died before Cordelia was even born, and I never told anyone...never even wrote it down.

"We neutralized that outpost later and tracked some escaping monks. Merlin, Celina and Vere went after some items they were carrying that we found to be trumps. Cordelia, Ossian and myself tracked the actual monks and found their trail in an abbey in Orleans where we also figured out how they are moving around so easily, using place trumps.

"Uncle Corwin was advised of this and he was asked to bring you and others up to speed on that if we didn't get back in time. We also have the place-trump from Orleans for study...Ossian has access to it in Paris. We were able to confirm that it is tied to Abel which Vere was also able to confirm tied back to the trumps he found with Celina and Merlin. Per uncle Corwin's advice, we won't be mentioning Abel to Caine anytime soon...leaving that to others.

"After that, we used it to back track through the travel network the monks use, see about what we could find. Vere joined Cordelia and I for that and we came across an isolated monastery and Elder Germaine of all of people...doing research on the family and looking for information from the monks. Vere spoke to him and we found out Chew was there having a meeting with other monks...there some question as to the content of the meeting as it seemed to be of very a contentious nature.

"From there I called Martin to let him know and he came through with Rowen. We went to collect Chew and found Kim ready to eat him while he was doing his sorcerous best to avoid that fate. Chew was captured, nobody got eaten and then we came here. Martin and Vere are taking care of the remaining monks at the monastery.

"That's the summary uncle. Others can add bits I might have missed." Jerod says. "Plus I'll need to discuss family magic with you privately at your convenience."

Random nods.

"One, please do not ask my brother Corwin to do things in a timely fashion. The man was literally a hundred and twenty years late to his own funeral. Two, noted. Three, I want to know what you propose to do with the body on my carpet. Four, " he says, turning to Kim. "You were going to eat him?"

Kimiko shakes her head. "No, Your Highness. I was going cripple him so he could still tell me where my child was before I killed him. I still intend to kill him."

Random says nothing for an uncomfortable moment. "We'll see. He's in my castle now."

Kimiko doesn't seem inclined to either argue or give up her claim.

Hannah takes a few minutes investigating the monk's injuries and determining if it is safe to move him to the infirmary.

Chew has had a rough time of it. Blunt object trauma to the head. That would be Jerod. What looks like an animal attack. He's not in danger of bleeding to death, but he has several days of serious rest before engaging in normal daily activities. The bleeding at this point is mostly stopped, but he'll probably need stitches and antibiotics. And something for the pain.

If he's still unconscious, it's a blessing. He could be brought on a stretcher or a chair to the infirmary. Or carried like a sack of potatoes.

Only after her brain is done processing that does Hannah really look at him. "I know you," she whispers. She looks at Rowen, motions to her to come close. "Where did you find him?" she asks quietly.

Rowen comes over and leans in. "They called him Dr. Chew and... we found him in a monastery." Offering a somewhat wry smile, she adds, "I couldn't begin to tell you where the monastery was, though. One that, uh, Elder Germaine knew of and had access to?"

Her lips press each other and then slide a bit to the left, and she shrugs. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. He's the guy. He formulated a pharmacutical for Prince Gerard and I. This is... disappointing. I assume he's part of the cloning nonsense." She double checks she hasn't loosened any of Rowen's careful work, then stands.

Lowering her voice to not disturb other conversations--or so that only Hannah can hear--Rowen asks, "I'm not familiar with that word. What is 'cloning'?"

Jerod smiles slightly at the interplay of "Eat, not eat" between Random and Kimiko but says nothing until an opportune moment.

"Interrogation of Chew would be advised to track down his various working locations and other place spots so we can neutralize them. I doubt we will get them all but it will give us some benefit, and questioning him will tell us his relationship to Able. The more we know there, the better."

"Once we have what we figure we can reasonably obtain from him..." and Jerod shrugs at this point. "...then we figure out what to do with him. I have no doubt there will be many interested parties seeking Chew's demise."

"I would be happy to volunteer for the medical care and feeding step, with someone along for appropriate security, and see if being kind gets us any answers," Hannah offers. "I do have some un-inhibiting drugs for after that, too."

Hannah might notice that Rowen has a reaction to "drugs" similar to "cloning," but refrains from asking, this time. "I am new to this realm and do not know any of the protocols, but if I may be of assistance, I am available." Unsaid, what else is she going to do?

Random nods. "Sounds good to me. Hannah, you and Rowen take him to wherever it is you've got an infirmary and get him awake and see how he does. Grab one of the red-cloaked guards to stand outside the door looking menacing. Don't tell them he once tried to experiment on Folly unless you want your prisoner to be unconscious again."

"Brita, can you and Prince Jerod take the Lady Kimiko to see Misao's room? I need to see what we can do about finding Misao, if indeed there's anything that can be done. You all can go to the gardens after that."

Kim nods. "That will be acceptable."

Random turns to his granddaughter. "Lark, gimmie." He holds out his hand.

Lark doesn't have to ask, but hands Random the dagger. "You have to be Jerod's age to be allowed to carry knives in the presence of the king." He casually starts twirling the dagger like a drumstick.

Jerod chuckles a little as he nods a bow to Random before turning to collect the others in heading out to Misao's room.

Brita also bows to the King and then bows to Lady Kimiko with a fist to the hand holding Conner's Trump held out in front her. She says, "Kimiko-san, Dozo, Kudasai." as she sweeps her free hand towards Jerod's retreating back.

Taking her cues from the others, Rowen also bows to the king before kneeling to scoop the unconscious Chew in her arms. When she has risen to her feet, she looks to Hannah for direction.


Random's dispersal orders are followed quickly and soon the room is back to Folly, Lark and Syd. Folly hears the commotion as people leave nearly as fast as they arrived and Syd is behind her, not quite touching her and joining the trump call with Ambrose, but close enough that she could pull him in if she wanted to.

She feels his breath in her ear. "Things just happened," he murmers. "Wrap up there?" She's confident that he'll pick up any hand gesture or motion she makes. And also confident that he'll wait.

"So, Alouette, tell me about finding Captain Harsh," he says.

Lark lauches into an improbably Lark-centric discussion of how their latest cousin was found and brought on-board the ship.

She holds up a finger, just slightly. "Yes, do reach out again before you make land," she says to Ambrose; he can feel that after a momentary wavering, as if at some unpleasant distraction, she is now focusing hard on the contact. Her breathing has changed. "Several of our cousins just arrived through another contact -- I didn't catch all of it, but we may have relevant news to share when you're closer to your destination. Or possibly cousins looking to join you, depending on what's going on here." She smiles, a little.

Ambrose asks if he's needed back in Xanadu, but is easy to convince to stay on his task. He'll expect a call when things are more settled or unsettled.

"Safe travels," she says, and carefully closes the contact and tucks the sketch safely away to return to Brita later.

Then she closes her eyes, sags not quite bonelessly against the wall, and holds out her hand instinctively toward Random without interrupting the flow of Lark's story -- the only thing keeping her grounded right now.

Random takes her hand and starts beating out a complicated rhythm on her palm with two of his fingers. It's switching time signatures. Syd will probably call it something like "six and three quarters-fifths" or something like that. It's a focusing tactic.

Folly thinks the song that goes with that beat wouldn't be a pop hit, but would have fans for the deep structure of it.

Syd asks Lark a few questions about Harsh and the trip by ship, and Rowen. It's a delaying tactic, the broken-string-drum-solo trick.

The pressure of his fingers, the rhythm, the sound of her daughter's voice -- slowly, Folly begins to relax. Her breathing slows and deepens.

At a lull in Lark's story, she opens her eyes. "Hey, kiddo, thanks for looking out for me. That's supposed to be my job -- sorry I froze. It probably would've been different if he'd been...." Threatening you. "...Conscious." She holds out her free arm to her daughter, inviting a hug.

Lark comes over. "He's a bad man." She lets her mother hug her, but wiggles out quickly. "But Uncle Jerod took him away."

"He is a bad man," Folly agrees. Her tone is vehement.

To Syd, she says in a low voice, "Once I saw him it was all I could do to hold on to my trump call. What happened -- and what happens now?"

Syd shrugs, and keeps up the rhythm, adjusting it as she moves. "Jerod hit him with something and brought him back. Along with Benedict's ex-girlfriend who is apparently Misao's mother. I need to trump Benedict, to let him know."

Folly presses the back of her free hand to her mouth, but it doesn't quite hide her smirk, much less the twinkle in her eyes. "Well, he certainly has a type, doesn't he?"

Random nods. "Well at least this one didn't chop off his arm."

He sighs. "He's going to the infirmary with Hannah and our new weyr-neice, who is Cambina's sister. Jerod wants to have an extended Q&A session with him. After that?" He pauses, "We figure out what to do with him. If I put out word that he was outside of my protection, there are plenty of family members who would bid for the right to kill him. Dr. Chew doesn't have any staunch supporters around here. It's a question of justice vs. turning a blind eye to who exactly kills him."

"Well, I can't say that I'm particularly inclined to plead for mercy in his case either," Folly says, and shivers. "I mean, maybe that extended Q&A would reveal something to change our minds, but...." She shakes her head doubtfully. "I won't be bidding to put a knife in him, but I might throw up on him. Involuntarily, I mean, if I'm in the same room with him again."

"Got it. He was more dangerous when we didn't know who he was, but we can't guarantee that there aren't any of us left who don't know who he was. That makes him an ongoing threat."

Folly visibly ticks through the triple negative, and nods.

Lark climbs up on the throne, and starts trying to figure out how best to climb the back of it and lurk, above it all.

Folly keeps an eye on her in her peripheral vision but does not make any immediate move to stop her. She frowns, and is struck by another thought. "Hey, who was the goth ghost girl? Or did I hallucinate that as, like, an omen or something?"

"In the 'annals of unexpected events,' she's Jerod's daughter. Which leads us back to people who have a type..."

Folly opens her mouth, closes it, purses her lips, and then says, "No, too many questions. Hopefully I'll get an introduction from him later. I should let you get to that trump call; it seems like maybe the sort of thing Benedict should know sooner than later. And perhaps Lark and I should go help some of these new relatives get settled in?"

He looks relieved. "That'd be great. I've got another round of 'so you won the lottery, or maybe lost it.' Intros to give, but it goes better after a pre-explanation explanation.

"And I'm not sure if it surprises me more that Jerod sought out vampires is shadows or that he knocked one up. Given his father's werewolf girlfriend, I guess it makes a certain sense."

He pauses, and looks over to Lark. Lark is, like a determined cat, looking to see if she can leap from the top of the throne to the light fixture above it. Random looks back to Folly. "Did Cambina ever talk about her family with you? I'm not really sure I knew she was a weir, until her sister showed up."

Folly shakes her head. "She was much more likely to talk about the future than the past, usually in the spookiest way possible. Which... maybe that also fed into her brother's proclivities, y'know?" She steps closer to the throne and pats her shoulders for Lark to step on -- not that it will help her daughter reach the light fixture (Folly is not that tall), but it might at least keep her from making a leap for it. "You said the Weir and the Moonriders were related, yeah? I guess that must be where Cambina got her 'talking about the future' thing. I wonder how much she knew about that history?" She frowns, and adds, "The librarians implied that Vialle had her writings checked out. Any idea where they might've ended up?"

He scrunches up his face. "Nope. I have no idea where Vialle had those books taken, or what she was doing with them. Either her secretary knows, or they're propping up the fishtanks in her quarters, or she threw the books into the lake.

"Yeah, I'd meant to ask Ember when I spoke with her, but I was mostly focused on making sure she and her mother were ok, so I forgot." Folly sighs.

"I guess we need to clean out her quarters and office. If I give that task to Vent, he'll have twenty questions that need my attention, like 'should we keep the elephant-foot umbrella stand' and if so 'where should it go'?"

Syd does a pretty passable imitation of Steward Vent.

It's Folly's turn to scrunch up her face. "I suppose it's too late to give it back to the poor elephant.... I suppose my volunteering to oversee the cleanup would be... politically dicey, let's say. But... with your permission, may I see if I can find the missing writings among her things? I'll also send a note to Ember to see if she has any knowledge or insights."

"Elephantine Necromancy never works out in the end. Someone always ends up getting crushed by a posessed foot while in flagrante delicto. Check with Fiona or Vere before doing anything with Ghost Elephants."

He's probably trying to decide if he should name a song or a band Ghost Elephants.

[OOC: yes. https://rollingstoneindia.com/hear-ghost-elephants-soaring-debut-single-the-system/]

Folly smiles.

"I'm not sure there's anything you can do that someone who really wants to make a stink over something can't make a stink over and I don't think you're going to do nothing, which would also be something."

He sighs. "So if you're going to do something, you might as well do something.

"Got it," Folly says.

Lark stretches upwards. "Stay still, Mama, I'm going to need to climb on your head."

The door slides open and a page looks in, waiting on permission. Random grants it. Apparently, Kimiko and Brita are returning to have an audience with the King.

"Here, Kiddo, stand on my head. Let's see if she manages to keep her bluff up through that."

Lark climbs over onto Random's shoulders.

"Can you go trump Benedict and him that she's here? I'd rather that happened before she leaves and I'm not gonna be in a position to do so, shortly."

"Sure," Folly says. "Can I borrow your trump, or should I find one in the booth?" She looks ready to pick his pocket for his trump case, if needed, while his hands are full of Lark's ankles.

Random grins, and makes sure the child stays vertical. "Borrow mine, they're in my pocket. Try not to tickle anything too ticklish while I have Lark on high post."

"Ah, yes, you make a good point," Folly says, returning the grin. "I'll try to avoid making another one." She reaches delicately into his pocket, pulls out his trumps, sorts out Benedict's card, and returns the rest of the deck to his pocket. "I'll bring this right back -- I don't expect this will take long. I'll just go--" she gestures toward where she expects the nearest empty room to be "--so if you need to have a semi-serious conversation without a wee acrobat standing on your head or hanging from your lights, you can send her that way. Back in a few -- I'll let you know how it goes."

And unless he needs to hand Lark back immediately, she heads to the nearest empty room and attempts to contact Benedict.

Folly can retreat to what Random calls "the green room", despite it being painted lavender. There is no green at all within it, but it does have a sitting area, a table with snacks, and a desk. Random uses it as a working office behind the throne room.

As she departs, she hears Random speaking to Lark. "See if you can bow to the very serious lady when she comes back in. I'm gonna pretend you're not up there."

Folly grins. Well, if Lark is going to be exposed to court life, that seems like the way to do it.

She enters the lavender Green Room, takes a seat at the desk, and concentrates on Benedict's card.


After Harsh, Gerard, and Hannah have finished their tea and snacks, Gerard heads off to speak to Corvis; Hannah goes to take care of other business; and someone has been sent for the King's Steward, Gilt Winter.

Gilt proves to be a tall, white-haired man, a bit of a dandy, perhaps, after the sort of Albic historical style they seem to favor in Xanadu. His hair is in a long ponytail that extends past his shoulders, which is unusually long for men of Xanadu. He comes to Harsh at the table and bows. "Lord Harsh? I am Gilt Winter, in the King's service. I've begun the arrangements for you to have a suite in the royal wing of the castle, and for fittings for new clothes and the like. I'm sure you have a number of questions, and I can answer quite a few of them, though there are some things you'll need to ask the King directly. Shall we find somewhere private to sort out what you need?"

The address of "Lord" hits Harsh's ear very strangely indeed, and he stifles the automatic urge to correct Gilt.

"Er-- yes. Please." A deep breath. "Besides the necessities, I'll also need someone to take a message to my men-- the Golcondan sailors who came here with me."

"Of course," Gilt says, as if this is all sort of normal. Maybe it is for him. "I know you won't need a staff on the level of Prince Gerard's for any number of reasons, but we'll assign some pages to you to see to your needs, and if you want to take any of your colleagues on as personal staff--a secretary or whatever you may require--I can arrange for that as well. Many of the members of the family who are in residence have staff members, and some who aren't have secretaries to handle anything that might arise while they're away," he explains.

"I'll have to talk to the men to see what they want," Harsh says, "hence the message." He smiles a little. "The size of the staff you mention suggests a great deal of business."

"As a navy man, even if not attached to the Royal Navy just yet, I expect you to fall into the latter category. My father is the secondary head of Naval Intelligence, after Prince Caine, so I have some insight into the Navy." Gilt's smile is amused, but Harsh also reads it as complicated. "Would you rather walk in the gardens, such as they are, or visit the library?"

"Gardens for now, I think," Harsh says. "I could do with a breath of fresh air."

"Of course, your Lordship--or do you prefer another title? Some of your cousins have knightly titles, others go by their rank in the armed forces. Those of us who came here from Amber tend to go by Amber-style titles but it's early days here, and His Majesty hasn't started handing out peerages and offices beyond the necessary," Gilt clarifies.

He's leading the two of them through the public halls of the castle, clearly with a destination in mind. They're on a lower level than the family suite where Harsh arrived on Gerard's Trump. Based on the view of the windows, though, Harsh is still high above the city and the shoreline.

Harsh is visibly disconcerted by the matter of titles; he was quite all right with his old title of Commander, but it doesn't sit well now that he knows he has some kind of place within the hierarchy of Amber.

"'Your Lordship' will do ... or to be perfectly honest, 'sir' will do more often than not." He hopes he doesn't look as lost as he feels. "Clearly I have much to learn about the customs and etiquette of Amber."

"Of course, sir. You'll work your way through it," Gilt says with absolute confidence. "When the King's late father was on the throne, he shaped Amber to his will. The King himself, for reasons on which he does not elaborate, moved the seat of his power here to Xanadu. It's been an adjustment for those of us who joined him and for the members of the family who've been discovered since the late war began." He offers Harsh a smile that would probably be considered smug on a lot of men but Harsh doesn't sense any harm in him. "Everyone is making something new of themselves. You're not alone in that."

Gilt opens what looked like it might have been a set of glass windows but is actually a door and gestures Harsh out into the garden. They're at one end of the castle and there are some chairs and tables that were clearly designed for outdoor usage sitting on the lawn. It hadn't really been clear to Harsh before but the whole castle, or palace, or whatever it is, sits in a cave, and part of it is behind the waterfall. Closer to the edge he'll have a great view of the city below and the harbor.

Harsh gravitates rather quickly toward the edge, and immediately his entire demeanour changes. All the nervousness and uncertainty fades and his expression lights up with delight at the view -- the waterfall, the city, the harbour and its ships.

"What a magnificent place," he says. "It's not often I say this, but I dare say some of the cities of Golconda would look on this with envy." He smiles. "I was raised in the city of Kolkata and I always loved the ports. Inevitable that I'd go to sea, I suppose."

"Prince Gerard was the Admiral of Amber's Southern Fleet until his accident," Gilt says, letting that settle between them for a moment.

Harsh did know that about Gerard -- heard whilst on the Vialle -- but that intelligence lands somewhat differently now.

"Well," he says quietly, and then can't think of anything more to add.

Then Gilt adds, "The King hasn't formally created an admiralty for Xanadu. Though he will at some point. Prince Caine, one of the King's brothers, who is Regent in Amber, holds the Northern Fleet of Amber."

"So Xanadu is a relatively... new nation, then?"

"Only a few years, yes, for all that it seems older. I don't know all the details, of course," because it seems clear that there are a lot of royal secrets to which someone like Gilt isn't privy, or if he is, he knows enough to keep his mouth shut about them, "but I'm given to understand that for reasons related to the Royal Gifts, the King removed the family here after the late war. Perhaps the Unicorn led him here." Gilt looks down to the city below. "All of this is new construction.

"Speaking of, did anyone mention about Tir-na Nog'th?" Gilt asks.

"Tir-na--" Harsh tries to repeat the name but the last syllable confounds him a bit. "Should they have? It's entirely possible that someone did and it got lost amid all the other new information that has overstuffed my brain."

He says it lightly enough, but honestly, so much that he's learned has been pushed aside by the whole "so this is my father" thing.

"Tir-na Nog'th is the mystical city that appears in the sky at the full moon. There are the beginnings of a stairway at the top of the mountains, and when the city appears, it's possible to walk up the stairs and explore the city. However, if the moonlight on the city fails, you will fall to the waters below," Gilt explains gravely. "The custom is that when someone goes up, there is a watcher with a Trump who can bring them through quickly in such an emergency. But for now, that's irrelevant; by the King's command, Tir-na Nog'th is forbidden. One of your cousins died by falling from Tir, and until that matter is resolved to the King's satisfaction, no one is permitted to visit it.

"You don't seem like the sort to wander up moonlight stairs," Gilt adds, "but it occurred to me that I should mention the ban."

A lot you know, Harsh thinks with some amusement at Gilt's last comment, because he was already wondering what would be involved in getting permission to visit the city.

"Fair enough -- and thank you for the warning," he says. "What manner of resolution is being sought by the King, anyway?"

As he says it, he wonders if this has something to do with they diplomatic marriage Hannah was joking (?) about.

"That's a long story. We're not a hundred percent certain who was responsible for the Lady Cambina's death. But the King's justice will deal with whoever it proves out to be. Lady Cambina was well loved, and her brother Prince Jerod is the sort who has a long memory, even if he's not old enough to have proved that yet. Even if the King were inclined to forgive, which I don't think he is, Prince Jerod will not be."

Cambina, Harsh recalls, is the name of the sister that Rowen and Reynart mentioned. They at least shared the same mother, and as best Harsh recalls, the suggestion is that the difference between them, the one that marked her as a Royal, was paternity.

In the quick version of the family unit that Harsh had from his father (his father!) Cambina and Jerod were the children of Gerard's older brother Eric, who reigned briefly as King of Amber during the war. Rowen was added to the genealogy, and was presumably also Eric's.

Harsh, in fact, discreetly pulls out his notes from earlier to remind himself of Cambina's place in the whole scheme, and nods. He is quiet for a moment, looking out into the harbour and organising his thoughts.

After a moment he says, "If I may be plain... I am still attempting to understand what it is I'm meant to do, now. I see that many of the—many of my cousins--" good grief does that word feel strange in his mouth, "--are embroiled in the matters of Tir-na Noth." He winces a little, knowing he's not quite got the pronunciation right. "And others are wrapped up in the affairs regarding the monks who, I understand, took several of them as prisoners. As yet neither of these affairs has touched me or Golconda -- as far as I know. I feel I ought to act somehow, but apart from wanting to bring home those of my men who still wish to return, I... I don't know what to do."

He looks away, embarrassed at having said so much to a stranger, and feeling more like a fraud than he has done in some time.

Gilt doesn't seem to note the mispronunciation. Instead he gives Harsh a moment to recover himself before saying, "I'm not royal myself but I've been around the members of your family enough to know that your uncertainty is normal for those who find out who they are in adult life. Most members of King Random's generation knew who and what they were. In the younger generation, that's not the case.

"Most of your cousins work for the kingdom, or the kingdoms collectively, if you will, in one way or another. There are tasks that require the mastery of Shadow that your family alone possesses. Those are how you'll probably occupy yourself. Travelling in Shadow, acting as a diplomat or military commander or whatever is needed. For now, though, you're a student learning his place in a new school, as it were. You don't have to do anything other than learn."

Well, that's a liberating prospect. And a little frightening, if he's honest with himself, but -- isn't that what he's always truly wanted? The freedom to choose a path, unencumbered by the fear of discovery?

"It's a great deal of freedom for people who are used to nothing but duty and responsibility. The King can tell you more. Would you like me to set a private appointment with him for you to discuss what you can be doing?"

"I--yes. I would be very grateful," Harsh says. "I've spoken with Prince Martin on this matter as well, I should say. But when the King has a moment, I am at his disposal."

"Of course. I'll make the arrangements once we're finished here. The King is a busy man, but he makes time for his nephews and nieces." Gilt leans in and says, as if imparting a bit of particular wisdom, "If you have any interest in music, that's usually an easy way to make a connection with him. He's a musician and interested in the varieties and intricacies of music in different Shadows."

Harsh can just about carry a tune in a sturdy bucket, but his familiarity with the intricacies of Golcondan music are limited at best. He chuckles. "How does he feel about sailor songs?"

"Like all of the Princes, he's served his turn on Amber Navy ships, so he'll be interested in new songs you bring to him. He's also asked people to dance if they're inclined, so that's another possibility if you don't play or sing."

It takes Gilt a moment to decide to add the next bit. "If your interview with him is completely private, you may find he's interested in any stories you can tell him about Prince Martin. But that's not a subject he prefers to discuss in front of others."

In Golconda, Harsh would consider asking "why" and then immediately decide not to, because to pry -- about family in particular -- would be unspeakably rude.

This being Xanadu, with a king very unlike any monarch Harsh has ever imagined meeting, he considers and then says, carefully, "Why is that? If I may be so bold as to ask."

"That's a very long and complicated story, but the piece that I know goes like this: the King, as a young man, sired Martin and then either parted or was parted from Martin's mother, who was a princess of Rebma, an underwater kingdom. Not long after Martin's birth, Martin's mother died, and Martin was raised by his grandmother, who has always blamed Random for her daughter's death. The King didn't know that he had a son for some years and only met him after--" another pause, then Gilt goes with "The King met him during the recent war, after someone now dead made an attempt on Martin's life. They've reconciled, but obviously it's a complicated relationship. The King is always interested in knowing his son better."

Harsh recalls, on hearing this story, a shanty about the son of the keeper of the Cabra lighthouse that Martin led on deck one night, to much approval of the crew.

The shanty has been accumulating all sorts of interesting context, Harsh reflects.

"The Prince told me some of that," he says. "The truth is that I've quite enjoyed his company, and that of his daughter, on the voyage. I should be happy to sail with him again."

"That's something you can easily tell His Majesty, then," Gilt says with evident pleasure. Either he's very good at the courtier thing or he genuinely is Random's friend.


At some point during their rounds, Vent the Steward encounters a decidedly confused -- if not mortified -- young page. In harried words, they explain that quote... 'a strangely garbed and oddly speaking Royal' was causing some commotion on the grounds. While details were sketchy, the Royal Daughter had unceremoniously raided the kitchen for noodles, beer, and pastries and then dashed off. She was currently dining atop a nearby roof-top and singing songs of dubious origins and taste.

Finally, she'd apparently claimed said roof-top -- if the page wasn't mistaken -- as 'her once and future rookery, claimed in the name of Corvid Kind and Finder's Keepers.'

Though this report seemed somewhat dubious, Vent soon discovers a young woman stretched out atop one of the palace roof-tops, surrounded by precariously perched bowls and bottles. She doesn't seem to notice Vent's approach, continuing to deny both gravity and propriety.

As he draws closer, Vent realizes that she's removed her footwear and socks, lifting her lanky legs high in the air, as if to catch the occasional hint of mist from the distant waterfall. Her painted toes wiggle in time to the rock-loud beat of her song:

"We can see your underwear from down here, I'm not even gonna lie,
Baby, this I can't deny,
We can see your underwear from down here!"

She begins mimicking the song's wicked fast guitar solo, legs cartwheeling in time, lost to the music. How she doesn't plummet to injury and death is a question for the ages.

Vent has dealt with the King long enough that even though he's almost certainly infuriated by all this, he has his game face on. He comes out to a balcony below, which may or may not be the one from which Tricksey emerged and climbed onto the red-tiled roof, and clears his throat loudly, finally giving up and calling "YOUR LADYSHIP!" when he realizes that's what it's going to take to get her attention.

When she does finally stop, Vent, who looks like he might have been a soldier or at least a quartermaster in a previous life before he retired to stewarding, says, "I am Vent, the steward of this castle under King Random. I understand your ladyship is in need of a room, presumably one with roof access."

For a moment, Tricksey continues singing and air-dancing, lost in the rhythm. A voice cuts through her reverie, distracting her. She blinks. She pauses. She ponders. And then realizes, they're talking to me! How bizarre.

She deftly scoots down the tiles, twisting around, and draping herself over the roof's edge. Hair obscures much of her face, framing it in dark and colorful locks. Only her nose is visible, wrinkling in confusion. "Vent speak to Crow Girl? But she find nest. Nice breeze. Thank you. Very good. Tricksey happy. Carry on, Good Sir-Vent-Sir! Chip-chip-cheer-eo and eh what now!"

She begins to slowly retreat, believing the matter is resolved.

Vent clears his throat. "Your ladyship, King Random has asked that I assign you a room, not a roof. Also you will need a page or two to see to your needs and some new clothing. While we can in fact see your underclothes from here, you may prefer to replace them before they rot."

Tricksey return-scooches to the roof's edge, hanging over even further. Her eyebrow raises in an amagilation of dubiousness and curiosity. "Ladyship. You are talking to Crow Girl? Heh. Not need foxy titles. Am Tricksey. And so we is."

She grips the roof's edge, arches up, tensing like a spring, With cat-like speed and grave, she jumps, swinging her legs around and forward, letting gravity do the rest. She's parkoured off skyscrapers, so a narrow balcony is nothing to her. Still, for the casual observer, it's mildly heartstopping and most assuredly unladylike.

After rolling forward and up through the landing, she pauses to readjust her clothes. "King want Tricksey in different room? And have people? Servant people? Why Crow Girl need people? She fetch what she need. Taken shinies all her life. No pages needed eh-what-balderdash-my-the-cheek!"

"His Majesty has asked me to assign a room to you and pages to perform your errands. Or possibly to assist you in acclimating yourself to the ways things are done in Xanadu. You will certainly need clothes, Lady Trixie, because the sort of fabrics you're wearing will, after a certain period, wear out. And in Xanadu that will be faster than you expect. So if nothing else, you will need a room to keep clothing that is made for you in it, and someone to care for that clothing," Vent explains.

He's a big man, and pale with white hair, but a bit red around the cheeks and the tops of his ears, quite possibly from irritation.

Tricksey puts her fists on her hips, appearing decidedly put out. "Crow Girl is De'Marquette-Potentate-High-Faluttin' TRICK-sey, "Lady Tixie" is Drag Queen. Easy confuse. Same fashion sense."

She begins circling Vent, looking up at him over her nose, as if she's wearing invisible spectacles. A machine-gun chatter of questions is unleashed, "Where clothing come from? Who decide what wear? Crow Girl or Vent? Pages do things for me? Why? Not high-roller. Or maybe we are? Will room have more stabbies? And noodles? And pony?"

Pausing, Tricksey touches her chin, abruptly mindful. "People will serve Tricksey? But Crow Girl serve people. She not order pages or books or otherwise. Might feel guilty. Verklempt even." And then, with a shrug, she just walks off.

Only to stop and turn her head, giving Vent a flummoxed look, "Tricksey room now?"

"I have one available," Vent says, leaping on her momentary acquiescence. "I can show it to you right now." He starts to move off, back through the balcony doors and into the castle, watching to see if she follows.

[If she does not follow, he pauses in the doorway]

"Noodles can be arranged; weapons are usually kept in the salle or the armory, since few people have the honor of bearing arms before the King. I wasn't told you were a member of a martial order, Lady Trixie," and this time he emphasizes the R, "but if I am incorrect, I'll make the proper arrangements. And the pages are to fetch things, like noodles, and to assist you with anything you need, like finding your way around the castle or sending messages to the tailor.

"Clothes in Xanadu are individually tailored. Foreign wear is more stable here than it was in Amber, but certain materials, like polly-ester and spanned-eks, are prone to disintegrate over time. So local materials are preferred."

And in fact, now that Tricksey thinks about it, for all that a lot of furniture in this place has that Scan Design look to it, there's no plastic, no technical fabrics, and the wood doesn't look to be reprocessed pulp with grain finish. It's all wood, fiber from plants and animals, or leather and furs.

Also this place, for all that it seems New to Tricksey's senses, is also Deep, like a well. The scent of life, the undertone of Reality, it's all part of that.

Having fallen in behind him, Tricksey listens in uncharacteristic silence. Time to hear and learn. This new sense of Realism is drawing her attention. The naturalistic and organic design of items is definitely disconcerting. Something she's not experienced since childhood. The contrast between this and Tyrell is staggering. She's not sure if she likes it just yet. Time will tell.

"Use stabby," she says. "Edan train. May want more. Crow Girl also like books. And pillows. She choose furniture? Have computers here? Or all medieval? High up? Roof access? And spray paint. Need tagging."

She quickens her pace, "Did Father have room here? Or he before Xanadu?"

Having fallen in behind him, Tricksey listens in uncharacteristic silence. Time to hear and learn. This new sense of Realism is drawing her attention. The naturalistic and organic design of items is definitely disconcerting. Something she's not experienced since childhood. The contrast between this and Tyrell is staggering. She's not sure if she likes it just yet. Time will tell.

"Use stabby," she says. "Edan train. May want more. Crow Girl also like books. And pillows. She choose furniture? Have computers here? Or all medieval? High up? Roof access? And spray paint. Need tagging."

She quickens her pace, "Did Father have room here? Or he before Xanadu?"

Vent is relaxing a little now that Tricksey is following him.

"We don't have computers in Xanadu," he says, pronouncing the word as if he doesn't quite know what it means.

Which is a bit odd to Tricksey, now that she thinks about it, because they have lights that are either electric or some kind of equivalent technology.

"We'll arrange for a page with weapons expertise for you, and access to the salle and the armory. And the room will be furnished with basic furnishings like a bed, a chair, a desk, but just as with your clothes, you'll be able to choose or ask for things you want. If you have colors, as many of the family do, you can decorate with them, or you can show off things you've brought from Shadow."

At the mention of spray paint, Tricksey can hear Vent sniff. "We don't have spray paint either."

"Your father was Prince Julian's son Daeon, I believe? He was never resident here. He preferred to remain in Arden and its near Shadows, one of which was his home."

The room ahead is a portrait gallery and there are people in it, including cousins Brita and Jerod. Vent goes right in.


Jerod waits patiently for Brita to be available, motioning for Kimiko and Cordelia as well. Since Jerod has been absent from Xanadu while Misao has been around, he will rely on either Brita, or one of the "ubiquitous in Shadow" castle pages to guide the way.

As Brita follows Kimiko into the hall, she is talking to Conner. "Well, Brother, Should I Call Again once We Have Done the King's Bidding?"

Conner nods. "Just as well I was in the background. This saves the need to tell of all this later. Best of luck with our newest guest."

Brita gives him a quiet "Stay Safe, Brother" and then ends the connection, returning the card to her deck and stowing it back in an inner jacket pocket.

At the same time, Jerod also uses two other pages for additional work. One for the King's steward to arrange quarters for Cordelia, the other for Carina, assuming she is in Xanadu, that he has returned.

The pages arrange for the messages to be sent, and ask if they should wait for an answer from either?

For the page to Vent, Jerod will indicate that no response is required and the page can tell him that Jerod trusts him to make the appropriate arrangements and get back to them in due time.

The page to Carina is advised to wait for a response (as if anything else would be acceptable).

Kim waits patiently, pointedly not making smalltalk. A page is available to lead them to Misao's quarters.

The route leads through the family wing of the castle. With so many people of rank, the page is careful and deliberate. She takes the main routes and comments on the path they are taking. This is the family wing, this is where the younger Lords have quarters, etc.

Once they are in the family quarters, they enter a gallery that is lined with portraits, several rows tall.

Cordelia looks up at one that is near the top of the wall. "Is that Lady Kimiko?"

It is indeed. Younger, perhaps, but not much younger.

While they are looking at the painting, Stewart Vent enters from a different passage, with Tricksey right behind him.

"...we there yet?" Tricksey says, skipping along. "Are we there yet? Wait... are we there yet?" Her playful grin is in complete contrast to Stewart Vent's 'restrained' expression.

Fashionably, she appears to be the result of a roadside collision between The Cure's tour bus and a My Pretty Pony cosplayer. A slash of violet-pink hair drapes over her left eye, slowly being reclaimed by its natural raven-black. Vibrant make-up paints her lips and outlines her other eye, juxtaposed against her pale skin. Her fingerless-gloved hands are held behind her back, adding to her psychotic, school-girl chiche.

Jerod takes a quick glance at the portrait of Kimiko, scanning its position relative to others to determine her position, background and any other associated linkages based on it. He also checks to determine if he can tell the artist from the style, particularly if it is Lucas.

The arrival of Vent however will prevent a very detailed examination, which can be done later. His tag-along is clearly from Shadow based on her clothing and appearance and probably a technological one as well...Jerod doesn't need Pattern to figure that out. The fact that she has Vent as an escort, or guide, means she's not unimportant... if she were, the King's man would not be with her.

He looks over at Brita and motions. "Anyone we know?"

Brita glances away from her own perusal of the paintings to note the newcomers. "Our Cousin Tricksey of Shadow Tyrell, Daughter of Cousin Daeon," she says as a smile blooms across her face. She calls out to Tricksey, "Well Met, Cousin Tricksey! This is our Cousin Jerod, His Daughter Cordelia, and Lady Kimiko-san, Mother to Our Cousin Misao." Brita gestures to each in turn. Then her smile widens, "Did Cousin Edan Find a Suitable Sword for You?"

At Brita's voice, Tricksey's face brightens even more. "Edan of the Rugged Chin give stabby! Show Crow Girl how to use. Have bruises. Can show later." It is undetermined if she means the sword or the bruises. Or both.

She prances over, performing a flourishing curtsey-bow-thingie, "Greetings and salivations. Is Crow Girl. Princess-Damn-Exquisiteness-Tsarina Tricksey." With Brita's introductions, her gaze drifts between the faces, nodding in turn. At Jerod, she overtly shivers, "Oooo-serious." At Cordelia, she shuffles her feet shyly, "Ooooo-beautiful." And, finally, she pauses upon seeing Lady Kimiko. A long pause.

Tricksey steps forward, ignoring all sense of personal space. Her head cocks back and forth, birdlike, curious. Her nose wrinkles, as if confused. Disappointed, maybe?

"Why you no have feathers now, momma?"

Brita's reaction to this is an obvious inhale which she appears to hold. She doesn't seem shocked by the revelation, just contemplative like she is savoring a fine wine, trying to suss out the more subtle flavors. When she finally exhales, she says "More Family Found, Cousin Tricksey! Congratulations!"

Tricksey's "inspection" of Jerod is met by an amused look, one he would normally give to Lark when she is on a tear. The revelation of Kimiko and Tricksey however does get an eyebrow raise.

As he watches the interaction between Tricksey and Kimiko, he leans over slightly to Brita. "And here I thought having a half-vampyr daughter was going to make for a really weird intro." he says quietly, before chuckling. "Nope, not at all."

Kimiko looks at Tricksey for a long moment. "I look as I choose to look. Did you ever learn to shift? You are an adult now, and I am here for your sibling, who is still a child. I am pleased to see your father got you to his people. He was in an unstable state when we parted, as our home was being assaulted by my enemies."

She doesn't seem to be expressing any kind of emotions, positive or negative.

Beyond checking the portrait (as mentioned previously), Jerod has nothing to say until this plays out.

The painting isn't it Lucas' style. It looks to be a court painter from a few centuries back. The paint may have been around here since then.

Tricksey straightens up, "Misao Crow Girl's sibling? Must meet. Where at?" She twirls, almost childlike in her unrestrained joy. "No shift. But Bird Talk. And Stone Talk. Tricksey collect Memories, momma. And protect chicks like taught. Learn fight. And pew-pew. Kill many Foxes." The twirl halts abruptly; a ballerina frozen in space, as the music runs down. She hangs there for a moment. And then slowly deflates, curling in on herself, like burnt paper.

"Papa gone," she says. "Not see after Streets. Dragon took him. We honor soon? Good see you. Thought gone too."

Her gaze briefly shifts to Cordelia, to whom she waggles her fingers, smiling shyly... and then right back to her mother.

A page arrives and speaks to Vent. He gestures her towards the door, where she stands waiting. "Prince Jerod, the page has a request from your Cousin Hannah, when you have a second to attend her."

"Of course Vent." Jerod says.

Kimiko watches this impassively, waiting for Tricksey to wind down.

She turns to Brita and Jerod, frowning. "And where is Jethro, her father? Did he just abandon her to go running naked through the woods?"

Tricksey flinches. As she realizes her mother's misunderstanding, her hands begin to flutter like wounded sparrows. "Momma. He gone-gone. Papa died. Protecting people. As is the way. His way. Our... way."

She glances over at Brita, shrugging nervously. Her hands fall to her sides, still once more. "Why he left Crow Girl in Tyrell," she says, more to herself than anyone present.

Brita nods in agreement and support, "He Left You as A Protector."

Jerod recognizes the name but does not immediately respond to Kimiko. Given the request from the page, Hannah would most likely be looking for information on her new patient, something unrelated to general medical knowledge given her considerable skill in that field. That bears some attention then.

He turns to Brita. "Going to find out what Hannah needs. Probably about Chew." he says. "You need anything, let me know."

Brita nods in understanding. She turns to Kimiko, but still including Tricksey. "Would You Like to Continue to My Cousin Misao's Chambers? Cousin Jerod Must ensure our Captive Remains Captive."

Once that is settled, he turns and motions for Cordelia and he moves slightly of the range of Brita and company so they can continue their discussion uninterrupted while talks briefly to Vent. He introduces Cordelia as his daughter, advises that she'll need quarters and nods to Vent in a way that he'll recognize Vent is probably getting more requests for quarters for new family than he can shake a stick at. Jerod won't apologize for asking of course, but he is sympathetic to another request being loaded onto Vent.

After that, Jerod heads over to the page to find out what Hannah wants.

Kim notices the picture of herself for the first time and looks at it. "Jethro was, in his other aspects, a fertility god. While I do not doubt his sacrifice, I would not be surprised to see him again, despite dying;."

Kim bows towards Tricksey and Brita. "Ladies, if you will excuse, me, I was being shown to Misao's quarters."

Tricksey bows in kind, 'Of course, momma. Tricksey finding room. Not allowed on roof. Very odd. But respect King." She arches her back like a cat, "Then walk Pattern. After noodles. We talk more soon. Many stories to give."

And then, it is as if she forgets her mother is there. Instead, she looks over at Brita. "Crow Girl need favor. Trump-box-thingie. Where? Should tell grandpa we both here."

Brita gives Tricksey the appropriate directions and notes, "Any Castle Page could Guide you There. You should Request a Room on the Waterfall Side - Many have Balconies which will Give You Outside Access Even if it Is Not a Roof."

She then turns back to Kimiko, bows, and says, "We Can Continue to Cousin Misao's Rooms." She smiles at Tricksey and proceeds to lead the way.


Tricksey returns to the hall, wringing her hands together. "Momma alive," she says aloud. "Crow Girl have sibling too. Happy family." The last she says without conviction.

She turns to Vent, "Waterslide. Brita say there waterslide. Want room near that."

A deep sigh and then the bemused expression returns, as if nothing earth shattering happened in the past few moments. "Why no spray paint? What tronics you have? Will Crow Girl really be nakkid soon? What cloth no disappear?"

"Hmmm? I don't know what tronics are. Your clothes will rip and stress very quickly and will be difficult to wash without being damaged. But do not fear. We can provide clothes and a seamstress to take your measurements and provide you with something more likely to last.

He leads on, ignoring the waterslide comment.

"We do not wear woolen clothes here as we did in Amber, Lady, but we do have both those and linen cloths. Some even prefer cotton fibers for coolness, or silk. You can choose what suits you. Your Lady-Mother was wearing an exquisite silk robe, which if you prefer that style we can arrange to procure."

"Ewww...wool. Itchy sheeps. Glad change," she says.

Tricksey taps her chin, thoughtful. "Momma elegant. Tricksey is Crow Girl. So not enough buckles. Or pockets. Or skin." She shakes her head, "No. Crow Girl draw dress. Teach seamstress what like. And need." A pause. Then, in a serious tone, "Band shirts here? Need merch."

She resumes her prancing circle of Vent as he walks, "What Tricksey pay with, though? If no steal creds, how buy clothes? Tanstaafl."

Vent frowns, thinking about how to express a good answer. "The King pays, and you pay the king by working with him to serve the Kingdom. There is, I understand, usually a royal allowance associated here in Xanadu, or you get bills from the city sent to the castle. I don't know how it works outside Xanadu."

From his expression he has no idea what band merch is.

Tricksey stops dead in the hallway, as if running into an invisible wall. She gazes at Vent with perplexed wonderment. "King pay bills? Allowance? We work for him? So, he crime boss. Or CEO? You rub his back, he rub yours? Deal you can't refuse?"

She shrugs her shoulders, "Not understand royals. Live on street. Easier stealing from rich. Now work with rich. Tricksey confused. Morally verklempt."

With another shrug, she resumes her pace, "You family, Ventricle? Fourth cousin removed?"

"No," Vent says, sounding equally confused. "I was a citizen of Amber, and am now a citizen of Xanadu. I don't have any of the Royal gifts."

They climb up a stairway and Vent finally stops and opens a door. It's not locked, not even with an old-fashioned physical lock, and he shows her in. "This will be your suite."

It's two rooms plus a bathroom. The bathroom is super old-fashioned, with a shower and tub, all fixtures porcelain and metal, separate taps for hot and cold water. The bed is sized for two, made up with natural fabrics in sheet and blanket and the pillow looks funny to Tricksey, which she later realizes is, again, actual feather pillow. The bed, the nightstand, and the tables and chairs in the outer room are all made of light wood. Actual wood, when Tricksey touches it, not MDF or recycled particle board.

In Tyrell, you couldn't get a place like this. Not with virgin wood, no plastic, no recycled materials. This is the kind of luxury only the wealthiest have, but as far as Tricksey can tell from wandering around the castle, it's normal here.

Tricksey pauses at the doorway, shaking her head. "No, no," she says. "Must be wrong. Too big. Too much."

She looks at Vent for confirmation, shocked to find it there. This ~is~ the Crow Girl's room. Where has she found herself? Is she really a princess? A disbelieving laugh escapes her painted lips.

Hesitantly, she wanders through it, lightly touching items, exploring the shape and breadth of this space. She searches for traces lingering here, be it of former occupants, servants, or craftsmen, getting a taste of the room's memories. Does the space already have a story? Or has it been waiting for her to create one? Either way, she must make friends with this new... home.

Home. Such a fragile word. And, considering her mother's dismissal, even more so now.

Tricksey drifts towards the balcony, pulling back the curtains to reveal the grand open world beyond. The perfect roost from which to climb, to run, to fly. Already, a line of black birds has formed along the metal railing, silently staring. They cock their heads in unison, as if waiting for her to speak.

She turns, bowing to Vent. "Yes. Crow Girl accept. Domo arigato gozaimasu."

"Your ladyship is welcome," Vent says, which is a pattern he's clearly more familiar with and comfortable with. "If there is nothing else, I'll make the arrangements for the tailor to join you so you can be measured for new clothes."

This room is new. No one has lived here before. It's as if this place was made for someone and was waiting for them to complete it. Maybe it was magically conjured just like this! Or made by a replicator. But it has no story other than what Tricksey brings to it. Its story begins here, with her.

The balcony is to the side of the building, but Tricksey's room is near the front of the castle so that the side of the balcony sees the waters below.

Tricksey glances up from her tour of the room. The lack of memories is another oddity. Tyrell was built on concrete and memories, layers upon layers of lives stacked upon one another. Many times, it felt overwhelming. Even the house on Earth possessed more ghostly thoughts, lingering like an old scent. In contrast, this feels... sterile and disconcerting. The Crow Girl must change this soon.

She jerks a nod to Vent. "Crow Girl wait for tailor. Please send more noodles. And paint. Many colors. Paper. Water color. Vellum. Cardboard."

So saying she drifts away to the balcony to greet her new siblings. She pauses, turning her head. "And seed. Tricksey has guests."

"Of course," Vent says, and bows and leaves.

Tricksey will receive noodles and seeds in the near term. Noodles here are spiced differently to what they serve in Tyrell, but they're still good. Art supplies here will come later but they are very good quality and probably expensive, and not in small supply. Tricksey will figure out later that the castle has these supplies for manuscripts and for Trump creation.


Rowen, Hannah, and the perhaps-not-as-unconscious-as-all-that Chew head out, arriving in the hallway just as Jerod and Kim are leaving. The pages send a runner ahead to Doctor Suon to tell him to prepare for a patient. A knight, wearing a red cloak, offers to accompany Hannah and Rowen, to guard Dr. Chew. He offers to carry the body, but Rowen thinks she'll be better suited to the task. He doesn't seem weak or unskilled, she's just better.

And, she's already carrying the body, so it just seemed more efficient for her to keep going, rather than finagle the limp weight onto someone else. As she walks, she admires his cloak, taking note of the livery and any markings on it, as this looks new and possibly different from the pages she saw earlier, however briefly.

The knight is from the Land of Peace, and accompanied the Madhi from there to this cold place. He finds it fascinating.

"Thank you sir. Rowen, does he do verbal magic? Is that why he's gagged?" Hannah asks.

As much as she can while carrying the man, Rowen offers a shrug. "They said we were going to capture a wizard. They didn't say what his methods were and I didn't see him do any actual magic. I'm not taking any chances," she announces with the conviction of certain set of opinions about wizards. "Jerod or Vere might know more. They were the ones who brought us in."

The guard follows along in silence, opening doors where needed. There are surprisingly few, but the infirmary is also surprisingly deep into the basements. At the bottom of a stairway, there are three doors. One is open, and Kyril and his niece are inside. The woman is standing beside a bed on wheels. She gestures towards it for Rowen to put down Chew.

The body is placed on the rollable bed. While Rowen isn't deliberately rough with it, nor gentle, the prisoner is treated with efficiency, not comfort.

Kyril looks at Chew, then at the knight in the riding hood. He begins to examine the body, talking as he does so. His niece takes notes and seems to be apprenticing as a healer, at least as near as Rowen can tell.

Kyril looks up. "Do we need to keep him restrained?" He turns to Chew. "We all know you're conscious."

Chew continues to play possum.

"We do not yet know if he can verbally magic. He'd be daft to try to fight in his current condition... but some people can do signing magic so..." Hannah shrugs. "I think he has to stay that way for now. I'll send a page to run back to Jerod - hopefully they can find him quickly. He'd be easier to treat without them. We're going to fix him up, clean him up, feed him... and see if he's smart enough to communicate with us frankly before the rest of the people who'd like to kill him or worse get here. The King is a pragmatic soul. Dr. Chew might earn his protection. By the way, doctor - I met this man in Tyrell City."

Hannah gestures between Rowen, the Knight, and the physicians. "This is Rowen. I'll introduce you all as soon as I'm certain that won't be communicating information our guest might use later. He already knows who I am."

In acknowledgment, Rowen smiles the smile of a kid who has been offered unlimited cake.

Hannah slips back into the hall and motions over a page. "I need either Jerod, Vere or Martin to give me or you a quick run down of our prisoner's capabilities. Jerod is in the palace, was leaving the throne room, just moments ago. I hope the other two will be in the throne room shortly, so get some help and please find us this information. Can he do magic verbally or physically? Is he safe enough to untie under guard? Oh, and if one of them wants to ask the questions, I only know a dozen to start with." Hannah slips the girl a coin with thanks before stepping back into the infirmary.

The page nods, and takes the coin and departs.

When Hannah returns, she finds Chew with the bandages around his head undone, giving access to the doctor and his niece to assess his injuries. Predominantly, they look to be Amberite-flavored blunt force trauma. Circling around them, trying best to keep out of the way, Rowen peeks into what they are doing.

Hannah doesn't care about keeping out of the way, but there are already doctors at work. She leans against the wall by the door. "Rowen, are you interested in physicing? Are you a healer among your folk?"

Rowen straightens and shakes her head. "I am not, beyond battlefield basics. I'm curious. The things you have here seem so much more complex." Perhaps she meant modern, if that word were in her vocabulary.

The medical team is working on the prisoner. Allie is a competent nurse, but her bedside manner is still that of Sergeant Alakana Suon, of The Pacifican Joint Reconnaissance Group. "People who pretend to be unconscious can't take pain meds, Doctor Chew. Open your eyes and say hello if you want something before we stitch you up."

"We're not as technologically advanced as the last place I knew Doctor Chew in. It may be he thinks we have some technology here that doesn't require him to be responsive for pain meds - but if we did, Prince Gerard and I would have never visited that place to begin with." Hannah winks at Rowen. There are needles aplenty around, so probably this isn't exactly true.

The door to the infirmary opens at that point, Jerod entering with Cordelia close behind. He takes a moment to scan the room, noting who is there and Chew's location. He whispers to Cordelia to keep an eye on him just in case Chew tries something foolish before Jerod heads over to Hannah.

Keeping to the background as much as Cordelia, Rowen takes a moment to consider Jerod's companion. She smells different, for sure.

"Cousin," he says. "I understand there's a question concerning Chew and whether he's too dangerous to release from bonds?"

"Jerod," Hannah says warmly and with a little relief. "Yes please. He was so well wrapped I decided to be cautious." She gives Cordelia a nod.

Jerod is not wearing his regular colours that Hannah would expect, nor is he armed similarly. He is carrying a short blade on each hip in slightly curved scabbards. The blades are not visible but if the silvered handles are any indication they would be both old and of exceptional craftsmanship. His clothing, a full length priest coat with a hood, is equally distinctive - from a distance it appears uniformly black but up close there are subtle variances to the garment that break up the black. The stitching, a dark purple threading, is detailed and fine like one would expect from precision sewing equipment, though it has the feel of being hand made.

"He's got magic but it's Shadow. He won't be able to do anything here. If he can light a flame on a candle that would be impressive. Not sure about his physical capabilities. I'm thinking he's no match for any of us but I've not sparred with him. He was trying not to get eaten by a giant wolf when I tapped him so I kinda took advantage of the situation." he says, smiling slightly.

This makes Hannah smile big.

"He'll need guards at all times. Partially to ensure he doesn't hurt anyone or escape, but also because he's Chew... and a lot of people want him dead in real unpleasant ways. But he's the King's prisoner, so the King's justice must prevail... whatever Random may decide that will be."

"Very well then. I have questions for him based off research Dr. Suon and I have been engaged in - do you know who else has questions best asked in the short term?"

"I have some, but they are not for him, and rudimentary. I'll observe," Rowen adds. If the man remains unresponsive, she'll give him a poke somewhere sensitive.

Chew opens his eyes. "I am awake, and can answer questions. What would you like to know?"

Jerod turns back from Hannah to look at Chew for a moment before walking over to survey him and his injuries. His expression is rather clinical as he speaks, taking into account the work that has been done to Chew and the injuries that were sustained.

Chew looks worse for the wear, but his injuries are not life-threatening.

"There will be a lot of questions but that will be for the future. I'm not going to bother with the usual bits about don't escape, don't lie, etc, etc. You either know that, or you'll figure it out the hard way. I'm also not going to bother threatening you...we'll get our answers. The process of how that happens is entirely up to you.

"I have three questions at the moment. One is about your transit points, the place trumps you use to travel. I want them all. The second, very important, is your knowledge of unaccounted for offspring. Be sure to know that refusing to answer that question in full will not go well. And I won't be the one you'll have to worry about.

"My most important question however is this. How did you know about her?" Jerod says, motioning Cordelia to come over.

Rowen takes closer note of Cordelia as she comes over, now that things have settled down enough to engage her usual curiosity. Casually, she removes a deck of cards and dances them between her fingers. Though it could be a show, she's clearly doing it mindlessly to occupy her hands.

Rowen thinks Cordelia smells wrong, like a magician smells wrong, but more like how a necromancer smells wrong.

Hannah glances at Cordelia but her main focus stays on Chew.

Chew nods and immediately regrets it.

"First, I have a book with my transit points in it. I do not know all chapters and what resources they have, just the ones I've visited or heard of.

"The Second and Third questions have the same answer. We have a trade in information and it's known that we seek information about people who are extraordinary, immortal, or who seem not of this world, in whatever world we are in. We are known to pay generously for that, and parsimoniously for less-valuable information.

"That is intentional. We investigate mostly false leads, but there are many of us, and we find some answers. In the case of that one, we didn't know for sure, but we suspected and moved her to Paris to keep an eye on her. Before that, a young woman of indeterminate age appeared to rural peasants in an elaborate tomb that they could not have created and started acting as a local goddess.

"Of course we took a look."

Jerod makes a mental note to review the trap of godhood with Cordelia...it is not a path he wants her traveling given how many have died following it. He looks at her briefly when the comment about acting like a goddess comes up, but he does not say anything to her. He also glances at Hannah in case she has any comments...she's the one family member present who knows the family histories well enough about godhood.

Hannah's eyes move from Jerod's worriedly to Cordelia, but she doesn't interrupt.

By contrast, Rowen smiles with amusement.

"The location of this book, and the tomb." Jerod says to Chew, awaiting the response before continuing.

"Who else did you tell about her." he asks. "We know the information was passed to another outside of your group....it's how we found her. So who else knew, what did they trade for that information, and why were they looking for it in the first place?"

Chew thinks. "We're not as monolithic and you seem to think. I am Protosyngellos of the order, which means I am often called upon to inform abbots of the archimandrite's will, and to pass along such missives as they see fit. I am often sent to where I can provide scientific or technical assistance.

"It's not safe to speak of projects outside our circles, and I regret that I am here as evidence of the truth of that rule."

Chew's voice is becoming stronger. He does wince as Allie dabs something on his head wound, but he doesn't complain. He's not a bad patient.

Jerod makes note of the titles and their religious aspects from his training in history and politics, before circling back to one of his questions even as he moves around Chew, circling him and observing him slowly.

"The book, and the tomb. Where?" he asks, his tone clear that he expects an answer and lack of cooperation would be...not violent...but would not be conducive to future survival prospects.

As he moves he looks at Hannah and Rowen, waiting to see if they have questions as well.

Rowen appears to be listening more than watching, while her hands fiddle with her cards. If he watches long enough, though, he'll see her gaze wandering around, taking in details of everything in the room. Yet, where questions are concerned, she offers little more than a nonchalant shrug.

Hannah has decided to let Jerod finish before she begins.

Chew stretches his back and twists in pain. "My book is likely at the monastery, assuming it is still intact. It's not personal, just the one I had on me when I arrived. It was in my pack in the room you found me in.

"I only recently heard about the tomb project. That was run out of Paris, and it sounded like they paid for their mistakes. They have local connections and are the parent chapter for all the Frankish lands. I think the tomb was somewhere south, before they moved it. I could find out for you, if you sent me to ask."

Jerod smiles, the smile of a shark. "Mmm...a most gracious offer, but I've no doubt the Paris prisoners will yield suitable information to answer any of my immediate questions. They were quite useful in helping us deal with the Orleans transfer point."

He appears to have been expecting a comment like the one Chew provided, or something similar...his expression one that could be interpreted that Chew has made an unfortunate choice. "In any event, I'm sure we'll have lots of opportunity to speak in the future.." he says, pausing, "...subject to King's mood of course. I will leave you to your physician's care."

He turns to the guard who has been hovering nearby and motions him over, speaking in a very matter of fact tone. "If he tries to escape, pick a body part and break it. Just don't kill him or make it so he can't answer questions. The King will have other instructions no doubt for his long term custody."

The guard nods, and looks at Chew. He doesn't seem to be very sympathetic to him.

Cordelia leans in towards Hannah and Rowen and speaks softly. "I know the answers to Father's questions, of course, but I want to see what this serial kidnapper has to say."

Once the guard is done receiving instruction Jerod heads over to the group. "That went about as expected." he says very quietly, his back to Chew as he looks at Hannah. "We're not going to get anything immediately out of him. We just set the tone for future conversations. He's had time to study us in detail so he has an advantage...he may be able to plan for how we'll respond, so we'll need to counter it by studying him. But a good interrogation takes time."

He pauses a moment to think. "I'll leave him with you. We'll want to heal him up and stick him somewhere he can't run from. Give him boundaries to not cross, ding him when he does, and he'll try for sure. He's not Family so he can't hang a curse over our heads as blackmail. And if he's indicted in Reid's death, he's hooped.

"Need to talk to Random about some stuff as well, and talking to Folly would probably be a good idea." and he looks at Cordelia. "And get you settled. It's only going to get busier...though you may get some trump travelling to do." and he smiles a bit.

"I'm not sure where I should go from here, and I could use some guidance," Rowen says, looking very much like someone ready to do something new. Cheerily, "Happy to find my way around, if I had some kind of token that would prevent your staff from throwing me out."

Cordelia laughs, lightly. "There's about three of us that are new today, not counting any that showed up before us. You, me, the one that wants to be a crow. If I wanted to invade this castle, I'd just show up with 20 weird women and say we were cousins."

Jerod chuckles. "That would be three others I helped rescue before we met you, one of whom is Crow girl's sibling Misao. As for invasions, remind me later and I'll tell you about Merlin's mom Dara and her castle invasion.

"Hannah, if there is anything you need, let me know." he says, before he heads out, taking whomever wants to tag along with him.

Brightly, Rowen cants her head toward Jerod, offers Hannah a smile, and follows him and Cordelia out of the infirmary.

Allie looks at the door, then back at the prisoner. "OK, Charlie, the officers are gone. Do you need any more patching up or should we just let you have a lie-down to recuperate?"

Kyril looks on and takes notes.

"I suspect I am out of danger from injuries taken before I was brought here. I intend to cooperate, if you are wondering."

"Oh, good. Tell us about the genetic research," Hannah says, and takes a seat.

"We want to know how you become as gods, and the difference between those of us who can activate the powers you possess and the ones who cannot," Chew tells her serenely for a guy who is at the mercy of his enemies. "Do you know?"

Hannah ignores that he thinks he can ask questions. "Was any of that knowledge applied?"

Chew seems neither surprised nor bothered that Hannah didn't answer his question. "I don't know what specifically you mean by that, but whatever criteria you're using, the answer is probably yes. Do you have a specific application in mind that you'd like to talk about?"

"Let's being with Gerard Barimen's DNA profile. What did you learn from it?" she asks.

"It's part of the larger database. We don't have a full set of specimens from that generation of Amber descent, and definitely not from yours," Chew says. "I don't remember that there was anything specific to it that isolated it from other genotypes in your family line, if that's what you mean."

"So you learned nothing new from it. Is that what you are saying?" she asks.

Chew starts to shake his head but thinks better of it before he does much more than start, wincing with pain. He did, after all, take a blow to the head, and who knows how hard Jerod hit him? "Nothing specific, no; he appears to be genetically similar to other members of the family, with variances similar to what we expect from relations at the appropriate distance. Most of our work is forward-oriented at this point."

She moves across the room to get a notebook to write in, asks the Suons, "Could one of you have a page send for the Tiger for me? We need to be ready to grab The Raven though. I don't trust these monks haven't infuriated half of nature itself."

Kyril looks at Allie and heads for the door. He speaks to the page outside who is waiting on messages about. "Please tell Lady Corvis that Dr. LeCorbeau is sending for her offspring."

To Chew, she says, " "Who else is in your database? I will take a recollection currently."

Chew nods. "Most of the active people here, members of the Amber Regency Council. A large number of children from Arcadia, the orphans from Abford, and the ones who were in that hospital on Earth, and the descendants of Kimiko. We haven't been able to trace her lineage, if she is or isn't. All the active sorcerers we could find, even if we don't know their ancestry."

"Tell me about the people outside Oberon's bloodline in the database. Active Sorcerers and others. Lady Corvis, for example?" Hannah inquires.

"The Lady Corvis has, as far as we can tell, a normal genome. In her case, we have only partial samples, but we've incorporated what we know into our database. If you're asking about her health, we don't understand her illness. If we did, we would have leveraged it for more information. In exchange, though, we would have offered anything we learned to assist in her cure. We want to spread the gifts of Amber to everyone," Chew says firmly. "Lady Corvis should share in those blessings as well."

Hannah sighs. "I rather meant, give me a list of who else, and why? You also want to figure out if there is a genomic marker for sorcery? Have you found the code yet that makes someone like me decide it would be both unethical and bad for the universal future to gather this information, even just to use it for my own small agenda - and someone like you?" She's frustrated with him, that's obvious. She stands up and stretches her back.

"Oh." Hannah intuits that Chew is very smart at the things he's good at but maybe not so smart at anything else. He's not trying to be a pain, just not clear on what other people want, or used to having to speak to other people without them learning how to talk to him.

"Most of the ones who came from Amber, like the woman who bore the King's son. Not so many of the people who were drawn directly to Xanadu. I'd have to have access to my data files to give you a complete list. If you can do that, I'll print out a list for you. I'd be very interested in your thoughts on our work."

"Would you? I feel, Chew, that you are failing to grasp the situation you are now in, if you think we'll allow you access to your data files ever again. As to my thoughts on your work... obviously, it is a threat to my family. Too many of my cousins and even an uncle have ended up under the ungentle care of your cult. If you'd done all this and never hurt any of us, it's quite possible your life would not be in danger right now. But, you have. The work itself might be interesting and enlightening even, but it has no moral underpinning. You have not considered there are unknowable costs - or you have decided the risk is worth taking. I suspect you'll now find out if it was, personally." She's not being mean - this is all spoken with complete sincerity and quite a bit of disappointment.

She gives him a moment to sit with that while she gets out the research she and Kyril have been deciphering.

"We would have released your kinfolk if they did not want to stay with us, if they didn't want to worship the Unicorn as we do," Chew says. "If they didn't want to help us unlock the great secret of human potential. We take precautions because you're collectively powerful, frightening, and generally considered to be irrationally vengeful, starting with your ancestor Oberon.

"When you're angry, a lot of people die, and your family doesn't seem to care. We see this over and over again. We saw this in Tyrell, we saw this when Tomat betrayed our stronghold, we've seen this many other times in the past. I might die here, but I would die anyway at some point, and if not of a ripe old age it was likely to have been by the hand of one of your family more or less indirectly. I would rather try to talk to you about how we can work together to make the universe a better place and uplift all humanity, not just the select few."

Chew may be so full of it that his blue eyes are turning brown but he believes every word of his own BS.


Cordelia and Rowen follow Jerod out into the hallway. "I'm going to ask you about Merlin and his mother later. He's a strange one." She says this as if being a half-vampire is normal.

"He lives between two worlds, fitting into neither fully." Jerod says. "I have some empathy for that given my own background. His situation is just a bit more extreme....okay, maybe a bit more than a bit.

"It is something both of you will encounter as well," including Rowen in his comments. "Some of us who see you will see uniqueness in your heritage, some might see threats. I'm hoping for more of the former and less of the latter.

"I will also tell you about Rebma and its matriarchy and how that may have some opportunities and threats for both of you should you choose it. You especially," nodding to Cordelia.

"I'm not sure I caught it earlier," Rowen says to Cordelia, keeping pace with the others as they stride down the corridor. "How are you connected to the family?"

"In the meantime, we need to get you introduced to the King properly, plus quarters, plus questions on joining the Family. There is a particular ritual to undertake to be able to use our Family gifts...it is done with the King's permission but I have questions to him about whether your vampyr heritage might interfere with completing it."

For Jerod benefit, Rowen adds, "I was introduced to the king briefly, right before I was sent to assist you. Martin has been vague about the ritual."

Cordelia turns to Rowen and executes a full curtsey. "I am called Cordelia, which means 'Daughter of the Sea'. To my mother, that meant your brother Jerod. He is my father and connection to the family. I think that makes you my aunt. Father had a lot less family last week."

There's a brief moment where Rowen's eyes trace the flowchart in her mind. "Oh! I guess it does! Well met, Cordelia. What a romantic name." She acknowledges the curtsey with the hybrid bow-curtsey of her people. "The way Martin described it, there has been an incredible influx of new family for everyone. They found a handful in a prison, courtesy of the doctor we just captured, and there's a Tricksey, who has a thing for crows, and I got the impression that some of the others who've been around longer haven't been here for that long."

"There were three recovered from the hospital run by the monks." Jerod says. "Misao, Alex and Delta. All were brought back to Xanadu. Since Misao is out and about in the universe we can reasonably assume the others are busy, though where is another matter. We are anything if not impulsive.

"If you get the opprtunity to meet them, do so. Never hurts to meet Family."

Cordelia nods. "There wasn't much family in my life, other than Mother. It's strange to have relatives you don't know." She pauses. "I imagine it's not strange to you all, but I am a creature of habit."

Jerod smiles slightly. "I am one of the oddities of the Family. Most of my cousins were born in Shadow even if they knew their background and had minimal contact with Amber initially. I was one of the very few to be publicly acknowledged from birth and known to all the elders. I think my dad did that deliberately.

"That is a conversation for a later date." he says. "Along with more questions on you and your mother. For right now, let's get you settled...and show you the library. My sister Cambina's writings should be there....I think you'll find them of interest."

Rowen's ears perk a bit at the mention of her sister's name and makes a mental note.

With that, Jerod finds a page to have Cordelia guided to Vent with instructions to provide her with suitable quarters, preferably close to his. He explains his are away from the balconies so they have no natural lighting, but the advantage is they are much larger. Afterwards, the page is to ensure Cordelia is shown to the library, and to spread the word if it is not already out that she is his daughter.

Once the page is arranged, he takes his leave and heads over to find Random and obtain an audience, sending another page ahead with the request. Rowen is of course welcome to be part of that if it suits her.

With Cordelia heading in one direction and Jerod in another, Rowen takes the opportunity to shed supervision and go exploring on her own.


Vere opens up a connection with his father easily. "Vere, is that you?" Gerard asks, not waiting for an answer before saying, "Come through, we ha much to talk about. Yer ma is here with me."

Vere takes his father's hand and steps through the connection. Once through he glances around, orienting himself and nodding a greeting to both his parents.

They are in Gerard's suite, in the living room, with the windows open to the setting sun and waters. Corvis rises to embrace Vere, and once those greetings are done, says, "Your father and I have good news to share. We have found a lost brother of yours, on your father's side."

Vere returns Corvis' embrace, and takes the opportunity to surreptitiously look her over, checking both her health and her state of mind. After her statement he smiles and looks from her to his father. "Good news, indeed. Do tell me of him."

Corvis seems in a surprisingly good mood. A lot of women would have been angry that their husband had strayed, but Corvis is married to a god, and she has a daughter of her own. Healthwise, it's hard to tell, but she seems to have reached some kind of a plateau, at least on first look.

"His name," says Gerard, "is Harsh Majumdar." And he goes on to tell the story of his own exploration in the runup to the war that ended up with him in a shadow called Golconda, which he had considered recruiting from and purchasing ships from, and meeting and spending time with a woman called Titirsha, and his intention to return during the Regency, which had been foiled by his injury.

His opinion of Harsh is preliminary, since of course, he hardly knows the lad, but Harsh's naval career and the responsibility he has taken for his own men speaks well of him. Also he seems to have Martin's good opinion, which is a second mark in his favor.

Apparently Harsh's home shadow is one of those that believes in children only in marriage, because Harsh seems sensitive about that, so Corvis suggests care around that topic.

Vere nods his understanding. "Do you think he would like to meet me now, or should I wait until he is more acclimatized and a little less overwhelmed by everything?"

"Give the lad a day. He's found out there's a larger world and he's in the middle of it. Might be useful to help him get back to Golconda if you can be spared from other duties," Gerard suggests. "I think he thinks Corvis is going to think worse of him because he's got some ideas about marriage."

Corvis nods. "If you were to feel him out on that topic, it would be useful. I want to meet him but I'd rather not terrify him."

"I need to report to the King before anything else," Vere replies. "But I shall definitely do what I can to ease my newly discovered brother's concerns, should he have any. I also wish to contact Robin, simply to check in with her." He smiles fondly as he thinks of his beloved, then brings his attention back to his parents. "Is there anything else of dire import that we need to discuss?"

"Nothing that won't wait until you've talked with Robin," Corvis says, smiling, and Gerard gives her a knowing grin. "Aye, go talk to the lass and do whatever else you need to. We can talk more later."

Vere laughs and gives both of his parents a hug before taking his leave of them, and promising to return for a long conversation soon.


Once his Trump call with Robin is completed Vere will ask a page to carry a message to the king asking for a meeting at His Majesty's convenience.

"Yes, my Lord. Will I find you here, or elsewhere when I return with his majesty's answer?"

Regardless...

The page moves off, tapping on a rail as he goes.

It is a short while later than a different page returns, "His majesty's complements and please attend him in the throne room."

Vere thanks the page and goes directly to the throne room. He enters cautiously, as one never knows what the king might be up to.


Folly enters the lavender Green Room, takes a seat at the desk, and concentrates on Benedict's card.

The image solidifies reasonably quickly, and Benedict asks "Who?"

"Folly," she replies simply, matching directness with directness. "I call at Random's behest with news he felt was... best shared immediately."

Benedict is on horseback, riding past an orchard. He's neither in a hurry nor dawdling. "I see. What news?"

"You've heard about the recent rescue of several previously unknown cousins from the Klybesians? The mother of one of them, a child of Lucas named Misao, has come here and is talking to Random now. He says she is already known to you: Kimiko, from..." Folly hesitates, making sure she has the place-name right. "Hikariguni?"

"She's not from Hikariguni. That's a shadow we set her up in after some problems in Chosan. So Kim has come to Xanadu? How exceedingly interesting." He pulls up his horse and dismounts, handing the bridle to someone Folly can't see.

"Would you do me the favor of bringing me through?"

"Of course, Uncle." Folly holds out her hand to him and brings him through the contact.

"I believe she's talking with Random now, in the throne room," she says with a gesture toward the door once he's safely through.

"Thank you, niece. As long as she's not talking to Corwin. They never got along."

He steps through the door.

Folly stands for a moment listening to snatches of conversation in the next room... and her eyebrows go up... and then she shakes her head and returns to the desk. She finds stationery, a pen and ink, and other necessary materials, and writes:

Dear Ember,

I hope you are well. I was recently doing some historical research in the castle library, and the librarians suggested that some of the volumes I sought -- in particular some of my cousin Cambina's historical writings -- had recently been in Vialle's possession and are not yet returned. Do you know where they've ended up? In addition to my interest in her writings, I'm sure Nestor is anxious for their return. I would appreciate any insights you can provide.

Thank you!

Warm regards,
Folly

She does not have her own seal to hand, so she presses the wax with a blank stamp and then lightly sketches a little swan into it with her fingernail.

She slips out to find a page to deliver the note before returning to the throne room.


Kim follows Brita as they walk through the corridors towards Misao's quarters. They arrive and Kim looks around, but does not touch anything. "May I have a moment alone?" She stands, hands tucked in front of her, and waits.

Brita regards the Lady Kim steadily for several beats. She glances quickly around the room, inhales as if she is about to speak, then breathes out and bows before retreating to the door. "I Will Wait," she says, before stepping into the hall. She lean leans back against it.

Brita feels the effort of someone attempting sorcery, most likely not successfully. A moment later, Kimiko steps back out of the room.

Kim doesn't explain anything. "Thank you. I wish to be returned to my home now, unless the King will release his prisoner to me for punishment."

Brita nods in acknowledgment and says "The King will Take Time to Determine a Proper Punishment – it May Be to Release the prisoner to You, But there are Many who were Wronged by his Actions. Would You Wait for a Time Here to Await Cousin Misao's Return? I Chose to Go Home when My Trial was Complete. It seems Logical that Cousin Misao Did Also, but I Would Not wish Either of You to be Chasing Tails and Missing Each Other. I Did Not Know Cousin Misao Long, but I Could Attempt a Sketch to See if We Could get in Contact. Or a Sketch of Your Home to Contact Someone There if You Can Describe a Location for me."

Kim is calm and still and waits for Brita to finish speaking before she replies. "I am sure the criminal has done much harm, but I expect your King to deal with me fairly. I yielded my capture to your prince to avoid unnecessary bloodshed between us, but I do not yield my claim. I will press it in person, and relay my request to the King to be returned to my home.

"I do not wish a painting to be made of my home or of myself. It is not acceptable."

Brita bows to Kimiko, “No Offense was Intended, Just a Mode of Transport and Communication.” She cocks her head to the side, “But the Painting in The Gallery is Still Acceptable? I Could Ask that It be Removed for You.” Brita gestures down the hall and begins moving back towards where Random was located. She will flag a page down with, “The Lady Kimiko Wishes to Speak Again with The King, if He is Still Available in the Throne Room. If Not, Please let Us Know When and Where He Will be Free.”

The page nods her understanding departs, dashing through the castle once out of immediate view. Kim follows Brita's lead.

"It is a painting, no more. I am surprised it was moved here from Amber."

"Our Uncles Can be Surprisingly Sentimental," Brita notes. As they progress, she asks, "How did the Monks Take Cousin Misao? Two Other New Cousins were Also Captured, but it is Not Clear How the Monks are Finding And Trapping Our Kin. Our Uncle Huon was Also Taken, but That May have Been By Design to Protect Others in His Care."

Kim frowns. "They opened a sealed cave that led to my home. I suspect they had been there for some time, and I do not know why they chose this time to strike. It is a thing I would learn of the monk I captured, before he is executed."

This is the most talkative Kim has been. "I intend to close the way more forcefully when I return."

Brita nods as if this is a given. "It Would Help to Also Understand How They Came to Have a Path to Your Home. How Did They Know to Open It? Where Did the Path Start? You Could Also ask The King if We Can Assist in Unmaking the Path for you."

Kim bows, slightly towards her. "Thank you for your kind offer," she says. Brita doesn't think she wants to take The King up on Brita's offer.

A Page opens the door and announces Brita and Kimiko.

Random is standing near the throne. He's holding the ankles of Lark, who is standing on his shoulder.

Kim bows to Random.

From atop his shoulders, Lark bows to Kimiko. Random holds her very steady, and she only sways once.

"Ah, Kim, I heard you wished to speak with us again. How was your tour of your child's chambers?"

Kim is clearly battling with her impulse to say something about Lark. She wins. "It was kind of you to have your niece show me, your Majesty. Now I wish to return to my home."

Random nods. "That's fine with me. I'll tell them you were here when I see them again."

Kim takes a breath. "Your Majesty, I have no way of returning without your assistance. May I request that you send me back to my home?"

Random looks as if he's surprised. "We're not that formal in my court, not unless there's people around. You should call me Random. Anyway, I was wondering why you came to announce your departure. But I understand your problem.

"I've sent for someone who can take you home, and they should be here soon."

She bows. "Thank you, your Majesty."

Lark waves at Brita.

The door opens and Vere enters. Random is standing near his throne, holding on to Lark's ankles, as she stands on his shoulders.

"Ah, Vere, have you met Kimiko? She is an old friend of ... several of your kinsmen."

He turns to Kimiko. "I was expecting someone else, but perhaps you are already familiar with Prince Vere? His father is Gerard."

She looks at Vere. "He favors his father. We met briefly when I captured the miscreant responsible for stealing my child. I wish to also press my suit for you to return him to my custody and just vengeance."

Random sighs. "I'll let you know, but probably not."

Lark reaches down and pats the King on the head.

"Thank you, Lark. Vere, what can I do for you?"

Vere nods a greeting to Kimiko and Brita, and smiles at Lark before turning his attention to the king. "Simply making a formal report that my mission to Paris is complete. I can give you details if you wish, or..." he smiles, "... I could prepare a detailed written report. I have also spoken with Robin, and have information on the current situation in Pontus."

As Vere is speaking, the door opens to reveal Jerod. One of Random's secretaries appears to whisper something to which Jerod nods an affirmative before entering. He nods to Random but remains in the background so as to not interfere. He is conspicuously absent his new sister and daughter.

"I am only accepting reports in Iambic Pentameter this week, if you're up to the challenge." He turns to Jerod. "Hello Jerod, I'm apparently doing round-robin court today. Well, not actually round Robin, but you know what I mean."

Kim is a study in frustrated control. She's doing her best not to lose her composure.

Jerod chuckles. "Of course, your Majesty. I shall await my turn with great anticipation."

He does, however, not proceed with any questions but drops back into Court mode, waiting patiently for his time to discuss "Family business" as he had previously mentioned...meaning Kim won't be around to hear it. His expression is one that is studiously neutral towards Kim's frustrated control...which Random can probably figured means he's vaguely amused by her trying to deal with Random but not enough to actually show it.

Vere tilts his head to one side as Jerod speaks, then with a bow to the king he says:

"To aid the queen of fair Rebma I went
My King's Command, also mine own desire
To prove my dear sister, despite reports
Was not in foul treason herself ensnared
Nor were my folk in aid of fallen Moire
Or dark souled monks who sought through arts arcane
To pierce the lore that through the Unicorn
Upon the heirs of Oberon of old
Has made of them a dread and mighty force.
Success I now with most glad words do tell
Of capture of the hated and despised
One known as Chew, who long has been desired
A foe, as well the king doth know, now caught.
But more, in mine own quest to seek the truth
In dark reports of plots, intrigues and plans
Right glad was I to lay to rest all fears
And give report back unto Paris' throne
The sister of my blood was not at fault
And such suspicion could be laid to rest.
Now then, I stand before the King my liege
To find what task he would me now take up
So best to serve the realm, to serve the king."

Random at first looks bemused, then attentive, then seems to be rooting for Vere to nail the whole thing.

"Bravo!," he shouts at the end, applauding. Lark pinwheels her arms a bit, but stays atop the King's shoulders. "It's only the month of Horseman, and already I have a candidate for the declamation of the year." He smiles at Vere.

"I dunno yet, let's finish up the other business and see."

Brita, after acknowledging the Lark Crown with a bemused smile and a small wave, has been quiet. She acknowledges Vere and Jerod as they each arrive with a nod.

Jerod returns the nod with a polite smile.

"Our Guest has Met her Child, the Crow girl, Sire.
But Not her Other Child who Is still Out," Brita reports.

From the back room, Benedict sweeps in.

"Right on time," says Random, not turning.

"Your majesty," says Benedict, giving at least passing royal courtesy.

"Kim," he says to their guest.

She glares at him, then nods. "I beg the favor of a return to my home in Hikariguni."

"I hear you have another child," says Benedict.

She waits a moment. "Misao," she replies. "They were kidnapped by your enemies. They invaded Hikariguni. They are too young to leave home."

"That's for the King to say," says Benedict. Random shrugs.

Kim returns to her original request, which comes out more like a demand. "Then send me home, that I may continue my search for them."

"What of your other daughter?," he asks.

Kim seems confused about his interest. "The Warrior? She is feral. I wish you well with her."

"I speak of our daughter. Lilly."

If Jerod's expression could become anymore studiously neutral, it would become the neutrality defined as the measurement against which all Shadow would be measured. As it is, he has learned more in 30 seconds concerning Kim's family connections than he might have ever been interested in....along with the inevitable questions that he is sure will arise from those connections.

As it is, he remains in the background waiting to see who speaks up...or if Benedict follows through to remove Kim back to her home.

Vere is perfectly still, no expression on his face, no bodily movement to distract the attention of the speaking parties. A pivotal scene that could well have come from one of his beloved romance novels is occurring right in front of him, and he doesn't intend to miss a single nuanced word, movement, expression or silence.

On hearing Kim call Tricksey feral, Brita goes stiff but, before she can jump to her new cousin's defense, she is silenced by hearing Cousin Lilly's name. Her face runs through a gamut of emotions - surprise, confusion, revulsion - before she finally ends up shaking her head while staring at Kim and saying "You are Worse than Auntie Freyja!"

Kim looks briefly from Brita to Random, and then turns towards Benedict. Brita thinks she has annoyed Kim. "I will allow you to take me home. You may tell me of your daughter as we proceed."

Benedict looks at Brita. "Call on me in Avalon after my return, I would speak with you."

He turns to Random. Random seems to be trying not to laugh. "With your permission, Sire."

"Permission to.... Oh!, yes. I'll want to hear a full report when you're finished. In iambic pentameter."

Benedict bows to the King and holds an arm out to Kimiko. She takes his arm and they head for the main door.

Vere gives a formal bow and says, "Fare well, Lady Kimiko. It was an honour to meet you."

Brita bows briefly to Uncle Benedict in acknowledgment of his directive.

Kimiko acknowledges both bows as if they are for her. She is 50% right.

After he has escorted the baffling Lady Kim out of the room, Brita turns back to Random. "My Brother Does aWait Your Direction. What Would You Wish done In Shadow Tyrell? Should I Call Him Back Here, Your Majesty?"

Random looks at her for a second. "It's vexed us twice now, hasn't it? It seems like we should station an ambassador there. We can find someone we trust but would be happier to see less of. But that's not Conner.

"Yeah, call him, he's free to go, or to come back here. If he's found anything interesting about the place, it would be nice to know."

Folly slips in a side door while Random is talking. Lark waves at her from her perch on Random's shoulders.

Folly grins and blows her a silent kiss.

"What else?, I'm having a two-for-one sale," he says, looking from Vere to Jerod.

"I have a couple of items but I will cede the floor to Vere for the moment." Jerod says.

Vere nods to Jerod. "Thank you, cousin. Your majesty, I have a report from Robin on the status of her mission. First, she was able to send Lady Morgne to Rebma, and Lady Laudine and Sir Ywain to Paris, as planned. When she arrived in Arden she found it on a war footing. Firelilies are over-running Arden and are spreading to surrounding shadows. The paths they make are quickly followed by forces of the Green. The Rangers are barely holding their ground against them. Julian is requesting reinforcements and supplies from the throne." Vere nods to Random. "I would assume you have already heard from him on that. Julian has also charged Robin with shoring up the surrounding shadows to try and trap the Green in Arcadia. That and a response to the firelillies are works currently in progress."

Vere tilts his head to one side momentarily, then continues. "Robin and Penthelisea then set out for Pontus. On the way they were attacked by the forces of a goddess of Arcadia. They defeated her forces, and the goddess did not remain. Robin reports that shadow is now resistant to the Green.

"She also reports that Pontus itself is showing signs of Green infiltration, with at least two active firelily trails into it. The Queen of Pontus has assigned sixty mounted warriors including a couple of named heroes to aid the Rangers of Arden. Robin reports that more aid is needed. Specifically, someone able to aid in manipulating shadow to assist her would be of value. She expects to be in Pontus for a few more days depending on how long it takes the Amazons to mobilize their troops. Once ready she will lead them back to Arden, then continue working on shoring up shadows."

He smiles. "She also reports that she is working on developing a strain of firelilly eating moths." He bows. "This concludes my report on Robin, sire."

Random looks annoyed at the mention of firelillies and moreso about them being in Pontus.

"Those things. Well, I'm open if Julian's protege wants to genetically engineer a bug to eat 'em all. I mean, what could go wrong?" He lifts his eyebrows, as if he doesn't really believe his own statements. And yes, Julian would like some support, but it's hard to imagine who could provide him forest-ready troops that wouldn't end up being targets of the green themselves.

"I'd ask you to get her recommendations on how to resolve matters, but I it sounds like she's taking matters into her own biogenetic hands."

He sits down on the throne and Lark immediately scrambles to balance on the top of it. Random takes the opportunity to slouch sideways across the armrests.

"Vere, if you would ask Julian what help he could use, we can find a way to get it to him. In fact, if he doesn't need you to fight, you can take that mission yourself if you want it. Sorcerers, Efreet, some of Jovian's dragons, whatever makes sense. Probably not Rebman tritons, but hey, if they are up for it, they're supposed to be remarkable fighters."

Random turns to Brita. "Maybe Conner should go kidnap some Monks who are good at genetic engineering and have them figure out a way for us to fight the firelillies.

Brita, who has been pulling out her Trumps and moving slowly towards the side room Folly exited from while listening to the reports, grimaces briefly at the thought of engaging with the monks in Any way. "Cousin Robin is Creative Enough Without the monks. I would Not Trust their Assistance." She bows briefly to Random. "I Will Call My Brother Now," she says before ducking into the side room. She leaves the door partially open and remains near it to hear further conversation as she concentrates on her brother's image.

Folly looks like she's weighing something in her mind, and settles on calling out after Brita, "Come find me when you're done, if you don't get called away Elsewhere...?"

Vere nods at the king's words. "Your Majesty."

Random rolls his head around and it stops when he gets to Jerod. "I'm still processing that last bit, mentally, but I'm pressing onwards. Want to tell me about your daughter?"

"Her name is Cordelia. Her mother is..." and Jerod stops, pausing to parse thoughts. "...was named Marissa. Cordelia is half-vampyr. She was discovered by Merlin and Celina in a mausoleum under Paris while chasing down a lead from Bend that a daughter of Rebma was in the hands of the monks. She had been there since she had last died." he says, his expression as matter-of-fact as if discussing the weather.

"Once I met her, I knew who she was, even though there should be no logical reason for how she was born. The vampyr of that shadow don't reproduce that way, and her mother died a short time after I met her. I built Marissa's tomb and placed her there so I'm pretty certain on that point."

"It's been busy the last little bit chasing down the monks and grabbing Chew so I haven't been able to talk to Cordelia in detail about her past...only that her mother returned from the dead...which apparently they can do...and that she neglected to mention to me. But based on events prior to the Sundering it could not have been at any point then so Marissa must have returned around the Sundering when I could not go into shadow to check on her tomb. Cordelia's apparent age would approximately fit for the time frame based on how far out in Shadow they were...time scale was around 5 to 1."

He looks at Random directly when he speaks now. There is no challenge in his expression, just the look of a father speaking to another father. "Whether or not she can walk the Pattern is not something I'm concerned with. She's my daughter, and I claim her and all the responsibilities that go along with that. I would ask that you accept her into the Family, subject to the usual requirements of fealty and all."

Folly raises her hand, tentatively. "Like maybe not biting the villagers? Or does she do that? The legends where I'm from--" She hesitates, scrunches up her face, and then waves her hand as if she's decided that description is irrelevant. "Anyway, I'm quite fond of some of them. So if she has any... ah... special needs, let us know how best we can help meet them without posing any more threat to our residents than... you know, an average member of this family."

Vere watches Random while Jeord is explaining his daughter. A very small smile crosses his face at Folly's words, but he shows no other reaction.

Random listens to the telling with rapt attention, only occasionally reaching up to steady a small child balancing at the top of his throne. He doesn't look first, somehow. He just puts a hand or a foot up when it's needed. "That's ... quite a tale, but since you've got the Weir in the family as well, It feels like you're going for the full set of horror movie monsters.

"What's next, are you going to tell me about your mummy?"

This gets a smile from Jerod. A vampyr lover, a half-vampyr daughter, a Weir sister and a Weir sister who was a partial seer/prophetess... yeah, he's got a collection.

The king pauses for a moment, and tries to put on a more regal face. "She's welcome, of course. Any daughter of yours is welcome at our court and to family. I don't know if she can walk the Pattern or not, but that's not a barrier to being one of us."

"Thank you uncle. I appreciate that." Jerod says, meaning it.

"And I was going to beg a favor from you, concerning Cordelia." looking at Folly. "I was wondering if maybe I could introduce her to you...and your merry band of do-gooders. A way to see a different side of life from what Twilight would have offered. If Cordelia is anything like her mother, she would not feed unless absolutely necessary, and there may be other options...I know she likes tea apparently."

"I'd like that," Folly says, "if we can find a safe way to make it work. My merry band is sort of obliquely what I wanted to talk to Brita about. And both of you," she says, indicating Jerod and Vere, "if you've got a minute after this."

Vere nods his agreement to this.

Jerod pauses for a moment, which can allow enough time for Folly to make note of his request as she wishes before he looks at Random. "My last big question uncle is about a guest we have....I understand there is a Moonrider in residence. I would like your permission to speak to her...there is something that Cordelia said in passing, not about Moonriders or Tir, but just something that made me think about them."

"And another opinion on First would be useful," Vere adds to the king. "I like her, and am even inclined to trust her, but I am often not sufficiently suspicious."

Folly smiles. "I like her, but I am right there with you on not being sufficiently suspicious. Or perhaps of wilfully giving the benefit of the doubt even when there are reasons to be suspicious." To Jerod, she adds, "Your sister's sister may also be interested in talking with her. I think..." --and now she looks at Random-- "the Moonriders and Weir are related...?"

Random nods. "Well anyone who gives us trouble is probably related, somehow. It's like 'what a co-incidence, I am also a son-of-a-bitch!', but more specifically In this case. Jerod, this one's yours to answer, isn't it?

"Anyway, maybe we can ask your sister and her brother about First. That might give us a less-than-rose-colored impression of her."

Vere nods again.

"After returning the Weir to Weirmonken, my conversations with Count Valis indicates that Weir and Moonrider are of a common origin point, with that origin being Tir, and the Queen, for whom they blame their situation on." Jerod says.

"The social structure of the Weir appears similar to what I've heard about the Moonriders. Not all Weir are in fact shifters, they represent a minority of the population of their nation with the vast remainder being the support base of the nation as it were, farmers and artisans and such. That minority aspect is also something that I want to discuss with First...its origins especially for the Moonriders.

"It would be logical that if someone had information on First as an individual, it would be one of their opposite number. I can query Rowen prior to meeting with First to obtain additional information.

"Does anyone here have any pertinent details they'd like to share that might not have been widely circulating on First after their arrival here?"

Random looks around, "Well I've probably spoken with her less than anyone in this room, except for Jerod. Somebody else go first."

Lark looks down from atop the throne. "She's bendy."

Random looks up and nods.

Jerod smiles at Lark's comments, liking her as always. He looks around to see if anyone else has any comments.

Vere smiles a small smile, then it slips away as he turns to Jerod. "I do not think there is anything about First-to-the-Fray that I know that I did not mention at the meeting of Cousins. Daughter of the Marshall, granddaughter of the Queen of Air and Darkness, bearer of the Pattern Blade Tizon. Claims that her desire is to find a way to end the conflict between our peoples. For what it is worth, I believe her."

"So do I," Folly says. "I think we also already knew she's floated the idea of diplomatic marriage as one way to end the conflict."

[Random]
"Me, three, but I'm also convinced that she has no plan and is playing it by ear. Which is completely reasonable if you have no fear of your opposition. I've run the 'let's get captured, we may learn something' as a plan myself. But it also means that she's going to run with whatever she thinks is th best plan of the moment. So we want to make sure she thinks that that is the one that benefits us..."


Brita concentrates on the image of her brother as she lingers in the side room.

When Conner answers, her first question is "Brother, How Much Time has Passed for You?"

The image forms and Conner can be seen in the middle of a street market. He is holding a skewer of grilled meat and vegetables in one hand and a metal can in the other. Conner steps to the side out of the crowd and turns to the side. Brita can see over his left shoulder the person he was heading toward in the crowd, Misao.

"It has been a few hours since we last talked." Conner approximates. "What news from Xanadu?"

Conner is out on the streets of Tyrell, wandering. There's only so much internet/social media scrolling an Amberite can do without getting super bored, and Conner has passed his limit. Now he's looking for more information, and perhaps more noodles, than he can get in Tricksey's nest.

"Did You get Lost in the Poke-A-Man and Go Game that Cousin Tricksey showed Us? It Looks to be Much Longer than 'a Few' hours, Brother," Brita says, smiling wryly at her brother as she glances at the busy street beyond him. Then, "Oh! Our Cousin Misao! Lady Kimikosan was Most Displeased to Not Find Her Youngest Child, But she was Also Oddly Dismissive with Her Second Child - Our New Cousin Tricksey! And Then she has A Third Child - Cousin Lilly. Uncle Benedict Came to Lead Lady Kimikosan back to Shadow Hikariguni. He Wants me to Seek Him in His Realm Avalon Soon." Conner can probably intuit her trepidation at that last bit.

"So many children from the same shadow Mother." Conner remarks. "Unusual in our family to be sure." Conner muses for a moment. "It is an honor if our Uncle Benedict wishes you to seek him out. Shadow Tyrell is on a series of Shadowpaths leading to the seas of Avalon. I was tracking them back there when I got caught up in things here. This might be a good jumping off point if you intend to travel in Shadow to Avalon."

Misao is in their humanoid form, with more masculine features, but still recognizable. They have adjusted their clothing to blend in with the people on the street and now wears a black shirt, black pants, and a long tailored black coat. Their hair is silver and short. (OOC: think Lt. Joshi in Blade Runner 2049, but masculine and more battered.). They appear to be eating noodles at a street vendor's stall.

"Would You Travel With Me to Complete your Tracking?" Brita asks. "I would Need to Alert Our Uncle of my Drparture, but I Could Go Shortly. I Should Also Alert King Random that Cousin Misao is Found."

Misao looks up and spots Connor. Looking around to see if they're being watched, they quickly finish their noodles and then cautiously approach.

"Konneru-san, yes? Hisashiburi desu." They bow slightly and wait for a response.

Conner nods to Misao's greeting. "I speak to my sister Brita through the cards. Bide a moment." Conner returns his attention to Brita. "I would be happy to have you join me." Conner replies. "I had planned to work with Merlin on a sorcerous work. We would have to work in a shadow location and perhaps you would be interested in being a third pair of hands in the endeavor."

"I Would Like to Travel With You Again," Brita's smile is enthusiastic. She has begun to move back through the doorway into the throne room. When she has regained Random's attention she nods in agreement with Vere before interjecting, "Uncle Random, My Brother Conner has Found Cousin Misao in Smokey Shadow Tyrell. He has Offered to Accompany Me to Visit Uncle Benedict. We Could See if Cousin Misao Wishes to Travel With Us."

Random turns his head, not quite owl-like, but with remarkable flexibility. "So, what do you think Benedict wanted you to come see him about? Because I have an idea and but I want to hear what you think, first."

Vere's face becomes even more inexpressive than usual.

Brita expression does not look like a deer caught in the headlights - it is more of a tundra moose when confronted with an unexpected intruder. Does she bolt or charge? "I Have No Idea." Charge it is. "The Ways of Your Brothers Still Eludes Me."

Random raises his eyebrows. "They can be subtle, but often choose not to be. Consider that he was leaving with Kim on his arm and he came immediately, dropping whatever he was doing when we told him she was here.

"And do you happen to recall what you said to Kim just before he invited you to come visit?"

Brita nods, "I Said She was Just Like Auntie Freyja." She shrugs. "She Is, Although Auntie Freyja only has Two Daughters, so Lady Kimiko-San is Worse."

Vere sighs, very quietly.

Brita nods along to the voices in her head and then says, "Ah! So Uncle Benedict Wishes to Know More about Auntie Freyja?"

"Gotta say, now I kinda want to know more about Auntie Freyja," Folly says. The glint in her eye as she shoots a look at Random is... playful, perhaps? ... but it's a wry sort of amusement.

Jerod, as always, remains the study in neutrality even as he parses out the various bits of information that have been coming out. He does marvel though that apparently Dad was somehow worse... which he finds oddly amusing given the nature of Family.

Random smiles at the sound of Folly's voice, but addresses Brita. "I'm sure he'll let you know whatever is on his mind when you get there. Maybe give him a few days to wrap up whatever he's doing at the moment."

He looks over at his nephews. If he was about to speak, he's interrupted. He has a look on his face of bemusement, and slouches back into the throne. "This thing needs better lumbar support."

Random holds up a finger to his kin. "Ossian, I'm Random everywhere. Or at least I am when I'm anywhere. Do you need a rescue?"

At the word "rescue", Jerod tilts his head slightly though his remaining body posture does not change. He waits patiently to see if more dire action is required.

Vere relaxes fractionally as the conversation moves away from Brita and Benedict's interaction, and tilts his head in interest as he watches Random's side of the trump conversation.

Folly casts a glance at Lark perched on top of the throne and prepares to help her down if she needs to get out of the way quickly.

Random relaxes and keeps speaking. He waves off any would-be rescuers.

"Well, that's a fun surprise. You probably shouldn't stay there too long, in case her mum shows back up.

"What do you mean a changed personality? Changed like Dara ate part of her personality? Or changed like 'got disillusioned about her options in Xanadu and decided to retire to being in charge of the shadow where her adopted kids lived' changed?"

Random looks around, and eventually, up.

"I think I want her father's opinion on what we should do for her, but I don't see any need to alienate the woman, except perhaps alienate her from her prior bad companions..."

Vere's head remains slightly tilted as he enjoys the mental puzzle of trying to put together the clues from Random's side of the puzzle. A woman Ossian has come across in his travels, a relationship with Dara, mention of adopted children, Random's comment about the woman's father...

Folly, meanwhile, looks like she might have a pretty good guess who they're talking about. She frowns with concern.

Random keeps speaking to Ossian through the Trump.

"If she wants to talk to me, that's great. Last time I talked to her, we didn't know who her parents were. Keep your trumps handy and don't mess with Dara if you can avoid it.

"We probably need someone to watch that place for us, because if she left Meg there, she'll be back. Whatever happens, this is exactly the kind of thing you should share with your uncle-king when you learn something. Well done, so far."

Brita is whispering quietly off to the side, relating the play by play to Conner. Finally she says, "I Do Not Know if I am Dismissed Yet, Brother."

Random is temporarily distracted, but doesn't drop the trump call. He puts up a finger, a "I heard that! Yep, if you want to be."

Vere nods slightly when he hears Meg's name, but does not react otherwise.

Brita grins at Random's ability to juggle multiple tasks. She bows to the king and after a brief consultation with the voice in her head, will disappear into a rainbow's shadow.

Random shrugs. "If she can, it's a trick she knows and we don't. You probably should ask Merlin. He might know."

Then he closes the connection. He stretches up and grabs Lark by the ankles. "Off we go," he says, lifting her down.

"OK, thanks for sticking. Hopefully you all resolved everything while I was talking to Ossian. Anything left on the royal plate?"

"Nothing on my side uncle." Jerod says. "I have an intro to make Cordelia on the Rebma side so I'll be around for a couple of days. Assuming nothing odd happens, I'd like to complete the walk downstairs after that."

Vere spreads his hands in a negative gesture and shakes his head marginally.

"No, nothing immediate," Folly says to Random, then turns to Jerod and Vere. "But I would like to touch base with the two of you about something, if you've got like five minutes."

She holds out her hand to Lark; apparently this is not so private that junior members of the court are unwelcome. If her cousins are agreeable, she will lead the way to a nearby room.

Random slides out of the chair. "I'm gonna go beat some goatskins."

Jerod nods to Random for his suitably "royal" departure from the throne, cause only Random could do that and get away with it as still being royal before following Folly out.

"Uncle," Vere says as he gives a respectful nod of the head. He follows Folly and Jerod.


Folly leads the way to a nearby room and then turns to face her cousins. She does not immediately sit, although she gestures to the comfortable chairs in the room in case Vere and Jerod would like to do so.

"So," she says. "Martin has asked me to step up as a Knight-Commander and take over some of the day-to-day running of the Order of the Card. The brief is the well-being of the King -- and by extension the well-being of the Realm. It is also, of course, a means to honor those who saw to the well-being of the former realm while our cousins were off fighting in Chaos.

"I've got ideas, but I also wanted to touch base with those of you who were in Amber during the war to make sure I'm not missing anything. Jerod, I believe you have previously declined the honor, and Vere, I don't recall whether you've ever even had it extended to you. But you both are undoubtedly deserving, if you're interested. And I'm also interested in hearing other ideas of whom we might include -- and that extends to non-cousins. Especially those who've made it to Xanadu and are likely to continue to serve her as they did Amber. You both were involved in places I wasn't; I expect you'll have thoughts on people I might otherwise miss."

"I will be happy to offer advice, cousin," Vere answers. "But my oath regarding Father's health forbids me from accepting any rank or title until he is once again able to stand on his own."

"I understand," Folly says. "May that day come soon."

Jerod settles into one of the offered chairs. "I can think of a few people who might be suitable. As for myself, I might consider it in the future. I declined originally when Martin offered it because the Card is a good thing as I see it. A break from the old days, a way to lay out a new path. Me being part of that early on could have been an issue...even dead, Dad's name casts a very long shadow. The Card needed to be able to stand on its own merits.

"That said, I'd be more than pleased to help and I see a benefit in being an interested outsider. I can say or do things that others of the order might be constrained by due to their oath."

"Good point," Folly says, nodding. "I welcome your perspectives -- both of you. Unsurprisingly, my first thoughts for expanding membership were some of the community organizers in the 'Army of Good Works'. But I'd like to see representation from other areas too. Who comes to mind for you -- either specific individuals, or categories we should consider?"

"I think to provide advice on that front, I'd want to know what your vision for the Order. Martin had his, but defending the King and preserving the Realm is like making a vision statement. It's lofty, but how do we put it that into motion is the question. Since you're going to be the new head, the Order will evolve according to how you see it working." he says.

"So..." and he smiles. "How do you see it working? What do you want it to do?"

"And is your vision of the Order to be one of martial knights who can fight to protect the King and the Realm, or one of talented individuals who use their skills for the Good of the Realm?" Vere asks. "They are not incompatible, but if you try combining the two purposes I foresee the potential for internal schism in the future."

Folly answers without hesitation, "Definitely the latter. Rock -- er, I mean, Ruby -- is more about the martial side, so I see this as the complement. You know, protecting against threats you can't necessarily whack with a big stick, like poverty and hunger. And fostering things that are good for the general prosperity of the realm, like arts and education.

"I'm less sure about the actual organization part, though. Where I'm from, this sort of thing was mostly honorary for previous meritorious service. And at least some of that probably isn't a bad idea. But maybe also providing some structure so those already doing the good work can more easily work together, with a few more resources. But, like, I don't know what being a 'squire' would look like in that model, or if a different sort of structure would be better."

She frowns. "I was hoping to read up on the history of knighthoods and knightly orders in Amber to get some perspective, but apparently Cambina's histories had been checked out. I'm trying to track them down."

Jerod frowns slightly, wondering who might be looking over his sister's works, but doesn't consider it a major issue, given that her research was good material.

"Based on what you're thinking, you don't want a knightly order." Jerod says. "You need a civilian counterpart, something that relies on good will, political influence and the support of the people to great causes, which in turn supports the King and the realm.

"Knightly orders rely on military power to ensure stability. Dad had me looking over stuff in Shadow years back and I ran into these groups called NGO's. They have an organizational structure with oversight personnel and functional groups. The oversight and executive give the marching orders and ensure the functional groups are on target.

"You'd never find them in Amber under Grandfather, he wouldn't have allowed them based on how they operate. But you could use something like them...a group with official recognition by the Crown. Individuals could receive official awards for their distinguished service on very public projects that would tie into the good works to be done, or in the case of Amber during the Regency, recognition of past efforts.

"Since it's not a military organization, it poses no disruptive threat on that front. Since you'd be in charge, you're essentially chief executive and you pick the people you want for your board for oversight and day to day activities. That way you know they have your vision for the future. Random would know what these groups are like, given how much he's travelled so any tweaking could be done to fit his vision of Xanadu.

"As a starting point of course."

Folly nods thoughtfully. "'NG' for 'non-governmental', I'm guessing? So this wouldn't be exactly that, but I see what you're getting at. That's not a bad starting point."

Vere tilts his head to one side. "Are we looking at a confraternity?' he asks. "Minus the religious aspect, of course."

"Yeah, what was the deal with the Order of the Unicorn?" Folly asks, as if that's the logical next question. "That seems to have gone spectacularly off the rails, and we definitely don't want that."

"That happens, I've noticed, when things start to get mystical or mythical." Jerod says. "Your Army of Good Works will be more grounded, more goal driven. It will adapt to the needs of the times, and as it reaches each goal, it can improve itself, change its focus to a new goal. To deal with new social ills that will rise accordingly."

Vere's eyes go out of focus as he considers. "I wonder..." he muses quietly, "I wonder if the Order of the Unicorn became the foundation of the Klybesians. It sounds as though it could well have been a relatively small set from 'we must use our gifts to protect the people' to 'we must find a way to share our gifts with the people.'"

"I'd gotten the impression it had, from a conversation with Corwin," Folly offers. "Something about whatever got the religious orders kicked out of Amber being the same thing that got Caine kicked out of the succession, although he didn't know the precise details. And he and Florimel wondered whether Caine had 'fallen in with them again' -- which I took to mean the Klybesians as a continuation of his old Order. But I don't know any more details than that."

"I would think perhaps in that situation it was not Caine that was the problem but his son Abel." Jerod says. "And if he defends his kids the way he defends Amber, Oberon would have most certainly tossed him out of succession."

"Corwin said that whatever Abel did was the reason that Oberon took his Pattern sword away and gave it to Bleys." Vere smiles very thinly. "I received the impression that Abel is not a subject to raise with Uncle Caine."


"So, you mention the side of your family descended from Finndo and now Benedict wishes to see you." Connner murmurs softly. Conner turns to Misao. "My apologies for keeping you waiting but my sister speaks with His Majesty and may come through to us when she is done."

Misao nods and steps back, keeping an eye on the crowd while patiently waiting for Conner to finish.

Brita nods at her Brothers insight and adds to Random in the other thread, "Ah! So Uncle Benedict Wishes to Know More about Auntie Freyja?"

After that, Brita goes silent for a bit and then whispers to Conner, "Cousin Ossian has Called The King. Our Cousin is With Someone - a Woman who Has Changed – who May Have been Partially Eaten by Dara. The King wants to Consult Her Father..." She pauses, a confused look on her face suddenly clearing. "It is Cousin Meg. The Conversation Appears to be Almost Done, but I Do Not Know if I am Dismissed Yet, Brother."

Brita grins suddenly and whispers to Conner, "The King has Given Permission to Leave. Can you Accept me Now?"

As soon as Conner is ready, she will reach for his hand and step through, appearing through a waterfall of rainbow colors.

Conner smiles and offers his hand pulling Brita back onto the streets of Tyrell City. "Well now we can get started.: He turns to Misao. "Greetings cousin. How did you find this place?"

Misao bows to Brita. "Hisashiburi, Burita-san. I hope you are well." Turning back to Conner, they continue, "I walked the Pattern in Rebma. I asked it to send me home, to look for my mother. She was not there. I went looking for her. I walked through a tunnel and found myself here. I could not continue. I am very glad to see you." and indeed, Misao seems greatly relieved.

Conner chuckles. "It would seem you could have saved yourself a trip. Apparently, your Mother arrived at Xanadu looking for you. Our Uncle Benedict is currently returning her home." Conner informs her. "So there is a shadowpath from here to your home. That goes a long way toward explaining how the monks found you."

Brita smiles and bows to Misao in greeting. " MataAimashita, Misao-san!" Brita says - her Goddess Capitalization still coming through even in another language. "You Have Sisters! Crow-Girl Tricksey and Knight-Commander Lilly, Both Fine Defenders in Their Own Unique Ways."

Misao's expression rapidly goes from extremely relieved to extremely startled. They don't seem to know who to address first, as their head swivels from one cousin to the other, almost as if they are watching a tennis match. After a long minute of processing this information, they take a deep breath and turn to Conner first.

"My mother went to Xanadu? And she is returning home? Does she know that I am okay? Does she blame me for...what happened?"

"I relay what Brita told me so I will defer to her." Conner replies.

Misao's head swivels back to Brita. "Sisters?!? Older or younger?" This is apparently very important to them based on the stress they place on the question. "Please tell me more about them!"

Brita responds to Misao's first question with a serious mien. "The Lady Kimiko-san Was Informed that You Had Been Rescued. She was Upset that The King could Not Direct her to You Immediately. She Requested to See Your Rooms, Alone. I Think She Attempted to Scry for You, but Sorcery does Not Work in Reality Xanadu. She also Was Not Pleased that Punishment for Your Kidnapping were Not Hers to Enact."

Her stance and face relax as she continues, "Your New Sisters are Each Wonderful in their Own Way. I Do Not Know their Order Relative To You, but Cousin Lilly has been Known to The Family Since Before the Battle at The Abyss. Her Father is Our Uncle Benedict. She is Thus an Accomplished Warrior."

Brita waves a hand at their surroundings, "Cousin Tricksey is a Fierce Protector from Here in Shadow Tyrell. She Works in these shadows to Protect Those who are Not Strong Enough on their own. She Reminds me of The Tengu."

Misao nods at each statement. They look disappointed that Brita can't answer the order question, but do not address it. After listening to everything Brita has to say, they give one final nod, then speak:

"Thank you, Burita-san. Do you (OOC: including Conner) think it would be advisable for me to return to Hikariguni? You would be welcome to come with me. Or I can come with you."

"For all that we seem to forget the rule when convenient, none of the family should be traveling alone. We have disordered the monks but who knows who else hunts us?" Conner remarks. "So you traveling with us is a given. As for the destination," Conner pauses, "that depends on whether you wish to have the conversation with your mother about your new place in the cosmos now or later."

Brita nods, "We are Safer Traveling Together and You are Safer Traveling with Those of Us who Can Walk Through Shadow. I Would Like to Meet with My Uncle Your Sibling Father Benedict Sooner rather than Later. We could Go to His Avalon First and Confirm Your Mother Was Returned to Your Home."

Misao bows. "I defer to your experience, Burita-san. I have a few items I wish to gather, but I can be ready in half an hour, if that is okay with you."

Assuming Conner and Brita are okay with this, Misao leads them to the place they've been living in...think capsule hotel...and clears out their safe which holds a few valuable and/or sentimental items, wrapping them in silk covers and packing them carefully but quickly into a bundle, which they sling on their back.

While Misao is gathering her things, Conner takes the time to send a few texts to Tricksey's people to let them know that the Crow Girl's nest will be empty for awhile and to keep an eye on it.

Unless Brita or Misao object, Conner intends to drive them to where ever Conner's ship is, and sail it out of Tyrell following the shadow paths towards Avalon.

That works for Brita. She will check in on the news outlets to find out if there is any more info about the Monks and Cousin Abel.

Misao loves the ocean, although they'd rather swim than sail. But they'll follow Conner's lead.

Brita finds that the news feeds are full of talking heads speculating about the withdrawal of the monks from the hospital, where they are going, what made them leave, if the city is unsafe and that's why the monks left, etc.

It's clear that nobody knows anything and yet people want to talk about it around the clock.

Conner gets no response to his texts, but he may not have expected one.

The Lorraine is ready to sail, and Conner thinks Commander Garlic is relieved to be almost underway.

Conner's ship is larger than Skidbladnir, but Brita will slot herself in to the working flow as needed. She will spend time talking with Misao about Traveling Through Shadow, pointing out the Changes that her Brother makes as He Guides the ship across New Waters.

Misao watches, listens, and asks intelligent questions. This is the power they were trying to harness when they left Hikariguni and it's evident that they want to achieve proficiency as soon as they can.

Commander Garlic eases the ship into the shipping lanes, commenting that they seem to have escaped from the customs house mostly unscathed. He sets course "outbound", confident that the Royals will get them where they are going, or to a shadow-path along his rutter.

Conner molds the stuff of shadows, using his years of experience to add and delete elements from the scene. Avalon's water comes first; color first, and the way the light strikes the catspaws where the wind ruffled the water. Waves, spray, and the shadows of fish and sharks came in their turn. The smell of the shore and the sound of the seabirds followed, and over the horizon Conner saw the Silver Towers, rising on their island off the shore of Avalon. The siege of the Silver Towers seems to be lifted, and they still stand.

It's unclear if Ramjollock and his people are still occupying it, but at least no one has thrown them down.

Conner makes a point to explain what he is doing to Misao and importantly, to be able to feel when he does it.

Misao feels a warping of reality, as if the fabric of the Shadow they are in is twisting, and then a release of tension as the change is made and suddenly, they are in a new Shadow.

"It's like a spectrum, is it not? Gradually changing from one thing to another."

Commander Garlic looks over at Conner. "Orders, My Lord?"

Conner muses for a moment. Benedict is as likely to be on any battlefield in Avalon as his capitol. He needed fresh information and the Maghee were not likely to have it.

"Set sail for Methyn's Port." Conner orders and gives the appropriate heading. "We'll dock, take on supplies and see if we can get news of the Protector."

As an aside to Brita and Misao he adds, "The last time I was there, I organized a mass movement of people by commandeering every ship in the harbor. Here's hoping they don't bear a grudge." Conner makes a note to have more bribes on hand.

"Who did You Move? Did it Benefit The Port to See Them Go?" Brita asks.

"It is a long story." Conner replies. "The short version is that we convinced a large group of people that the prophecy of the Silver Towers rising," Conner indicates the towers in the distance, "was about to be fulfilled and not a single member of their clan wished to miss this occasion. I believe their plan was to simply overrun the town and take the ships they needed. I explained the situation to the town's leaders and persuaded them that it was in their best interests to just let the Maghee and MacAlpine clans use their boats, liberally splashed some valuables about to compensate them, and the operation went pretty smoothly." Conner explains. "I have no idea what happened after I left." He adds. "Hence the concern. Still if the Maghee are still in charge I should be in their favor and if the Maghee have left, I am still the Protector's kin. It should work out one way or the other."

Commander Garlic, having consulted the charts from the chart safe, orders the ship to turn about and sails it towards the port.

Misao bows to Conner. "I think I can see that you change the world around you to fit the world that you want it to be. So you have to know where you are going. What happens if you don't know? Secondly, how do you 'make' that change? Finally, how do you choose what to change in what order?"

"Depends on what you are looking for." Conner replies to the first question. "If it something physical like a beautiful beach with a fancy resort and ready company, then you just add those elements until you reach a place that satisfies you." Conner smiles. "If you are looking for something more esoteric like a place where I can find answers about the Moonrider threat, then you hold that desire in the forefront of your mind and shift as it seems appropriate to your Pattern senses." Conner pauses a bit at the second question. "That is much like asking how one walks. Eventually you just do it. The short answer is force of will. A useful construct I once used is to treat it as a guessing game where you try to predict what is just beyond your vision and if you do that with conviction, you will find you always guess right." Conner smiles once more. "As for the order, largely personnel preference but in general broad details first and then progressively more specific. Shifting shadow on the open ocean to a specific location is tricky due to the lack of landmarks. You have to rely on subtle details like the exact shade of the water's color, the smell of the sea air and the types of fish common to the area. This is one of the reasons Amber laid down Shadowpaths to common trading Shadows. It would be very easy to find near copies of a place rather than the place itself otherwise. Though, the more time one of our Family spends in a place, the more Real it becomes. It gives them a sort of attractive force such that we are likely to rediscover places others have been if we don't have a specific destination in mind."

Brita nods in agreement with all that Conner has said. She adds to Misao, "Personal Preference May mean that I would Start with Smells while You Might Start with the Shapes of the Creatures. You make Small Changes, Tweaks, Until it Matches Your Desired End."

Misao nods to each of them. "Thank you very much."

The port of Methryn comes into view; a shallow bay at the end of series of glacially carved valleys on a mountainous island. The land is green and large enough that there are probably people who don't make their living from the sea. But not many.

The port is not particularly empty, although some of the boats seem to be newer. Two head towards the Lorraine.

Garlic looks at the ships. "Revenue Cutter," he says.

"Prepare to receive them and pay whatever tax and bribe seems reasonable to you." Conner instructs Garlic.

Conner feels the touch of an incoming Trump contact.

Conner seemed about to say more when his face stilled in concentration. "Bide a moment." He tells them walking to place his back facing the deck of the ship before accepting the contact.

"Impeccable as always, cousin." Conner replies to the air with his trademark smile. "How fares things with you? I got a partial update from Merlin not too long ago."

Brita notes Conner's stance and smile, noting no obvious tension. She notes as an aside to Misao, "He Speaks to Another Cousin via Trump Contact." She then turns to monitor and assist Garlic as needed in the Cutter interactions.

Misao nods at Brita's statement and joins her to wait for the opportunity to disembark.

Conner pauses for a moment. "Has there been an escalation of events with the Tritons?" Conner asks. "Last I knew this 'conflict' was happening where we could not see."

Commander Garlic and his bosun have helped a port official aboard the Lorraine. They are near the stern of the boat, and talking. The officials from the revenue cutter seem to be interested in the cargo and passengers and other questions. The Lorraine is clearly the biggest ship in the harbor.

Brita has drifted towards Commander Garlic and the Port Official. She will not interfere, but she is there for support as needed. If there are any Fees mentioned, she may step in to offer payment, given that they have directed The Lorraine to These Shores. As the talk dies down, she will ask after any news of Protector Benedict as she has been summoned by him.

Misao is more or less along for the ride at the moment; their experience of ocean going is that they transform themselves and swim through the water so they really don’t understand docking procedures or port officials, so they are just watching and learning.

The port official is indeed looking for Pilot fees and also to have a harbor pilot on board to direct the ship to a berth. He's deeply suspicious of a ship that is not a merchant and not an ally and is a warship, belonging to a foreign prince. But adequate funds seem to make him reasonable.

"The Protector is on his islands and we are on ours. We are not at war, nor are we allied with anyone fighting against him. If you wish to take on cargo or passengers for Avalon, the port can arrange that, for a standard fee."

Brita gets the feeling that the fees are set higher based on the Lorraine's ability to pay more.

The look of concentration leaves Conner's face and he walks back over. "That was Celina." He tells them. "She wanted some advice around Rebman affairs."

Brita nods, "Is Queen-Cousin Celina Returned to Watery Rebma?" It is sort of rhetorical just to orient Misao to another cousin.

Misao says. "Serena-joo was there when I left Rebma. She was the one who gave me permission to walk the Pattern." They turn to Conner. "I hope she is well?"

The pilot takes his fee and his instructions from the Assistant Harbor Master. The excisemen leave the Lorraine and the pilot flashes a sheepish grin.

"Don't mind him. Unless you are unloading cargo, we should proceed to the 3rd red buoy to starboard. Oh, and can you raise my ensign so that the port knows you've paid your pilot fee?"

As Garlic begins to conclude his business with the Port Official, Brita will step forward and ask " Is there News of Protector Benedict? I Have Been Summoned by Him."

The Port official looks at her, thinking. "We have no quarrel with the Protectorate, and are neither at war with him nor allied with him against any of his enemies. I have heard no news of him, but that he might be hunting pirates to the north."

Brita thanks the official for the information. She waits for Conner to decide what they are doing next.

Once they have answered the questions, the Port officials return to their boat and row towards the shore.

Conner gives instructions for Garlic to dock long enough to take on fresh food and water and get maps of the area then to set sail towards the Protector's lands heading north if possible. (Rich is less familiar with the geography than Conner.)

Addressing Misao, Conner replies, "Celina is well and preparing to dive into Triton matters once more."

Misao bows in acknowledgement.

Commander Garlic makes arrangements to dock and talks to the pilot. The pilot has a cousin who can provide supplies and the port office can provide maps for a nominal fee. It will take a few hours to reprovision the ship and does Conner wish to give the men their liberty of the port?

There's a nominal fee for that, which the pilot will also accept.

Conner glances at Garlic. "Keep the men close but give them their shore leave."

"Very good, Sir. We'll be ready to sail in four hours, on the tide."

Misao has been paying close attention to the people on shore. As soon as the port official has departed, they shift their clothing to appear more like a better-quality version of the attire of Avalon.

Brita notes the change with a nod of approval. She turns back to Conner and asks, "Shall We go Ashore As Well?"

Garlic addresses to his officers. "Port watch has loading duty, until watch change, then switch with Starboard. Anyone late back from Liberty will either be fined or left behind. Junior Officers rotate to shore with your watches, and the MPs from the opposite watches assigned to shore patrol duties. This is a rough port, and I don't want to have to slow up his lordship bailing your sailors out and you don't want to do that either.

"Number One, you see if you can keep them from totally robbing us for supplies. Do your magic, Lir knows I hate that. And see if we can get decent wine here."

"Yes, Sir," replies the Lieutenant, who then proceeds to implement the orders.

Conner nods his approval to Garlic's orders and answers Misao's question. "We might as well. I did not get a chance to see much of the port that last time I was here what with the mass migration. It might be interesting to see if there is any reason to have stopped here."

After they have docked, Brita disembarks and turns to Misao and Conner with a mischievous smile. "Where shall We Go First? Shopping or the Local Alehouse for Some Gossip?"

Misao displays their outfit. "I think I could be of some use in collecting information, while you complete your mission," they say to Conner.

The town is disappointingly small, and focuses on the business of exporting materials of war, including foodstuffs, shipbuilding, and repairs and the mercenary trace. They had arrived just too late to be in the town's main tavern when the brawling started, and it didn't seem conducive to actually sailing today to go in and get arrested with the locals. The market has a variety of goods from workmanlike weapons for outfitting companies to arms and armor of reasonably high quality.

Even in its sheath, Halosydne attracts more attention than any of the cousins.

After some time visiting the market stalls and mercenary tents of Methryn's town, the three return to the Lorraine, with not much more than trinkets for souvenirs.

The ship is stocked and is ready to depart. The pilot is aboard and the ship eases out of the harbor at the appointed time.

Misao takes the opportunity and privacy of their cabin to finish tweaking their form until they are indistinguishable from the locals. If either Brita or Conner appear curious, they simply say:

"During my time in the city, I... discovered what happens to those who do not fit in."

And they leave it at that.

A sad Truth. Brita will clasp Misao's shoulder and say, "I See You."

It's not a long trip to Avalon, the famed "Isle of Apples". The port they land in is not quite in view of the Silver Towers, but Conner knows where they are from here, which is not far.

It's a short ride from their next port of call to the Castle of Avalon, located on a cliff side and surrounded by orchards. The three riders are the subject of some attention as they head from the port to the castle, but no one accosts them.

Eventually they arrive at a castle that looks formidable and yet also as if it has been attacked more than once.

The guards are on a casual alert and it's not a surprise to anyone that the party is challenged as they approach.

"Annouce yourselves, please. Friend or foe?"

Brita calls back, "Lord Conner, Protector of Aqueous Rebma; Honored Misao, Heir of Fabled Hikariguni, and Lady-Ranger Brita, Purifier of Asgardian Waters. We are Here at the Summons of Prince-Protector Benedict." She does try to mute the Voice of the Goddess, but she is Asgardian and can likely still be heard on the other end of the castle.

A slight pursing of Conner's lips betrays his feelings about how they were announced but he says nothing.

Brita gives him a wince of apology.

"Welcome, your Lordships, to Castle Avalon. The Castellan will see you at the Castle."

The gate is opened for them and the voice that called out seems to be an older military officer. "The Castellan has been notified of your arrival. Would you like an escort into the keep?"

The keep has all the subtlety of a freight train and seems large enough to hold a small army. The Castellan is quickly located and introduces himself. "I am Lynch, My Lords and Ladies. The Protector is out riding but should be back within the hour. Is there anything you wish from the hospitality of Avalon?"

"A place to rest and refresh ourselves while we wait for the Protector." Conner replies. "The last time I was here I was present at the raising of the Silver Towers. I would appreciate being caught up on local events since then." He adds.

Brita will follow along at this point.

Misao bows politely to the Castellan and listens attentively.

The Castellan brings them to a sparsely decorated but cozy room with chairs and a bar with drinks and light refreshments. It's the kind of place a visiting diplomat (like Conner) would refresh himself before talking war and peace with the Protector.

"The Silver Towers still stand, and immediate attempts to dispose of them seem to have come to naught. They are the reason the Protector is on patrol; he wishes to see the extent to which the mercenaries are able to use Avalon against the Towers.

"We've had few visitors since then, although there is a representative of their Righ, Ramjollock, here as well. I'm sure you'll meet him this evening, if you do not rush off."

The Castellan will answer questions as needed, and then leave the three to their own devices.

Misao selects a plate full of food and then sits at a table, taking out drawing supplies they acquired in Tyrell and begins to sketch what they've seen of Avalon so far while daintily eating.

Brita thanks the Castellan as she, too, makes a plate. She notes to Misao, "You Can Sketch me As Well - Start Learning How to Create a Trump Image of Family." Then she settles down to eat.

Misao pauses and looks up. "I made a Trump of Otoosan. He was very proud of me." Their voice wavers between happy and sad. "I will do my best to create one of you, if you wish."

And, given permission, they start sketching Brita.

Trump sketching can be undertaken. High quality materials, a subject who is present and who knows what Misao is doing, all will be positive modifiers, but it still will be a while before it comes together. Misao thinks it will take more than a day to complete, but they can definitely get a good start in a watch, or however long it will be before Benedict arrives.

The food is filling and tasty. There seem to be a lot of apples in pretty much all the food.

Misao looks up after some time. They don't know how long it has been, but that's not uncommon when making art and beauty.

Benedict has arrived. He is wearing riding clothes with an open jacket. His eyes scan the room. "Brita. I see you brought your brother. And Misao, who I have not yet met."

Brita rises from her seat to great her Uncle with a small bow. "Yes," she responds simply. "Cousin Misao was in Shadow Tyrell when I was Relaying Information to My Brother. They Both Agreed to Accompany Me to See You."

Conner rises and inclines his head as is proper to Family in their own domain. "Greetings Uncle. As it happens, I was travelling towards Avalon before I learned of Brita's need to visit here and heard of Misao's travels causing concern to her Mother. I thought it best to assist on both fronts."

Misao also rises and bows "We meet for the first time. I am of Hikariguni, the child of Kimiko-dono, and of Xanadu, the child of Lucas-dono. I am well. I hope you are well."

Benedict bows back, slightly, as befits a King. "We meet for the first time. Welcome to Avalon, Misao. I am Benedict-heika. Your mother was here recently, but I have taken her back to her shadow, Hikariguni. Do you want to meet your half-sister? My daughter Lilly is in the castle if you are inclined to meet with her."

Misao blinks in shock. "My mother? Does she know... does she know I am well?"

Benedict nods. "She's aware that you were with Random and walked the pattern, I believe."

Misao nods, obviously relieved. "Arigatoo gozaimasu, Benedict-heika."

"I would be happy to meet my sister. Is she older or younger than I am?"

Benedict nods. "You'll have to work that out between yourselves. I think she's likely older, but perhaps not very much older. It depends on if you are asking about life experience or birth order. Time is not constant through shadow, so those may be different. To finally set it, you would need to ask Kimiko."

Misao nods again. "Again, I thank you. Is my sister available?"

Once that matter is settled...

Benedict is very economical in his facial expressions, as if 'hard to read' were a defensive manoever. "Conner, thank you for coming. Brita, do you know why I asked you to come here?"

Brita glances at Conner briefly but quickly turns back to her Uncle and says, "No, Your Magesty of Fruitful Avalon-Sir."

"'Uncle' will do, as we are all family here. Now, do you recall what the last thing you said to Kimiko was? You said 'You are Worse than Auntie Freyja!'" He doesn't imitate Brita's voice, but it sounds pretty insulting in his normal voice.

"Kimiko may not know who Freyja of the Slain is, but she certainly interpreted your tone. She would have felt it within her perogrative to call you out for the insult."

Benedict looks to Conner, but keeps speaking to Brita. "Had that happened, what might the diplomatic consequences if you had won, having both insulted Kim and then humiliated her?"

Brita is silent for a bit, processing. "Uncle. Although it Did Not Happen, I Will Apologize to Structured-Hikariguni Lady Kimiko-san for Her Children's Sake. I was..." a pause as she searches for a word "Surprised by her... Uneven Reactions to the Knowledge and Re-Introduction to Her Children."

Conner nods in approval to the first part of Brita's statement. He is satisfied that she has gotten the point. He waits to see if Benedict is.

Benedict nods. "An apology seems sensible. I intervened to prevent Kimiko from raising an issue. As her host, it was, per her standards, acceptable for me to take offense on her behalf. I did tell her I would not be engaging you in an honor duel, which was what she assumed at first. We agreed that would not be fair."

He takes a breath. "If you have an adequately strong relationship with Misao, perhaps you can ask them how to apologize to their mother."

Conner nods in agreement. "From what little I have seen, things are highly formalized in their culture. Best to seek advice rather than cause another insult. Thank you for your intervention Uncle." Conner adds. "The style of Random's court has us used to acting en familie. It is a good reminder that different rules apply with those who are not."

Brita gives another small, somewhat militaristic bow to Benedict, "I Will speak with Cousin Misao After They have had Time to Meet Their Sister. Do You have Aught Else for Us, Uncle?"


Edan is up early, and finds Aramsham is saddled and ready for him to go on patrol. He checks and adjusts the mighty stallion's saddle girth, and bridle and mounts up.

Edan rides from the Lamp's grounds on the south side of Xanadu around to where they can reach the cliff top to begin the patrol proper. To the north is Broceliande and his sister and her Rangers. To the south is the cliffs he has just taken a horse up, and to the west are vast swaths of forest receding into the mountainous distance.

Nominally, he's near the land-grant that Random gave to Vere and Robin.

Sunrise is early on a clifftop overlooking the vast ocean to the east, but the forest itself is dense enough that when the patrol leads into it, it will get darker quickly.

Edan turns to the others. Today he's gathered Khulum and Abd al-Malik, the two brothers he released from jail. Also a pair of Knights to round out the group, especially Ruby transfers with sorcerous skills to practice Third-Eye work (or two of his own riders if the transfer is over). They have horses, curved swords, bows and single-shot rifles if they get far enough afield.

"Those who can, will use your Third Eye to see who and what are out here. Abd, you will map as we go. Khulum, take notes. We're just going to catalogue what is out here and keep an eye out for strangers. We will go north, then west, then curve back to here. I don't plan to stay out overnight, but you have all brought your kit just in case. Any questions?"

The Amberite knights from Ruby are more comfortable in the woods than Edan's desert raiders, but even they aren't rangers from Arden. They can, however, show Khulum and Abd al-Malik how to avoid low-hanging branches and how to follow animal trails, as well as when not to follow them.

Khulum is trying to talk his way out of his unease. "It's one thing when we're near the lush greenery of the base, but out here, a horse in a place I cannot give this mare her head if she detects danger, I am not sure what the right instincts are, hers or mine."

Edan spots a few predators, but nothing large enough to threaten five knights.

The canopy is close overhead, and the sunlight only sporadically reaches the ground. As they penetrate deeper into the forest they run into obstacles, most easily overcome. Keeping track of North and West is not easy, and it's not clear that anyone other than Edan is sure of the direction they are traveling in. The knights are not ready to patrol alone, or at least not ready to patrol alone and come back.

About half a day's ride into the woods, the first real problem comes up. The path to the west is bisected by a deep ravine. There's running water at the bottom of it. It doesn't look easily crossable.

Before reaching the ravine, Edan responds to Khulum: "We must learn this forest as well, and how to maneuver in it. The terrain is not all that different than the Glass Desert; it is the forest that is different, and I understand you. If an enemy slips past Broceliande, this is the way they will come. You two are the best of my scouts, and I know you can adjust. We must keep at it until we learn."

"I will learn, Madhi. But I suspect I will be knocked from my horse more than once." He looks at his brother. "Fewer times than you, al-Malik."

"It is a wager, my brother. You may our ancestors grant you relief from your competitive nature... tomorrow."

For now, Edan keeps silent about the others having little or no direction-sense, for that is more worrisome.

Edan is not a ranger either, but fortunately he's spent a lot of time with Bleys on his Grand Tour of shadow-travel, so he shares what he's been told of going into/around/over and when to make that decision.

Over might work. Down, across, and up might work. Leaping won't work, even for Aramsham. Hand-over-hand on the foliage, with probably one risky/cinematic leap between the east and west sides. Horses can't do hand-over-hand, of course. Not these horses, anyway.

Running across a felled tree that spans the chasm? Not impossible, but it would take a really brave horse. It would take some time to make a makeshift bridge.

Edan gauges where the sun is, and shares what he knows with the others. "If it is a land grant to Vere and Robin, I do not wish to cross into it. Not today. Normally here, I would use Similarity to make a bridge across for us. And again, I would not want to create a semi-permanent entrance. I will mark this place, it is a good spot to turn and start heading back." So he creates a ball of fire between his two outstretched palms, and shapes it to his desire before levitating it up to a good spot in the branches.

Edan makes the spell. It goes well and seems very visible in the dimness of the core of the forest. Edan thinks it will be visible for some distance.

The knights are all suitably impressed; sorcery is not common for any of them. Though the Lamp knights know of Edan's skills, it's rare to see them used.

They seem more at ease riding back. Perhaps too at ease.

Edan notices this, and goes on full alert himself for everyone's benefit. To get everyone in the right mood, he talks about the time he saw a cockatrice. And how there's more of them all over. And a little bit about all the nastiness in Arden. But doing these patrols are part of learning how to deal with such things, and they'll be learning about all the weaknesses and tactics.

The men pay more attention to their scouting. Nobody wants to meet a cockatrice. They pepper Edan with questions about how he tracked it, how he fought it, if anyone was turned to stone.

The Ruby Knights want to know what other dangers are known in this forest.

"I'm not sure. That's why we're here." Edan passes along anything he's heard of that was in Broceliande, including the troop types Random has brought together that might cross over this way.

"As far as the cockatrice, well, I cheated. I made a fiery spectacle of myself in Paige's forest and used Sorcery to look at everything that looked at me. Here's what it looks like, though, and what its tracks look like..."

If Third Eye was like sonar, Edan is actively pinging everything around them, as much a warning as it is a tool for visualizing.

The knights are all interested in learning about the cockatrice. They would like tips on how to fight one without getting turned to stone. They mention that there was one in Xanadu, but it had been brought there for a cockfighting ring.

Edan's third eye gives him the feeling that someone is watching them. More like a scout than a stalker, he thinks. They're magically powerful, but not really doing anything aggressive.

"I've never actually fought one. I did make some observations while I cloaked myself in its shape..." Edan calls a stop for a short break, dismounts, and makes a very small smokeless fire (incidentally showing any knights that don't already know how this is done). With the tiny flames under his hands, he makes an image of a cockatrice and casually shows them how it moves, how dangerous that head and neck is, and the fact that they're being watched. He also launches a second spell.

It's not sorcery, so it's shadow magic. Weakened tremendously here, but not as much as it would be in Xanadu proper. It doesn't seem hostile, per se. More like a Jann than a true djinn. But a spirit of some sort. Perhaps it came from Brocéliande.

Edan waits until he finishes the thought he's telling to the others, then, still crouched, hopefully not threatening, he turns to the general direction of what he sensed.

"Come on out. Would you like to talk? I won't start anything if you don't."

There's a laugh, and a woman steps from behind a tree. Or perhaps from within a tree. The rules of the forest don't seem to apply to her. She's wearing a long white gown. Despite the dappled lighting, she appears to be in a pool of sunshine.

The light is playing tricks, or maybe it's the distance, but it's hard to say if she's four feet tall or twelve.

Edan stands then, and bows with arms spread and empty hands turned outward. "Apologies, if we disturbed you. I am Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon al-Kehribar al-Salaam al-Djinn-al-Ghanii. I serve King Random, creator and ruler of Xanadu-on-the-Mountain." He doesn't bother adding that he's referring to the huge mountain at his back.

Out of an abundance of caution, Edan is ready to block any incoming attacks if they happen, the full introductions not yet made.

There's no attack, but the wind shifts and the woman is bathed in a sudden shaft of bright light. Edan would consider it sorcerous manipulation, but he would've known if that was what was going on.

"Hello, Edan-of-the-many-titles. I am the Lar of the Grove. Greetings from the Forest."

She smells of the forest.

This makes Edan smile, even before he stands up straight. "I assume that you know my sister, then? Paige is the Warden of Broceliande." He gestures to the forest to the north.

"We keep the peace in the city on the mountain. It seemed safest to map out what is between us and my sister."

She nods, but apparently means 'no'. "Broceliande is known of, but she is in another's forest, and not ours."

She looks troubled, and the light shifts suddenly. "Broceliande is too close to Arcadia."

Mentally, Edan edits his mental Shadow map to show Arcadia between Broceliande and Arden, with Xanadu and Amber on either side of that. He almost nods, but stops before he sends the wrong message.

"I wandered into the edge of Arcadia once, traveling through a place called Arden. The tea was nice. I wouldn't recommend any other part of it." He smiles again, but not as much. "We do want to patrol and travel through here for Xanadu's sake, though I'm sure you noticed we are not so experienced. I also want to not disturb the forest. If we're going to cross each other's paths, I'd like to be friends. What can I do to make that happen?"

She nods at his mention of tea. "Gods exist to personify and personalize the ineffable reality of a place, like a forest. Your kind does not deal well with things that are real but not concrete, so you apply your patterns to them, and give them names.

"There are many meanings to friendship with the forest. But a forest is slow to bond with people, who live and change so fast." The light follows her words, or perhaps the tree branches move, revealing more or less light in response to her.

"How would you offer friendship to something so vast and diffuse?"

"I will, of course, bring my words to Random, so that he may approve them," Edan says. "But we are vast in ourselves, Lar of the Grove. How would you pass up such an opportunity? We would offer support and assistance to the forest from outside threats, if you would offer the same to us within your borders. And we can find and provide nearly anything, given enough time. Does the forest have a need, something you lack?"

Edan notes that his men do not seem to share this one's definition of Gods, but no one actively challenges her.

She shrugs. "How does one wolf take the bargain and live with man and become a dog and yet her sibling does not?" Lar pauses, waiting a while before adding. "Things we do not need to decide this day will not be decided this day," she says, as if it is a proverb.

"What is the meaning of the magic light you have left in the forest?"

"It is a marker. Two of my cousins, Robin and Vere, they plan to live out here. I will not intrude upon them." Edan blinks. "Will any of that- the marker or the homestead- cause undue difficulty for this place? Robin, as far as I can tell, spent her whole life in the forest and is far more comfortable here."

She shakes her head. "I am not a creature of prophecy. Not in depth and not in areas beyond the seasons and the sunrises."

After a moment, she adds "one of most things is fine for the forest, even one fire lays the ground for new growth. Unless you do aught to change my opinion, you may venture into the forest."

Just when Edan thinks she must be done speaking, she adds, "if you are patrolling, I would like to know of your findings. Would it be too much to expect a report, perhaps as frequently as every season?"

"I absolutely can arrange that. Even if it is as simple as meeting here once a season." He pauses. "If you happen to look in on my people here in the forest and see they have need, if you were to render them some small aid to help them along, I would consider it a great favor."

"An they do no harm to the forest, I would grant that favor." She pauses. "I cannot stop a man determined to fight a bear from fighting a bear."

Edan has to smile at that one. "That's fair. I was thinking more along the lines of, 'I'm really lost', or 'we're about to fall off this cliff.' " He looks around. "Is this a sufficient place to meet? I have a friend, an oak tree in a place called the Blue Earth. He's...very slowly...waking up. If you're amicable to letting me plant one of his acorns here, you would always be able to contact me through him."

She thinks on it. "What is his name? I am partial to Oaks," she adds. Looking around, there are a number of them. "Give me the acorn, and I will nourish it."

"I...don't know," Edan says as he looks through his pockets. "He's quite old, but not yet awake enough to tell me. We've communicated mostly through feelings. I've been calling him the Blue Oak." He finds what he wants and holds out an acorn in his very warm hand. "You've gone far, my friend," he says to it. "You have my blessing, such that it is." To the Lar, he says, "Let me know when it's a strong sapling, yes? Then I will link them."

She nods, once, and comes forward to accept the acorn. Up close, Edan sees that she is very tall, and does not seem to be small when standing next to Aramsham. "I accept the seed."

She steps back. "May all our interactions be as fruitful as this one, Edan-of-the-titles."

"I'll be doing my best to make it so," Edan responds. "Our meeting is good fortune for us and for Xanadu. Fare thee well, Lar of the Grove, and I will see you again." He gives the others a significant look, meaning, "Be ready to depart and keep patrolling."

When he looks back, Lar of the Grove has stepped back into the grove, and Edan does not see her anymore.

Khulum returns his look. "Madhi, how should we understand this being? Jinni? Ilāhat? Does it need to be brought to a higher understanding of The Merciful One?"

The Ruby Knights aren't sure what that means, but they keep quiet.

Edan thinks on that, because his response is certainty going to reverberate down the road. "I would call it a djinn, and a very powerful one. You have seen that in this land, so far from the Dar-es-Salaam, there are many creatures and peoples who do not know the way. Our allies are like the Dhim, protected unbelievers, for they perform a necessary function and we could not do our work without them. Through their work and contributions they maintain their protected status. This Lar, for example, her entire existence is rooted in this forest. If she does her job, she helps us do ours. We protect her, and she makes us stronger.

"We are in a foreign land, and not in the majority. It's a different kind of fight, my brother, and one that requires much patience. You've not seen it before, I think, spending your life in the Land of Peace. If you live your best life here, be the best example of the Way that you can, others will come to you to learn. The process is very slow; but there is time."

"You bless us with your wisdom, Madhi. Truly, we live in a time of wonders."

It's a good day's work, but they're not quite done. Edan leads them back in the direction of Xanadu, back to the borders of the forest. He was planning to set an overnight campsite in the trees, but now it seems not to be the best place. He chooses a secondary site at the tree line after looking around with his Third Eye.

"This is a good spot. Close enough to mitigate our spells, far enough that they will still work. With some effort, anyway. This part is for you," he says to the Ruby knights. "What Principles do you work with? We can work on something advanced."

Sir Hale looks "Sir Brennan and Dame Aisling gave us instruction in defense, Sir Edan. He from Sorcery, She from Chaos. The techniques are remarkably similar, involving preventing the opponent from being able to take the time to throw magics at you.

"Not that different from fighting an opponent with a gun or a crossbow, really, Sir," adds Sir Whithier. "I learned from Dame Aisling that the easiest magics are often illusionary, designed to distract or divert you from fighting so that they may gain advantage."

"That's fair. Illusion is a major tool in my toolbox." Edan sets himself to making a little fire, one with lots of smoke. "Since my opponent usually relies on their sight, most of my illusions are visual. But they don't have to be." He starts making a few serpentine gestures with hands and arms, not unlike calling a cobra out to dance, and the smoke begins to follow his movements. There's even the faint sound of a recorder striking up a hypnotic tune.

The Ruby knights, veterans of the Great War at the ends of the universe, are not too surprised to see magics from a scion of the sorcerer kings of Amber and a son of Prince Bleys. The Knights of the Lamp know the Madhi is the son of a dutiful and respected Flame Maiden and a Prince of Heaven returned to guide the people.

They all watch the smokesnakes with interest, but not as something they think they could make happen.

A good thing to know. Edan smiles, just a little. The smoke grows thicker, impeding sight, then fades away.

It is night. The sky is covered in a carpet of glittering stars. There is no moon. It is also very hot, sandy, the edge of the deep desert, and the group is standing at the edge of a quanat that flows under an enormous step-pyramid to the left. Lanterns and braziers give light and even more heat from a hundred spots on the side of the pyramid facing them, and their shadows dance crazily around them. They can feel the grains of sand shifting underfoot, the smell of smoke and flint and burned sand all around. The faint sound of sand slithering all around, the crackle of the flames. The taste of smoke and hot stone on their tongues.

"I meant that sight is not the only sense to trick. If you're in an illusion like this, it's probably too late. You'll need help to break out, or find a way to solve the puzzle of controlling your own senses within. You'll have to stop the caster before they get this far."

The knights watch. "Illusion to cover sound, sight, smell. This is how you end up fighting invisible ninja assassins," says Sir Hale.

His partner in the Ruby Knights nods. Everyone knew you couldn't beat an invisible ninja assassin.

Edan thinks a moment, then twists his arms and hands like turning a giant volume knob. The smoke appears again, and they can see the real world through the floating threads.

"I think you've helped me make a decision. Very hard to train someone, harder if they don't have the aptitude for it. It is how it is with Sorcery. But if I created an item or two, like glasses that could filter out this kind of illusion, that would do a lot to make up for the disadvantage."

"Mahdi, this would rival the treasures of Sinbad. But one would need to realize one needed to look, would one not?"

His brother adds, "It seems dangerous to look too frequently beneath the veil of illusion that is every day cast over the mundane."

"I agree. And it will take some time to research a couple of ideas. I will keep you informed on my progress. In the meantime, if I was up against a Sorcerer, this is what I would do to make things more difficult..." and he explains tactics and attack patterns and targets, then drills them all through it for practice.

This is what they expected and they are both good natured and good at drilling. Edan sees strengths and weaknesses in each knight, from a tendency to keep the guard too high in Sir Hale to a tendency to commit too soon to a defense in Khulum (typically shored up by his brother's commitment to offense). Nothing is fatal, but every one could improve. They take their lesson and work on incorporating the advice, especially about sorcerers.

Edan brings the troops back, praises them to everyone that matters, checks to make sure he hasn't got baby-watching or some scheduled or unscheduled thing to handle, and if he's still free he sets about gathering a few important reagents for the next big project.


Gilt is as good as his word and sets in motion all the things that Harsh needs to get settled. Soon he has his own rooms, clothes (with more in the way in the nearest approximation of Golcondan style as can be achieved), and a staff.

The rooms Harsh is assigned are relatively near Gerard's but not on the same floor, and smaller. Perhaps this is because Harsh is not a Prince, perhaps it's because he's not in a wheelchair, perhaps it's because he's a new arrival.

What he finds is he has a small suite with a bedroom, a study and reception area, and a functioning bathroom with running water, hot and cold, and a tub and shower in addition to the sink and toilet. Everything is made of wood and metal and actual porcelain (not that Harsh would know if it were plastic). The bed is wide enough for two and comfortably furnished with blankets; the study has a desk and chair for working and a couple of comfortable chairs to sit in, plus a fireplace.

The woods are all light colored and the fabrics are all light and neutral. It's not like a hostel, exactly, but whoever put the room together was ready for someone to come in and impose their own style on it. Harsh noticed that Gerard's suite had paintings and mementos of what must have been his own many voyages in the living room, so clearly there is room for individual decoration. This suite just doesn't have any yet.

The colours are too plain for Harsh's taste, so he makes a note to start seeking out textiles and furnishings that are a little more ... vivid. For the first time in some while, he feels a mild pang of something alarmingly like homesickness--thinking of the brilliantly decorated walls and jewel-coloured cushions and drapes of his uncle's home in Kolkata.

A tailor comes with several assistants to take Harsh's measurements and asks what kind of clothes he'd like. He sketches out some outfits with Harsh's guidance, and also shows Harsh what the current fashion in court wear is so the tailors can make garments in that style as well. They want to know what Harsh's colors are, which they ask as if there is a particular significance to the term.

It's easiest to stick to the blues and greens of the Golcondan navy, and to nudge the tailor as far as he can into the direction of kurta and trousers. He also decides he's going to have to bring some Golcondan textiles back here--the materials of Xanadu are very fine, of course, but his homeland (still his homeland, no matter what, he thinks) has many that are finer.

The tailor isn't particularly familiar with the style but they're clearly used to accommodating eccentric requests. Under Harsh's instructions, they sketch out several ideas for daily wear and formal wear that suit his needs. The fabric samples are all very high quality and there are more colors than appear in this rather bland room, so he'll have no trouble getting more vivid clothes.

They also ask about his symbol, again with the same sense of meaning.

Harsh's original Golcondan uniform coat is adorned with trim depicting the frigatebird, and that, he reckons, is as good a symbol for himself as any.

The next order of business is to summon his crew.

Having to explain his newly-discovered connection to the royal family is dicey--he's determined not to give away his mother's long-kept secrets (her shame, he thinks, and tries not to think it). And so he gives them a story that is true from a very high level--that his lost father was of the family's kin. He plans to stay here for a little while longer at least, to work out the implications of this situation, but as soon as he can arrange it, those who want to return to Golconda will be able to. Most of them--Chandrama in particular, eager to see his betrothed again at last--would like to very much, but Karthik and Rifat say that they'd like to think about it. They seem to have taken a liking to Xanadu.

Once that business is complete, Harsh begins the work of educating himself--reading everything he can get his hands on, talking to people, and so on. He doesn't rush to meeting with Gerard again, however--he is still processing how he feels about that whole situation, and decides he will give himself some time, or come when he's called, whichever comes first.

The first advice that Harsh gets is to go to the library. The castle has its own library, with a pinched little spectacle-wearing fellow called Nestor in charge of it. He sends some of his staff of assistants to fetch books for Harsh.

"Much of what you want won't be in books, though I'll bring you what we have," he tells Harsh. "The Lady Cambina, King Eric's daughter, used to say that most of your family's story was only known to its own members. Many of the old histories are, you might say, edited."

"What histories are not?" Harsh says, a little joke that he knows isn't really all that funny. "But I'll certainly keep that in mind as I go."

He is able to triangulate at least some of it from what he heard aboard the Vialle, plus what he's picked up since his arrival. Still, by the end of his first day of study, his head is swimming a bit.

One of the books Harsh has been reading is Cambina's report of the recent war, which covers a lot of ground about the family, for all that it assumes familiarity with the major players. It's not about Xanadu, but takes place in a kingdom called Amber.

Based on these reports, the family has a lot of strife, not quite to the level of fratricide. While it's not that Harsh thinks Martin lied to him, the cooperative sense that the Prince fostered is clearly counter to the stories he's been reading. Perhaps, deliberately so.

Harsh's notebook is increasingly crammed with marginalia now. He is somewhat less surprised by the strife--indeed, to his mind it's more unusual to find a harmonious royal family, all things considered.

The sound of the library's great doors opening and closing filters through the stacks, though by the time Nestor pokes his head around to see who entered, they had already disappeared. Elsewhere in the stacks, Rowen contents herself with sifting through the tomes, recreating the organization system in her mind, if one exists, while randomly pulling books off the shelf to discover what they hide in their pages. She's not consciously trying to evade notice, but seems to manage it nonetheless.

Eventually, she comes upon a familiar face and approaches, quieter than most, until she's nearly upon him. "Fair afternoon, Commander Majumdar. I might have expected to see you anxious to get back to a ship rather than spend time in a library." She holds in her arms a single tome that appears to be about ducks and how to "make them pay." Gone is the dress that he saw her in last, replaced with a simple shirt and trousers in earthtones, cut trimly so as not to flow around her body.

"Lady Rowen." Harsh starts a little when she speaks and he quickly gets to his feet to greet her and pull out a chair. "Yes, well, many things have changed. I'll be happier when I'm back on a ship, but I have much to learn first, apparently."

"I'm sure you'll make yourself back to one when the time is right. Are you enjoying the hospitality here? What has changed?" She slips gratefully into the offered chair, full of questions. "What are you reading?"

"History," he says, sliding a book over for her to examine at her leisure. "This one by the late Lady Cambina. It's ... an enlightening account, particularly for one such as myself."

"I haven't seen this one before," she says, reverently caressing the binding with her fingertips. "Growing up, I had many books like this. Mother made sure I studied them. I think she knew that one day they would come for me. Cambine is-- was my sister. Smiling somberly, she lifts the book a bit to check the spine before opening it to see the writing inside.

"Did you know her?" Harsh asks. "Or anyone else from the family?"

"My home has always been in Weirmonken. Before Prince Jerod returned our brethren from Amber, she was the only one to visit. It wasn't often, but it was good to know I had family connected somehow to this family. They were practically mythical."

"I envy you a little, if you don't mind my saying so," Harsh says. "In that you, at least, knew that all this existed. To discover it all, and to discover my own connection to it--it has been quite a lot to take in."

Rowen lifts her shoulders in a slight shrug, opening the book to look upon the calligraphy. "It's been a similar experience for me, though I guess I have the advantage of knowing the lore beforehand, however outdated. In some ways, it all seemed like myth or legend, even though I had my mother and sister to tell me about it. I never thought I would actually get to be a part of it." She pauses, letting a smile tug at the corners of her lips. "Maybe a little. A girl can fantasize. So, what's your connection?"

A startled look, then realization. "Oh. You--you weren't there, were you? You'd already gone out when they said..." He trails off, then starts again. "The Prince Gerard. He--he is my father."

"Oh! How fabulous!" she exclaims as she leans over and grips him on both shoulders for a friendly little shake. It's a surprisingly strong grip, though the shake isn't. "That's wonderful news. Well, maybe it isn't--it was very unexpected after all--but... welcome to the mythology?" she adds with playfulness in her voice, alluding to a conversation on deck.

Harsh laughs at that. "Thank you. It is ... I am still not completely certain how I feel about it all, but I think on balance, I am ... happy?" Just the faintest upward inflection at the end there. "It certainly throws a fresh light on many puzzlements I've had all my life."

"Have you reached the age where it seems like you stay younger than your friends? Did you ever fall ill? Did you ever have to hide your strength?" she asks, battering him with rapid-fire questions. The way she drops her chin into her hands, elbows firmly planted on the table, she may as well have been recounting her own puzzlements.

"Of aging--I hadn't noticed, but I'm never ill," he says. "I've never had to hide my strength, but I imagine a number of the men I've sailed with have some story about how they thought I'd drowned before I came back up, little the worse for wear."

"Explains a lot, does it not? The family is legendary in their strength and abilities, Gerard the moreso for his strength. There does seem to be a lot of variation between them. I only know of the generation above us, our aunts and uncles, and only what they put in books or my mother observed." She pauses, flicking a glance at the book in front of her. "I'm sure that the portrayals have been... idealised."

"Cambina's is the best I've read so far," Harsh says. "But I can imagine that other histories have their own--let us say, interpretations." He laughs a little, shakes his head. "I feel as if I'm studying for my lieutenant's examinations all over again. So much to learn."

"The good news is that we're so green that they can't demote us further and it seems they wouldn't kick us out." She pauses to reconsider. "I suppose they could imprison us if we misbehaved enough."

"Wasn't planning on causing that much of a stir," he says, deadpan, and then smiles. "Indeed, I'm still undecided on what my plans for the longer term are. Though I'm considering an offer that Prince Martin made."

Rowen cants her head with curiosity, raising a brow. "Was it an offer of adventure?" she asks, though perhaps her sense of adventure may differ from his. "What else might you do if you didn't take it?"

Harsh is not entirely certain of how much Martin wishes his plans for Lark to be known, even within the family, so he errs on the side of caution. "A sort of prolonged voyage of diplomacy and exploration. Which on the surface sounds simple enough, but even in the short time since I've learned about ... my roots, I fully expect that it will not be so simple. So I suppose you could call it an offer of adventure." He grins. "It's appealing. I could certainly find a place in the Navy if I wished, but the prospect of seeing the world--the worlds, even--it's difficult to turn down."

"I would love to see the worlds. It sounds like anything that's possible can be found somewhere. How fascinating would that be?" she asks, leaning back in her chair. "When do you set sail? Is that how you say it? When do you leave, or have you not decided yet?"

"As yet, it's uncertain," he admits. "Prince Gerard--my father--has suggested other members of the family with whom I ought to meet, and so perhaps that is my next step. And then, we shall see where the wind takes me. And you? What are your plans?"

"There's certainly no rush. It would be best for us to meet as many of our kin as possible. Besides, it seems we would benefit from this 'Thing' that the king spoke of, our birthright, to enable us to walk the shadows." She considers his question, but it ends in a light shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know. I had gotten accustomed--and truth be told, bored--of the missions my lord had been giving me. Now that anything is possible, I'm not sure. I think I would love to explore a bit. The others mentioned all manner of foreign things, like magic boxes that display images and sounds. That sounds fascinating."

"Sometimes too many choices is more unnerving than no choice at all," he says. "I suppose the best thing to do is follow what interests one the most, and see where that leads. Which it seems is almost guaranteed to be something interesting."

"Alex said he came from a place that sounded very advanced, though it also sounded like it was beholden to entertainment. It sounded frivolous. I wonder how that works," Rowen ponders. "At the same time, I would like to know more of what became of my sister, Cambina. Surely someone knows how she came to pass. Whether they are willing to part with that knowledge, though..."

"You might be expected to prove yourself in some manner," Harsh suggests. "There's the matter of the thing--the Pattern--but there may be other factors at work as well. Most likely, no shortage of them in fact."

"The Thing itself sounds very much like a test in itself, and everyone seems to be so vague about it. I have no idea what it would take to prepare for it, and yet it seems like if we're truly of the blood, it would be our birthright and we should succeed," she muses, lightly stroking her hair as she ponders out loud. She leans back in her chair, bracing her feet against something under the heavy table to push back on two legs. "The more I ask about it, the fewer answers I get. I'm beginning to think the only way we'll find out is to assay it."


There is a knock on the door to Harsh's chambers. When he opens the door he sees a young man with a short beard and long black hair worn in braids. Two locks of colored hair, auburn and silver, are braided into a true lovers' knot over his right ear. Trousers of a blue so dark that they appear black in most light are tucked into knee high black leather boots. He wears a gray shirt under a tunic of azure, patterned with dark gray celtic knots.

The young man bows to him. "Commander Harsh Majumdar? I am Vere Gerardson. May we speak?"

The door opens on a man who might be Vere's age or even a little older. Curling dark hair worn a bit long, a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, dark skin, dark eyes; he wears a knee-length marine blue tunic with a high collar and gold trim over loose trousers of a slightly lighter hue.

When Vere introduces himself, Harsh freezes visibly for a moment before bowing himself, palms together in anjali mudra. He then opens the door wider to admit Vere. "Of course. Please--come in, and I apologise for the shortcomings of hospitality. Shall I call for refreshments?"

The room is still fairly basic Xanadu standard, with the usual neutral furnishings. Harsh is, however, slowly beginning to put an individual stamp on the place--the chairs and couch now have brightly jewel-toned cushions, and there is a faint scent of good incense in the air.

Vere enters, glances quickly around the room, then turns back to Harsh.

"Food and drink, and the ability to play the roles of host and guest, can be useful in reducing tension in a potentially awkward situation."

He smiles slightly. "My own tendency, in such a situation, is to become overly formal and analytical. I hope you will forgive this tendency in myself."

Harsh can't help but smile at that. "And my own tendency is towards formality and the rituals of etiquette--which is the way of Golconda, in fact. I expect we shall find a way to meet somewhere in the middle. Please, make yourself comfortable."

He rings for a page to bring food and drink--chiefly according to Vere's taste, and only then does he finally seat himself.

The palace staff knows Vere's fondness for cheese, fruits and nuts as a between-meal snack, along with hard cider.

Vere takes a seat as well, and thanks the pages who brought the food and drink. Once they are alone again he says, "I am told that until recently you knew nothing of the multiplicity of worlds. This must all be very new and strange to you. While I was raised away from the greater Family, I knew from an early age that my father was from a different world, and that one day I would walk the paths of the multiverse." He smiles slightly. "As you talk to our many cousins, you will no doubt find that each one has a very different story of their lives. Our elders were anything but consistent in the ways they lived their lives."

"So I've gathered," Harsh says. He picks up a nut but doesn't crack it, instead rolling it in his fingers like a small toy. He doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.

"I knew nothing of my father," he says. "Of--our father, I suppose I should say. Only that he had gone away before I was born, and they spoke of him in a way that suggested he was dead."

There's a longish pause and Harsh can feel his face reddening. What he says next is said quietly, struggling a little to get the words out. "I didn't even know that my mother was my mother until I was twelve--I believed she was an aunt, and I an orphan."

It's still difficult, even knowing that things are different here, to speak the truth so plainly, and to a stranger. But he feels he owes this new brother the truth.

It is at this point in the conversation that the brothers abruptly notice a body dangling outside Harsh's balcony. While its appearance is quick and obviously unexpected, they've enough time to recognize the body is young, dark-haired, female, and lavishly - nah, bizarrely - dressed. She swings out and in, her feet briefly touching the railing, before letting herself fall again, presumably to her death far below. They may have imagined it, but both swear they hear a distinct, 'Tee hee!'

Then, with equally unexpected speed and grace, the woman grabs the railing, and pulls herself up and over the ledge. She rolls into the room, quickly pressing herself against the nearest wall. Scanning the way she came, she grins with mischievous delight. Time passes. Then more. Her grin brightens, growing intensely satisfied with herself.

Only now does Tricksey realize that the room isn't empty. She stares at Harsh and Vere. Blinks. Frowns. And finally raises her finger to her lips. "Shhhh... Crow tag. Winning."

Vere is on his feet instantly, a knife in one hand and the other extended defensively to catch any incoming thrown weapons. It's clear to Harsh from his reactions that his new-found brother is a highly trained warrior.

At the intruder's words Vere blinks once, then says, "It can be hazardous to enter rooms abruptly and without warning. Mistaken impressions are liable to occur."

Harsh, too, is on his feet in an instant—he isn't a warrior trained in the way that Vere was, but he's well accustomed to being quick on his feet in an environment where delays can be fatal.

He does, at least, recognise Tricksey, as one of the many new cousins coming and going at the same time that he was arriving and meeting Gerard, and he relaxes a little.

What in the world does she mean, though--"crow tag"?

"Shhhhh!" Tricksey insists, unfazed by the two men - and the fact one is armed. A moment later, two pleasantly plump crows land on the railing, looking around. The woman grins brighter, tightening her body to the wall. The birds quickly fly off, apparently continuing their search.

"Crow Girl win!" she announces, standing up and stretching with unreserved smugness. She performs a brief, twirling victory dance, spinning her school-girl skirt. And then freezes mid stride. Sniffs the air. Her eyes lock on the food tray. "OH! Cheese!"

She finally realizes Vere is armed. She stares at him accusingly, "Why have pointie? Is really good cheese?"

Vere sheathes the knife and bows. "Preparation to defend when someone unknown appears suddenly," he explains. "Please join us, the cheese is excellent." To reinforce the greeting he softly give a corvid caw of welcome to a flock mate.

Tricksey nods to Vere's words, smiling as the weapon disappears. "Crow Girl understand. She very intimidating." She puffs up her chest and poses for confirmation. While the offer of cheese is greeted with appreciation, Vere's use of Corvid takes her aback for an instant. Then pure, unadulterated joy, she flaps her hands and dances about. "You speak! You speak!"

She utters a string of corvid sounds with perfect mimicry. If Vere understands bird-speak, Tricksey replies, "Greetings! I see YOU! We are one. We are friends now, Oh He of the Magnificent Upper Body Strength!"

Vere laughs briefly and responds with the call for, "I see you, flock mate."

Harsh watches all of this with a plain expression of bemusement on his face. Then he remembers his manners and bows in greeting to Tricksey, and invites her with a gesture to join them.

"Please, make yourself at home."

At Harsh's words, Tricksey raises a brow. And then grins. It is an odd grin. Both beautiful and terrifying. As if they've entered into a compact. One of deep and everlasting significance.

She saunters up to him, sly and slick. Her head cocks, left. Right. The grin still flashes bright. This close he can smell her perfume. Rain and shadows and dark promises. "Tricksey see you, Harsh Majumdar, son of Gerard. No wear mask with Crow Girl. Harsh too serious. Stumble when serious. Be free. Be Harsh. And only Harsh."

What is happening here. For a moment Harsh feels like a small prey animal being eyed by something much larger and he does not like that feeling at all. But it's not danger, at least not the conventional sort of danger, and for a split second he almost grasps whatever insight she is trying to bestow upon him--

And then, just as she'd done in the grand hall, she sticks out her tongue and does a soft, prolonged raspberry.

And Harsh flinches.

He stays there for a moment, frozen, while Tricksey takes her choice of chair.

Before flumping down on the chair across from them. "What talk about?"

Vere takes his seat and grins once more, before saying, "We were just introducing ourselves to each other, Tricksey. Harsh is also newly found by the family, and we two have only just met."

He gives a slight seated bow to her and introduces himself. "I am Vere, son of Corvis and Gerard."

Tricksey tastes the name, smiling. She bows her head, "Ohayou gozaimasu, Vere-Ojisan. Am Tricksey. Daughter of Kimiko and Daeon. Crow Girl."

She leans forward, collecting a plethora of cheese and crackers. "Brothers not meet before? Is family scattered? Why so many not know? We all cuckoos?"

Red with embarrassment, Harsh goes to join his new relations and sits down, with the stiffness of doubled anxiety.

"And--well, you both know who I am. Possibly better than I do myself." A small, nervous laugh escapes and he goes even redder.

Tricksey taps her head, confirming, "Crow Girl knows. So scared. Want impress." She nibbles on her cheese, "But Harsh is family. No need. King see you. Brother see you. We see you. You us. We you."

She gestures to Vere, "How Speak Crow?"

Vere smiles a small smile. "Let me respond in reverse order, if I may. I have always been interested in birds, and some of my early trainers in woodcraft were excellent teachers in their habits and calls. I especially found it useful to understand corvids and raptors when I was acting as the commander of a war band in forested areas."

"As for the lack of knowledge of cousins," Vere's face loses the smile, "I fear that our elders in the Family found it expedient to hide their offspring from each other. That, along with the fact that many of them traveled widely and did not remain in one world for very long, led to many unknown cousins."

His smile returns as he concludes, "And I am pleased to say that I have met both your mother and your sister, Misao."

Tricksey's insights have thrown Harsh for a loop, and he's listening in silence for the moment.

Tricksey's smile slightly falters at Vere's admission. "Momma not seem happy to see Crow Girl. More interested in sister. Misao sister? Only say sibling. Not know have one." A low shrug. She resumes nibbling.

She pauses, considering, cheese held close to her chest. "Vere fight in forest. Did know Poppa? Daeon. Adonis. Many names he have."

Her cheeks redden, "Did Tricksey interrupt reunion? You say not meet."

"Two sisters, that I know of," Vere answers. "Misao, by my cousin Lucas, and Lily, by our uncle Benedict." He glances briefly at his brother, perhaps wondering at his reaction to hearing of a woman having children by three different men, but says nothing and returns his attention to Tricksey.

Harsh can't quite keep a shocked look entirely off his face, but he says nothing. Different worlds, different mores, he reminds himself.

Tricksey seems unfazed by the admission, smiling brightly. "Two Crow Sisters?" She leans back and hugs herself tightly, rocking back and forth with barely suppressed glee. "Two! Tricksey have two sisters. Enough for slumber party. Tasty cakes. Hair curlers. Racy holovids. Breaking into momma's liquor cabinet. And then sneaking out to tag public places with unsavory images. YES!"

Her mirth remains, even as Vere speaks about her father.

"I never met Daeon personally. The woods of my childhood world were not those he frequented. But he was the beloved brother of my Betrothed, Robin, and she will be able to tell you much of him."

Vere nods then, and continues, "And yes, this is the first time my brother and I have met. He has only recently learned of his connection to the Family. As have you, I believe. It must be quite challenging for both of you."

"Challenging. Yes, that's one word for it," Harsh says. He rubs the back of his neck, as if doing so will actually succeed in forcing some of the tension out of his shoulders. "My ... my father has been a mystery to me all my life--a secret, in our family--but I certainly never imagined that learning the answer to that mystery would be quite this expansive."

Tricksey pilfers another bit of cheese, nodding. "Cousins find Crow Girl. Very strange. Until then, Tricksey thought she alone. Except Bailey. And Jinx. And worshippers." She rolls her eyes at the last bit. "Goddess this. And Goddess that. Blah-dee-worship-blah." She slumps back in the cushions, stretching out, very unladylike. "Not same though. Was still... alone."

Her bright eyes meet Harsh's, her smile softening. "Crow Girl barely remember Papa. Or momma. And she is Memory. You get to make new memories with papa. And brother. And now Crow Girl. Savor gift. Tricksey will. She like Gerard Brothers."

She curls up her knees to her chin, turning her attention to Vere. "Tell of Auntie Robin. Spare no detail."

"I can speak of Robin at length," Vere answers with a smile. "She speaks the languages of birds far better than I, and is a creature of the woodlands and wild places." He pauses, then raises a hand.

"But I must correct myself in what I have said of your siblings. I was raised in a matriarchy, and the default pronouns for my land are female. Beyond that, gender roles in the Isles were very strict, and I am accustomed to thinking of people as either male or female. Your sibling Misao is a shapeshifter, and I think the binaries of male or female are irrelevant to them."

Tricksey offers Vere an understanding smile. "In Tyrell, Crow Girl was many things. Know many people. Gender like water. Flesh shifts and changes. Only soul remain same. Will love sibling no matter what."

A wistful shrug. "Hope they love Tricksey too."

Vere smiles and looks at Harsh. "Learning of a new sibling and meeting them is a strange experience. But it is an experience full of promise." He looks back to Tricksey. "Both of your siblings are interesting people, whom I like. I am sure you shall all get along well."

Tricksey grins over her knees, "And Auntie Robin too. Want meet her soon. Have noodles. All us."

"One does feel less ... alone," Harsh murmurs. "The discovery certainly puts a new complexion on a lifetime of feeling like--like a slightly misshapen puzzle piece. Fitting in. But not perfectly."

She slightly raises her head, "Like puzzles. Had some in Tombs. But missing pieces. Hinky Hamster not have nose. Very sad."

Bright eyes flash between them, her chin returning to her knees. "So what you two discover? Puzzle finished? Or Crow Girl interrupted?"

"We were still getting to know one another," Vere admits. "Having a brother is a new experience for me. I had an elder sister growing up, and I love her dearly, although she was often exasperated by her overly-feminine little brother, who insisted on unmanly pursuits such as reading and studying, and showed a distressing tendency to think for himself." He smiles. "I grew up with a close friend who was like a brother unto me, so that is perhaps near to having had one."

"I grew up with a bevy of cousins, myself," Harsh says. "The uncle and aunt who raised me had a large family, extended in all directions—nowhere near as extensive as the royal family here seems to be, mind you. I'm not sure that's possible in any normal world."

The fact that he's cracking a joke indicates that he's relaxing slightly.

Tricksey nods, smiling in kind. "Only have streets. Many faces. Many voices. And memories. Guide Tricksey. And she watch over them. Purpose in that."

She spins her body on the couch, boneless and lanky as a satisfied cat. "Not sure what to do now. Who listen to. Crow Girl want family. But sense undropped shoe. She wait for shoe."

"There is certainly no hurry," Vere notes. He tilts his head to one side. "Have you both been told that you can expect to live for a long time, barring accidents or deliberate acts of violence? The word 'immortal' gets thrown around, but I consider it to be unproven. What is known is that we can expect to live for many thousands of years, at the very least. So far as I know no member of our family has ever succumbed to old age."

"So I've heard." Harsh says. "And do you know, it only now dawns on me--that goes some way toward explaining a certain reputation I acquired in the Navy for being ... well, difficult to kill."

Tricksey rubs her chin, considering this. "Crow Girl do impossible things each day. And bad things twice on Sunday. Shot. Stabbed. Run over. No fall, though. Learned quick. Healed quicker. Thought just Tricksey being Crow Girl."

She flips around again, draping her legs over the back of the couch, whilst dangling her head off the cushion, upside down. "Now understand why Edan so fun. First time man faster than Tricksey. Usually they break. Snickersnack. Many pieces. Much whining." A man's pleading voice passes over her painted lips. "Oh god, please! Not the face!" She does some air punches and then - presumably - a neck break.

A very small smile passes over Vere's face at this.

Tricksey blinks, "Vere and Harsh both soldiers? Not Foxes are you?" The upside down smile falters, flashing a hint of teeth.

Vere tilts his head to one side. "I am not certain how you are using the term 'fox' here," he answers. "So I cannot respond directly to that question. I was the son of the Priestess-Queen of the Isles of the Dannan, and thus became the Lord Commander of the Brotherhood of the Stag, and Warleader of my mother's forces when the demons of the Dark Forest invaded our land." He considers for a moment, then adds, "I believe that would make me more of a guard dog than a fox."

"And I'm a sailor," Harsh says. "Commander in the Golcondan Navy, but most recently the Navy has been exploring more than we've been fighting, especially since the last treaty with Albion. Not sure what that makes me for you--a--a frigatebird?"

Tricksey lets out a barking laugh. She puts her hands to her mouth, giggling furiously. It's a musical sound of genuine mirth. Like liquid, she's sitting back up again, rocking side to side, arms wrapping around her. "Harsh puff chest. Make Crow Girl laugh."

There's a brief moment where Harsh flinches, an instinctive reaction to the fear of being mocked. But there's a sincerity (if that's the word) to Tricksey that makes him laugh too.

A nod to Vere, the grin undying. "Gerard Brothers not foxes. Is good. Can be true family. Tricksey protect those with nothing. Who are forgotten. Foxes steal and lie to them. Use them. Like Monks. Nasty monks."

She leans back; her hands drifting like birds as she talks, shaping strange patterns. "Crow Girl worry she lose the streets. Many riches. Many bright things here. Tempting things. Distract Tricksey. But even Paradise have Forgotten. Those without. Those frightened. Hunted by Foxes. She will help. But need guidance. So she do her part."

Tricksey cocks her head, "Gerard Brothers keep Crow Girl grounded, yes? Help find Forgotten?" Her hands come to rest upon her knees, eyes bright and hopeful.

"We need to get you to Folly," Vere answers with a smile. "And her 'Army of Good Works.' She is very much of the opinion that those with greater abilities and powers have a duty to protect the weak from those who would prey upon them."

"Crow Girl met Cousin Folly and Little Bird," Tricksey nods. "Likes her. Especially Little Bird. Both have fire."

Harsh can't help grinning a little in agreement at that assessment of Lark.

She slides around, sitting up straight for the first time in awhile. Her cat-nervous hands finally come to rest in her lap. She shares a knowing look with Harsh for a moment. And then ask Vere in a serious tone, "Has Vere walked Pattern? Hardsh and Crow Girl told to. But told to prepare. Tricksey eat noodles, but maybe not enough?"

Vere nods. "I have, and you are correct that you should be at your very best, both physically and mentally, when you make the attempt." He tilts his head to one side. "I misspeak, I think. 'Attempt' is a poor choice of words. There is no attempting the Pattern, one either succeeds or dies. You will be given advice by those wiser than I before you are allowed to walk it, and I hesitate to say too much for fear it would lead you to draw erroneous conclusions which might not serve you well. Each person who walks it experiences it in their own way. I will say this, however. It will make you face yourself, and it will change you."

He considers for a moment, then adds. "In my opinion, that change is to make you more who you really are."

"And if one isn't entirely certain of who that is to begin with...?" Harsh says. "That would seem extremely perilous."

A hypothetical musing. Surely. Not the thoughts of someone who's still in the middle of trying to reframe his entire existence in light of enormous amounts of new knowledge.

Tricksey grins and hugs herself, rocking back and forth. "More Crow Girl?! Sounds fun. Crow Girl become Super Crow Girl! Corvid Crusader of POWAH!" Her head arches back at this, letting the word draw out.

She squeezes her shoulders; the grin brightening. "Tricksey run the High Road of Tyrell. Each jump Crow Girl's last. Never hesitate. Thousand feet to concrete."

Tricksey glances over at Harsh, tilting her head. "Harsh will be fine. Strong. Confused. But strong heart."

Vere smiles at Harsh. "I agree with her assessment of your strength, brother." The term is a little hesitant, as though Vere is wondering if Harsh is ready for it yet. He doesn't pause, however, but turns back to Tricksey and continues, "I have heard the name Tyrell before, Tricksey. It was mentioned as a central spot for the operations of the Klebesians, an order of supposedly religious scholars who have made themselves the enemies of our Family. Perhaps these are some of the 'foxes' to which you refer."

Every time someone says "brother", it seems to take Harsh out of himself for a moment, but especially when Vere uses it. He seems to catch up with the conversation half a second later.

Glancing back at Harsh he adds, "I do not know if anyone has mentioned them to you as of yet. They appear to be interested in finding and abducting unprotected members of the Family for experimentation."

"I've heard about them, yes," Harsh says. "One of their number was captured, wasn't he? I--I admit I don't fully understand what it is they do, but I understand enough to know that their actions and their goals mean trouble for the Family." A pause. "For us."

"Crow Girl see labs," Tricksey says. "Punch many monks. Boop the snoots." Her fists dance in the air, deftly mimicking some snoot boops. "She make them cry. She make them whine. So they release Street People. And buy Crow Girl noodles. Victory was had." She pauses, frowning. "Abel say he capture Head Monk. But think Abel Foxy. Plays long game. Maybe. Need more sniffing."

She touched her fist to her chin, "Monks also buy hospital on Earth. Crow Girl think they simply move shop. Pull up stakes. Have tunnel to Tyrell. Very wormhole-timey-whimey stuff."

"Wait," Vere says, holding up a hand. "You met Abel? Tell me about him." He looks at Harsh. "Abel is another cousin of ours, the son of Prince Caine. He was banished by King Oberon long, long ago, for somewhat mysterious reasons related to religion. His name has recently resurfaced as being a major player, if not the actual organizer, of the Klybesians. His goals remain something of a mystery to me."

Harsh just listens now, feeling like about a third of what's being said is going past him, but catching enough to know that this is Important.

Tricksey leans forward, nodding. Her expression shifts, eyes darkening. When she speaks, her voice sounds distant, as if reaching out from the past. "Templar of the Order of the Unicorn. Exiled. Lawful child. Father punished for not disowning. Joined Klybus when took Order from Amber. Became Turcopolier. Oversee military matters. Claim not involved in disputes between Patriarch and the Pontifex. Succession issues. Upset someone make Pyramid go blewy-boom. He Architect. Builder. Planner. Schemer.

"Also know Brother Hannibal. Chewy. Brother captured. Work on gene-sequencing project. Decades. Maybe Centuries. Kidnapped. Experimented. Murdered. Why Forfeited Able's protection."

She sighs, leaning back "Crow Girl couldn't confirm Abel's words with Touch. No chance to steal shinies. Too many eyes. Too many guns. And Cousin Fletcher accept him."

Tricksey's frown deepens, "Able talk nice. Like Fox. Not trust. Crow Girl think Able want Tricksey and Fletcher to go away. Three-card-Monty. Smoke and mirror. Give us win to hide our loss."

Vere nods. "That all fits with what I have heard. The King is aware of him, and we will no doubt be hearing more before too long." He smiles, a trifle grimly. "And I suppose I should warn you now, if you have not yet been told this. Do not take vengeance into your own hands when opposing a member of the Family, however distant. King Random prefers to rule with a light touch, but he will not countenance kin-murder, whatever the provocation."

Tricksey blinks. Blinks again. Jaw dropping. Then with exaggerated pain, she clutches her chest, folding over on the couch. A weak, mewing escapes her. "Wounded," she whimpers, her head slumping over, hair painted her features. "Struth. Blimey. Shock. Shock, she says!"

She lies there. Twitches. Clutches her chest again, rocking. And then goes still. Letting out a slow, flatulent death rattle.

From beneath her hair, she says, "Vere wound Crow Girl. Not kill cousins. Even if Foxes. Tricksey tweak noses. Make fools. Take shinies. Snap necks. But never kill Family. Revenge for fools. Two graves dug."

Tricksey brushes back her hair, smiling broadly, "Crow Girl owe Able. Help release flock. No trust. But no kill. Family is Family."

Harsh has watched all of this with a slightly stunned expression, but he finally does manage to pull himself together and nods agreement.

Vere actually grins at Tricksey's reaction. He gives a caw of amusement, similar to how a crow would respond to an especially shiny discovery. Then he glances between Tricksey and Harsh, "Enough of lecturing you on Family expectations," he says. "I am sure you both have many questions remaining. Ask, and I shall answer as best I can."

Tricksey claps her hands, rapid yet quiet, gleeful over Vere's crow sounds. She mimicks the sound, adding her own. One of acceptance and fellowship. Her smile shines on long afterward.

"Crow Girl keep questions short," she says. "Bother Brothers long enough."

She collects another round of snacks. Nibbling, crumbs flying, she asks, "What happen to Amber? If Xanadu true place, why Amber sing on people's tongues? Like blessing. And curse."

Vere's smile fades and he bows his head briefly before answering. "Amber was the victim of war and treachery. The founder of Order, Dworkin, was once a Lord of Chaos. He created a realm of Stability, not subject to the constant change and flux of Chaos. Not all the Lords of Chaos approved of such a thing, and they waged a secret war upon us. One of our own, my uncle Brand, aided them in this." Vere sighs. "I never met him, but from all I have heard he was mad, and his aim was not to destroy the realm of Order, as the Lords of Chaos wished, but to recreate it in his own image."

He shrugs. "Whatever his aim, the result was that he found a way to break the power of the Pattern. The forces of Amber took the war to the very Abyss of Chaos while King Oberon, my grandfather and the son of Dworkin, gave his life to repair the Pattern of Order. While Order was established, Amber was left broken, and no more than a shadow of what she once was." He looks at Harsh. "Father was injured in that breaking, which we call The Sundering."

He shakes his head and continues, "The Unicorn Herself, the emblem and founder of our Family, gifted Random with the Jewel of Judgement, and the Family bowed before him as the new king. He used the Jewel to create Xanadu, which is the new crown of creation."

As Vere speaks, Tricksey nods in time with his words, frowning with deep concern. And then, she sits bolt upright, blinking. Her hands flutter like crazed birds, excited, confused. "Wait. WAIT! There is Unicorn?! Vere bury the lede!"

She mock frowns, pouts, "Amber destroyed. Betrayal. Madness. Crow Girl sad. Very terrible. Tragedy of ages..."

Leaning forward, eyes wide, she says in hushed tones, "But most important question. How Tricksey pet Unicorn?!"

Harsh, who has been listening intently to all of this (filling in various lacunae in his learning so far) starts to nod in agreement with Tricksey's assessment of the tragedy of it all ... and then she springs her question, and he can't help laughing.

"Ah, the Unicorn," Vere breathes. "I do not know that one would 'pet' Her. I have only seen Her once, and she was a site to inspire awe and devotion." He tilts his head to one side, considering. "There are stories that she and Great-Grandfather Dworkin together created the Universe out of Chaos. I tended to believe those stories before I saw Her, although they were lacking in collaborative factual data. When I saw Her, however..."

He pauses for a moment, then shrugs. "I do not know why, but I now feel that She was an Inspiration, not a Creator. That Dworkin created Reality in Her honour, and as a gift to Her." He laughs quietly. "It may be pure fancy on my part."

Tricksey nods. And nods again. She purses her lips, "So. That like. A maybe?"

She smiles wistfully, hugging herself again. "Muse Unicorn for Crow Girl. Tag. Paint. Sing." She considers this. And then something new occurs to her. "Is Pattern love letter to Unicorn?"

Vere's lips part slightly, and he stares at Tricksey as though she had just revealed one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe. "That is... a very lovely thought," he says quietly. "Perhaps so. Perhaps so, indeed." He shakes his head slightly, a tender expression on his face for a few moments. "If I ever succeed in locating and meeting Grandfather Dworkin I must ask that."

Tricksey smiles faintly. "Crow Girl hope meet them both. And Grandfather Julian. Soon."

She jumps to her feet, stretching back bonelessly. "Speak of which. Tricksey need ready for Pattern. Or death. Prefer former."

She slumps forward again, casting her hand in an exaggerated flourish and bow. "Humble thanks for munchies. Crow Girl much like. Brothers very kind. She like. Wishes meet Vere's beloved. And hear Grumpy Harsh laugh more. Is not used to family. But grow fond of."

Vere nods. "I need to speak to Uncle Julian soon, myself. My beloved, Robin, is on a mission for him, and I need to speak to him about aid for him. As to Grandfather Dworkin..." he sighs slightly, and looks at Harsh. "You have seen that Father is currently unable to walk. That injury dates to the Sundering, when a large section of Castle Amber fell upon him. I am researching methods of healing them, and Grandfather Dworkin, being both Ancient and Wise, is a source I dearly wish to consult."

Harsh stands when Tricksey does and colours a little when she mentions laughing more, but smiles. She's got a point. "You're most welcome. I've enjoyed your company very much." And he actually does mean it.

To Vere he says, "If there's anything I can do to help you, you've only to ask."

Tricksey pauses mid-stretch, her left leg and both arms straight out, as if she was a precision compass. She remains locked in that position as she ponders, "Uncle go to Tyrell. Many ripper docs. Fix limbs. Replace bones. Make him better. Stronger Faster Uncle. Plenty creddies. But Crow Girl liberate funds. She hacker."

She spins in place; a Gothic ballerina deep in thought. After two rotations, she stops. Leg falling back to the floor. "But Uncle need heal there. Naturally. No fiddly bits added in. Otherwise, if he leave. Extra bits might devolve like clothing. Pattern not like Shadow things, yes?"

Vere smiles thinly. "It was one of the ways the Family first discovered that Chew was one of the Klebesians. Before we knew that he was an enemy, he was consulted about my Father's condition." He shakes his head. "We are concerned that whatever technological or magical healing we may find in Shadow would fail when he travelled to a place where such things did not, and can not, exist. Much less what the Pattern might do to them if he ever needs to Walk it again, and it does not recognize the healing that was done." He shakes his head again, more strongly. "Solange and Hannah are both looking for methods that will restore his legs. I was formerly devoting my time exclusively to that task, but Hannah has pointed out that my pressure on Father was doing more harm than good, and that I should become somewhat less... insistent... about the matter."

Harsh gives Vere a sympathetic look; he understands the urge to do something, after all. "Hannah's wisdom seems to bear considerable weight," he says.

Tricksey's head tilts, corvid eyes blinking. "Vere love Father. Seeks answers. Crow Girl understand. Respect. She know ripper docs. Not use Chew. Or others. Corpos always have strings. DNA and otherwise. Streets provide."

She rubs her chin, considering something. Then shrugs. "But Pattern first. Tricksey hear its Voice. Then see if she can help."

With a deft leap, she's over the table, on the tips of her toes. Each brother gets a quick peck on the cheek. Maeve warmth lingering.

"Thank you. Crow Girl go now. Hope see again. If die on Pattern, tell Momma. And siblings." Then a deadly serious look, "And tell Conner wipe Tricksey's hard-drive. Not for prying eyes."

With a salacious grin, she prances back to the balcony - humming 'Bowchicawowah.'

Vere caws a final Corvid farewell to Tricksey.

Harsh, for his part, gives her a bow of farewell. When she's gone, he sits down and makes a noise that's half sigh, half amused chuckle.

Vere smiles and nods towards the window. "A most interesting cousin, indeed. It will be intriguing indeed to see what she does once she comes into her full powers."

He gives his new brother a small bow. "It was a delight to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you better over the coming years." He sighs slightly. "For now, alas, I have to make preparations to leave Xanadu for a while. My beloved is engaged in a war against a powerful foe, and I wish to go to her assistance."

"The pleasure was all mine," Harsh says. He rises, bows formally, and then reaches out to put a hand on Vere's shoulder. It's something more formal than a casual clap--it's a Golcondan gesture of family.

"Good hunting to you and your beloved. I hope you succeed."

"My thanks. If you need aid with anything while you are here seek out my man Castor. He was my second in command when I led a war band recently, and also a member of a noble family from our sister realm of Rebma. He understands court, while also being a military man, and will give good advice." Vere returns the clasp of hand on shoulder.


Jerod gazes at the pendant in the muted electric light of his quarters for a moment, seeing as the light caught the edges of the reddish-pink gemstone and flashed brilliantly. He idly flips it into his palm, feeling the weight and shape of it as he has done a thousand times before, a known and comfortable reminder of his time with Carina.

A moment passes before he picks up the glass style and dips it into the inkwell to write his note.

Cordelia...

There is someone I would you to meet today, someone from my home that I believe would be good for you to be familiar with.

Please be sure to be in attendance in the castle later today. I will send a page to find you at that time.

Dad

He re-reads the note for a moment, his ending especially. He knows well the difference between someone being a father, and a dad, and he wonders if he can meet the requirements it demands. But he looks at the pendant again and nods to himself.

He'll meet them...no matter how much work it takes.

Sealing up the message, he puts the pendant on under his shirt before heading out. As he travels the castle corridors, one of the ever under-foot pages is encountered and he provides the note to them with instructions to find Cordelia and give it to her.

Once that is done, continues on to Carina's quarters, knocking upon his arrival.

The note is dispatched, and the page promises to return any response to Prince Jerod's quarters.

Carina is nursing one of the still injured archivists, who is sleeping in the infirmary. Jerod passes Chew's cell/quarters on the way there, and finds the archivist in the outer room of her companion, who is resting within.

She rises when Jerod enters, but waits to see his reaction. Given the way castles work, it's entirely possible that the rumors have already reached her.

Jerod smiles when he sees her as always, missing her as always. And given the nature of the castle and rumors, and that she is the Queen's Archivist, he'd be surprised if news of events had not reached her first through her assistants and the friends and pages of the castle she would be sure to question when she was here.

Though one can always hope.

"How is the healing progressing?" he asks coming up to them, the question both for Carina caring for her assistant as well as her own injury.

"We'll both survive," Carina says, a little humor in her eyes underlying her analysis of the statement.

"I'm wondering if you have a little time. The currents have been turbulent of late...the seabed has brought forth some of its treasures...and some old wounds."

The phrase is a reference to Rebman life. Seabed scavengers can find treasure and goods from surface ships, but they would come from sunken vessels and tied to the deaths of those who died along with their ship. Great rewards are rarely received without a price.

"And the seabeds for your father's kin run deep." She nods her agreement with the old saying. "I have heard all sorts of stories, some that may speak to Celina's succession, and I've waited to hear the truth from you. Spin me a story, my prince, a story for me and a story for the future: for the Queen and the generations after." For just as Jerod is a Prince of Amber, with all that implies, Carina is one of the chiefs of the Queen's Archivists, and wears that office almost as deep in her skin and bones as Jerod does his own heritage.

Jerod nods, motioning to a pair of chairs. "Let me tell you a tale then of a daughter of Rebma, of the great reward she is in my life and the price that was paid for her to be there."

He settles into his chair, looking at Carina as she does the same to listen, to absorb, to hear his words, his thoughts and feelings and more...so much more than can be spoken with words.

"We learned of a situation of the Klybesian monks...who had a daughter of Rebma in their grasp. This came from Bend, who made the unfortunate mistake of coming to Paris and fell into our grasp and is now a guest of my uncle. She was questioned and remained as stubborn as one would expect but revealed to Celina some of the details of this daughter of the realm, though her background was not known.

"After counsel was taken amongst ourselves with my other cousins, it was decided that Celina would seek this daughter as Queen along with her brother Merlin. I remained with my cousin Ossian and his mother to pursue the monks separately. Their journey took them deep beneath Paris, to hidden places that had not been known to even exist. In one of these places, they came upon a masoleum in which a young woman was found who greeted them with tea and conversation and named herself Cordelia. And it was there they learned she had lived there since the time of her death in another land and had awakened to find herself there."

He pauses for a moment to let Carina digest the information, knowing any questions she has for clarity will wait.

"To say that the Queen was surprised at this knowledge would be an understatement, but it deterred her not and she resolved to bring Cordelia back to her home. She returned to Paris with Merlin and brought Cordelia to the rest of us, which now counted Vere amongst our numbers. And it was then that the Queen had thought she had stricken me, because upon seeing her, I knew instantly who she was.

"I knew not her name, nor had I heard ever her voice. But I knew she was her mother's daughter, and mine. Her mother was Marissa, from a land far into the depths of Shadow, a land of twilight where no sun had risen for a millenia. And she was vampyr.

"I had met her many years ago, after coming above the waves, some years before we met. And I call Cordelia a great treasure for many reasons, not least of which that she should not even exist. The vampyr of that realm do not reproduce as we do so there would be no thought of children from any union that might develop. So that made her unique. But she was also unique because from the moment I saw her, I found she was in here." and he taps his chest.

"She had been not in my life for but a moment, but she was already there. And you more than anyone else would know how rare that is. Few can touch the hearts of Princes...fewer still can make their home there. And that presence made me think of dreams I had not dared imagine before, and brought back terrible memories that were long buried.

"That is the great treasure that is my daughter." he says. He pauses for a moment now, waiting to see if there are questions before he continues.

Carina nods, showing that she has followed the story, most likely in so much detail that she could not only speak the same words Jerod used, but also imitate Jerod's intonation and the movements of his hands if needed. For all that Jerod knows Carina must have questions, she gestures to him to continue.

"That is the treasure." he says. "Now we learn what was paid for it."

He stops to collect his thoughts and to still them from racing. Despite carrying the weight for years, the memories are rarely called up all at once and he has to parse them for details.

"A few years after I came above the waves, I was doing tasks for Dad. He needed things...taken care of." Jerod says, not needing elaborating on the term with Carina. Of anyone, she would be the one most familiar with what he did in his past and he rarely kept secrets from her.

"One day, I had finished some work, something minor as I recall and I found myself out in Shadow and without an order to return once done. Dad normally was specific with his instructions and I don't know if this was deliberate or just an oversight, but it was there. And when I realized this, I decided that I didn't want to go back immediately. So...I rebelled. A tiny rebellion for sure, my very first I think...I could always claim it hadn't been mentioned that I should come back right away, so I stayed out in Shadow for awhile."

He smiles slightly as he recalls this. "It was fun. Had lots of adventures, though I think my definition of that might not be everyone's. I helped a young boy find his path to his family destiny, even if it was a bit of a dark one. Helped an exiled empress regain her throne from a usurper, which was lots of fun. Avoiding all the marriage proposals...that wasn't as much fun so I never went back there.

"Helped a couple with their romance of true love, right out of a story you might think...though in fairness my solution at the end I had to kinda cheat to get it to work given how some things played out, but last time I checked they were happy, had six kids and were running a bodega, so I think I did pretty good.

"Then one day I read an old scroll is a dusty library, about a prophecy. A tale of epic proportion and grandness, all the usual flamboyance. But the gist of it was an amulet that let the wearer speak to the dead. It was a story like a hundred others...except for a comment about where it might be found...a comment that I had heard separately from a traveler in another Shadow on a completely separate topic. And that piqued my interest.

"So I traveled, and questioned and dug into it. And it took me a ways from Amber, deep into Shadow, further than I had ever been. Til I came across a place of eternal twilight, where no mention of a sun was to be found in the writings of the people there, though I found recorded works dating back over a millenia. It was a divided land...humans in the northern kingdoms, vampyr in the southern reaches. And in between a stretch of land several hundred miles across where they mingled.

"The histories said that sometimes they mingled to each other's benefit and great city-states would arise showcasing their works. Celebrated works of poetry, art, food and drink were recorded attributed to individuals of greatness from both sides. Other times, the mingling was much less civilized and ground could remain scorched for a decade after the wars that raged. But regardless, they would always return. And it was here that my search led me.

"I met Marissa after having an encounter with a small group of wild vampyr. They thought I was lunch...I disabused them of that notion with my sword. Legends notwithstanding, vampyr are strong and capable but they are not invulnerable. She had been watching from a distance to see a group of her brethren struck down with only scratches for the stranger. And I was a stranger for sure...I did not fit in, did not act the part of a local by any means.

"So when she approached and we traded words this is where I learned she also sought the amulet, which made me realize I was in the right place. There was some back and forth about working together, and a bit of leeriness on both sides. But eventually we did."

He stops and sifts more memories, smiling as they come to mind, memories of good days buried beneath pain and sorrow. "Took a while to travel around actually. Simple technology, horses and wagons and sailing ships. But it was fun. It was new and different and somehow...it fit. It was a time when I could be me...who I felt I really was..not the invention of someone else.

"Marissa was older than me...she had been turned a couple of centuries before, and it had not been voluntary. She did not go into details on it but what I know from comments and writings would indicate it was a horrible fate to endure. But she never gave in to it. She fought it...fought what she had been made into, every day." he says, his admiration of her very clear to see. "Every single day."

"She was smart...she was charming and intelligent. She suffered fools poorly, which of course sometimes made me wonder why she spent so much time with me." he jokes. "And she never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it....she'd help if she could, even if people didn't trust her.

"So we traveled across the stretch between the kingdoms, searching ruins for clues and questioning sages in cities and monasteries. It took months to do, though in Amber only a couple passed total. The time flow there was very fast by comparison. And as we traveled the stories began...of the stranger and the vampyr. How they traveled and search, how they helped at times, fought at other times, but always together. Some of the stories were outrageous for sure and those faded eventually...but others persisted, usually the ones that were true.

"While I was there, she showed me all sorts of things about the land. About the animals and plants and the people and I learned how they were adapted to the twilight, to a land with two moons that rose and set. Once, we traveled by carrack across Balaton tenger..." he says, pronouncing with a precise and distinct accent, one derived from long uses. "...the sea of Balaton. The sea life was bioluminescent and schools of fish would travel around the ships with color displays like nothing I had ever seen. You could see predator fish with their own patterns and how they interacted, a great dancing of lights on your journey.

"She taught me the language of runes for the people, of histories long forgotten there. We traveled and dug into the prophecy and helped people along the way. And along the way I realize something changed in me.

"There is a nature display that people would watch during the twin moon rise, at harvest times. When the moon wheat would ripple in the breeze, if the moons were just right, you could see waves of color shimmer across the field, like a living thing. If you were on a hill or higher ground, it would stretch for miles. I remember calling it a rainbow...and then having to teach everyone what that word meant...because they had never seen one before. They had no word for it. So the stranger gave them a word and they kept it. I remember that because it was when I realized I felt comfortable there...it felt like home.

"Eventually, we came across the amulet's location. We tracked it to a fortress atop Mt. Csillag, which seemed like a variant shadow of Kolvir, though no city stood atop it, just the fortress. It was the home of a rather unpleasant wizard named Sharankoor, who despite being old had not learned the art of being a benevolent dictator...just a brutal one. We needed to get in but he was known for being rather unpleasant...and we decided to deal with him, and get the amulet at the same time.

"So we started a civil war." he says, matter of factly. "And that was fun too.

"Didn't take long to get things riled up...he'd done all the work for us...it was just a matter of finding a leader for the people, coalescing their grievances, getting weapons and putting the people together into a fighting force. That got the mage's attention and brought him out of the fortress, which is what we needed. We couldn't assault it directly, but we could come in through the back door, by climbing.

"I did the climb first because Marissa couldn't. The mage had put a geas around the mountain, about halfway up to the fortress that would force any vampyr into slumber once they entered its zone, which means they fall and die. Tough, but not invulnerable. And no human could attempt it with any reasonable chance of success. But I'm not human and I did it first and then pulled Marissa up. Once there we made short work of his remaining guards...most of his troops were down on the switchbacks guarding the approaches.

"After that we got the amulet. One would think happy ending and all...but that's not what happened." he says slowly, picking his words carefully, being forced to confront his loss in words to another. "Because now we learned the reality of the amulet, or rather, I did because I think Marissa already knew. Like all prophecies, there is more to them than what you hear.

"When we finally acquired it, I was injured and she obtained it from where it was stored and brought it over. I remember when she handed it to me, she was reluctant to do so, but she did. I took a look at it, but I wasn't actually interested in it, not from a magical or power perspective, and that's important. Because to me, at that time, I didn't appreciate what it was. To me, it wasn't an object of power to be used...it was just a trophy. It was a prize to be won at the end of a race, that sort of thing. And I never considered anyone else might see it differently. So I never asked too much more...never really asked.

"So I looked at it and gave it back to her. And I think she was hoping I wouldn't give it back to her. That I'd keep it...but I didn't. I knew she wanted it so I gave it to her. So she took it, and put it on, and it killed her."

Jerod stops and looks at Carina at that point. His face is expressionless, his words flat and unemotional. But she knows this face and this voice, and how much control he is exerting on the emotions he is feeling. This may be the worst she has ever seen for him.

"I found out that the amulet doesn't let you speak to the dead...not precisely. It let you summon the spirits of those who had been turned." he says. "To the spirits of vampyr that were trapped within the object. The mage had figured out a spell to do that, and used it to acquire knowledge. And, now of course, I can appreciate how powerful such a device would be. All those spirits, their knowledge, their wisdom, the lore they would possess over hundreds of years...all of it available at your fingertips.

"But the device had a flaw...because if a vampyr ever got ahold of it, they could summon their own spirit and retrieve it. No one knew what that would do, but it would most certainly not be good for the device. So Sharankoor kept it hidden in this fortress away from prying eyes...secure against any threat that the world could offer.

"But he had never met a Prince of Amber. So Marissa got the amulet, and took her spirit back. But like a hole in a dike, other spirits came out too....in a flood. And she was the conduit they used to escape."

He pauses again, taking a deep breath as he stares into space. Time passes second by second until he suddenly starts speaking again. "It took me maybe two months to build a tomb for her, on top of the mountain. Sharankoor was in no position to disagree with me, not with a sword through his chest and his fortress razed into rubble. Most of the locals knew Marissa from our travels, knew she was good and wouldn't try to disturb it. The remainder, they were warned off, but I came back every year...my time...to check. It was about five years between visits for them...so I became like a returning comet, predictable in my passage through the skies.

"And I couldn't stay...I wanted to, but I couldn't. Our desires become the reality of shadow around us, and I would not inflict that despair on those people...my second home after all. So I left, came back to Amber...to the people who had made me...just like she had been made. I came back to a life that I realized I despised.

"But it was all I had left. And even though I returned regularly, like I mentioned with part of me hoping she would rise again...she never did. Time passed, and for the land years became decades, and then a century, and then two. I stopped going when the Sundering hit...couldn't travel after that and once travel became possible, I had other priorities.

"And I think that was when she rose again...how I'm not sure...and Cordelia was born...also how I'm not sure. I just know that she's here. Now. And that I have some old wounds to try to heal...along with everything else that goes with that."

Carina nods slowly. She has been actively listening all the way through. Here, when Jerod stops, she moves to take Jerod's hand. "I am still an archivist of the Queen, Jerod. Are you sure you should tell me the rest?"

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't?" Jerod asks, returning the clasp. "The Prince in me would say that I should say nothing...that it's weakness and can be exploited by my enemies. Except I know that is a lie. My greatest weakness is what I carry around in me and you've seen it already over the years.

"Problem with being immortal is that we're lazy...if we can't deal with something immediately, we instinctively try to avoid it...because we think we can outlive it. But the important problems, the ones that matter...we carry those with us until we get rid of them.

"So right now, I'm not speaking to the archivist..I'm speaking to you. To the woman that I love and would do anything for. And yes, you are the archivist...a position you earned every day despite having no status in a society that values it over everything. But you are also much more than that. You are smart and charming and intelligent and you gave me hope and made life livable again when I was traveling a path that would have made me the worst possible Prince you can imagine. You live life according to your rules, even as you fit into the confines of society. And in your own way you suffer fools poorly." he says with a smile.

"You challenge every moment without ever appearing to do so. How much convention did you defy when you pursued me...a commoner and a Prince. How much risk did you take when you gave me this?" he asks, pulling out the amulet, letting it glitter in the light.

"I know what this means to you...it means the same to me. It is no idle trinket I carry...so I would ask then....why wouldn't I tell you? If I trust you and your judgment, if I respect you not for your title or your position but for you, as you...then I would wonder how I could not tell you."

"Your answer confirms the wisdom of my choices," Carina says, smiling. "But knowing all that we both know, and that while Celina is Queen now, your grandmother may still attempt a return, we both must consider all options. And though there are things I would not speak of to your grandmother, there are ways to loosen the most reluctant tongue."

"The return of Grandmother is always a possibility." Jerod says. "I will be making a visit to Bend after I am done in Xanadu. She has answers to questions I have, and I will have those answers. How much unpleasantness goes into obtaining them will be up to her. That may shed some light on things..., on the monks, on Grandmother, and my mother.

"But whether she returns or not is not relevant. Everything spoken here, everything I tell you, in some way or form, will come out in the future. It always does. This is also a problem of being immortal. Everything comes back at some point.

"I cannot protect Cordelia by trying to hide things. She will only be safe, as safe as she can be, by her own choices and by what she is taught, what she learns. I'm her father...hopefully one day I can be her dad." and he smiles at that word. "I can teach her a lot. I can teach her my life....how to use her power...how to fight and defend. I can teach her what mom taught me...how to be like a daughter even though I was her son.

"But there are things I cannot teach her, because I don't have the perspective. Mom taught me how to think like I was her daughter...to use knowledge first, to think of plans and consequences, to rely on power last, not first. And even when my sisters complimented me on how I could have made a great sister...I could not know what it was like to be a daughter because that never the interaction I had with the rest of Rebma. So I can't know how the interaction always plays out. And thus I cannot teach her everything.

"So I am asking you to be there. If she decides to go to Rebma, which she may not...but if she does...she will have questions. And I will answer them as far as I can, I will teach her everything I know....but for the questions I cannot answer, I would ask you to be someone she could come to for answers.

"I ask a terrible burden of you...because I will trust you with my daughter in those times when I cannot help her."

"You honor me with your request, Jerod. I will do what I can for your daughter, because she is yours, and what is precious to you is also precious to me, even when I have not yet learned to love her for her own sake. But," and Carina's expression morphs to one of concern, "I don't know what the metaphyics of her presence in Rebma would be. I'm sure there have been vampyrs in the Rebman waters before, even if I don't know who knows those stories. But I doubt we've had one who was the daughter of a Prince of Amber."

"She has more of my upbringing that one might expect." Jerod says. "Her heritage, whether she can come into the family gifts or not, means she straddles possibly three worlds. Her birth home, the Family home be that Xanadu or Paris or wherever, and Rebma....she is connected to all, but whether any are truly home is another matter."

He smiles when he looks at Carina. "That lesson is one I can teach her a lot about. Hopefully it will be learned before she makes a choice as to whether to go to Rebma or not."

He leans back for a moment, looking up absently at the ceiling as he does sometimes, collecting random thoughts before continuing. "I am unsure as to whether her heritage will prevent her coming into her gifts. It is possible the trial will kill her outright. It is also possible that coming into her gifts prevents her vampyric talents from being used anymore. I have to speak to Random on that.

"Even if she were never to attempt it, she will be like her mother in many respects. She will not age of course and she has other talents and strengths she will be able to use as she matures. Marissa was not one of us to be sure, but she was not to be trifled with. The fools she suffered poorly did not suffer for long.

"So I think that any path for Cordelia to Rebma will be in the future, and subject to much discussion. And not just for her I think but for myself as well."

"You do not have to make any decisions that you're not ready for," Carina reminds Jerod.

"But the ways of Court die a hard death my dear." Jerod says with a chuckle and a wry smile. "Always planning ahead, always covering your bases, seeking alliances, watching for enemies.

"I wonder now, with all the opportunities to change, to get rid of the past...whether that part of me will go that route as well, or if I'll just hold onto it. Like an old chest you stuff in a closet, take it out when the circumstances demand.

"So many opportunities, to be something new. To take a new path." he says. "Did you know I apologized to Vere?" and he smiles again, watching for the subtle eyebrow raise or tilt of her head to denote her expression of surprise or acknowledgement.

"It was after Cambina died and he was musing about using his ghost whisperer skills to see if something might be usable to be found. I was....not pleasant in my response. He's a good man and I should have trusted him, but at the time I didn't. Let my fear get the better of me. Now that things are clearer, I realized that needed doing."

And there it is: the tilt of her head, acknowledging the deed.

"Just like I need to apologize to you."

"I've probably already forgiven you," Carina says, "but for what?"

"For taking away a choice you would have had." Jerod says.

"Cordelia's arrival has made me think about certain choices I had made after losing Marissa. Meeting you...was like another chance, a new life I suppose. And one I did not want to lose. I'm not sure what I would have done...or been like were that to have happened.

"We both knew that marriage wasn't an option then. Not with Dad going for the throne and all. But one thing that was an option was children. And I think I would have wanted them...but I made a choice.

"I was afraid that path might be harmful to you and I wasn't prepared to risk that. And that was what I did wrong. Whether you wanted children or not wasn't relevant...you never had the chance to decide. That is what I must apologize for.

"I need to apologize because of choices that I may make going forward. Cordelia made me realize so many things that I would have wanted if Marissa had not died, so many paths that I could have followed. I know I would not be here...I would not have returned to Amber. I was quite happy being there...even if it was a dangerous place to live.

"But that was then...and I'm here now. And while I may pursue choices that take me away from the path that Dad wanted me to be on, I want you there with me. But that is not a choice I can make for you. I need to include you in those choices and not take you for granted because my life is going to get real busy I suspect."

"I accept your apology for unilaterally deciding we shouldn't have a child. It was one I agreed with, and was taking my own precautions over; I thought if we wanted to have a child, we'd talk about it first. And you didn't, so I assumed you didn't." Carina smiles, faintly; it's clearly a subject she'd considered on her own. "When your father was seeking the throne, a child of ours would have been an asset and a point of weakness for him. Moreso a son, but even a daughter would have been a pressure point. Possibly a marriage asset with one of the great families of Amber. And that's not even thinking about what your grandmother would have done. I didn't want any of that, and I assumed--again, there's that unilateral thinking--you didn't either. But perhaps we should have discussed it, and been clear that it wasn't what we were ready for at that time.

"I don't know that we are, now, either. But I'd like to find out. This," and she waves one hand at the palace around them, "opens everything up. With your grandmother ousted as Queen, and Random as head of the family, everything changes in Rebma as well. I had not considered leaving, but if we're putting everything on, as surfacers say, the table, let us consider that too. We don't have to make decisions today, but we can at least acknowledge there are many decisions to be made. Is that a place we can start from?"

Jerod continues hold her hands as she speaks, feeling the words imprint themselves upon him. As he listens, it feels as if a great weight is lifted from his shoulders, the burden of heavy chains he did not realized he was carrying and his chest loosens its tightness. It feels easier to breathe than before, even if he still finds the air too thin to his liking, the sun too bright.

He does not immediately respond when she finishes, instead looking at her as he marvels at how much he loves this woman. He smiles as he nods. "Yes. A first step in a new life. And many news paths to consider."

He pulls her closer, letting their foreheads touch for a moment, the better to speak privately. "There will be time to talk about things." he says quietly. "How long before you need to head home with your archivists?"

She can tell without difficulty he is looking for her to remain around for at least a few days, given how little they have been able to see one another of late.

"We haven't been summoned yet, and even if we are, I can wait a few days. They're still concerned about the blow I took to the head. The transition to the water shouldn't be a problem but it's not ideal," Carina confesses. "And I'll probably have to undergo an assessment once I'm back in Rebma."

A head injury could, of course, be a reason for Carina to leave the archivists, or for her to be declared unfit to continue. Under Celina this might mean pensioning off, or moving to some other Court role. Under Moire, Carina's status might be more uncertain.

He nods silently, his hand coming up after a moment to trace the point where she was struck. The motion is slow and light but she knows well he is angry at the thought of her being injured...not because of the injury but that he can do nothing to correct it.

She knows the Prince, the one who bends reality to his will as easily as mortals breathe, who challenges gods and mortals in equal measure. And she knows he hates what has happened, because for all that he can shift and bend and warp reality to suit his desires...this is the one thing he is powerless to change. That it involves the woman he loves makes it that much more difficult to accept.

His hand comes down after a moment, and he pulls back slightly to look at her, letting her dark eyes bring peace once more. "One step at a time then." he says. "Whatever you need from me is yours. Whatever influence, you use it. If more is required that we cannot find here or in Rebma, we'll see what Shadow can provide.

"But that is also for the future, albeit near future. For the now, do you have time? I would like you to meet Cordelia."

Carina smiles, the wide grin showing in her eyes, lighting up her whole face. "I would love to meet Cordelia. Please send for her, if you wish and she is likely to be available, or let's arrange to share a meal."

He smiles and arranges for a page to find Cordelia so they can meet. While the page is out he mentions to Carina. "I haven't actually been able to figure out...what she eats." and he smiles slightly sheepishly. "She's not fully like her mother but even if she is in that respect Marissa had other options. Blood for them didn't need to be human...just blood. Though she did mention some cultural stereotypes about not feeding on humans being seen as barbaric. A lot of hunting metaphors got mentioned.

"I think we'll meet first, and then add in the meal sharing to see how that goes."

Carina seems fascinated by the concept of existing on blood alone but perhaps less interested in observing it too closely.

"If you're worried about that, Dad, I just ate," says Cordelia, who has opened the door unannounced. "Let me not explain, a bit. I have no idea how I'm different from other people, but I am. There's probably not another person who has one parent who is a vampire and another who is a Prince of Amber. Everything I am is exactly average for people like me, population 1."

"My mother had a lot of restrictions and life cycle stages that came with being her. I don't. Or I don't think that I do. Who's to say what's a preference, a habit, a pleasure, or a necessity?"

She turns to the Archivist. "You must be Carina." Jerod gets the feeling that it's a bit of an act, but that the facade is there to protect Cordelia from the overload of so many new people so fast.

Carina nods, and offers her hand in the manner of Rebmans. After a moment, Cordelia figures it out and shakes it.

"Oh, and before you ask, I'm an only child, as far as I know." Cordelia turns to Jerod, offering him the option of contradicting her.

"As far as I know as well." Jerod says, motioning to chairs. "We were just discussing that in fact.

"I'm hoping the steward was able to provide suitable quarters for you?" he asks. "While we have Chew in custody, his network of cells remains intact so until we can deal with them, it is not advised for you to travel. Even then, it can be a risk but if you can come into the family gifts, you'll be better able to defend yourself. So it's never bad to have a place to be able to stop and rest.

"The King has agreed that you are welcome as family and may remain as long as you wish. To obtain the power that your birthright allows, assuming you want to try, requires that some questions be answered. Given your background people are likely to be wondering what will be the impact of you having those gifts. I know this because two minutes after the King agreed you could stay, one of my cousins, Folly, who I consider a very reasonable, very thoughtful individual asked the question of whether you were going to eat anyone.

"It's a question that a lot of people are going to have, and a couple of my aunts and uncles can be a lot less reasonable than Folly. It's something we want to get ahead of, and for sure Random is going to ask questions about your background since he is the one who makes the final decision about taking the trial for the gift."

Jerod's tone throughout his comments has been sympathetic but direct. Like pulling a bandage off, it is something that has to be dealt with so better to do it quickly and not make the process any longer than normal.

"The normal family routine, which you'll want to know, is that gossip and questions are a family staple. It's how we keep up on events, learn what is happening. Youngers always go first before Elders decide what to let others know about. It may not always seem fair but it works, and usually the Elders in question are several centuries old so they may have a good reason for keeping something under wraps.

"In this case it is a routine I will forgo. My parents did not do it with me and I suspect you probably have a lot of questions so I would like to see about answering those if I can.

"So if you have anything to ask, please go ahead."

Carina has simply stood by as a calming presence while Jerod talk, letting him demonstrate his trust in her by how he speaks in front of her.

Cordelia has a wan smile on her lips. "For what it's worth, I grew up without you, and I am my own woman, so while I hope we have a close and agreeable relationship, I'm not anxious to be anyone's minor child. I am looking for an adult relationship, even if you are old enough to be my father.

"And I suppose it's inevitable that people are going to wonder if I'm going to eat someone. I don't know your cousin, but my immediate response is 'Not unless someone really irritates me.' Which is a total bluff on my part. I didn't even feel inclined to drink the blood of those monks I killed who were keeping my captive. And there was plenty of blood around."

Cordelia walks in from the doorway and finds a couch to sit on. "Anyway, based on what you're saying, I think my first set of questions is about this ritual. What is and why would they want me to do it?"

"It is called the Pattern." Jerod says, finding a comfortable chair as well and making sure Carina can do the same if she wishes. "And you walk it because you want to, not because you are required to. The King can decide if he thinks you are strong enough to walk it, or if he doesn't want you to. In Xanadu he is the arbiter of access.

"The power it grants to those who complete it, by walking it, is to have mastery over the reality of Shadow as we call other worlds, the ability to shape them and change things to suit our desires. It is the reason why the monks pursued you...they are of the belief they can somehow isolate and harness this power. They have no clue as to how it works, or the implications to reality if they were ever to be able to actually accomplish their task.

"As for why you are not required to walk it, the reason is simple. If you are not sufficiently strong enough, or not of the blood of family, the Pattern will kill you. If you try to walk it and stop, it will kill you. If you walk it, and try to step off it..." and he stops, knowing she will understand the rest.

"It's an all or nothing...you finish it, or you don't."

"There is also a Pattern in Rebma, where I come from. Queen Moire, who ruled when I started in the Royal Archives, set many people on it, or allowed them to try. So far as I know, none of them survived," Carina adds, reinforcing Jerod's explanation.

Cordelia listens to all of this as if Jerod is telling her to only use blue ink to write an essay. "Well, being already part-dead, I've no idea if that's an advantage or a disadvantage, but I am strong, or at least I think I am. What if the King says 'no'? Can I get a second opinion?"

"You can try, but I would not advise it." Jerod says. "As Carina has mentioned, there are other Patterns. One in Paris with my uncle Corwin. One in Avalon with my uncle Benedict. Another, which is off limits due to war, is Tir-na Nog'th. The queen of that realm is responsible for my sister's death. Entry there is barred by order of the King.

"Each of my uncles could let you walk their Pattern. Despite the differences in the cities, the Patterns that underlie them are the same so the power granted is identical. However, each of my uncles has sworn fealty to Random and if he chooses to refuse to let you walk, they are likely to do the same.

"From my experience he will have two reasons to do so. One, he questions your loyalty. I'm not thinking that is likely going to be the issue. You haven't done anything against Family so unless he unearths something else that makes him worried, I'm not seeing that being a problem. And Random is very good at asking questions.

"The problem will be whether or not he thinks you can actually walk it and survive. Your background is pretty unique compared to my cousins and elders. I'll be looking to speak to him concerning this. Now that doesn't mean it's impossible. Merlin, who you've met, is half Chaosian and a shape-shifter on his mother's side. Pattern is the essence of Order, so it opposes Chaos and tends to win out in the long run. But he was able to walk his father's Pattern. I know of two others who have also done this as well.

"How Random will determine you're capable is something that isn't explained...which is kinda normal with Pattern. It's hard to explain how it works, though easy to explain what we can achieve with it. Random created his Pattern so he'll have a very good idea of how it works, even if he can't explain it."

She looks ready to argue, but doesn't.

He stops for a moment, parsing his thoughts. "I have a question for you. When you came to Paris, and to Xanadu...what did you feel or sense? Beyond the usual things that you can sense." he asks. "No matter how odd you might think it."

"It was remarkable. Paris was so different. Huge and brimming over with life energy, but I was magically constrained and it wasn't until I went through with your cousins that I felt free. It's like a weight was lifted from me and I can fly here."

Carina's eyes get slightly larger and Cordelia notices and amends her previous statement.

"Metaphorically. Don't believe everything you've heard about vampires. And Xanadu has that feeling, too. It's a place people succeed." Her eyes narrow. "If the King has magick-ed it to produce optimism, it's working."

Jerod smiles as she describes her impressions, nodding once.

"That's the influence of the Pattern and the Order that it imposes. Your magic, and more powerful things like Sorcery, won't work here. Think of Pattern as the imposition of rules. Sorcery and shadow magicks bypass the rules of reality, let you do or create things instantaneously in some cases. Pattern lets you change reality according to the rules of the Shadow you're in. So I can't make coins out of thin air, but I can decide that there are coins in my pocket because I know they are, or a treasure is buried somewhere. You can decide that someone is not going to answer a door or stops on a patrol to tie their shoe. Those are quick things. For larger items, you can stay in a place and make bigger changes...the nature of the weather, the migration of peoples. So long as it follows the rules.

"It's why in a contest between Pattern and Sorcery, though there can be some variance if a sorcerer is extremely powerful or skillful, Pattern typically beats Sorcery.

"That you can feel the influence even a little is a good sign. Most people who come to here would recognize things as being more beautiful, food tasting better, that sort of thing. Their perceptions are more surface related. If you can sense how you personally interact with it, even a little, that's a sign that of a possible connection. We still have to check with Random for his opinion, but if you hadn't felt that part, I would say to not have even bothered."

She smiles, "We'll see. Most people don't understand my maternal inheritance. It will be refreshing to those people not understand my paternal inheritance, either."

Carina nods. "In Amber, Xanadu, and Rebma, you will find that you are treated as a Master of the City. Its officers of the law will defer to you and, if you say so, arrest anyone you accuse. You will not be able to pay for anything and the bills will be sent to the Castle, where they will be paid. And the merchant may start to label their goods 'by appointment to the royal family.' This is commonplace, and most of your peers hardly notice it, but the people below you in status certainly do.

"If anything is prohibitively expensive, the steward will mention it to your father, but not to you."

Carina turns to Cordelia. "People will seek you out for favors and access. In Amber and Xanadu, men will want to court you for power and money. In Rebma, they will want you to marry their brothers. Such a union would enrich a family for generations."

Cordelia looks at Jerod. "That sounds like it could get either tricky or annoying."

"Usually both. You will want to be mindful of the advantages you have in Rebma should you go there, which you would not have as many in places like Xanadu, Paris or Amber. They can be of great value so long as we keep in mind the price that comes with using our advantage, and that we do not abuse them. It can be easy to do if you're not used to it.." Jerod replies.

"That is not to say you will be lacking in power outside of Rebma. You will simply need to find ways to exploit the rules that are there." and he smiles slightly. It is clear he's used to looking for ways to exploit rules given his Rebman birthright.

"The current political situation is also in flux. Most people are disinterested in politics but it is good to keep in mind since politics involves power, and we're power by our nature. Celina is the current queen, but she acquired the throne after her lover Khela usurped it from my grandmother Moire. As Carina mentioned, Moire put many on Rebma's Pattern to try to gain a measure of its power. She was not a nice person and she fled into Shadow.

"Khela died walking the Pattern and Celina now holds the throne. But Moire is still out there and her possible return is a point to be taken into account. The probability is low however so we will keep it in the background for now. You will have time to explore and see where you want to go and how you want to fit in.

"Which begs the question - how do you see that happening?"

Cordelia looks back at her father. "I don't know. When do I have to answer? I have less than a tenday's experience having a family around me and I don't want to make decisions that close doors for me when I don't even know where the doors are."

"Especially if it's tricky. I'd say my main objective is to preserve my options. Is there a path forward for that?"

"Sure. It's called keeping your options open." Jerod says with a grin. "There is no right or wrong answer to choosing your own path. The main issue I've ever had is in following a path because it was put before me and not realizing I could choose my own.

"The reverse of keeping your options open, of course, is never choosing. At some point, you'll have to. Though even not choosing is still a choice. It's just a stagnant one.

"For right now, if you want open options, then relax and explore. Talk to people, make acquaintances and friends as you see fit. Ask questions and see where the answers take you.

"The one thing to know early is that we do not have jobs in the classic sense. We take on a niche, a role if you will. You go where you're needed, where you can do some good or can fit in. We're very pre-emptive in some cases...we just have to be sure we're not stepping on someone's toes while doing it."

"Keeping my options open sounds excellent. I only know a few people here, and only a few people in Paris who I want to dismantle, but other than that, I am not informed enough to choose a path."

Carina nods. "If you want, I can help you with information. My job, and I do have one, is to remember things and tell them when needed."

Cordelia smiles. "Thank you, that would be a kindness."

Jerod nods, also smiling. "Then I think we will call it here for the moment. I have other questions for you that I will want to pose before I go see Bend in Paris, but those can wait." and he looks at Carina. "Edan wants to go rooting around in Xanadu's basement for something and Random doesn't want him going alone. So I volunteered.

"But before that...I'd like to get that meal I mentioned."


After his conversations with Harsh and Tricksey and with Folly and Jerod, Vere will have a longer meeting with his parents. He isn't planning anything major here, just social time. He'll catch them up on everything he's been doing, his plans for the immediate future (contact Julian about how to best assist Robin in her task), and ask after how they have been and any concerns they may have.

Corvis' main concerns are Gerard's health and the magics left behind by the Queen of Air and Darkness/Maeve, who was a powerful enough sorceress and Pattern-mistress to defeat and hold Fiona. Which, Vere gets the feeling, was something Corvis would have considered impossible had she not seen it.

Without being pushy Vere seeks information on their opinions of Hannah's assistance with Gerard's possible recuperations. He'll listen to his mother's concerns about the Queen of Air and Darkness, looking for evidence that his mother really does identify her as the Dark Mother.

Corvis is all in favor of anything Hannah can do for Gerard and is supporting Hannah in any way she can, including working against Vialle under the influence of the Queen of Air and Darkness. She absolutely thinks the Queen of Air and Darkness is related to the Dark Mother, if not the Dark Mother herself.

Politically, with his consort out of the way, Corvis expects Random to either take another wife or sire another heir, or both, which is how she understands that Oberon did things.

Vere is noncommittal on this.

She's also interested in what Avis and Vianis have been up to and how they're settling near Paris. It's clear to Vere that she's still mourning the Isles.

Vere will be happy to tell his mother everything he knows about what is happening with with their people back in Paris.

Gerard's main concerns are Corvis' health in the absence of the Isles and the ship of state of Xanadu remaining on course after the business with Vialle's possession.

Vere will try to get his father away from his mother at one point to ask how his she is really doing.

Gerard feels she's fading and that the vital connection between her and the Isles is dragging her down. In time they'll either have to do something to restore the Isles or something equivalent or they're going to lose her.

Gerard's not a redhead but he wonders if there's not some parallel between what's happening with her and what's happening to Brennan and Ambrose's mother. Perhaps Vere could talk to one of the redheads about that.

Also he has a story to tell about Hannah and Solange and Robin deciding to adopt Captain Penthelisea as a sister because she seems enough like their mother and someone ought to adopt her. Gerard's obviously got a soft spot for the girl, which undoubtedly comes as no surprise to Vere.

Vere will laugh at that, and mention that Robin and Brita have already adopted First to the Fray as a sister as well. He'll use that as a segue into talking about Harsh, and expressing his liking for his new brother.

Gerard is pleased to hear it. He likes Harsh too, though he understands why Harsh has some reservations and problems. Gerard may have to ask Vere to stand as his proxy in bringing

Gerard thinks things are getting worse, not better, in Arden, and that Robin and Vere are needed there, together or apart. Gerard would like to see actual military forces put under Julian's command though he's aware that Navy men wouldn't do well there. It would take forces like the rangers in Broceliande to really help. Or preferably folk with their own magics.

Vere lets him know that he is planning on contacting Julian about getting assistance for Robin, and will be leaving to join and assist her in the immediate future.

This is good news, and pleases Gerard.

Privately, on this subject, Gerard will admit he doesn't want Avis' people involved because he thinks that the right side of the conflict between Julian and the goddesses of Arden might not be as clear to the people of the Isles, and particularly he thinks Vianis might be tempted by an offer of power. It would be different if he were there to command them personally, but that's not possible.

Vere considers this, and reluctantly agrees with his father.

Then Vere will check in with Castor to see how things are with him, and any reports he has on the affairs of Robin and Vere he has been managing.

Vere's affairs are, as always, limited by the fact that he can take no offices, so they're simple enough. Vere has some correspondence that requires a personal touch, but no more than a day or two worth.

Has any further work been done on the land grant from the king? Vere is aware than no real work can be done until he and Robin are there to oversee it, but at least a survey of the area should be undertaken.

Not at this point but Castor will put that in process with the King's officers.

Castor has compiled a dossier about Pen and Pontus for Vere's review. He's aware that Gerard and the sisters have decided to take her in, and so Vere will be interested in her. There's not a lot to know, yet, but what there is to find out, he can tell Vere.

Vere thanks him, and will study the information before contacting Julian.

Robin's business has been dealt with relatively recently so there's not a lot to take care of there.

Finally, Vere will send a note to the King that he will be departing soon, and that if the king has any final orders or desires he should let Vere know.

Once Vere has settled his affairs to the extent possible he dresses for travel and possible conflict and attends upon his father, to contact Julian and depart Xanadu. Since he will hopefully be going through the Trump contact (always dependent on what Julian decides, of course), he asks his Gerard to contact Julian so that Vere can be handed through and Gerard can retain the Trump.

Gerard opens the contact, which from the exchange of greetings sounds clearly pre-arranged. Vere suspects his father has had a lot to discuss with Julian and he may not have wanted Vere to hear all of it. Gerard invites Vere into the contact.

Julian is in his war tent. "Vere," he says, "you are welcome to join me. I am told there are no troops at this time, but I still hope Random will send some forward when he can." He reaches for Vere's hand.

Vere accepts Julian's hand and steps through. "Farewell, Father," he says as he transitions to Arden.

Once through Vere glances briefly around the tent, taking note of any maps or correspondance within view, and any signs of preparations for battle. He then turns his attention to his uncle and gives a small bow. "Well met, Uncle," he says.

This is Julian's war tent, which has a public area that serves as his office, with a mannequin for his armor, which is presently on his person, camp chairs, a table among the chairs, a desk, and a fireplace, among other furnishings in this part of the tent. The floor is made up of rugs.

On the desk is a map that Julian has been working with. Based on the troop movements, Vere can tell that the Rangers have had to fall back. All this he takes in with a glance, which is helped by the fact that he and the other members of the Regency Council became intimately familiar with the maps of Arden and Garnath.

Julian says, "Well met, nephew, and welcome to our war. You know that Robin is in Pontus, with her new sister Penthelisea?" It's only sort of a question.

"I do, Uncle. We have spoken, and she has told me of her plans. She has expressed a desire to have someone capable of using the Pattern to lend her strength in her efforts to repel the Green, and I thought to offer my services." He tilts his head slightly, pausing to give Julian a chance to respond to this before continuing.

"You are welcome. More than. We need the strength of the Pattern behind us to hold off the encroachments of the Green. It's moving toward Amber and in due time, a decade or two, will be at the foot of the mountain." Because he is Julian and does not despair, he says this calmly. "If Amber were what she once was, it would be different. Not only because we'd have more backing from the Crown, but because the land itself would resist what the Dragon is doing. But she is more Real than Amber is, now, and so our failure is, if not inevitable, highly likely. But still we must try. At least for long enough to ensure the people of the city leave, even the ones who chose not to evacuate to Xanadu."

Vere sighs. "It would be sad to lose Amber. She might no longer be what she was, but she is part of our family's history." He muses silently on loss and fighting against great odds for a moment, then continues. "I spoke with Robin recently about her plans. She expects to spend a few more days in Pontus before returning here with a small Pontan force." He nods his head slightly. "She might already have contacted you regarding this?"

Julian smiles, if a bit grimly, at the news that Pontus is sending warriors to assist. "Not yet," he answers Vere's question, "but I did tell her I trusted her. And she knows what my goals are."

Vere nods. "Here then, is what she told me. She and Penthelisea were attacked by the forces of a goddess of Arcadia on their travel to Pontus. The goddess did not remain, and Robin defeated her foes and protected that area of Shadow against the Green. In Pontus she discovered that there are at least two active firelily trails leading into it. The Queen of Pontus has assigned sixty mounted warriors and a small number of named warriors to aid Arden. They will be returning with Robin in the next few days, depending on how long it takes for the Amazons to mobilize. Robin is working on developing a firelily eating moth."

Vere tilts his head to one side, then continues. "King Random expressed confidence in Robin's plans for a moth, but in that way of his that makes one wonder how serious he is being. He also approved my coming here to aid you, and asked that you let him know what assistance you require. He rattled off a variety of possible forces, although again one does not know where he was being serious and where it was a jest known only to himself."

Julian nods as if none of this is unexpected. "Regardless of how his majesty meant his offer, we will take him up on it. I will let him know what I need. More specifically, Vista will compose a list of our needs, both in terms of personnel and supplies. If it's not urgent, you may chose to lead a patrol back to Xanadu by horse, but if Vista has critical needs, you may need to use the family gifts."

"I am at your service," Vere replies. "While Vista prepares his list, is there anything of immediate importance you wish me to perform?"

"Yes. I have heard much of recent events from my brother, but I would also hear what news you have learned. An additional perspective is always useful," Julian says.

Vere considers Julian one of the few people who would appreciate a really thorough report, so he's going to give at least a brief description of everything of import that has happened since the last family meeting that Julian attended. Vere glosses over the gathering of Youngers with, "Several of us discussed things at this point."

Vere mentioned new members during the dry recitation of facts, with a "I shall return to a discussion of new members of the Family later," so as not to derail the narrative of events. After that is concluded, he turns his attention to personalities.

"Of all new members of the Family who have been discovered, no doubt the most significant is one whom I have not met, and who may not be a stranger to you. That is Abel, the son of Caine, who we have discovered to be working with the Klebesians. Possibly even one of their founders. The question of the depth of his involvement, and whether Chew was conducting his crimes against the Family without Abel's knowledge, remains unclear."

Vere pauses, to see if Julian has any questions or comments about Abel, before he turns to the younger generation.

"I'm familiar with the broader story of Abel, though I haven't met the man myself. I had halfway expected Caine to recruit him for the battle at Chaos, and then it seemed he could not, and then it turned out Caine had chosen a different nephew as an ally," Julian says. "What do you know about the circumstances of the discovery? Are we aware of any direct involvement with Huon?"

"I have not met Able myself," Vere cautions, "So what I say is based on second and third hand reports. My understanding is that he disavows the actions of Doctor Chew, and withdrew his protection from him." He smiles grimly. "Not that such protection would have deterred Jerod and myself when we had the opportunity to capture him. I assume, although I do not know for certain, that Able's exact degree of involvement will be among the information extracted from Chew before Random passes judgement upon him."

Julian nods. Chew is not his concern; Vere can tell this from Julian's disinterest in the man's final fate. "If there were any way to pry him away from the Klybesians, I'd take Able. I could use a man with his skills. I'd take Huon at this point if Random could send him to me. What we need, even more than Rangers or armed soldiers, is Pattern-wielding kinsmen who can hold off the Green. Once you've dealt with the Green a few times, you'll understand."

Vere mirrors Julian's nod. "I have received the impression that immortality tends to increase our family's receptivity to offer opportunities for redemption to members of the family." He smiles thinly. "In Huon's case, it might take Robin a while to accept that."

"Robin is young yet, and still navigating matters of her head and her heart. I trust she will not err in ways that give Huon an advantage at court. He should be earning his way into our good graces slowly and with dificulty."

He looks at the forest beyond the pavilion. "Not that I object to thinking of particularly troublesome family members whilst fighting the enemies of Arden. Imagination is a powerful tool that can add a powerful incentive to defeat our foes."

Vere answers that with another small smile. "Indeed." He tilts his head to one side. "Moving on to the newly discovered members of the younger generation. I am aware of eight new members. Some you may already have heard of, such as Pen, with whom Robin travels, Others I think will be new. Aside from the Amazon, their names are Cordelia, Rowen, Misao, Tricksey, Alex, Delta and Harsh."

Vere pauses for a moment, to see if Julian has any other comment, before he goes into detail on the new Family members.

"Harsh I have spoken with your father about, though I would be interested in your view, since I'm sure you've made your own study of him." Julian graces Vere with a slight smile. "I've heard other names, but nothing significant, such as where they fit in the family puzzle."

Vere nods. "I shall return to Harsh, with whom I have spoken and of whom I approve, based on what I have seen so far. As to the others, here is what I know of their backgrounds.

"Cordelia is the daughter of Jerod, previously unknown by him. She is of the vampyr, and whether she is alive or not is, I believe, an interesting question. She was besieged by the Klebesians when discovered, and is a formidable fighter. I find her interesting and soothing. She reminds me of the ocean, outwardly calm and serene, but with unseen depths and a capacity for sudden overwhelming violence.

"Rowan was traveling with Martin, and joined us in capturing Chew. She is Weirmonken, and I have heard that she is likely the full sister of Cambina. An excellent fighter. Young, but already skilled.

"Delta and Alex were both rescued from the care of Doctor Chew. They has been kidnapped from their respective shadows, and knew nothing of their heritage. Delta is of Rebman extraction, but as far as I know we do not yet know exactly how she fits into the family. Alex is notable for his strength, but is also currently of unknown parentage.

"Misao and Tricksey were discovered separately, and have never met, but are halfsisters. They are the daughters of Kimiko-dono of Hikariguni. Misao is her daughter by Lucas, Tricksey by Daeon." Vere deliberately left this for last, and pauses before enlarging on these two to see if Julian has any comment.

Julian sighs. "Let us speak, then, of my new grand-daughter. What do you make of her?"

"I like her," Vere replies with a small smile. "You might find her... volatile." He tilts his head to one side, considering. "She calls herself a crow girl, and she has many corvid traits. Her conversation flits from topic to topic, as does her attention. Although I have the impression she can concentrate intensely when it is called for. She has a strong sense of justice and a desire to protect the weak from those who would prey upon them." Another small smile. "She uses the term 'foxes' to describe such predatory behaviour, and she is not inclined to be forgiving."

He thinks for a moment. "She has expressed interest in meeting her siblings..." Vere snaps his fingers, a momentary trace of annoyance crossing his face. "Ah, I realize I have misspoken once again. I referred to Misao as the daughter of Kimiko, and that is wrong. It comes from my upbringing, and my natural default to the feminine pronoun. Misao is a shapeshifter and is more properly referred to as they rather than she. I also failed to mention the discovery that Benedict's daughter Lilly is also the daughter of Kimiko."

"Ah, of course." Julian nods as if this provides a piece to a puzzle he already had most of. "I am, of course, ready to meet my granddaughter at her earliest convience. It would be better if she took the Pattern first, because I cannot leave Arden just now. And I'd rather not take the risk of bringing her here without the protection of the Pattern, not after what happened to her paternal siblings."

Vere tilts his head slightly to one side. "I do not believe I have sufficient context to completely understand that comment."

"Daeon had, unsurprisingly, many children. I would say he was not always careful in the spreading of his seed, but that would be untrue; Daeon spread it widely and with delight, siring many sons and daughters. Those whom I knew of, or learned about, in Garnath and Arden were offered the chance to become rangers."

Julian spreads his hands, palms up, as if to say 'just as you might expect'.

"We learned in the attack on Amber that led to Daeon's death that they were susceptible to the Green's influence, so for their own safety, they were reassigned to Xanadu, under the protection of that Pattern."

Vere nods. "Tricksey should be warned that she may have a susceptibility to the Green." He considers for a moment. "You think that walking the Pattern will serve to lessen that danger?"

"Functionally, one resists the Green in the same way that one resists Chaos. I suspect that Daeon might have survived his encounter with the Dragon had he taken the Pattern. With the full power of such a being focused on him, he might still have died, but he would have stood more of a chance. No protection is perfect, but the Pattern imposes reality and order, and the Green is a form of corruption. The personal reality and substance that Pattern initiates such as you and Robin and I all have is a strong defense, the only defense, against the Green."

Julian adds, "Random and I have discussed Daeon's other children. He does not consider any of them suited to walk the Pattern. I don't know why but I trust his judgement. Dad made the same kind of arbitrary decisions about who should and shouldn't walk and was proven right more than once."

"Huon's brother," Vere says quietly.

"Among others," Julian agrees. "So if the King says she is capable of taking the Pattern, I accept that, and will defer meeting her until she can join me with as much safety as she can.

"Tell me of the others."

"Misao, as I have said, is the half-sibling of Tricksey. Daughter of Lucas. Despite being a shape shifter they are very ordered in their manner, and I have the impression their upbringing was one that emphasized duty and propriety. We spent a pleasant day touring Paris together, and I formed a very positive impression of them. They will need to work out their loyalties to their mother and the land of their birth against those to the Family, but that is no different to most of the younger generation."

Vere smiles. "That brings us back to my newly found brother, Harsh. He also is a creature of duty and propriety. He was an officer in the navy of his homeworld, and was discovered by Martin after having been swept through some form of apparently naturally occuring Shadow portal. Discovering his heritage was a shock to him, but one that I believe he is dealing with very well."

Julian nods. "One for the Navy, most likely, then, and, without knowing Misao, I cannot predict how they will serve. I know both of their parents primarily by reputation, and children can be very different to who their parents actually are, never mind their cultivated personas.

"I had hoped there might be a ranger in the making among them, but we will continue to even so."

"Rowan's the most likely Ranger candidate," Vere responds. "Depending on your thoughts on the weir."

"I've worked with them before," Julian says, "when Eric was king. He didn't want them mixed in with my Rangers, but obviously now matters are different. And in any case, the King's nieces and nephews are all welcome here, particularly once they've mastered the Orderly gifts that will make them helpful in stabilizing Arden. This force is what stands between the Green and Amber in the absence of her Pattern."

Vere sighs. "I fear for the future of Amber," he confesses. "I did not know her in her glory. I had only a single night to feel what she was before the Sundering and the destruction of her Pattern. But still, I see her fading as a sad thing."

"I do not know how to undo what was done to the Pattern in Amber, but I think it unwise to allow the Green, or any other form of Chaos, to wash over it. I feel that it must be defended," Julian says. "And that without considering that my son gave his life to defend his family when they should have been under its protection."

Vere nods. "I have various duties and oaths," he says. "Which may call me away. But what aid I can offer in the defense of Arden and Amber, you may call upon."

"I will hold you to that," Julian says seriously, "saving your oaths, and particularly that one regarding your father."

Vere nods in agreement, but does not say anything.


After his conversation with Julian Vere moves around the Rangers encampment, renewing acquaintances with those Rangers he already knows and meeting those he does not yet know. He is not pressing for any specific information as of yet, merely getting a feel for how the Rangers view the current situation and their morale and level of preparation for further conflict.

Vere doesn't see a lot of the Rangers he remembers from his time on the Regency Council, mostly because they were either new to the job or weren't fit for the kind of combat the Rangers are currently engaged in (or they would have been with Julian in Chaos in the first place). He's acquainted with a number of Julian's people, who are all eager to meet him if only because of his connection with Robin.

The mood here is cheerfully grim. They're aware they're making something of a last stand. Vere's presence heartens them, though; they're aware that his royal gifts will be standing between them and the Green, just like Robin's. And they're hopeful that Robin's presence will also keep them safe when she returns from her current duty. Preferably with troops from Pontus.

After that he will venture a bit further afield, not so far that he runs any danger of encountering the Green, but far enough that he is not among other humans. He wants to open himself to the Pattern to get a feel for what is going on spiritually in Arden.

To get away from the Ranger camp far enough to get out from under whatever protection Julian has made for it is going to involve risk to Vere. How is Vere going to determine how far to go? What risk is he willing to accept?

He'll begin by speaking to the Rangers about the relative safety of the area around the camp, and where they feel safe and where they start to feel that things are becoming dangerous. They're the experienced people here, and Vere will take advantage of their knowledge.

They don't talk about it in terms of warding and magic, and certainly not of Pattern, but it's clear they think of Julian's presence as somewhat talismanic. Where he is, and to a certain extent where Morgenstern is, the Green has more difficulty manifesting. Julian has prepared the camp and made it safe for them; you have to start being wary outside the camp, and the further you get the moreso you have to be wary.

Vere is being cautious and he'll start out by trying to get a feel using the Pattern while still in the safety of the camp. He's experimenting and extending his knowledge of how to use the Pattern here, and he is not going to rush things. Proper research methods call for slow and steady increases in knowledge, and that is what he is intending to do.

Over the years since the Regency, given the time he's spent travelling in Shadow, shoring up paths, and travelling in Chaos, Vere has learned quite a bit about the Pattern and how to use it. His theoretical knowledge is unfortunately limited compared to his practical use.

Julian is a master of Pattern. He's warded this campsite somehow, strengthened it, and Vere's not quite sure what he did or how he did it. Some of it is his presence and Morgenstern's, definitely. But some of it is a work someone--Julian--did to make this place more substantial and Real in a way that would put off Chaos and the Green. Vere is able to recognize this after his own time in Chaos.

Vere intuits it would be a bad idea to look with his Third Eye. It wouldn't be blinding but it might be like a poke in the eye, and who wants that?

When Vere explores the edges of the campsite, it's clear that the protection has a hard limit. The Rangers know where it is and keep inside, including their mounts, their hounds, and their birds. Outside the campsite, Vere can see brighter colors, especially greens, different creatures, and other signs of something that's different from Arden as he knew it. It's not like the Black Road but it has something of that vibe to Vere.

Assuming some success in using the Pattern in this way in a safe area, he will then begin moving further away. Not far, each test case will be just a bit further away from camp than the last one. He's looking for the first faint indications of a change in the way things feel. Once that happens he will re-evaluate how to proceed.

It's potentially dangerous once Vere steps outside of the camp, though his Pattern gifts and skills protect Vere. He could learn more by riding with Rangers on patrol, and also protect them.

Vere nods to himself once he comes to this realization. He had been thinking that the protection would fade gradually away from the center of whatever Julian had done, but the realization that it is a specified area rather than a gradient leads to a reevaluation of tactics. Riding with a patrol is clearly the best thing to do at this point, and he will offer his services to the next patrol planning to go out.

He will familiarize himself with the Rangers on the patrol, their mission objectives, and their plans and procedures beforehand.

Ranger command structures are traditionally loose. No one is ordered to patrol, but someone has asked for a particular report that means a patrol has to go out, so one self-organizes. It's easy to be added to the roster.

The next patrol is led by Sherrill, a Ranger medic. They're tasked to gather healing herbs and evaluate if the green is infecting them. Rangers Cranny and Ribbon are assigned, and Ribbon is also keeping an eye on certain bridges and fords to see how safe the approaches are and if the enemy is using them.

The patrol should be about 3 days, and plans to leave within a few hours.

Vere lets Julian know he will be joining the patrol. Assuming that they will be riding, he looks over the available horses for a spirited mount.

Julian approves.

The horses are all kept in a corral, and generally away from Morgenstern. Vere finds a spirited dappled mare named Lightning, probably due to the blaze on her nose. She's not the biggest, but she may be the fastest that isn't someone's personal horse. The stablehand thinks she's one of the smartest horses they have.

Sherrill is happy for the extra eyes, and reevaluates what the patrol can accomplish with four rangers instead of three, especially when one of them is Vere. She asks if he'll be staying with the patrol the entire way. She makes sure the patrol has enough food and water and that Vere is carrying his share in case he gets separated.

She offers Vere the opportunity to ride point, if he wants to. She'll give him rough directions (in Ranger-speak) for where they're trying to get by nightfall.

The way out of the camp is reasonably well-travelled, at the start, and the forest is neither dark nor dense enough to impede a party of trained Rangers on Ranger-tranied horses. If it weren't for the foreboding necessity to check for encroaching Green, or the spread of Firelillies, it would almost be a pleasant winter's ride.

Vere confirms that, barring an unforeseen extreme change in the situation, his intention is to remain with them for the entire duration of the patrol. He's happy to take point, and while remaining vigilant the chance to once again be on horseback in a forest is a welcome change from his recent past.

Vere is mindful of the patrol's intention, but is also opening his Pattern sense to get a "feel" for what is happening out here. He's especially looking for how the Green manifests to his senses while focussing on the Pattern. One of his ideas is that once he finds the first clear signs of an infestation of the Green he will attempt to weaken and possibly destroy it by using the Pattern.


After getting everyone back towards town and situated, Edan sees that there is some free time left for the day. Perfect. Time to do something that's been gnawing at him since the fight with the Marshal.

He rides out to the stretch of beach where he made the mirror to contact Celina; not because it has magical significance, but because it is peaceful and meditative and he knows Sorcery will work here.

Again, he builds a bonfire. Again, he uses the local sand and salt and clay along with a complex mix of reagents from his pockets and pouches, but this time he fashions it into a water-filled glass globe, roughly two feet in diameter. It takes a while to make just the right shape, just the right thickness, altering the water inside just so to be the perfect lens and prism. And when the sunlight is broken into shards of color around him, he lets the globe hang in the air and spin while he begins to cast.

Waves of fire wash over the globe, inscribing letters and runes in the spinning glass. Broken color shards mix with the ruddy light of the flame, forming wheels of magical writing that turn and spin in relation to the globe itself. Edan feeds it his memories, his feelings, all he remembers of his affine, his will and the need that drives it, and the wheels change accordingly and the globe spins faster. One might almost grasp some kind of equation in there just beyond understanding. And when he thinks it is ready, Edan sends his thoughts into the globe, seeking Kyauta in Time and Space.

Edan sends his thoughts into the globe and is immediately glad he's given himself as many advantages as he could make. Searching across space and time increases the difficulty dramatically. Moreover, there is something keeping Edan from searching too far back in the past. Is it a year? A dozen? He does not know.

He does find Kyauta, he thinks, or traces of him. Deep under Xanadu, in the dark. In the passages and tunnels that do not lead to the pattern. Places Bleys warned him not to explore without great care.

Edan files that away, under the possibility that you might not be able to look back in time past your target's life span. If it's a deliberate block, that will have to be researched another time.

...What?

The irony is not lost on Edan, that the very thing Bleys warned him about might be his very own affine.

He has to go look. If Kyauta isn't rescued in the past, it'll have to be rescued now. But if it is rescued in both places, does that set up a paradox?

No matter. It needs to be followed up. So Edan mounts his horse and heads back, ready to deal with his obligations and make preparations.

The ride back is wet and cool, without being cold enough to snow. Aramsham endures it, but Edan can tell the stallion would rather be in a warm stable with a blanket and some dry hay.

The grooms are happy to oblige and Aramsham allows them to groom him.

Next is a note. Edan goes up to his room, and with the waterfall as background outside the balcony, pens a letter to Random.

Uncle,

I have returned from a preliminary scout of the forest on the other side of the mountain. I saw no overt threats towards Broceliande or along the border of the land gifted to cousins Robin and Vere. I did find a nature spirit who claimed to protect that part of the forest, Lar of the Grove. We engaged in diplomatic talk, and we agreed to share information we find about the area. I had an acorn that I could use for communication, so I gave my nut to her and she promised to take care of it until it was ready.

I have discovered that my affine/knight may have been thrown to the tunnels under the castle during my fight with the Marshal. I need to find out if that is true, and how long it has been trapped there. I would go explore, but it would be prudent if someone would try my Trump if I do not return in a timely manner. If you have any information about what is down there, I would be grateful.

Yours, (etc)
Edan

Some time later, a note comes back.

Groovy. Thank you for sacrificing your nut for the cause of good relations with our neighbors.

You can go into the tunnels, but not alone. It's dark down there.

-- R rex

Okay, then. Edan changes into what he considers a more 'working' style of clothes, trousers and high boots and a long over shirt with a lapel collar and lots of pockets. Two swords and a brace of throwing knives go on a sword belt, and he finds a good light source he trusts. There won't be any Sorcery here. He puts on a short turban and brushes his teeth. Finding no more excuses to delay, he looks for a page to find out which Royals are still in the castle.

"The King, Lady Folly, Lady Hannah, Lord Maximus [and the rest...]"

"Do you want me to send messages on your behalf, my Lord?"

Edan almost says no, but thinks about it and nods. It is the most expedient way, and the page would not offer if not willing. "I would be most grateful, if you would. Give me a little time to write something."

The note he writes for everyone is,

I find I must explore down in the basement under the castle. Not the important parts of the basement, the other parts. One could get lost down there, I hear. If you are interested in exploring with me, please meet with me in the front hall at (the beginning of the next watch).

Yours, Edan

A short time later another of the ubiquitous pages arrives with a note, written in Jerod's precise flowing script.

"Sounds like fun cousin. I'll be there."

A watch after the sent notes finds Edan at the front of the castle, dressed in boots and trousers and a long quilted tunic and short turban. He has long and short curved blades in his belt sash. If not dressed for climbing, he's certainly ready for a long walk. He's peering at various light sources around the entry chamber, clearly wondering if he should steal one of the more reliable-looking ones.

While Edan is reviewing his light sources, he will notice Jerod approach from within the castle. He is not dressed in his regular colors but in a priests coat with dark boots and a pair of silvered blades instead of the spear and the heavy blade he normally carried. The clothing has an odd stitching pattern to it that is colors with a deep, almost black violet coloration. It has the look of something custom made specifically for him.

Over his shoulder he has a pack that he carries with the usual ease of Family. It appears to carry a number of spelunking items within it (hammer, pitons, torches, flint/steel) along with a length of natural thin jute (manila) rope. All of the gear has the look of "use".

"Well met cousin." Jerod says with a simile. He seems oddly...happy.

"So...we're going where everyone's been told not to go huh?"

Edan turns and smiles. "Ah, cousin. Well met. I am glad you brought that, I hope it won't be needed, but it would have taken a long time for me to put one together. Yes, I actually have permission to search around, but the king warned me not to go alone. I think the Marshal threw my affine down there, through Space and Time. I'm not sure exactly how long it's been trapped. Years."

"You think the Marshall tossed you affine through Time and Space, to underneath a Pattern where order is paramount?" Jerod asks. "Okay, that right there would a really serious accomplishment. Yeah, I'd agree with Random...nobody goes alone.

"Anything I should know about how the Marshall might have done what he did, the circumstances that were underway when it happened, or how your affine works? Never been in the bowels of a Pattern location, so I'm not sure how reality is going to be operating."

"I know what won't work. My Sorcery. I'll just be a blade down there." Edan frowns. "I'm surprised Kyauta has survived. It must be, have been, in tremendous pain. It attacked the Marshal when he dodged Martin and came through to my camp. I couldn't stop it soon enough. Kyauta is a creature of Chaos, though, so at least able to change its form if nothing else."

"How much control do you believe you still exert over it?" Jerod asks, motioning that they should start heading down below. "Do you believe that if it was in a Pattern environment long enough, it might have solidified its identity enough to be more intelligent, or perhaps more assertive of itself?

Edan walks along. "In that, I place my hope. Not only of its time in Xanadu's tunnels, but the bulk of its formative experiences were with me. Grandmother Clarissa tells me that as a Lord of Chaos, I am 'tainted by Order'. I happily accept the description. I know that Kyauta has picked some of this up from me. Now, a creature of Chaos, raised on a diet of Order and trapped next to a Pattern- what will become of that mix? I hope it has not driven my affine insane.

"And, I don't care. Kyauta is a Knight of the Lamp. The investiture is well earned in battle against the Moonriders. We are sworn to each other. Whatever shape I find it in, I intend to bring my knight home."

"Let us hope then it is not a fallen knight." Jerod says. "Time to go cave diving."

Edan leads them down to the basement, at the least towards the huge staircase (is there one?), but aiming towards the other tunnels, not towards the Pattern.

The way to the basement is clear, and there is a guard near the door. He says the King has sent word to open it for Edan's party and they can knock if they don't exit another way.

"The King also had this sent." It is a picnic hamper with a red checked cloth in it and enough food for a light snack for two sons of Amber.

Jerod thanks the guard and collects the hamper. "Now all we need is the big bad wolf." he says jokingly.

Edan chuckles. "I know this story! It was surprisingly violent. Oh," he adds to the guard, "is there a map to areas down here? Before it becomes all tunnels and confusion."

"No, my Lord," replies the guard. It's not one of Edan's knights or even a soldier that Edan has met, but he seems competent if unimaginative. "We are here to discourage people from entering."

Edan doesn't skip a beat. “No worries there. If there isn't a map, there will be when we return.” He offers to take the basket since Jerod already has a pack, and nods to the guard to let them through.

Jerod finishes looking through the pack as Edan speaks to the guard before handing it over. "That'll last ten minutes." he says drily as they set off.

The path below the castle leads into darkness, although the floor and the openings seem to be relatively smooth and don't have much of a slope to them. At least here. The path towards the pattern chamber is remarkably similar to the tunnels under Amber, with a number of branching tunnels. It would be easy to get there, as both men know how to get to Amber's pattern chamber.

It's not clear what else makes sense. There are the first six passageways on one side and a number on the other as well. There doesn't seem to be an immediate sign of occupancy.

Jerod does an initial sweep of the area with a lantern in hand, letting Edan focus on anything that might lead to his affine. He makes note of anything that might seem out of sorts. It is not surprising that things would be similar here to Amber given the influence of Order. There would be limits to how much expression can be forced into existence by a creator here...and with Pattern and Sorcery equally suppressed they'll be looking for subtle variances...smells, odd air flows, signs of movement on the floor from dirt or dust.

Edan tries his best to triangulate where he is vs. where his spell might have given a more specific location. He doesn't bother trying the Third Eye yet because he'd like to be able to see after all this.

"I was fortunate to locate Kyauta here; I had to search both Time and Space over years, and as it turned out, next to a Pattern. It was well-played. I am hoping not to have to methodically search tunnel by tunnel."

"I'm curious as to the means by which you were able to conduct your search." Jerod says, bending down to check something he spotted before determining it is of no value. "Pattern doesn't lend itself to scrying. Was it some kind of deductive function?"

Edan head-shakes a negative. "If you follow the strip of beach south of the city, you eventually reach a sweet spot where complex Sorcery can happen. One might wonder if Random fashioned it that way on purpose. That was one bonus.

"Another is, well, myself. I have a talent for mixing and combining Principles. I hit just the right combination of Time and Space and Similarity to find traces of Kyauta, even in this place. It is the nature of Sorcery to work around the Order imposed by the Pattern."

"Interesting. So would you say that Sorcery might find Order to be porous...to a point?" Jerod asks.

"Or Order gets porous as it spreads outwards, and Sorcery fills in the cracks. And I am an Ordered being using Sorcery, which may throw in an additional iteration. I really should sit down sometime and do the math on that."

"Also interesting." Jerod replies. "Anything?"

All Edan knows is that Kyauta would try to be as far away from the Patterns as it could get. Deep and distant.

He also recalls it being wet, in the way that natural caves often are and this one is decidedly not.

Edan's expression visibly falls. "Down deep, I think, in a natural cavern. Where it's wet."

"Mmmm...okay. Let's hope we're just spelunking and not cave diving." Jerod says. "Didn't bring gear for that."

Having done a review of the tunnels, do any have the requisite characteristics for deep and wet, meaning the air is a bit moister, or the passage slopes down.

If not, and if Edan doesn't know which way, Jerod will just pick one at random (no pun intended).

The caves seem extensive, and as they move away from the known path to the pattern, the path becomes less regular, the floor becomes less even, and the slope becomes more pronounced.

The two prince's sons traverse the cave system and head deeper and further under the great cliffside.

There could be a link to the caves in the cliff face below, but it's far from obvious where that connection would be.

It's far too close to manipulate the pattern and sorcery is equally useless. Perhaps they can find another node where sorcery works.

There are few signs of life down here, but not no signs.

Jerod hears it first. There's water ahead, moving without rushing. Perhaps it's lapping against a shore. Perhaps something breached the surface of an underwater lake.

It's just ahead.

Jerod stops, his head tilting slightly as he listens for the sounds again. He sniffs at the air to get a feel for it, and for other smells that animals and such leave behind in that environment.

"Did you hear that?" he asks. "Water movement...it's not a river or stream though. Something else is causing it."

Edan tilts his head as he listens. "Kyauta can change its shape, though it usually adopts a dragonet form to ride with me. It also ate much of a rain-god...creature...in Uxmal, so water would be natural to it. I anticipated hitting water early...do you happen to know what kind of stone runs through this mountain?"

Jerod shakes his head. "Not this mountain." he says. "Though assuming Random wasn't going for really weird mountain building processes, and assuming when forming a Pattern he has to follow the rules of geological formations, then it would likely to be similar to Amber. You're probably looking at limestone or granite depending on how the mountain's origin was envisioned. Limestone for sedimentary origin, granite for igneous.

"It would also depend on if the geological rules followed a convention of mixtures, since mountains aren't uniform and contain varieties of origin materials. Here, given tunnels and possible water caverns, I'd hazard probably limestone. Cave formations are more common, especially with water flow removing softer materials. Granite is highly resistant to water degradation. You can get caves in granite, but they're erratic, not well formed."

Edan nods along. "I was kind of afraid of that. This much water, the bay out there, we might run into some truly huge caves. It's very interesting; usually if I had to overcome a lot of water or a wall, I would use Sorcery to build a boat or fly over. Now I'm down to climbing."

He frowns at the rock around them. "I would also agree with you, given that Random made a Pattern here, it's 'whatever he felt like.' But I heard a rumor that he found this place and dropped a Pattern on it, not the other way around. Had you heard anything like that?"

He smiles, and almost means it. "Let's go see how big this lake is."

"I have not heard such a rumor." Jerod says. "I'd be curious as to its origin. I will admit to not being party to much of Random's comments or conversations, though I am...hopefully...no longer on his bad side." and he chuckles slightly.

Edan smiles at that. "I need to stop trying to get there. The rumor, yes, I think it crossed over to Xanadu along with the citizens. I am awash with crazy rumors I hear from the Lamp, and it is very difficult to substantiate anything."

"As for the body of water, let us see. Under mountain water bodies are rare, typically small as well. They're more common when connected to ocean environments. I did a lot of exploring as a kid in Rebma...my tutors had very active ways of teaching."

"Most of my cave exploring... isn't. There are caves in the rocky areas around the deep desert, but they were long mapped out and used before I arrived to see them."

"Mmm...if you ever go to Rebma, let me know. There are some very nice ones there you would never see above the waves. And all the ones I explored were mapped too...my tutors just didn't tell me that part." Jerod says, smiling at the memory.

"I visited there a couple of days but definitely not caves. I would enjoy such a trip," Edan says. "I'm in."

He definitely dials his senses up as they move ahead to the sound of water.

Jerod follows a slight bit behind so Edan can be the first contact point for his affine when, and if, they come across it. He is also careful to check their circumstances as they approach, listening for wave and water movement, sniffing for odors that are not expected from a water environment or changes in humidity or temperature that would be of out sorts for where they are.

He also pushes back the priest coat to give free access to his swords. He does not draw them, but they are ready for use as a last resort.

It's not long before an opening appears to a large, open cavern. There is water here, and it smells brackish, although they haven't really progressed far enough down to reach the level of the sea.

The entrance opens at least 100 feet above the water, which fills the bottom. Edan thinks Kyauta is on the far side of the cave, but it's too large to see all the way across.

The water's surface below is occasionally disturbed. Perhaps by blind cave fish.

Or something else.

Jerod will be examining the cavern, checking for ledges, outcroppings and hand holds along the wall facing to the other side of the cavern, using the lantern to highlight elements that could be used for climbing points.

He waits to speak while Edan reviews the situation.

"How much free face climbing have you done?" he asks.

Edan is looking up at the walls and ceiling, gauging how wet and slippery it looks. He doesn't appear happy. "Some," he admits. "Strictly amateur, after my father showed me the basics. Mostly without equipment. On the plus side, my sense of balance is very good."

There's not much to distinguish left from right. To the left, the cave seems to curve around slightly more quickly, but that might not continue. It's a natural cavern and it doesn't look like the water regularly gets this high, although looking down it does seem as if this may be tidally influenced; there's a waterllne higher than the current water's surface. Or maybe it rises in the spring from run-off from the mountains.

The roof, equally far above the surface, seems to have a number of prominent stalactites (and many smaller ones. Water isn't seeping in from ground level (or the lake) at a rate that would make the sounds they heard before.

"I can...feel Kyauta over there." Edan points to the far end of the cave. "I guess we have no choice. Did you want to take point? I doubt I have as much experience as you placing pitons."

Jerod pulls off the pack and drops it, starting digging around. Edan will see it is very well packed and has the look of a "go-bag" as Jerod pulls out equipment, tossing him a harness.

"I'm sure our fathers would probably try to do this without gear just because of ego." he says with a chuckle. "The last time I did something like this was a 900' climb up a jagged face and only one chimney for channeling...and one rope. No gear, no backup.

"Needless to say, that's when I decided gear was the way to go."

Edan will note that everything in the pack is suitable to Xanadu. There are no high tech materials, no synthetics. Manila rope, reinforced leather for strapping and gloves, conventional steel or aluminum pieces. A pair of small satchels that will be revealed to contain powdered chalk. But the gear also includes things like cams as well as regular pitons. There is enough for two harnesses.

Jerod removes his jacket and folds it into the pack before getting his harness on, all the while continuing to review the wall face.

"Any idea how far you think we've got?" he asks, attaching gear to the harness.

Once he has his answer, Jerod picks his start point and begins the cross-over.

Edan looks fully appreciative of the effort put into this climbing gear. He points best he can where he thinks they're going. "There, in the back, far away as possible from the Pattern. Ah, we will avoid the ceiling, yes? Hanging off a stalactite seems a little too worm-on-a-hook for me."

Jerod laughs at that comment. "No, I think we'll be smart and wall crawl our way across. It's slow but safer."

The gear looks very effective and the wall looks like it will be slow but safe.

In any event if they fall, it will be into water, so at least there's that (or water after a bump or two. Nothing too worry too much about...)

Jerod blows out the lantern light to let it cool before putting it in the pack. He takes chalk from his pouch to rub on his hands, continuing to look at the rock face while his eyes adjust, listening to the background sounds.

Once the lantern is done, he puts it in the pack, handing it to Edan. "Do gear pick-ups as we pass them. Cams here, pitons here." pointing to pockets on the outside of the back that are reachable. "If we need to replenish we'll do it on the wall."

Once that is done, he places his first safety point and then reaches out for a climb point, setting his mind to the task. He knows from experience, it is not the wall that will challenge him...it will be his impatience, his drive to win. Power, the tool of Princes, is not what wins the day here. It is patience and technique... and more patience.

Jerod smiles to himself...and he accepts the challenge as he begins.

It's a tough climb, and it seems that the right choices are always up. It's a long time moving across the cave wall. Jerod occasionally feels as if he's being watched, but he never catches anyone doing so.

When they reach the point Edan thought, they are hundreds of feet above a small sandy beach. There are probably openings that go back from it.

Jerod stop at that point, taking a moment to watch and listen. That he might not have caught someone watching him does not mean they are not and he trusts his instincts. As he is looking, his hands begin working automatically to make a tumble hitch knot in preparation for rappelling to the beach below.

Jerod doesn't catch an observer, but that doesn't mean there isn't one.

"Anything new here?" he asks Edan.

Edan shakes his head, steps up with a drop knee on a protrusion to rest while he puts the last few cams back in the pack. "Kyauta should be here. Down there. I'd call to announce us if I thought it would help."

"Since we have something...or someone...watching us, I'm not sure it would." Jerod says, finishing up the knot. "I'll drop down first. Follow me down. If your Kyauta comes out when I'm down before you're down, see about trying to get his attention.

"Careful with the rope." holding up the double rope. "This side tightens it on the way down...this one releases the knot." and he smiles. "Don't want to use that one just yet."

With that Jerod heads downward. The means of his rappel will be determined by the rock facing. If it is relatively flat, an Australian crawl can be done. If there are variances that might impact the ability to "run down" the facing, then a lizard crawl would be done. Both are face down so you can see what is approaching.

Jerod heads down and finds himself on a small beach. The sand is uniform and it looks more like a picture of a beach in a cave than a beach in a cave should. The cave extends out of sight, in the direction that Edan previously pointed out.

Somewhere, in that direction, someone has a light. It's not much, but in all the darkness it's easy to pick out.

Edan follows down; it's obvious he's not used to rappelling down a rope, and it's equally obvious he could probably have made his way down without one. He'd be a heck of a rock climber with some experience.

He adopts a deep frown when he sees what's at the bottom. "This isn't right. This whole thing could be my affine.

"Kyauta?" he calls out anyway, moving forward, since they would have to do that eventually. And this way he confirms who he is, who he remembers his affine to be, and that Edan is at the end of a search. His voice has a tinge of distortion from stress, worry and hope.

Edan's comments about Kyauta being "the whole thing" does not give Jerod any comfort, though he declines to show it.

Approaching the light however, Jerod's focus will be on their surroundings. The light is obvious and therefore easy to occupy one's attention in a dark environment. It is the shadows that he watches now, looking for the subtle shifts of gray and black for things that move in the depths of darkness. But despite this, an outside observer might think that Jerod is quite comfortable with darkness. He remains quiet, letting Edan set the pace towards the light.

Great Lord?. Kyauta responds. Or something responds. It occurs to Edan that it might have changed since they were separated. I have been waiting, Great Lord!

Jerod thinks there's a light source down the tunnel, like a candle or a lantern. It can't be too for down the passageway, or it wouldn't be visible.

There's splash from the water, somewhere out of sight.

"That's close." Jerod says to Edan, motioning to the light. The splash from the water is noted for the direction and he tries to determine the amount of water (very generally) that might have been displaced and how it was done (a basic breaching or did something jump out)....since there is little other noise around to interfere with listening.

Jerod thinks it was as big as a turtle or a fish, but not the kind that win fishing competitions. Possibly eating something on the surface.

I have found you! Edan repeats that aloud for Jerod's benefit. He glances behind them, and speaks both verbally and mentally again when he asks, "Kyauta? What is in the water?"

Great Lord, you have found me! There are cave fish in the water. And things that cave fish eat and things that eat cave fish.

Great Lord, I am stuck.

Jerod remains in wait-mode, keeping watch as Edan communicates with his affine.

Edan passes along this last information, along with a significant look to note there's not a clear definition of "things that eat cave fish".

"We have found you. Now it is only a matter of time to get you out. I am here with my cousin Jerod. Let us have a look at you. We are coming in." Unless warned off, Edan starts moving towards the light.

Jerod follows along, keeping on eye on the shadows. "A definitive Chaosian perspective...I eat it, or it eats me." he deadpans.

The path is short, and the way becomes better lit. It's just a few steps until Jerod and Edan come to a chamber. It is not large, but it is surprisingly regular, as if it had been carved. It may be as large as 30 yards across.

Near the back of the chamber they see two things.

The first is Kyauta, or at least the top half of Kyauta, sticking out of what looks like some sort of stone or gem formation.

The second is a firelilly.

Jerod pauses at the chamber entrance to take in the view. The oddity of Edan's affine is outweighed by the firelilly in the middle of a Pattern realm.

"I want to try something." he says. "See if it is radiating any kind of effect."

With that, Jerod opens up his senses for Pattern influence, or specifically, for variances that may exist to it. This close to a Pattern, all of the reality around him should be uniform so he is focused on whether the lilly has any variance.

Edan closes his eyes for a long second, then opens them. He stands still a moment, letting Jerod do his thing; if nothing else, he provides a known quantity to compare and contrast against the background and the firelily.

Jerod opens himself to the Pattern and is slammed hard by it, as if he were having to walk it just to open his senses. He finds the uniformity he expected. It is the uniformity of staring at the sun.

In the burned out afterglow of his now useless pattern senses, Jerod sees things he doesn't recognize. An urban ocean of petroleum flames and neon rain. A six-day winning streak in Heaven's golden and velvet wonderland. The exquisite geography of pale skin and crimson smiles in the shadows of Skeleton Row.

All splintering and tearing and fading while he staggers, as if he'd been hit with a hammer by Gerard.

The expletives that Jerod unleashes would be worthy of dockside denizens at their most drunken and lecherous. He breathes deep to control the pain as he reasserts his will once more.

"Well, I know how Vere feels when he looks at me doing Pattern work." he says drily. "That's a dead-end."

Edan has a hand raised reflexively, but slowly drops it, realizing the futility of trying anything sorcerous in here.

"Sorry," he says. "I've only tried something like that once, I was using the Third Eye, and even with a filter up in between I was seeing stars." He falls silent, then, remembering it was seeing the Queen of Air and Darkness within Vialle.

"First the monks, then the Moonriders, and now the Dragon. Brilliant. Kyauta, tell me what this is, as you see it, and how you came to be in it. Especially that flower."

Great Lord, I was thrown here, by the one who fought you. I ended up here, and then a cave happened to me. Kayuta pauses, gathering their words. This is my friend, Lillith. They are also stuck, but not here. He seems pleased to have a friend.

"In Arden, I spoke with Julian regarding firelillies. I traced their influence back to the Dragon of Arcadia, Daeon's grandmother, a Lord of Chaos who was tragically trapped in Order when the Pattern was first formed. I threatened to Eat her. We had tea instead. It was very pleasant. Is this the very same? I would ask how she got here."

I do not know, Great Lord. Shall I ask them?

Edan sighs. "Kyauta, yes. Ask her how she got here." And while he waits for an answer, he examines the flower to see if it is trapped in stone like his affine has become.

The flower is attached to the top of a small stalagmite, perhaps 3 inches tall. Or perhaps not attached so much as 'not attached'. It seems to be on a bead of water. The kind that would've fallen from the ceiling to make a small stalagmite.

They say they are an affine, and like me were cast here at the beginning of time.

Edan relays that to Jerod. "It makes more sense," he adds, "if this were Amber. I think it was Clarissa that told me the Dragon was a Lord of Chaos trapped in the matrix of Order. Perhaps people are not the only things that migrated to Xanadu."

Jerod nods, kneeling down to get a look at the flower in detail. He does not open his senses up again to study it (he learns from prior situations) but he does try to collect as much as he can given he has never seen a firelilly before.

The firelilly is aptly named. The petals are in the shape of a lily and the center of it is on fire. The fire creates some heat, but perhaps not more than a candle's worth. It's bright, but not blinding. It doesn't seem to be burning through the pistils -- they are darkened but not being consumed. It would be a useful and decorative table light.

"We need a frame of reference to ask questions." he says. "Since I do not know the limitations of Kyauta we need to be clear what he means by things, like the beginning of time.

"Inscribing a pattern creates a world, which logically means it has a beginning. Does he mean the beginning of Xanadu, or the reality of which it was formed from. Because that will beg questions like how was Lilith thrown here from before time, by whom. And how could they be thrown into a Pattern realm at the point where its power is considered the strongest." he says, like ticking off points from a chart he could have been reading.

"Also, we should ask where Lilith is stuck, if she is not stuck here. It would imply this is a piece, an extension of her. Part of me wonders the connection between Lilith and this Dragon. And the name itself does not bode well." and he shakes his head slightly.

Edan smiles, a little. "Those are very good questions." He passes them along through Kyauta, starting with: "Who sent her here? And you're familiar with our concept of time, as you've spent it with us; how long ago did this happen?"

Kyauta nods, or bobs, but somehow physically indicates assent. They must be communicating with Lilith. I do not understand their answer. They say I sent them. I have no such recollection. Perhaps I have yet to do so.

It has been months, Great Lord! I have almost become hungry.

Jerod is studying the flower carefully, the intricacies of its form. He is vaguely reminded of a species of flower in Twilight that shone as if it were on fire, though it only appeared that way and only when the second moon was visible. He listens to Edan's translated message and shakes his head. "This is why I hate Moonriders and time-shifting. You never know which causational effect is actually the primary one."

He does not ask any questions at the moment, waiting to see what Edan has in mind.

"Maybe another you did it. We will worry about that part later. How exactly are you stuck, are you merged with the stone? Or is it something else and the stone is just forming around you?"

Lord, I cannot change my form, and I am surrounded by this rock. If I were more protean, I could make myself not be in the rock. This is not a place where it is easy to be.

"Let's have a look, then." Edan examines the stone, and Kyauta's position in it; is it limestone? Breakable?

And he spares a glance at the firelilly, wishing that he had any access to Sorcery. But still thankful, as this situation could have been much worse.

Without sorcery, it's a pretty, exotic flower that is burning in the middle and smokey in the petals. It's resting on a drop of water. It might be possible to pick it up and move it.

The stone definitely looks breakable. You'd just need to be very careful about Kyauta.

Jerod turns his attention to Kyauta's predicament, studying the rock to determine its type.

"How strong is Kyauta? How much injury can he sustain?" he asks, tracing over the rock material. "Since he can't shift, we have to split the material enough to let him come out as a whole. He can expect some compression bruising at the minimum. Be thankful this isn't volcanic rock...that takes a lot of effort to break."

"Kyauta's base form is like gelatin," Edan says. "This dragonet form is harder but more brittle. It reminds me of...oh, what is that stuff...hard plastic. So yes, the scales could crack or shatter. Kyauta, you understand what we are doing, yes? If you can pull away from the rock, try and do so.

"The good news is," he continues to Jerod, "if there is injury, and I can get them away from the Pattern, Sorcery would be very effective in healing."

My Lord, what happened with the Lord you were fighting?

Jerod will go over with Edan his idea for how to proceed. Since Kyauta is encased they need to figure out where his extremities are, so basically they are going to tap out points on the covering material to determine approximately where they are, and where there are gaps.

Once gaps are found, Jerod will punch in a series of holes into the material in a line to help create a fault line. Once they have enough he will use a pry to open it.

The only thing about this plan is that it will take a bit of time probably, so Jerod will be busy and listening as Edan talks to his affine.

Jerod taps out the holes and avoids Kyauta's extremities. The rock is hard, but Jerod is Eric's son and considers himself harder. The rock splits where Jerod had tapped out the fault. Aside from one grunt when Jerod uses his pry bar to split it, Kyauta merely watches with interest.

A large chunk of granite slides to the ground, leaving Kyauta nearly free. It's probably close enough that the affine can be chiseled out.

Thank the Great Lord Jerod for me, Great Lord!

Edan has a genuine grin. "Well done! Kyauta thanks you as well."

Jerod will continue to conducting the chiselling activity as Edan discusses with Kyauta. He will interject as needed.

Edan does his best to assist, but he also spares a glance at the firelilly. "If you invited Lilith here, whether you remember the specifics, she would be a guest. Perhaps even an emissary. But this place is...restricted. She cannot remain here. If there is a proper container in the pack, I will bring her out. I want to be in a place where I can converse with her directly."

Jerod shakes his head, tapping out a fracture line. "My climbing gear doesn't generally include bio-hazard containment tubes." he says. "Check the king's lunch basket. Maybe he was kind of enough to stuff a bunch of food into a metal container.

"Besides, I'm hungry and I'm trying to think about how to tell Random there's a fire lilly under his mountain. That'll be an interesting trump call."

The lunch basket contains a vacuum bottle with some soup in it, as well as bread, sliced meat, apples and cheese.

The last bit of granite slides free and Kyauta starts to fall over. It has not been supporting itself on legs for some time.

Help me, Great Lord!, it cries as it slumps towards the ground.

Edan has the vacuum bottle in hand, which he immediately grounds back into the basket, probably not doing an apple or two any good. He does his best to catch his affine.

"Sorry," he says to Jerod if he's successful. "I'll eat those."

Jerod, being Jerod, plus being very close to Kyauta would have been ready for him to collapse, not to mention being fast but since Edan moved to help his affine he simply acts as a backup in case Edan misses, which is unlikely.

Edan catches Kyauta. Kyauta collapses bonelessly into Edan, like a cat. He says Thank you, Great Lord! I think I should rest now

"They're still fresh." Jerod says in deadpan humor as he reaches in to collect the vacuum bottle and determine if it is suitable for the required transport, looking at the firelilly.

He taps the bottle with a fingernail as he studies the flower, processing data from past conversations, slotting elements into their boxes for reference. "It was mentioned this was like an affine....logically that means it has a connection to something. The other connection isn't immediately relevant to my next question which is...what about all the other firelillies we've seen." and he looks at Edan.

"How many of those have been found? Are they the same, as in they are affine? Are they the same affine, or are they all unique?

"More questions...and we'll want to ask them before we tell Random he's got an intrusion in his basement."

"When I visited Julian, he had one of these things on a table in his tent. I noticed that it was connected... networked. I offered to trace it back via the fire, and Julian came up with a workable map. It led straight to the heart of Arcadia. I was heading outward anyway, so I... cloaked myself in an illusion of a cockatrice and went to see for myself. I met a woman there who insisted the Dragon was sleeping. Slumbering. Barely aware. But this was after Daeon's possession and death, mind."

Jerod nods, apparently absently and yet without missing any of Edan's words. As he studies the firelilly from different angles, Edan will realize his expression is not what one might expect. The studied, neutral face of Court is replaced by intense curiousity The same drive and passion can still be seen, but the focus is divergent from what one would normally expect of him.

"Mmm....well, last time I ran into the Dragon, which as also the first time, was chasing Huon...and it was quite awake. Awake enough for me to have to use a Pattern blade." he says. "I'd have been curious to see this networked map of yours. That might prove highly useful. Especially if they are all affines. It's a very efficient way to project control from a Lord Chaos....not to mention surveillance."

He puts the vacuum bottle down and pulls out his trumps. As he riffles the cards without looking at them, seemingly knowing which he wants by feel, he looks at Kyauta. "How long is he likely to be out? We're going to want to let Random know, and if he's out for awhile we've got no way to talk to Lilith here. See about whether Random wants to bring it...her...back."

"I can recreate the map, but not here. I think Kyauta will be out quite a while; he reminds me of a cat, unwilling to show any vulnerability until there's no other choice. If we get to a place outside the palace where I have enough Sorcery to work with, I'll also be feeding him Sorcerous energy for healing. If we are not that fortunate in location, I'll draw the map out."

"That might be very interesting to observe." Jerod says, having sifted out Random's card. "The healing part...not the mapping. Though the map will definitely be of value."

After a moment, Jerod focuses on the card to form the connection. "Uncle...it is Jerod. Good news and bad news...which would you like first?"

"Hello, Jerod. Let me guess. You found a new shade of black but you'd like me to finance a new wardrobe for you. If that's it, sure, I'm all for fashion." He seems slightly distracted, but perhaps not more than usual. His face is lit with a pulsing red glow from below.

"Actually, no, though the thought of a line of royally approved fashion does sound like fun." Jerod says.

"Good news is Edan has his affine Kyauta back. He was trapped in the rock and had to be chiselled out.

"The bad news is you might have a basement infestation. Were you aware there is a firelilly down here? And that it's an affine and her name is Lilith?"

If Random is able to see past Jerod in the Trump contact, he sees Edan with a faint smile, amused by the delivery of news. Otherwise, he concentrates on supporting Kyauta and getting the firelilly transferred over to the thermos.

Random grunts. "Tell him 'congratulations' on one and 'that sounds bad' on two." He sighs. "Can you get it out? Because I want it out." He pauses. "Whose affine is it?"

"We have a vacuum bottle from the lunch pack we can use to secure it." Jerod says. "Kyauta indicated through Edan that according to Lilith...Kyauta is the one that sent her here, though how that is possible is unclear. My first guess would be some kind of temporal bleed over effect from Edan's conflict with the Marshall. As for whose affine, that is unknown. If this were Amber which is where we saw them before, then the initial guess would be the Dragon. But that's just a guess.

"Once we have it out, we can see if we can find some kind of secured environment to communicate with it. There's risk but the opportunity to garner information on it and other firelillies is something I don't think we want to ignore if we don't have to."

While Jerod talks, since Edan has done the prep work, he looks to see if the firelilly is really anchored in a drop of water. If it is, he will try to move it to the emptied and prepped vacuum bottle.


As the King's personal secretary, Gilt Winter has dealt with countless introductions and requests for a royal audience. Most requests varied from the banal to the notable with the select few drifting into the truly memorable. This specific request hints at the latter.

The rabbit ears are a dead giveaway.

He's likely heard of the Family's recent addition. Witching hour calls for spicy noodles. Rooftop marathons and mock combats. Impromptu funk performances. Colourful graffiti in unattainable locales. One-sided chats with random objects. A plethora of innocuous, yet baffling behaviours. Even for a Royal. But second-hand reports did her quirky reputation little justice. In the flesh, she was so much... more.

Tricksey appears to have stepped from the pages of Alice in Wonderland, if written while Lewis Carroll was tripping on mescaline at a Bauhaus concert. The short-sleeved dress drapes down in layers of crimson and bone-white, accenting the black knee-high boots. A charcoal Gentleman's jacket rests over her ashen corset and lavender tie. But the blood-trimmed top hat truly catches the eye, thanks to the snowy rabbit ears sewn into its dark felt.

She checks the golden pocket-watch hanging from her breast pocket with a gloved hand, wrinkling her nose. "Oh my ears and whiskers," she says, flipping it closed.

Tricksey gracefully curtseys. Painted lips curl up, hopeful, pleading. "Lord Winter. Crow Girl need King Unspecific. She rested. Proper. And bushy tailed. So Tricksey walk Pattern now. Live or die. Poop or get off pot. Tick tock. Tick Tock."

"Call me Gilt. His majesty is swimming in the lake now, and has a poker game planned for late this evening. It's a bit cold for the rest of us, but the king likes to, as he says, 'go jump in a lake'."

He pauses. "Do you wish to set a formal appointment? He does not require that of his family, but the option is available. We could arrange something for next Twosday, which is his regular day for dealing with petitions."

If it's cold now, Tricksey thinks the summer will be difficult. The weather isn't even cool today.

The heat has definitely made Tricksey edgy. She misses the cold damp and urban chill. Maybe staying here wasn't in the cards. Not during summer anyway.

She thinks on Gilt's and then rolls her shoulders. "No formal. Crow Girl need thumbs up. Yes or no. Chop-chop. Interrupt swim or cards? Find tomorrow?"

Drifting across the room, she lightly touches things that catch her interest, gloved fingers drifting over their surfaces. "What protocol for Pattern? King need be there?"

"The protocol for what, My Lady?" Gilt either doesn't know what Tricksey is talking about or Gilt is acting like he doesn't know.

"There's no formal protocol for seeing the King. If you wish to see the King and can swim, he's usually near the waterfall. He says it's peaceful." Gilt definitely does not think that almost-under-a-waterfall qualifies as peaceful.

"If you need bathing attire, I can have Vent's people find some for you."

Tricksey nods, "Crow Girl dip toes. Talk to King. Not swim. Float, maybe. Look stellar, certainly." She spins in place, as if to demonstrate.

Gilt smiles a bit, in spite of his better efforts.

She cocks her head, waiting for Gilt to lead on. The ears waggle slightly. "Does King meet commoners? From city. Tricksey curious who speaks for people."

"Usually people speak for people, and the King does have open court some days, but the Lord Mayor, Lord Ash, generally represents the city and has the mayor's office below. He met the King when they were in a band in shadow. His wives were also in the band.

Gilt leads on, and shortly comes to the Steward's Pantry. It's an office with a desk and several cabinets in any case. He turns to a housekeeper. "Can we arrange bathing attire for Lady Tricksey? She wishes to speak with the King in the lake."

The woman, who might be 25 or 45, puts down the papers she was staring at and rises. "Of course. Please follow me."

She leads Tricksey to a wardrobe and picks out something that looks old fashioned to Tricksey, but it's hard to make modern swimwear if you have no elastics.

If Tricksey finds something she likes (or doesn't), she can proceed to the boathouse, from whence she can swim or row out to see the King.

Untutored in the Bikini Arts, Tricksey asks questions both numerous and awkwardly direct. Tensile strength and gravitic qualities are paramount.

In time, she settles upon a Kawaii-style, one-piece of gothic black, corset-tied with straps forming a pentagram over her chest. Emerging from the changing room, she shifts and squirms uncomfortably, trying to adjust herself. "How people endure this? Too many crow parts on display."

"If My Lady wishes, we can provide a coat and a parasol."

The coat is long, perhaps too long for Tricksey, and seems more appropriate to a western drama than a trip to a lake. It would be significantly less flamboyant.

She awkwardly follows her guide down to the boathouse, looking very distressed.

Tricksey, attired in whichever variant she has chosen, arrives at a small pier not far from the castle. One of the red-caped guards from the throne room is at the dockside. The king has finished his laps and is in his inner-tube under the falls. Tricksey is offered a kayak, a tube of her own, or directions to his normal spot if she wishes to swim.

The guard seems to Tricksey to be as awkward and unprepared for this moment as she is.

The maid curtseys and leaves.

Tricksey looks out and shivers, unnerved. That is a profound amount of water. She's used to it falling from the sky. Not being in a lake. Unless said lake was on fire from petrochemicals.

In the end, she picks the inner-tube, carefully settling into it. A cawing curse echoes, as her butt hits the cool water. Crazy people. They were all crazy people.

Using her feet as the motor and arms as oars, she paddles out toward the waterfall. It is an awkward sight, as she constantly misjudges the current and ends up spinning in place. By the time she reaches the crashing waters, she's educated anyone within earshot to an entire vocabulary of corvid swear words. She saves the pièce de résistance for ducking under the falling waters, nearly being upended in her tube.

Thoroughly drenched, colored hair clinging to her face, bathing outfit billowing, she looks like a modestly-drowned Ophelia. Her arms waggle loosely, as if in introduction. "King! Tis I. Tricksey Crow Girl. Daughter of Daeon. She who is resplendent. Memory and Speaker. Protector of the Downtrodden and Noodles. Requesting audience with his Grand Poobahness!"

She grumbles, vainly trying to adjust her bathing suit without upending herself.

"Well, since you paddled all the way out here, you might as well have your audience. But you'll have to tell me what the noodles are in danger from, unless that's also you."

His eyes are still shut as he turns lazy circles around the a current. He's not wearing a shirt, and it's possible that he's not wearing anything but a rubber inner tube.

He paddles nearer to her. "Anyway, welcome to my sanctuary behind the falls. It's peaceful here."

It is not peaceful here.

"Faux Noodles," Tricksey says. "Evil Foxes make. Taint majesty of true Noodles. Crow Girl protect master chefs. Maybe not benevolent. But still protector."

She kicks her feet and paddles with her hands, trying to stay in one place. Fails repeatedly. "Loud and wet Sanctuary. Like kappa's ben. Respect choice. Should have brought cucumbers."

Bottomless or no, Tricksey remains unfazed. She's used enough public bathhouses to have lost such inhibitions. "Oh Mighty One of Water and Stochasticity, I, Tricksey, She of Amazing Gams and Feathered Friends, most humbly do request to walk the Pattern." Another current spins her, nearly knocking her over. The subsequent string of curses dispels her attempt at nobility.

Bottomless or no, Tricksey remains unfazed. She's used enough public bathhouses to have lost such inhibitions. "Oh Mighty One of Water and Stochasticity, I, Tricksey, She of Amazing Gams and Feathered Friends, most humbly do request to walk the Pattern." Another current spins her, nearly knocking her over. The subsequent string of curses dispels her attempt at nobility.

Random holds up a finger. "You can't have phở without phở noodles, so that sounds like a zen koan, which I decline to meditate upon. But OK, the pattern. How are you feeling? Rested, energetic, ready to race up a mountain? Are you so full of drive that nothing can stop you?"

He opens his eyes, and stares right at her, as if he's looking through her, with eyes that look like the sea. "Because the only rule is that you must either finish it or die, so I want to know that you're ready. If you think you're not, you can wait."

Tricksey steadies herself long enough to hold his gaze. "Crow Girl training. Most of life. Not know why. Maybe Papa whispered words. Tricksey heard without hearing. Rested here enough. Time she takes next leap."

Her voice dips slightly, an uncommon severity lurking in her tone. "Tricksey walk the High Road. Every day. Where gravity and rain threaten. One misstep ready to claim her. Hungry darkness snatch life away. Tricksey lose family to the High Road. She knows cost Pattern reflects."

A faint smile, "Live or die. All or nothing. Is Crow Girl way."

"And also my Grandfather's way. Your Great-great-Grandad. He made the pattern, with, he tells us, 'lightning, blood, and lyre.' I thought he was a pretty big lyre himself for saying that, then I decided it was probably a metaphor, and lately I've been suspecting that if I looked hard enough I'd find a plectrum that'd he'd somehow used to inscribe it in stone."

Random paddles towards Tricksey. "So, here's the way this works. I take you down to a room deep under the castle, and we reach a huge glowing tracery on the floor of a huger chamber. You walk it. It resists. And it's not just physically resistant. It's a mental challenge as well, or it usually is. You'll be tempted to stop, or to step off. Don't.

"I can't tell you more because it's different for everyone. It will be the toughest thing you've ever done, or the last thing you ever tried.

"If you're not tired, hurt, thirsty, or hungry, we can go now."

Tricksey lazily drifts in circles as he speaks, listening quietly - an indication that she's actually listening for once. At the end, she nods again. "Crow Girl is ready."

She tilts her head, "How many Patterns? Need walk all or one? They different? Give Tricksey new gifts?"

"Ok, let's go." He starts paddling towards the dock. Straight through the falls, but still straight. For a guy who looks like he could be blown over in a strong wind, he's plenty strong, and just effortlessly pulls towards the current with just his hands. He's about to get a very cold shower to go with his very cold bath.

"There's only one pattern, and it's not where you think it is. Om mani padme hum, and all that. There's one under this castle, one under Corwin's Paris, one in Rebma that Celina controls, one your Grandfather has in Avalon, and one that our cousins and sometimes enemies have in Tir-na nOgth. But they're all the same.

"I know people who've taken more than one. There's no special grace from walking a second copy. It's like reading a different copy of the same book.

"Also, it's bloody stupid to walk it if you don't need to. Things that try to kill you shouldn't be used unless you've got a good reason. I'm not gonna stop you, but it's not gonna help you."

Random disappears for a moment under the cascade of water, and his voice is drowned out by the roar. He doesn't stop talking, but Tricksey can't hear what he says next.

Tricksey tries to wrap her head around this One Pattern thing. In the end, it seems like too much handwavium to her, and she simply shrugs it off. At least the impending death thingie felt right.

She dives under the falling water, trying to catch up. "Crow Girl not hear last part. Repeat?"

"I couldn't hear myself either, there was water in my ears!", he shouts back. He reaches the dock and pulls himself up in one smooth motion. He is wearing trunks, or something anyway. It's not coving him well, but it is covering him. It might've once been charitably described as boxer shorts.

A servant hands him a towel and he hands the man his inner tube. "Thanks, Pike, " He looks back to see Tricksey. Once she joins him, he takes of at a brisk walk towards the castle.

"Last chance to ask questions before we get there," he says, walking up towards the kitchen door.

Tricksey catches up to him, her sandaled feet still squelching with water. "If Pattern different for each, questions hard. Tricksey not see what King saw, yes? Just accept and always move forward. Seem simple as Euclidean Geometry. Crow Girl always had an angle on that class. Even when it got obtuse."

She skips around Random, twirling her swimming dress. "If Tricksey die, tell momma, yes? And apologize to Lark. Crow Girl promise teach lockpicking. And charter accounting. Give comic collection to Brita. And pull stick from Harsh's butt. Project in progress. Very sad if not finish due to death."

"I'll make a list, but I don't expect to use it. Harsh is like you, and like a lot of you; too old to be considered a baby and not old enough to know as much as you think you know. He'll be fine, but he's likely to be in for some more surprises in the next few years. We'll see how he reacts to them."

The King takes Tricksey down a corridor and then down a stairs. At first it's simply going through castle basements and corridors but eventually, the way down seems to be singularly focused on this one journey. The lights are further apart and the stairs look only infrequently travelled.

Random stops at the bottom and listens. "Jerod and Edan came this way. I think they'll be back, but not immediately."

Tricksey skips at the names, grinning. "Edan of the Chin. Jerod of the Frown. Crow Girl likes them. Hope see again. Especially Jerod's daughter. She beautiful dish with side of danger. Tricksey like danger."

The room at the bottom of the stairs exits into a cave, jarringly natural after the carved stone of the upper levels. There are no lights here, just the torch Random takes from the wall, along with a giant iron key, labeled "Key".

"If you ever come down here, don't. It's not safe, but if you do, follow the lefthand passage and take the 7th opening. I'm pretty sure it's still the 7th, it's not like it's ... Ok it is set in stone, but that's beside the point."

"Why dangle shiny in front of Crow Girl?Is just mean," she pouts. "But Tricksey get hint. Even if no like it."

They walk and Random counts openings.

"Seven! Good thing." There's a door, and it looks like it was old when the Universe was new. Random pulls out the key and puts it in the lock and turns it. He pushes open the door, large enough to ride a very fat horse through, and Tricksey sees it.

It's huge, and it glows, and it's an intricate tracery of red light, and it appears to be a single line crossing itself across the room that it fills.

It seems to sizzle and burn its way into her being, and also to be trying to burn its way out. Tricksey feels as if she is part of it and it of her.

"Yeah, hits me like that, and I made this one. You start over there. I stand here, silently cheering for you to succeed.

"Go ahead when you're ready."

Tricksey has witnessed many miracles in her days. An urban ocean of petroleum flames and neon rain. A six-day winning streak in Heaven's golden and velvet wonderland. The exquisite geography of pale skin and crimson smiles in the shadows of Skeleton Row. But they're all humbled by this display. They'd been right. Words couldn't do this justice.

Eerily sIlent, she walks toward this display of power, hypnotized. Yearning. A deeper thirst than she's thought possible.

She kneels down before the Pattern's sanguine line, touching the floor and drinking in its memories, letting them in. A fearful sip, at first. Then a greedy gulp.

It feels like a mistake, like trying to drink from a fire hose, or a live wire. It's like trying to interpret the memory of a mountain; vast and old and slow and trying to force her to sync clocks with its stone heartbeat. It's not fast, but it's overwhelming and Tricksey is left trying to catch a tempest in a teacup.

Things flash before her. Memories, maybe, or thoughts, or ghosts of people who've died here. If there are any.

She sees two men fighting with swords across the pattern, carefully stepping only between the tracery, one attacking a man walking the line and the other trying to protect him. She sees a different man stab out into space and come away with a bloody knife while a river of blood burns the pattern from the living stone under a moonlit sky. She sees a creature walk the pattern, changing forms as they go. She sees two women, one chasing the other along the pattern, until one falters and the other cannot save her. She sees a man, stopped before a gap in the pattern, and two angels pulling him free so that he does not die like the woman did. She sees a beautiful woman, her hair floating as if it were weightless, walking a pattern with a bloody crossbow bolt in her side, and dying.

And she knows that none of it is real and none of it happened here. It's not true psychometry. She has no idea what it is, but it's not her gift, or not just her gift. It's like she reached into someone's memory and saw the pain the pattern had caused them.

Tricksey falls to her knees with the overwhelming power of it all, but doesn't quite pass out. She hears Random running up.

"Hey, what did you do? Are you alright?"

Tricksey flips the errant strands of crimson and midnight hair from her face, steadying herself. She should have known this thing would have memories. It was true history, after all. What she hadn't expected was the after images of so much death. But the experiment has proven something to her. This Pattern isn't a place. Not in the truest sense. And it's not simply a construct of power. It is infinitely more. It is indifferent to suffering. It is dangerous.

That terrifies her. And exhilarates her. Perhaps for the first time in her life.

She slowly rises to her feet, smiling wistfully at the King. A simple roll of the shoulders. She neither seeks his help nor refuses it, if given. "Crow Girl see past. Pattern has many ghosts. Angels and demons walked here. Murdered here. Escaped here. Family all, Tricksey think. And blood burns in this place. Holds dangerous power, yes?"

Random looks at her like she's just said. "Water is wet, yes?" He offers her his hand, and he's deceptively strong and reassuringly steady.

"Yes," he says, drawing out the syllable for emphasis. "There's a sign I once saw on a high-voltage panel. You know what those are, or else you can figure it out, right?" He doesn't wait for confirmation. "It said 'Not only will this kill you if you touch it, you will die in excruciating pain.' You can master using it to your ends, but it's never going to be tame, or easy. There's no such thing as 'a casual Patternwalk', kid.

"Now, get back in there and prove you belong on it. That's all the pep talk you get."

Tricksey nods lightly, "Not Crow Girl's question. But she accepts the answer." She steps forward, walking backwards toward the Pattern's edge. "Tricksey see you soon. Or she don't."

She blows Random a raspberry, twirls and steps out onto the waiting Pattern.

It eagerly accepts her, surrounds her, binds her to her Purpose. The once still chamber becomes an impossible tempest, winds of fate battering the Crow Girl's body as she takes each step. Even two paces in, she knows there is no turning back. No retreat. Even though safety is seductively close. She glanced down, seeing the wet, rusted metal beneath her feet - outlined in electric sparks and blistering light. Far belore, a nightmarish landscape stretches out, all petroleum flame and neon blood. It reminds her of the first time she ran the High Road, where gravity ruled. She can hear the mocking voices, gangers hooting and hollering, trying to make her plunge to her death. It's both familiar and foreign, exhilarating and terrifying.

She presses forward, defying this force, this torment, denying the urge to surrender.

She is the Crow Girl. She is Tricksey. The Pattern is her destiny. It holds no power over her.

That remains to be seen, and Tricksey finds that the Pattern is a complex, even tricksey thing itself. It takes a lot of concentration to move forward and stay on the line, especially when she could leap forward to a much later portion of the line with ease. Pushing forward meets surprising resistance, as if she is wading in water, and it's becoming thicker with each step.

It's not difficult to move through, yet, but it requires vexatious concentration to do so. Tricksey pushes forward along the line, step by deliberate step.

This could take hours, or seem like it.

For all that she has to concentratrate, the sheer repetitiveness of the effort lets her mind wander. She thinks about Tyrell, and the smell of the water and the ozone in the atmosphere, and the chemicals that were everywhere, or at least everywhere cheap. It's hard to think on that in a place like this, that smells only of raw rock and mineral water and the ever-present sea, beating the city relentlessly with its briny scent. Not like the smell of the sea at home.

Was that woman, Kimiko, her mama? After so long, it was hard to remember clearly. And she had not wanted her. Was that why she'd been abandoned to grow up, as Mama said, feral in Tyrell?

"Do you really want to know, child?" The voice came from behind her, at a moment when Tricksey couldn't spare the concentration to turn around and look, not without stopping. It was the same voice, as if she were here. The next bit was a grand curve, perhaps she could spare a glance backwards. Perhaps if she stopped, she could push on again after.

Tricksey bristles at the voice. Foxy Pattern, trying to confound her. Trying to lure her away. King Nonspecific warned her about this. Nisty-nasty Pattern using things against her. To make her stop. No going back. Not now. Not here.

She leans forward, forcing the next step, as if pushing through the surf. Pulling away from Mother. It hurts. More than the pain in her body. A primal emptiness, gnawing at her guts. She'd wanted Momma to hug her. Cradle her like she'd done before. Swaddle her in silks and jasmine. But were those snippets of memory even real? Had Momma ever truly cared? Maybe. Maybe not. She recalls the chemical rains, the stink of garbage and humanity. The chilling damp and raucous noises. The streets. Where she'd been dropped. Disposed of.

Then arms pulling her from the trash. Cooing voices. Painted lips heavy with synth-ale. Her true parents. The Forgotten. The Ignored. The people with nothing and no one. Taking in a defenseless child and caring for it as their own. Selfless in the face of despair. Generous in the grips of squalor. Tricksey almost sees them ahead of her. Ghosts waving and beckoning from the sparking shadows.

Kimiko's answers were illusions. Twisted perceptions without meaning or purpose. The false promises fade. Cast off like cherry blossoms. The Crow Girl remains.

And she pushes headlong into the Grand Curve, eager to confront the next secret pain ahead.

The pressure against her legs gets stronger, and the red line is putting off sparks with every step she takes. One after another after another. They reach up to her ankles, her knees, her waist. It's difficult to see the glowing line on the floor, but it's also somehow impossible for her not to know exactly where it is. The pressure builds and when she decisively rejects the false promises of facile answers, the pressure eases. She nearly stumbles. And yes, the Crow Girl remains, pressing forward.

The respite is only temporary. The sparks start again towards the middle of the curve, a huge outer loop that runs for over a hundred meters. The cadence is the same, step-step-step, never stopping, always looking down and not very far ahead.

The Sparks grow faster in this portion, and are up above her waist as she presses forward. Walking forward is like free climbing with ankle weights on. Tricksey is not skipping leg day today.

"So, it's true. You got through the first challenge, so you're one of them," Bailey says. Not one of us, is implied. "Secrets, slumming with the desperate when you were basically a God. Were the damned monks there for any other reason than to get you? Were we all just collateral damage? Feels like you should've told somebody, babe." She's not behind Tricksey, not like Kimiko.

Tricksey can see Bailey. Standing athwart the pattern, rebuking her. Tricksey feels like this isn't the kind of trouble she can get out of with an offer of noodles and cuddles.

Nisty-nasty Pattern. Clever Pattern. Foxy Pattern. This nearly undoes the Crow Girl. She knows Bailey's 'Angry Voice.' Knows it all too well. Usually after doing some 'foolish' or 'silly' or 'crowcentric.' The words cut like a blade, drawing blood, nearly causing her to misstep. Her foot wavers, if only for an instant. Then she forces it down again. Moving forward. Always forward.

"No. Love you. Love you all. Crow Girl not special," she says, fighting the forces internal and external. "Not know. Pappa not say. Momma not say. Leave me in gutter."

She remembers the stink of garbage and old sweat. Her Godfathers and Godmothers. Wrapped in rags and news script. Cardboard boxes and moldering matresses. The warmth of subway grates, breathing the undercity's fetid air.

And Bailey's smooth skin. Her callused fingers. Her painted lips. So tempting. Even in their accusations.

No, no! Step. Forward. Move Forward. Lies. Nisty-nasty lies. Close to truth. Enough to wound. Enough to hurt. But not stop Tricksey.

Tricksey has to walk through Bailey to continue on the pattern, and she does. It is not a pleasant experience.

"Will always be Crow Girl," she says, more to the Pattern than Bailey. "You not change her."

As she heads along the curve, she almost believes it too.

Bailey's bitter laugh follows her. "Yeah, don't I know it, but I'm not worried about me, but this. Gonna be real interesting to see if your ten thousand year old god-kings manage to mold you into one of them."

The pattern doesn't express any kind of opinion. Tricksey suspects it's not so much a thing that plans as a mirror that reflects her own concerns, real or imagined.

"I'm not the final challenge, but I am part of the puzzle," says the King's voice. He's sitting on the pattern, cross-legged and wearing his swimming trunks. "Do you know why your father died? What if joining us, being a full part of the family, costs you so much that it's not worth it to you to continue?

"Do you know the price you're paying to do this? We told you it was important, but that's what we would tell you. Only a fool has no doubts. Should you be doubting us?"

He pulls out a pair of drumsticks and starts hitting the Pattern with them, in a difficult pattern that makes the sparks jump higher. It's really hard to see, much less to push forward. It's like wading in packed ice.

Before now, Tricksey has remained respectful, calm and collected, even in the stressful struggle with the Pattern's tests. But this? This is just mean. And, in an uncharacteristic manner, she gets angry. Bordering on miffed. Perhaps for the first time in ages. Disrupting her calm was bad. Ruffled her feathers. Gave her strength, rather than robbed it from her. While Bailey's words cut deep, the King's only give her Purpose.

"Papa died being Papa," she says sharply, the bitterness lurking under her labored breath. "He true to self. If cost him life, then it Good Death."

For some, the sparks obscuring her feet would cause trepidation. Doubt. Fear. These are the trap. Barbed hooks ready to sink into her flesh and pull her down. She knows a misstep could kill her. A true death. Or worse. The Pattern ghosts have shown her agonies aplenty. Any rational person should be terrified. Hesitant. Weighing their next step. Their every move. Embracing caution. Doubting each decision. As the King said, Only a fool had no doubts.

But Tricksey was the Fool. She of Many Names. The Crow Girl. Puck. The Madwoman. Coyote. The Beggar Princess. Morgan Le Fay. Bake-danuki. Lilith. On and on.

Anger becomes defiance. Defiance becomes amusement. Amusement becomes proclamation.

"We are Tricksey!" she announces. "Nose Tweaker. Razor Walker. Sparkly Stealer."

"And we have Faith. What have you got?!"

She pushes forward, blindly, finding her footing, not because she can, but because she must. Pain sings in her blood. Muscles tear and strain. Step after agonizing step. And she's laughing all the way.

Death may claim the Fool, but she's never felt more certain and alive than right now.

Random laughs. "What have I got? Everything." He beats on the ground with his drumsticks and he grows larger and larger and less distinct in the sparks flying upwards. The King is lit by the glow of the patterns and as Tricksey pushes herself through the veil she thinks the king has become the pattern. Or perhaps he always was.

The effort is now beyond the point of complex thoughts. It is a battle of Tricksey's will against the uncaring universe. Step, step, step. Pushing forward in a dance that is written in her cells and blood and in the sweat that the effort is putting her through. Turn step, turn.

Tricksey is near the end. Had they told her what happened when she was done? It was coming, whatever 'it' was.

She turns through a particularly difficult set of short arcs; she sees it.

Sitting on the pattern, right at the end.

"Crow girl. Hurry, up. I've been waiting. I'm not going to eat you. I'm here to help you become me. Do you know what I am?"

A fox. A literal fox. Vulpes vulpes. It's smiling, which is the most disturbing thing a fox can do.

Muscles and soul strain. Every step now an agony. Pain upon pain. Exhaustion leeching thought and purpose from her. This isn't running the High Road. This feels like sprinting on her hands with weights tied to every limb in a gale. How gravity hasn't claimed her is more stubbornness than will. And Crow Girls are the reflection of obstinacy. And so she progresses. Step after step. Arc after arc. Heading toward... something. A destination she doesn't even really understand.

Tricksey snorts. After what she's witnessed, this revelation shouldn't be a surprise. Of course, it is a fox. Kitsune. Be it zenko or yako, she knows not. She only fears it. Knowing it stands between her and the end. Whatever that was.

She wants to pause. To have time to think. To keep her distance from this thing. The spirit behind the smile. Beneath the fur. She remembers the songs. The paintings. The writings. Stories of Kitsunetsuki. People lost to the fox. Madness. Possession. Stripped of their will and lost forever. To greed. To malice. To anger.

Another step. Closer to those teeth. Closer to those eyes. Looking through her. Tricksey knows...

Knows that if she stops, she dies. And if she advances, she dies. Fear blooms in her heart, spreading like fire. For the question lingers. Do You Know What I am?

Death. It was Death in all its glory.

But wasn't she the self-proclaimed Fool? And what was Death to the Fool? Death was change. Death was transformation. Death shredded one's preconceptions. In Death, one abandoned old truths for new ones.

Its words resonate with her, inside her. Again and again. Do You Know Who I Am?

Didn't the ky&umacron;bi no kitsune represent omniscience? Seeing and hearing everything? Was that not what the Pattern was? All memory? All places? All times?

Of course it would wear the fox's face.

Do You Know Who I Am?

"Me," she whispers. For once, the word's bitterness has gone. Only sweetness remains, so foreign, so strange.

Tricksey takes the final step, picking the fox up, burying it into her chest. Letting it tear into her heart. Into who she was. Accepting her Death.

"You're me," she repeats, and takes her final steps. Toward damnation or salvation. Perhaps both.

"That's some metaphorical bullshit," says the fox, disappearing softly into her chest and using her voice and Bailey's words.

"Lick pouch," Tricksey retorts. "Crow Girl know things."

The final push is so hard, so much effort, that Tricksey almost stumbles when she passes the final veil. It's a triumph that she doesn't fall on her face when she reaches the end.

Tricksey's mind is open now to the pattern, to the paths, and the ways of walking in shadow, and the ability to go anywhere she can picture in her mind. The pattern will take her there. Hopefully to somewhere she can sleep, eat all the noodles, and sleep again.

Tricksey realizes the universe is her playground. It's an oddly liberating sensation. She can go to Earth. To Tyrell. To Other Places. To Other People. She's tempted to go find Bailey. See what she's found. See what kinda of life she has discovered. But that'd be rude. Selfish. If the Pattern showed her anything, it was the Old Ways were to be left behind. Only move forward.

And the Crow Girl has responsibilities now. Family. Somewhere to maybe call home. For once. Time to move forward.

So she envisions her bed in the castle. The fluffy quilts. The obnoxiously huge pillows. The teddy she found in a stall near the harbour. How the rays of sunlight play across the headboard. Perfumed air and blessed silence.

And then she's there. Collapses into warmth and softness. The comforting bed swallows her whole. Every muscle relaxes. Her mind shuts down.

On the Seventh Day, the Crow Girl rests.


Tricksey finds herself face down on an obnoxiously huge, fluffy pillow, the teddy bear tucked under her arm. She might've drooled on it in her sleep. She's fully dressed and didn't even remove her boots. Sleeping in boots is annoying, but she managed it just fine. The rays of sunlight have been replaced by rays of moonlight. But in all other respects, she's where she expected to be, given what she just did. The knowledge of how to manipulate the pattern is still with her, and she also knows she can't do it here.

There's an apple, a beverage, a note and a knife on the table under the window. The knife is probably for the apple. It's that kind of knife.

The castle is -- castles are never silent, they're working buildings with a lot of people doing jobs at all hours. But it's quieter than usual.

After pained stretches and generalized moans, Tricksey slips from her bed and goes about the laborious process of getting showered and new clothes. She slips into the Nightmare Princess outfit she's been saving for her After Walk; an elegant Lolita dress of black-purple and gothic-black tux blazer. The black and white kitty sneaker boots serve as a reminder Crow Girl gonna Crow Girl, godling or no.

She grabs the apple and letter, settling into her pilfered COMFY CHAIR(tm) by the window. Sipping her cooling coffee, she reads the letter... realizing it's possibly the first she's ever gotten. They're so much cooler than email, and sees the appeal. Mental note made to get quills and papers and that fancy wax stuff.

Niece(-ish),

If you're reading this, good job. If you don't know what to do now that you can do anything, you can come talk to me. Your father's father wants to meet you. He's in the middle of fighting a war, of sorts, but we can send you to him if you're interested.

—R rex

Tricksey reads, eating the apple off her knife. Fruit is weird, but yummy. Crow Girl approves. If this was the reward for being a Godling, she is down with it.

The offer compels her. She wants to meet Grandpa Julian. But war? That's the nisty-nasty stuff. Killing is all well and good, but wars are usually waged by the Foxes, not the people.

Then she pauses, remembering the Fox on the Pattern. The one living inside her now. Was this the cost of being a Godling? Papa died in war, after all. Maybe Grandpa would have answers to why that was needed. Or, at least, help the Crow Girl find some of his memories. She can do anything. Which means she could say 'no,' if needed. And wars always meant the Forgotten suffered. Caught between the flames and swords. Yes, this seems to be her best course of action.

Tricksey rings the bell for her new maid servant - Wilhelmina - to clean up, apologizing profusely for the poor condition of the bed. She knows the girl is here as punishment; forced to serve the crazy Crow Girl. Which is why she always has sweets and other surprises waiting - assuring their secret promise to watch out for each other.

After prompt goodbyes, the Crow Girl heads off in search of the King.

Tricksey enters the main hall of the residence wing, and soon sees another resident. Prince Huon is here, talking to his two archivist/guards. Down the stairs nearby are the kitchens and the dining room, and further along are the public chambers. There's no telling where the King is.

One of the guards nods over towards Tricksey, and Huon turns towards her. "Ah, Tricksey. I understand congratulations are in order."

Tricksey crow-girl hops over to Houn, pouncy-pouncy like, before sashaying into a flourished curtsey. She smiles up at him, all toothy and proud. "If mean Pattern, then yes. Tricksey walk. Have all important bits still. Very happy."

A swirling spin turns into an exaggerated expression of contemplation; snoot held regally, thumb upon chin. "If no, Crow Girl not sure. Yes? Possibly? Is sparkly prize? Then definitely mayhaps."

She cocks her head, "Kingly but not King. Huon also look for His Non-Specificness?"

Huon looks at his two librarian/guards. They nod, turn in unison and walk a distance up the corridor to discuss a painting. It's hard to tell if they actually have any interest in the painting, but if they are supposed to be Huon's gaolers, they're pretty casual about that task.

Huon speaks softly, but clearly enough for a crow-girl to hear. "Technically, The Pattern is a state secret, and even the guard at the bottom of the stairs doesn't know what the King keeps in the basement. In practice, we all just pretend that people don't know what we're talking about, and to some degree they can't. But they know there's a magic thing that gives us power and kills people. The rumors are often astounding."

Tricksey blinks at this, confused and mortified. She leans in closer to Huon, whispering. "We need to...?" She mock-stabs her neck with her thumb, making a rude dying noise. "Maintain mystery? Great good n' what not?"

She begins playing with her new white streak of hair, having finally picked up on Huon's Prisoner of Zenda vibe. "This family complicated," she says, more to herself.

That garners a full-bodied laugh from Huon. "I think you've found the new family motto."

He returns to his normal speaking voice. "If you mean Random, I expect he'll either be at dinner or has already absconded to his favorite drinking hole in town. My watchers and I were discussing the Moonrider Princess. They can't decide if they want to kill her or have her join the archivists."

"I have no opinion in the matter, but I told them she would be exceedingly hard to kill."

Tricksey wrinkles her nose, "Why kill? She bad? Dangerous still?" A finger tugs at the pale lock. "If future danger assured, kill. If no danger, live. Mercy is gift. Some refuse. Strike again. Some accept. See for what gift is. Accept new life."

She sighs, "Crow Girl walk mercy's razor. Seen both edges. Cut many times. Actions beget consequences. Determine which is best. That the trick."

She cocks her head, "What she like?"

"Hmm. Young, headstrong, convinced that she can fix all the problems of the world. She's not unlike a lot of the family. Who knows? If she's right, she can end a very long feud."

As Houn issues these descriptors, Tricksey nods and strikes a regal pose for each. And abruptly realises he isn't talking about her, so quickly puts on her Serious Face With Finger to Chin(tm). "Quite right, eh-what," she says. "Sounds like Crow Girl kinda girl."

"My friends down the hall," he adds and gestures towards the two women he was talking to earlier, "are concerned that peace might be more of a risk than a stalemated Cold War, which is why they're considering their options."

"Crow Girl not get," she says, cocking her head. "Why peace not good? Both sides benefit. Even if uneasy. In Corpo War, trade bad. Markets flux. In peace, trade good. Market steady. Stalemate only cause stagnation. Distrust. Disharmony on both sides."

She pauses, rubbing her chin. "Unless not want both sides to share?"

Huon shrugs. "They represent the interests of Rebma, as they see it. The current state of things is one of benign neglect. Amber and Tir are dealing with each other first. If they stop, then either might turn their attention to Rebma. That might be a concern, especially when Rebma is in a fragile state with a new Queen and trade having been disrupted by Patternfall. Random was personally a prisoner in Rebma for some time and could not go there for centuries because he was convicted in absentia of the death of the Queen's daughter. He gets on well with Celina, but that might change.

"So, yes, they'd prefer to keep Amber and Tir were engaged in their own affairs and not the affairs of Rebma."

He smiles. "They would deny it, even to the Queen. Possibly to themselves. They don't consider contingency planning to be an actual threat. They probably have plans to kill a lot of us. Sort of theoretical sociopaths."

Tricksey frowns, tugging on the snowy strand of hair. "Crow Girl wonder why easier to inflict pain than peace. She done with doublespeak. Clouds memories. Twists tales. Inflicts harm on harmless. For what? Nothing. How be greedy when have universe?" A defeated shrug. "Monks all the way down."

She pauses, smiling coyly. "'Course, Uncle may be blowing smoke up Tricksey's butt."

Tricksey's head bonelessly arches back, eyes trained on Huon's, as she pirouettes around him. "Why Uncle Onion in gilded cage? Terrible things? Mild misdeeds? Pernicious peccadillos?"

There's no mocking judgment in her voice, only corvid curiosity.


Rowen receives a message, delivered by a page. It comes in the form of a handsome envelope, sealed with silver wax in the device of a rose and unicorn.

The page, Max, tells her that it's the seal of King Corwin of Paris, and explains Corwin's former position in the royal family, as Prince Corwin, elder brother of King Random, and full brother to Princess Deirdre, who's now dead, and King Eric, who is also now dead. Now he's the King of Paris, and Max's grandmother Princess Florimel is living in Paris as well.

(Max is of the age and personality where he doesn't wait to know whether Rowen needs this information before explaining it.)

The letter remains delicately pinched between Rowen's fingers while she listens attentively to the explanation. Nodding along with each detail, she matches it with her knowledge, finding no discrepancies, and adds the new Info that the page reveals.

"You are a long way from home, then," she supposes out loud. "Are you serving the family here or were you sent from Paris?"

When she opens the letter, it says, in elegant handwriting:

Dear niece,

I am writing to invite you to join me for a time in Paris and then for a visit to Rebma. I am sure you have many questions about my brother Eric, whom we believe to be your father, and as one of his closest surviving siblings, I am well suited to answer them. You may also wish to visit your sister Cambina's final resting place.

I believe you will also find much to learn in Rebma and from your cousins, my daughter Celina, Queen of Rebma, and my son Merlin, who is at court with her presently. I am assured that you have no duties in Xanadu that cannot wait.

I look forward to hearing from you, and hope to see you soon.

Your uncle
Corwin
Rex Paris

Upon finishing the letter, she refolds it along its original creases and looks to Max. "How do I respond to this? Is it as simple as writing a letter? How does it get from here to Paris?" She is full of questions but limits them to what she can get out in a single breath. "Would you like a drink?"

Max opens his mouth to answer each of her questions, but stops when the next one comes out. "I've never been to Paris, but the family is supposed to have secret ways to get around via magic. I will learn it, when I'm older." He looks at the sideboard. "I know how to make drinks, would you like me to make you one? Being a page means I learn a lot but I need to be made a squire, so I can learn how to fight." He pauses. "Fight better."

He doesn't look old enough to be a knight, even in training.

Rowen experiences a moment of unexpected silence, caught off guard by the hospitality. "Um... sure," she accepts. "Whiskey, please." She shifts her weight back into her heels to watch the young page go to work.

"Where I'm from, you'd already be training to fight. Still too early to be minding any of that knighthood business, but at least training."

Max pours two whiskeys, one neat and one over ice. "I can already fight. I need to be able to learn all the knightly arts. Armory, Heraldry, Horsery, Woodcraft, Warfare, Diplomacy, Languages, Dance, Music, Logistics, and a raft of other knightly virtues. Basically, everything required to be a representative of his majesty and to dispose of the enemies of my family."

He offers her her choice of drinks.

Rowen accepts the one without ice with a curl of her long fingers. "Thank you." Hiding a sly smile in a sip, she watches to see what he does with the other glass. "That's a lot to study, but you are young, yet. What is your favourite so far?"

Max takes a small sip and Rowen suspects it's not his first, but that he's not a serious drinker yet. He's taking advantage of the situation to sneak a drink. "The fighting, really. It helps that I'm already good at it. But I need to be. My father was murdered and I intend to achieve justice."

He's very casual about that admission. Rowen may well wonder who else he's confided that goal to.

She lets the statement pass like he just admitted that he likes finding sticks while he's out walking in the woods. "Who was your father?" she asks, rolling her own whiskey around her tongue between sentences. "Is his mother Florimel or are you related through your mother?"

"My mother was one of my father's spies in the city. She runs the king's favorite tavern in town now. I don't know much about her family. She's from Rebma. So is my uncle, Victorious. My sister is from Amber, though. Like me.

"My father was Lucas Saint-Cyr." He says the last as if it was all anyone would ever need to explain.

"A tavern, hm? That sounds like a fine place. What is the name of it so that I may find it?" she asks, idly taking a seat and lounging in it. She reacts not a bit to the boy sneaking a sip of whiskey, permission by silence, in effect. "Is your sister working at the castle, too?"

Max shakes his head. "No, he's old. He ran away to sea when he was a boy, and came back as a girl. Before I was born, I guess they did things like that. His name is Raven. He and Ma don't get on.

"Ma's place is called Scarlett's. She's Scarlett." Max's hair, short cropped though it is, is also decidedly reddish.

He drinks a bit more of the whiskey, then puts it down. It's good stuff, but perhaps there's not really any bad whiskey in the castle.

"She's always happy to have my cousins as guests," he hints, perhaps over stressing the relationship to him that his mother prizes.

"She does, does she?" Rowen muses with a chuckle. "I think I would like to see your ma's. It sounds like it would be fun." Fun, in the sense that it sounds like the kind of place where trouble isn't a stranger and the patrons are fascinatingly colorful.

Max smiles. "What are you going to do as a royal? Do you know yet?"

Rowen rolls her drink around in her tumbler as she considers the question. "I was so happy just being on an adventure away from home that I hadn't really given it much thought. I would like to keep exploring. I've heard about so many fascinating things and places already. It would be grand to begin seeing them with my own eyes."

Max listens. "I've only ever been to Xanadu and Amber. Sailors talk about other places but Ma says 'All sailors are liars', so I don't really know. There's plenty of strange things as come into port any how. I once saw a basilisk."

"And you didn't turn to stone?" Rowen asks. "I've only heard of them in books and sometimes it's hard to tell what's fact, fiction, or merely embellished. Sailors can be very imaginative."

"I didn't say the basilisk saw me. It was old and blind, and they had it fighting in a ring. The Ashers took it out and arrested the ringleaders." He looks cross.

"Good thing, too. They were gonna screw up Ma's plans."

"Who are the Ashers?" Rowen asks over another sip of whiskey. "What was your mother planning?"

"Lord Mayor Ash's Constabulary Guard. Captain Viper and that lot. People call them Ashers because they work for the Lord Mayor. They don't have a sense of humor when it comes to people smuggling basilisks into the city. And Ma wanted what she got. The biggest, most popular tavern in the city where all the people wanted to be. Her own 'Red Mill'. Basilisks would've been bad for business." He frowns. "They threatened to hurt me, and that's why the royals wanted me to come work at the castle."

"It's a good thing they brought you here where you could be safe," she says. "Now, about your message.

"I suppose I could start by accepting Corwin's invitation, hm? What is the expected protocol here? Write a letter back and give it to you to deliver to him?" she asks as she rises to go over to a nearby desk to find some parchment and a pen.

He nods, back on work footing. "Yes, Ma'am. Or you can send a message and I'll deliver it verbatim. The steward doesn't care much for writing if the other party is present. He says it wastes paper." He pauses. "If you have trumps, you can use those."

"If they don't want to waste paper, then we don't have to," Rowen says, pleased with the reduction in formality. She rereads Corwin's missive once again before giving her reply. "Please let my dear uncle know that I accept his invitation and look forward to the meeting." She pauses. "Now, how do I get some trumps?"

"There's a room where they keep a bunch of 'em and only the royal family are allowed in. You can also ask the King, or one of the painters. Lady Folly makes them, sometimes. And Lady Paige does, too, but she's out in the forests with her army."

Rowen makes a note of the choices and settles on Folly as the easier person to ask about such things. "That sounds wonderful. Could you tell me where I could find Lady Folly?"

"If she's returned to the castle, she'd be in the studio, but she went to the city this morning. I don't know her agenda, but she's frequently at either Scarlett's, the Lord Mayor's house, at the clinic she's the patron of, or running errands. Would you like to send someone to the city to try to find her?"

So new to this place, there's no way she would know for certain, but "That sounds like it would take too long," Rowen considers, using her outer monologue voice. "Can you take me to the room with the Trumps? Or do I need to talk to Uncle Random first?"

He goes to the door. "Of course, Lady. It's part of the job." He opens it. "If you would come with me, please."

He leads her down the stairs and into an unfamiliar part of the castle. The room has a guard outside it, but she's sitting and reading. She looks as Max and Rowen approach.

"The King's niece, the Lady Rowen," announces Max. The guard looks more alert and hands Max a key. Max smirks and opens the door. Inside are a large number of bound folios, chained to the back wall. There's also a display case, currently empty, and open shelves with paper and drawing materials. There's a window with frosted glass that lets in light but is probably hard to see through.

"I've never been in here before," confesses Max.

"A first for both of us, then," Rowen says, giving the guard a nod as she passes into the room. Her eyes pore over the room interpreting each feature.

A display case. Empty. What could go there? Is there something special enough worth presenting while keeping idle hands from touching it? What would make it different from the other things in the room?

Drawing materials. That makes sense if the Trumps are created by hand. Clearly there is some magic or power behind them to make them more than mere illustrations.

And then there are the folios. Martin had cards, but these look larger and far less portable. Then again, if this is a central place from which the family could reach any family member, then it behooves them to protect them so as not to lose any of them. She takes one of the folios and flips through it, considering each of the images, careful not to mar the images as she glides her fingers along each Trump.


Gerard has been available to offer Harsh some advice for what to do with himself in both the short term and the long term, the latter clearly meaning after he's walked the Pattern and come into his powers. While nobody is leaning on Harsh to take up a naval commission, much less to take Gerard's former place as Admiral, it's clear that Gerard has some hope that Harsh will be interested in the Navy.

He suggests that Harsh take his Trump of Castle Amber and visit the old castle to meet Prince Caine, who serves as Regent, at least for now, and also as Admiral of the surviving fleet of Amber. If nothing else, Gerard thinks it will set Harsh up well to place his remaining crew in the Amber navy. Caine's always looking for good officers.

Gerard also takes a moment to explain a detail of court that wouldn't have been obvious without an explanation to someone new to the court: Random's secretary or chief of staff or whatever you want to call him, Gilt Winter, is the disobedient son of the head of Naval intelligence, who is a close friend of Caine's. So there's that to navigate as well.

When Harsh is ready to visit Amber, the card will be ready. Gerard has a reason for sending Harsh with the castle Trump instead of on Caine's Trump: he wants Harsh to get a look at the old castle and see how different it is, and the damage from the Sundering, when the tower fell and broke Gerard's back.

Harsh is more than willing to take Gerard's advice, and having read now on the history of Amber, he wants to see the place for himself. So after setting things in order in Xanadu, he takes up the Trump, and prepares to go.

The concept of travel by card, he thinks, will take some getting used to.

The card is a flimsy thing; paper and ink and a design on the back that is somehow strangely compelling. The front of it is a painting, with an amazing level of detail.

Harsh looks at it, and follows his father's instructions, and focuses on the detail of the castle. Large stones, set so closely that mortar was not necessary, only the smallest of gaps between. A portcullis large enough to ride 3 columns of elephants abreast through it.

It was fascinating and it felt as if he could just step through and be there. Was he imagining the sounds and smells of the distant place? How distant was it?

Harsh takes a step forward, and he isn't so much looking at the card as stepping through it, although it is still in his hand.

"Who goes there? Friend or foe?" A voice rings out from the clearly-well-defended gatehouse of the castle that he's standing before.

It seems that they expect an answer, and quickly.

Harsh snaps to attention immediately and gives his most formal salute.

"Harsh Majumdar, Commander in the Golcondan Navy and first officer of the GNS Mahtala." That, he knows, may mean little enough in Amber, but he can no more avoid saying it than he could breathing. "I have the great honour to be a newly acknowledged son of His Royal Highness Prince Gerard, who sends me here to meet with Prince Caine."

A man steps out of the gatehouse, leaving it open. Harsh suspects there's more men in there. And he sees the kind of movements that would be consistent with a crossbow being aimed through a murder hole.

The man looks the part of a young, political naval officer, down to a uniform. "Well, Commander, with that story, you're going to get to meet the Admiral, so let's hope your story pans out."

The man walks like a sailor, Harsh observes. He approaches. "Strictly a formality, but I'll need to take charge of any weapons you have on your person. The Admiral is Regent of Amber, and it wouldn't do for him to be met by armed sailors, even if you're an officer."

Golcondan men have been known to get into arguments on foreign soil over their khanjar daggers, which are considered part of full uniform regalia as much as they are weapons -- and Harsh has not been immune to such contretemps before. This time, however, he decides that discretion is the better part of valour, and he unfastens the dagger from his belt before handing it over, cradled in both hands, with a bow at the waist. It's followed by the smaller straight knife that generally gets more use as a small utility blade than in a fight. He's careful to make sure his hands stay in view at all times.

"I surrender my arms freely, sir," he says.

"Thank you, Commander," he says, collecting the weapons. "Please see the Castellan when you are ready to retrieve them.

"If you would come with me, please," he says, leading the way in through what is clearly a watchroom configured after a naval ready-room. Like the Albionese, most of the young officers look as if they have shaved their facial hair off with diamond-sharp blades. It makes them look even younger than they probably are.

The castle Harsh is about to enter is built to impress. Nestled in the arms of a lone mountain overlooking a sprawling city, Harsh is reminded of the Reman empire's eastern capital at Asitane. There might be a city of a million people below, although the harbor and the traffic and movement seem lessened. Did they say something in Xanadu about moving from Amber to the new city?

The castle seems old, like a temple of a forgotten age -- an age that has existed for a hundred generations and snarled defiance at the passage of time. Yet there is no decay and the stones show few signs of the tread of millennia of feet, the doors show few signs of the millennia of hands.

The priesthood here is again the young political officer corps he met at the gate. Earnest, young, trying to prove themselves to get that first command. If there is a naval academy, these are their highest ranked graduates. They are mostly, but not exclusively, male.

The walls are covered with tapestries and paintings, although there are a few notable empty spots where favorites might have once hung and been removed.

The officer he's following enters a room that seems more like a clark's office than a palace's receiving room. Harsh thinks this crew does not pay much attention to the more palatial parts of the castle. Inside is another officer, who nods, and the man who led him here sweeps to the door.

He opens it and announces Harsh. "Commander Harsh Majumdar of the GNS Mahtala, son of Admiral Gerard." He waves Harsh in to the comfortable looking study.

A man rises to meet him. Dark in countenance, enough so to pass unnoticed in Golconda's markets. He wore practical clothes for court; a doublet, a satin shirt in green peeking through the slashes, but high boots ready to ride or stand a watch on deck. The dagger at his belt is jeweled with deep green emeralds, and looks both practical and princely. He did not look much like his brothers, or at least the ones Harsh has met.

"My brother told me you were coming here. This is Amber, the castle above the pearl of cities, Amber, in the realm of Amber that our family has ruled for longer than you can imagine."

He looks at Harsh. "I'm sure you have many questions. I hope to learn more about you and about your naval experience. Would you like a drink?"

Harsh, formal as ever, bows as he's introduced. "Your Royal Highness, thank you for your time. I'm afraid I haven't run out of questions since my men and I were plucked out of our world."

And he would rather like something to drink, but his nerves are such that he automatically demurs, Golcondan-fashion. "I'd not want to impose too greatly upon your hospitality."

Caine shrugs. "You are my brother's son, he tells me, and thus family rules apply. Did he explain them? First, address is informal when we are alone. It can be important to remind people that I am Admiral Caine or Prince Caine or The Prince Regent, but family only needs to know the relationships between you and your kin. Uncle is a more powerful title from you to describe me than 'Your Royal Highness'. It tells anyone listening something important about you and about me. If we're at sea or in a courtly reception with foreigners, by all means.

"Second, you will at some point run into cousins or uncles when traveling. The rules are clear: the elder asks questions first, then the junior may ask. Now that there is a second generation, it's more complex and based on your parent's precedence. Your father can fill you in, but assume that the King's family is foremost, the sons of the former king are next, and their children follow them in precedence; "

"Which is my way of saying 'I am reserving my right to question you extensively, until you've asked me your questions.' If you change your mind, the drinks are on the side-board."

Caine walks over to the bar, giving Harsh time to change his mind or to come up with questions to ask the Prince Regent.

Harsh reddens, though the plainly-spoken rules are something of a reassurance. Still, he's misstepped, and he's not happy about it. Something he can dissect in his mind later in his own time, and at some length.

"My apologies, Uncle. The habits of Golconda are exceedingly formal by -- by the family standards, and I find them difficult to break. And... yes, I would very much like a drink, thank you."

He's still very much standing at attention, hands behind his back now in a sort of parade rest posture.

Caine shrugs. "No apologies necessary. If I didn't tell you, how would you know?" He reaches into the bar and pours two drinks. He hands one to Harsh. "Be grateful you're not getting a drink poured by your father. His tastes run to very sweet and very alcoholic concoctions."

The drink smells sharply of alcohol, with notes of other flavors.

"You ought to see the amount of sugar that goes into Golcondan festival dishes," Harsh says, with a wry smile. "I haven't asked him yet, but it sounds like they'd have been to his taste."

Caine gestures to the chairs. "Have a seat. If you don't have any pressing questions, I'd love to hear how you ended up so far from Golcondan waters.

Harsh sits and raises his glass in salute before taking a small, polite sip.

"I suppose that's as good a place to start as any," he says, and goes on to relate the adventures of the last... few months? It seems like an age. The derelict afloat in the southern ocean; Tortuga; the arrival of Martin, and the voyage to Amber. He pauses from time to time to allow Caine to ask any clarifying questions, eventually bringing matters up to the discovery of his paternity.

Caine does have questions. A fair number, across an extensive set of issues, from Harsh's experience as a Golcondan officer and the naval technology he's acquainted with, through Harsh's observations of the crew of the Queen Vialle, to his arrival at Xanadu.

(Does he mention Martin's plans, and does he mention anything about Lark's apparent foreknowledge that Harsh was a relative?)

Harsh does not mention either of these things, although he does say a lot of very nice things about how he liked Martin quite a bit, and found Lark charming.

"I've talked a bit to your father; how do you think he's handling having a new son? Gerard's generally been circumspect in his dealings, unlike some of our brothers," Caine says, not so much sniffy about it as stating a plain fact.

"He has been nothing but kindness to me," Harsh says, "and has offered to bring my--my mother here if she wishes, once I've been able to return to Golconda. Her mind is very much her own and always has been, so I couldn't say what she might choose. But as to my--" as always, the faintest pause before the word comes out, "father, he appears to have taken the news well." He smiles, self-deprecating. "Possibly even better than I have done, myself. My brother Vere has also been exceptionally welcoming -- I like him enormously."

Caine nods. "He's a good man, but very young yet. Also not a sailor, at least not primarily." Caine shifts in his seat. "We all are sailors, at least a bit, or else we will be. Amber and now Xanadu are cities built on trade and that means ports, docks, and shipbuilding.

"Members of the family who want a shipboard life can have one, and can make have a tremendous impact on the well-being of Amber."

"Truth be told, I don't know what I’d do with myself on land," Harsh says. "As much as I have enjoyed my time in Xanadu, not least in meeting the family that I did not know I have -- it discomfits me, to be too long from the sea. And there are affairs in Golconda that I must settle, including returning home those of my men who wish to return. But once that is done..."

He pauses, considering his words.

"I am a son of Golconda and always shall be. But I am also restless and curious -- even before we reached the icy seas of the south, I had begun to wonder what it is I'd do next, once we had explored the Southern continent. The possibilities presented by Amber and Xanadu -- it is, truly, impossible for me to resist."

Caine nods, as if this is not unexpected. "I'm sure Prince Martin either showed you or informed you of the family abilities that make it interesting to be an explorer. He may not have had an opportunity to explain to you how you'll be able to exercise control over shadows. With practice you'll be able to make new shadow paths that others can follow. That is one of the reasons we're in such demand. Try to only make them for your purposes or the King's purposes, or else you'll end up as everyone's road construction crew.

"Your father wants us to give you a command, something small to get used to sailing from here to Xanadu. What would you need to be able to take a ship from here to there?"

"I understand that there is a... trial that must be undertaken before one can move between Shadows, one I wish to undertake soon," Harsh says. Though in his heart he worries about it, lately he feels more like he might be able to face it. "As far as a command goes -- something on the order of a ghanjah or brigantine with a suitable crew would suit. I would like to include those of my own men who wish to join me as well."

Caine nods. "Your crew is in Xanadu, aren't they? What I had In mind is essentially commanding a ship on the trip back to Xanadu from here. There's a rutter already made for traversing shadow and I want to put you with a crew of my experienced sailors who can make sure you know how to handle our ships and who can, to be frank, get to Xanadu without a captain."

Old prideful instincts stir; Harsh's spine stiffens and he flushes slightly, but he controls himself. Caine is right, after all; this business of shadows is new to him, and he'd do well to keep his mouth shut and learn from those that know better. He tries not to be too obvious about taking a deep breath, and he relaxes.

"Once you get there, you can take the Pattern, take on new crew, and get outfitted for the journey to Golconda.

"Ship I have in mind is called 'The Swan'. It should meet your requirements."

Harsh bows. "It would be my honour and pleasure," he says.

**************************************************



Robin puts away her Trump with a sigh and then turns to Pen.

"Okay, now what? We wait for the authorities to come and look innocent? Or should we deal with the firelillies first? Because I know some very brave and thoughtful firelizards who would love a nummy fire snack?" Robin finishes with a smile.

The firelizards dance around Robin delightedly for a moment. Chirrup starts to head over to the firelillies on his own, and Peep flies around him fussily, clearly telling him to stop. If it were possibly to look hangdog, Chirrup does.

If Oot were a human, he'd be laughing at Chirrup.

Pen tucks away the knife and unsheathes her gladius. "The firelillies are an immediate threat. I think we would do well to weed them before we take our rest." She smiles at the firelizards, "We can use all the help we can get."

Pen leads the way up a familiar path through her mother's old garden.

Pen has no trouble finding the firelillies: they are spilling down a hill. May and August must have arrived recently; someone would have noticed the firelillies if they'd been here more than a night.

It occurs to Robin that if their tale is true and the firelillies follow them, either they came across Pontian land where firelillies can be traced or they came through some shadow road unknown to anyone, or perhaps made one untrained.

The firelizards are champing at the bit to eat the lillies, but politely wait for Robin to release them to eat.

Which Robin does. She also finds it extremely probable that eating firelillies will not affect Peep's fertility. So everyone can snack.

Oh, delicious! Firelillies begin to disappear rapidly into the bellies of hungry lizards. As Robin and Pen watch, they begin to stalk the flowers, not unlike cats with mice, except the mice are pinned to one place by their tails. Oot and Chirrup like to pounce on them, as if to show off for Peep. She gets her own once in a while, but the two males offer her their catches on occasion; perhaps some of the flowers seem particularly delicious to draconic senses.

"I'd like to keep some of the firelillies alive - ones far from your home, Pen - to experiment on," Robin comments as she follows Pen through the garden. "I'm cooking up an idea that may be an answer to them."

When they get to the lilies, Robin will take a moment to sense the Shadow around them; seeking the Shadowpath that brought May and August to Pontus.

Robin will have to head further away from the city, probably from any human dwellings and into woodlands, to find that path. It is not in the immediate area, but with her Pattern senses she can feel that the lillies lead back that way. Pen may know how far it is to the right sort of place.

Robin grins at the firelizards' antics. As the firelillies disappear, Robin turns to Pen, "I should tell you about my Father's family as May and August are my half-sister and -brother. Do we have time for a longish tale?"

Pen points with her gladius towards a path hidden by overgrown tree branches. "You have good instincts for where we need to be. Let me sharpen them further. I used this shortcut many times with my childhood friends when we went exploring. It should save some time and keep us hidden from any unwanted eyes. Also, the ground is smooth, even, and easier to traverse."

Once they reach the path, Pen adds, "I would welcome a story about your father's family," and she pauses, "Know that I am truly grateful for your company in this struggle. I am blessed by fortune to have discovered such stalwart kin."

Robin knows she will have no trouble keeping her senses on the path while telling the story. She may have to call the firelizards to get them to stop eating and come to her, though.

Robin shrugs, a little uncomfortable at Pen's praise. She's never thought of herself as stalwart, more like trouble on the wing. She calls the firelizards to herself with a happy chirp. They can eat whatever firelillies they can 'catch' so long as they stay close.

The firelizards follow Robin's directions, chittering and chirping back to her as they seek nearby chances for snacking.

"I should start this tale with my mother, I think." Robin nods to herself as she walks along the path. "I am definitely the daughter of Ysabeau, Princess of Amber. She is the woman who bore me for nine months and gave birth to me. I never knew her. Hannah and Solange are also daughters of Ysabeau, though none of us share a father. Hannah was raised by her father and sire, but Solange and I don't know who our sires were. After Solange's birth, Ysabeau gave her to Prince Gerard and he raised her as his foster daughter. After I was born, Ysabeau gave me to Prince Julian. He – and the Rangers of Arden – raised me as though I was his own daughter. Though he never came out and said so. Still, the two of us consider him my Father. I don't know who my sire was and, even though it's sure to bite me in the butt, I don't care. Julian is my Father. That makes his sons and daughters my brothers and sisters. And their children, my nieces and nephews.

"And another digression, we have a long dead uncle named Prince Finndo of Amber. A long, long time ago, he and the Dragon of Arcadia had five daughters; Artemis, Kalliste, Britomartis and two others whose names I do not know. Those daughters have become the Goddesses of Arcadia. And for a long time, they rotated the power of Arcadia among themselves. Tracking so far?" Robin pauses to let Pen ask any questions she may have.

"Prince Julian seems a most admirable father. So the Arcadian Goddesses are descended from not only Arcadia, but also Amber?" asks Pen.

"Hang on, how did Prince Finndo, umm, fertilize a dragon?"

Robin chuckles a little -- and blushes -- that was her first thought too .

"The Dragon is an ancient and powerful being. And I know that, even while sleeping, she took on the form of a human-esque woman in order to have tea with my cousin, Edan. Soooo, sex might have been involved. Or there could have been some of a power-sharing thing. I don't really know.

"But yes, the Goddesses of Arcadia are also of Amber, though they've never partaken of any of the Family's agendas or squabbles. They've kept mostly to themselves. Until we come to a more recent time, but still a long time ago.

"I don't know the timing of these next two events, so we'll start with the one I think came first. I believe that my Father had been charged by King Oberon to guard Arden against the powers of Arcadia. Regardless, the Dragon and my Father fought. And in that battle, the Dragon maimed my Father in a way that is not my place to say. But the result is that there will never be peace between the Warden of Arden and the Dragon of Arcadia.

"The second event is that Artemis of Arcadia discovered a way to 'permanently' gain ascendancy over her sisters. She approached my Father and he agreed to sire two children -- twins -- with her. These would be my sister and brother -- Dione and Daeon. They were raised in Arcadia by Artemis and became gods of that realm themselves. I never knew Dione. She died during the Black Road War.

"But I have met and argued with my brother Daeon. He... well, we didn't have much time together, so we never really had a chance to settle into the relationship. Now Daeon was a fertility god, so I have a lot of nephews and probably nieces as well; some I know about, but there are sure to be many more that I don't know about. Most immediately though, while Daeon spent very little time in Arden and Amber, he did manage to sire his own set of twins -- Brooke and Leif -- with our cousin Paige. Paige is now the Warden of Broceliande, the great forest that surrounds Xanadu. And her children, who matured very quickly by the way, run the paths of that forest now.

"Now although Brooke and Leif have been raised in Amber and Xanadu, their very existence has meaning to the rites and rituals of Arcadia. And while they were infants, the Dragon reached into Amber in an attempt to... acquire them, I guess? It was in foiling this attempt that Daeon lost his life."

Robin pauses, her expression vacillating between peevishness and sorrow. Daeon is also going to be a complicated situation for her.

The path is dark and quiet for a stretch as Pen takes all of this in. "I'm very sorry for the loss of your brother, Daeon. Protecting one's children is the quintessential responsibility of any parent, difficult as it is, and dying for that cause is a worthy thing to be both honored and lamented."

Pen pauses to slow her pace and catch her breath.

"Amazons have to learn early on to deal with death in their own way, and it's never easy. In my reckless youth, more than once have I foolishly quarreled with a lover before battle and lost forever the opportunity to resolve our dispute, and I found myself grieving a wound that would never heal. I see now that I hardened myself in response, took solace in my service to the Queen and my sisters, and dulled my pain with honey wine and lonely, brief distractions rather than meaningful bonds.

"My true love, Chirope," and her voice breaks like the tide on that last word. She continues, "... left Pontus with her mother for other lands when both she and I had reached the age of womanhood, and I still see her in my dreams. My heart flutters at the mention of her name, but I don't expect she'll pass this way again."

The quiet fills the darkness for a moment as Pen quickly wipes her face dry. Pen tries to collect herself, "Please forgive my self-indulgence. My sentimental heart has been in hiding for an age but found genuine kinship in the story of your loss, and thanks to the kindness and compassion of you, Hannah, and Solange, it chose to voice its own grief, which is rude."

As if to change the subject, Pen points to how far she and Robin are from the city proper.

"Have we made enough distance to test your idea?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Robin states firmly, referring to Pen's earlier statements. "I'm glad your heart is finding its voice. And I'm glad I could be here with you. Thank you for your sympathies." The Ranger gestures awkwardly, seeing if Pen would like a hug.

Pen picks up on Robin's gesture of kindness and gladly accepts the hug. She really needed that and welcomes it, but doesn't linger. The return gesture is a sisterly hug.

"I don't know if we're far enough yet. I'll check in a minute. But I need to bring my story up to the May and August point. Sometime recently, before Daeon died, another goddess of Arcadia -- Kalliste -- coerced my Father somehow to sire another set of twins upon herself. These are May and August. And are likewise my brother and sister. They have been raised by Kalliste in Arcadia and have also matured very quickly. And now that Artemis' two children are dead and Kailliste's two children are alive, the power in Arcadia is shifting and Artemis is fighting to retain her primacy. But even given the little time we spent together, I'm not sure May and August are fully onboard with their mother's plans for Shadow-wide domination."

Pen nods, "I wonder if the Arcadians regard your goodly Father as a Fertility God? I mean no disrespect at all, but I hadn't realized how entangled he is in this matter. Perhaps May and August could change the course of this struggle."

Pen keeps pace with Robin as they continue along the path.

"I hope so. I really do," Robin affirms.

"Oh. And the firelillies? When Daeon and our cousin Lilly were returning from Chaos to Amber, they were stopped by... some beings. I really don't know. But these beings demanded a tribute in order for Lilly and Daeon to pass. So Daeon convinced Lilly to cut him with her sword and gifted the beings with the blood of Amber and Arcadia. It was from where his blood dropped that the firelillies first formed. The beings deemed the tribute worthy enough -- which is an understatement -- and Lilly and Daeon continued on to Amber. With Daeon dripping blood the entire way.

"That's at least how they started. I have no idea how they've become so proliferate. But let's see if we can do something about it."

Robin stops and Listens carefully to the Shadow to see if it's malleable enough to do a Pattern conjuration without too much disruption.

Robin nods to herself in satisfaction. "This will do."

She turns to Pen. "What I'm doing works better if no one is looking, so could you please watch the firelizards for a bit?"

Robin croons for her greedy gullet friends to stop eating the firelillies in the area and come to Pen.

Pen nods her understanding and turns away from Robin, reaching into a travel pouch and waves a few small fruits and dried meats, hoping to lure the firelizards toward her.

Fruits and dried meats are a winning combination. Soon all three firelizards are swooping and hovering nearby, vocalizing their desire for a share of the treats. Pen is learning to identify the firelizards by coloration and differences in their details after all the time together.

Robin has given them onomatopoeic names. The golden one, Peep, is clearly the Queen of the fair. When their attention isn't on Robin the other two are in attendance on Peep. Chirrup is the most interested in soaring overhead, doing slow, lazy spirals a dozen feet in the air. Ooot is more curious, and wants to investigate the food. They are definitely meat-eaters and the mouth that Pen is feeding doesn't look like it's good for eating vegetables. The two of them could be brothers, but Pen thinks that she sees small differences between them.

With Pen and the firelizards taken care of, Robin nods and seats herself near some of the remaining firelillies. Once she is settled, she calls on her Heritage of blood, lyre and lightning by bringing the recently-walked Primal Pattern to mind. Then she opens herself to the music of Pontus, taking careful notes of its weft and warp. That done, Robin begins to weave the shadow stuff, all the while humming as she adds new notes to the song of Pontus.

She's thinking of moths. Firstly and foremost, they need to be fire-proof. Secondly, they need to eat firelillies -- and only firelillies. After that, they should be able to follow the Shadow paths that the firelillies create. They should also be hearty, prolific, voracious, camouflaged to hide on the firelillies and taste bad to predators.

Robin will take as long as is needed to get a good result.

Robin gets started on trying to make the conditions right to change the moths that are in Pontus into the moths she wants to have in Pontus. It's daunting. It's too much for a watch or even a ten-day. Robin feels as if she could work on this for a month or a season and it might give her the time to do the job she wants to do, systematically and correctly.

It's possible to get some combination of the characteristics she wants, but it will be a couple of weeks between the eggs being laid, maturing into caterpillars, pupating, and emerging as Lilly-eating moths.

Once she feels like she is done, the Ranger reaches out and on the underside of one of the firelilly leaves, she looks for the twelve moth eggs she finds it very probable will be there.

The first batch might be done. There are definitely small eggs there. They should hatch in a week.

(Reference article: https://theforestspirit.wordpress.com/2014/05/01/the-dubious-relationship-of-the-lily-and-the-lily-moth/)

Robin nods to herself and stands. "Well, it's a start," she drawls. Then she cocks her head. "I'm going to need some flowerpots."

She smiles as she turns to Pen and the firelizards. "This is going to take a while, but I think it’ll be worth it.

"Soooo, should we head back to the house?"

The fire lizards don't like the smell of the eggs, and avoid eating the plants she's harvested. They seem ready to lazily go with. Chirrup moves to Pen's shoulder and wraps his tail firmly around her neck.

It's not quite panic-inducing, but it's definitely distracting. He's also breathing near her ear.

Pen is remembering experiences when she was younger with snakes and other kinds of lizards, and she purposefully calms herself, slowing her breathing and not startling Chirrup.

The lizard relaxes, sitting on her shoulder and probably not even realizing his claws are gently pricking through her clothes and into her skin.

She continues to demonstrate affection and trusts that if there's an issue, Robin will act.

If her bearings are correct, Pen makes a small detour to an overgrown abandoned garden of a long-gone neighbor. The garden fell victim to a warren of fast, hungry rabbits, but a few muddy pots are still visible. They're not pretty, but functional.

She hands them to Robin and once the eggs are settled they can head back. "I should be able to throw together something to eat when we reach the house."

Robin smiles, "I could eat," she affirms heartily.

Robin is very careful with the firelillies on the way back to Pen's mother’s home. Once there, she will situate the pots near the well in the center of the courtyard and will find it very probable that the lilies will not set the house on fire. Once done, she will croon and stroke the firelizards telling them what good fledglings they've been.

Pen jogs up to the left side of the house and turns the corner into the kitchen. It's quiet for a long minute.

"Did you need any help with the cooking, Pen?" Robin asks courteously.

There's the sudden sound of what must be a falling shelf and a few pieces of crashing pottery.

Suddenly the wall of limestone in the kitchen erupts as Pen is hurled with tremendous force through it, leaving a Pen-shaped hole.

Chirrup, who was apparently quite taken with Pen, hisses in anger.

Out through the Pen-shaped hole steps another creature; it's the size of a small tree, though shaped like a human. In fact, it is a small tree, something that both Robin and Pen would recognize as some form of Dryad. Though its arms are slender, when it struck Pen, its movements suggest it used both arms, which would still have been a significant force.

Robin was wondering where the Firelillies came from? The Dryad's hair is tangled with them. She stinks of the Green.

"Where are they? Where are the Mother's children?" the Dryad hisses, advancing on Pen and Robin, her hands growing thorns as she moves.

All three of the firelizards are ready to burn the corrupted Dryad to the ground.

Robin doesn't wait to talk. After all, this creature just threw her sister through a wall. She gives the order for the firelizards to light the dryad up, while she draws her sword of variable sharpness and prepares to do battle.

The firelizards rise in formation to approach the dryad and, having just eaten a load of lillies themselves, strafe her with fiery breath. She seems to catch in places but the flames seem to coalesce into rivers that lead back to the lillies in her leafy hair.

"Give me the Mother's children!" the dryad screams at the two women, her gnarly hands growing thornier as she speaks.

The dryad advances on Robin. Pen, apparently stunned, is between the two combatants. Robin is certainly fast enough to get past Pen and go directly into combat with the dryad, not least because the dryad moves slowly compared to a human or animal of her size. She is, after all, a tree.

Robin darts between the dryad and Pen. Over their emotional link, Robin directs the firelizards to snatch the firelillies in the dryad's 'hair' away from her. But not to eat them, 'cause they're bad.

Her strategy for herself is based on her own experience fighting the Green. She doesn't go for a kill shot, instead she aims to dice the dryad as quickly as possible – starting with any reaching appendages. She hopes her sword of variable sharpness will be especially sharp in the Shadow of Pontus, 'cause she's probably chopping wood with it. If possible, Robin will aim to cleave the non-burning bits first

Pen gets her wind back and quickly rises. She unsheathes her gladius and charges with a leaping step and a roar; the blade is held above her with both hands and coming down with all the force she can muster.

There's a moment when it seems the two sisters will get tangled up but both of them are experienced warriors.

Robin's used to guerilla fighting with Rangers where she's the toughest, or with her father where she's his backup, but his positions are carefully calculated, even if the plans change on the fly. Pen, on the other hand, fights more like Daeon, though without Daeon's carelessness of others.

Pen is used to being the strongest and toughest of the Amazons in her unit, regardless of size. It's the strength and endurance that mark her as an Amberite that made her the best of the best in Pontus. Here with Robin, though, Pen is battling alongside a sister who is truly her equal; she can afford to let Robin take fully half the battle on in a way she couldn't with her sisters in Pontus.

When Robin senses that Pen has risen and is moving to meet the dryad's charge with a mighty cry in the native tongue of Pontus, she's able to sidestep and attack on her own without disrupting either her own attack or Pen's.

The firelizards follow Robin's command and move to strip the lillies from the dryad's upper branches and greenery, which are now burning. Robin and Pen are both going to need some medication to sleep without pain by the time this is over.

Robin's first blow strikes the dryad's arm, weakening her two-handed blow.

Pen's mighty blow knocks the dryad back, leaving the blade stuck in the bark. (She can pull it out later during the combat if she wants.) The dryad sprays the sisters with thorns. Pen's speed and skill are such that she can catch them in midair as if they were arrows.

Robin's blade slices through all the limbs of the dryad it meets. Each blow causes it to scream in rage and pain as the lopped branches fall to the ground, still demanding to know where the children are.

Robin has a fierce grin on her face. Despite her injuries, she is obviously enjoying herself. This is what she was made for; monster fighting with a team-mate. She isn't quite laughing but her eyes are bright with excitement.

Robin fights like a wild thing. Though she coordinates with Pen, she doesn't fight to any pattern or school of swordplay. She is fast, so fast, and unpredictable. But she gets the job done, slicing away at the dryad for all she's worth.

From nearby, Pen and Robin can hear the Amazon sisters crying "Fire!" Pen knows they will be bringing water to douse the flames; she thinks they will arrive in a few minutes. They have the dryad on her back foot; they should defeat her before the Amazons arrive, especially with the help of the firelizards, who have taken to throwing the firelillies into the rain cistern, where they float on top of the water.

Oh, such clever firelizards. Robin beams through their connection.

While the dryad is on her back foot, Robin slices off her front foot. And moves to start carving huge chunks out of the main body of the dryad. Robin figures that once the dryad is in pieces (and all of her firelillies are gone), she'll round up the bits into a pile and have the firelizards ignite it, She will also find it very probable that Pen's mother's home will not catch on fire.

Robin's move topples the dryad, and Robin wastes no time in dismembering (defoliating?) the creature. The firelilies burn quietly in in the water, like so many floating votive candles. The parts that have been hacked off are still trying to attack, but they lack the coordination and, in most cases, eyes.

The firelizards are happy to apply flame to the formerly ambulatory bonfire, and the creature is burning nicely when the fire brigade shows up.

Pen will need to convince them not to put out the fire.

Every place the dryad touched either of them stings like nettles, except where it stings like getting kicked through a wall by a wooden mule.

To Robin, it looks like Chirrup was also hit with at least one flying nettle; his left rear leg is hurt, and Peep is licking him.

As Amazons charge up the hill with buckets, Pen runs forward, her hands raised to ward them off. "Hold, sisters! This emissary of the Green has to be left to burn lest it re-gathers its strength!"

They put down their buckets and ask if there are more infected creatures to battle nearby. The ones who have swords with them draw them.

Pen quickly drops into her Captain role, asserting that this appears to have been a singular threat, for now, but she sets up two patrols that will take alternating shifts in case the Arcadians return in numbers. She thanks them for their readiness and dismisses them.

Pen claps Robin on the shoulder. "That was fine work. Your blows fell like hammers, and your firelizards are well-trained."

Robin grins at Pen. "That was fun. You also fought well. We should do that again."

Pen looks at her blade stuck in what was the Dryad's chest and decides to wait until the fire dies down some to reclaim it. "I can only wonder what nightmare is next if this was their first response."

Robin shrugs as she scoops fiery dryad bits into a central burning area with her sword. "Whatever it is, we can handle it," she says with a confident smile.

But once the fire is centralized and hopefully not endangering the house, Robin's mien grows more serious and she calls Chirrup over to herself.

Robin inspects his wound carefully, looking for any signs of a Green infection.

There's no green infection, but it looks like the wound has been cauterized, either by Chirrup himself or by his partners. It seems tender to the touch, but clean. He probably shouldn't fly too much or he'll re-open the wound.

"We should be safe in the house tonight," Pen says to Robin. "Let me show you the kitchen," and she enters the house again, avoiding the large hole in the wall.

"Sure," Robin chirps while carefully wrapping Chirrup over her shoulders. She sends warm thoughts to her brave firelizards and gratefulness for their efforts. Giving one last look at the courtyard with its firelillies in the well, its firelillies in pots by the way and its bonfire of a former dryad, Robin decides to leave it to the ready and willing Amazons and follows Pen into the house.

Peep and Ooot have what looks like a bit of a discussion and Ooot flies off to join the Amazons at their work. Peep remains with Robin and Chirrup.

With the adrenaline of the fight receding, Pen suddenly realizes she's hurt. In fact, it hurts quite a lot. Pen has a number of thorns in her that were shed by the angry dryad, some scrapes and a number of superficial burns, but the worst, of course, comes from the dryad's initial strike. She probably has several broken or at least fractured ribs based on the way it feels to breathe.

Apparently even an Amberite can get their butt kicked in a hard fight with a supernatural being.

Robin also has minor injuries, but she's used to recovering after a battle like this and knows how to patch herself and others up. None of the visible injuries are obviously infected, and nothing indicates that either Robin or Pen has any Green injuries. If nothing else, the firelizards would have detected it, or Robin would have with her Pattern senses.

There should be bandages and supplies in the house somewhere, or they can send one of the Amazons off for some.

Pen's Mother's house is not surprisingly well-stocked with medical supplies given how often Pen would get injured.

Fruits, meats, and cheeses are set out as Pen makes sure to also grab antiseptics, bandages, and needle and thread. She does not stop to consider if tending to one's wounds while eating is a faux pax and remembers to grab both the water and wine, though she makes a point of only drinking the water.

"Robin, given these new developments, I would greatly appreciate your assessment of our current situation. I have mixed feelings about how we were received by the Queen, but we need every advantage we can get."

"Hmmm," Robin thinks as she applies balm to a burn on the back of her hand. "I think the incursion here was targeted due to my presence. May said she thought that the trail of firelillies was following me. And I suspect that the dryad was the one laying them down. Still, even with all of the firelillies my faire ate up, I think your Mother's house will be a weak point in Pontus' defenses. It should probably be watched.

"And since the Green follows the firelillies, and we suspect that there are firelillies in the upland vales, those should be dug up and burned wherever they can be found.

"The Green's first incursion into Arden was in the form of human slavers. So again, I think the upland vales should be patrolled for such.

"I also think your people should be taught how to fight the Green. When fighting a Green creature, it's best to dice then burn them. The dicing is important as the Green will fight on in parts that have been separated from the main body. I was once attacked by a horse's head that had been severed from its body." Robin fluffs her bangs. "Okay, technically I was attacked by a horse, but its head continued to attack me once it had been cut off.... It was icky.

"What are your mixed feelings about how we were received?" Robin asks.

"'The Death of the God of Springtime, or Adonis' Sacrifice', the play that the Queen had commissioned. It makes sense given Pontus' struggle against the Green so it may have just been a coincidence that we arrived exactly when she decided to have it performed, but the Queen is a subtle manipulator."

Pen catches her breath and runs her hands through her hair, "Perhaps I'm seeing things that aren't there. We've been promised troops to continue the fight, soldiers that I would trust with my life. Maybe that's enough."

And then, "So the Green is like the head of a hydra? It can fight on even after it's cut away from the beast. Gods, what a nightmare."

The firelizards politely wait until Robin has tended to her wounds to beg for tastes of her dinner. But they are interested nonetheless.

Robin smiles fondly at her well-mannered but bottomless firelizards. And she picks out bits of meat from her plate to feed to them.

"Yes," Robin nods, "A nightmare. I've fought worse. But not often...

"Will we meet with... Aristomache tomorrow? How do we arrange that?"

Pen nods, "I've known 'Risto for a very long time, and there's no one in Pontus I trust more. She's a remarkable soldier, born to the saddle - she taught me everything I know about horses, and much of what I know about battle. I expect we'll find her at the stables."

Pen gets up, gently holding her side. "I'm going upstairs, but my Mother's bedroom is down here and quite comfortable. These ribs are going to make sleeping an unexpected challenge, but I'm too tired to care. Good night, Robin."


Overnight, the Amazons and the firelizards dispose of the remnants of the Dryad and set watch on the firelillies.

Pen sleeps well and starts to recover from her injuries with the usual speed that she now knows marks her as an Amberite. She looks miserable in the morning as the bruises heal, but the ribs are already feeling better.

Robin's injuries were less serious and she's closer to completely recovered. Chirrup is also recovering. Robin is pretty sure that he went to check on Pen last night too.

After breakfast with some of the Amazons watching the house and the firelilly trail, Robin and Pen and the fair go to the royal stables to find Aristomache.

Risto greets Pen with a warm clasp that probably would have been a back-cracking hug if it weren't for her injuries. She offers the same greeting to Robin, frankly assessing the Ranger and her fair. Risto is tall, though not so tall as Pen, and well-muscled and athletic. She would, Robin feels, be suited to Ranger work, at least in the sense that Risto is used to hard labor and fighting.

"Pen, welcome home, and welcome to you, sister Robin, friend of my friend, and your companions. I hear you've had quite the adventure. Tell me all about it!"

Robin returns Risto's clasp a little awkwardly, and her frank appraisal with the same. She's going to have to get used to the Amazons'... hearty ways. The Ranger defers to Pen for adventure-telling.

Pontian history is equally divided between written and oral traditions, and similar to the Cadence acoustic language used by the rangers of Arden, there is a kind of verbal shorthand taught to amazons at an early age. Pen speaks in Pontian, not to exclude Robin, who's already lived through a lot of what Pen's recounting, but to be able to convey the information as quickly and efficiently as she can. It begins when Pen left to hunt down the source of the Green sickness, her discovery of its many victims in her travels, her meeting with and befriending the kindly Rangers of Arden, and the fight that nearly killed her in their midnight ambush; it all pours out like wine. Pen struggles at points when she speaks of her newfound family and sobriety. Risto stops and hugs her old friend, only slowing the narrative briefly. She speaks briefly of the great kindness she was shown by Hannah, the Goddess Brita, Solange, and meeting Julian, Random, and the noble Gerard, among others. There is an explanation of the Arcadian Dragon and its children, and how they figure into the struggle. There is only a momentary pause as she calculates whether to include the explanation of the two children from last night left in Julian's custody. She opts to omit that information for now, though the revelation may prove tactically prudent over time. A portion of this discourse is by tradition framed tactically; how to destroy the firelilies, what capabilities the enemy has thus far displayed, and what we can expect to face in the future, as best she can estimate. Pen speaks of Robin as a ranger, a knight, and a beloved sister, and makes it absolutely clear that she would trust her with her life. Risto asks a few clarifying questions, also in Pontian, and looks at Robin with renewed respect.

Risto listens with interest and Pen is pretty sure she knows that Pen has omitted details here and there. She is astounded by the news that Pen has discovered more family, apparently from her mysterious father's side. Pontus doesn't entirely dismiss the father's contribution to the family, but obviously it's not considered key. When Risto hears about Robin and Pen being quite literally related, she laughs with delight.

"Well," she says, "your sister will be welcome among us, always! And I see her friend has taken a liking to you." Chirrup has given up on trying to sit on her shoulder but he is keeping a close eye on Pen.

When they are caught up to the present, Pen has questions for Risto about the forces the Queen has made available for this army; the number of cataphracti, archers, spears, etc. She asks if there are any amazons of renown or reputation that may have been assigned to this assembly.

When Robin interprets the numbers, it looks like they'll have about 60 between the mounted archers and the (also mounted) hoplites. And two leaders of note: Aiella, who is apparently a good friend to Pen and Risto, will be leading one of the cavalry groups.

The other woman is Asteria, whom Risto explains to Robin excitedly is a daughter of Hekate by a giant and thus a demigoddess in her own right. She is a storm witch, a tempestarri, and has a gift of healing. She can talk to crows and ravens, and has a crow familiar.

To Robin, this seems a lot like a Ranger report; there's a lot of short-handing things, and it's all very fast, except for a couple of break points where Risto comments and has questions. She catches the names of her family going by and Robin's emotions about them, and then more assessment from Risto.

The fair is interested in everything and everyone going on and about around them. Though Oot and Peep are getting their nose into everything, Chirrup is staying close to Robin and Pen, and watching Pen. He clearly has a bit of a crush on her, and comes to chitter to Robin about it.

Robin chitters back to him that yes, Pen is awesome. And a mighty warrior like himself. She also warns Peep and Ooot not to startle the horses.

Then she replies to Risto with a broad grin, "Thank you for your welcome. It warms my heart to know that my sister was raised in such good company."

"These three are Peep, Chirrup and Ooot." Robin says, gesturing to her faire in turns. Then she leans in to fake whisper to Risto. "They are most easily bribed with food. Especially meat - if you have any. Or any desire to have a firelizard alight upon you."

"Yes, please!" Risto is intrigued by the firelizards, and takes time to introduce herself to them. She treats them like birds in a way that suggests to Robin that she might have some experience with falconry.

Robin feels the touch of an incoming Trump call.

Robin gets a surprised look on her face. And says to Pen and Risto, "Oh, ummm, I am receiving a... magical call from one of my kin. If you could excused me for a moment?" She will let the firelizards know it's okay to stay with the amazons, but she herself steps to a quiet spot in the stable and awkwardly accepts the Trump call. "Yes?"

Vere appears before her. He is standing in an alcove in one of the hallways of Xanadu. "Most beloved," he says with a smile. "I am finally at a place where I can rest for a moment, and wished to speak with you. All is well where you are, I trust?"

"Vere!" Robin's delighted trill rings out over the open air. She stands near the outdoor corner of a wooden building. Her firelizards are not currently with her but Vere can feel through Robin's connection to them that they are nearby. And despite the teachings of her father and the advice of the King, Robin's emotions and thoughts burst over the Trump contact like fireworks.

One of her brain birds is constantly calling 'Vere, Vere, Vere' in a paeon of love and joy. Another of her stray thoughts is how much she missed him; her dawn of reason, the ocean to her shore, the mighty oak she perches in. A third impression is that Robin is hurting slightly from minor wounds accrued during an epic monster battle. Further impression flicker and blend so quickly, they are almost indistinguishable; she loves him, she has a new sister, the firelillies have become a major menace, she loves him, she thinks Amazons are a very hearty people, she loves him.

Eventually, Robin calms down enough to answer in words. "I'm glad you called. And while not all is well here, it's definitely manageable. How are you?"

Vere lets Robin's and nonverbal communication wash over and through him, and she can feel his answering love and devotion. He doesn't attempt verbal communication until she has calmed down enough to initiate it.

"I am well, my love. Along with Jerod, we have captured the ever-elusive Doctor Chew and turned him over to Random for the King's Justice. I am in Xanadu now. We have new cousins here as well..." Robin can feel that simple statement is fraught with deeper emotions than a simple increase in the size of the Family would call for, but Vere doesn't elaborate, "... and the specific instructions I was given by the King have been completed. I will be speaking with him soon to learn what he would have of me now, but I wished to speak with you ere I did anything else." He trills the greeting call of a hawk before continuing, "I have missed you, and wished to hear your voice and see your face once more."

"Who's Vere? Her girlfriend?" Risto asks Pen.

Pen smiles, "Something like that, yes." Pen wants to accord Robin some privacy, but she can't help but notice how delighted she looks to speak to Vere. There is a pang of responsibility for having brought Robin out here, and in that moment Pen desperately wants to make sure that Robin gets back to Vere at some point. She knows that Robin came of her own accord and she's proven more than equal to whatever we've faced. She would hate to lose her newfound family to war after only just discovering them.

She turns back to 'Risto and they go over plans for cataphract deployments, strategic maneuvers, drills that they've known since they were teens, and double-checking what supplies the troops will need. Then there is the talk of old friends, "How is your mother?", "Are you still seeing ... Hera forgive me, I've forgotten her name?", "Has there been any word on Chirope?"

"No word on Chirope," Risto tells Pen mournfully. "I don't she and her mother and sisters are coming back. You know what I think set them off, looking back? The prophetess."

Pen remembers the arrival of the prophetess. She presented herself to Queen Thalaestris and whatever conversation they had in secret resulted in the prophetess receiving the grant of a cave in return for the occasional prophecy as requested by the Queen. Chirope herself hadn't had much to say about it, but her mother Areto had been vocal in her distaste for the prophetess.

Still, the prophesies the Queen had requested had all turned out properly, at least the ones Pen knew about.

Robin returns the hawk call to Vere, joyfully met in the sky. "Congratulations on the capture, my Love. I know you and Jerod work well together." Robin has mixed feelings about Jerod. But she knows that he and Vere are close, so she is willing to let it slide.

"I hope the King will consider sending you to Arden. We could use all the help we can get." Robin's expression turns grim momentarily but she quickly reverts to her naturally buoyant self.

"It's good to see you too. Thank you for reaching out, Beloved." Robin sends another pulse of joy and affection down the Trump contact. But before she can lose herself in wordless timeless love, she pulls herself back.

"How is your sister and the Coldstream Guards?" Robin asks, since that is what she last remembers Vere intending to investigate.

Vere laughs quietly. "The reports of her involvement were somewhere overstated. I believe the end result may be that she ends up taking control of some Klebesian properties in Paris, so all to the good. Moire, or her agents, have been making tentative overtures to my sister's people. She has been too wise to be drawn into those politics, and I gave her more information about the situation, which should aid her in avoiding unfortunate entanglements."

Robin can feel a sense of quiet contentment in Vere's mind as he continues. "Our conversation was good, and I believe we are more in accordance with each other than we have been for many years. The power and responsibility of the crown sit well upon her."

"That's good to hear, Beloved. I'm happy for you both." Robin beams with warm sincerity.

"And speaking of sisters, Hannah was nosing around about our relationship the last time I was in Amber. I don't know if she will brace you directly, but I thought I'd warn you..." Vere can tell that Robin is slightly put out by what she perceives as an invasion of privacy. Though she knows Hannah is more open about those sorts of things than she is. And a doctor besides.

Vere laughs quietly. "I wished to speak with her about Father and Mother in any case. I do not embarrass easily." She can feel that earlier emotion she felt when he spoke of new cousins return to the fore, a complex mixture of anticipation, concern, affection, and wariness. "And I should let you know that among the new relatives who have been discovered is a previously unknown son of Gerard. I have not met him yet, but will be doing so soon. Father has met him, and seems to like and approve of him."

"Your father is a good judge of character." Robin says with a firm nod. "And you, my Love, are excellent with people. Even if you don't think so. I wish you the best with meeting your new brother." A faint thought drifts by that Robin wishes her own brothers were still around to be met. She loved them both and enjoyed having brothers, even when they were trouble. Which they both were in different ways.

"I've been spending some quality time with my new sister, Penthelisea -- Pen for short." And by quality time, Robin means exploring spiced with some running and lots of fighting. "Brita's confirmed that she's Family, probably on her father's side. But since she came to Amber unclaimed, Hannah, Solange and I adopted her into the clan of Ysabeau."

Vere laughs once again. "I look forward to meeting her. In a possibly related matter, could you give me a quick précis of what is occurring there? I go from this conversation directly to the king, and can make any report to him that you think useful."

"A précis, huhn. I'll try." Robin says with a smile. "When I got to Amber, I was able to send Lady Morgne to Rebma, and Lady Laudine and Sir Ywain to Paris with no trouble. But when I got to Arden, I arrived to a war-camp. It seems like the firelilies are over-running Arden and are spreading out to the surrounding shadows. The paths they make are quickly followed by the forces of the Green. The Rangers are barely holding their ground against them. So my Father is requesting reinforcements and supplies from the throne. My Father has also charged me with shoring up the surrounding shadows to try and trap the Green in Arcadia. That and an answer to the firelillies are works in progress.

"Pen and I set out from Arden to her home shadow of Pontus. On the way, we were attacked by the forces of a goddess of Arcadia. She didn't stick around to see us totally trounce her forces." Robin grins at that. "And that place is one shadow that is resistant to the Green now.

"Pontus itself is definitely showing signs of Green infiltration and there are at least two active firelily trails into it. The Queen of Pontus has graciously assigned sixty mounted warriors including a couple of named heroes to aid the Rangers of Arden. But more is needed. I figure we'll be here in Pontus for a few more days depending on how long it takes the Amazons to mobilize their troops. Once they're ready, I'll lead them back to Arden. Then on to shoring up shadows and tinkering with firelily eating moths."

Robin putters to a stop. And shrugs. She has no idea how to close a précis.

Vere nods and she can feel once again the pride and love he feels for her. "An excellent summation, most beloved. Do you need aid in this task, or are things well in hand?"

Robin thinks it over, trying to be rational in spite of how very much she'd like to see and work with her Beloved once more. "Things are in hand for right now," she says reluctantly. "But aid in the task of shoring up the shadows against the Green would be appreciated. It's really, really hard to do that and I'm vulnerable when I try. Pen is a good body guard, but she's only one combatant."

"Penthelisea is family, you say," Vere muses. "But I take it she has not yet walked the Pattern? That puts limits on the amount of aid she can offer." He smiles. "I might happen to mention that to the king."

It's Robin's turn to laugh and laugh she does; her Beloved is a clever, clever man. "Please do. Having someone else with the ability to manipulate shadow would be a good thing. And there'd be lots of good learning opportunities."

Vere sends another strong pulse of love and devotion across the link. "Be well, my love. Are there any messages to any in Xanadu that you would have me carry?"

"No, thank you," Robin says, obviously reluctant to end the conversation. "You be well, too, Beloved."

Vere blows her a final kiss before closing the link.

Robin pauses for a moment, more words on her lips, more love in her eyes, before shaking her head and smiling to Pen.

Pen is keen to wait until Robin has clearly concluded her conversation with Vere. When that happens, she approaches.

"I've been speaking with my sisters and making sure we're as prepared as we can be; armor repaired, horses watered, provisions secured. I mentioned how impressed I've been with your fighting prowess, and I must've spoken very well of you because they suggested that I should invite you as an honorary member of our tribe. It's an honor that is not often given, but I would absolutely understand if you'd rather not. You've already proven yourself in battle so if you're interested it would likely be a challenge to honor Artemis, either archery or a hunt. What do you think?"

"Sounds great!" Robin chirps. "What would being an honorary member of the tribe entail on my end?"

Risto claps her hands, delighted. "You'd be a sister to every Amazon and you'd come when called to defend your sisters. And should you have daughters in due season, bring them to Pontus for a season so they will know their sisters. And don't bring a man to Pontus without royal permission, but that's the law for everyone, not just Amazons. Men can visit briefly, for diplomacy, though women are better, and they can come to certain festivals. But Pontus is for women, and a refuge against Man's Worlds."

Robin thinks about it. She's not worried about the daughters' clause as she is already committed to never breeding. But having a full Family member on call is a... noticeable boon for the Amazons. On the other hand, Pontus is right in the middle of the war against the Green. And Julian did say he trusted her sense of diplomacy.

"As long as being called doesn't violate any of my previously given oaths, I'll do it." Robin smiles excited for the challenge.

"Well spoken," Risto says.

Pen beams and clasps Robin's wrist with her own. "I have no doubt in your success. Thank you for considering this."

Robin is presented with a few items of jewelry/armor attached to this ritual, including a circlet with a silver crescent honoring Artemis, and a pair of ornate light metal bracers.

Robin is also gifted with traditional Pontian clothing, a shortened chiton that terminates above the knees and buskins, sandals that strap up to the lower leg.

Robin treats the preparation with some solemnity as it is an honor, but there is a hint of playfulness around her eyes. The chiton and the circlet remind her strongly of the costume she wore to the ill-fated Masquerade, which now seems so long ago. And she will always feel a little like playing dress-up when she is out of her Ranger trail-gear. But Castor's etiquette lessons hold true and Robin stands proud in her Pontian gear.

Pen advises, "First there will be a sequence of three archery challenges, each a little more difficult than the last, and then you will be given weapons to hunt for one of the great boars."

Boars? Robin thinks. She remembers the last time she hunted boars, she needed a Goddess' help. Hopefully, Artemis will be on her side this time.


Risto helps with the presentation and the dressing and arming. The firelizards are interested in everything, though Chirrup's crush on Pen has not diminished. Between Robin and Pen, they manage to teach him not to throttle Pen accidentally.

News has gone out that Robin is to be welcomed into the Amazons. The outcome seems foreordained from the greetings and introductions that Robin receives. All the Amazons seem excited to see and meet her if they have not already.

Despite her private nature, Robin returns greetings, engages in conversations and generally lets the Amazons be excited about her. Robin is confident about the contest but does not consider it foreordained; there are always things that could wrong. But given no unexpected... complications, Robin is confident that she can honor Artemis and the Amazons with her performance.

The arena is prepared for the archery contests. It's the same amphitheater where the play was produced last night. Queen Thalaestris and the priestesses of Artemis and Athena and the other goddesses all bless Robin, and all is ready for Robin to shoot the challenges.

Robin takes special notice of the Goddesses invoked. She may need to talk to them later.

The three challenges are distance, stamina, and mounted precision, in that order. For the distance challenge, Robin will start with a short bow, shooting at the target, and the test is to maintain accuracy as the distance increases to longbow length.

Robin feels she could probably do this challenge with her eyes closed.

Risto offers to help Pen squire Robin, and they will have close seats, as opposed to the Amazons who are filling the stands to watch Robin triumph in the contest.

Robin strides assuredly to her mark and strings the short bow, taking care not to break it in the process. While somewhat uncomfortable with the pagentry, shootin' is something she knows and is good at.

When the signal is given, Robin nocks and looses her first arrow in a slow and measured fashion. No need to get cocky while on display.

Having taken the measure of the bow and arrow with her first shot, which lands in the center of the target with a meaty thunk, Robin is certain she can handle this first feat with ease. Robin is an experienced archer; the bow and arrows are quality work; and there is no weather or any other condition that would make the shooting difficult. The Amazons are taking this seriously. Robin has no sense that any of them would interfere. And even if they did, her firelizards are watching closely and would probably sense such a thing.

Probably it would take a Pattern initiate or a sorcerer to really cause a problem for Robin, but as far as she knows, she's the only such person present.

Robin nods to herself as the first arrow finds its mark. While reverence is not usually in her make-up, Robin treats the contest as seriously as the Amazons. This is to honor them and Artemis.

Robin nocks and launches her second arrow at the next furthest target. Another bullseye. A third arrow, a third hit in the center of the third target. As Robin warms to her task, she begins to speed up -- her confidence and natural impatience getting the better of her. The fourth and fifth arrows fly quickly and true. As do the arrows that follow. By the time Robin is to the tenth and eleventh arrows, she is firing the next arrow before the first has landed.

Robin's twelfth and final arrow hits the center of its target and she lowers the short bow with another satisfied nod. She turns over the short bow to her squires with a fond pat on the bow; a good tool for a job well done.

As she takes up the longbow and quiver, Robin smiles again. The longbow is one of her weapons of choice and this is a fine specimen of the type. Robin strings it purposefully and strides over to her mark for the long range targets.

Again her first shot is measured and steady as Robin gets a feel for the bow, the arrows and the wind conditions. All are good and the arrow thunks into the center of its distant target. Other arrows follow, each to its target. And again Robin speeds up, launching ten arrows quickly one after the other as the targets stretch to further and further away. Each arrow finds its mark almost as if the targets wanted them.

Robin pauses briefly before aiming her last arrow at the target distant at the top of the stands. But with confidence, she release the string and the arrow speeds to its destination, another bullseye.

The Ranger lowers the longbow and gives it a little fillip around her hand before unstringing it. Yeah, she's got to get her one of these before she leaves Pontus. Smiling she turns to her squires to return the bow.

Pen cheers Robin on after every shot. At first, the crowd is silent for each arrow drawn out of respect for the archer, but the pace of the arrows speeds up quickly and the cheering and applause grow as each target is expertly met.

Pen is enormously proud of her adopted sister. 'Risto, also cheering, turns to Pen, "I'm glad she's on our side!"

The crowd cheers heartily for Robin. Her success is clearly a delight to the women of Pontus; the young squires whisper about how many love-tokens Robin will receive after this showing, especially if she does more of the same in the next two trials.

Robin waves to the crowd with a bashful smile, thanking them for their cheers. While her natural confidence keeps her just shy of awkwardness, she isn't used to this kind of setting.

The firelizards are also very excited, and fly about the crowd, inspecting everything and everyone, but from a bit of distance. Chirrup and Peep stay closer to Pen, but Oot is brave and flies lower than the others. The Amazons are curious about him; Pen can see them call him, but he does not come to anyone other than Pen.

With the Queen's consent, the first trial is declared a success. The Queen herself begins to prepare a wreath for Robin. She will work on the wreath during the second trial. Which is a trial of stamina: Robin will shoot a dozen dozen arrows. Speed and accuracy are assumed; the test is whether Robin can maintain those qualities over the time needed to fire all the arrows.

New targets are set up and the supply of arrows is prepared. Robin is given light food and water so she's ready, and if she needs a brief break, she can take one now.

Robin doesn't need a break but the food and water are welcome. She can always eat.

Robin's an Amberite. This trial, like the first, is well within her capabilities. During the war, she's done guerilla work that required more stamina than this test. It's a formality, and things could go wrong, but she has every reason to believe she will pass this test with flying colors.

Robin steps up to the line for the stamina test, the long bow once again in her hands. Beside her a table bears the dozen dozen arrows. She glances at the dozen targets in front of her and takes a few moments to consider how to honor Artemis and the Amazons with what seems to her to be an easy task. Finally, she nods and nocking the first arrow, Robin raises her bow.

She looses the arrow to thunk into the target dead center and reaches for her next arrow. This one hits slightly above and to the right of her first arrow. As she warms to her task, Robin begins to speed up again and shortly has fired another ten arrows to form a tight perfect circle around her fist shot.

Without a pause, Robin sets her sites on the second target. Again, she starts with a shot dead center. After that, arrow after arrow flies speedily from her bow until eleven arrows form a small bifurcated square, nice and tight around the original center shot.

No pause and Robin starts in on the third target. Twelve arrows are loosed and fly toward the target rapidly. This time the shots form a triangle with an inverted triangle within it.

From there Robin continues to launch artistic archery at the targets, twelve arrows per each. Geometric shapes, simple figures. A crescent to honor Artemis. A stick figure to honor the Amazons. Her name in written Cadence. Robin loses herself to the rhythm of the bowstring and the thunk of arrows hitting the targets.

When Robin has finished the five pointed star, she reaches for her next arrow only to find there are no more left. A dozen dozen arrows have been launched and twelve targets bear the mark of her work. Robin blinks her eyes and mentally returns to the arena. Yep, that should do, she nods to herself.

The speed and elegance of Robin's shooting have clearly gained her many admirers. The Amazons are cheering, clapping, and whistling. Robin can hear Risto's voice leading a chant of Robin's name in one section of the crowd.

Again, Queen Thalaestris announces the victory, and the crowd can see the laurel wreath that she is working on in anticipation of Robin's complete success.

The third task will be more complicated. Robin will be expected to shoot a target course from horseback. There is a break in which the Amazons will provide Robin some horses to choose from and others will set up the course, which will be in a field near the amphitheater that's obviously used for races and contests of this sort.

Once Robin chooses her mount, Risto walks her through the courses and shows her the targets. Robin knows that if she weren't an Amberite, this wouldn't look as easy as it does. There are a full score of targets and she'll need to switch sides and do a lot of movement in the saddle to make all the shots. She still thinks it's well within her capacity as long as the horse is reliable.

The other thing is that it's 20 targets and 20 arrows. No room for error.

Robin chooses a dappled mare named Chionothýella for her mount. Looking into her dark eyes, Robin feels that the mare seems steady and dependable. Robin sighs to herself, she's never been a 'horsey girl'. She just runs through horses too quickly to form any attachments. She can ride, but she's not a natural at it. And mounted archery she can also do, but it's not one of her strengths and she would like a solid platform from which to shoot. She also pays close attention as Risto walks her through the course, nodding as she goes.

Once the crowd is in place, Robin leads Chionothýella to the starting line. Taking the horsebow and quiver of twenty arrows from her squire, she mounts up. Immediately, Chionothýella begins to prance and side-step and Robin fights for control over her suddenly fractious horse.

Julian, if he were here, would say Chionothýella had a hump in her back: she's wiggly, and there's something off about her that Robin can't quite put her finger on. The horse has bunched her muscles and tensed. It's not just the smell of firelizards, either.

The Amazons have lined up along the course; Chionothýella will be a little less predictable on the course if she continues like this. She's probably not a danger to the Amazons, but this trial will be much more difficult if Chionothýella continues this way.

The Queen has stationed herself at the start of the course with a piece of linen to drop to signal the start of the course. If Robin wanted to stop and change horses, she'd have to do so right now.

Pen was called away briefly to advise the amazons that were preparing everything needed for the boar hunt challenge. She returned cheering and clapping to the roar of the crowd and seeing Robin choose the dappled mare as her mount. Pen is a Captain of the Glorious Cataphract, and thanks to 'Risto's years of instruction, she knows when something is wrong with a horse. Pen has ridden with Robin now on different occasions and at different paces. She knows her Ranger sister is a capable rider. Whatever is happening is not because of Robin. Pen runs to 'Risto to see if her friend sees what she sees and if anything can be done.

Robin spends a few moments atop the wriggling Chionothýella. Since she can't figure out what's bothering the mare, she decides to channel her father; patient yet unyielding. Once her seat is a little firmer, she strings her bow and nods to the Queen. Robin will walk the path she's chosen and will ride the agitated mare through the course. Hopefully, Chionothýella will calm down once she's running.

As the Queen drops her linen square, Robin and Chionothýella are off. It's not pretty but Robin stays seated and Chionothýella stays on course. Soon enough the first target is in range. Guiding the mare with her knees, Robin bobs and weaves to compensate for the mare's antics and looses her first arrow.

Robin is able to correct for Chionothýella's motion and the arrow thunks cleanly into the center of its target. She rides on, still struggling, and puts four more arrows into four more targets, all in the center of the target or close thereon.

There is a murmuring in the crowd at the struggling horse. The Amazons don't like the look of this.

Pen has ridden with Robin. There's something wrong here. Pen recognizes, or maybe intuits that somehow, someone or something has interfered with Chionothýella. Pen knows the mare can be ridden in hunt and battle, so why else would Chionothýella be hopping around like a half-broken horse?

There's no time to check the stables and see if Chionothýella's water or oats had been tainted or perhaps she was tempted with a poisoned carrot. No time to search for Arcadian assassins or worse, local traitors. Pen gets 'Risto's attention and using hand gestures directs her to flank Robin and her mount on one side as Pen takes up position on the other. They may not be able to stop the horse, but one of them might be able to catch Robin if she's thrown. Further, flanking the wild horse gives them a better view of the animal and a chance to spot anything unnatural that might be visible on the outside. Pen doesn't want to interrupt the sacred challenge if she can avoid it, but the threat of Robin being injured is changing her mind about tradition.

Robin acknowledges her flankers with a nod but otherwise keeps her attention on managing the uncooperative horse and putting her arrows where they need to be. Her mind starts to wander to fatalistic acceptance that her bad luck is showing up again. But she swiftly disregards that and concentrates on the task before her, honoring Artemis and the Amazons by doing the best that she can.

Another target, another arrow. Stay seated and moving forward.
Another target, another arrow, stay seated and moving forward.
Another target, another arrow. And so on.

Robin's arrows fly straight and true and hit the targets well, but the mare never develops the smooth rhythm she should.

Pen's inspection of the horse turns up a small trail of blood from under the saddle. Nothing that would be obvious to most observers, but Pen is not most observers.

'Risto signs to Pen: saddle injury? The grooms should have caught that.

As soon as the last arrow finds its target, Pen will move to get Robin's attention and hold the horse steady so that Robin can dismount. 'Risto is ready to secure the reins and calm Chionothýella as best she can, then lead her away somewhere where she can get a closer look under the saddle. Pen is incredibly proud of Robin, but something's not right and Pen intends to get to the bottom of this.

The last arrow does indeed hit its target, as all the arrows did, though some of the shots were less accurate than Robin would have liked. But it's a testament to Robin's skill that they landed at all.

Robin's concentration has been taken up by the horse and the targets; Pen has been paying close attention to what Robin has been doing. But still, Pen can hear the murmurs and cries from the crowd. Everyone can tell that something is badly wrong.

When Robin has completed the course, Risto runs to help her dismount, and to preserve the evidence.

A runner arrives from the Queen with a message: Robin has won her victory, under difficult circumstances. But someone has tried to injure her, breaking the sacred mystery of the Amazons. That someone must be found, which is the priority now that Robin is safely dismounted. The Queen herself is coming to look into the matter.

Robin breathes a sigh of relief as she dismounts from the mare and turns the reins over to Risto. Her main concern now is that Chionothýella has not been harmed -- physically or mentally -- by riding her when she's that fractious. The news from the Queen is both good in that Robin has passed the test, but bad in that someone is working against the Ranger here in the land of the Amazons.

Robin keeps out of the way of the investigating Risto and Pen, but will sneak in a good Listen to Chionothýella to make sure she hasn't been touched by the Green.

Robin reaches out with her senses but there is no Green about the horse. Whatever is distressing her wasn't magical. And if there were Green influence close by, like on the grooms, Robin feels she would sense that, and she does not.

Certain that Robin is alright, and Risto is tending to Chionothýella, Pen heads to the stables as fast as her legs can carry her. She aims to speak with the stable mistress and her grooms in hopes of finding the source of this betrayal. If this is the work of an outsider, the horse tenders could be in great danger as well.

There are so few women of Pontus that if one of them has betrayed the Queen and the sisterhood of the Amazons, it must be someone Pen knows. These are girls and women she has worked with, trained with, even trained herself as part of her duties.

When she arrives, the stable mistress, Menippe, is tending to a girl called Iris, who is barely old enough to have budded breasts and is in training to work with the grooms. Menippe looks up and says to Pen, "Iris was struck down with a blow to the head. I saw what happened to your sister Robin; whoever harmed Chionothýella also did this, I'm sure."

Iris is still only semi-conscious.

Pen is shaken by the cruelty of this unworthy act, and puts a gentle hand on the child's cheek. She looks to Menippe, and promises "I swear to you, sister, I will find the monster who did this and bring them to justice."

Her anger builds quickly and the intensity of it frightens her. She has gone mad with rage before when the last would-be conqueror came to these shores and murdered many of her sisters and friends. It took time to return to herself after she schooled him in what true barbarism is. Just as Achilles, incensed with anger, drug the body of Hector behind his chariot during the Trojan War, so had Pen, later to her shame, cheated this ignoble King of an honorable death. His pain was prolonged as he begged for her to kill him. His kinsmen, who swore they only followed him out of loyalty to their compelled oaths, were denied the promise of their surrender. Pen's burning anger spread like wildfire through her sisters and they strung the soldiers up from every tree that would bear them. No man from that army ever left the island. The crows and ravens fed well before reason returned and the bodies were buried in a pit on the outskirts of the bloodied forest.

Pen looks for any tracks of signs of passage that might indicate which direction the traitor went.

It's hard to find the right tracks, because there are far too many legitimate footprints. Menippe hopes that Iris will be able to tell them something when she wakes, but given the blow to the back of her head, it's probably a vain hope. This place is too busy for any clues to be found, which may be what the miscreant was counting on.

Meanwhile Risto shows Robin what was wrong with Chionothýella: a burr stuck under the saddle works, which wouldn't have harmed the horse until the weight of a rider pushed the burr down into her skin. Her expression is grim.

Robin matches Risto's expression as she assesses Chionothýella's injury. She rubs the mare's nose, apologizing for injuring her. Knowing that she probably has some sweets in her pockets (if the ritual chiton and leggings have such things), Robin will offer up her fair to the poor horse.

Robin has no trouble finding what she needs, though she has three other friends who would like their share, please and thank you!

Robin shares out treats to the firelizards as well, with croons for her well-behaved friends.

"This is sabotage," says Risto, "or a very unlikely coincidence. And if saboteurs can reach here, they are a threat to the Queen. We must find the person who did this and execute her."

While her face remains grim, Robin is a little taken aback by Risto's vehemence. Amazons are fierce she decides. She nods anyway. "Any idea on how to do that?" Robin asks.

Pen stops for a moment, stuck in place. Whoever did this was too familiar with our ways to be an outsider, this has to have been the work of an Amazon. They knew we wouldn’t be able to track them. Pen takes one last look at Iris, and then turns and begins to run along the northwestern path that she remembers from her youth.

Ooot makes to follow Pen unless Robin tells him not to.

Robin waves him on. His curiosity is one of the things she loves about him.

She makes quick work of the hills that lead into the shade of a thick forest, surprising the deer that linger there. Further on she sees the forest mantle thin out to a stretch of smaller trees, carefully distanced and planted ages ago. These are the olive trees sacred to Athena.

Pen keeps up the same breakneck pace as the sun beats down on her and sweat beads from her face and arms. As she approaches the middle of the olive orchard, Pen slows and stops before she reaches the largest of the Olive trees, called the Moriae.

Behind it is the Temple of Athena, constructed in the Ionic style with pentellic marble. The temple is surrounded by eight columns at either end and seventeen at the sides. It's set on a platform with three wide steps. At either end of the building, there stands an enormous statue of Athena, both thirty-six feet tall, on top of a six-foot-tall pedestal decorated in relief with the deeds and gifts of the Goddess of Wisdom and War.

To the north rises the painted statue of Athena Atrytone ("the Unwearying”), also called Athena Promachos ("she who fights in the front"), and Pallas Athenaie ("the brandisher of weapons"). She is decked in full battle armor, wielding her great spear and giant shield surrounded by serpents, the Aegis. Opposite her, the south end of the temple houses a painted statue of Athena Polias ("of the city"), also called Athena Ergane ("the industrious"), and Athena Hippia ("of the horses"). Instead of wielding a spear and shield, this stately figure is clad in a peplos of bright white marble. In her right hand, she holds a distaff, and in her left, she offers purchase to her owl. She is a protector of the people, a craftswoman, and an equestrian.

Pen walks to the center of the temple, equidistant between the figures of the strategic soldier and the industrious diplomat. As she looks up, she closes her eyes and remembers the last time she stood in this place. She can still smell the intoxicating scent of Chirope's hair and feel the warmth of skin. The smell was rose, oil from green olives, almonds, sesame, moringa, honey, wine, and cinnabar.

They stood together here in this place, alone. In the dark of night. In the middle of summer, whispering every sweet thought and aspiration, holding each other close, and swearing their love. Chirope spoke her favorite poetry like a vow:

"...and close by listening
to your sweet voice
and your enticing laughter--
that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.
For whenever I look at you even briefly
I can no longer say a single thing,
but my tongue is frozen in silence;
instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;
with my eyes I see nothing;
my ears make a whirring noise.
A cold sweat covers me,
trembling seizes my body,
and I am greener than grass."
(From the Poems of Sappho, translated by Julia Dubnoff)

Pen swore that she would never leave her side. They stood there in passionate embrace confessing their love like an offering in this most reverent hall for two hours, at times in perfect silent bliss, simply comforted by the presence of each other.

Then two weeks later, they engaged in a foolish argument. Pen couldn't remember who started it (though it was probably her) or what it was even about, but they fought and the next day, Chirope's mother left Pontus with her. They were never able to reconcile, and after that Pen settled her sorrows most frequently in a jug of honey wine.

Pen suddenly heard the sound of wings and stirred from her reverie, she opened her eyes and turned to see a little brown and white owl with a flat-topped head, a plump, compact body, and a short tail, perched on the Aegis of the statue of Athena Promachos and the temperature fell in the temple as a powerful westerly wind blew through the columns.

A voice inside Pen compelled her to speak, and so she did. "Grey-eyed Goddess, one of your daughters is in desperate need of your vision. I beg you, heed my call. A betrayer is among our people and has already caused harm and sought to threaten the life of my kin. I cannot discover who they are or where they went on my own, but I must find them quickly and bring them before their sisters and our good Queen for justice before they hide themselves among us or flee. An enemy to one of us is an enemy to all of us."

She catches her breath, and continues, staring into the eyes of the painted statue, "I know this boon must have a great cost, and so I swear an offering to you. I pledge my body to your service for so long as you have need of me, and I will complete whatever labor you ask of me. Grant me this boon, I BEG of you."

Outside, Pen hears the crack of a branch falling from the sacred tree, landing on the ground. When she follows the sign of the goddess, she sees a y-shaped stick on the ground, such as witches among the Amazons sometimes use for seeking water and wells.

Ooot is also waiting; he didn't enter the temple. He chitters at Pen, hovering and circling near where the branch landed.

Meanwhile, back at the stable, Risto, who watched Pen run, tells Robin, "She's headed for the temple of Athena, I think. She'll make an offering and ask for the goddess' aid. She's like that sometimes." Risto shakes her head. "This wasn't her fault, but she'll take the blame. Sister of my friend, if you love Pen, tell her you don't blame her, because she'll always think it's her fault."

"I will." Robin nods, her voice serious.

"And if it's anyone's fault besides the one who set this burr and struck down Iris to do it, it's mine for not seeing what she'd done. I pray your forgiveness, Robin." Risto kneels and places her hands before her, not reaching for Robin's hand: waiting for Robin's acknowledgement.

Inwardly Robin sighs; time to put on the mantle of a Lord of Order. Keeping her face solemn and her manner formal, Robin places her hand on Risto's. "You are forgiven," she says, "but know that I hold you to no blame. As you said, the only fault is on the one who set the burr and injured Iris. None other. Please rise. I would have you as a friend and a tribe sister, not a penitent." Robin smiles warmly as her speech ends and she puts away the mantle of authority.

Risto rises, but it's clear she's not entirely forgiven herself.

"Now, should we track Pen down or leave her to her ablutions in private?"

"A woman who seeks the Goddess alone should be allowed to face Her as she chooses, but it's also said that rules do not apply to goddesses and heroes," Risto says, and gestures in the direction that Pen went off in, clearly ready to follow if Robin leads.

Pen exits the Temple and is pleased to see Ooot as she offers him a shoulder to perch on if he wants it. If he does, she will welcome his company, though she lacks the tasty treats that Robin always keeps at hand.

Pen moves quickly to the Moriae tree and picks up the y-shaped stick. Everything at this point is a matter of instinct. She is no witch, but she's heard stories of how the well-dowsers work. She closes her eyes, raises the branch, and lets the branch point her or even pull her in a direction. A part of her knows this could all be a coincidence and her mind could be clouded by faded revelries and recent outrage, both for Iris and for Robin. If there is a traitor on Pontus, there could be greater mischief as yet unseen, and she cannot allow that, especially if it threatens more of her sisters or the Queen. And so, Pen lets the branch lead the way, her eyes still closed, but mindful of where she steps and hoping that Ooot will warn her if she's about to fall into a hole or collide with an olive tree or something worse.

Pen closes her eyes and moves in the direction that the wand is pulling her. After a moment of this, she feels the weight of Ooot landing on her shoulders, chittering at her in the language of his kind. It's not clear what he's saying, but she's pretty sure he is talking to her, or at her.

Robin stops by the stable briefly to get her sword of variable sharpness, her knives and her plain longbow and quiver. She doesn't want to charge off into the forest unarmed. After all, Pontus has proven to be less than friendly on occasion.

Once she's geared up, Robin gestures to Risto to join her and she sets off down the trail with a ground eating Ranger's lope.

Soon enough, Robin and Risto reach the sacred olive grove and Robin slows in respect. The Moriae and the Temple behind it fill Robin with an awe of their beauty. And she is careful to walk with consideration when entering the Goddess's sanctuary.

Pen is grateful to have Ooot along with her for company, but she's not sure what the chittering means. She opens her eyes for just a moment to make sure that there isn't a threat or obstacle ahead, and if there isn't she closes her eyes again and continues following the pull of the branch, wherever it will take them.

Ooot chitters again, the tone somewhat different. Pen hears the sounds of other fire lizards as well and surmises that his fair has joined him.

Robin, with Risto in tow, sees Pen with a dowsing stick and her eyes closed, letting the stick choose her direction. Based on the direction when the stick dips, it's pointed back towards town.

Risto watches her fellow Amazon, but does not interrupt or call out.

Robin steps off the path to allow the dowsing Pen to get by as needed. She also leans over to Risto and whispers in her ear. "Is this something Pen normally does?"

"No," Risto whispers back to Robin. "I think she's asked the Goddess for help and she's getting it."

The weight of the dowsing rod has started to draw Pen in one direction. Since she was spinning about, of course Pen has no idea what direction she's in; she can only follow, or open her eyes to see what she is doing. But at least she doesn't seem to be walking into a tree, which bodes well for the dowsing.

Robin and Risto and the fair are going to need to get out of Pen's way. Risto is willing, but she's clearly thinking about something, which Robin intuits is how to get Pen wherever she's going safely.

Pen keeps her eyes shut tight and trusts in the dowsing rod to pull her where she needs to be. She's aware of Ooot riding on her shoulder, but no one else nearby.

She thinks about the young Amazon, Iris, who was brutally struck in the stable and she can feel her anger rising. Pen remembers her terrible fall.

when she was around Iris' age, and how weak she had been in the many months recovering from it. The physicians refused to give up on her. When Pen could walk again, she spent much of her time assisting the healers by gathering roots, flowers, and grasses, weaving bandages, and even diving for rare seaweed, sponges, and plankton used in medicines. And when Aiella promised to teach her to ride, Pen spent many long days helping her and the grooms look after the horses. Seeing that little girl injured was just too much for Pen, and she cannot abide her failure if there's a chance this could succeed.

Pen continues to feel the pull of the dowsing rod; she has to be careful with her feet since she has no idea where she's going, but the terrain seems to be smooth so she's on some path. Occasionally Ooot and his colleagues chitter at her or pull her slightly one way or another to help her footing.

Since her concentration is fully on the magic, Pen doesn't know that Risto is close by, following her, ensuring her safety.

Robin has stepped off of the path to allow the dowsing Pen to pass safely by. She is glad to see Ooot again and proud of him for helping her sister. She shares Risto's concerns but Ooot and Pen seem to have a handle on it. So for now, Robin follows Pen quietly (which is very quiet) to see where Pen's dowsing will take her.

Robin and Risto and the fair of flying lizards follow along after Pen, and the dowsing rod. Pen gets more confident in the divine guidance she is getting as she continues to be led by the small impulses in the stick.

It leads to a clearing, which Risto explains is the camp of a group of travelers; women who make their living as itinerate peddlers and horse saleswomen. They aren't well-liked by the settled people. Three of them are sitting near the entrance to the glade. They see Pen coming up the path, and wait for her to approach. The youngest slips of the log she was sitting on and runs off, presumably to announce that there are visitors.

Robin edges out in front of Pen to greet the remaining travelers. "Hail. I am Robin of Arden and this is Captain Penthelisea and Aristomache." Robin gestures to each of her companions in turn.

"We are seeking someone, though we won't know who it is until we meet them." Robin now gestures to the dowsing rod in Pen's hands.

Pen brightens at the sounds of Robin's voice. She finally opens her eyes and looks somehow grateful, determined, and self-conscious all at once, but keeps her hands firmly on the divining branch and will let it pull her any way it chooses. She opens her mouth for a moment like she's about to try and explain how she got there but decides against it as she isn't sure that she hasn't lost her mind. A part of her is clinging to her experience at the Temple, her faith in Athena, and her need to get justice for Iris and Robin.

The group steps back and an older woman emerges from one of the wagons. She comes to speak to Robin in one of the trade pidgin languages the Rangers know from dealings with outShadow folk. (Robin intuits there are probably some men in the caravan, hiding in the round wagons. She's also pretty sure it would be a bad idea to tell Risto and Pen.)

"I am Rosleta and this is my family's caravan. How can we help you, Robin of Arden?" It's clear she knows what Arden is and has some idea what that means about Robin. Rosleta doesn't seem to know Robin's name, though.

In Pen's hands, the rod continues to jerk in one direction, toward the little circle of wagons. It has not occurred to her, nor would it, that men were hiding in the wagons. (Who would do such a thing? Women don't need to have men in their homes!)

Risto is waiting for Robin and the caravan leader to speak, or for Pen to do something, before doing anything herself. She's keeping an eye on the dowsing rod.

If Pen feels a pull from the dowsing rod towards the circle of wagons, she will start moving again and let it direct her toward them. She doesn't recognize the language spoken by the woman, which only makes it easier for Pen to ignore her.

Robin replies in the same pidgin. "We are investigating a crime against Artemis and Captain Penthelisea is being guided by the hand of Athena. We ask" because Robin is feeling some sympathy for Rosleta, "that we may go where Athena directs us."

Robin is being polite but there's strength underlying her words. She'd rather not get into a confrontation, but Pen is already moving and this is going to go down, permission or no.

Robin doesn't think either Risto or Pen understands the pidgin she and Rosleta are speaking.

"I will not stop you," Rosleta says, "nor do I think I could." She's watching as Pen moves toward the wagons. "Please ask your companions to be merciful to anyone they find." Rosleta is clearly a little frightened of whatever Pen is doing. Robin intuits that Rosleta knows something is wrong, but not what, and she thinks whatever is about to happen if Pen goes to the wagons is going to be bad.

"What's she saying?" Risto asks.

The dowsing rod is leading Pen to one of the wagons. They're not unlike giant barrels on wheels, round on the top, brightly decorated.

Robin replies to Risto. "Her name is Rosleta and this is her family's caravan. She's asking us to be merciful." Robin lets her voice carry to where Pen is.

Then she replies to Rosleta in pdigin, "Perhaps if you asked all of the women in that wagon to come out, only the crime against Artemis need be pursued..." Robin puts emphasis on the word 'women' hoping that their culprit isn't a man. Or even worse, a boy.

Rosleta calls out to the caravan in what is clearly her own native language. The doors to some of the wagons open and women and girls come out: mostly old grannies and toddlers, since the adult women and older girls are out preparing food and caring for the horses. Another impatient call from Rosleta and a last couple of sleepy girls come out of wagons.

One is clearly ill, and the granny who came out of the same wagon fusses at her and Rosleta. Robin's fairly sure this girl isn't her culprit; she's ill enough that she couldn't have snuck in and out easily, and probably couldn't have struck Iris down.

The other girl was asleep in her clothes. She's tall and wiry and past the first blush of adolescence, but not fully grown into her womanhood yet. When she sees Robin and Pen, it's clear she knows the jig is up. She's terrified of the dowsing rod, which points straight at her.

"Milena," Rosleta says, and asks a question that none of them need to know the words to understand as what have you done?

Pen lowers the dowsing rod and there's a change to her countenance like she's returned to herself from an almost ecstatic state. "Friend Robin, this girl has caused you the threat of great harm, and injury to a fine horse. Most grievously, she has caused potentially serious injury to the innocent stablehand, Iris. If you can speak to her, I would know why she acted as she did. The laws of Pontus say that the cost for her actions is chosen by the aggrieved parties, you and young Iris."

Robin nods at Pen's comments; she's mighty curious herself.

"Rosleta," Robin says with stern patience, "can you ask Milena what she thought she was doing and why?" Robin leaves it at that. She doesn't want to lead the witness.

Rosleta nods, and asks Milena a question. Milena looks at Robin, then at Pen, and then back at Rosleta as she answers back. It seems to be something of a long explanation. Rosleta barks an order at her, sounding angry, and Milena runs back into the wagon.

"Someone paid her to put the burr under the saddle," Rosleta says to Robin. "Milena admits to hitting the girl, but didn't think she hit her very hard. I told her to get the money so you could see how she was paid."

It takes a little while for Milena to fetch the purse with the money in it, but she comes back with it. She opens it and shows the coins in her hands: silver, and well-made, to Robin's eyes.

Pen recognizes the payment as Soloi coins, the sort that she would expect to be given as gifts to the Queen or, in some cases, to a temple of the Goddess. Risto clearly recognizes them too; she makes an unhappy noise when she sees them.

Rosleta barks a question at Milena, which both Pen and Robin are pretty sure is something like: who paid you?

Milena babbles out an answer, which Rosleta translates: "The one who paid Mileta to do this was a woman of Pontus. Veiled, though Milena might recognize her voice."

Pen looks to Robin, "Soloi were minted in silver by the Cilicians to honor our former Queen, Antiope, and encourage trade with them. Most of my people trade and barter for services with each other, but Soioi coins from outsiders are often accepted. These days they're mostly used for donations to the temples or as gifts to the Queen's Treasury."

Risto adds, "The Cilicians have made other alliances over time, mostly to wage war on their enemies so we've seen fewer coins. Soloi in Pontus were never meant to accommodate this kind of villainy, especially by one of our own."

"Robin," says Pen, "If Milena has any way to recognize the traitor that paid her, we are duty-bound to bring her with us to discover the identity of this false Amazon. There is more to this than mischief against a Ranger of Arden. I can feel it, but you are the aggrieved. The choice of how we proceed is up to you."

"As to the question of justice," Robin pauses. "I am uncertain as to how to proceed. I'd like to see what Iris, whomever speaks for Chionothýella and whomever speaks for Artemis has to say. I fear that my own judgement might be too lenient. So I'd like to see more of Pontus' justice before I make my decision.

"Rosleta says the woman of Pontus who paid her was veiled but that Milen might recognize her voice. Some considered questions might reveal more as well -- height, weight, age, etc. And I agree that we should bring her with us. Pen? Do you think your dowsing rod will continue to work to find the originator of this crime?"

Pen looks down at the Moriaie branch and picks it up again. She closes her eyes and whispers a prayer of revelation in the names of Athena Atrytone ("The Unwearying"), Athena Ergane ("the industrious"), and Athena Hippia ("of the horses"). She closes her eyes so that her comrades know her intent and opens herself to the pull of the dowsing stick. She doesn't know if her divine guidance is already spent, but she has faith and is open to the possibility.

Pen doesn't feel anything immediate; the branch is quiescent at the moment. But she's certain that her request was heard.

"I do not speak for anyone but myself," Risto says, looking at Pen and then Robin, "but someone will need to do her work and to help tend to her while she heals. And the same for Chionothýella."

Robin nods. Her own thoughts are proceeding along those lines as well.

"Rosleta." Robin switches back to pidgin. "Please ask Milena to describe the woman she spoke to -- what was her height, her weigh, her age, the skin tone of her hands? And in what language did she speak to Milena.

"And then tell her to pack a bag and say her farewells. Milena will be coming with us and she might not be back for a while." Robin is sympathetic but firm.

Rosleta and Milena have a discussion in their own tongue and Rosleta offers a description to Robin. The lady wore gloves, but Robin has a good idea of the size of the woman and how she was dressed, and her voice, and what Milena guesses was her age. Milena seems to be following the conversation with Robin; even if she doesn't speak pidgin, she understands it. Which makes sense of the fact that the woman who hired her spoke trade pidgin too.

She corrects Rosleta at least once that Robin and Pen can tell.

Once the description is finished, Milena skitters back into her caravan to pack her things.

"You've done this very wisely, Robin," Risto says in admiration.

"Thank you." Robin says to Risto. "I'm sure it's just my Beloved rubbing off on me." A quick fond smile dances across Robin's lips.

Risto grins. There may be teasing about the Beloved later.

While Milena is packing, Robin relays the girl's description of the woman who hired her to Pen and Risto. "I'm really hoping we have an option to lining up all the Amazons who fit that description and seeing if Milena can identify her former patron. But I don't have any ideas as to an alternative. Do you?" Robin asks.

Risto shakes her head in the negative. "The Goddess may inspire Pen as we go," she says cheerfully.

It takes a few minutes for Milena to pack (perhaps she's getting some help?) but she rapidly returns with her belongings. She hugs several of the women, Rosleta last of all, before presenting herself to Robin and Pen.

Once Milena has joined them, Robin holds out her hand and asks for the Soloi coins. She has a plan for them. Then she turns and gestures for Pen and Risto to lead the way. "Soooo, in Pontus is mucking out stables an honor or a punishment duty?" She asks every so innocently.

Pen loops the branch through her belt and makes a quick hand gesture to 'Risto. They form up and flank ahead of Milena at a measured distance as Robin walks beside her.

Risto answers Robin's question. "In Pontus, necessary work is a responsibility..." Pen and 'Risto share a smile at this, and they finish the sentence together like they're quoting a well-worn phrase from their youth, "...and having a responsibility is an honor."

And Risto breaks into a laugh because, well, that lecture was pretty funny.

Then she says to Pen, "So what's your plan from here? We need to figure out a way to talk to this girl," and she carefully doesn't use Milena's name, "so we can interrogate her. The little bit of that trade cant I know isn't enough." Most Amazons know a little of one pidgin or another, if not more; Pontus gets enough travellers and women refugees that multiple languages are normal.

Robin is interested in Pen's answer as well. Meanwhile, she is thinking of Milena's future. If mucking out stalls is considered a responsibility and an honor, then housekeeping at Artemis' temple probably is as well. Those were her first two ideas. She doesn't think prison time would do well for Milena. And Robin is certainly not considering lashes or some other form of physical punishment. So she's still on the fence and is most curious to see what Iris and whoever speaks for Artemis has to say.

As far as actually finding the source of the crime, Robin is out of ideas and hopes that Athena can guide Pen to an answer.

Risto hopes that Milena can help them find out who did it. At least knowing who paid her would be a step forward.

Pen and Risto are leading the group back toward the stables first to check on Iris and to see what she wants to do with Milena, and then to the Arena, hoping that the Moriae stick may still have something left in it and for Robin to claim her reward for completing the mounted archery challenge.

The group returns to the stables with no trouble. The fair keeps sniffing around Milena, except for Oot, who is still enamored of his new girlfriend Pen. Not enough that he doesn't come back to Robin regularly, though.

When they arrive at the stables, Menippe the Stable Mistress comes out to see what's going on. "I'm glad you're back, Penthelisea. Iris is doing better and might be able to answer some questions." She eyes Milena curiously, but does not ask yet, trusting her Amazon sisters, including Robin, to tell her anything she needs to know.

Pen thanks Menippe, sighing with relief that Iris has improved, and then she and 'Risto lead Menippe into the Stables to see if Iris is still there.

Robin escorts Milena into the stables as well. Though Iris is young, she will have a better idea of Amazonian justice than Robin does. And Iris, as first injured, would have a better claim for that justice than Robin.

Menippe has put Iris on a low bed of straw, covered with horse blankets. Low, so if she rolls over unintentionally, she won't fall far. The horses are attentive and interested, as if they're concerned over the fate of the youth who has fed them.

Iris sits up as the three Amazons come in with Milena. She frowns, as if trying to remember. "I know you," she says.

Milena steps forward and goes to her knees in front of Iris. They're not more than a year or two apart, really. She starts talking in whatever language it is she knows, and when it's clear that doesn't ring a bell for Iris, she starts in trade pidgin.

"I am Milena," she tells Iris, "and I was paid to strike you down so I could injure one of your charges. I am sorry I did this, that I hurt you, and that I hurt the horse, even if it was not a fatal wound to either. I throw myself on your mercy."

Pen stands quietly and focuses on the prayer she made to Athena before as she reaches for the branch tucked into the back of her belt. She's curious to see if she can feel anything from it and wonders if the true culprit will ever be known.

Robin stands by, ready to translate if needed. Or to pull the girls apart -– if needed.

Iris sits up and hits Milena in the head, hard. The blow knocks Milena back on her rear end. Robin, who was ready, is able to intervene if she wishes.

One and done is fine with Robin. After all, she still owes Hartwell a broken jaw. The Ranger just wanted to avoid an extended bout.

"That's for hitting me. And for what you did to Chionothýella," Iris says angrily. "Now who paid you?"

Milena repeats what she said earlier about not knowing the identity of the woman who paid her, and adds that Pen has the money.

Iris then looks to Pen for confirmation of this statement.

Pen doesn't speak pidgin, but she recognizes the sound of most of the words from their previous repetition and context. She tosses the pouch of coins to Iris and nods to confirm Milena's statement.

Pen adds, "We're hoping that Milena might recognize the person who hired her if they're still here."

Robin nods but has nothing to add at this time.

Iris opens the pouch and pours a couple of the coins out on her palm, making an unhappy noise as she sees what they are. Menippe recognizes them as well.

Menippe says, "I can ask the other stable workers, but--" she trails off there and Robin and Pen both read that Menippe strongly doubts any of her stable hands would have bribed Milena. "With the contest happening, and so many Amazons here to watch Robin's success, almost anyone could have come down to the stables at the right time. The Goddess will have to guide your hands."

Pen, who is still holding the stick, feels a slight twitch. The Goddess is not finished with her, even if the answers do not come just yet.

Robin would like to see if Menippe would be okay with Robin 'sentencing' Milena to cleaning stalls for half a year as punishment for risking Robin's life. She'd like to see if the Soleni coins are enough to pay for thrifty room and board for that amount of time. (If they are not or are inappropriate, Robin will find it probable that she has enough coin in her pack to make up the difference.)

Menippe accepts the punishment of stall-cleaning that Robin suggests. Risto suggests that the coins be kept as evidence, because they were probably stolen: not by Milena, but by whoever paid her.

But funds are not an issue here. Someone will house Milena, because there aren't enough Amazons that they'd have trouble finding a place for her. Probably Milena will pay "rent" by helping care for the home. While Risto doesn't explain it in so many words, this seems like a way that women and girls are absorbed into the community of Pontus. Maybe when Milena has served her punishment for injuring Iris and harming Robin and Chionothýella, her family will pass through Pontus again and she'll reunite with them. But it's equally possible that she'll remain in Pontus for the rest of her life.


Once everything has been settled in the stables, and questions of what to do with Milena and Iris have been settled for the moment, there is a brief reprieve while Robin is offered a bath and a fresh dress after her exertions. Once her toilette is settled, a call goes out so the Amazons can return to the theater and see Robin receive her prize.From Queen Thalaestris, Robin receives a laurel wreath, as is the right of a victor, made by the Queen's own hand. There are public reassurances of alliance and sisterhood, and the announcement of troops going to fight against the Green is made. The Amazons are pleased and excited: they haven't had a good fight of late, and this one promises to bring honor to Pontus, and perhaps sisters and, from what they saw of Vista, perhaps daughters sired by valiant warriors in their own right.

After the public ceremony, Queen Thalaestris invites Pen and Robin to walk back to the palace with her for refreshments. She is fascinated by the fair and especially their interest in Pen.

Once the Queen and Pen and Robin (and the fair) have arrived, food and drink is brought for them all. The Queen waits until Robin and Pen have had a chance to enjoy the wine and some of the meal before saying, "I have heard of your discovery of a plot against you, Robin, and how you and Penthelisea have found the hand through which it was enacted. Have you learned whose mind might be behind that hand?"

Pen looks to Robin for her response and discreetly withdraws the moria branch from her belt and keeps it out of sight if she can. She doesn't expect any kind of pull from the divine instrument, like before, but she hopes it may still provide some answers. Pen distracts from her behavior by making a show of sharing grapes from the meal with Ooot.

Ooot is very interested in the grapes. He makes a show of offering one to Peep before he eats himself.

"Not yet, your Majesty." Robin responds respectfully. "We know that the mind behind the plot was that of a woman of Pontus. And that she paid in Soloi coins. We also have a description though the lady in question was vailed and gloved." Here Robin will relate the description that Milenia gave them.

As Robin speaks, the queen's expression grows grave, particularly at the mention of the Soloi coins. "I don't know who it is from the description, but there are few enough Amazons that you should be able to find the culprit. Especially knowing that she had access to the Soloi coins."

"Athena has been with us so far." Robin has twigged to Pen's behavior and doesn't get any more specific than that. "And we hope that she is not done with us yet."

"Do you know of anyone who might want to see me fail the test?" Robin asks of the Queen, knowing that she will be much more savvy to the politics of Pontus than Robin is.

"I am sure there are those who would rather we not ally with Amber, if only on the grounds that any realm where men rule is no fit ally with Pontus," Thalaestris says. "But that shouldn't have driven this attack on you. You could have been gravely injured or worse. In your experience, Robin, would it be possible for our joint enemy of the forest to influence someone to attack you?"

"Oh, yes." Robin replies sadly. "A good friend of mine was injured fighting the Green. And unbeknownst to us, it infected him entirely. We would have never know that he had become a creature of the Green until he attacked the Warden. And then the Green was revealed. At the time, neither I nor the Warden knew what to look for. Now we do.

"Have any of your people who match the description been injured fighting the Green?"

Pen listens to Robin and the Queen, and begins to silently recite the prayer to Athena that earlier yielded a response by the moria branch. She focuses her will and hopes for a sign.

"Yes," Thalaestris says, "One woman who might fit the description was sent to the house of healing." Concern spreads across her face. " What does your experience say is the best way to proceed, and are the women who have tended to her at risk? Is the traveller girl?"

There is no sign yet that Pen can detect.

"I don't believe so." Robin says, "We have not had a great deal of sample cases to go on. The one case we know of, the infection was passed through injury. I don't think that casual contact should pass the infection.

"I know that Milenia did not have the Green in her. I would have noticed. I can check your women who tended the lady in question. But mostly I would like to speak to her. To see if she is carrying the taint of the Green."

"Shall I send for her to come here, or shall we go to her together? Penthelisea, what do you think?" the Queen asks.

Pen tries to consider all the different ways this could go wrong. "If it pleases you, My Queen, we would welcome the walk with you to meet her." Pen discreetly gestures a quick note to Robin in Cadence: "Be ready for anything, I fear that there may be much more to this than we know."

Thalaestris and the two Amberites and the fair walk to the House of Healing, greeting and being greeted, and congratulated in Robin's case. Though these women are unknown to Robin, it's easy for Robin to understand that the Amazons are a somewhat smaller community than the Rangers were before the war. Everyone is known to Pen and Pen knows all of them.

In the House of Healing, Robin sees a number of women injured in the battle against the Green. One woman has lost part of her forearm to corruption; amputation saved her life. Another woman will have terrible scars where the Green was burned off her.

The Amazon who is under suspicion is named Derinoe; she has vicious bloody scratches that look like she was whipped. They came from a battle with a vine creature, and it would make sense if she hid her injuries before dealing with Milena. Despite her injuries and the care the healers have taken of Derinoe, she is able to get up and move about.

It would be reasonable and possible for Derinoe to have obtained the clothing Milena would have seen her in, though Pen cannot think of any reasonable way for her to have obtained the Soloi coins.

Robin scents Green on Derinoe.

Robin is on instant alert though she tries not to show it in her manner. She looks around the room for possible hostage situations before gesturing to Pen that this is the woman she is interested in and if there is any way to get her off to somewhere private.

Pen catches Robin's Cadence gesture and quickly signs back an acknowledgment.

Pen knows Derinoe to be a loyal and true Amazon, devout in her sacrifices to the goddesses and faithful to the safety of her sisters, but Pen has grown to trust Robin implicitly, and her Ranger instincts are unparalleled. Pen approaches Derinoe smiling, as a friend, which is not ingenuous, but she also's aware of the most vulnerable potential targets in the environment and measures her distance, stepping carefully to effectively flank the Amazon and block the way of those who might be injured further.

"It's good to see you up and well, Derinoe," she says, thinking it surprising how quickly the injured Amazon is up and around. "We could use your help. Perhaps we could speak somewhere privately?"

Pen points to Robin, "This is Ser Robin of Arden, a trusted friend and newly Proven with great distinction."

Pen carefully watches Derinoe for any sign of strange behavior as they lock eyes. These are instincts employed by Amazons in hunting and are as old as the betrayal of men who would make slaves of free women. "What say you, Derinoe?"

"Of course, Captain," Derinoe says. To Pen's eyes, other than her abnormally easily healed wounds, she seems much herself. She rises to join Pen and Robin in another room, or outside, as they wish. Either will take her away from the healers and the injured.

Robin gestures to a small room off to one side of the main infirmary. Padded benches line the brightly colored walls with a few small tables scattered throughout the room. This is probably a place for tired healers to rest in during long shifts. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dernioe," Robin says in response to Pen's introduction.

Other than that, Robin lets Pen lead the questioning of her friend

Derinoe settles on one of the benches. Neither of the Amberites have any problem getting between her and the door where the other patients are.

Robin notices that the fair is collectively not pleased about Derinoe; they keep themselves between her and Robin, and the two males interpose between their queen and Derinoe to boot.

"We're hoping you can help us," begins Pen. "Ser Robin was taking the Trial by mounted archery when we discovered that someone had hidden painful burrs in her horse's saddle. By Athena's grace, we discovered a girl among the wagonfolk who claims to have been paid in Soloi coins by a veiled woman who matches your description. I have known you to be faithful and true to our people all my life, but you seem quickly recovered from your injuries with the Green. What say you?"

Pen tenses and readies herself, hoping that this is all a mistake, but fearing that it isn't.

Robin is surprised that Derinoe seated herself, but she's still ready for an attack. And much like her unhappy fair, she is keeping aware of where the Queen of the Amazons is.

The Queen has remained outside, leaving Robin and Pen to do the questioning. She is in earshot, unless the group speaks very quietly, and could easily call for reinforcements.

Derinoe's expression shifts, through pain and fear to sadness. "I did this," she said, and looks at Ser Robin. "I regret the injury to your horse, and to you, but--there was a prophecy. And I thought if you failed the test, it would be averted. I hope there will be another way to avert it, for if the prophecy is true, having a daughter of Amber among the Amazons will destroy us." Her voice is firm and clear.

Pen strains to contain her anger. It would've been easier if these actions came from malice or conspiracy, thinks Pen, but as she looks Derinoe square in the eye, she's certain this Amazon believes what she did was necessary and just to protect the health and culture of her sisters.

Pen chooses her words carefully, "I know you understand the significance of admitting to these deeds. I've never heard of this prophecy."

As Pen begins to speak again, understanding creeps upon her and her words soften with each syllable, as if in answer to her own question, and her anger is met with fear as she remembers Chirope's unjust exile and the dangerous and deceitful Amazon responsible: "Who taught this prophecy to you?"

Robin just barely avoids hissing at Derinoe's words. And all of the little brain birds that she has been so carefully herding while wearing her 'diplomatic' face burst free.

One bird is the grim memory of another prophecy; the old witch in Danu, saying that she would either save Danu or destroy it. And Robin remembers how her (and Jovian's) actions and her subsequent inaction drowned that Shadow. One bird is the fond memory of leaving that meeting with her Beloved Vere gently and gallantly showing her how her childish actions might be perceived. One bird is her current exhaustion at playing the diplomat for the Amazons, being thoughtful and calm, not childish or reckless. But it's wearing on her. Two years ago, she was the youngest sister to two older brothers. Now she's the oldest with two (and with Pen, three) sisters. One brain bird definitely doesn't want to be the older responsible one. One brain bird is chilled by Derinoe's words, given the changes that Robin wants to make to the very weave of Pontus. Will anchoring it against the Green destroy it? Robin doesn't think so, but she's been wrong before. Besides, as one brain bird points out, Robin wouldn't be 'among the Amazons', she's got her own work to do in the shadows around Arden.

And then Pen asks the question that Robin definitely needs to pay attention to. So with an effort, she brings all of her little brain birds back under control and waits for the answer.

Derinoe looks up at Pen. "The Prophetess," she says.

Pen nods, and a wild look crosses her face, probably like nothing Robin has seen on her face before. It seems a mixture of terrible anger and fear, like a cornered and injured animal.

The old Pen would have let this dreadful rage, what the Amazons call 'thumos', consume her like kindling in a bonfire and act on it. She has done it before. Instead, she recognizes this outrage, and like a wave she lets it pass over her.

She is not a cornered and injured animal.

She is the Captain of the Glorious Cataphract; she is the Amazon who strung the Bow of Dodonna unaided; she is the daughter of Myrina; the Emissary of Queen Thalestris; and the proud adopted sister of Robin, Solange, and Hannah of Amber.

She will not allow her emotions to master her. A good tactician knows the dangers of this.

Pen turns to Robin, and her demeanor returns to what it was. "The person who orchestrated all of this, unfortunately, is an ally of the Queen. She's not from Pontus, but Thalestris granted her a cave in exchange for the occasional prophecy when requested. Many of them came true. We must tread carefully."

Robin nods at Pen's words, her brain birds under control and her diplomatic face restored. Now she wants to make sure she understands the trail she is on.

Looking sternly to Derinoe, she asks, "Did the Prophetess tell you to harm me? Or put the burr under my saddle?"

**************************************************



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Misao turns to Llewella, waiting on her pleasure.

"Hello, Misao," Llewella says. "I am Llewella, princess of Rebma and Amber, and I am the Regent of Rebma in Queen Celina's absence. Welcome to Rebma. This is a dry chamber where we can keep things like your Trump cards safe from water damage. The castle and and city are underwater."

Llewella eyes Misao's garments. She herself is wearing some body-hugging material that covers her lower torso, but her breasts are bare. "It seems that Corwin has prepared you for your visit here. How familiar are you with stories of Rebma?"

Misao bows. "I am of Hikariguni, the child of Kimiko-dono, and of Xanadu, the child of Lucas, the son of Florimel, the daughter of Oberon. My name is Misao. I am well. I hope you are well. I humbly thank you for your welcome."

"You are welcome," Llewella says, "and thank you for your kind good wishes."

Misao smiles. "I am not at all familiar with Remba, but I have spent time underwater in Hikariguni. I hope that that experience will help me here." Misao pauses and then adds, "I spoke with Serena-jooo about walking the Pattern here and she said she would speak with you. I await your pleasure."

Misao bows again and waits for Llewella's response.

"She is still travelling," Llewella confirms. "But you are welcome, and I suspect I'll be better at preparing you for the Pattern than she would be. Celina's experience of the Pattern has been unhappy. What have you been told of the risks, Misao?"

Misao's face is serene, "I understand that I risk my life if I do so. I am willing to take that risk."

"Did Celina tell you that my daughter Khela, who was Celina's lover, died attempting the Pattern?" Llewella asks.

Misao's face doesn't react, but internally they are a bit shocked that anyone would expect a monarch who barely knows Misao would speak of something so personal, even if they are family. Instead, after a moment, all that they say is, "No, she did not."

"I'm surprised. Not that she didn't tell you the details, for all that they're no secret, but that she didn't tell you we have had a recent loss in our family on the Pattern. But I gather Corwin feels you're likely to survive, which may have made a difference in her thinking," Llewella's tone is not unkind, merely straightforward.

"Serena-jooo said that she felt that the Rebman Pattern has an affinity for women of risk. Perhaps that is also part of it."

She gestures around the room, which is, perhaps surprisingly, filled with books. "If you'd like to leave your cards here, they will be safe."

Misao sets their case down against the wall, out of the way, and bows, "I am at your disposal."

"Then let's make sure you have a good sleep and a good meal, and we will go down so you can essay the Pattern," Llewella says. She gestures to a door in the floor of the room that has a ring for lifting it. "We will go down and out.

"Have you eaten or drunk underwater before? There's a trick to it," Llewella explains, lifting the door. There are stairs down into the water, which stops just below the surface of the room.

"Not in this form," Misao replies and then follows Llewella out of the room, carefully following her lead.

Llewella descends the stairwell, not even pausing or hesitating as the water covers her head.

Misao follows suit.

However Misao finds themself feeling about the prospect of breathing in the water, they find it is light and breathable, just as if it were air. Things definitely float in it, cloth and hair being two chief examples that are immediately demonstrated. But there's no sense of drowning as it enters Misao's lungs and they are able to follow Llewella with no difficulty.

Misao pauses for a moment as the waters close over their head, trying to get used to the sensation. The closest they can relate to this moment is their transformation into a wani, but wani breathe through gills, not lungs. Breathing water that is like air is very disconcerting and Misao fights down the instinctive response to shift forms. After a few minutes, they bow apologetically to Llewella.

"I am sorry. This is all very new to me."

"You'll get used to it. You're doing fine," Llewella tells Misao.

Llewella leads Misao into the palace proper, which is full of long galleries held up by columns and the multistory courtyards they surround. The castle's inhabitants include many humans of different genders, though those Misao would identify as male seem to be mostly armed, usually with spears and tridents. Some of the other inhabitants are fish or swimming mammals like dolphins and porpoises. One octopoid or perhaps squidlike creature seems to be carrying small objects across a hall, perhaps to an unknown destination.

The aquatic creatures rivet Misao's attention as they continue to follow Llewella.

Another group, of which Misao sees only one, are large creatures with the upper torso, arms, and head of a human and the long back body and tail similar to a fish or perhaps a shark where the creature's legs would be. The upper body of this being would be that of a large man; with the lower body and tail, the creature is close to a dozen feet long. They are all wearing elaborate masks, no two alike.

Many of them look curiously if not always openly at Misao, but perhaps that is because they are with the Regent.

Misao is even more astonished by these beings, and actually stops for a minute to almost stare at them before remembering their manners. A slight blush of embarrassment appears on their cheeks as they turn away.

Llewella and Misao pass into what is clearly a more secure wing; there are spear-wielding guards at the entry. Inside this area, she leads Misao into a tall room with both surface-style chairs and sitting hammocks that float lazily in the room currents.

"Please sit, as you like," Llewella says, and folds herself into one of the sitting hammocks. "I'm sure you must have many questions if Celina prepared you at all for the Pattern, and more if she didn't."

Misao folds themselves into an almost-kneeling posture on the floor, facing Llewella.

"Tenno Heika... King Random as you call him... told us that it was a magic labyrinth that would be a mental and physical challenge. He said it could kill us. Serena-jooo said that it was important to hold myself True Family."

Misao pauses.

"I suppose my questions lie along the following lines: What preparation is needed to encounter the possibility of death? Is death not something we should always be prepared for? Or is there something more needed than the resolution to risk?"

"The Pattern will test you mentally and physically. Other than food and rest, as if for an intense athletic feat, there's no way to be properly prepared for it," Llewella explains. "Once you set foot on it, you must follow it to the end, which is in the center. There is a kind of pressure, which is hard to explain, that tries to grind you to a halt. You'll need all of your wisdom and persistence to drag yourself forward through the veils, of which there are three, or were when I walked it. There may be four now.

"At the same time, you will experience what you might think of as phantoms or hallucinations, fragments of your mind, almost. Your parents, loved ones, children you might have in the future. They will speak to you, question you, force you to consider everything you know about yourself.

"For instance, in places where you made a crucial choice, what it might have meant to choose differently. For someone like you, it may force changes of shape, or force you to feel what it might be like to live a life where you were bound to a single form." Llewella does not say these things unkindly, just as possibilities she's considered.

"All of this will be happening at the same time, and whatever is going on in your mind will also be trying to get you to stop or to step off the Pattern. A full stop or stepping off will be fatal. If you are not of the royal blood, descended from Dworkin and the Unicorn, you will perish. And even if you meet that criterion and continue, if you cannot withstand the trial, it will destroy you. Many of our family have faced it and survived it, as I have myself. But not all."

Misao follows Llewella's account attentively. At the end, they nod.

"What is at the end?" is their next question.

"The center. From there, you can project yourself anywhere you know of and wish to go. Simply visualize it and wish yourself there, as if it were a Trump," Llewella says. "It should be somewhere safe, because you'll need rest."

Misao nods again. "Is there anything else that I should know?"

Llewella looks at Misao, appraisingly. "There are probably a thousand things you should know, but relative to the Pattern, only a few things I can add. First, it is a highly personal experience. What I explained is common, but it may not be the same for you. That's why we don't over-prepare candidates. Second, do not allow yourself to bleed on the pattern. And lastly, if your shape allows you to be pregnant, it would be best to put this off entirely."

Misao blinks at that last one. "I... can arrange for my shape to be non-progenerative."

A beat, while they recover their poise. Then they bow deeply from the waist, touching their head and hands to the floor.

"Thank you, Yewera-ohime. I shall not trespass on your time any longer, unless you wish something of me, in which case, I am at your service."

Misao straightens back up and awaits Llewella's pleasure. If the conversation is over, they will retire to whatever chambers have been prepared for them to rest and prepare for the walk. If they have time, they will prepare sketches of Remba in whatever materials will work underwater, or else impress scenes on their mind for future sketching. They will be ready for the walk whenever they are called to do it.


Llewella leads Misao down the deep corridors and stairwells, swimming downward where appropriate, and at last they are far below the castle, past the guard station, and in front of a door of iron-bound blackened wood that looks as if it is utterly unmoved by water, currents, rust, or force. Llewella takes the key she brought down and turns it; her strength is surprising, given her form.

The door creaks open into a room that is lit from within by a great glowing tracery on the floor. Misao feels it resonate with their very existence. This thing is a part of them, somehow. They are not sure what that means, but it feels true.

"Behold, what our gracious King calls 'the thing in the basement'." Llewella lets them take it in.

"The starting point is over there," she points. "If you are at all unsure about your capabilities, you can decide to try later and we will leave. Once you start, you will either complete the Great Pattern or you will die." She’s very matter-of-fact about the possible outcomes.

The pattern, longer and wider than an arrow-flight from a legendary archer, is a vast tracery glowing on the floor, both inviting and forboding.

Misao has adjusted their shape to be non-reproductive and hydrodynamic, to make moving through the water easier. They stop just inside the door to the Pattern chamber, taking it all in, breathing it in, allowing the resonance to take over their being, centering themselves here in the center of Reality. Then they bow deeply to Llewella, and circle the Pattern to the starting point.

Before stepping on the Pattern, they kneel and bow, touching their head to the floor. "I am of Hikariguni, the child of Kimiko, and of Xanadu, the child of Lucas, the son of Florimel, the daughter of Oberon. I humbly ask your blessing on my blood."

They stand gracefully, take a deep, calming breath, and step forward onto the Pattern, focusing on the fire in their blood that is the fire of the Pattern. They are the same. Misao is the Pattern and the Pattern is Misao. Calm. Step. Focus. Calm. Step. Focus. Calm. Step. Focus.

The challenge, in the first few steps, is that there is so little resistance. It takes concentration to stay on the path, to maintain the focus on something as seemingly trivial as walking along a brightly glowing line on the ground. There were sparks, yes, but it was more about control than about strength. Misao thought the sparks were getting higer as they moved gracefully through the proscribed steps.

Resistance built up, slowly, and Misao worked her way along the glowing tracery, now pushing. The water that was like air made things more difficult. The resistance was only in the direction of her motion. It was like walking in water-that-is-like-water, and she was treading heavily along it it.

Misao notes that the more they push them, the stronger the resistance they encountered. The sparks are up to their knees.

"You are of Hikariguni." Says the voice of her mother, Kimiko. "But are you mature enough to be in a place such as this? Without your Father's guidance? How will you know what is right? Come home, child of Hikariguni. Return here in a decade or a century, when perhaps they have solved their war."

The resistance was strong now, as if Misao was pressing against not a light breeze but a torrent of water. It was hard to move and it was distracting her from the voice of her Mother.

Misao pushes forward. "Okaa-sama." "Haha-ue."

"How else am I to return home, save by this method? How else can I become mature enough to be what you need me to be? What Hikariguni needs me to be? I do this for you, Okaa-sama. I do this for Hikariguni."

Calm. Step. Focus. Calm. Step. Focus. Misao is the Pattern. The Pattern is Misao. Misao pushes forward.

Her Mother's voice fades as the struggle against the veil becomes harder. Somehow, without being seen or speaking, she makes it clear that Misao isn't going to be good enough, now or perhaps ever. But nothing more is said.

Misao fights the resistance, step by step. While it never lessens, they sense a change, as if they have passed through a veil and are walking a different harmonic. The sparks are to their waist now, and it is a mental exercise to see where the line must be based on where the sparks are in the air. It would be very easy to misstep, or to second guess themself and step incorrectly. The right steps are like a dance, and a dance that is written in them as clearly as it is written in the stone.

Past the veil, they know they belongs here, and is now proving their worth, skill, and ability.

"Well then, you did break through. I wasn't sure you were going to give up on that little shadow. Do you recall my advice that my ghost gave you in Paris?" Their father, this time, appears. Walking effortlessly beside them as if he's strolling across a park. He sounds like his uncles.

"Otoosan." Misao bows their head in greeting, but does not stop.

"You wanted me to know the rules and to know when to break the rules. Which implies also knowing when to keep to the rules. And to be my own person and choose my own path."

Misao smiles. "I believe you can see that I am following your advice as we speak, Otoosan."

Calm. Step. Focus. Calm. Step. Focus. Misao concentrates on the line before them, stepping carefully but never stopping. The Pattern is Misao. Misao is the Pattern.

"I always wanted you to transcend your origins, like a bird transcends their egg and doesn't give it another regard once the shell is cracked and they soar far beyond the shards. You are doing that. You've taken the first steps to becoming part of my world and leaving your mother's world behind for the trifling it is. I am proud of this choice. Being a part of the family makes you a player in the greatest game of all, Misao of Paris, Amber, and Xanadu."

Lucas's words reach Misao's ears, bringing pride into their heart, but Misao's focus is on the Pattern and they don’t respond.

The pattern presses back, pressure against them as they step, step, step through the intricate twists and turns. There is a grand curve, crossing the chamber hundreds of feet in a sweep around the long edge of the great design. It's tiring, both mentally and physically to press on, through the red sparks that seem to rise with every step, step step they take. The sparks rise above their waist and they can imagine that they will reach above their head before the ordeal ends.

Assuming it ever will.

Misao allows themselves to be submerged in the fire of the Pattern, just as they submerged themselves in the waters of Hikariguni, just as they submerged themselves in the light inside Notre Dame, just as they submerged themselves in the strange air-water of Rebma. The Pattern is Misao, Misao is the Pattern. They push forward, refusing to stop, refusing to be distracted. Calm. Step. Focus. Calm. Step. Focus.

"There's still hard work to do. You have to learn how to talk properly, you have to learn how to understand your cousins and uncles and aunts, you have to learn Amber politics, you have to learn how to use your siblings and how to gather information. I'm quite pleased that you chose to grow up and leave your mother in her little shrine of a shadow. It's for the best."

"Of course, Otoosan. I have to be the best at everything. I know that. Thank you for your blessing."

The pattern presses hard; they have reached another veil. The step forward is harder here, and it requires ever ounce of their concentration. Did Otoo-san really expect them to abandon Hikariguni? They could barely think due to the physical effort, but that was what he was saying. Was that their path? Was that what was expected of them?

Misao pushes these thoughts away as they push forward. Time enough for making those decisions once they are done here. The Pattern is all that there is in the world, in the universe. This is the path. This is the way. Misao is the Pattern. The Pattern is Misao. Calm. Focus. Step. Push. Calm. Focus. Step. Push.

The work is hard, is a way that a shapeshifter's work is seldom hard. Usually Misao can shift to a different form to make any task easier, but the resistance here is not merely physical. No matter what they do it just keeps getting harder, and the sparks reach up to their chest. They aren't sure if they are walking a path they see before them, placing their feet in the place of most resistance, or if their body somehow knows where to place the next step.

They are sure if they stop they will never move forward again. Step, step, turn, focus, push.

"I'll walk this one day soon," says the third spirit. Her new brother, Max. "You can help me. We need to avenge our Father's death. This is the power you have, and you should dedicate it to making our enemies pay." He is small, and Misao has been told that he is young. But he's got a great sense of injustice. "Don't let them tell you about this family, you have me, and our father is dead, and the only ones who are going to do something about it are us."

He stands in front of her, oblivious to the sparks. "You've got to help me, Misao."

"Otooto." Misao's smile and tone are warm, but they don't stop. "I wish to help you. And so I need to do this now. I will be here for you when it's your turn. And we will deal with Otoosan's death, when the time is right. That time is not now. You will learn, otooto. Patience is key."

Misao continues forward, intending to push Max out of their way if necessary.

The sparks rise higher than his head, but Misao still hears his voice. "No, listen, don't push me, you're gonna knock me off!" They feel the resistance mount. Is it the young page who is also their brother? Or just fighting the pattern? It takes all the willpower and energy they can muster to push through it.

It's unclear if they hear a yelp as they come through. The pressure doesn't relent, but the building is again the steady crescendo that suggests that they are past another veil. The water and the sparks are as one now, and they are walking by instinct and will. Step, step, step, turn, step, turn. They feel as if they have been going forever and must keep going forever.

There may be no past, no present, and no future, but there is Misao, a creature of will, pushing their body through the curves and twists of the pattern.

"I'm not really sure it has an 'end'," says the voice of the last pattern spirit. "I'm not really here, of course, because 'glub, glub, glub', but I can get away with it because I'm not really here. What was I saying? Oh yeah, the end. It's aspects or shadows of the same one, and we write them the same as they write us." Random is there, and the sparks don't seem to touch him. They move around him without interfering with him.

"But that's not what I came here to talk to you about. I'm gonna ask you about your future. If you finish this, and people have failed here before, you're going to qualify to be a force to be reckoned with in this family. If you choose to be. If you put in the work to be. If you try to be.

"So here's my question for you. Do you intend to do so? Because you can go back to your home and bolt the door. Can you face the indifference of a family that may be generally friendly towards you but honestly doesn't give a crap if you’re from Hikariguni or Hybrasil?

"Will you be able to make your way in a society of your equals who have no reference to anything about you except what you show them about who you are?"

Misao closes their eyes. The light is so strong. The questions are so hard. The demands are so much. The demands have always been so much. Do this. Be that. Conform. Never complain. Be the best.

Misao steps forward. "Why do you ask me this? Why should I have to choose? Why can't I be of both Hikariguni AND Xanadu. AND Amber. AND Rebma. Yes, I want to go home. Yes, I want to stay here. I want it all. Is it wrong to hope that I can have it all?"

Misao's voice is angry now. "You are right about one thing: you have no reference to anything about me. There has never BEEN anyone like me. So how can you judge me? How can you decide how hard I can work? Or what I will try for? You barely know me."

Misao's voice grows harsher as the inner pain starts to leak through. "I barely know myself. One moment I am one of two people in my world who has special powers. The next, I am KIDNAPPED by people who want to use me, and rescued only to discover that my powers are NOT special and my father is DEAD. How can I show you who I am until I KNOW who I am? How can I choose what I want until I KNOW what I want?"

"And how can I know ANYTHING about ANY of that, unless I finish this? How can I choose until I have a choice to make? How can I tell you what the ending of my story will be, when I'm here at the beginning? I just found out about all this, for Heaven's sake!"

Misao is angry. Very angry. And they use the anger to push forward, eyes still closed, pushing against the place of strongest resistance.

"Right now, right here, I choose to finish this. I CHOOSE. Deal with it."

"'Why do I ask?', you ask? I dunno, maybe I'm just a manifestation of some inner doubt or passing thought reflected and amplified through the pattern and anthropomorphized by you as some sort of idealized representation of your relationship to authority, to wit, being authority's nibling. Maybe your anger is at me, for not being what you expected and not keeping your father alive. Or did the prior veils also represent anger? You're the one who's talking to someone who isn't really here, so maybe this is for you to work through.

"Like you're working through the pattern. Maybe that's what you resent. That you have to do this difficult ritual to get the power to resist the kind of people who will kidnap you for who you could be. Anger is powerful, look at how it's pushed you to the edge. But it's also a weapon you hand your opponents.

"So, here's your choice. Choice 1, you're powerful enough, possibly fueled by anger, to get through the last veil right now. Choice 2, you're so angry that you misstep and step off the pattern, which at this point would be fatal. Choice C, you hesitate, trying to be precise while angry, and you can't push through the veil."

"I'm not asking anymore, I'm just here for the popcorn."

Misao takes a deep breath, fighting to calm themselves down. "So no matter what I choose, I choose wrong. But if all choices are wrong, then all are right. So it doesn't matter anyway. And whether you are real or not doesn't matter. Shiigata ga nai. I'm going to finish this now, Tenno Heika."

They push forward, like a sword blade, precise, no hesitation, cutting to the center, to the truth, to the end of all this.

"Catch you later, then," says the spirit or doppelgänger of the King. "Good night, sweet Princeling, I hope it's been enlightening and/or educational for you..."

Misao presses on, each step a triumph and each leading to a bigger hurdle, the King's words coincide with the hardest obstacle they have faced yet. It seems impossible, and yet, they press on.

Through! The last veil is behind them and they stagger to their knees and it takes all their remaining effort not to pass out from stress and exertion and sheer exhaustion.

They need to rest. But they can't rest here. The last inevitable step of this ordeal is departing it. They can order the pattern to take them anywhere. As soon as they catch their breath.

There's only one place Misao wants to go right now. The place that they promised themselves to go once they knew they could get back to Xanadu. The place that they need to be. The person they need to see. Home. Hikariguni. Mother. Kimiko-dono.

The pattern does her bidding, and it is as if they are shifting not their own form, but the form of everything else, until it resolves to their own room in their mother's palace. They notice the smell of the cherry blossoms outside their window, presaging an early spring.

They take a step and collapse upon the bed, and sleep comes immediately.


They wake, in their bed. It is some time after sunrise. The room seems bigger, as it did when they were a child, and has several examples of their art that they had not recalled upon the walls. Perhaps Mother posted them after they left.

They'll be waiting downstairs, they know, somehow.

Misao rises, readies themselves for the day, which includes returning to their default form and dress, and heads downstairs.

It feels as if there are a thousand steps to climb down, and the spirits and attendants are mostly ignoring them as they take head down.

Their mother is in the jade room. Her form is shifted and she seems about ten feet tall, but not out of proportion for the room.

"Come in Misao, and present yourself to your exalted father."

Father's visits were always unannounced, but always special. Lessons were dispensed with and the routine of the palace was disrupted.

"Hello, child. Come to me." Ooto-san was dressed in his foreign clothes. He looked remarkably like his brother, Prince Bleys.

Misao enters the room and bows precisely, kneeling and touching their forehead to the floor, and then rising to a kneeling position. Their outward demeanor is calm and serene, as it must be, but inside they are full of confusion. Otoosan is dead. He cannot be here. So this is not Hikariguni. Or it is some trick. Perhaps they did not make it through the ordeal after all and this is the afterlife of spirits?

Unable to explain what they are seeing, Misao keeps their eyes focused on their mother. Therein, they feel, lies the answer to the riddle.

Her voice floats down from her head far above Misao. "Do you remember what I told you, child? It is important to know who you are and where you belong. You are a creature of Hikariguni."

Ooto-san slightly shook his head, reacting her position, or at least deflecting it. "Oh, Kim. Children grow, and sometimes you find that they were a creature of Hikariguni. Not everyone lives their entire lives encased in Amber."

Misao doesn't remember them ever disagreeing before.

Misao bows from the waist slightly to their mother. "With greatest respect, I agree. I must know where I belong, and I will always belong to Hikariguni."

They turn slightly and bow for the waist towards their father. "With greatest respect, I agree. I do not belong to Hikariguni only."

Turning to face forward again, they conclude, "With greatest respect, I have always been and will always be a creature of Hikariguni. But I am also a creature of Xanadu, Paris, and Remba. I will find where I belong. In the meantime, I am here, and I am well."

Neither of their parents seem pleased with that answer. Kimiko replies first. "I am here to give you your place, child. If you reject it, you risk not being able to come back. Or worse being able to come back and not be of Hikariguni any more."

Misao nods. "I understand the risk, Okaa-sama. But I have learned that I cannot fill your place, that I cannot serve Hikariguni as I should, if I do not do this. I have learned abilities and cultivated powers here, and now I must learn abilities and cultivate powers elsewhere. Otherwise, I am not fit for the place you would give me."

Lucas nods. "That would be acceptable. This place is inadequate to one of my family. They need a larger stage, free from the threats of a single shadow. Not the least of which is the threat of being bored to death."

Their parents have never, to their memory, disagreed in front of them. Or not in a way they recognized.

Lucas tries next. "What do you think it means, to anyone else, that you are of Hikariguni?"

Misao blinks in surprise. "It is one half of my heritage. I cannot be the person I am without the abilities I have learned, or the powers that I cultivated here. Whatever I become must build on that foundation, no matter what else happens. I will not -- CANNOT -- deny that, because to do so would be to deny myself."

They turn back to their mother. "This is also why I must go. I will not -- CANNOT -- deny the abilities and powers that come from Otoosan anymore than I can deny the ones from here. They are also half of my heritage. So I must go, but I will return... and I will trust that Hikariguni will be here when I do. This is the choice I have made."

They bow deeply from the waist again, to both parents.

When they recover from their bow, their parents are gone. Where Lucas was is a tangled line, like yarn after a cat has been playing with it. It achingly reminds her of the pattern, but it doesn't seem to be useful for anything. Where Kimiko was there is an eggshell, cracked open and empty. The fragments of the shell are neatly arranged around it, ordered by size. The inside of the egg is elaborately painted with a map of Hikarigani, which is damaged by the egg being broken.

Misao gently gathers up the yarn and pieces of shell, and wraps them carefully in a piece of silk they pull from within their robes. They stand up and look around.

Misao looks around and notices things that they haven't noticed before. The sky seems to be cracked, and there's a piece missing out of it. They could climb out through the hole. Everywhere they move, it seems as if they are about to break something, and they are growing. They are almost big enough to touch the sky or reach the sky-hole.

Outside of Hikariguni, they see a reasonably prosaic bedroom.

Misao places the wrapped items back into their robes and shrugs.

"Shiigata ga nai."

Then they climb out through the hole.

Even though they have only stayed there a week, it's their bedroom in Xanadu that they step into. The eggshell is behind them, the pieces neatly arranged on the ground. It's not clear how they fit inside it, but it's small compared to the room. What's new are a dozen or more portraits of people they've met in Xanadu, all partially completed and all on easels in a circle. They see the King, and their father's Parisian wife, and Martin and Delta and Huon and Merlin the shapeshifter and Brita.

They don't remember painting these, but they are definitely the artist.

There's another Canvas, facing a mirror. It is completely blank.

Misao's expression is both puzzled and frustrated. Did the Pattern not do what it was supposed to? Is this still part of it? What do they have to do to get back to the REAL Hikariguni? Then they shrug again.

"Masumasu fushigi da." Curiouser and Curiouser.

And they step up to the portraits, examining each one carefully for clues. Maybe they will help Misao figure out what to do next.

The King's painting is expressive. They feel as if they (or whoever painted it) really captured what they saw in the man. They stare at it. He turns and looks back at them.

"Stranger than the past few weeks?"

Misao sighs. "Tenno Heika, what is strange anymore? I am a sponge that has been overwhelmed in strangeness. I just want to reassure my mother that I am still alive. What do I have to do to do that?"

Random smiles. "It never gets less strange, kiddo. We just get better at dealing with novelty. Speaking as a talking painting, have you considered painting her and talking to your painting?"

Misao blinks in surprise.

"No, Tenno Heika, I hadn't. I thought the canvas was for a self-portrait, as some sort of test."

Pause.

"Otoosan told me to not to try and paint Trumps of anyone else and now I know why....it could hurt her if I try. Also, I was strictly told to not paint a Trump of anyone without permission. Are you saying... that in this place, which is not really Xanadu... that it would work? Without hurting her?"

"I don't know Jack about Trumps, Babe. But if that's what Ootey said, that's what they said. I didn't say to paint a trump. I'm pretty sure I'm not a trump. I'm pretty sure I'm not really King of Xanadu, but I play him on this canvas."

From the next canvas over, Huon adds his own observation. "On the other hand, if you think you can paint a trump, you could paint a place and go there. One way or another you'd learn something."

Misao steps back, closes their eyes, and takes a series of deep breaths, trying to clear their mind.

Focus. Calm. All these too-strange figures, half-familiar, but not. Misao has been trying to make sense of them on their terms. But the terms make no sense. Like many of the yokai, they are elusive, changing, unpredictable. So, let Misao treat them as yokai. Use that unpredictability. Make that their strength.

Misao opens their eyes and moves to the blank canvas. They pick up brushes, testing them until they find one that feels right in their hand. Then dip it into the ink. Then they close their eyes again, emptying their mind. Without looking at the canvas, without plan, without thought, they draw. Unpredictable. Elusive. Ever-changing. They work until they feel that the drawing is finished.

Then they open their eyes again and confront their unpredictability.

Misao looks at the canvas, taking in the scene. Their bedroom, near dawn, with the light just starting to warm up the shoji screen on the eastern window. Their bed is not made and someone is lying it in, peacefully sleeping, but perhaps soon to awaken. They look as if they have been restless, and the bedclothes are dislodged.

It's themself, Misao, asleep.

Misao examines the image closely. Is it static or moving? Does the canvas feel cold, like a Trump would?

The canvas doesn't feel cold at first, and the image seems still, but then... it's like it has always been a cold, working trump. It's as if looking at it long enough transformed it into a trump. It's much less work than making a trump normally is, but Misao feels that they could go through it.

Misao studies the canvas for a long time. Then they turn and study their reflection in the mirror for another long stretch. Fear, desire, indecision move across their features as they regard each in turn. Finally, with a small shrug, they mutter "Shiigata ga nai."

They turn to the canvas, remove it from its easel, tuck it under their arm, and step into the mirror.

Misao approaches the mirror and her own image grows in it, soon it fills the frame and as they reach it and step through, they find no resistance. It's unexpected and they find themself falling. They twist and turn and they reach for purchase on anything, and there's nothing.

It is dark and they don't know where the ground is. They can't shift and they are falling. Just falling, alone in the dark.

Their body spasms, and they awaken, heart racing and covered in sweat, in their bed.


Early morning light is stealing into the room, and they are alone in their bedroom in Hikariguni.

Misao looks around, wildly at first, and then doubtfully as their racing heart slows. Where is the canvas? Was that real? Is this real?

"Only one way to find out."

They arise and neaten their appearance, and then, canvas under one arm (assuming it survived), they leave the room, looking for their mother.

Misao can't find the canvas. It seems to have been part of a dream and, like all the stuff of dreams, stops existing when they awaken.

Misao's appearance at the bottom of the stairs sets off a commotion amongst her mother's servitors. After some minutes of confusion and people running when they see Misao, the palace majordomo comes in.

She wants to know where Misao has been. Everyone has been worried. They've been gone for so long, it's unlike them to just disappear. Were they really kidnapped? Their mother has gone to look for them.

Misao makes appropriate soothing noises. Yes, they were kidnapped. Yes, they are now free. No, they were not injured. They also spend some time gently explaining that events have transpired that will require them to be away from Hikariguni for some time. Yes, they will return when they can. No, they don’t know when exactly that will be.

Misao also attempts to find out as much as possible about their mother's departure. How long ago was it? Where might she have gone to? How did she plan to travel?

Their mother's chamberlain of the palace speaks in low tones. "She went to the accursed cave in the northern islands." Misao has heard of it; it was where their mother had entered Hikariguni at the dawn of time.

They have never been there. No one goes there. It is too sacred. It would kill any person unfortunate or careless enough to enter it.

Once all of the talking is done, Misao enters Kimiko-dono's personal chambers. They are both thorough and careful. Everything is placed back precisely where it came from. Kimiko-dono should not be able to tell that anything was moved. Misao is looking for one item in particular: a tama-kanzashi, a hairpin with a sphere on the end. This one is made of gold and coral, and, unusually, the coral end is carved into the shape of a butterfly. It was a gift from Misao to Kimiko to celebrate their "coming out party", as it were, the occasion during which Kimiko-dono had presented Misao to the kami of Hikariguni as her heir.

Misao hopes that this object, so full of connection between their mother and themselves, will help them to locate their mother. Once they have found it, they thank the palace servants for their help, and begin to travel. Hardly knowing what they are doing, they blindly trust in the new powers granted by Otoosan's blood and the fire of the Pattern. Somehow, there must be a way to find their way to where Kimiko-dono is.

Misao does hesitate and give careful consideration to the risk, but decides to go anyway.

The cave is several days travel, but Misao is an expert traveller in their home shadow and the way is clear. They soon leaves the civilized parts of Hikariguni and only occasionally spots a spirit or animal along their path. They find the cave where it is rumored to be and finds the rock that was supposed to block the entrance has been moved.

There is an odd smell coming from the cave; it's acrid and unpleasant. As Misao approaches they feel a brief gust of wind from inside the cave. It's odd, because the wind is calm this day. Or at least it is outside the hills.

As they approach the cave, Misao extends their senses, trying to ascertain what is going on in the cave. Where is the path that will lead them to their mother? They proceed cautiously.

Misao extends their senses and isn't sure what they're experiencing. Fortunately, there isn't much to the cave. There are tracks. Foreign bootprints leaving the cave in the dust. Zori prints leading in. That was likely their mother. The tracks lead inward to a passage that looks different. It looks dangerous, and Misao thinks it leads to someplace that's not Hikariguni.

They presume that most of the people and beings she knows would think it was an entrance to one of the many hells. They think those may be descriptions of shadow, as their newfound family call it. Still, it's hard to see the difference between "The Hell of Noxious Winds" and "The Shadow of ...".

Looking at the entrance here, with its shifting lights and unclear destination, Misao knows she can make it safe for her own passage. This, then, is a part of the gift she has taken from the Pattern.

The wind and the smells grow stronger.

Misao closes their eyes, and taking a deep breath, sends a prayer to the spirits of the Earth and the spirits of the Heavens. Then they open their eyes and walk cautiously into the cave.

Misao steps into the cave and into the wind. It's dark, but not impossibly dark. Misao's eyes adjust and they can see the cave. It's shallow, and there's some sort of box or mechanical device in it, with a red light on it. There are footprints in the sand and the air smells of oil and water and rust.

The cave doesn't seem deep, and the box is connected to a pair of strings on the ground. It leads further into the cave. Or perhaps towards an exit. It's hard to tell from where they are.

Misao notes the box, but elects to not touch it, although they do keep an eye on it as they move through the space. They focus mainly on extending their new Pattern senses, trying to find the way that will lead them to Kimiko.

The path through the cave is that leads to the exit is the only way to go, so any traces that could be found would likely be in that direction.

Before heading further into the cave, Misao pauses for a moment. Although they relaxed their guard once they were home, it's reasonable to assume that they could be attacked, especially since they were kidnapped before. Best to be wary. They take a moment to shift their clothing from a formal mourning kimono to something like the outfit they wore escaping the hospital, but in black. Their hairstyle changes to a simple bun, less easy prey for an attacker to grab. They shift their tanto to a place where it is easier to access.

Then Misao cautiously proceeds, looking to the sides of the cave as they go, seeing if they can find something that can be used as a weapon with longer range than a dagger.

Misao can find a number of rocks, and even the odd stalagmite. They'd need to break it off and come up with a good way to grip it, but it's a long, pointy rock. It's not very sharp.

Misao elects to leave the rocks alone and look for something better further on.

Turning a bend in the cave, Misao comes abruptly to an opening into a cloudy, windy night scene. They are in hills, or perhaps low mountains, and the smell of oil and tar is strong here. Misao can't see the stars or the moon, if this place even has a moon. But the smells of this place are strong and unpleasant. The outside of the cave is behind a security fence, which has been vandalized. There's a building with some dim lighting nearby, as well as several dark ones. Far below, in a basin that these hills surround, is a sprawling, brilliantly lit, city. It's hard to make out any details, because even at night, the place seems to be encased in some sort of miasmic fog.

It's a pretty nasty looking place. Misao takes a minute to shift into the form of the kitsune, hoping that the kitsune's superior hearing will help them hear what's coming, since they can't see well. They examine the fence, still looking for a weapon. Regardless of the outcome, they will continue to look for the Shadow Path, and continue to cautiously advance.

It's remarkably silent here, other than the sound of the wind. No insects, no small animal noises, and the rustle of wind through the trees doesn't sound healthy. It's a long way to the city below, perhaps 20 miles to the core of it. At least it's downhill. There's no traffic on this road, but there seems to be plenty down below.

There's no sign of a shadow path here. The city below looks bigger than Paris, where their father is buried. It could have a million people in it. Finding where to start looking for Kimiko will be a challenge. Not seeing any other options, Misao heads towards the city, continuing to be cautious and watch out for other individuals, hoping to see or hear them before Misao is heard or seen. Kitsune are notoriously stealthy yokai and Misao is using all that they've learned in exploiting this trait.

The road down from the hills is deserted at this hour, or perhaps is always deserted. What few signs of people are here are empty. Misao gets the idea that people concentrated themselves in the city below. Kitsune's sharp nose finds the place almost overwhelming, but they quickly learn to filter it out.

Perhaps two miles from the cave, Misao comes across a trailer on a small plot of land separated from the rest of the desert. It doesn't look hospitable, but it does look to be inhabited. It's the first sign of life since they came into this stench-filled world.

As Misao approaches the trailer, they darken their fur to blend into the murky air of this Shadow. They use all the stealth of the kitsune to approach as quietly as possible and attempt to look in any windows before they approach the door.

Through a window, Misao quickly ascertains that there is single man and his dog inside. The man is sleeping in front of some kind of image projector. The dog is alert and hasn't started barking, but may be about to. It's picked up some scent, most likely Misao's Kitsune form.

The image projector is loud enough that most sounds wouldn't penetrate it. It's hard to understand how the man can sleep.

Misao takes a moment to revert to their normal form, in its more masculine aspect, keeping their clothes the same and altering their skin tone to be more like the man's. Making sure their dagger is easy to hand, they move around to the door, not attempting to be stealthy, and knock.

There's no answer. The door has a window with a shade, but it's only partially closed. It looks like someone has pulled it aside frequently enough that it's possible to look through the dirty glass in both directions.

The building isn't very tidy. The man is visible from the door as well. He may be unconscious. He's certainly not paying attention to the screen or the door or Misao.

Misao considers their options. Kitsune do not generally like dogs, after all, and although Misao does not currently wear the form of the kitsune, they have some of their prejudices. And if the man is not responding to the knock, it's not likely that he will be of much help.

They shrug and continue towards the town, such as it is, reverting to the form of the kitsune once they leave the house and keeping alert for any threats. They are also still looking for potential weapons.

The yard is full of potential weapons. Rusty crowbars, stones, something they could make into a sling. Nothing too sophisticated is immediately available.

After considering the available options, Misao collects some easily throwable stones and stows them in some convenient pockets, before picking up a crowbar.

There's a vehicle here, but it's not well-maintained. It might have something that can be used as a weapon. They can't tell how it's powered, but it seems to be mechanical.

Misao heads down the road, walking away from the house and the cave. It's a long walk to the city, and the weather is oppressively humid. The wind has hints of rain coming, but not coolness. Misao thinks it's going to be unpleasant and shortly it is; a warm rain whipping at them from the valley, pushing dirty water straight at them.

The slog leads to a sign which says "Tyrell City".

The city is vast, and the tendrils of it they reach first are commercial in nature; a place to buy transport and food, several industrial parks. The heart of the city is a half-lit pyramid of glass, miles from here. It is the most impressive building in the city.

Misao thinks this city may be even bigger than Xanadu.

If Misao had encountered Tyrell (which they mentally pronounce "Tee-reh-ru") before their kidnapping, it would no doubt have been an overwhelming and mind-blowing experience. As it is, being raised in a Shadow in which nature is respected and operates in harmony with the sentient inhabitants, it hurts them to see nature so abused here. However, having had a crash education as how different things can be in different Shadows, Misao is able to process what they see, with a little effort.

Abused Shadow or not, Misao recognizes the signs of a sacred place easily. In Hikariguni, it might have been marked by a red torii or a white tsuna. Here, it's a pyramid. Misao transforms back into a human, and heads for it.

The pyramid is the center of attention of the city, surrounded by large buildings that are tall and thin, it is tall and wide and also has open sky above it. At ground level it is surrounded by more fundamental commerce: noodle shops and cobblers' stalls, and all manner of small-scale signs of commercial activity.

As they approach, they see it is made of glass and metal and looks to be hundreds of feet tall. Entire villages could be inside it.

The sign says it is the hospital, and there is a door marked emergency that is filled with bustling people. There are less urgent entrances as well. No one much is paying attention to Misao.

Misao looks around for a Shadow path.

Misao finds no signs of a shadowpath, but it occurs to them that they can make a shadowpath, at least for themself. They can add or subtract things from the environment as they move and eventually they will be in Xanadu, Rebma, Paris, or wherever they want.

Walking the pattern unlocked this ability that was latent in their ancestry, although they have never tried it.

Misao will try that.


**************************************************


Ossian turns to Tomat. "My mother here stole this from the Klybesians. Can you help us interpret it?"

The former monk bites his lower lip. "I can try, but it's not my specialty. This is for sea-captains and explorers. Have you ever seen an alchemist's journal? They would take notes in their own code, so that they could translate them but no one else could. In case they were stolen, which used to happen. The only thing that really helped was that some of their experiments produced repeatable results and they could give us the key to the rest of the code."

He leans over the rutter. "It looks like you've identified some of the places already. What else do you know?"

"We think this means 'computers' " Ossian says. "And this is possibly razed facilities." He points to the ruins symbol. "We are speculating on the meaning of these people markers. Any idea about those?

"I am especially interested in finding out if or how their different communication modalities show up here."

"That symbol next to the people should mean that there's someone to watch there, or to watch for."

"Then that's not Abford," says Regenlief. "They didn't have Meg and Ossian there until after I got this. Unless they're predictive."

"You're right. I can't say for sure, but I think that's a symbol for a parent and a child. See how they're connected?"

Regenlief nods. "Could it be Asgard? The Goddess Brita and Lord Reid were there."

Tomat frowns. "How did they know so much? This is from before the war."

"They are greedy for information, but someone must have been feeding them. My grandfather perhaps. Also this guy named Able. Have you met him?"

"I have never met him," Tomat says stolidly.

Regenlief's eyebrows go up. "But you've heard of him as the Turcopolier," she prompts him.

"I know who he is," Tomat says. "But... I have never met him."

It's obvious to Ossian that whatever Tomat knows, it's upsetting to him.

"Sorry to poke around in your past" Ossian says with a soft voice. "But what have you heard about him?"

"I believe," Tomat says, "that Able is either my sire or my grandsire. I do not know him at all. But that was the rumor."

"Oh." Ossian says, surprised. "Welcome to the family. Are there more of his kids around? Given the monks interest in our family, did they do experiments on you? Or your blood?"

Tomat nods. "They drew blood and did some measurements and tests every few months when I was a child. Not so much after I reached adulthood. My fellow students thought I got extra privileges because of my relationship to him. I think--I know--that I was given the opportunity to learn sorcery because of it. But in truth it was more trouble than benefit because they kept a close eye on me. I knew little freedom until I was sent away on assignments."

Ossian nods somberly. "One wonders how they trusted you enough to let you go on assigments. Well, back to the rutter... let's for the moment assume the figures are relatives and the like.

"How many places are there with more than two figures? " Ossian investigates. "How many with two?"

Tomat points them out. "I'm not sure. I think they had... expectations about where I'd fit into their plans, and your family."

There are several with two figures; Tomat suggests they may not all have been added at the same time and they may be more of a warning to expect more opposition in those shadows. But barring time magic those two symbols in what is probably Abford can't mean Meg and Ossian, not if the rutter pre-dates Ossian's birth.

Unless there's time magic involved.

Tomat goes on to add that shadows seem to become more likely to be visited the more they are visited, like a road that becomes easier to travel the more that it is traveled upon, so it could be references to a prior generation. Perhaps Dara and Brand were there.

"In the end, I think the best thing to do is go to someplace we can identify, like Abford or Reme, follow the rutter and see where it takes us."

Ossian nods. "Lets do that. I suggest Abford. Reme was crawling with guards last time we were there. "

Ossian will preferrably bring a copy if the rutter rather than the original, if he thinks it is possible to make a reasonably accurate copy. The copy should just cover chains of places from Abford rather than being copy if the whole rutter (if the monks get a hold of the copy they should not learn everything).

Also, Ossian will arrange for Tomat to get to Rebma.

It will take a couple of days to make the partial copy, which can be done by scribes in Corwin's service. During that time, Regenlief and Ossian can obtain supplies and they can Trump Llewella to send Tomat to Rebma.

How will Ossian return to Abford? Will he walk Shadow, or Trump there?

The Trump is a bit risky, but Ossian is willing to take the risk to win time. To his mother he says. "I did not leave Abford in a very civilized way last time, so there might be a place on my head there."

"What did you do?" Regenlief sounds more amused than concerned.

"Kidnapped two nuns and one honest citizen by ways of evil magick." Ossian says with a grin. "It was sort of an emergency."

Regenlief looks delighted. "You really are my son," she says, not as if she doubted it.

Before going through Ossian will try to peek through the Trump to check if it looks safe.

Ossian has a sketch of the Guild Hall and a sketch of the orphanage, but no full Trump. He can try one or the other. Peeking through the sketch might be possible, but it's reasonably risky. He stands a reasonable chance of destroying the Trump with that use.

Which sketch does Ossian try and does he want to try to view first or just go through?

Ossian considers the risk. These are monks, and he can always shadow walk there if he breaks the sketch, so he will peek through the Guild Hall one.

Ossian touches the trump sketch; this is like touching a person trump, trying to read surface thoughts without making contact. He'd been taught that that was impossible, then found out it wasn't. So too, it seems as if he can touch the surface of the trump and will it into life, as if he was about to go through, and then pause.

But Ossian is also enough of an experts on Trump to feel when the connection is strained, and the strain in this case is on the card. He thinks this might ruin any trump sketch, possibly a sealed trump, and almost certainly this sketch that was already classified in his mind as 'fragile'.

But he has another nearby location trump, so the loss of this one may be worth the gain.

Abford seems pleasant enough, if cold on what looks like an early spring day. The lane in front of the Guildhall has a new wooden sidewalk, to keep people out of the mud. The streets look to be in better shape and cleaner than Ossian remembers them.

The guildhall sign now has a crown over it. That's new as well.

It's a royal guild, which means that Abford once again has Royalty. That's a change.

"No immedeate danger, it seems. " he says to his mother. "Let's go through." He stretches out his hand towards his mother and pulls them both through."

When they get through he puts his arm under hers and starts walking down the street briskly. "Let's pretend we were walking along the street all along." he whispers.

"Abford wasn't ruled by a king or queen before, but now it seems there is one. We should probably look into it."

The Trump sketch crumbles in Ossian's hand as they arrive in Abford. Ossian thinks no one saw them. At least no one is close by just now, and in any case the Shadow can lie for him if he needs it.

Regenlief doesn't walk like a goodwife of Abford. She walks like a demigoddess of war and death. She can't help it. Ossian could tell she wasn't comfortable or happy in Abford-style clothes even before he took her arm. She has a short blade concealed under her skirts.

Perhaps it's a little early in the morning for people to be up and about. A handful of people emerge in the next few minutes, one of whom is clearly some sort of guard. He approaches Ossian and Regenlief, and speaks to Ossian. "I'm Bark of the Royal Guard. May I see your papers, please?" It's phrased as a request but is clearly an order.

Ossian tries to play on their knowledge of Old Norse (although he and Regenlief likely speaks different dialects). He says to his mother "Denna ungersven vill våra papper se. Säg mig något på ditt gamla språk så ser vi vad vi kan göra med det. Låtom oss låtsas att jag översätter."

//This young man wants to see our papers. Tell me something in your old language and we'll see where that leads. Let us pretend that I translate//

Regenlief answers Ossian in what sounds to him like a very archaic version of Old Norse (so maybe Ancient Norse): "The Goddess Brita is from Jotunheim on one side, if I'm not mistaken. My last full-time place of residence was Valhalla." She sounds annoyed; Ossian intuits that the guard can understand her annoyance even though he doesn't seem to comprehend the words.

After she answers he turns to the guard, somewhat pompus. "Oh, youu den should be abble to uss recognize. She is de Ambassodoria of Jotunheimen. We looking at city. In cogni too, youu knouw. "

The guard looks at Ossian, looks at Regenlief, and looks back at Ossian.

"Well of course I must escort you to the palace," he says, discretion seeming the better part of valor to him. "The Queen would have my head if I did anything else."

That's not discretion. That's fear.

Ossian's eyes narrow. He turns to his mother and whispers "This will be risky, but I think we need to see this Queen for ourselves.

"You show us de city?" Ossian asks the guard.

I must escort you to the palace," the guard repeats, adding, "This way, please."

Regenlief looks to Ossian to choose whether or not to follow. They could get out of here, but they'd miss their chance to follow up on the rutter easily.

Somewhat whimsical Ossian grins. "But of coörse. We not want to disappoint de Queen"

So they follow.

The palace is what Ossian suspects used to be the house of the biggest merchant prince in the city. Definitely a palace because it's not properly defensible; not too far away from the town center, either. It's guarded by men in uniform with bayonets and polearms. Regenlief knows what the firearms are and clearly mislikes them.

Inside the palace, Regenlief and Ossian are handed off to a palace functionary with guards of his own, who leaves them sitting in a waiting room, promising he'll return in a few minutes. The furniture is all heavy wood with a lot of decoration; the paintings on the walls are still lifes with food and flowers in various combinations. The servants they've seen in the halls are dressed in dark colors with some whites and off-whites. Everything is tidy and neat. There are guards outside the door waiting for the summons to the Queen.

(Think 17th-18th century Netherlands for style and tech levels.)

After a the aforementioned few minutes, Ossian and Regenlief are summoned to meet the Queen. She's sitting on a wooden throne which is more nicely decorated than the other chairs but similar in style. When Ossian and Regenlief are brought in, she smiles.

"Ossian," she says, "what a pleasant surprise. You'll have to introduce me to your friend."

Ossian recognizes her at once. It's Meg, of course.

Ossian grins and bows. "I should not be surprised finding you here, should I?

"This is Regenlief. More could be said in a less public setting". Turning to his mother he says "I should have figured this out. She's cousin. And a friend, I hope."

Meg looks around at the guards. "This man is known to me and I am safe in his presence. You are all dismissed; I'll call you when I need you."

They all bow and depart, closing the doors behind them.

Once they're safely out of hearing, and Regenlief and Ossian and Meg are alone in the throne room, Meg smiles at Ossian and Regenlief. "So, Regenlief. It's a pleasure to meet you. Are you one of Ossian's and my many cousins?"

Ossian smiles "She's my mother, actually. And a distant relative. We do seem to be slightly inbred...

Regenlief offers Meg a warrior's grip, which Meg accepts with a surprising amount of confidence for a person whom Ossian knew mostly as a housewife. On the other hand, she is now a Queen.

"How did you end up as queen here?

"It wasn't that hard. Huon's departure left things a mess, and it was easy to pick up and take charge once I got back. Someone needed to do it, and nobody else was ready to step up and take responsibility. Well, nobody I wanted to see in charge. How have you been, and what brings you back to Abford?" Meg seems very interested in both Ossian and Regenlief in general, almost hungrily so, and eager to hear Ossian's answer.

Ossian nods, pausing for a moment. "We are looking for the Klybesians. It seems they have been looking for and manipulating our family all over the place.

"This seemed like a good place to start, as we know they have connections with the convent here. I guess the convent is still around? Do they still have Klybesian connections?"

This answer doesn't seem to be quite what she's looking for, at least initially.

"If they have, they haven't told me about it," Meg answers, scowling. "They're still there but they're under sufferance. They don't know how the people who brought us in came to Abford, and I have asked. Nobody still here remembers, and the records are unclear. I've been focused on cleaning up Huon's messes, but if there's something to be learned from the monks and nuns, I can give them my attention."

As she thinks about it, her grin grows. Meg doesn't look much like her father, but she's got that same big, sharp smile.

"We do have an idea of how the people who brought us came here. We have found a map of sorts, which we intend to follow. So we went here as it is a good starting point that we know.

"But if something can be learned from the monks and nuns here that would be great."

As an afterthought Ossian adds "You know them better than I do. Have you heard them talking about icons or holy pictures or something like that?"

That's a better answer, or at least one that Meg likes better.

"Trump cards, you mean? Nothing that would lead to that. I've already asked, but if you think you have some way of eliciting information out of them that I've missed, we can ask them again. Is that how they're getting around in Shadow? Or--no, you said there's a map."

"Well, they seem to use all means there are. The order certainly has Trumps, that doesn't mean they have them here. " Ossian smiles.

"We should also investigate the cellars of the monasteries. The monks seem to like tunnels."

"Yes, let's do that," Meg agrees. She rises from her chair and goes to the door and speaks to the guard at the door. Ossian hears her tell them to bring Mother Humility.

Regenlief is keeping her own counsel, but Ossian can tell even without words that she mislikes something about what's going on.

"What is your suspicion, mother?" Ossian whispers. A number of scenarios are running through his head.

"She's anxious to hear about ways out of Abford," Regenlief mutters quietly.

"Ah. She's probably can't get out by herself. Who wouldn't want to leave when she has once tried."

"Does she have the--" Regenlief starts to ask, but Meg returns and Regenlief falls silent.

"They'll bring her along in a few minutes," Meg tells her visitors. "How did you figure out about the tunnels?" she asks Ossian. "That doesn't seem like somethig you'd pick up by chance."

Ossian grins. "We investigated one of their places quite thoroughly and found a tunnel. Then, at another place I found another one. Since the I have kept my eyes open for them. Not that they are at all Klybesian places."

Meg nods. "So they're in shadows that aren't heavily infested by the monks, then. Ones where they have been, or would like to go, perhaps. Do you know who's making the tunnels? Are they natural, or do you think they were forged by someone who has the Pattern?"

Normally family members have some mild discretion about talking about the Pattern in front of others. Meg apparently assumes that Regenlief is in on the secret.

Regenlief, whether Brennan told her the details or not, is keeping mum and looking like she knows what Meg is talking about. It's likely that she knows enough to put things together anyhow.

Ossian frowns. He is not certain it is a good idea that Regenlief knows all about the Pattern.

"Some of them looked pretty artificial to me. We have indications that family is involved, yes. From the Trumps if nothing else.

"Speaking of family and the monks, what's the word on Huon of late?" Meg's lips thin as she asks this question. Ossian may recall that Huon came through Abford and took Meg's stepsons on the way to his last battle in Rebma.

Before he can answer, though, there's a knock on the door and Meg answers it. "Oh, yes, bring her in." It's Mother Humility. The guards push her in; she's wavery but manages to stand upright. Regenlief moves to hold her up. It looks to Ossian like she's been through a beating, though she's healed enough that it was clearly some time ago.

Mother Humility looks at Ossian and Regenlief, then at Meg. "What does Your Majesty want of me?" she asks, and Ossian has no trouble hearing the implied now.

Ossian frowns. He does not like the look of this.

"Mother Humility." he says and bows his head. "We are interested in what can be found in the basement of your buildings. Please be honest with us. I will check myself anyway."

"The basement of the buildings?" Mother Humility looks genuinely confused, and begins listing off the things she knows were there: storerooms and their contents, generally the normal sorts of things Ossian would have expected from his time in the orphanage. Also things that are normal to Ossian's expectations, specifically including only the sort of technology that Ossian would have expected in Abford.

"No, you silly woman," says Meg. "We mean how the monks came and went."

"I don't know how the monks came and went," Mother Humility says, and she cringes in Regenlief's hold as a reflex. Meg balls up one hand in a fist, but she doesn't hit Mother Humility. "You can send for the priests from other congregations; they'll know about that. I don't. I'm sorry." Mother Humility is looking to Ossian now, though she is keeping aware of Meg.

Ossian nods. He turns to Meg. His voice is gentle, but firm. "There is a difference between being firm and being violent. I'm sure the Mother cooperates as well as she is able to."

Ossian can see the play of emotions across Meg's face. She doesn't like being called out, that's clear. But Ossian has something she wants, so she lets him, and nods.

Turning back to Mother Humility he asks: "When the monks came, did they arrive at the front door or somewhere else?"

"They came through the gate and were announced just like other visitors," Mother Humility says. She, too, has noticed that Meg backed off at Ossian's request.

Behind Mother Humility, Regenlief's face is impassive.

Ossian nods. What does the rutter say about connections to other places. (Ossian did after all examine the Abford entry)

There are three tunnels, each of them leading to a Shadow that Ossian didn't recognize off the top of his head. Regenlief had heard of one of them, but hadn't visited it.

"Which of the other congregations had closest connection to the Monks?"

She names Renady and another couple of cities in Huon's "Renadiatic League", names that Ossian recognizes in passing from his youth. Regenlief shakes her head minutely when Ossian looks at her.

"Sometimes," Mother Humility adds, "the churches in those cities had visits from foreign monks, and those monks came here. Is that who you mean?" Ossian can tell she's not lying and she really hopes this is the right answer.

"No. I'm talking about this Abford. We are pretty sure the Klybesians came here without going via the Renadiatic League. I will, with your permission" he turns to Meg. "personally investigate the cellars of the orphanage. And some other places I guess."

Meg nods. "You have my permission to do so, and if you need troops, please call upon mine. I would like to hear what you learn, so do not leave without returning to me." She smiles, but it seems artificial. "It's good to see someone other than my mother again, Ossian."

Ossian nods "It's good to see you too. Is she keeping you here against your will?"

"Not exactly. She knows I don't have any way to get out. It's a convenient storage place for me where she knows she can find me when she needs me. I need to," this time Meg hesitates and looks at Mother Humility, "master the family gifts so this doesn't happen to me again."

If Meg knows she's meant to ask about the rest of the family, she's forgotten that etiquette as well.

Ossian frowns and nods towards Mother Humility. "The kings might have thing or two to say about that. But I don't like cages."

"I'll let you know when I find anything."

Regenlief volunteers to stay with Meg, probably, Ossian intuits, as insurance for Ossian's return. Possibly also to keep her from punishing Mother Humility again. Meanwhile, Ossian has a chance to refresh himself before visiting the orphanage, at which point he can try to call Random or Corwin.


Once Jerod, Kim, Cordelia, Rowen, and the sack of Chewy potatoes are safely on their way to Xanadu, Martin turns to Vere and says, "Okay, let's do the less fun part of this," and gestures to the courtyard. "Also when we get finished, I have some news you'll want to hear before we head back to Xanadu."

Vere raises an eyebrow. "I do hope that is not as ominous as it sounds," he says quietly, as he gestures for the monks to assemble. He makes certain his back is turned to Martin before opening his third eye and looking the monks over for any signs that any of them are more than normal humans, or have any magical objects on their persons.

"Nothing ominous at all," Martin says. "Might even be good news. I just know you like to think about things."

Vere laughs quietly and nods an acknowledgement of the truth of Martin's statement.

Vere searches the group with his Third Eye and is confident that there are no sorcerers nor any sorcerous implements among this group. While Vere is working on that, Martin contacts Caine and arranges for Caine to have midshipmen ready to take the prisoners to the dungeons.

A few minutes later, when Vere's investigation is complete, Martin and Vere pass the monks through to Amber. Once that's done, they step through to Amber proper, into Caine's office in the Castle, which used to be Gerard's when he was Regent.

"Congratulations, nephews," Caine says. "That's one nest of trouble well wrapped up."

"Although it might be a good idea to send someone to do a thorough search of the complete structure before the Klebesians have a chance to send someone to clean up any clues to other locations," Vere notes.

Caine says, "I agree."

"I'll do that," Martin says, "but I'll see if I can pick up someone to give me a hand when we go back through to Xanadu."

"I could send some Navy men with you," Caine offers.

It seems to Vere that Caine and Martin are playing some sort of high-level game with privileges and information here, for all that both of them are superficially cordial.

Martin shakes his head, once. "Klybesian business should be kept in the family. Thanks for the offer, though." He looks to Vere, to see whether Vere has anything else for Caine, though Vere intuits that Martin is more than ready to bring this discussion to its end.

Vere acts as though the byplay between Caine and Martin was nothing more than the surface words, and nods when Martin looks at him. "It is a relief to have Doctor Chew at last in hand," he says. "I have been active without much rest for a while now, and look forward to a chance to take some ease before my next task is assigned." He smiles slightly as he says this.

Caine looks at the pair of them and seems to decide that discretion is the better part of valor, or in this case, maybe waiting to stab them in the back later. (After all, it is Caine.) "Of course. Enjoy your leisure, nephews."

Martin smiles, and it's probably not intentionally sharklike, but he's like that. "Thank you, Uncle."

Vere nods a farewell to Caine and follows Martin out of his presence. Once they're alone he looks at Martin and raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"Sorry," Martin says once they're out of Caine's immediate earshot. "Most of our uncles don't bother me that way, but for some reason, he gets on my last nerve. You want to go to the library and hear the story?"

They make their way to the library, which is locked up. A naval lieutenant, a young one, stands before it. "Sorry, sirs, the library is off limits by the order of Prince Caine, the Regent."

Martin closes his eyes for a moment--Vere can tell he clearly has had a day--and says, "Lieutenant--" but before he can continue, another officer, this one older and, once Vere gets a look at his shoulders, more senior, hustles up.

"Of course Prince Martin and his guest are permitted in the library, Fledge."

"My guest," Martin says, "is my cousin, Lord Vere of Xanadu, and he's welcome in this library. He served faithfully on the Regency Council during the war and has earned the freedom of the castle and the city."

"Yes, Your Highness," the newcomer, who holds the rank of commander, says, adding, "Your Lordship." He produces a key and the library is opened.

It's been a while since anyone has used it regularly, Vere can tell. Martin frowns at the state of it. Some of the books have been removed and probably forwarded on to Xanadu. It's not terrible, just a bit dusty and not as well cared for as it ought to be.

Vere frowns as well. "The condition of the library does not improve my opinion of Uncle Caine," he says quietly.

Once the door is closed and the Navy men are out of earshot, Martin offers Vere a flask from the inside of his jacket.

"The short version of the news is, you have a brother."

Vere blinks. "A brother?" he repeats. "That is ... most unexpected." He pauses for a moment, considering the news, then asks, "Might I inquire for the longer version?"

"Sure. I just thought I should put the significant information up front," Martin says. The flask remains on offer.

Vere accepts it, lifts a toast to Martin, and takes a healthy swig before returning it.

"I took Lark to pick up the Weir in Gateway for Jerod and took them back to Weirmonken, which is where I picked up Rowen. She's Cambina's sister on her mother's side and, we're pretty sure, also her father's." Martin leaves a moment for that to sink in.

"Ah." Vere nods his understanding.

Martin continues, "On the way back to Xanadu with Rowen and her half-brother Reynart, I was trying to teach her the things she'd need to know. I didn't have a firm confirmation Rowen was Family, but Lark kept telling me she was, and apparently--I haven't told Jerod this yet, so keep it under your hat--Cambina left a letter telling us she was Eric's. Dad seems to have accepted her but he doesn't know that bit either. And I'm only telling you for context for the next part of the story."

Vere tilts his head as he considers this new information about Lark's apparent abilities.

"Which is that Bleys asked me to check in on a ship he'd taken down near Tortuga, and we diverted to make that happen. The ship had slipped through Shadow and came back with some locals from the other side where it had turned up. They were exploring it and got pulled through to Tortuga. One of them was their naval officer in charge of the exploration team. He had their logs.

"Lark told me he was Family so I brought him back to Xanadu. Then it turned out your father knew his home Shadow, and his mother, and that's the somewhat longer version."

Vere nods thoughtfully. "Thank you for the information." He tilts his head once more and adds, "So you were able to get to know him during the trip to Xanadu? Might I ask your opinion of him?" He smiles slightly, "I will, of course, make my own judgments once I have a chance to get to know him, but your impressions would be welcome preliminary information."

"I like him. I think he's a good man, as much as any of us are. If he hadn't proved out to be one of us, I meant to take him in for my own purposes," Martin says. By way of elaboration, he continues, "I think it's obvious I can't be resident full-time in Xanadu for a while, and I promised myself I'd raise my children, when I had them, out of court. Lark enjoyed her time on the Queen Vialle; it occurred to me that Xanadu could use a floating diplomat who could reforge and reinforce Shadow paths. A dozen or two years of that and Lark will be grown. And I'd need a Captain for that."

Vere nods. "An excellent plan, it seems to me. It gives her a childhood of great experience and variety, and keeps her away from the sort of environment that might prove infelicitous to her emotional and intellectual development." He nods once more. "Your opinion of my brother is valuable to me, and I thank you for it. What is his name?"

"Harsh Majumdar. He was a Commander in the Golcondan navy, before." Martin describes Harsh briefly, so Vere will have a good idea of who he is in case they meet unexpectedly.

Vere nods. "Thank you again, for the information. Unless there is some other business you know of that calls my attention, I think this important enough that I return to Xanadu and meet my new brother."

"Good luck," Martin says. "If you get a chance, can you let Dad and Folly know I'm handling cleanup and I'll be back as soon as I can?"

"I shall tell them when I see them," Vere agrees. He nods a farewell to Martin and produces his father's trump. He pauses a moment in case Martin has any last words, before looking at the trump and activating it.


When Ossian is alone, refreshing himself, he pulls out his deck of cards, hesitating between Corwin and Random, but settles for the latter.

"Your Majesty, Ossian here"

Random is sitting, or perhaps lounging on his second-favorite throne. "Ossian, I'm Random everywhere. Or at least I am when I'm anywhere. Do you need a rescue?"

"Not at the moment" Ossian says with a grin. "I'm in Abford investigating Klybesian stuff. Guess who rules there now? Meg. With a slightly changed personality, I'd say.

"Her mother put here there, knowing she can't get out, and she naturally looks for every possible way. I could offer to hand her through to you, if you'd take her, and she agrees to it. "

"Any way we treat her, she is probably quite dangerous. I could bring her along on my hunt, I guess, but don't know if she will turn om me at some point."

"Well, that’s a fun surprise. You probably shouldn’t stay there too long, in case her mother shows back up.

"What do you mean a changed personality? Changed like Dara ate part of her personality? Or changed like 'got disillusioned about her options in Xanadu and decided to retire to being in charge of the shadow where her adopted kids lived' changed?"

"More ruthless, I'd say. She is really keen on getting out of there, so offering her a way out could bring her to our side."

Random nods and looks around, and Ossian gets a glimpse of the throne behind him.

"I think I want her father's opinion on what we should do for her, but I don't see any need to alienate her, except perhaps from her prior bad companions..."

"Ok. As always things might move quickly here. I can always offer to call you for her when I get back to her. I'll try to be quick about my affairs here."

"If she wants to talk to me, that's great. Last time I talked to her, we didn’t know who her parents were. Keep your trumps handy and don’t mess with Dara if you can avoid it.

"We probably need someone to watch that place for us, because if she left Meg there, she'll be back. Whatever happens, this is exactly the kind of thing you should share with your uncle-king when you learn something. Well done, so far."

Random is distracted by someone in the room with him. He puts up a finger, apparently towards Ossian, "I heard that! Yep, if you want to be."

He puts away his pausing finger.

Ossian bows. "Thanks for advice. One more thing. Do we think Dara can track Meg through Shadow?"

Random shrugs. "If she can, it's a trick she knows and we don’t. You probably should ask Merlin. He might know."


After his Trump call with Random, Ossian walks to the orphanage, probably accompanied by a guardsman. When he gets there he will go directly for the cellars, looking for strange doors, hidden or otherwise.

The orphanage is not quite empty, but it's not the swirl of activity that Ossian recalls from his youth. Much of it is shuttered, and there aren't as many children around as there were before.

Either it's falling into disuse, or else Ossian's memory is coloring what he expected to be there.

The guardsman follows him, hulking as unobtrusively as possible.

Ossian is allowed in, but does not recognize any of the sisters. The cellars have a recognizable smell at least. It's familiar but not pleasant. They seem to be used for storage. Storm shutters, broken furniture that might be repairable, spare chairs, and older cookware.

It's depressingly normal. By the time he has finished going through the place, Ossian is certain there are no Klybesian tunnels to the orphanage and that Mother Humility was telling the truth.

Ossian curses. He asks the guard to take him on a quick tour around the city. Are there places where Ossian would place tunnels? Considering geological circumstances etc.

The most likely place in town is the church, which is not on the orphanage grounds, and Ossian quickly establishes that its basement has no tunnels. But thinking carefully about Mother Humility's words, and working with maps of Abford as it is now plus his own tour of the city, Ossian realizes that there are a couple of towns within a day or two of Abford proper that have churches that could be the Klybesian entrance into this shadow.

It would make sense that way, too; the actual arrival of the monks would be in another town. Since Ossian and Meg were secrets rather than prisoners, the Klybesians wouldn't necessarily want them living in whatever facility they had in this shadow. If someone from Amber did note the Klybesian presence, they could destroy the Klybesian facility, leaving Meg and Ossian in place to be retrieved by some member of the Order later.

Ossian ponders this for a few moments. He goes back to the palace, and tells Meg his findings. "Who would know which way the monks came? I would prefer if we could move quickly here."

Meg thinks for a moment. "It makes sense. I can have them arrested at the gates, but they aren't coming through any more. The guards might remember, but it's been a while. And if they're hiding amongst regular travelers, they wouldn't necessarily be obvious. You may need to question Mother Humility."

Ossian frowns. "I wonder if she has anything more to give here, but I'll try.

"Can I talk to her alone in a room? I think that would elicit more and better answers?"

"Of course. You're wilier than I am at this kind of thing." Meg says it like it's a compliment.

Soon enough Meg has arranged for a small private room for Ossian and Mother Humility to speak. It's lavishly decorated and has several chairs. Mother Humility arrives in about the same shape she was in last time. She probably is short food and water as well.

When they shut the door behind her, Mother Humility says, "I will tell you whatever you want, truthfully. I hope you will believe me."

Ossian smiles mildly "I see that you have been treated roughly. I do not approve.

"However, I really need to know where the monks came from. Do you have any idea what other town they came from?"

"I don't really know," Mother Humility says. "They told us they were from the capital, but after your uncle Huon took over all the cities of the League, we tried to find them and no one there had heard of them. We think they have a hidden monastery, perhaps in the mountains, that they use. There are ruins atop many of the mountains, from the days when these lands were tiny kingdoms."

Ossian remembers a few of those from his school days, lessons from Sisters much like Mother Humilty. Mount Security, Mount Independence, Mount Haven. There are a number of them. They were bandit castles in their day.

Ossian nods. "Makes sense, they are a paranoid lot. Thank you for your help, it is valuable."

"You're welcome," Mother Humility says. "I hope the Queen remembers my freely-given aid." Her tone is resigned, though; she clearly doesn't expect Meg to.

"I will try to make her remember. My advice is: stay clear of the monks, if they return. Their end will not be pretty."

Does the rutter give any hint of this?

Between what Mother Humility remembers, what Ossian recalls, and the shadow rutter, Ossian is able to pinpoint a likely candidate for the local outlet of the tunnel network: one of the former bandit castles.

Ossian will go back to Meg and Regenlief. "Mother Humility was most helpful. I think we have a place to investigate. Should we leave, like immedeately?

Regenlief seems eager to go.

Meg thinks it over. "You may go, but I do expect word sent to me on what you find. They are invaders and no friend of this land, this court, or me. I will assign a patrol to accompany you so that you can send messengers when you resolve the matter."

Ossian thinks she may want the matter resolved in a very permanent way.

"And I would appreciate an in-person report, if you do not have to urgently leave."

"You can come with us if you like. I'll take you to Random if you wish.

"Most likely we will have to leave urgently if we find what I think we will find. We cannot give them time to close down at the other end."

"I'll come with you, then. Give me a few minutes to make some arrangements here and we'll head out. I don't want to lose this chance," Meg says.

Meg instructs her people that Ossian and Regenlief are to have anything they ask for in terms of supplies, and anything from the royal armory, except for the special arms, which Meg will ready herself, and she goes off to arrange for whatever she needs to arrange.

Ossian gears up with a sturdy bow and some throwing knives, and provisions.

Regenlief gets a shield, a set of javelins, and keeps her magnificent spear. She seems very happy to be choosing arms.

She also arranges for food and minor traveling gear, enough to make a trip through the wilderness comfortable. Even if she isn't sure they'll be camping, she doesn't want to be caught out without sleeping rolls and tarps.

Meg arrives. "Things will be stable here, so we can depart when you are ready." If Meg is carrying a special weapon, it's not obvious. Her main line of defense seems to be a very sharp kitchen knife.

The way out of town that Meg leads them to deliberately passes by her former shop. She tells a child outside that she'll return when she can, but makes no effort to slow the progress away from Abford.

Ossian remembers these hills as far from the orphanage, although they seem less distant now. They're past the green of summer and the vegetation has taken on a decidedly autumnal wilt.

Meg seems cheerful and seems almost as if she's shed the cares of her position.

Ahead, overlooking the overgrown trail, the first of the abandoned hill forts acts as sentinel for the bandits who once plagued this region.

Meg looks at the fort they are below. "There are five primary forts. Four near the cardinal points and a larger one in the center. The path leads up, steep enough to deter visitors when it was manned. Not steep enough to hold back my forces."

Ossian grins. "So, let's sneak up. I'd say we start with the larger one. I guess it will be hard to get there without being noticed from someone in the fort, if it is manned?"

Meg touches her knife. "If anyone has been foolish enough to occupy this again, they're going to deserve whatever we do to them. Huon let them fester, and it was one more thing I had to clean up when I came back." She squints up at the keep. "If there's anyone up there, they're probably looking for an army, and they're probably not supposed to engage us, so look out for someone running."

Regenlief shifts her spear. Ossian doesn't think the chances of a lone scout are very good, if they get found.

"Are we climbing or going around the front?" Regenlief asks.

"Hm." Ossian says. "I think speed is our strength. Let's rush them."

Meg shrugs. "It's supposed to be deserted. Are you thinking we'll find a coven of Monks here?"

Regenlief grins. "If we're lucky." She straps her spear to her back and leaps up to get a grip on the sheer slope. She's remarkably good at climbing, and she's got a good start on the others.

Meg ties her skirt and begins to make her own ascent.

"Nah. But it is a possibility." Ossian says as he also starts climbing. He climbs fast and keeps watching his surroundings for sign of monkish activity.

Regenlief may be a child of Freyja, but Ossian and Meg descend from Oberon and have amazing reserves of strength and stamina.

Still it is Ossian whose head crests first over the no-longer maintained parapet to look over into the ruined keep. The central keep is a long-burned-out shell. Near the door to it, he sees the remains of a firepit. It's not currently burning, but it looks like it might've recently.

Meg looks in and shrugs, and Regenlief reaches the top as well. She uses the height to scan for dangers, and seems disappointed not to find any.

Ossian examines the firepit and tries to determine how long ago it burned.

It hasn't been snowed upon, which means at the most a few weeks, given the time of year and the mountain's altitude.

Then he says "We are looking for cellars or dungeons or whatever they might have below ground."

Carefully he enters the keep.

"I had it burned," Meg says, looking around with satisfaction. "It just would've attracted more bandits."

It has been burned, which makes it hard to find much that's useful. "If there's a trap door, it'll be under one of these these mounds of ashes," says Regenlief. She starts pounding on the ground every few feet with the butt of her spear.

Ossian nods. "If the fireplace there was used by monks going through there should be traces." He looks around. Does the ashes seem to have been moved around somewhere?

Not in a way that suggests to Ossian that someone has been down in the cellars. There are a lot of ashes, but they're old and they are wet with the snowmelt.

After an exhaustive but exhausting search, Ossian concludes that there may have been an underground chamber but it's as likely to be a cold storage room as a passage to Tyrell. It's hard to tell a collapsed passage from hard-packed dirt.

"We could dig that out..." says Regenlief.

"Or we could head to the main keep in the center. That's a more likely place for a secret passage," says Meg.

They both look to Ossian to decide.

"We'll take the main keep. We can always go back." Ossian says.

The path to the keep would be overgrown in summer, but the winter climate has made it very passable. Walking through the snow, they see few signs of animal life, although birds occasionally pass overhead. This keep has a broken gate, and is still burned, but not as thorougly as the outer fortifications they have just left. Meg seems disappointed.

There are some upper floors here that haven't collapsed, but the main entry is breached as well. Near the gate is what may well be the graves of the last defenders. It seems likely that there could be cellars under this keep.

The kitchens don't seem to have been as completely destroyed. And there are also what look like storerooms, which have been ransacked, but not destroyed completely.

"We search for signs of relatively recent travellers, obviously" Ossian says looking around, trying not to disturb any tracks.

"And for stairs and trap doors leading down."

They both set to work. Regenlief finds several places where she thinks people have camped, but nothing like a permanent base and nothing in the past few weeks, or perhaps since last winter.

Meg looks at the more intact portions of the building. She keeps her butcher's knife in her hand. "There'll be storage near the kitchens. Always is."

[OOC: What does Ossian do? Just supervlse? :) ]

There is a root cellar, or a cold room, as Meg suggested. It's been smashed in and the entrance is full of debris held together by ice.

No-one came through this stairway in a long time.

Ossian frowns. "I will try something. Let me concentrate for a minute."

He brings the Pattern to mind, almost unconciously drawing a copy in the dust on the floor with his rapier. He starts to feel for anything resembling a Shadow path.

Meg watches what Ossian is doing with fascination. Regenlief watches what Meg is doing with some concern.

Ossian can see all that out of the corner of his eye, as it were, but the bulk of his concentration is on the Pattern and the sense he has of it, or from it. It's somewhat like his sense of smell: something deep and essential and, unfortunately, not really sufficiently exercised. He feels that he needs to practice more to get good at doing this ...

... but still, it's enough. He can feel behind one of the walls where a change comes on the nature of reality. Ossian feels that that must be where the Klybesians hid their tunnel.

Ossian releases the Pattern with a sigh and a smile. He points at the wall. "Somewhere over there. Behind the wall. Let us look for a hidden door. And if we don't find it, we break the wall."

Between Regenlief's cleverness and Ossian's sense of where the door should be, and possibly Meg's own sense of reality even without the benefit of Pattern initiation to focus her, the trio manages to find the hidden door. It has a higher-tech number pad lock that Ossian tries to puzzle out, but Regenlief runs out of patience before Ossian can find a solution. She breaks the door, leaving the lock intact, and the way into the tunnel is opened, just as Ossian's rutter suggests.

What is Ossian's next step? Does he have a particular place he wants to go based on the map/rutter? And does he take Meg with him, or try to prevent her from leaving Abford?

Ossian will definitely take Meg with him. Better than leaving her in Dara's grasp. What place does the tunnel lead to? Basically he wants to see which Klybesian place is most in contact with Abford first.

Meg is eager to go, and has her sharp knife at the ready. Regenlief takes the rear post, her spear ready to go over Ossian's head as needed. The path below soon reminds Ossian of the tunnels the Klybesians had that led to Master Reid's corpse, but more hewn and less cut. After some distance walking in the dimly lit underground, the walls turn from stone to baked clay tablets held together by mortar. The tunnels get warmer and the air grows drier. Ossian thinks they are a long way from the coast.

There are occasional bits of sand on the floor as if someone tracked it down here and then didn't clean up. It doesn't look recent, though. After an uneventful walk, Ossian and Meg come to a door with a label on it in Thari.

"Heerat", it says.

The tunnel continues on into the dimness, but doesn’t seem to be a shadow path beyond it.

"Let's investigate. I have heard just a little of this place, from cousins who have been there. Just remember: We do not know the colors of this place. It the Klybesians are still here, how much technology is present. Let us sneak, and not resort to violence unless we have no choice. We do not know the strengths and weaknesses here yet."

He opens the door.

**************************************************


Conner watches Brita and Tricksey leave and decides this would be a good time to check in on those he has not seen in a while. He takes out the Eye and focuses upon Commodore Garlic to see how the Parisians are doing.

The good news is that Commodore Garlic did not get jailed, released, and caught up in the general rioting last night.

The bad news is that the Lorraine seems to be having a heated discussion by megaphone and signal flag with a fast, modern, Coast Gaurd cutter. It has the same logo as the hospital had on it. Depending on how much territorial waters they claim here in Tyrell, it may be that the Lorraine is actually illegally in Tyrellean waters.

Conner hums thoughtfully. Well, fortunately, Conner has a computer system linked to the city and an insane amount of local currency. Conner drops the contact and looks through the computer system to find out who he has to bribe to swiftly obtain a lawful sailing permit for the Lorraine and then arrange a docking berth for his "historical hobby vehicle".

Conner finds that the authority to obtain such is tied up in the bureaucracy of the Holy Order, which means, for all practical purposes, Abel.

The holy office is not available via voice or text channels, and their out-of-office directs Conner to the Mayor of the city. The Mayor's office has no services to engage on behalf of an Animal Crossing tournament millionaire, even if they wanted to.

Conner can find several people who would be willing to "expedite" matters. There's a market for sailing permits, but it's shady. Someone on-line suggests he buy another boat, transfer the permit, and let it be impounded (or stolen).


Conner has remained in Tyrell some few days while straightening out matters with the ship he and Brita arrived on. Unfortunately he has not been able to contact Brita, nor has she reached out to him. While he is certain in his own mind that Brita and Tricksey have reached Xanadu safely, he doesn't have a firm confirmation on that point.

So when Conner feels the touch of a Trump on his mind, he is ready to answer it.

It is Merlin, and he's dressed in sort of pirate-y garb, perhaps belonging to some port-oriented Shadow. His garb is soaked through, and Merlin isn't bothering to hide how uncomfortable he is with it in the connection. "Cousin," he says, "I have some news of things in Rebma for you. Do you have time to speak with me for a few minutes?"

"Of course, Merlin." Conner answers. For his part, Conner is more casually dressed than Merlin has ever seen him. He is wearing a t-shirt advertising something called Tsingtao beer. "I have been waiting for a Trump from Brita but that is not time pressing."

Merlin does not seem to take note of Conner's clothing.

"I have not seen her of late, but if I speak with her, I will pass the message onwards," Merlin says politely. "I am in a Shadow called the Pearl Islands with Celina and Delta. Some things have happened here that you should know about; not bad news, in fact, good if somewhat dangerous. But first, do you have any important news to pass on yourself?"

Conner smiles. "Quite a bit. The short version is that we have met two new cousins. One, named Tricksey, appears to be a vigilante looking out for her people against an uncaring city government. The other is named Abel and the martial leader of the Klybesian Order which happens to be the the previously mentioned uncaring government. Abel claims that Brother Hannibal aka Dr. Chew was acting against orders and they we were free to pursue revenge against him and warned us to leave the rest of the Order alone. Brita brought Tricksey to Xanadu to present her to the King and report what we learned."

Conner pauses. "I spoke with her just before you called and apparently Hannibal has already been caught and brought to Xanadu. That became the focus of everyone's attention so we cut the call."

"That is good news indeed," Merlin says, sounding very pleased "I will pass that onward to Celina and Llewella. Here we have two new cousins save Delta, whom you know, and her grandmother Coral. It turns out that Coral, under another name, was the daughter of Mera, who was the half-sister of Llewella and Moire through Moins.

"Celina and I were seeking the Heart of the Deep. We have learned that the Heart was broken into two pieces. Coral had one and it has returned to Rebma in Delta's hands. I have warned her to be careful about touching it."

Conner takes that in. "I think I have missed some information. What is the Heart of the Deep?" he asks.

"Apparently that is the name of the Rebman sapphire," Merlin explains.

Conner nods as Merlin confirms his suspicions. "Did you examine the half we have? Why the warning about touching it?"

"Not closely," Merlin says. "I am somewhat concerned about the problem of sorcerously examining it if it is like the Jewel of Judgement. And I based my advice on what my father said about the Jewel of Judgement. In fact I should have been broader and told her not to wear it." He frowns, concern leaking into the contact.

"That is an understandable concern but one we may have to risk in time." Conner comments. "If you wanted a focus to find its other half by sympathy, I can't think of anything better."

"Indeed," Merlin agrees. "It will either go very well or very badly. But I think the attempt is worthwhile. When you finish your current work, will you join me and work with me to track the other half of the Jewel down?"

"Absolutely." Conner agrees. "Things here are winding down I think. The monks know we know of this place so I suspect nothing of import will happen here for awhile. They cannot abandon it though. It seems to be a nexus point of many shadow routes. The shadow is also fragile. It has been shaped by those with power many times and not gently. I feel I should do something about that but fear the whole thing will collapse like a house of cards."

"In your shoes, I would seek advice from my father or King Random before making such an attempt," Merlin offers. "I do not have the knowledge or skill to attempt the kind of maintenance a severely damaged Shadow would require. But I have a question. Does the damage seem as though it has been inflicted by abuse of the Pattern or by Sorcery? Or can you tell?"

"The damage appears to have been caused by Shadowpaths being laid down without much concern to the ultimate integrity of the shadow." Conner replies. "Making Shadowpaths is a skill I associate with Pattern. Can Shadowpaths be made with Sorcery?"

Merlin says, even more seriously than usual, "That is how the Black Road was made. In part, anyhow."

Conner frowns at that. "Well then, I shall be sure to look at the situation here with my Third Eye open." Conner asks a few more questions of Merlin to get an idea of what to look for, bids him farewell and ends the call.


It's getting early in the morning when he arrives back at the compound.

Fletcher has a feeling that someone has been here.

Fletcher checks the cave area to verify that whoever has been there is there no longer and that no ugly surprises have been left behind. Satisfied, he begins the process of assessing the time of the shadow path's movements, finally selecting the safest and stablest destination that seems to be available. He watches for any variations from his last visit. The existence of the shadowpath is not the problem. Its movements seem to be causing the most damage to the fabric of the worlds. He readies himself to anchor the path in place. The fixed end in the cave is probably the strongest point, and although the transition through the path can be quick, he knows that he will be moving through shadows rather than teleporting from one world to the next. He envisions the existing shadow path as a hose, which one end free to move. With a real hose he would be tempted to grab for the loose end and force it into the place he has chosen. These things have their own version of moment though, and the shadow stuff in the vicinity has been damaged. He works out a plan to reinforce the solidity of the cave by moving around the cave while drawing the power of the Pattern through himself, slightly altering the shape of things toward a stabler configuration. With the 'strong end' reinforced, he then moves slowly through the passage, continuing and repeating the process, solidifying the shadow path in position, and calming the whiplash effect as he goes until finally he can anchor the connection to the destination point he chose. This will take time and a strong but delicate touch.

After that, the rough plan is to rest and then spend time working on stabilizing the old destination points. Depending on the situation we may have to reconnect them as branches along the path if he can't just seal them off. An alternative he keeps as a fall back to fix the destination point of the path and then extend it through each of the effect shadows, creating a suture that helps hold things in place.

The path needed the solidifying action to make it work and Fletcher feels the path becoming more real, like the cave was. Reinforcement closes off possibilities, and Fletcher feels the path is shedding options and becoming more real as he works his way through the cave. A stalagtite there, a pool reflecting upwards there, the dripping sound of water, and all the while his will making it so that the place is connected to that place.

Fletcher re-writes the shadow path, making it a single thing.

When he is finished, he knows it, because the path no longer seems to have an element of probability; it is simply a path between a cave and a different cave.

The air is much cleaner here. It will probably eventually become more tainted like Tyrell was.

This cave is shallow, and the atmosphere is thinner, but there is also a path here. It leads into a shallow cave with a stone propped against the opening, like a door.

Eyeing the cave entrance, Fletchers figures that having a door is a useful thing to have if you want to limit the spread of air pollution. He needs to rest, but presented with a door, how can he resist opening it? Fletcher approaches it and goes about trying to move the stone to see what's on the other side at least. He hopes there aren't funeral mourners on the other side because this is how religions and legends get started.

With effort worthy of a Prince of Amber, Fletcher moves the stone aside. He sees no potential mourners or future members of his putative mysteree cult.

There is a path from the cave entrance down a mountain to a seaport. Near the entrance is a cairn of stones.

Based on what he sees on the ground, Fletcher believes someone has been here since the last time it rained, but not since the dew last fell.

Looking around at the cairn and other mountainous surroundings, Fletcher is happy to find himself bereft of cultists, and somewhat less enthusiastic about the walk to the seaport. He sighs and applies himself to pushing the stone back into its place. He then sets out on the path to the seaport, and starts thinking Positive Pattern Throughs(TM) about the probability of finding a restaurant or inn. He wants to at least know what this shadow is called and get an idea of how well they might interact with in addition to a good meal and at least a nap before he sets out through shadows to inspect the areas that had previously been connected to the whiplashing shadow path to see what other corrective measures, if any, need to be taken. After that, he supposes, he should go back to Tyrell and call Conner or Tricksey or Brita if they’re still there. He passes the time pondering the idea of looking up Joanna, the helpful nurse from the pyramid.

The stone rocks into place and seems well-set. Looking at it, Fletcher thinks that it was chosen to be difficult if not impossible to move from the inside when sealed. Somebody didn't want just anyone coming through.

It's a long, boring walk down the mountain, but it does look like there's enough ship traffic at the end of the route that he'll have a good chance at a meal and some conversation. The forest is reasonably rugged and, as far as Fletcher can tell, the cave is the only destination.

A few times Fletcher thinks he may have been spotted, but finds nothing but animals when he looks more closely.

There is an inn near the docks, and people seem surprised to see anyone coming down from the forest trail, but otherwise take no special notice of Fletcher. The people of this shadow are varied, but mostly look human. Some few might be mistaken for giant raccoon dogs in hats and coats, but they could also be hairy people who just happen to look like animals.

The Innkeeper seems human enough. He bows and directs him to the common room and offers food and drink. Fletcher finds out the shadow is named Hikariguni and the village is named Biei-cho.

As expected, the food is mostly fish, and it seems very fresh, although plainly prepared.

There's a man also having the fish stew, in the common room. "Hello, stranger. Did your ship just arrive?"

Fletcher smiles. "No, I was hiking cross-country. It's good to find a comfortable place to stay the night. Do you get many ships here?"

"A fair number. Biei-cho is the last year round port before the ice is too dangerous for ships. Most people are a little wary of walking through the forest, because some of the yokai have bad tempers.

"Are you looking for a ship to leave here, then? I can help you. I'm a cargo-broker, but most of the captains will let me place a passenger as well.

"My name is Chi-Lin."

Fletcher shrugs. "I don't know yet if I need to take a ship or not. I was planning on walking back the way I came, or maybe along the coast. I didn't see anything in the forest. What sort of yokai are there usually? I wonder if I was just lucky or they were all asleep or something. Are there towns north of here then?"

The man nods in acknowledgement, even though he doesn't seem to agree per se. "There aren't any of what we'd call towns. Trapper's stations, fishing villages. This is the Northernmost port that gets any serious traffic.

"The yokai of the forest are skilled in being unseen, but rest assured that they saw you. When they do not wish to be seen, they will not be seen. You probably seem like a man who is too assured and dangerous to interfere with." He picks up the tea pot and offers to top off Fletcher's mug.

Fletcher accepts the tea and extends his hand to shake Chi-Lin's hand. "I'm Fletcher. Do people ever interact with these yokai? How much of the land do they consider their own?" Fletcher wonders if there is some yokai he should be warning about the shadow path.

Chi-Lin looks at the hand for a second, as if he is remembering a custom that he has not used in many years. He reaches out and confidently shakes Fletcher's hand once he figures that out.

"The yokai are respected citizens and subjects of their liege lady," he says, "and it is foreigners like myself and you who are unusual. This is the yokai's realm, sir. Even so, there are many humans here. Most drifted in from other places. Some could not leave, some chose not to."

Fletcher's eyebrows raise in enlightenment. "Ah, I see. Is their leige lady a recognized person of importance in the town as well as the lands around it? Does she hold court for her subjects and such? I must admit I'm not familiar with these yokai and their ways. I'd like to learn more before I accidentally give offense." Fletcher says, realizing he should probably give the yokai at least a heads-up about the shadow path.

"The Lady Kimiko is the serene immortal queen of these lands and rules from her palace far to the south." He coughs. "I am a foreigner here, and I know it has a name, but most just call it the Capital or the Palace. I call it a place to stay away from if you don't want to pay taxes.

"Or if you don't trust that immortality and serenity can exist without friction."

Fletcher gets the impression that Chi-Lin is generally somewhat wary of authority figures.

Fletcher asserts, “You make it sound far enough away that I wouldn’t stumble across it by accident.” He pauses a moment and then asks, “How big is the land that this capital controls?” Fletcher is trying get a feel for the size of this place and determine how far out of his planned way the capital might take him. He knows people are waiting to hear from him in Tyrell, but this could be something people in Tyrell need to know about.

"It is far by the ways of these isles, but no more than 3 days sail. The yokai and the archipelagic nature of the land make it a longer walk. It is a fine city, but there are places..."

He stops. "The seas near this land are wilder and lead to places both mundane and fantastical." He waves at the walls, painted with gentle forest scenes. "There are places where the simple yokai of the forest are considered mythical and dangerous spirits.

"Where are you from, Fletcher?"

Fletcher looks away into the distance for a moment. He turns back to face Chi-Lin once more. "I was born in a place called Amber, far away from here and it was probably as fantastic to you as the lands of the yokai are to me. Ships from Amber may even have visited here once upon a time, when the merchants of Amber and the Knights of the Compass sailed a double-dozen seas. I found myself traveling here as part of an effort to save a doomed world, and I may have succeeded. But the result is now a cave in the hills that leads to a new place, and now I would warn whoever I can not to tamper with it."

"The Shamaness Queen Kimiko rules from her Palace in the south and is sovereign of all these lands. Her sometime consort is a Prince of Amber, or so they say. She is the only power of note in these islands, and she works hard to keep it that way. They say she came here fleeing the Great Rebellion of Wa, but that was before I came here."

He looks at Fletcher, appeasingly. "I wondered if you were from Amber, Fletcher, since this is a hard place to find and a harder place to leave. I have been to your great city. I have seen the inside of her prisons, and I hope never to return, or to involve myself further in Amber's affairs."

Fletcher sighs. "I can't blame you for wanting to lead a quiet life. But tell me... Amber has many famous princes. What do they say about the Shamaness Queen's consort? Does he have a name you’d heard of in Amber? Is he likely to be there if I feel obliged to go and tell the the Shamans Queen about the cave?"

Chi-Lin shakes his head. "They give him a name in their debased version of Thari. It means something like Bringer of Enlightenment.

"She may already know of the cave, but not your recent visit to it. There were rumors that she was on this island last month."

He sits back. "They could be no more than rumors, of course, but she knows her lands well."

Fletcher leans back in his chair. 'Bleys?' he thinks. Aloud he continues, "So I suppose she will quickly become aware of the change in the cave. Perhaps I should try to tell her about it before she discovers it on her own." Fletcher does not not look enthusiastic, but does seem willing. He awaits a response from Chi-Lin while idly pondering why the impressions Bleys must leave in Shadow would help him find the queen in question.

Chi-Lin nods slowly, neither seemingly agreeing or disagreeing. "As a foreigner, you could appear at her court and bring the matter to her attention, of course. If you wish to leave quickly and discreetly, you may choose to send a letter. I could see that it was delivered."

Fletcher thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. "No, I think I should tell her myself. I feel responsible and she may have questions. Besides, I think I should look her in the eye and give her a chance to do the same. From what you said it'll be faster going by sea. I'll need to find a ship. Any suggestions?"

"Two, both ships I know with skilled captains. The Lion of The Merciful One is a packet ship that will leave on the tide before midnight. However more suitable accommodations could be had on The Island of Apples, which sails a day from now."

He looks at the harbor. "Shall I arrange passage? Do you have funds for your journey?"

"I can raise the funds before sailing if you can tell me about how much I should expect to need." Fletcher thinks for a moment. "I suppose I should get this done. If there's room on the packet ship, I'll take it."

"If you don't have money, I can arrange it. I am a merchant factor for this region. It would be about 10 ounces of gold. 20 Kobun, in local coinage.

"The captain of The Asad is Odamamar and you can give her my token for passage." Chi-Lin puts a disk of silver on the table next to his own beverage. The token has a square hole in the middle of it, and writing in a language that is not Thari, but isn't the local writing either.

Fletcher thinks he's waiting for payment.

Fletcher stands and starts pacing back and forth a bit for a minute or two while he fishes through his coat pockets for his coin wallet. He's always accumulating coins wherever he goes and some of them are probably gold. He pulls out the coin pouch and fishes through it for the right amount. He comes up with a number of coins, turns, and offers it to Chi-Lin. "Will this do?" he asks.

Chi-Lin looks briefly at the coins, and smiles. He summons a waiter, using a local dialect that isn't thari, and a boy comes out with a shallow dish on a tray. Chi-Lin places the coins into the bath and watches them. "Strictly a formality, you understand."

After a moment, "That will do nicely." He passes the token to Fletcher.

Fletcher thanks him and buys him another drink before heading out to acquire a few traveling necessities before taking ship.

Chi-Lin enjoys his drink and thanks Fletcher in return and watches as he heads into the port's small trading area. A few merchants, alerted to the presence of a potential customer, look hopefully out from their stalls and shops.

Fletcher finds a reasonable assortment of exotic but serviceable travel necessities. Soap, a razor, native style clothing are all available.

The captain of the Asad, Odamamar, welcomes him, and has a sailor show him to what can only be described as a stateroom by virtue of having a curtain between it and the galley. The top bunk is taken, by a man with a beard. He is snoring lightly.

The ship sails on the tide, and the trip is mostly uneventful. The ship goes on alert at the sight of some sort of monstrous creature, but the Captain insists that they have paid their protection and will be allowed to pass.

Still, it keeps the crew on alert most of the night. Some of them are keeping weapons close at hand. As if they'd be able to fight such a giant creature.

Fletcher ponders what exactly fighting a creature of the magnitude in its native environment would be like, and is glad that it is not strictly necessary. He does inquire of the captain about the nature of 'paying protection', as Fletcher is a new to these parts and isn't up to speed on the local customs.

The captain shrugs. She says, "There are temples and shrines which take donations to pray for the safety of sailors at sea. They are run by the lowest of the Ayakashi, who claim to be able to pray away the Ikuchi who might be inclined to attack a ship at night.

"Personally, I think these heathens are in league with the monsters and running a protection racket, but I'd rather be alive than proven right." "That's very practical," Fletcher remarks. "If I'd known before the trip I'd have looked for a shrine myself. Are they easy to find?"

"They're in the ports. In the Sailor's Shrines, if the port is big enough. In the town shrine otherwise." She shrugs. "I haven't met a place where there's not some graft, and this is at least honest. They do keep the Ikuchi away."

"Are Ayakashi always so business-like? I'd heard there could be difficulties and was told I was lucky."

The captain snorts. "It depends on where you meet them. In an alleyway or on a country road, they can be. In town, they don't like to be run out of town. They're good judges of just how far they can press matters. Try not to allow them deniability, they feed upon it."

"I can just imagine. Are they really motivated by money though?" Fletcher asks. Reflecting a moment he quickly adds, "For all of their differences I don't know whether to be saddened or reassured that money always makes the world move."

"Money is a way of keeping score, but only to the Ayakashi. I don't know why the Ikuchi do what the Ayakashi tell them to do. To be honest, I don't know that the Ikuchi do what the Ayakashi tell them to do. It could all be an elaborate scam."

She looks at the deck and at the distant creatures. "It's like insurance, except possibly more like blackmail. I'd rather pay than risk the consequences."

The Captain gives a few quick orders and then returns to talking to Fletcher. "It's a lot like paying Amber for passage except the excisemen are both the Ayakashi and the Ikuchi.

Fletcher looks surprised. "I didn't know Amber was charging for passage this far out. Have you seen an excise man lately?" Fletcher really is surprised and wonders if this is old information or some remnant of Amber's trade empire remains in Shadow.

The captain shakes her head. "I'm out here because I don't want to see an Amber excise cutter coming at my ship, full of smiling men with lists of duties to be paid. So far, it's been working. It's been a long time since I sailed from the Land of Peace towards the Pearl of Cities.

"We trade in these hinterlands, with the occasional trip towards more well known ports, looking for something to make our fortunes on. If we don't find it soon, we'll move on. We know of old paths."

Fletcher looks doubtful. "Are the old paths still open these days? I'd noticed some differences of late." Fletcher finds himself unsure how to approach the topic of shadow paths with someone who seems like a good captain but who is looking to avoid 'Amber.' "I've heard stories of war and disaster on old paths."

She shrugs. "I guess I won't know until I have the need to try them. Either from desperation or an excess of riches." She turns her head to survey her ship. "To date, neither of those extremes has come to pass."

She doesn't seem overly worried about not getting back. From the looks of things, most of her crew isn't from the same place as each other, much less the shadow she mentioned as her home.

Some people don't want to stop roving.

Fletcher makes a note to check on other shadow paths in the area later, content himself with taking in the sight and sounds of the sea as they voyage on toward his destination.

The voyage is not eventful, but the pleasure of sailing on a fast ship in decent weather is one Fletcher hasn't had an opportunity to indulge in for some time. They pass several smaller towns and increasing ship traffic as they come to the main towns of the region. Fletcher has sailed on a courier vessel, so they do not call at any of the ports before they arrive at the Capital, called by most just 'Capital'.

The captain manouevers the ship against a long wooden wharf. They are not by any means alone in the port, but no other ships are arriving or departing at the moment. Some are loading and unloading, and the docks are a busy place.

The captain introduces Fletcher to the postmaster. He wants to know Fletcher's business in Hikariguni.

Fletcher stands a little straighter and announces, "I actually have news that I need to bring up bring before the Queen's court. Could you please direct me?"

The postmaster nods. "The main avenue leads to a central square with a fountain, from the square to the northwest the Royal Way goes to the palace." He pauses, slightly. "You may wish to stop at any of the marketplace shops and purchase suitable clothing. The servants of Her Sublime Majesty would be more receptive."

The port-pilot smiles. "I have a cousin, a barber in town. He will get you shaved and looking less rough. Would you like me to introduce you?"

The postmaster frowns a bit, but doesn't speak up.

Fletcher looks down at his outfit, as if he's just noticed that he's been in the wilderness and aboard a sailing ship for days. "I suppose the old suit does at least need a good steam-pressing. I'll look into those shops you mentioned. I think I'll find a place to get some food and a bath first though." To the port-pilot, "If you give me the name of your cousin I'll look him up afterward." Fletcher thanks the pair of them and offers a gratuity if one seems contextually appropriate. Then he heads off to see about getting presentable for court.

"Zhang the Barber, ask for him in the market." The pilot smiles.

"Begone," says the port official, and the pilot bows and disembarks. "Zhang the barber. Remember!"

"I apologize for his mercenary behavior. It is not necessary to encourage such men, they encourage themselves. The clerks in my office can give you more unbiased recommendations, or you can simply discover things in the market yourself, if you're so inclined."

The official will give directions to the port office and any other destination Fletcher has in mind.

Fletcher's plan is a quick stroll through the market, replacing various sundries and getting a feel for the area, and definitely a bathhouse and laundry though he supposes some of his clothes might not be all that dirty or at least will probably come clean without too much effort. He's still conscious of the need to get back to Tyrell but wants to get do this side-trip properly.

Judicious application of the pattern does repair the flaws in Fletcher's outfit and even finds a pocket which almost certainly contains adequate local currency.

Fletcher wanders the square, which seems typical. Stalls of merchants with goods that suit sailors and travelers and people who are in the business of transporting goods long distances for profits. He has any number of chances to buy small toiletries or souvenirs or even entire ships and crews.

There are shrines, including one that might be to the sea monsters he saw at a distance.

The palace is obvious; it dominates the city even more than Amber dominates the city below her.

Following his walk and cleanup efforts (with or without a trip to a barber, a tailor, or a haberdasher), Fletcher is ready to approach to palace.

There are obvious ceremonial guards at the obvious ceremonial gate.

Fletcher stops a respectful distance from the guards, draws himself up to his full height and makes himself know to them. "Greetings guardians. I am Sir Fletcher of Amber. I brings news for your sovereign."

He awaits their response.

They nod. "Come with me, Sir Fletcher of Amber."

Not far inside the door they meet a being that looks like a four-foot tall version of the sea monsters Fletcher saw at a distance. They are wearing a robe and seem to be responsible for the temple/palace/castle.

"Her Serenity has returned from a long trip and is not to be disturbed. What news do you bring, Sir Fletcher of Amber?"

Fletcher decides insisting on seeing the queen is probably the wrong tack to take, and decides to go for the 'OK, this is definitely over my pay grade," reaction. "There was until very recently an instability in the fabric of worlds near this one that might have resulted in the collapse of one or more worlds. I have prevented this probability from coming to pass and the result is a new connection between this world and another one through a cave in a remote area. This step was necessary to save many thousands of lives and prevent a possible chain reaction. If the cave comes to her attention she should know it is not an attempt at invasion and that it was not created by the people of the world at the end of the connection. Please inform her Serenity of this when she is recovered from her travels."

"A... cave, you say?" They seem concerned. "Sir Fletcher of Amber, will you wait here? I will inform her Serenity."

The sea monster squishes off into the palace at what seems to be a high rate of speed for a creature who by all rights should either be in the water or more likely shouldn't exist.

The guards near the door do their best to become more presentable.

Within ten minutes the functionary squelches back in. "Her Serenity will see you. Please follow me."

They lead Fletcher to a throne room. It is mostly empty, with decorations along the walls and some small tables near the back.

The functionary bows. "Sir Fletcher of Amber," they say loudly, announcing him to her Serenity.

She is beautiful and doesn't look like she has just returned from a tiring journey. She is immaculately made up and dressed in a robe and her hair is tucked into her crown. She seems to be waiting for Fletcher to say something.

Fletcher bows deeply. "Your Serenity, thank you for choosing to see me. I sailed here from Biei-cho to brings news of a change in how this world is connected to worlds beyond this one." He pauses, awaiting acknowledgement, trying to gauge how much background he is going to need to explain.


As the suddenly appearing diplomatic council just as suddenly starts to break up and clear out, Signy falls into step beside The Shield and walks with him for a few steps to get some distance from the rest of the group before her pace slows.

"How long has it been for you since we met that morning? Time moves differently for us all through Shadow, and it hasn't been that long for me."

She gives a wry grin at the last.

The Shield nods back. "It's good that you came. It's hard for us to tell, subjectively when we are traveling through shadow-places. In addition to the shadow path changing the time ratio of every shadow you travel through, our personal talents affect time.

"So if I had travelled directly here at a steady pace and the time differential had shifted in a smooth pattern and we hadn't done any shifting of our own, and the length of a day in shadow is constant, then I might be able to integrate a formula to tell me how much time was under the curve."

He pauses again. "In the end, the math is not hard, just large.

"Have you make any attempts to investigate my token?"

Signy smiles. "I've looked at it some, it's truly a marvel. I couldn't figure out much of how it was crafted with the time I had, but one thing I was hoping was that there were some craftspeople that were capable of crafting something like this that were here."

She pauses, looking again at the token that she took out of her pouch and slowly rotating the coin around, marvelling at the work that went into such a thing.

"Please tell me that this is not something that your craftsfolk consider a toy or trinket to be made by any novice apprentice."

"I know of only a handful of smiths who could craft such a thing, and a handful more who could if they were taught. It is a token of the attention, care, and skill of the craftsperson.

"While we have our loyalties, the craft is a different bond altogether. Colleagues are few and far between.

"These take some time to make, and have no value or utility. Do you know why we make them?"

This sounds like something Signy's father might've said.

Signy's lips quirk briefly in a smile.

"Because if you are not capable of crafting something like this just for the joy of the making, then you are not a craftsman you are a laborer. Or so I've been told....."

She gives him a penetrating look. "Does that mean that you were involved in the making of this?"

"You sound like your father. I don't want to worry about labor versus craft versus art, but I appreciate the joy of doing complex work with a difficult to master craft.

"If you've devoted enough of your life to master the skill, then it should be a joy to exercise that skill. It shows in the work. It shows in the love of the challenge.

"Even this one is not all I would wish it, of course. Knowing what the materials and skills you bring to a project can and can't achieve and working to surpass yourself is key to growing."

He picks up the trinket and spins it between his finger and thumb.

"The next one will have a more subtle magic upon it."

He smiles. "Tell me of your craft."

If the knowledge that The Shield knows of her relationship to Wayland, or has enough familiarity with him to draw that comparison, surprises Signy she doesn't give any outward sign.

"My craft," she says with a hint of regret in her voice, "has not had much chance to grow since leaving. I have had a chance to see things that had been barely hinted at at his forge, but so far I seem to be more caught up in all of the events and not had time to do more than set up a smithy of my own."

She gives him an appraising gaze. "Who were you apprenticed to, that helped teach you craft capable of making that."

"In the traditional cycle of appentice, journeyman, and master, it's necessary for growth to go out on your own before you know enough to be a master of the craft. It's a phase of applying what you've learned without the master to correct your errors.

"I envy you your tutelage. I learned from many smiths, but it was long after your father stopped accepting apprentices. My first real master was Tubal, and after him the sons of Ivaldi the dwarf."

Those are names of smiths her father feuded with. In some ways, fame in smithing circles could be measrured by how much Weyland wanted to pick fights with a competitor.

The trinket spins in his fingers, a soft blue glow coming from somewhere inside it.

Signy manages to avoid the temptation to drop the conversation in favor of just watching the spinning coin and trying to puzzle out just how it was put together.

"Ah. My father would no doubt be very impressed that you would have been able to learn anything at all with them for your teachers," she notes, the bone-dry tone and twitch of a smile showing exactly how much stock she placed in her father's assessment of their skill. "Though he didn't seem to have any concerns about the skills of Caric or Levon when they came calling.

"Did you ever get to meet my father?" she asks, turning her gaze away from the coin and to the Shield directly.

He shakes his head. "Not yet, although I have heard legends and lessons from my teachers. One of the outcomes of a peace would be my ability to freely travel to learn more of my profession."

"Do you mix magics with metal when you craft?"

The trinket spins to a stop. It's got a residual glow that Signy can't quite find the source of.

Signy sighs ruefully and rubs briefly at the back of her head.

"The crafting was good work," she says, quiet pride in that piece evident in her voice, "but the use of magics wasn't a success. I have some thoughts about what I should try next, and think maybe part of the problem was that my intent in that space was not as focused as it needed to be."

She sighs again.

"Perhaps after I'm finished here, I can get back to my forge for some time, to try and put into practice the lessons that I've hopefully learned."

She looks again at the coin. "Have you been able to craft other things? Even if you haven't had a chance to find additional masters to work under the coin itself is an amazing testament to what you can already do."

The Shield nods, "Thank you. If we have time to get away from this place, I can show you some of my techniques. I have crafted a few major pieces, but mostly using small, practical magics. I am not the maker of swords of legend."

He takes a deep breath. "You may keep the coin, if you wish. To study. Perhaps someday you will give me your coin."

Signy gives a genuine smile as she accepts the coin back. "I think that would be an excellent exchange, and hopefully you'll be able to come visit the forge in Rebma where I'll make it to accept."

Her face shifts as she focuses a more serious look at The Shield. "We've moved from a the coin as a token of returning to a token of a more equal exchange between the two of us. How would we go from exchanging tokens between Xanadu and the Moonriders to something in a more similar vein?"

He sighs. "I'd rather talk about Rebma, and how you smith with water to steal the currents of heat. But here's my take. The biggest sticking point is our Queen. We have sworn oaths to obey, protect, and serve her. Everything in our conflict derives from that.

"But she's not herself, and hasn't been for a long time. But it's a fine needle to thread between those who want to follow the letter of her orders and those who want to interpret their oath as being to work for the good of the kingdom, not the Queen. There are many of us who are troubled by the reports of her actions against your King.

"She doesn't have a history of being forgiving of what she sees as betrayal."

Signy gives a sympathetic smile, but doesn't immediately jump to change the topic.

"What happened to the Queen," she asks, tentatively.

"I remember my first trip to Rebma. We were descending the stairs, and it was a long trek. My companions and I found a cave that seemed like a good place to spend the night, and it had a rocky outcropping that looked vaguely like a person sitting on a throne or chair."

Her voice becomes somewhat dreamy as she goes back to that time.

"We took watches, and when it was my turn to sleep I feel like I woke, but must have been dreaming. The rock outcropping had turned into a woman with red hair floating around her head, and she was looking elsewhere and seemed to take no notice of me. I tried to get her attention, when it started to feel like the cave was going to collapse all around mSigny gives a sympathetic smile, but doesn't immediately jump to change the topic.

"What happened to the Queen," she asks, tentatively.

"I remember my first trip to Rebma. We were descending the stairs, and it was a long trek. My companions and I found a cave that seemed like a good place to spend the night, and it had a rocky outcropping that looked vaguely like a person sitting on a throne or chair."

Her voice becomes somewhat dreamy as she goes back to that time.

"We took watches, and when it was my turn to sleep I feel like I woke, but must have been dreaming. When I woke, I couldn't see my two travelling companions, and the rock outcropping had turned into a woman with red hair floating around her head, and she was looking elsewhere and seemed to take no notice of me. I tried to get her attention, when it started to feel like the cave was going to collapse all around me, and I suddenly awoke to the real cave and my companions."

She shakes her head briefly to clear the reverie.

"Was that your Queen?"

"Mayhap. Or a projection of hers into your your dream. But the Land Beneath the Waves has its own dark history and the magics and reflections of magic in that part of the great circle are not to be underestimated. What you saw could have nothing to do with my Queen.

"She tried to keep The Fall from happening, and it broke something in her instead."

Signy gives an interested look. "I know something of the stories of Tir and of Rebma, but not as much about the rest of the Circle. Amber is there, but what other kingdoms made up the circle?"

"Long ago, Paris was there, but it was utterly destroyed. Or so they say. Maybe it's a myth." He shrugs.

"It's all shifted, since the Black Road War. I really don't know what's along it, although I've travelled on it."

"There is air, and fire, water, earth. Plus, maybe, spirit or soul." Somehow, Signy's voice manages to take on an air of a booming baritone. "As with so many things, this is both Truth and a gross oversimplification."

She sighs.

"I never even knew of Amber, much less all the rest, but I wonder. Rebma is clearly water, and Tir is of the air. Amber seems to be of earth, with Mount Kolvir, so was Paris fire? King Corwin's remake definitely seems much more of a spirit. Does this mean that there was another city on the Faiella-Bionin that we lost over time?"

The Shield thinks about it for a moment. "There must be. I recall learning that there would be one, then five, then fourteen and if there were too few or too many, it was unstable. I don't know why, if that's your next question."

Signy shrugs and gives a wry grimace. "As my father is fond of saying, there's truth right up until there isn't. And I'm sure that some of my Aunts and Uncles would be happy to tell me about the maths that lead to that sequence being not just inevitable but blindingly obvious, really."

She gives a sideways look at The Shield. "I think my father would like meeting you, actually. He favored teaching people that could grasp the theoretical and apply it to the practical."

The Shield snorts at the description of her Aunts and Uncles. "Your father cultivates a fearsome image which is not unearned. I would be fascinated to meet him, perhaps when this matter is settled. You Aunts and Uncles seem well suited to talk to our Priests."

Signy gives a quick laugh, her eyes lighting up briefly with mirth. "Did your Queen ever have any descendants? Given how many sons and daughters Oberon had, and the number of children they had....."

He sighs. "There aren't even legends of such a time, but many believe it must be true. Rumors of legends of myths, lost to the generations. My cousin writes fiction, and all from her head, of the 'Lost Generation'. They're not very popular amongst the Riders, because we travel very light, but they're pretty well known amongst the women and servants.

"The two kings had two children with each of the two queens, and mystic numberology was maintained in the perfect generation of eight. She's writing one from the perspective of each of the Princesses and Princes, and she's about halfway done."


Some time after the grand and inconclusive meeting with the Marshal, Brennan retreats to his quarters. Being a suspicious type, he does take a glance with the Third Eye and then Astral Vision. He doesn't really expect to find anything, but his impression so far is that while the Moonriders are a culture of honor, the Marshal-- like Brennan-- likes to win.

When he satisfies himself that he's alone, he shuffles out Paige's card from the deck he got from Bleys and concentrates on it.

Paige answers, perhaps waking from sleep to do so. Her hair is prettily untidy. "Who calls?", she asks, although Brennan suspects that she has the knack of knowing before she answers.

Paige is one of the cousins Brennan has known the longest and likes best even if-- as is often said of Bleys-- there are reasons he shouldn't. He decides to humor her.

"It's Brennan, late of Ghenesh, on a mission of diplomacy that snowballed a little bit out of a simpler mission to escort some trespassers back home from Avalon. Have time to talk?"

She yawns. "I'll make some coffee. Want a cup?"

She gets up and shrugs into a robe, then heads elsewhere.

Brennan was going to conure some for them both, but if she wants to make some fresh he's not going to argue.

He follows that up with the stunningly clever conversational opener of, "How go things in Broceliande?"

She shrugs, and begins preparing her morning beverage. "It's a tightrope. On the one hand we have to balance the responsibility of getting to know a new forest, which will take generations, probably. On the other hand, we have to protect Xanadu from threats and also provide back line support for the Arden Rangers, and on the other hand, we've got Adonis' people still migrating around the edges of the forests. And Edan bringing in Moonriders, but that wasn't his fault. Much."

Brennan makes a politely negative noise, then says, "Your brother already puts a lot on his shoulders that isn't necessarily his fault. Let's not add that, too."

She smiles. She doesn't say she'll stop teasing her brother, but Brennan doesn't think she will.

Whether it's real or not, Brennan gets the impression of the smell of the coffee. The moon riders don't make anything like it.

"What's Ghenesh like?"

"Occupied," Brennan says, after looking for the right one-word description.

"It's far from the center, closer to the Tree than any of the Realms. Closer to the Tree than our Aunt's home away from home, too, but not by much. Far enough from the center that things get strange, but not so far that politics isn't politics. And these people are occupied. I don't have the full timeline, and might never, but it seems there was some affiliation or presence here already at the time of Jones Falls. That may have made it a convenient place to exile the ones who attacked, or the only place, I'm not sure. But the Moonriders and the native population aren't very integrated, and it's pretty clear who is in charge and who is not. You can see it just by looking down on the place from above, the building plans, the districts, the thoroughfares and obstructions."

She pours a cup of coffee and offers to pass it to Brennan. "Huh. I really should find out from the Altamarean Knights what they know about it. Occupied territory is just such an unstable political posture. Father mentioned that you'd spoken to our Grandmother."

"News travels fast. More like Grandmother came and spoke to us," Brennan says. "I was escorting our three wayward--" Brennan was about to say troublemakers before changing it to "--Moonriders, along with Raven and a growing entourage. She very ostentatiously intersected our path around Fiona's Tower, and there was nothing for it but to entertain her. I am sure she had multiple purposes in meeting us, but the stated one to inform us that, and I quote: 'Things are unsettled on the frontier'. Meaning, she was letting us know in her own way that the Moonriders are indeed on the move enough for it to be noticeable to all out in that-- this, I suppose-- region.

"How is Fiona, by the way, any word? I tried calling her a while back, but no answer."

"Troublemaker didn't say what Grandmother wanted to tell him by bringing it up, but undoubtably it was something. It always is." She sips her coffee.

"Our dear aunt is resting following her exertions on behalf of the King. I suspect that she is not resting at all, but making an attempt to convince her grandfather to tell her something useful about the Queen of Tir.

"Like all of us, Grandmother has multiple purposes to her actions. She wants an introduction to her newest great grandchild. No one can say I didn't pass the information on. If it so happens that by passing it through the King, it gets slow-walked and buys Edan a little time..." Brennan shrugs to communicate both that it isn't his fault but is also exactly as he intended. "Glad to hear that Fiona is recovering, though. Good luck to her efforts, but I have serious doubts that Dworkin is going to pick sides in this fight."

Paige doesn't look like she has serious doubts, but she doesn't contradict Brennan.

Brennan is by nature a pessimist, but he'll be absolutely thrilled to be wrong.

"Funny you should mention the Altamareans, though. Are you still in touch with them?"

She laughs, a deep throaty laugh that sounds remarkably intimate. "Van's been with me for some time, but it's been a while since I visited Altamar." Van, as Brennan may remember, is Paige's bodyguard and right-hand man.

"Ah, yes, I remember Van," Brennan says. "And it's been a while since I visited Altamar as well-- a connection I've neglected." He shrugs again as if to say, too many fires to tend. "Do you think he might be willing to share the Altamareans' perspective on their conflict, and on Ghenesh? And on the legend of Sir Firumbras, perhaps?"

"They're supposed to be very similar, culturally. Or they were. I wonder if they've changed in the aftermath of losing at Jones Falls. You're probably in the best position to judge that, having been a guest in each, of course."

"Maybe," Brennan says. "There are some things they can't hide, like the underlying tensions between the two groups. But I'm not sure we're getting the full picture, either. There's a quasi-religious monastic group, for instance. They're mentioned a whole lot, they seem to be important, and they're a group I really want to talk to, but I'm beginning to get the impression that the more military types are keeping me away from them."

She nods. "I haven't found the Altamareans to be particularly religious. It's hard to have faith in an ineffable power when most people would think you are one yourself."

"Tell it to the boy who grew up in the Shadow with human sacrifices dedicated to his family," Brennan says. "It'll sour you on the whole concept. And then, yes, knowing what we know about the descent of the Kings and Queens. I'm rather curious to know if this religion-- whatever it actually is-- is something the Queen condones, controls, condemns, or what.

"We can ask," she says.

"I can bring Van in, if you'd like. He may be out chasing after the twins, but if he's here, I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to talk to you."

"Ah, the Twins!" Brennan says, with a smile. "How are they?"

She smiles, not bothering disguise to her fondness for her wild boy and girl. "Making trouble, just like I'd expect from my father's grandchildren. They met Lark at Edan's demonstration and they're already plotting how to get her to join them in woodland misadventures."

Brennan smiles, but lets that pass, because the last Brennan heard Lark is going to be touring Shadow by sea with Martin.

Paige suddenly starts speaking to someone at her camp.

"Van! It's like you read my mind. Don't do that, you'll be shocked by what's in there!" She beckons to someone. "Come here, my cousin has some questions about Altamar, if you'd help us. Hold my hand and we can speak to him."

A moment later, a confused looking Altamarean knight joins the contact. "Your highness," he says. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Well met once again, Van," he says. "I don't know how much of this news you know, but I am in Ghenesh, escorting several of its residents home after the recent battle. It has turned into something of a mission of diplomacy." For some definitions of diplomacy, anyway. "Some of these negotiations might end up depending on historical developments, which leaves us at something of a disadvantage." Brennan's irritation at that disadvantage leaks through the connection.

"That's where I'm hoping you might be able to help, if you're willing to talk about your peoples' connection to theirs."

"Of course. I don't know much."

"I guess we can start with the basics-- how exactly are the two peoples related? I've gathered there was some sort of schism, a long time ago, but I don't know when or over what issue. Seems to have been before Jones Falls, though."

Van starts speaking in the connection. There's not much physical movement to his face as he speaks. "Yeah, we were a long time before that. It was near the start of the war. We were before the schism that led to Weirmonken being settled. Shortly after the colonization of Ghenesh, my ancestors were having a crisis of colonialism. They were too close to the natives, and too far from the Queen. War broke out, and we fought against the troops from Tir na n*Oacute;g, the soldiers who would become the core of the Moonriders.

"You could say it was a crisis of what a colony should be, and our side of the argument was that it was about exploiting the resources of the land and the Queen's side considered people as resources.

"Our hope, and I mean the ancestors' hope, was that we would be too far and too unimportant to be a concern of Tir. We had a whole shadow, and we knew it, and it was far from the Golden Circle.

"They underestimated the Queen's reaction to treason. We retreated and retreated and retreated, and eventually were led from Ghenesh to Altamar by Prince Bleys. We believe he was working as an agent of Oberon, but he would not say. Perhaps Oberon needed to keep such things from his fellow monarchs.

"And that's how we ended up owing Prince Bleys a three-fold debt."

Brennan stirs with curiosity at several points during Van's answer, but restrains himself from interrupting. He does shoot a glance to Paige at the mention of the Weir, to see if she understands the significance of the reference. An occasional frown, too, which would be more easily hidden were this not a Trump conversation.

Possibly not from Paige, though. She doesn't interrupt, but she has always had a deep understanding of people. All trump artists do, even Brennan's father, somehow.

He thinks a bit after the answer is complete, prioritizing questions, before asking: "Which war was this near the start of? The ancient conflict when the four realms went to war with each other? My understanding is that war happened before any of the now-living children of Oberon were born, including Bleys." If it helps, Brennan will mention a few names he's collected from times before Benedict, to see if he can contextualize it further-- Osric, Finndo, Carol of Paris, Laudine, Morgne, Roland and Firumbras. Firumbras is an intentional name drop and he's watching for Van's reaction to it.

"Those are legendary names, or were until Sir Firumbras returned, anyway. Our history has so many legends, and no reason to trust any of them to be true. The cities and the families survive, while individuals live and die. There was a long time when the cities held an uneasy truce, and that there had been cycles of war, peace, and conquest and rebellion in proxy wars. The legends were the stories of a people who invented their own histories, I always thought."

He thinks about this for a moment. "Of course we're skeptical of the claims of the Queen and her supporters, since we necessarily reject their claim that we deserved to be destroyed. It's hard to be sympathetic to that ideology when it's aimed at you.

"And it's hard to say when any of this happened. Time flows between places are difficult enough before the Moonriders started borrowing their own future. But Prince Bleys was around, so if you know his chronology with respect to Amber, it wss in his lifetime."

Brennan thinks that means sometime between Amber's last 600 years and Jones Falls, which might be a few hundred years behind the present.

"Ah, much more recent than I was thinking," Brennan says. "Before the Battle of Jones Falls, but after the Tir became as it is, and people fell to sea?"

"Older than that. Tir-na nOgth locked to the moon had not happened. I may not have a good handle on when. I am not a historian. But we were a colony of a real and non-shadowy Tir. They warred on us incessantly until we were led to Altamar.

"I see," Brennan says. "It would appear that I'm not as familiar with Bleys' history as I thought I was. Or more likely that my timeline of Tir-na Nog'th is off. I'll have to rectify that the next time I talk to him. You mention the Weir, though. I've only recently learned that there is a connection between your peoples. If I tell you that I know virtually nothing beyond that fact, wan you add more details?"

Van looks sheepish. "I didn't pay a lot of attention to history class. They rebelled against the Queen of Air and Darkness and were cursed for it. Don't they turn into beasts? Or aren't some of them beast-headed creatures? I don't remember the details. We didn't have contact with them."

"Fair enough," Brennan says. "But that's a good transition to another topic. The Moonriders seem to have a..." Brennan still isn't quite sure what collective noun to use, "... quasi-religous group, or order, or caste that functions as a repository of lore. I don't think they're exclusively historians, but that seems to be a function they serve. If you know anything about them, I'd be delighted, but what I'm wondering if there is a similar group among your people. And whether I might ask you for an introduction to them at some point. Not right now, unless one is close at hand-- I think it would be unwise for me to leave Ghenesh."

Van nods at that last. "And unwise for me to go there, most likely." He breathes in. "We had priests, many years ago, but ours died out, more or less. Or at least they're not prominent in politics or culture. In Tir, they were supported by royal patronage. I don't know how they've changed since they were separated from the Queen. You can probably ask them."

"One last question," Brennan says, "or maybe one last topic, that may speak more directly to your interests: These powers they have over time and space. How recent a development are those?" And then the part that Brennan thinks Van might have some opinions on: "Have you faced them in the field?" Brennan leaves the status of 'you' ambiguous-- he'd be interested in either Van's personal experience or what he's heard from others.

"We rejected service to the Queen over the research leading to that development. They are hard to beat in a war, at least if they have sufficient Moonriders. If they can make a choice that leads to their victory, then they have the ability to have made it. We do not seek them out, and our shadows are far enough apart that the first time I laid eyes on one was when they marched past us on their way to the funeral of your King in Chaos.

"We chose to stay outside with the other troops in order to avoid them. I think our Marshall was correct to hold us back."

"They can be beaten," Brennan says. "This is not the time for it, but I am more than willing to discuss the recent battle with you and your Marshal. Why was that technique the cause of the rupture between your peoples, though?"

Van shrugs. "It was long before my time. The way it gets explained to us was 'the cost was too high, and they were willing to split with the Queen rather than condemn themselves to whatever fate they thought it would bind them to.'"

"Hmm. If you should ever discover the answer to that, contact me, if Paige is willing. That cost, and that fate, may turn out to be important. Call it a hunch." Brennan has nothing more for Van, so he thanks him for his time. Unless Paige objects, Brennan politely dismisses him, and returns to the private conversation he was having with his cousin.

"So," he asks her. "We missed you at the recent gathering of cousins. How much have you heard?"

Paige laughs. "I'm glad I was missed. Things needed my attention here. I've heard a bit, but I'd rather have your version. Did I hear there was almost a fight?"

Brennan just closes his eyes and shakes his head in residual frustration, which is to say, yes.

By force of habit he makes a quick Astral scan before answering, too.

He sees nothing untoward.

"Probably two. It was an ugly situation and complicated. Marius had been struck down from behind just a short while before, so he had good reason to be angry. But the way to handle it was a formal challenge to duel, so the seconds could deal with it later and with cooler heads, and I said as much. It didn't work, at least not for long. It just bled over into the larger discussion of the Queen's degree of culpability in the whole situation, evidence for, evidence against, all that. Marius seemed to take it as a guilty verdict in absentia-- which I promise you is not what I was saying or hearing.

"That's when it got ugly. Accusations were made that I don't think can be taken back very easily, against Edan and Folly and Martin. He left by Trump shortly after that. We're not sure where to."

Brennan shakes his head again. "It was a complete s**t-show, that end of things."

Brennan will run down the pro and con evidence and basically describe that part of the conclave blow by blow if Paige wants, but that's Brennan's basic spin on things.

"Oh, yes. That's what I'd heard. I didn't think it had gotten that bad, but I have been somewhat self-exiled for a bit. I don't think Vialle liked me very much, but I didn't think she was up to actual treason. It seems bigger than her capabilities.

"But what I think Marius may be thinking is that if Random and Folly and Martin think it's true, than it really doesn't matter what the truth is. I think he's conflating politics with justice, and upset that the one may preclude the other."

Brennan's eyebrow twitches when she mentions justice.

"That may be part of it, but even given circumstances and emotions, he was out of line at the end. And I'm saying that as a brother in arms, veteran of the same war." Brennan shakes his head again. Even aside from the Trump contact, it would probably be clear to Paige that the whole thing bothers him considerably.

"Does anyone know what Uncle Random wants?"

"About the Queen? He was clear that he hasn't rendered a final judgment. I have the distinct impression that's at least partly because we don't have all the facts, yet, but I'm inclined to agree so maybe I was reading in what I wanted to read in. Either way, my mission here isn't necessarily to bring her home-- to paraphrase, that would require some option other than 'She's a traitor' or 'She's a dangerous tool.' I intend to look for that third options, but I can't say I know what it would even look like or how we would establish its truth. And it's complicated by the child," Brennan says, quietly.

Paige nods along with his words. "Which one?", she replies, equally quietly, and then continues as if she's not expecting an answer.

Probably because in context, Brennan must certainly have meant the one they were almost all knelt down to swear fealty to. He is comfortable leaving that unsaid because it also means he doesn't have to fill Paige in on Folly's new child, either.

"Vialle was always insecure, and she did things that make it hard for her to come back even if she's as innocent as I am." Paige blinks slowly. "She wanted people to think she was indespensible to the King's newly noticeable maturity. I didn't respect this myth adequately, so I was not a court favorite." She smiles. "No matter how much people wanted me to be in the anti-Martin camp."

"The motive is classic, in either variant," Brennan says. "What really worries me, though, is that we might never have enough certainty aside from the motive to arrive at justice."

"Where I was born, if you were a poor woman who screwed up, you were sent to a prison. If you were a comfortable woman who screwed up, you were sent to a nunnery. And if you were a rich enough woman, you were sent to an isolated castle to live out your days in exile.

"Justice could be a lot of things, not all of which will seem fair, especially for a woman in the way of what a powerful man wants. Queens seldom get justice, and when they do, it's usually final. What would justice look like for the Queen if the King was already tired of her before she was a threat to the kingdom?"

Paige's face looks like she's moving closer to a candle or a fireplace, getting brighter and redder as she approaches it. If she's not moving, it's either an impressive display of trump control or an unconscious reaction to her thoughts on justice and queens.

"I think it depends on quite a bit more than whether and when the King got tired of her. And that phrase, 'threat to the kingdom' is doing a lot of complicated work, for just four words. But if you mean it in the passive sense, that she became a threat by happenstance or genuine accident rather than by design or by acts whose consequences she could have reasonably foreseen... I don't know, yet. I would not wish to see her executed. I suppose she would have to be made proof-- or at least reasonably so-- against threat again, somehow. Someone would have to at least consider the risk and the effort spent doing it against..." he waves his hand to indicate the universe, "... every other threat and lost opportunity.

"It applies to the whole mission, in some degree. I'm not in any doubt that my mission is to play for Xanadu and the King's side. But it bothers me a great deal that I haven't been able to pin down why that ancient war started, much less who might have been in the right or the wrong of it.

Paige nods, looking sympathetic. Brennan can't tell whether that's a trick of the trumps or her actual expression. "Can the King afford to be just, if there's an ongoing risk? Can he afford not to, if it convinces people he won't treat them fairly? I'm not sure this matter will be settled by anyone's ideals, but by pragmatic considerations.

"I'm not even sure that's wrong."

"We're not the first and probably won't be the last to ask those questions," Brennan says. "Or this one: What's the point of Order if it can only be maintained by injustice? Same as your question, just from more of an overhead angle. I'm still holding out hope, though."

"Oh," she adds after a moment, "for what it's worth, every woman in the castle who was paying any attention knew that the King wasn't happy with Vialle before Cambina was murdered. Ask around if you don't believe me."

Brennan shrugs. "I'm aware, and I believe you. Not sure if that alone is an excuse for an active, complicit betrayal, though. Certainly not one as far reaching as that."

Paige shrugs back. "It might not have started that way. Lots of treason doesn't.' She doesn't say like our parents, or my personal treason, but it's clear that not all treason should lead to justice.

"But she's not very sympathetic even if you just count what happened with Cambina. And that seems like it had to be active and complicit."

She thinks for a second. "If I were the King, I'd put her or trial for that. Probably never mention the whole take-over-the-kingdom treason."

"I especially count what happened to Cambina," Brennan says, and the temperature of his voice seems to drop by a hundred and eighty degrees. "I suspect that not all the culpability lies with her, though."

Paige nods sympathetically. "We all miss her, and justice for her would be at least something." She takes a deep breath. "Do you think she'd already made whatever bargain it was before she convinced Cambina to take her to Tir? I am not so sure. She might've been compromised when she was captured, but that's the Rubicon, that's when she acted."

Paige looks around the room she's in, and then back at Brennan. "How does that silver chain fit into all of this? What does your friend who was on the other end of it have to say about her?"

"I don't think we have any way of knowing when she made that deal, and we have precious few witnesses, none of them reliable. File that in the fat folder of reasons I despair of getting to anything like justice, here," Brennan says. "And I have absolutely no idea what to make of the Chain. It has the feel of some millenia-long convoluted plot, but if it is, I can't make heads or tails of it. As for Firumbras, he's from so far before our time, I think it's hard for him to have a reasonable opinion. He still remembers not only an intact Tir-na Nog'th, but an intact Par-Ys." As always, Brennan manages to add the pronunciation twist that distinguishes Carol's city from Corwin's.

"But the three Moonriders we took off the board in Avalon... I think there are some doubts, there, maybe exploitable, maybe not. They didn't indicate where they stand personally on the issue, but there are apparently incidents where some elements of their society-- Tiren in general or Moonriders specifically, I'm not sure-- have decided to oppose the Queen on matters of honor and principle. Van's story sounded like one of those writ large, and it probably indicates just how well those incidents were received by the Queen. In that respect, I think Firumbras' final opinion, if he has one, will be extremely important".

Paige doesn't seem to have an opinion on the last. "You've seen how he interacts with the Moonriders, and I haven't, so I'll defer to you. The impression I had from the Altamareans, and not just from Van, was that rebellion, betrayal, and banishment were a rare but recurring theme amongst the people of Tir, and that each group that left moved the others that much closer to the Queen. Van is a nice boy, and pretty, but he's young and doesn't have any kind of long-term understanding of his people, like asking a fish to explain water. Which Troublemaker tells me he has done."

"That's an interesting dynamic to think about," Brennan says, "The idea that the cycle of division and rebellion just acts to purify-- or harden, or radicalize, choose your level of cynicism-- the core in-group. Not sure what to do with that insight, immediately, but that definitely gets tucked in my back pocket."

"It's got the potential to work in two ways. Removing a portion of the population changes the spectrum and moves the median both towards the other extreme and decreases the standard deviation from the norm. And by creating an expelled group, the remaining group has a focus for out-group discrimination and are likely to reinforce behaviors that show that they are not deviants."

Brennan hadn't needed the explanation, but he politely lets Paige finish.

Paige seems to realize that she's gotten more academic than she likes to admit she can be. She laughs, "Or at least that's what I remember from a college professor I once slept with. I thought he was going to teach me something very different about standard deviations." She tugs down on her shirt, brushing away imaginary lint from her décolletage.

"Mm-hm," Brennan agrees. It's obvious by inflection that he noticed that pre-emptive deflection-- perish the thought someone should realize she's smart-- and chooses not to call her out on it. At least not at this time.

"It's a pity Firumbras intends to leave. He'd be a powerful voice against the Queen, if you could convince him to lead the opposition."

"Oh, you think?" Brennan says, with a lazy grin. "I will try to convince him to stay, and not just for the morale advantage. He's a friend and a peer, and you know how rare that is for us. I will miss him. But I know something of what he left behind, so my heart may not be in it. It would be a hard thing to convince me to stay if Cambina were just at the end of a long trip into the past. I am sufficiently conflicted that I've offered to help him return, if that's what he decides in the end."

She nods. "Sometimes it's a pity the redheads aren't the utter amoral jerks that Jerod thinks we are. It would be simpler if we didn't have standards."

"I thought we'd made some progress there," Brennan admits. "Regardless, I can't make a big show about caring about justice for the queen, and then treat a friend like a lifeless piece on a chessboard."

"Regardless of the Queen, I don't think you'd do that to a friend. I think your sense of Justice is too well developed for that at all." Whether by intuition or experience, she doesn't suggest that this is a reaction to the injustice of the circumstance of his father, instead she changes the subject.

She tosses her hair, and brushes it back from her forehead. "I think if the queen has friends, they would be petitioning for mercy, not justice. I don't expect Marius will come around to that anytime soon."

"Given current circumstances, I can't exactly hie off and go hunting him down, and I'm not sure I'm high on his list of people to reach out to. But if he does, yeah, that would be a better approach than throwing a fit and assuming the best about her while assuming the worst about everyone else," Brennan agrees. So, message received, not that it can necessarily go anywhere directly.

"Any other topics from the gathering stand out?"

"I think you're in the middle of the big 'time to do something about the pesky Moonriders' topic, and a growing number of our cousins are involved in the 'time to do something about the pesky Klybesians' topic."

Paige goes into family gossip mode. "Did you catch up on all the newcomers? We've had another wave. Vere got a brother, Jerod got a sister. Oh, and a daughter. He's getting her quarters in the castle. Real family man, our Jerod. Depths I didn't imagine. Oh, and Lilly gets two sisters, but they're on her mother's side.

"Any newcomers to the family out in your part of the 'verse?"

"Only the ones that we rescued from the Klybesians, lately: Misao, a child of Lucas; Delta probably from somewhere on the Rebman end of things; and Alex, who looks like he might be Gerard's, but I have an outside bet on Corwin. There wasn't a lot of time for more than first-name introductions, though. Get in, get 'em out, get ourselves out before the rubble stopped bouncing. Had to bring Huon back, too, but I guess we can't win them all."

That last might be Brennan's dry humor. But it probably isn't.

"Haven't heard of those others. What's this about Jerod having a sister?"

Paige nods. "I thought someone would have told you. Cambina had a sister and half-brother back in Weirmonken. I haven't met her, but the thought is that she's also Eric's and her mother didn't tell Eric. My ... friends at the Castle tell me that she looks a lot like her mother, in a way that Cambina didn't. I've seen sketches. They all have the same prominent cheekbones and the eyes."

"She was raised by wolves, though. Unlike Cambina who was raised by Eric."

Paige thinks for a second. "Rowen is her name. I've no idea if she's a full shifting Weir."

"I see," Brennan says.

It's in that tone of voice he uses when he is postponing a conclusion about something, but isn't optimistic about liking it once it arrives.

The silence stretches out long enough that it seems that might be all Brennan has to say on the subject, but at length he adds: "Did they know each other? Of each other? More to the point, someone has told her what happened to Camina?" Brennan understands Paige might not know. But he has to ask.

"Martin brought her in. Even he's not that oblivious; he must've. I hear he ended up talking to Jerod to let him know and then ended up going with Jerod to capture Chew and didn't come back. He ... is personally motivated to be anywhere but Xanadu at the moment. Sadly, he's not going to talk to me about it." She sighs. That bridge was burned.

"He knows he's not alone unless by choice," Brennan says. "We don't intend to let him forget it."

She pauses. "Oh, did anyone tell you they hauled Chew back? If not, I suppose I just did."

Brennan smiles, all teeth, all ice. "Tell them to leave a piece for me.

"Anything come up about Amber's Pattern?"

Paige smiles, and her teeth are like diamonds in the red glow of the candle flame. "Did anyone talk about you, do you mean? Yes, and I wanted to hear about it from you, directly. My ... sources might've been slightly confused. But it was definitely about you."

"No, I asked it how I meant it," Brennan says, without returning her smile.

"So, yes, I want to reforge the Pattern of Amber, but I consider the Pattern, and Amber, to be more important than I am."

Paige is unfazed by his correction and answers his second point instead. "Have you consulted father or Aunt Fiona? I'm not the mathemagician either of them is, but I did ask Troublemaker why re-writing the pattern killled Grandfather. So he's got opinions.

"I always thought the primal was the important one, and the second order patterns were less important than Dworkin's pattern, except in that they reinforce and support it. And that if you had more than four, one of the others would merge, or maybe move to a different valence shell, or something like that."

She sighs. "I suppose that asking Corwin if he re-wrote the Paris pattern or if it's unrelated wouldn't be helpful, but I wish I knew the answer to that. I suspect it would help you on your quest."

"No, I haven't," Brennan says. "There are more immediate concerns, such as..." he waves his hand to indicate Ghenesh, and by extension the Moonrider problem up to and including the Queen of Air and Darkness problem. "And I figured I'd work my way up the chain, if somewhat selectively, when the time was right. I suspect you're right about Corwin, and I suspect he did re-write Paris' pattern to at least some extent. I've got my own opinions on why he survived and Oberon didn't. What made you think four Secondaries was a limit? And on the topic of numbers, did Ambrose's theory about the number of Patterns corresponding to the number of Trump suits come up?"

If not, Brennan briefly outlines the idea, while admitting that he didn't-- and doesn't-- quite understand it. But Paige knows more about Trumps than Brennan does.

Paige listens, but it seems like she doesn't think it's that's simple. "Hmmm. Rebma, Amber, Tir, and Paris, plus the primal. Hannah has some theory about why there have to be six, but maybe six is really five, or something. Cross out Amber and add Xanadu and Corwin's Paris and we're back to four or five. But Benedict is supposed to have one in Avalon. It's not like there is a fifth suit to make a correspondence with. Does Benedict's pattern affect the number of veils? I know I walked a pattern with 3, and I've heard the story of four veils on Xanadu's pattern often enough not to discount it. Why isn't it five?"

She shakes her head. "There's so much we don't know and not enough sources of truth."

"I've been to Avalon," Brennan says. "Didn't view its Pattern, but there's one there, and a path to Tir. Continue to Xanadu, then Paris, then Rebma, and back to Avalon. The Faiella-Bionin surrounds the Primal. I haven't had time to sit down and prove this one way or the other, but if each secondary resonates with the others, but not the Primal, that gets you four veils. I don't find that satisfying, but that's the theory I've heard that makes the most sense. Maybe if I prove it, it will sit better."

Paige says, "Hmm, so they're reflections of the other secondaries? I'm not a math wizard, but I can set up the basic equations. I guess we'd know something if you succeed and there's suddenly a 5th veil. Or would at some point the patterns set up a further shell of layers outside the Faiella-Bionin?

"I wish I knew how long Benedict has had a pattern. Is it ... recent?"

"Depends on your definition. My definition says: Kinda. I get the impression that when Corwin went missing, one of the places Benedict started looking was either Corwin's Avalon, or the shadows near to it. He liked what he saw and decided to make it permanent, so it's in that time frame. The place and the people do grow on you, but the place is definitely Real," he says, even though he dislikes the Family terminology for that sort of thing. "Scratch the surface and you'll find it's not a place you name your child 'Corwin' because they remember either him or a Shadow of him. Dig deeper, and you'll start hearing about Lir. Its history extends quite a ways back.

"And my best hunch is that, yes, another veil would appear. I don't think it would be as immediately noticeable and destructive as what Obern did to the Primal, though," Brennan says. "Maybe locally. It's not like we have a vast case history to draw on."

"It's vexing, isn't it?," she replies. "I can reach into my pouch and call up three Uncles who've written one, and yet not a one of them can tell me mathematically what they did. Sometimes I feel like the infamous deaf composer, who can write the music that they can't perform.

"If you do re-write the pattern, I'll write up the case study of that, dearest cousin."

Paige smiles. She probably would, although the audience would be limited.

"I'll try to prove the validity of what I'm doing while I'm doing it, then," Brennan says. It's partly in jest, but partly not, because he follows up with, "I would prefer never to have a situation ever again where this is needed, but it sure would be nice to have that knowledge if we ever need it again.

"And Paige? Thank you for not lecturing me and telling me not to do it. But promise me if you ever think that lecture becomes... necessary... you'll deliver it."

"Ideally more quickly than my father delivered the same lecture to your father, and perhaps before a cell is needed, but thank you for your trust in my judgement."


Raven has had some time to explore the town while Signy and Brennan conduct their negotiations and other business. She's been in and out of the shops and gotten a good look at both the natives of Ghenesh, who seem to be subject to the Moonriders, and here and there of the families that the Moonriders left behind them.

She's moving through the shopping district when she catches sight of a young woman, pale and slim, gesturing to her from an alleyway between buildings. If she had to guess, Raven would figure the woman was of the same kindred as the Moonriders, although she doesn't seem to have the same terrible blessing that they do: the one that takes them out of time.

Her expression, to Raven, looks terrible and determined. She's afraid of something.

Well, it's not the first time Raven's been beckoned into an alley by a woman, but the terrified part is new. Still, this could be along the lines of what she's been fishing for, so after a surreptitious glance around the shopping area to make sure she's not immediately under watch by anyone else, she heads towards the alley.

"Miss?" she says when she's close enough that her voice will be lower than the sounds of the market. "You all right?"

"Not really," she says at the same low volume, half-smiling all sharp and feral, "but that's not why I need your help. You're with the Amber party, aren't you?"

Raven snorts in amusement as she comes to a stop and regards the woman. "All right, I asked for that. Aye, I'm with them. Why?"

The woman looks as if she is a warrior, but one on hard times. She takes a moment to breathe deeply and steady herself. "I'm not from here, but I've heard of you all. I am from a place much nearer to your Amber, and I need to try to send a message home. My people are in danger because they have been infiltrated by agents of these Moonriders." Her voice is conspiratorially low, but Raven thinks she's much more of a straightforward fighter than anyone who is used to sneaking or deception.

Raven considers her for a moment. "Right. So first of all, I ain't agreeing to anything without a little more detail, or at least not anything more than unless you give me a good reason not to, I can keep my mouth shut. Who're your people? What place are they from? And what name d'you want to give me?"

"I'm Chirope," the woman says. "I was raised in Pontus, as an Amazon, but my mother is descended from the old Moonriders. That's why we were brought back here. I'd rather go back to Pontus; there are people I miss there." Her face tightens with some emotion. "But the thing is, there's a Prophetess in Pontus. That's why my mother dragged me away. And now I know why, which is that the Prophetess is dangerous to Pontus. And I need to tell someone so they can get that message back to Pontus."

Chirope continues, "I'd go myself, but I can't travel by myself without the straight tracks and I can't find them the way my grandmother--she's further back than that, but that's what she wants me to call her--can. So I'm looking for someone--a woman, ideally, but you'll do if you're careful--to carry a message to Pontus for me."

"All right," Raven says, frowning as she turns all that over in her head. "A message like that, I can do. I got more questions, but let me start with a couple of easy ones to ask - why a message and not asking to be brought back? Why's this prophetess dangerous?"

"Do you know who the Klybesians are?" Chirope asks, watching Raven closely for a reaction.

Raven scowls, clearly not thrilled to hear that particular name. "Aye, I know a bit about 'em. Whole pack of monks that've got a bit too much interest in Amber and those that come from her, who turn up too bloody often with their fingers in pies they ain't supposed to have fingers in. Seem to have taken a shine to kidnapping, too. They mixed up with this prophetess, or they mixed up in why you ain't of a mind to pass more than a message?"

Chirope laughs. "The former. I'd go if I thought I could get away, but it would take a Prince of Amber to get me out of here. And a lot of trouble. The Prophetess is from one of their orders of women. They claim to worship our goddesses, but they really worship the Unicorn. Not that there's anything wrong with the Unicorn, but she's not what they claim to worship, and that's the crime. And where the barest Klybesian fingertip is found, they soon mean to wrap their whole hands around the place," she finishes.

Raven snorts. "Oh, aye, just a Prince of Amber. Be sure to drop a word in one's ear next time I see 'em. Or maybe I could ask a couple of their kin that happen to be along for this mission, if you've a mind to get outta here anyway and it's a problem less of needing a son of the old king and more of needing someone that can do at least some of what they can, but that's the kind of offer that might have to wait for us to finish the diplomacy that's going on and the folk in question would have to agree with me that bringing someone who's lost back home is worth our time. Who's your message to? Anyone in particular?"

Chirope watches Raven carefully through her lashes as Raven talks about the differences between Princes and other Amber kin. She considers the question, turning it round in her head, visibly. "To the Queen, ultimately, but you'd have to find someone the Queen trusts to deliver it. Aristomache. Aiella." A sigh, and she adds, "Penthelisea. Those are three women who would believe you if you told them it was from me. I have a token, which you could take, and they'd know it was mine."

There's a long pause and she adds, "Do you mean that about the other kin of Amber? I only heard there were princes. and maybe a few princesses, but they didn't let the princesses do much. That they were considered unfit." Which Chirope says like that's the dumbest thing she ever heard.

"There were just princes and a few princesses for a long time, so far's anyone knew," Raven agrees, with a faint smile. "But turns out, you make friends with enough locals in enough ports of call, eventually you come back and some of 'em have 'a baby on each knee,' like the song says. And some of those have got kids, too. Can't promise anything, because most of those princes and princesses have got an awful lot more experience under their belts than the kids do, but an honest look to see if it's doable or not, that's a thing I can ask for. If you want it. And if you don't want, or it ain't possible, I can take a token and find those three, if you'll tell me a bit more about your Pontus."

"Pontus is the land of women," Chirope says. "Only women can live there, and men can only visit with permission, or for certain festivals. We worship the goddesses, serve our Queen, and generally live our lives happily. Some women, like my mother and I, come as refugees from other realms. Thalaestris is our Queen. We have heroines among us, women of legend, like Aiella and Asteria and Penthelisea. But our number is small, thirty score and less."

Raven nods. "Aye, all right. I think I can work with that, but I gotta think about it a little to be sure. Now - what's happened that you're scared? Ain't the fact that there's a party from Amber in town; that's just convenient for passing the message. So what else is it?"

"I don't want to stay here, and I don't want to be a Moonrider and take their oaths, if that's even possible," though clearly Chirope thinks it might be, "and I don't want to be--whatever you want to say about what the people here who aren't Moonriders are. I want to go home to Pontus, and I want Pontus to be safe," Chirope says.

Raven nods. "Aye. But that ain't quite the answer I was looking for. In a place like this, where the only conflict I'm seeing is invaders and folks who were invaded, and aye, that's probably going to boil over at some point but it ain't there yet - well, it's not the nicest place you could be stuck, but unless you're of a mind to feed the fire and make that boil-over happen, it ain't the worst either. It's the kind of place I had a hard time talking my crew into leaving sometimes, at least until I reminded 'em that we were trying to go home, and we sure weren't scared while we were there. Desperate to get home, aye, but not scared." She pauses, pointedly, before finishing with, "And you looked like you'd seen a ghost or something when you flagged me down. Why, Chirope?"

She looks for a second as if she was going to flee, but takes a deep breath. She laughs, but it's more of an escape of emotions than because anything is remotely funny to her. "I'm not ... It sounds so melodramatic. I think the sisterhood will do something to me if they know I'm exposing their plans for Pontus."

Raven snorts. "If that sisterhood's connected to the monks, that ain't melodrama; that's good sense. You think they're watching you here?"

She looks relieved that Raven is taking her seriously. "Physical conflict, I'd have no problem with, even amongst the knights, and they don't fight cleanly, not as far as Pontus would see it, anyway. They can do things to your mind, and if they break you, it's not something you can undo.

"They haven't been impatient with me yet, but I've crossed a line. They suspect I'm not loyal."

Raven holds up a hand. "Wait, hold up - which they? We're talking about a lot of theys here. We back to the they that's the Moonriders you were saying you don't want to join? I thought you mentioned that as a 'there's only so many options here' and not a pressing thing."

Chirope takes a breath, clearly to slow down. "There are lots of theys, yes. And it's complicated and I can't always tell what the relationships are. But I'm technically beholden to my materfamilias, who is a member of the council and who would find it inconvenient if I were to come to the attention of the Diaconate of the Hisbah. Or the council might decide to act to either check her or to prevent an embarrassment before the Knights."

She sighs, but doesn't seem to be less worried. "It's complicated."

"And full of things you ain't mentioned yet," Raven observes. "Look, I'm gonna ask stupid questions again. It ain't because I don't believe you; it's because I've gotta take this back and make a case for maybe taking you with us when we go, and I'm pretty sure that won't be as easy as 'look, I found her; can I keep her?' So I'm trying to get as much of the picture as I can of what's going on, because I'm getting the idea you ain't gonna be all that easy to find later and I'm not playing messenger for the next week trying to get questions answered anyway. Who's this Diac - " She pauses, frowning. "Diaconate? That the sisterhood you were talking about? And what've they got to do with the Knights?"

Chirope looks like she's got something to say about the first part of Raven's response, but instead answers the direct question.

"Deacons of the Hisbah is the group that maintains order amongst the lower castes. Diaconate is their title. It's an archaic word for the college of Deacons. Both the sisterhood and the Knights are separate from it and their members are usually not subject to the diaconate, but I'm not a sister, so I might get singled out. You can probably find books about them in the library at the temple, but take them with a grain of salt.

"They are feared rather than respected."

"With what I've seen here, that ain't a surprise." Raven nods. "Ok - sisterhood? All I know I've seen so far has been the knights and the priests."

She nods. "Here, it's not a secret organization, but it's not public. Like a religion, but not worshiping proper gods and goddesses. They were originally a part of a some pagan animal-worshiping cult, but they only kept the forms from that. Now they're sort of a support organization for women who want to be neither priests nor knights.

"I know I've made them sound like they're selling baked goods to sponsor native education and betterment, but they're much more more ruthless than that. Their missionary work is probably only second to the Klybesians. And if they've become influenced by those bastards, we've got worse problems."

"Starting to think there's a lot more religion going on around here than anybody wants to let on." Raven shakes her head. "Right. So we've got knights and priests, the Diaconate and the sisters - all Moonrider-kin? And the sisters are wanting you to join them?"

She shrugs. "It's not like Pontus, where I know the gods are with us. Here, it's like a way to control the natives. They're all children of the moonlight."

"The sisters... do not care if I join them. My family cares that I do not embarrass them and the sisterhood is the equivalent of being sent to the army to become a warrior-woman." She smiles, grimly. "They see me as a child."

Raven chuckles. "I ran away to join the navy to get away from the only family I thought I had," she says. "Ain't a thing that works for everybody, and from what I saw of the folks that got shoved there by their family instead, it ain't a good way to make anybody happy except the one doing the pushing. What else do I need to know? Or that you want me to know? I ain't picky, but like I said - cover what you got."

"This is all still new to me; I wasn't raised here. I don't know the ins and outs the way a Moonrider's child would. And I don't want to. I want to go home to Pontus and I want Pontus to be safe," Chirope explains. "I was caught snooping on the Prophetess in Pontus and my mother decided to flee after that. And my Grandmother found us after we left. Or maybe she knew where we were all along and it was fine as long as we stayed there." She shrugs.

Raven pauses, frowning a little, and then says carefully, "This might be rude, but I'm starting to figure out that there's a lot more that can ride on family ties than I ever knew as a kid. Who's your Grandmother?"

Chirope nods once. "It's a good question. In Pontus, we'd call her O Stratigós, But The Strategist is how she's known here. They have a strange aversion to names here, but they give everyone a title as soon as they can.

"I hadn't met her until she grabbed us when we left Pontus."

"Aye, I'd noticed the name thing," Raven agrees. "Don't think the Strategist is one we've run into. She doesn't work with the Marshall at all, does she?"

Chirope looks uncertain. "She's coming up with strategy for someone. It's not like there's very clear demarcation of who's doing what. Before you asked, I'd've said that of course she's working with the Marshall, but I think the answer may be that she's working in parallel to the Marshall and towards the same ends.

"Besides, what good is a strategist to someone who can go back in time and fix his own mistakes?" Chirope doesn't laugh, exactly, but she shrugs and smiles and makes a noise that Raven can only interpret as one.

Raven snorts at that. "Aye, well. Maybe it's too much work to go back all the time to fix your mistakes? Who knows. You hear anything about their queen and the Strategist, by any chance?"

The Pontan shakes her head., slowly. "Not specifically her, but the Queen is in everyone's thoughts and on everyone's tongues. There are rumors that she is dead, that she has returned, that she committed horrific crimes, that the Marshall intends to depose her and set himself up as King.

"One of the reasons I want out of here is that I don't know that it's going to end peacefully." She looks grim. "And I don't know what side to be on except my own."

"I know the Amber party ain't here to start a fight," Raven says, with a shrug. "But there's also some things that've happened that nobody's real happy about that need answering for, and they seem to point back to the Mooonrider Queen. No reason to pick a fight with everyone, unless they want to pick a fight with us - and that, I can't say I have a good read on yet. You wanting out of here just for you, or your ma want out too?"

Chirope opens her mouth to speak and then shuts it. She takes a deep breath and continues. "I have to think on that a moment. I want her safe, but she may be safer here than I would be. And I'm not sure we'd be safe in Pontus if we both went back together."

She pauses. "I need to get my message to the Queen's forces before I worry about my safety, or hers."

"And not knowing if or when we'd be back here, if you want out, you're leaving with the message," Raven says bluntly. "Don't mean you have to go back to Pontus, right away or ever. Don't mean that if you both go, you both have to end up in the same place. But any way these talks go, I can't promise anyone'd be willing or able to come back and get you once we leave."

Chirope nods. "She is a free woman. When next we meet, I shall bring her, and let her choose. She may not choose Pontus, but I should not deny her the choice. Unless you can send me immediately and then I would take you to her now."

"Like I said, I need to talk this over with some folks," Raven says. "We got a little space to do that, it sounds like - not much, but a little. Things change and time runs out, come find me and we can talk about faster options, aye? And speaking of when we meet next - what's the plan for that? Gonna waylay me in the market again, or we got another way to talk if and when we need it?"

"Waylaying you in the market was just happenstance. I saw you and took the risk. For our next meeting, just tell me where to be and I'll be there," she says. "I'm resourceful."


After Brennan ends his conversation with Paige, he puts her card back in his pack, and makes sure his emergency evacuation card (which is currently the mountain of the Grackleflints) is on top. Never hurts to be prepared.

And then, he sets out to find a page or whatever the local equivalent is in Ghenesh. Or two pages, actually.

They are called "acolythi". They are not as omnipresent as Random's (or Eric's or Oberon's) pages, but they are quite readily available for small errands.

One to set up a meeting with the quasi-religious monks that Brand may or may not have had dealings with. Whether it helps or not, Brennan makes sure to give the full "...son of Brand" version of his title, and then applies the full force of his personality, refusing to even conceive of a rejection.

The other is to show Brennan to someplace he can wait for that meeting to be arranged, and then is sent to find and invite Raven to the meeting.

Brennan is shown to a small chamber near the outside of the temple, a few floors up a wide tower. This is some sort of odd combination of musical study and armory. One wall has cabinets with crossbows, the other has musical instruments of many kinds. The instruments seem more recently used, but the weapons are well cared for. The walls have shelves of books and scrolls, apparently on musical topics. Someone has been using this room for composing.

The town is visible through the crossbow slits in the tower wall.

Raven arrives on the heels of the acolythi with a promptness that suggests that the invite was treated rather more as a summons than a suggestion. She gives her guide a quick word of thanks, clearly a dismissal, and shuts the door before turning to Brennan. "Town's something," she says by way of greeting, nodding towards the crossbow slit. "Probably ain't the kind of place I'd stay for long, but there's a few bits that stick out. One of 'em, I'm pretty sure messing with it is gonna be like kicking at least two hornets' nests."

"Your morning sounds more interesting than mine," Brennan says. "I spoke with Paige and her right hand man, Van, but he's no more an historian than most people. How did you find two hornets' nests for the price of one?"

"She found me," Raven answers, with a snort of amusement. Her amusement doesn't last more than a moment, though. "She wanted to have us pass a message back to a place called Pontus, where I guess the Klybesians are setting up shop through a gal she called the Prophetess. Or to have us take her and maybe her ma back to Pontus, and it sounds like they fled because of that Prophetess and then got picked up by the Moonriders, who want her to join them. And she said the Moonriders have a sisterhood and a - " She pauses and then says carefully, "Diaconate? Something about deacons, whatever those are? Another group that's part of this lot. Seems like they keep the lower folks in check.

"So, one hornet's nest - bloody monks again. Got a place, got a name - probably just need someone to go drop a comet on the right place, but that might could be taken care of with a bit less of a show," she says dryly. "And two... That girl's scared of someone here finding out she knows about that Prophetess and is trying to warn folks there, and she don't seem like one that gets scared easy. Didn't promise we'd take her outta here, but we could and maybe should - and I would lay money on if we do, it's gonna cause the kind of stir that ain't gonna help our other work here if they have even a hint that we're the ones that did it."

"Pontus... Never heard of it," Brennan says. "Definitely worth passing back home to see if anyone else has, when we get the chance. Is it too much to hope this Prophetess has a name? The way things run, it wouldn't surprise me if she's someone we know. Or are related to.

"Comets are Jerod's department, gas explosions are mine," Brennan says. "And if you say we should take this girl with us-- does she have a name, by the way? Might make her easier to find-- I'll back your play."

Raven shakes her head. "Didn't get more of a name - just that she's pretending to worship someone in Pontus but it's really the Unicorn. And some names of other folks - Penthelisea was one, and a couple of ladies whose names start with an A - that have the ear of the queen there. Girl's name is Chirope. She offered a token to prove to whoever we talk to that she's sent the message, and I told her we could take that."

She pauses there, shaking her head. "Got a plan to be able to meet up with her again, but the question of getting her out of here? I think I gotta think about that, and I think I might need to know more than I do - and maybe not from her. She was pretty clear that she thought it'd take a Prince of Amber and a lot of trouble to get her out, but she also didn't know there was anything but Princes and Princesses of Amber. And she said her distant grandma is here too, and called the Strategist."

"Well, we're going to have to meet this Strategist, or at least find out who she is-- name like that practically demands it. And maybe figure out why she's here while Chirope seems to be from Pontus. I don't think I followed that family history," Brennan says.

"For my part, I got a few details out of Van, but I'm not sure how helpful they'll be. If there's any equivalent Altamaran priestly caste, they've either died out, or are so atrophied that they may as well have. But in the original Tir-na Nog'th, they survived on Royal patronage. Also, the reason for the Altamaran rebellion seems to be at least two-fold-- one was over the issue of the current Moonriders' abilities over time and space, but that's as far as I was able to get on that track. A lot of 'price too high to pay' rhetoric, but nothing of what the price was. The other fold explains much: This place," Brennan lightly stamps a foot against the floor for emphasis, "was a colony of Tir-na Nog'th. And the dispute was a disagreement over, how did he put it... the exploitation of the land as resources, vs the exploitation of people as resources."

He pauses to let that sink in. "Yeah, that explains the architecture, doesn't it. And sets some expectations about how the lands farther out are arranged, too. But in part, it explains why Oberon led the remnants here-- it already existed, and had probably been diverging away from the original culture for quite some time."

Raven nods. "Aye, that makes sense - but makes me wonder. If this was somewhere that was moving away from the original folks of Tir, who's actually the other side here? Or to put it another way... who's actually making up the natives that they're defending against these days, the actual natives or the folks from Tir before... or both?"

"That is an excellent question, that I don't know the answer to," Brennan says, matter-of-factly. "That middle group, the Tir stock who remained after the city became as it is, is an awful big linchpin. At least potentially."

Raven nods. "Aye, and like everything else I'm finding - something that's going to take a little time to unravel unless we find a key." She snorts. "Or get a straight answer."

Brennan curiously, but respectfully, peruses the collections of books and scrolls before the meeting.

The books and scrolls are in Thari, and many have multiple copies. There are shadow histories -- Bellum and Asir are there, and a history of some place called Pontus. There are also books on the arts and products of various shadows, which would make this place a great source of knowledge for those looking to trade. Most of the shadows of the Golden Circle are listed. There seems to be an elaborate classification scheme around shadows.

Since Raven just mentioned Pontus, Brennan flags that one mnemonically, for later inquiry. And if there's time, points it out to Raven.

If there is time, Raven will definitely take a moment to at least glance at it, though she'll follow Brennan's lead in being respectfully curious.

Many of the scrolls seem to be firsthand reports of various places and events.

"I see you've had a chance peruse some of our works here, Lord Brennan." The man who is speaking looks more like a middle school administrator than a priest. Perhaps he is a librarian. "I understand you wish to discuss matters with me? I am the Chancellor of the college."

"Yes, Chancellor, thank you for taking the time to meet with us." He introduces himself and Raven, and does not shy away from the 'Brandson' part of the name.

Raven, for her part, greets the priest with a polite, "Chancellor," when she's introduced.

He bows.

"We have a number of topics we'd like to discuss, and since one of them is history, I think we've come to the right place. Are these all histories of places you've had contact with?" It's technically a question, but it's delivery is more of an admiring compliment. While he answers, Brennan sizes him up, but not overtly-- does he seem to be a 'true' Moonrider, with their traditional command over Time?

That's hard to tell. He definitely doesn't look like a knight, or at least not the kind that can vault onto his horse from behind while wearing full armor. Maybe he's retired.

"Or maybe travel diaries?" Raven suggests. "Knew a sailor that kept that kind of thing - a bit of history and a bit of what was there, that kind of thing."

"We're not Klybesians, but we do value the accumulation of knowledge. We add either type to the library, when we can obtain them. The insights of an author from the shadow are often useful for building context for the observations of traders or explorers.

"To me, the most interesting items are the annotated topic bibliographies. There's one on the next shelf over on the land of Bellum, and it's not very long, but it gives what context we have on the different codices and folios from that particular shadow. Amber traded with them extensively, as I recall.

"Do you know if anyone has recorded their observations of Xanadu yet? We would be quite interested in obtaining those works."

"I know of at least one that was in preparation," Brennan says, "But that project was never completed. Do you have anything on Uxmal?"

Brennan keeps his eyes out for any signs that the Chancellor is engaging in Moonrider tricks, including passive Pattern awareness, but is not overt about it. Just a background vigilance, born of curiosity.

Nothing immediately. On the other hand, this may not be a place where such tricks would be used.

The priest considers. "Uxmal.... Name on a rutter to me, I'm afraid. Nothing recent that I recall. It wasn't a popular destination, for some reason. I can have a librarian bring you anything we have."

"Unpopular? Can't imagine why," Brennan says, in a tone that clearly indicates otherwise. "Yes, I would be grateful to see any material you have concerning the place. It may be helpful to look for materials from emissaries of the place, as well as materials you've been able to bring back."

He nods. "I'll have the library send what we find."

Raven shakes her head. "I don't know of anybody writing down what they think of Xanadu," she says. "Not that's fit for a library or studying, anyway."

He smiles. "The ones that aren't fit for studying are the ones that tell us the most, I find."

"If you can get 'em to write it down," Raven says, "and are willing to deal with the half that's lies, I suppose so. This all stuff you get from emissaries and travelers, or is it your people that're doing the traveling and the writing?"

"There are very few people who travel strictly to write travel guides for us. Some have been commissioned, but most were not even written for us. Many come from the libraries of distant shadows, or from trade of one sort or another. Have you been to Gateway? They magically copied several volumes for us that we could not acquire from our regular trading partners.

"We try to preserve what we can. You never know when something that someone thought was a lie or myth will turn out to be useful. And it keeps the scriveners busy making clean copies of histories. And even the lies are useful by telling us what someone is interested in lying about."

"You collect that kind of stuff about your own people?" Raven asks, out of curiosity.

"We collect anything we can get our hands on. I find that people want to write down their story almost as soon as their peoples learn to write, and my people learned to write a long, long time ago. Our role is... unusual in our relationship with the Moonriders, who consider themselves nomadic and our library is a special place for them. Nomads and collections of written lore that cannot be easily moved are not an obvious pairing."

It's the first time he has spoken of the Moonriders and it's clear he sees them as distinct from the priesthood.

"We are by no means the only librarians in shadow."

Brennan definitely notes that distinction from the Moonriders.

As does Raven.

"The Academies of Summerless," Brennan agrees. And, more somberly, "The Library of al-Ys Ksandria. Do you also collect your own history here?"

"And keep it with the Moonriders', or separate?" Raven asks.

He starts speaking, more quickly this time. "Books are memories, Lord. A library is the memory of a people, of a place. To be without a record of who we are, of what we thought, knew, and did, that would make us fragile. With only living memory to guide us, and only the knowledge, analysis, and skills of the living, we would be subject to the whims of the moment. No culture can be rich and deep without history."

He seems very excitable on the subject of libraries. "A book is a tool for extending your mind like a sword is a tool for extending your arm, and the library is an arsenal. I collect anything, and consider the cultures I exist within to be a very worthy subject to remember."

"I couldn't agree more, actually," Brennan says, "Although duty rarely allows me the time to collect, or to enjoy a collection for any length of time. How far back do your archives go?"

Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Cultures?" As opposed to the singular.

"Hard to keep a library at sea," Raven observes. "Are there more than two cultures here? Yours and the Moonriders, aye?"

"Some people consider a place and a culture to be synonymous, and sometimes they overlap in a way that makes them seem identical, but that's not what I see. Even in your Amber, there are merchant cultures, forest cultures, navy cultures, artisan communities. Communities may be a better word, but it just seems too tightly connected to the material and not to the interpersonal.

"And yes, there are cultures here at many layers, all interacting, changing over time, and bringing new and vibrant facets to life. The culture that produces the festival of Ghenesh is very different from the culture of the temple or the culture of the moon riders. How could it be any other way?"

"I would have considered those Amber examples to be sub-cultures," Brennan says. "And while, yes, I freely admit that is a fine semantic point to slice, it's probably not completely without merit. Otherwise, you reach the point where every individual family or every individual person constitutes a culture, and eventually the term becomes meaningless. But despite having observed it in Shadow for hundreds of years, I doubt there's anything I have to say that hasn't already been said."

"And here I was thinking just about the people that say they're one people as a culture," Raven says, and there's a certain wry amusement to her voice.

"I confess, I have seen evidence of interesting cultural overlap here in Ghenesh, but I am also interested in how the cultures of Amber and Tir-na Nog'th interacted, from the Tir perspective," he finishes.

"Aye," Raven says. "I came here not knowing a whole lot about all of this," and she makes a little encompassing gesture, "except a bit from Amber histories, and it didn't take much looking around to figure out that what's in the histories ain't telling even part of the whole story, and it's got precious little about what the people are like on top of that."


After some exchange of messages through pages and secretaries and servants, it is arranged that Celina will host Delta for a dinner to discuss matters. The details of the matters to be discussed are not disclosed; they are royal businesss. (This is advice from Coral, who sends her love to Celina but has things of her own to do.)

The kitchens have prepared dishes according to Celina's instructions and prepared the space for the family meal.

The meal is a tribute to the double dozen seas. All of the ports of call are represented by some favorite dish of various trade factors or full ambassadors.

Halimedes escorts Delta to meet the Queen at the appointed hour. The denizens of the castle given the Triton a wide berth: some from respect, others from fear.

The venue is deep in the Palace. A spacious chamber scaled to Triton architecture.

It situates as an antechamber to an exclusive stairway spiraling down into the Catacombs beneath the palace. Today it is lit and jeweled with dancing reflections from pendant lights that hiss with eternal green fires.

Despite all this grandeur, Celina has her hair pinned up. She wears only a shoulder drape of blue sapphires and a golden beaded tanga. She looks over the food table with pleased expression.

But her smile is larger when her family arrives. Celina welcomes Delta and Halimedes. "Delta, the Court never sees this place and usually it is not furnished or lit. Welcome. Please remember how to get here in case you should ever need to."

In her short time here, Delta has not changed her attire. Celina's costume gets a grin. "You look comfortable, cousin. Suits you." She glances around the Triton-scaled rooms, cavernous as they are. "These are expansive, to not be of much use. But I'll remember." She juts out an elbow as if to nudge Halimedes, not that she actually touches the Triton. "You fit well here. No hitting your head on the door jambs, eh?"

With that, she finally sees the food, and her eyes grow wide. "How many attend this dinner? You, me, and a hungry crew?" Despite the surprised words, her laugh afterwards is filled with delight at the novelty of it all.

"I was schooled not to eat so much when I was growing up. Slender figure and all that marriage folderol. But it turns out I'm hungry all the time naturally. Many in the Family are. So... this is just for us and the tritons. I arranged before I realized Coral would be elsewhere. How goes the tour of Rebma?"

Delta grins at Celina's revelation. "Any would be lucky to wed you now. And please, don't wait on me to start digging in. You never know when the winds will turn, so do what you must when you can." The words have the sound of an aphorism, often repeated. She approaches the table, picks a bit of shrimp from a platter and eats appreciatively before saying, "Ah, fine. Fine. Your guards are a handsome lot. Halimedes is attentive. Grandmother already seems on the mend from her long sadness. Yet I still don't know what this place, you, or the family want from me. So perhaps we can chat about that." It's easily said, without challenge or rancor. "In the meantime...ahh, there's the wine. Want some?"

"Yes please," Celina finds a bulb to fill for both of them. "I have resolved not to drink alone but it is good for me in company. Let's us set no limits and chat the sun up."

Delta laughs. "No limits. My favorite kind." In short order there's a clinking - or a watery thunk - of Rebman stemware, followed by a few words of appreciation about the quality of the drink.

And then: "Do you often deny yourself? It must be a lonely pillar, yours." It's said with a sympathetic half-smile as accompaniment.

Halimedes is not partaking. He is on duty, and keeps a respectful distance. Apparently he doesn't think Celina is going to do anything untoward to Delta.

Celina finds the question acute but unexpected even so. She hmms and then, "Not so much but in some cases very much. I get to smile, laugh, and look after my duties without too many restrictions. I do not get to drink to forget, feel sorry for myself, or eat my enemies. Not that I would answer that question to anyone else I currently know." She laughs a little.

Delta laughs aloud at 'eat my enemies' before saying, "I carry the secret to my ending in the depths below. Where's your brother, by the way? Has he left the deep for elsewhere?"

Celina suddenly has more energy and intense directed gaze at Delta. "I appreciate you may like him. He's different. Raised in Chaos by a mother that radically changed her mind about her child after the War. Dara is dangerous. I'm very protective of him. He's accommodated me a lot and he did not have to. Our culture is bizarre to him, but he's really Gifted and he wants to know us better. He comes and goes to his own currents. He should still be here, but don't be surprised if he Trumps away to Paris without notice."

Delta refills their bulbs of wine. "Chaos. I've heard you all mention it, but what the blazes is it?" She snorts. "Tell me it's just the opposite of Order, and I'll throw a shrimp at you." She makes a mock threatening gesture with her chosen prawn. "It's a place? A court? I understand about every fifth word you all say."

Celina grins and nods at the weapon, "Sure. But fair warning, throwing shrimp here requires practice."

Delta laughs and disarms herself by consuming the weapon in two neat bites.

"Chaos is also meant as a fuzzy term, I think. Those people may even call it something else. They are distantly related, but many despise our ways. The place is huge but full of small domains that are fiercely held by single Chaosii. No one has told me there is a Court, but there was a War with Amber so they do have alliances and politics. Shapers. Suited to the ever changing conditions.

"Chaos is something like the Deep; large predators, amazing landscapes, and an environment that may try to kill you." Celina looks pleased with the comparison.

"Our ways...but the Family seems to have multiple ways in itself, at least from what I've seen. Pirates and sorcerers and artists and queens." She indicates Celina with a wave of her hand. "What ways do they despise?" She's building up to something, obviously, but asks these broader questions to begin.

Celina hmmms. "I infer from things Merlin has said and others in the Family have glossed over in my hearing that it is strongly a culture divide as to what kind of rules predators live by. They find us lame for we don't each rule a domain but band together. They find us disgusting for we exchange fluids and procreate in a sloppy mess. Politically, they are unsatisfied they lost the Great War. My father's Grandfather could be more specific, or Benedict, the Eldest. It is enough for me to respect Merlin's views and help him thrive in the universe."

"Ahhh," says Delta, clearly realizing something as Celina speaks. "Well, then." She holds on a beat longer before letting out a strangled laugh. "Sloppy mess. What a way to put it. But as you say, aye. Best to let your brother be your brother as he is.

"Celina," she says after another beat of silence. "I need to walk the maze. And I need to talk to the realm's spymasters. Should probably do the second first, but--" she looks up to meet the other woman's gaze. "I am swimming in deep waters, and I'm thinking they go deeper still. I need to be stronger."

Celina's heart speeds up and the ocean around her sizzles with the memory of consuming sparks.

She nods. "Well, I think the maze comes before everything else. But believe me you are stronger than you realize. If you discard the idea that there is anything you could not accomplish for your loved ones if not for yourself alone."

Celina smiles, "Otherwise I cannot allow it. Take my hand, dear Delta. Let me test you."

Without another word, Delta extends her hand. It's long-fingered, scarred across the palm, with fingernails cut short and noticeable calluses. Working hands.

Celina wipes food from her hand. She steps to Delta. With a smile and nod at the noble appearance of Delta's hand Celina slides her palm into Delta's grip. "The Labyrinth is demanding and unforgiving. It will try to turn you inside out. You must keep moving. You must be adamant. The whole of it is exhausting but when you reach the center you can send yourself fully to a safe location."

Celina sees they both have centered. "Squeeze my hand tight as you can. Be focused. Be determined. Crush my grip. Go!"

Delta doesn't need to be told twice. Her hands have tended to sails and rigging, killed and loved, hauled and dug. She bears down with all her strength, as requested.

Celina believes the tale told by Delta's hands. Family is stronger and more determined than even the Pattern. Sometimes.

Celina uses the moment to weld to Delta's intent. She uses all Takhi to become part of Delta's physicality and focus. Celina wants to feel Delta's intangible self as well as the pain she can bring to bear on Celina's smaller hand.

(And she will give back what mighty grip she can to see if any distraction alters Delta's focus.)

Usually, this sort of thing would be as casual as arm wrestling to decide who buys the next round of pints. This is different, though. This is Delta wanting something. Badly. And so she bears down without issuing quips, without winking or jesting or anything except fierce concentration. The pain from Celina's return grip is almost reassuring -- it means Delta isn't hurting her cousin, and so she grips all the more tightly.

Celina is surprised the pain feels so right and hot. She feels the wall of differences between Delta and herself. A veil Celina cannot cross. But the focus is more the same than not. Delta adds to it. Celina notes the warnings as her bones grind in ways they are not meant to. Celina envies the clarity of the focus and bitterly regrets the veil between blood.

But the more important truth is Delta is determined and so... Celina says, "Enough."

And releases Delta.

Delta immediately lets out a pained, "Gods, but you have a grip on you, cousin!" It's admiring, rather than admonishing. "Did I pass your test?"

Celina splays her fingers and shakes away the throbbing into the caress of water.

"Yes. I give you my blessing to walk the Pattern of Rebma. The Pattern is dangerous and you know it kills. Ask now if you have questions beyond never stop once begun and push through any distraction. If you allow, I'll be with you in the chamber." Celina adds quietly, "Tonight might be good, as no one should think on you being elsewhere than secluded with me."

Celina impulsively hugs her and kisses her cheek. "For luck."

Delta gladly accepts the embrace. "Tonight! Such boldness! This is why you're my favorite." The anticipatory gleam in her eye fades slightly as she asks, "Do you truly wish to be there in the chamber? After such loss as you've suffered before?"

Celina lightly runs a hand over Delta's shoulder. "You are kind."

Celina gestures then with the same hand at the floor in the direction of the Pattern chamber. "My Pattern is a violent killer, yes. My grandmother was fierce to a degree that is hard to emulate, but if I am to save the city, I must not live in the shadow of my love's death or my feelings about it. I can try to make a difference. I cannot live in despair of what happened to us down there."

"What's gone is gone," says Delta, nodding. "And -- I will not fall, cousin. But -- if I do, will you see Coral comfortable for the rest of her days?"

"Yes I will," Celina pledges, "and your mother and step-father as well if they also come here."

Celina describes the descent route to the Pattern to Delta. "I don't mind if Tritons see this walk, your choice. The doors and passages accommodate them."

Delta glances in Halimedes' direction. "I don't mind if you don't, friend," she says to him before stepping toward the amazing banquet Celina prepared. She pops another couple of tidbits in her mouth, and when those are gone, takes a mighty swig of wine straight from the bottle. When she turns back to Celina, her eyes are gleaming with an explorers' fervor. "Tell me what I owe you for this, cousin. Before I go, I have to know that."

Debt. Yes, she grew up with everything a fair trade, agreed to. So interesting.

Celina looks at Delta, memorizes her. "You must be faithful to Rebma's throne and those assigned to protect the Pattern. You must honor the throne's agreements or bring them back to honor if they stray. And be faithful to Family, as you certainly are. If these oaths meet your approval then we are well met."

Delta tilts her head as she listens, then repeats it back in her own manner. The words are seriously said; a vow is no light matter. "I will keep faith with the Rebma you bring back to itself. I will keep faith with the family..." She holds up a finger, as if to alert Celina to the change she then makes. "...that also keeps faith with Rebma. In case there is strife again. Aye?"

Celina nods once.

And as she waits for Celina's agreement or disagreement, she suddenly pats her pocket and says, "Damnation. What do I do with this as I walk the maze? Does it come with me, or would it be endangered?" She briefly shows Celina the regalia tucked deep within the pocket she indicated.

"Oh, by Lir's pointed ears!" Celina takes a deep breath. Untried friend on a very bloody Pattern with that very package? No. That is too much to chance. Celina recovers.

"I think you would be endangered, dear cousin. That thing has already kissed the Pattern I'm sure. I could hold it while you make the trial. Leaving it even in my rooms would not be wise at all. It has deeper properties and would stress you the more."

Delta nods. She unfastens her jerkin, with the regalia still in its discreet pocket. She walks over to Celina and carefully drapes the jerkin over her shoulders, should Celina allow it. "There. Warmth and a terrifying bit of jewelry all in one."

Celina bears the jerkin gift and the whisper of fate that thunders down upon her. Celina straightens and adjusts.

With that, Delta takes a deep breath. "Soonest started, soonest done, eh? Thank you, cousin. We'll see each other as soon as I'm done."

Unless Celina has more to say, Delta then strides off in the directions Celina offered, toward the Pattern of Rebma.

Even knowing very well that the Trial is something Delta does alone, Celina walks along with her. It isn't duty or fear.

It feels like love. That is a surprise.

Halimedes accompanies them.


With Celina and Halimedes walking and swimming alongside, Delta has no trouble making her way down the well to the Pattern chamber of Rebma.

When they arrive at the correct chamber, Celina uses the key to open the door. The expanse of the room is huge to Delta's eyes. In the palace she can forget a little that everything sits on flat ground, if underwater. This is sheer rock with the tracery of the Pattern carved into the floor, as if by some divine hand. It's lit in green, little flames that spark along the lines: a flame that Celina knows well and Delta feels in her bones and blood.

The place where she should step onto it is clear. Halimedes places a hand on Delta's forehead for a moment, as if to bless her, then retreats to let her begin.

Delta takes in the scene: the hugeness of the chamber, the flickering green flames. When the Triton touches her, she starts, but quickly smiles. "Thank you, friend," she says to Halimedes, then turns to Celina and gives her a wink. "No weeping today, cousin. Promise." From the wry twist to her lips, she knows this is a promise she can't entirely control -- but make it she does.

With that - and a pause for any last words of Celina's - she whistles a few bars of a sea shanty on her way to the Pattern's beginning.

Celina matches tone to the music, "Take no whale crap."

The pattern seems to pulse along with her heartbeat as Delta moves along the glowing lines. It would be easy to step off, but Delta finds her feet seem to know how to do this. The delicate filigree across the vast floor start to spark as she steps, when her foot comes up and when her foot comes down, like an iron rubbed against a flint, faster and faster.

It becomes a challenge just to move, a physical test as well as one of dexterity. Her legs will feel this in the morning. Assuming she makes it until morning. It's like getting on a horse after a year at sea. Things she didn't know she had are complaining, and she hasn't even gotten to the tricky parts.

This wouldn't work for her mother. It's too hard, and she'd stop, or misstep. She's not really strong enough for this.

"Are we really so different, then? It's not like you not to take the easy way." It's her mother's voice, but it sounds like her at her worst, when Delta was a teenager and still knew everything. "Can't you tell? It shouldn't be this hard, this fast. It's going to be too hard, girl and it's almost too late to turn back. This? It's not for the likes of you or me. Just swim up and away and live to profit. This is going to kill you.

"You won't be the first of us to die athwart it."

Delta's legs ache with effort; her feet feel like they're encased in stone. One foot, then another. One foot, then another. Gaze on the lines, steady as she goes. It's not so different than working the rigging high above deck while a storm rages and the sails snap like whip-cracks. "We're nothing alike," she says to her mother's words, whether in her head or aloud, she cannot tell. Too hard? What was too hard? "Lots of things are hard," she says, again to her distant mother's voice. "This is just walking." Bravado, to be sure -- nothing has felt this physically strenuous in all of Delta's years. Then again, bravado has always given her wings.

Terrible images flicker through her thoughts. Celina's lost Khela, crumpled in the maze. Coral's dead sister. Miscreants and radicals tumbling from the safety of the high stairs into horrible death. Her breath aches in her chest. "The sea is never safe," she says, and this time she's certain she's said it aloud. "It takes. The sea takes." In the end, the sea and its deep, deep gods always win -- but not her, not today. She will not leave Celina weeping and Coral bereft. This is just walking. Just walking. One foot, then another. The sizzling green lines are the entire world.

The pressure lets up as she presses her way along the grand curve. The sparks don't, however, and start to rise again. The resistance quickly builds back up, as she walks. Has it been ten minutes or four hours? There is no bell to change watches here, she just has to keep pressing on.

Delta thinks on the difference between this land beneath the waves. Waves are a thing above her. There are no storms, no winds, no snow or sunlight. Calm, below, regardless of the weather above.

"The sea is peace. I am peace. You will have my peace, at some point, my child. Why fight for the shallowness of the surface when you can have the whole of the sea to explore?"

Floating in front of her is the Sea Witch herself, Mother Carey, the threat and promise that all sailors eventually go to the watery afterlife below the waves. Some sooner than later. She looks like Celina and Halimedes together.

"Death is easy, and striving only puts it off. You only add to your suffering by prolonging it."

Celina watches the sparks rising and swallowing Delta. Her hands clench into fists.

She has my blessing.
She has my blessing.
She has my blessing.

So this is what it's like to be lightning -- to be the storm, but inverted, all of it under-sea. Harsh green reflects in her dark eyes and flickers at the ends of her hair. Muscles ache almost to the edge of her endurance, but not over, not yet. Within that pain beats another one, a smaller discomfort -- heat flares along her hip, where the pocket rests that held the Rebman regalia. Its absence sears. Delta cannot dwell on it, no more than she can dwell on the way her legs quiver with each step. This is deep magic, all of it. Deep and cruel.

One foot ahead of the other. Again, again, though she's striding through tar, through quicksand, through treacle. She recognizes the spirit that floats just ahead of her like a dour mirage, this chimera of cousin and protector. Delta somehow forces her face into a grin, though it might look like a rictus instead.

She only speaks in her head now; speaking aloud is too much energy diverted from sheer will and the motion of her feet. "You want me dead, kill me. The Sea-Mother doesn't ask. She just does, swift as a storm. Swift as a blade." This is no Mother Carey, to gently urge her to her doom. "Away, phantom," she snaps. "Away with your nonsense peace."

One foot ahead of the other. The voice of her mother's husband breaking through, a memory of lessons when Delta was a spindly child and weapons sat oddly in her soft hands. "What's a warlord, tadpole? A warlord takes what he wants, knowing the cost will come. Want to be a warlord someday?" Delta didn't, though she wisely chose not to declare it that day. "Then learn loss. Learn failure. Learn stepping from wreckage and starting again. Learn scars."

Learn scars. Take no whale crap. One foot ahead of the other.

The pressure falls, the pressure rises, it beats with her steps and her heart. The whole pattern is a circulatory system and the blood of it flows when she moves it. She is small and there is so much to push.

And that has to be done while dancing an exact path that she can't see as the pulses of sparks crawl up her legs. She's been at this for a while, perhaps a long while. Delta isn't sure if she's reached the halfway point or not. Is it supposed to take forever or just seem that way?

"He's not wrong. He wouldn't last a week down here, but he'd go down fighting. He'd enjoy that." Coral never did have a high opinion of warlordism. "I wasn't brave enough to do what you're doing. I think it would've killed me. Still might I suppose. But it was an obvious danger in a city of hidden dangers.

"I'm worried about you, child. Celina put you on this path, like Moire put Celina's sisters on it and Moins put Moire's. Don't forget she's a warlord herself. You should try to keep enough of yourself in reserve for safety. You need to hold something back to protect yourself. This place eats people."

Celina stares at the growing cloud of sparks and can make little of Delta's form out of it.

Delta doesn't stop, or even pause -- but if any voice could make her do so, it's this one. Instead, she lifts one leg and places it down. Does it again. "What reserve?" she answers the phantom of her grandmother. "When do I hold anything back?" The words even draw a laugh from her, a true and full one, despite the pain that accompanies every move. "Protect myself? Since when?"

Memories spin past: storms and love affairs, battles, month-long revels and a few memorable stints in the brig. Hunger and wounds and privation. The weeks she nearly starved after a mutiny left her and her fellows marooned on an island bare of anything except rocks and bones. Leaping out of a third floor window after a long night with a warlord's wife. Stupid decisions -- yes, sometimes. But hesitation? Protection? Reserve? No.

"No!" she barks into the crackling green energy that surrounds her. "Forward! Always forward!" And so it is, one foot after the other, dragging herself along the path she can barely see. The words become a mantra for her heavy, plodding steps. Always forward. Always forward. And on she goes.

And on she goes. The pattern, the line on the ground that she knows where is but cannot see, the sparks rising towards her, reaching her waist, her ribs, her chest. She forces her way along the line with legs that feel like they're shackled and she'd dragging the entire castle above her along.

She's supposed to learn something from this, but all she's learning is to walk. Her will propels her and it's down to nothing but her will and the forces she's pushing against. She doesn't even have the luxury of thinking the opposition is personal. It's just forces.

She thinks about the cards, the people who she made up stories of. The laughing prince, the dancing beauty, the sailor. Each of them has done this, or so they say. And all the places are real places, all the places she dreamed of. The pattern she's walking represented on the back of the cards, wasn't it? She tries to picture it in her mind.

"Oh, yes, yes. Absolutely that way on purpose," says the voice. "They don't have to be like that, but it was sort of like my signature. I wanted people to know they were mine." The booming voice of Dworkin comes across the sparks. "Just a moment, let me get where I can see you." His head emerges over the sparks, and he seems to be about eight feet tall, looking down at her.

"Now, they're not exactly the same, but they are related, as it were. I said as much to Borel, a few millennia ago, but he didn't believe me. Still doesn't, now that he's dead, or mostly so."

"Do you know that there's a secret here? You've already passed the final test, and you can just float off the pattern now. No one will try it, but it will work. Frightfully easier, it is. You have my word as a Lord of Order. You've done enough."

Delta shakes her head with great effort, and green almost seems to whirl in her inner vision. "Still going. Still green." The light hasn't dimmed, the path hasn't ended. One foot, then the other. "I met you. You aren't that tall. Phantom." And again, she pushes through. The pattern from the back of the cards, was it this undersea path or the Xanadu one? How many are there? Is the Rebman one the same? Fancies spring up, places she can explore that might have powers to offer. Though it isn't power, is it? It's knowledge, pure knowledge. Seeing something no one else has seen. Taking the first steps into an unknown world. "You can't get somewhere without going there," she recites internally - another of her step-father's aphorisms. "Do the work. Learn scars. Go away, phantom." That again, is aimed at the looming Dworkin.

While looking up at him through bleary eyes, she almost trips. Almost. Her weary foot catches as she drags it forward, and she lurches suddenly to one side. She raises her arms to steady herself, though it's a near thing. It would have been so easy to step to her other foot to balance. It would have been so easy to fall.

Delta realizes the danger, and knows what tripped her. The resistance is gone, the sparks fade, the line is finished. She's done. There's nothing left to press against, and Delta does fall to her knees, but doesn't quite pass out.

There are new things in her mind now. She knows how to travel places, she knows how to add and subtract things from the path she's traveling. She knows how to insist to the universe that it will be the way she expects it to be.

But not until she's rested. The pattern is now like a giant, blank card, ready for her to temporarily write a place to take her to. Anywhere she can imagine.

Ideally someplace she can sleep it off.

Slam. Down to her knees, with an impact that jarred her straight to her teeth. If Dworkin's image still remains, she shoots it an apologetic look -- or she hopes she does. She's too tired to truly know what her face is doing. Whatever brain-space is left is overflowing with all that is new, with certainty and magic and reality's swift shifting. And ...it is all far too much. She hopes Celina sees her hale, though not especially hearty. She should get up. She should return to her cousin's side. She should reclaim the regalia. She should -- Perhaps Halimedes will recognize that Delta has returned to the room with all the food Celina prepared. Delta remembers a divan there, and in seconds she sleeps atop it. She'll show imagination when she can think again.


In the dream that follows her Pattern walk, Delta swims in a sea of memories, more remote now than they were before she joined Celina for dinner. Remote and different, like seeing backstage behind a mummers' show.

In thinking it, she makes it so: she sits cross-legged on warm sand watching a performance. Painted backdrops place the actors in some undersea land. No, the painted backdrops are of the Pattern, gleaming green in suddenly shifting waters. A staircase rises from the floorboards; the actors climb it while in the middle of their play-acting, then fall off one by one and rise no more. She stands and moves toward the makeshift stage as if to help. She can help now, she thinks. She can do everything now.

But first, she wakes. Her face is pressed to cool marble. She clears her throat.

Celina snaps awake from a nice dream of kisses and a warm embrace. She shifts on the lounge sponge. No. Khela isn't going to be here. Delta?

Celina sits up and swings her legs to the marble floor. "Delta?" she softly asks.

There's a pained 'ngh,' in response, though as Delta slowly curls herself into sitting, surprise crosses her face. "Why the blazes doesn't everything hurt more?" There's room beside her on the divan where she was transported to collapse. She reaches a hand toward Celina in invitation to join her there.

Celina thinks of Folly, wishing her friend were here to capture a Trump of Delta fresh from dire success and reaching for her.

Celina blushes, not obvious on her ocean skin. She rises and moves to Delta taking her hand and sitting down with her hip to hip. "Congratulations. Well done. I found you here when I walked back from the Cavern. You join a very select few. Rebma is hard on its people."

If allowed, Delta lets her head flop onto her cousin's shoulder. "So Coral says." A hint of wry humor enters her words when she adds, "By the way, I think I told our great-great-grand-whatnot Dworkin to piss sand at the end there." Snort. "Not literally, but same difference." The hint of humor turns into a full-on laugh. "I made it. I made it. I'm alive."

Celina wraps an arm about Delta's shoulder and squeezes. It is a moment that is better than the ten thousand breaths before. "It shall be noted in the Rebma Archives, the Great Grand WhatKnot Dworkin is kin to the Queen Celina and due those honors and curtesies." Celina smiles. "I don't know him so I hope he likes it. Thank you for being alive, Delta, Lady of the Sapphire Kilt."

Delta snorts again, which turns into another full-blown laugh. "That's me. Lady all around." She straightens, though she doesn't move away. "What'd you do, the day after you walked it? It all feels different, head to feet. I had no idea."

Celina swallows emotions as the question opens up closed off memory. "The sunlight of topside does not always reach Rebma in its pure forms. It depends on wind and wave above if it can reach us. But the day after, I walked the city by myself, wrapped in simple nets of common bead and weave. I found that the sun above was always a part of the city. That every emerald flame on the spires has a marriage to the gold above. That no street lies in shadow or depends on the scatter of gold through hundreds of meters of sea. I found the mosaic stones of streets were more colorful than I knew. I found that no one else saw these things. They were new to me but very old. They had always been there but my eyes now saw them. I was alone but wrote poetry on it. So I shared it with Queen Moire. She read it and said I should rest as I was overstressed from my ordeal. I did not realize Moire had never walked the Pattern. No one but you has ever asked me about it. It seems long ago."

Delta watches Celina speak, clearly enthralled. "Come on, then. Let's go see it togeth -- ah, blazes. Balls!" She half-stands, then plops back down. "I came down here last night for both excellent company and business. Damnation. Ready for a hint of business?"

"This is our time. Steer where you will."

If Celina seems amenable, Delta goes on to ask, "The throne's spymasters, the two of them. I want to talk to them, eh?"

Celina smiles wryly. "That was not expected. Are you assuming we have two or did someone give you names. And really, are you ready to do that kind of business? You just got here."

There's nothing in her emerald eyes that says no. She seems entirely relaxed.

"Coral said as much," Delta admits, "with fear for her future - and mine, I imagine. I have far less worry for myself, but you already know that for my grandmama, I will do anything." She sways a bit on her feet, and promptly sits again, heavily. "Gods. Tired."

She gives Celina an intent look. "She fears the stairs. She fears that she might be another of her line to be pushed from them."

Celina nods and holds Delta's hand, "That's how trauma works. It sets up in a shadow corner of your brain, and stimuli set it off bouncing out into your daylight mind. It can be gruesome and feel vividly rational."

Celina tries something more practical, "If ever I'm dead or pushed off the throne get her out of Rebma. While I'm here, no one is ever getting pushed off the Faiella Bionin. If the crime against Rebma is that severe, I'll execute the offender myself. I cannot ask the Sea to do it for me. You can tell her so.

"As for our intelligence officers, let me know if she mentioned names as I like to keep an eye on Moire's handpicked officers."

Celina's hand gets a squeeze at her declaration about the great Faiella Bionin. "She'll be relieved, eh? Not that she thinks badly of you, not at all. The opposite. But --"

Here she fixes her cousin with an intent look. "Why do you keep on any of Moire's people? How do you know they are loyal to you? Where I am from, a warlord's first act upon victory is to do away with the closest advisors of the ruler who came before."

Celina nods, "Great question. So, not that I got training for this in Nibbeak Finishing Academy, but here's the history. Those closest to Moire's court left after she did. I banished them in absentia unless they were related to the Royal line. Those Families of import swore to my throne when Khela died, for she never had time to clear house. There are Officials of Moire's court still with me, the Archivist staff. They all swore to my throne as well. If I banish them I delete Rebma's history. Thoughts on any of that?"

"I remember the archivists," Delta says. "At least those who escaped alongside Alex and I -- with Huon. They seemed...close." Her brow furrows. "I am no adviser myself. All I know is what I've seen and what I've done. But I hope you watch the scribes closely - the Archivists, I mean. But Grandmama spoke of spymasters. Moire's spymasters. Why do they still live? Are they of those families of import?"

Celina shakes her head no. "The Archivists are under watch. Plus the rescue brings back staff diversity to the role. Politics has not been kind to Rebma's historians. I've started trying to repair that aspect.

"Spymasters is an interesting term. I do not think it was ever official. But there were two who acted on the prior queen's cruel defense of Rebma. Bend. Montage. Coral would have reason to fear them and know their names if she had friends or just good sources in the city. While they are related, they were not royal and are no longer in Rebma. Montage is dead, I understand. His deeds caught up with him before Moire fled. Bend is captive in Paris. She traveled with Moire into safety but was captured while working in Paris to bolster my mother's plans there. Moire is yet alive. That's why I said if anything takes me out of the Court you need to clear Coral out of here. Moire will come back if I am not here. She is not like me. There is no mercy in her."

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Last modified: 16 January 2024