Current Log

Note: Previous logs can be found here.

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

After her meeting with Random, Hannah sends to see whether Gerard is up and agreeable to meeting with her. She learns that he is in his suite, that his lady wife is with him, and that he is not busy and can meet with her if she wishes.

Hannah washes up and pulls her hair back. She gathers together her notes and skims over them. She tosses them aside with a sigh.

"Grandfather Bear was right. That's just embarrassing." Frustrated with herself, she takes the tie back out of her hair and brushes it out again before heading down the hall to knock on Gerard's door.

She grins, expecting the sound of Scamp's feet running across the floor.

There are running feet, then a moment of hesitation, and it is Corvis that opens the door. She smiles warmly at Hannah. "Lady Hannah, come in. Gerard said you were coming; I have sent for food and drink to greet you." She gestures to Hannah to enter.

Scamp is standing with Corvis and winks at Hannah. Gerard is not immediately evident in the room; perhaps he's in a back area of the suite.

"My lady, thank you. It is good to see you again." Hannah comes in. "Hello Scamp. How have you all been?"

Hannah will settle herself into a chair to try to get Corvis to sit as well.

Corvis moves slowly, and Hannah can see that Scamp is watching her, ready to help. But she doesn't ask for assistance and he renders none as she seats herself carefully. "Well enough, thank you, although I know you'll need to see Gerard and speak to him yourself to measure his progress. How was your trip to Rebma?"

"I wish I could have been going under better circumstances. It is such a wonder to me. Learning to eat underwater was a marvelous challenge. I spent most of my time with the tribesmen, but when I was at court it was all one might expect, and more. It was a successful trip, which is the best thing that might be said about any adventure. Sad though, for my people and then, I hear, for Rebma. Had you heard Queen Khela died?" Hannah asks.

"We have heard. A terrible thing, and a great loss to Rebma. May the Goddess protect her soul," Corvis says, making a gesture that Hannah doesn't immediately recognize but that is clearly a blessing of some sort to Hannah's eyes. "How do you find her successor? Is she strong enough for the task? In Amber I found that so many did not respect a woman's strength, but it is less so here in Xanadu, and I am told that in Rebma women are respected as leaders. I hope the new Queen's father is wiser in his treatment of women than my husband's late father was."

Scamp has dashed off to fetch Gerard, or perhaps to bring food to offer the guest.

"Celina is young," Hannah begins, measuring her response. "Yet I do believe her life experience has taught her some temperance already. I've known her to hold her hand against anger and temptation. As for her father," she grins a bit, "he has his own kingdom to worry about and that's likely just as well. Change comes slowly, but change comes."

Her eyes look toward the other room and she bites her lip, but returns to the topic at hand. "I do believe Corwin more open-minded than Oberon, at any rate, though all I have are stories to judge by. Rebma is definitely a place that values women, it is true, what you have heard. I think it was a little too foreign for my tribal cousins." That makes Hannah grin again. "I did not find the time to seek out your daughter. Have you any word from her?"

"Avis has sent word from Paris that our people have settled there. I think some of the priestesses might wish to go on to Rebma in due time; Paris is not ruled by a spirit entirely congenial to their way of thinking. As you say, a little too foreign." Corvis' tone is knowing. "But need does as needs must when one removes from an old place to a new. Are your cousins to settle nearby?"

The door to the other room opens, with Scamp holding it so, and Gerard rolls out. He's looking drawn and unhappy, which could be any number of things not immediately obvious to Hannah.

Hannah is naturally distracted for a moment by Gerard, but she smiles at him, and turns back to answer his wife. "Indeed, down in the city. No doubt a number of them have developed some skills Paige may find useful in the wood, but I'm hoping to get my father to sort all that out."

"Well enow, I reckon." Gerard's accent is thick in a way that suggests to Hannah that's not true, unless it's just the influence of his wife that brings it out in him. He makes an effort to smile at Hannah. "I'm glad you've come home to Xanadu, such as it is, and brought your people and your father with. You'll be wantin' to take a look at my legs, o' course." He gives Corvis a look, as if this is some discussion they've already had. Scamp is looking at Hannah in mute appeal, as if he doesn't care for it when Mommy and Daddy fight.

"Scamp, can I send you on an errand? I hope you don't mind," she adds to Corvis, "it won't take long." She proceeds to send him searching around and possibly outside of the palace for a list of ingredients she wants, and it will indeed take some time.

Scamp looks to Corvis for permission before accepting the job, but she permits it and Gerard offers no objection.

Once she has Scamp out of the way she sits back and looks between Corvis and Gerard. "Why don't the two of you just tell me what's been happening and what your own thoughts are?"

"Things are difficult here. It distracts Gerard from his recovery," Corvis says simply.

Gerard looks at his wife, his eyes flashing, and shakes his head. "I'm needed here, and that helps. Makes it easier for me to keep from using the morphine."

"You are needed," Corvis agrees. "But the King can give your work to others for a time, and will if you ask it. And in any case, that is not what troubles you most, nor what troubles me." She turns her clear gaze on Hannah. "Gerard is a confidant of the Queen, and things are ill between her and the King."

Hannah nods, very serious now. "Are we in agreement that no one can fix that but them? Or do either of you think there is something you can do about that?"

"I reckon," says Gerard, with the air of a man who has had this conversation a time or two, "that it should be brought to Random's attention that his wife is still ailing and that he should pay a bit less attention to his city and a bit more to her."

Corvis presses her lips together as Gerard speaks. "The King is chosen by the Goddess and it is his to do as he wills, as little as I like it. The Queen is not a goddess incarnate, which is undoubtedly better for her as a woman; if they are not well-suited, she is not bound to him." It's not a conclusion she seems to like much either.

"The problem's not his being bound to her again his will. Ye ken perfectly well what the problem is," Gerard snaps.

Hannah shakes her head, seeing there is another frank discussion to be had after this one. "If a man doesn't know his wife's mind and state, she's hiding it from him, or he doesn't count her worth seeing. Is she not strong enough to confront him herself, or has she decided the consequences of that aren't worth it for her?"

Corvis answers before Gerard can speak up. "As an outside observer, I believe it is some combination of the two. The King knows she is ill and has assigned his sister, the sorceress Fiona, to aid her. Fiona has left Xanadu to research the Queen's illness, and now other than a few close companions--" here, Corvis looks at her husband "--she is alone. I have attempted to befriend her, but I believe she fears for her place and does not wish to bring me closer, despite the fact of my marriage to Gerard. My sense is that she sees me as dependent, not unlike her, and therefore a competitor--although I have no wish to compete for the attentions of her husband or my own." Corvis says this with the sort of assurance that reminds Hannah of elderly women of her own tribe with powerful medicine in their own right.

Her answer doesn't sit well with Gerard. "And all that's true, but it's not all there is to it." His tone drops toward something more conciliatory. "It's not you she's afraid of, love."

Hannah waves her hand. "Is all there is to it that his affections are elsewhere?" she asks dryly. "Or is there more?"

"Vialle is not the King's equal, or would not be if he were still a prince. I am not a God as Gerard is, but I have my own power, or had in the days of my youth." Corvis smiles and pats Gerard's arms. "I have no regrets--or none of that sort, anyway--and no fears. Vialle has never been strong, and her rival is one she sees as stronger than herself.

"And," she says, looking at Gerard, "it is terrible for Gerard, because he is loyal to her as Queen, as he should be, and as a friend, but her rival is his ward."

"Ah, Gerard, if it wasn't her it'd be someone else. The truth is he doesn't love Vialle enough not to allow anyone else past it." Hannah sighs. She turns to smile at Corvis, a smile of appreciation for the truth, and for her having the strength to say it. Admiration.

She looks back to Gerard with a sympathy. "Now, seriously uncle, this is my point. I know this hurts you, and you will continue to struggle with it. What I want for you is a moment of clarity about what you can and cannot do here, because you have enough to battle against without this. You can have sympathy but if it's hurting you, and it is, you step away. That doesn't mean you have to leave.

"Now, I don't believe you can make your little brother behave. I've tried to scare, threaten, talk sense to and blackmail my little brother when he wouldn't act right, and it never worked. If you feel like you need to go do that with Random, even though I think it won't work, I'll go help you. Right now."

"It doesna matter matter if he loves her so much or no. He could at least do her the courtesy of honoring her in public." Gerard doesn't answer Hannah's question directly, but his failure to do so is an answer of its own. "She's ill as well, and she needs treatment. She vanished for a time and she's been worse since she came back. And he's got two sons, to be sure, and both of them fine lads, but it's not the same as a son of his rightful queen, to secure the throne."

Corvis starts to interrupt, but Gerard won't let her. "Neither of you remember what it was like when Dad was king and there was all the jostling and striving for Dad's affection and respect. All the trouble with the redheads, and Corwin and Eric, and Ben choosing to leave for decades. If Random can't put his house in order, or won't, it'll be more of the same." He looks to Hannah. "I reckon ye know what I mean."

"No, I don't," Hannah says shortly, a touch of frustration slipping through. "You're not listening to me. You are not Random's keeper, nor Vialle's either. Until you heal yourself, you can't be the help they need. The best thing you can do for this kingdom right now is focus on yourself. I'm beginning to get the feeling you're afraid to do that."

Gerard scowls and flushes, but from the set of his jaw it's less fear than anger. "My duty is still to Amber, and to Xanadu by those same oaths, and sitting in this chair can't keep me from fulfilling it. It's one thing to work my way off the morphine, but the truth is we'd all be a sight better off if we quit pretending there's some magic miracle that'll make me hale and whole again."

Hannah gets up to pace. She takes a breath. "I'm not counting on a magic miracle. I'm counting on hard work and persistence. Your hard work and persistence, along with many others. And really, I have no problem with you doing your duty, but it sounds like we're going to disagree about what that is."

She crosses her arms. "I know for damn sure your health comes before Random's marriage. He's perfectly capable of marital rapprochement, if he cared to do it."

Almost reflexively, Gerard crosses his own arms in response. "It's not fixing his marriage. No one but he and his wife can do that. But--Corvis, you understand what I mean. In the Isles, we said the King and the land were one. They thought that if the king, the god, were a cripple, that the land would fail. And mebbe they were right, because they made me a god and I was crippled and it fell."

Corvis pales a little and her hands move, but the slight dip of her head does not end with her face buried in them.

"And I never went back there because they'd've laid me on the stone and given my blood to the land for being less a man than I was. And expected my wife to do it, or join me in giving her life to the land."

Here Corvis nods her agreement, stoic.

"Now I don't hold with that old shadow magic, even if seemed to come true. But I was in Amber when this place was made. And it was made, Hannah. They came here and there was nothing and we came here later and there was a castle and what lies beneath. And the same in Paris.

"And there's a thing I didn't understand until I ruled over an Amber that was dead: Amber was Dad's place and it was like him, until he was gone and it wasn't like anything at all, just falling apart. Now this place will be like Amber was, but Random's. He's my little brother, and if I can keep him from going wrong her e, I can make this place better. Better not just for you and me, but for our children and the children that come after them. Princes come and princes go--Eric wasna the first I've seen die, nor will Lucas be the last--but Xanadu will be eternal, or near enough as Amber was. You say I'm afraid, like that's meant to stop me. Only a fool knows no fear, and I'm not that kind of fool. I'm more afraid of seeing all Dad's mistakes repeated by Random and Corwin than I am of dying, or of living."

Hannah purses her lips, then sits back down. She uncrosses her arms and grips the seat instead. Gerard gets a narrow-eyed look. "There are so many things to argue with you about in those statements, I don't even know where to start. Let us say you're right about all that, though, so we can move on. Tell me your top three goals, and how you plan to achieve them."

It takes Gerard a few moments to respond.

"First, to have time worth spending wi' my wife." He says this in a tone that brooks no argument. Now it's Corvis who crosses her arms and presses her lips together. "I hae been parted from her these last few years and for long before that, and I mean not to repeat that mistake, especially now that there's no need to hide my marriage from my father.

"Second, to break my dependence on morphine, as we hae discussed, by means we hae discussed, of substituting other drugs that reduce dependence.

"Third--" and here Gerard pauses, thinking "--to do some useful work in the kingdom, and to advise the king. In what manner I don't know just yet."

Corvis interrupts before Hannah can respond to that. "And what about our son?"

"Our son is immortal. If he has to wait a decade or two before wedding and bedding his woman, it's no more than I had to do in my day. He has my good will and good wishes. All that keeps him from Robin is his own oath, and his own pride!"

Hannah nods unhappily, giving Corvis her attention. "I have to agree with Gerard about Vere. Robin's immortal too. He should have never made that oath. Though I know he did it with love in his heart, it puts unfair pressure on his father. Now he has to live with it, but what is between he and Robin seems true enough to me to survive the waiting."

She looks back to Gerard. "I don't have it in me to argue with any of that, but I'm wondering if we can agree, all of us, that once you've gotten off the morphine we continue to try to find a solution that gets you on your feet again? Even knowing that will take some experimentation, some reaching out into the family for knowledge we just don't have, and that it will sometimes interfere with the other two main goals?"

"Aye, we can agree to that--but you asked what my three most important goals are, and the morphine comes first. Things may change between now and when I'm free of it; no one thought ten years ago that we'd be where we are now. But assuming everything remains roughly the same, that's the next step."

Corvis seems about to argue, but Gerard's last sentence deflates her.

"My lady, will you tell us your thoughts?" Hannah asks.

Corvis looks fixedly at Gerard. "And what if things do not remain the same?"

"Then," Gerard says, sounding tired, "we reconsider as things change. We canna plan for a future we dinna know."

Hannah nods slowly, watching Corvis. "I've stepped into a discussion you've already had. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"If you can free Gerard from the grip of the morphine, you will have already done a great deal." Corvis' smile is kind, and she reaches to lay a hand on Hannah's arm.

"Aye," Gerard agrees. "Ye might look in on Vialle, and perhaps I might retire for a bit while you speak of women's complaints, but other than that I reckon there's naught you can do. Not for lack of trying, but because there's naught to be done."

Hannah pats Corvis' hand. "I will look in on Vialle. I've neglected her too long myself, as it is. Do I get to play family doctor today? My lady, should we send him away and talk about our own womanly complaints?"

Corvis gives Gerard a bit of a sharp look, to which he responds with a wide-eyed look of innocence that fools absolutely nobody, not that Hannah thinks it was intended to fool anybody. She concedes with the best grace she can muster--apparently quite a bit--and gives them both her best pleasant smile. "Very well, we can do that."

In a gesture of mock surrender, Gerard raises his hands. "I'll be in the library if ye need me." He rolls out of the door, with a bit of difficulty in opening it without the hands of his pages to help.

Hannah smiles after him. "We need to get some kind of inventor in here, someone who can find ways to make all this easier to navigate. Surely there's someone in the family who'd be good at that," she tells Corvis, with a shrug. "But if you'll tell me your complaints, I'll do what I can to make you more comfortable."

"I would say some pain medications, but in sooth I find myself wary of them given Gerard's condition," Corvis admits. "There is little you can do for me. My maladies are magical and beyond anyone's ability to heal. When you are bound to a land and a place, and that place no longer exists, there is no cure for what ails you."

Hannah doesn't try to hide how sad that makes her. "I'm so sorry, Corvis."

She takes a breath and slowly lets it back out. "It is true that every pain medication carries a set of problems with it, but there are many we can try that aren't addictive like morphine is. And then there are the non-medicinal ways of reliving pain, most of which I'm sure life has taught you by now. All you have to do is say the word, and I'm certain we can arrange anything you'd like.

"I haven't the least idea how we'd go about it, but my scientist's curiosity forces me to ask if you'd want to be bound to a different place if it would save your life and you could stand the cost?"

Now it's Corvis' turn to take a deep breath and let it out. "I'm not sure I could do that, or survive it. Legend has it that this blessing, or curse, if you will, is what destroyed Gerard's mother in the bearing of her children: that she was too far gone from home. They say it is also what killed his sister. So I tell you this not just as a healer, my niece, but as wisdom for you to consider." She looks at Hannah with the penetrating gaze of an elder. In this place it's unlikely that she's using any power or medicine, but Hannah doesn't doubt that Corvis could.

That makes Hannah smile slowly. "Well, now... hm. I may need to have that sort of wisdom shortly here, as your niece and not a healer." She becomes more serious again quickly, though. "I'll admit, I don't understand that link. I don't know if I inherited that, or where my link would be to. I mean, if the Isles are really gone, and it was to there, then I'd be cursed either way - spend my days childless or risk my life to have one. As it stands, maybe I can answer these questions for my sisters and I. That's not what I set out to do... not that I set out to do anything, but there are a lot of questions to be answered, by process of elimination if nothing else."

That clear gaze rests on Hannah still. "It's not clear to me how it would work for you, either, for you were neither born nor bound to the Isles. Perhaps this curse will pass you by. But have you need of woman's wisdom? I am qualified in many of the old ways, even if I haven't the strength or gift for magic any longer."

"I always need woman's wisdom. I'll tell you, I couldn't be sure when I was in Rebma, but now I'm queasy and the timing is right. It's early yet, and I've seen too much... I'd rather wait on telling anyone until I've gotten to talk to the father. It just doesn't seem right." Hannah winces, like she knows that was all a bit disjointed. Some thought lights up her eyes though.

"I was born in the Spirit World, it turns out. It's a sort of in-between place where people's spirits and animal's spirits can mingle with the higher spirits. And where beings with a certain amount of power, like my parents, can live. She made my father promise he wouldn't tell me of her or her family. Perhaps this was her way of trying to protect me. Do you know if Robin or Solange were born in the Isles?"

"It's possible, even likely that Solange was. I don't know that Ysabeau told Gerard where she gave birth. Robin was born during the years of her exile; while she might have returned in secret, it's much less likely. I don't know your spirit world, but I know there are many in-between places. A worldwalker, a goddess, like your mother would have been able to reach it easily."

Hannah nods. "Well, here's hoping we figure it all out eventually. Do you have any other 'complaints', my lady? I'm better at being a helper than being helped."

"None other than those related to Gerard, and I know well enough that I should not interfere between a Healer and her patients." Corvis smiles ruefully. "I will content myself with knowing that you have his best interests at heart."

"I'm trusting you to tell me when I'm wrong, Aunt Corvis. Doctors are not infallible and least of all me. I'm well aware I can get stubborn and not want to hear. It's a family trait, I suppose," Hannah grins. She gets up and offers Corvis a hug.

Corvis returns the embrace, refraining from offering the obvious rejoinders about family stubbornness. "You will have all the wisdom I can offer. Let us hope I speak it well and that you hear it in the spirit in which I mean to give it."

Ash looks tired. Everyone in his living room looks tired. Some of them are drinking the wine, some look like they haven't slept in a day and don't plan to sleep soon.

Paige is almost dressed in riding wear, jodhpurs of a soft brown, a linen tunic of white unlaced, her hunt jacked tossed artfully over the arm of the chair in which she's sprawled. Well worn boots sit by the side as she massages her instep.

"So, you're telling me that Sir Archer has found that half his clerks were taking bribes to let people come to Xanadu under false names? I get why we should sorta care about criminals and debtors, but why does he want me to care about religious cults?"

Ash's long, curly ponytail is undone and his hair needs washing. The two women who seem to be his more-or-less wives are sitting on either side of him on the couch.

"I know that one," says the younger woman, Tjaden. "If they still believe in God after coming here, they're nuts."

Ash laughs and Haven smiles. The two lieutenants smile as well, but only after Ash does.

"OK, so there's no putting the toothpaste back in the tube," says Ash. "What else? Anyone in particular we need to be looking out for? Rogue spelunkers?"

The redhead rolls her neck, smiling and picks up the glass of red she was drinking. "Syd's father was keen to avoid other power bases built upon mysteries of the universe, even ficticious ones, that might compete with those mysteries that currently prop up our King," she offers.

"As to what else? The Children of the Moon, while keen to keep out of your city, seem to be less than pleased that their former sovereign and his warriors are integrating so seemlessly with your wretched hive of scum and villany." She shrugs as if to suggest that she doesn't see the issue, but isn't overlooking the man causing it, namely Herodion.

Ash rolls his head around his neck and there is a distinct pop. Haven reaches back and absently starts rubbing his neck. "If they that disappointment turns to regicide, it will go poorly for them. As for whatshisname,"

"Herodion", says Tjaden.

"As for Herodion", continues Ash, "if he wants to work and his warriors want to work, Xanadu doesn't care if he doesn't want to be King of hicksville any more. If he does a good job, King Random can make him a noble."

Haven smiles. "In our old home, religions were powerful, mostly because they had lots of money and land. They were great patrons of art and music, but there had also been inquisitions and holy wars that came out of the same institutions. I performed in churches, because that's where you performed. But very few people actually believed."

Tjaden nods. "It was just sort of... fading away. Sorta vestigial and quaint, like the Monarchy."

Ash frowns. "Hey, nothing wrong with monarchy. Anyway, I get the feeling that with all the Amberites around who have the old Amber anti-religious sentiment, it would be hard for anything like that to take root in Xanadu."

"Easier than you would think when any number of the Royals have places that they're accorded the title of God." She sips at her wine and shakes her head. "I've got to worry about a cult developing around my own twins if Arcadian migration continues or increases."

Haven laughs. "Sorry, wasn't thinking of yours. Just... Has anyone told Brij?"

Paige accepts the unnecessary apology with a gracious nod of her head. "Religious cult," she appends. "Not cults of personality, as she's already that in spades."

Tjaden makes a sort of chirping noise. "Ash, did I tell you that she was chatting up Herodion at the last salon we held? That could lead to bad things..."

Ash shrugs. "Yep, but if we tried to keep her apart from him and his worshippers, we'd be up to our knees in little hemidemigods in no time. I'm starting to see why Archer thinks cults are a headache."

Paige smiles wryly. "Well, better Herodion than my father, who appeared to be one of her early targets after she had just enough information about the family to be dangerous.

"It amazes me how unlike she and Folly are at times."

Haven shakes her head. "Brij is exactly how Folly would be if Folly hadn't had Brij for a mother."

"Mostly like, I'd say," replies Ash.

"The exception proves the rule," Haven says back.

"Whatever that means," Tjaden says.

Paige chuckles and raises her quickly emptying glass, "Well, then here's to Brij for keep Folly from being... well, Brij." She finishes the drink in one deep quaff.

"And people say that miracles don't happen." Jerod says as he enters the room, Ash's slightly more "guard than butler" retainer somewhere in the wake of the royal menagerie that has descended upon the Lord Mayor's home. He makes sure not to block anyone coming into the room behind him.

"Paige, long time no see." he says to Paige, nodding a friendly greeting to her and letting people sort themselves into the room before looking at Ash.

The redhead blows him a kiss in greeting.

"Lord Mayor, just the man we were looking for."

"Hi, Ash." Robin pipes up cheerfully as she strides in after Jerod. Though as rumpled and festooned as ever, Robin is at least clean. And armed. With two bronze firelizards on her shoulders.

"We brought peaches." Robin gestures with the large woven basket of beautifully ripened fruit in her arms. "And trouble." She adds ruefully.

"Hi, Paige." She chirps to her cousin.

"Oooh, Peaches!" Tjaden hops up off the couch and takes the basket from Robin. "I'll go get some knives. Thank you."

Ash's men straighten at the mention of trouble. Viper, who looked ten kinds of tired when the group walked in, pulls himself together admirably.

"Bringing trouble, suggests that it is your turn to pour the drinks," Paige teases, meeting Jerod's eye. "I'm drinking the red, and I'm sure there's some sort of single malt over there that won't satisfy your sensibilities, and," she tilts her head for a moment, "I'll be honest in admitting, I have no idea what, or even if, Robin drinks."

She extends her glass toward the Rebman cousin and smiles, "Either way, you have our thanks."

Jerod looks over at the Lord Mayor's bar curiously, and after deciding it would be a good time for a drink heads over there to inspect its contents.

Raven brings up the rear of the Royal part of the menagerie, with a polite expression and a general nod to the room. She finds herself a place to stand that's out of the way, sticks her hands in the pockets of her coat, and settles in to wait.

Ash bows, briefly to Jerod and the new entrants. "Prince Jerod, Captain Raven, Lady Robin. We were just hearing from Lady Paige about Sir Archer's efforts to keep the migration clean and orderly from Amber's side. What can Xanadu do for you?"

"One of Lord Lucas' children has been found." Jerod says, getting Paige's red out of the way before checking to see what spirits Ash has that may be of interest to him.

"His mother is Scarlett, and she has been having some problems, threats in regards to speaking up concerning the boy's identity. Prince Martin wants it taken care of, as do I. There are some people involved that we need to know about, where they are and who they may associated with. The main suspects are Silken, Heap and a big nasty fellow named Grimey. Robin can tell you about him if you haven't heard already."

After being relieved of the peaches, Robin nods to the admirable Viper in recognition: knowing full well that Jerod will deduce the nature of their acquaintence. Robin then drifts into thinking about the drink quandary.

"I drink, Paige." She says with a smile, "Gin is the closest thing most liquor cabinets have. And if Jerod wishes to pour me one, I'd be thankful." There, that seemed to work.

Jerod is sniffing at a bottle of something amber in colour that vaguely meets his standards of scotch excellence as he listens to Robin's comments on gin. He smiles just slightly as he pours himself a drink, then roots through Mayor's bar stash for items appropriate to an exceptional drink he remembers learning about from an old friend met during his earlier shadow travels. After collecting and mixing the gin, coffee liqueur and rich cream, he also takes a moment to scribble down the recipe on a piece of paper.

Then [Robin] turns her green eyes to Viper. "Grimey was the guy who beat on Silhouette and who I thought I killed last time. I'm looking for another try, if that's okay with your investigations."

Paige graciously accepts the wine from Jerod with a smile of thanks. "Don't let me interrupt the narrative, but I'm not sure I heard of Silhouette's beating, so eventually someone should bring me up to speed." Her eyes make a quick appraisal of Captain Raven from behind her glass, before looking back over the newcomers as a group.

Raven is just listening at this point. Well, mostly listening - she's heard this bit before.

"Silhouette didn't receive a beating." Robin's very clear on that point, given her cousin's slave background. "She got beat on. And she gave as good as she got. But you know," Robin shrugs one shoulder off-handedly, "for rough fun on the docks, Silhouette's in the fainting flower Family weight class. I, on the other hand, am not." She finishes with a toothy grin.

Ash drinks most of his glass. "OK, so here's what I know. About Silken, nada. Heap I have been warned about extensively by Sir Archer. How he manages to write twice as much as any man with a whole hand, I've no idea. Grimey is one of Flannel's men, but Flannel has joined the navy rather than be exiled. Grimey was supposed to, as well..." He looks at Viper.

Raven issues a barely-audible snort at that.

Viper nods. "Went missing the first watch he stood. Not that any sailor was going to stop him. He's not strictly human, but there are a few like 'em in Amber. Not even really sure where they're from, except Grimey is an embarrassment to the rest of 'em. We've heard that Heap is around, but not that he'd hooked up with Flannel's crowd. That's not good news."

Ash listens to Viper's report. "Lady Robin, Grimey has betrayed the King's Hospitality and rejected his mercy. He can hope for no more than exile if he is recaptured, or hanging if he's done mischief. He has forfeited the protection of Xanadu."

"Sweet!" Robin's excitement is palpable.

"Do you have a location on the two of them? I'd also like to know about their associates and who they may call upon for support when we decide to collect on their forfeiture." Jerod asks as he wanders back from the bar, handing the gin concoction to Robin as he passes after dropping of Paige's.

"And maybe a little more information on what the 'them' hanging around Amber. I want to make sure of him this time."

Robin accepts the drink from Jerod with a proper 'Thank you.' Then her head cocks as the sweet odor lifts from the glass. A look of puzzlement, a quick sniff, a cautious sip and Robin's eyebrows go up in delight.

"Nice!" she says to her cousin. And "Thank you!" like she means it this time. Then she kicks the rest of the cocktail back in one happy swallow.

Raven has a few questions of her own, but considering the dog-pile on the officials already in progress might cover a few of the answers, she keeps her mouth shut.

"I haven't heard of Heap since the whole mess with Solange's book," Paige adds with a shrug.

"I can keep my ears open the next passage there, but I had thought to check in with the Rangers before returning," she adds. "Not that it's strictly necessary, as they're capable without me."

Ash looks to Viper, who speaks. "No, we do not have a precise location on them. They may be in the mass of new arrivals, or they may be among the people being crowded out by the new'uns. You should start at The Brewery Tap; the proprietor there was close to them when they were Flannel's gang."

"A start." Jerod says, scaling the drink recipe, with the name written at the top, over to Victor before returning his attention to Ash.

"While we're out and about, please make sure that Sir Archer and his guards are aware of the ones we seek and their associates. They're to be brought in for holding. The Family will have some questions for them. If they resist arrest, kill them. Not all of them mind you."

Robin notes the pass to Victor with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise holds her peace.

Raven clears her throat politely. "You don't happen to know which ships they was assigned to, do you?"

Paige looks back to the Lord Mayor.

Hannah goes back to her room to give her attention to her correspondence.

Though she chews her lip a bit over the first note, her two years of finishing school force it right out.

My Queen,

I do hope you are well. I am returned from Rebma and would like to get your perspective on my adventure, and anything else you might like to discuss. I have gotten to meet my Aunt Llewella and did spend some short time with Queen Khela, though I was back in Xanadu before the sad news reached me.

If you have the time for this, please send a secretary with a note. I must go see if I can wrangle my Papa from the woods to the city, so he might help our tribesmen get settled, but I am hopeful this will not take as long as it did to get them here. In the meantime, I trust you are well entertained and look forward to seeing you soon.

Sincerely,

Hannah

She begins her second with a wry smile, well aware she hasn't enough knowledge of her cousin to know how he'll read a note. She starts one addressed to Edan before she crumples it into the trash and tries again.

Dearest Firedancer,

Rather than hunt around for you I will leave you a note and you'll find me when you can, I trust. I should like very much to talk with you again. I have been to Rebma and brought tribesmen back to Xanadu and if they keep to rituals apace there will be men dancing round a fire soon enough and I think you might find it a fitting exercise to participate in. Or just watch, if you're feeling shy, but I have a feeling you would not be able to keep yourself from it, could you see.

I would at least like to take a walk with you, if nothing else.

Enana

A harried page promises to deliver Hannah's notes to the Queen and Prince Bleys' son's room.

With a sigh she applies herself to condolences for Celina and Llewella, and returns answers to any letters that were awaiting her return. It almost feels normal, until she starts mentally walking through the conversation she needs to have with her father. Then she just feels nauseous again.

Nonetheless, she packs a sack just in case she's out overnight, brings her medical kit along, and stops in the kitchen to grab traveling food. Then she's out to the stables to have a long talk with her mare before she saddles her for the first time in years. She heads off in the general direction she and Paige took out for their spirit walk.

The stable has kept Misae well. She's been exercised, and apparently ridden. She's not shy of the saddle or out of shape. She seems glad to see Hannah and happy to be taken out for a longer ride.

As Hannah takes the trail up from the castle to the top of the cliff, she looks down and the city below has grown tremendously in just the time Hannah was in Rebma. Ossian's transport magic has drastically increased the population. The clement weather makes it possible for people to sleep out of doors while they find accommodation.

At the top of the trail, there's a path to the stones that lead to Tir, where Cambina fell. Beyond is a branch of the river Random calls 'Alf' and then there are trails into the woods to an encampment of Vere's people and Paige's Rangers. That's where Hannah has been told her father is.

Rangers look up when Hannah rides into town, most of them strangers, but a few look like Ponca.

Hannah smiles at the rangers and picks the closest one. "Excuse me. I'm looking for a man who could be going by Joseph or Istamahza or just Le Corbeau. Looks like he could be my younger brother. Any chance you could help me find him, sir?"

The young Ranger looks up at her. "He's usually in the Commander's tent, Miss. Would you like me to take care of your horse?" He points in the direction of the largest tent in the clearing.

She nods with a little smile, her eyes flitting around the layout of the community here as she dismounts. She thanks him and quickly unbuckles her bags.

She makes her way over to the big tent and calls, teasing, "Papa, j'ai un cadeau pour vous." She tilts her head to check if the flap is open.

The flap is open. Inside Hannah sees a number of Rangers, and her Papa coming out. "L'avenir est un cadeau de mon passé, non?" He comes out, just as young and alert as he was in the spirit world, although his eyes are older. "I've been practicing my French with your cousin and her children, when she's around." His smile is radiant, but it fades as he turns to more serious matters. "Did you find our imbécile kinfolk?"

Hannah smile quirks with all the complexity she feels. "I did. We have talked about the way things are, and now they are in Xanadu. Let's walk," she says with a little sigh, reaching for his arm to pull him along.

"I was hoping I could pull you away from all this and in their direction, but you look quite happy here."

He smiles. "Rangers are a people who know how to be quiet, a skill I have practiced for many years in and out of the blue world. Here I am treated as an elder, despite my apparent youth.

"And I spoke to the wiyan wakan, Fiona. She thinks I may be descended from her brother the raven. She says it explains things, but she is a wiyan wakan, so she will not say what things."

Hannah chuckles.

"If you need me with the Ponca, I will talk to them, but they may need to follow their own guidance. Some may even want to be Rangers with me, in these woods."

She nods. "I would like you to go stir the pot. Some of them are doubtless trackers who would do best up here. I do think they've paid the price of their foolishness, many times over, but I've always been softhearted over my cousins." She looks sideways at him to see if she can tell what he's thinking. "I don't think there are any traditions Xanadu can't handle. Except maybe polygyny, but who knows."

Bleys is late.

This is not, in and of itself, cause for concern. Bleys has been late many times in Edan's lifetime, and he did mention that he was going to do some sorcerous research on the far side of Ygg, so some delay is reasonable. The problem is, this time, Edan is waiting for Bleys in the place where it was agreed they would meet, and unfortunately this place seems to have attracted the attention of the Moonriders. This does not bode well for Edan's meeeting with his father.

Now Edan is riding through the high grass of the plains, which come to ankle level on Aramsham, ahead of a half-dozen angry warriors, none of whom are Chases with Madness. An arrow zips by his head, not so close he can feel the wind of its passing in his ear but not so far he can't hear the whipping sound as it flies by his head.

Bleys had anticipated trouble on this trip, and had advised Edan to come ready. He had meant to follow up on some lead that Bleys had thought he'd come across in research about what had happened to Vialle. The matter of the chain that had bound the Queen has taken priority and Bleys is dealing with it first with Brita and Ambrose and Signy and young Prince Garrett. And Edan is in the sort of hair-raising scrape his father seems to thrive on.

Another arrow sails by Edan, as Aramsham redoubles his efforts to outrun the Moonrider steeds. It's possible Aramsham can succeed in the task, but Edan doesn't know how much endurance Moonrider horses have. In any case the shadows are growing long, and Edan thinks it would be a bad idea to flee them by night.

It's tempting to blame his father for all of this, but Edan knows he doesn't have the time for that kind of luxury right now. Finding the concentration to shift reality with Pattern won't be easy in the middle of a pursuit, and Edan isn't willing to gamble that a direct attack with Sorcery is going to affect them all, either.

So, he hunkers down in his saddle, head close to Aramsham's neck, and concentrates as best he can. He needs light, and a distraction, and fire. He needs people, whether it's a rude village with a bonfire or a single dwelling with a campfire, but that's what he tries to bring about with Pattern while they tear across the plains.

Edan knows he cannot erase the pursuit without going far enough into shadows that his Father will not find him. It is a vexing problem. However, he does manage to manipulate probability to gain exactly what he has hoped for. Ahead of him is a village of makeshift tents, with a fire burning cheerily in the center.

The only downside is that it seems to be in a box canyon. Perhaps Edan can use that to his advantage.

It'll have to do. Shifting Shadow, in Edan's opinion, is an exercise in accommodation; you keep going until you're close enough to your goal not to quibble with the results. This isn't too bad for the quick and dirty effort he's put in. Aramsham continues to tear through the village at a full gallop; Edan leans down from his saddle at the proper moment to grab a flaming brand out of the fire bare-handed. They slow, stop, and wheel close to the end of the canyon while he looks up at the rocks and does complicated mathematics in his head; and then he throws the torch up and to the side.

The torch bounces unnaturally off the rocks and doubles itself and travels twice as fast to the other side; they bounce off that side, doubling their speed again. Then the other side, again. Again again again faster faster faster. Within seconds there's a web of fire that just misses the village and the tents and spreads out towards the advancing Moonriders, doubling every second, a deadly spirograph in three dimensions, ready to engulf them.

Edan has to do a mental shrug; it's too bad they couldn't talk, but the riders crossed the line when they dared attack him with arrows. Time to show them how it's really supposed to be done.

The leader, or at least the one riding first, sees this and shouts out a command. The other moonriders stop and do something to the fabric of space and time. Something that affects Edan like he's been kicked in the stomach. While he quickly recovers, he definitely felt that, and it was not good for this shadow.

Edan watches as they sorcerously push the leader through the flames, but he's untouched by them. A quick sorcerous peek with his third eye makes Edan think he's moving through the space at a time before it was filled with flames. At least he'll only be facing one of them. For now. The rider draws two sabers with a fluid motion.

Edan draws his swords in response, but he doesn't leap to the attack. Might as well give it a shot. "You have intruded into the sphere of a Prince of Amber," he says. "It's not too late for us both to just back off and call it a day. I'm not looking for a fight."

The rider and the horse circle to the left. His liquid gaze seems to roll over Kyauta. "I now see you are marked, Amberman, and thus not mine to kill. This will not prevent me from crossing blades with you, and leaving you knowing whom you have encroached upon in coming here."

His grip on the sabers is unusual, with a finger over the hilt on the blade. It is protected, but still an odd grip.

"So be it, then. I go where I will." Edan salutes the Moonrider with one of his blades, buying a few extra seconds before everything goes completely south. Those few seconds give him one more peek with his Third Eye, enough to look at the man's hands and see if there's something sorcerous going on rather than just an exotic grip.

It's a grip technique that allows for quicker movements of the tip, at the expense of exposing the finger. The swords he uses are constructed to minimize that disadvantage.

With his third eye, Edan sees the moonrider salute him, and charge in at the same time. There are two moonriders, identical, to his astral view. Edan has to drop his third sight, because it's not possible to defend himself with steel and use that magic. And then there is only the one.

Edan's opponent is fast, and he's good. And apparently he can use time-magics in battle. This might be tricky.

Tricky, yes, but Edan was betting on something like that. It might even be used to his advantage.

Aramsham is trained to respond to Edan's legs and knees, so fighting two-handed from horseback isn't a problem. Edan relies on Kyauta to stay back and out of the way of the fighting, as well. They circle left, then inexplicably move forward a little and then circle to the right. All the while, Edan is prepared to cross blades, and ward off magics as they come, and if need be keep the other rider too busy fighting to mount any kind of complex casting.

Edan is more than a match for the swordsman in skill, but he seems not to tire, as if he isn't going all out, but waiting for something.

The man is a fine rider, and his horse seems to flow as much as it moves. It can turn very quickly. Blades cross, but mostly it seems to be an eternity of probing for openings and maneuvering for position.

After some moments, several things happen. The fiery wall Edan created fades (as expected) and Edan notices 4 more riders in a rough semi-circle around the combat. They aren't closing, but seem willing to form an audience. One of them seems to be cloaked with some sort of magic and he doesn't sit his horse exactly as the other moonriders do. It's hard to tell what he's doing without concentrating.

Edan may have to move fast to win this, and he may have to be prepared to have a bigger fight just afterwards.

Also not unexpected. Here's the plan:

Edan thinks the Moonriders are especially good at time magic because they've been "un-anchored" from Time as a principle. Unlike everybody else in the universe, they have special insights into Time, but they're also more vulnerable because they're not as "grounded". Edan thinks further that his opponent has a copy living a few seconds ahead or behind himself, giving him an advantage by seeing what's about to happen, and more protection from sorcery that happens in the present. Ergo, Edan's not going to do what's expected. He's going to attack him through the principle of Time.

All those weird shifts in direction with Aramsham in the last few minutes of the fight were to draw a two-dimensional representation of the current Time snarl that Edan saw with his Third Eye. It's a twisted inner spiral kind of thing, similar to that piece of string he used with Lilly to demonstrate the principle of Time. No spell has been cast yet, but the design and the bonfire will be the prop/component/focus of his spell. No time for a ritual, but the opportunity just isn't there; too bad.

The spell itself will be a patchwork-like explosion of Time. Some areas will fly fast, some will slow to a crawl, some areas diverge and separate, the whole gamut. The intent is to divide, separate, destroy; in a perfect world, Edan wants to split the rider apart from his time clone and suddenly have different parts of the man's body suddenly run at different speeds all at once.

The spell goes well, as if this place is suited for sorcery. The rider drops his sword and reaches for his neck, as if he cannot breathe. He falls off his mount and attempts to stand, and fails.

Three of the surrounding riders draw their curved blades in unison, as if ready to attack.

The fourth draws a very different blade, straight and true and inscribed with the curves and lines of Amber's pattern.

Prince Bleys throws back his hood and stands tall in his stirrups, and the moonriders hesitate, for a moment and then turn and flee.

Edan chooses not to pursue, instead deciding to let the riders go; they probably won't be a very good source of information, and would serve as a warning to the others.

Instead he crosses his arms, and with mock seriousness says, "You're late." Likely the slight smile on his face gives him away.

"A small matter delayed me, I knew you could protect yourself. In any case, I count it a pleasure to watch you fight." Bleys dismounts and steps over to the time-tossed corpse. "Clever, but this one was young. Full of pith and vinegar, but not a veteran. He did not know that he could not move you in time. The next one may, and then you may find yourself dismounted."

Bleys begins stripping the armor off the corpse. "Good luck that we dispatched two of them. You'll need this."

"Good luck that my opponent was callow," Edan says. "I was relying on being anchored in time. I didn't know they could overcome it."

Bleys shrugs. "The smart ones work around it. If he can't move you back 60 years, perhaps he can move your saddle back far enough to rot out from under you. The survivors of Jones Falls were smarter."

As he dismounts and helps Bleys, Edan says, "I talked with Brennan about disguising myself long ago. I've had a lot of time to think about it. It will take more than just dressing as one of them. Depending on the plan that you have..."

Bleys grins. "I've always been an improviser at heart, but I brought a couple of little talismans that will help disguise us. The clothes plus that will be disguise enough. These amulets will fail after a bit, but it should be enough time to get us into the Captain's tent and learn what we came here to learn." Bleys hands Edan a small box. "It's technological, which means they won't even see it as magic, but it can't function for long. Don't open the box until we're ready; opening the box breaks the stasis field."

Edan stares at the box a moment, then palms it. "As you say. I suppose I should be leaving the talking to you. If there's talking."

Kyauta, change into the form of an amulet, so that I may wear you under my shirt. Like we did at the funeral.

Kyauta does so, quietly. He seems spooked by Bleys.

"Were it so easy, I'd let you. We'll need to split up, unless I miss my guess. Do you want to sneak into the commander's tent or the headquarters tent?"

"Commander's tent, I suppose." Edan suddenly frowns. "Will the disguise be generic, or would I specifically be this man I have killed? Suddenly, letting those others escape seems like a very bad idea."

Bleys shrugs. "They can't imagine we'll do this. Failure of imagination is the source of their greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. It's also what makes the Marshall dangerous. He's not like the rest of them." Bleys helps Edan into the armor and makes adjustments to it. "Now, you'll either need to send your horse home or we'll need to make sure we pick him up as we leave. He's travelled in shadow, so we can send him back to Xanadu's stables easily enough."

Bleys looks up and down at his son in his Moonrider garb.

"We're going to try to find two things. First, any orders or correspondence from the Marshall, second, any magical way they have of getting new orders. Third, anything that looks useful.

"Then we burn the place to the ground, both as payback for attacking you and as a way of disguising any intelligence we've actually gathered. Ready?"

Edan gives Bleys a thin smile, while thoughts race in his own head. Lack of imagination? Sans Marshall, that would make them the worst sor- no, magicians, in the universe. And the Marshall is colored by his angst and anger.

Yes, Great Lord! replies Kyauta. They can only do things they have seen in the past! or the Future!

Edan scratches Aramsham near the larynx as a goodbye; the stallion casually reaches over and tears out a bit of Edan's hair in response. "Idiot," Edan says, clamping a hand to his head, then grabs Aramsham's lead and walks him the direction he wants. "Go to Xanadu," he says, exerting his Will, sending his horse forth on the path of Edan's desire.

Aramsham snorts his disapproval, and rides away. He quickly is lost to sight, and on his way back to Xanadu.

Coming back, he says, "I'm ready. If the communication method is open and active, I will take steps not to be made known to the other end."

"Good idea, that last. I'll try the same. If the Marshall does talk to you, inquire about his family's well-being. He hates that topic."

Bleys leads the two Moonrider steeds around to Edan and mounts one. "Sorry it's not your stallion, but she'll do. Ready to go?"

As they head off, Edan has a chance to think about the last few exchanges. It doesn't take long to dwell upon how such a people would live, if they had a dearth of imagination. Sorcery was art. What if everything was like that? Who else would live like that?

"So, are they like the Mongols, then?" he finally asks. "Like the Khal, like the Horde? Nomads, all of them, taking their culture from those they oppress?" Another pause. "And was it always like this? Did the Queen do this to them?"

Bleys is reasonably subdued. "Somewhat. The culture they have is like the Horde, but it's who they were before they become Moonriders." Bleys sighs. "These aren't things we speak of, but you may need to know. Tir-na Nog'th was not always as she is now. The stairs and city were once constant. Those who remember do not speak of it, but one day, something snapped, and most of the Tirians fell thousands of feet into the great Bay of Amber. They say you could walk from one side to the other atop the corpses. Father slew those who did so to loot the bodies and used the jewel to sweep the bodies out of the bay. The few survivors and those who were absent were not so lucky. They couldn't live in Tir-na, and Father arranged for them to have a route to Ghenesh. It was there, centuries later, that their love of and loyalty to the Queen of Air and Darkness twisted them into something very different. We saved a few, who went to Altamar. The rest became Moonriders.

"It was his obsession with fixing Tir-na Nog'th that drove your uncle mad and set him on his path to destruction."

Edan ruminates on this a bit. "I don't understand his motivation," he says finally. "Let's say he succeeded, and Tir-na Nog'th became constant once more. Who would profit by it? What would he have gained? The Moonriders obviously want it back, so that would argue Uncle Brand had some kind of understanding with... I don't know, the Queen or the Marshall, or both. Or, he has ties with the Altamareans and was doing it for them. Or..." he pauses. "Or, I suppose, it might not have anything to do with them at all, but for his own benefit."

Bleys sets a swift pace, which the horses settle into easily. "It would break the Moonriders, or so we supposed. He thought fixing the broken pattern would heal Dworkin."

"Tir, you mean," Edan says. "And later he tried to rewrite things at the Primal Pattern." Edan looks troubled. "Much different goals. After his mind was... how did he try to repair Tir?"

Bleys shakes his head. "It started as the same project. Fixing the zero-order pattern would both repair Dworkin's mind and re-cast the first-order shadow that is Amber. For a while we thought it might also unsync Rebma and Amber, but that seems to have started when Corwin and Random added their first-order shadows. Things have already started to diverge, such as the difference in the two earthquakes. Give it a thousand years or two and it might not be clear the two were ever linked.

"I've speculated that there must be some connection between the Grove of the Unicorn, the real one, and the other first-order shadows. If you ever find yourself trapped in Tir-na Nog'th, that's probably the best place to retreat to. Also, less falling into the Bay from there."

Bleys nods towards the horizon, where there is a thin wisp of smoke, possibly from the camp. It's still a good distance to ride.

"I... see," Edan says, sure that he'll waste many hours trying to figure out the math on that one. "What happened with the chain that Brita recovered? Have they done anything with it yet?"

"Yes, that was what delayed me. The chain is very old. The other end of it was attached to a knight of Old Paris, who had been born in Tir-na Nog'th before it fell. We sent him to Paris, but I hope to drink with him soon and get his story. Something about this Old Paris/New Paris/Earth Paris connection intrigues me."

Bleys stops at the top of a rise, looking down a long valley towards the camp of the Moonriders. "We're almost ready to use our disguises. Do you have any sorcery or pattern work you want to do before we're cloaked? Now is the time."

In response, Edan draws his yataghan sword, holds up a finger (and watches the fingertip glow with heat), then traces over the writing on the sword with his finger. "The spell to reduce my sorcerous 'signature'," he says. "I should reapply it, considering my opponent wasn't that strong a magician. Otherwise, I'm not sure what I'll encounter, so I'll have to think on my feet."

Bleys nods approvingly, but doesn't cast anything himself. "'Thinking on your feet is better than regretting on your knees,' as they say in Altamar."

Bleys pulls out his disguise box, opens it, and pulls the amulet inside over his neck. He looks exactly like the Moonrider who so arrogantly challenged Edan in the canyon.

"So, we go in, take the horses to the paddock, then are off to our several objectives. When you're ready to go, have your affine tell me, and we'll get together and 'think on our feet' about the most flammable parts of the encampment..." Bleys smiles.

"I'm ready," Edan says, suddenly all business. If he's worried that he'll run into... someone... he doesn't show it. He does, however, draw his sword to see what his own reflection looks like, if that works.

The image is small and distorted, but Edan looks rather like the same moonrider that his father looks like, he thinks. There are subtle differences, but it would be best not to draw too much attention while he is with Bleys.

The two riders approach the enemy camp and the ride down gives them some time to survey the camp. Bleys points out a number of features: different tents, war flags, cooking areas, paddocks, supplies, and more. He also points out the sentries.

They are watched, but not stopped as they ride to the camp. Bleys dismounts and leads his horse towards the paddock. Even in Moonrider camps, men who are not on urgent missions take care of their mounts first.

"Keep an eye out for anything odd," says Bleys.

Everything is odd, slightly.

"Found it," Edan says immediately, and makes an effort to relax. "This whole place makes my teeth itch. If it's sentinel magic, I don't recognize it... mayhap I'll risk a peek with the Third Eye when we're rubbing down the horses."

"Time Flux," replies Bleys. "Microfractures in the isochronal substrate. Near-constant self-repairs will look like static -- or flak, if they're coming towards you." He grooms his horse, whispering to it about Jones Falls and grinning. The tone calms the beast, or at least quiets it.

"That's what they direct at people when they send them out of time. If you catch the attack correctly, you can sorcerously damp the oscillations on your end which causes a feedback look on their end." Bleys shakes his head. "It's messy and it takes timing, but the Moonriders learn not to try that on you again."

Bleys waits until Edan seems done with his mount. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Edan says, hoping that he's not going to run into... at least one person. "I'm off to the commander's tent."

The Moonrider-that-is-Bleys nods, and slips off, leaving Edan alone in the paddock in the enemy camp.

Time Flux, eh? Seems that it would also be productive to widen the cracks and let them fall in as well, Edan thinks, and spends a minute pretending to brush his horse and think on how such a spell would work while he gives Bleys time to move away.

When he judges they're separated enough, Edan moves in the general direction of the command tent. He'll keep his head down, limping ever so slightly as if he's ridden a long way, and won't seek out eye contact from others. He's looking primarily for three things: guards outside the tent, activity inside the tent, and if he moves to where he's unobserved, a 'passive' look with his Third Eye at/inside the tent for Things Of Interest.

When viewed with his Third Eye, the moonriders and the camp look like they're phasing. They vary in intensity with no discernible pattern.

It looks to Edan like there is no guard, on the command tent, but there are at least two moonriders in it.

Good news and bad news together. Edan purses his lips, and finds an out of the way spot to look like he's resting (assuming this camp is full of tents and Moonriders doing the same thing). He tries to stay within easy viewing distance of the tent. Does the light source inside flicker, like there's a lantern(s) or other flame source?

Edan finds a place to sit on a treestump. He sees two light sources: a lantern hanging near the tentpole and a candle on a table. Wisps of oily smoke exit the top.

That decides things. Sneaking around the tent is sure to draw attention, and walking in would stop the conversation and cause suspicion, even with a disguise and cover story. But the Moonriders shouldn't know this trick. Edan settles back a little more, faking a deeper nap. Kyauta, get my attention if someone is about to disturb me here, he thinks, then eases his awareness into the lantern flame.

Yes, Great Lord! Kyauta's mental voice seems like a whisper.

From the high-mounted lantern, Edan cannot see much; the majority of the tent is blocked by the oil reservoir of the lamp itself. He can hear clearly, though. The first voice is deeper and seems older than the seconds.

"-en we get the final report and can settle in for some quietude. I promised my girlfriend I'd write her. And my wife. Do you have a wife, runner?"

"No, Sergeant, I can't afford one."

"Well, don't expect to get rich serving the Moonriders, they don't want what you and I do."

"Yes, Sergeant."

The two settle into silence, except for the scratching of pen on paper.

They're not Moonriders, is Edan's first thought, followed by, I've got to know more before I just walk in. Final report? And who are these people? He pulls out of the lantern light with his mind, and tries to move into the candle light using the same method; hopefully he can tell something from a better vantage in the time he has left.

As the flame is smaller, the view and sound are worse, but it's the scene he'd expect. It looks like two servants, possibly soldiers. Neither looks nor moves like a moonrider. They remind him of servants Edan knew in Altamar.

Edan pretends like his head nods a few times, then 'wakes' up; casually, he pulls a small drawstring bag out of his shirt, and fills it with a few handfuls of dirt from the ground. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the entrance of the tent, and (if no one went into the tent ahead of him, or looks like they're coming in behind), goes in.

The candle flame flickers and goes out; in the lessened light of the lantern, Edan tosses the pouch... just right... so that it lands on the writing table with a clink. A few polished and unpolished gems spill out of the loosened top. Easily a small fortune.

"There's more where that came from," he says, quietly. "Much more."

The standing one looks up. "My Lord?" He is cut off by the older one, who is sitting.

"Go on, Lord Rider. That alone is fortune enough to buy an estate and settle my sons as riders in their own right. If you wish to hire a pair of soldiers into your retinue, it may be arranged. As you are bound, we are also bound to the Queen, but we can choose the manner of our servitude."

His eyes never leave the diamonds.

"Which is why I looked for you," Edan says. "Information is power, and outriders are in short supply. Does it surprise you to learn that some of us are left out?" He moves back fractionally, as if he's trying to move back in the shadows, but fails. Or perhaps "Lord Rides-in-the-Dark" is having second thoughts. "I want to know what's going on. Information is all I seek, if you wish to consider it a temporary contract. Tell me what has been coming from the Marshall. Pretend that I know nothing, even as to the manner of the communication. Tell me what, and how, and why."

"Like that, is it? And you from the east, I can tell by your accent. We've never been the favorites, have we? I can't tell you much, but Razor-of-Justice was at The Ending and talked to something about The Way being opened, and how that made it hard to close. We're at the forefront here, as far as our explorations have gone. He is pressing the search, and if he can find the gateways, the day will be upon us. The Marshall is preparing, in case Razor-of-Justice succeeds.

"If I were a rider, I'd be readying myself for battle. Those who can move quickly will be in the van."

The diamonds are very deliberately moved to the older man's side of the table.

Edan's mind reels with the new terms. Razor-of-Justice? Could be anyone. Male, anyway, referred to as 'he'. The Ending should be a meeting place, and close to here. The Way? Hmm... and they were close, close, to what they wanted.

He nods, in the half-light. "There is not much time, then. There is another bag, much like that one, that I have to give. Keep your ears open, and it will be yours." He pitches 'yours' in such a way to include both men, but obviously he's keeping out of any decisions of how they share it. "Then, I think, our business would be concluded."

Both men nod.

Great Lord! Your Progenitor Calls. He warns that it may be Loud Shortly

Edan starts waking, unhurriedly, in the general direction where they first walked into camp. First off, when the general melee is over, I want to know how he contacted you. But in the meantime, tell him we're ready... Edan whispers a Word and then a Word and then a Word, bringing up a simple yet powerful magical and kinetic ward around himself and his affine. When it all hits, and Edan expects fire, he'll be looking to shape it to his needs.

As you do, Great Lord! He says to prepare!

The destruction Bleys mentioned is almost certainly to be caused by the Efreet that is moving rapidly towards the Corral where the horses are. There are shouts from the camp, and they seem to think the Djin is some sort of Fire Tornado.

The plains burn behind it in a direct line.

There's a part of Edan who immediately wants to challenge this Efreet that's enroached upon his space. There's another, faint part of him that wants to drown it. That amuses him.

Instead, Edan waits until he judges the lion's share of attention is on the fire, then he 'pings' the area, looking for nearby magical sources. He wants to overcome the general interference caused by the time distortion, if only for a moment. He does knead and stretch the fingers on his left hand, however, getting ready to make the contortionist hand gestures that will summon heat lightning from the afrit upon Edan's enemies if he sees attackers coming.

It turns out there's something, back in the command tent. Probably locked in a locker behind where the sergeant was sitting. They've both run out, and have been dragooned into fighting fires. The tent is, for the moment, empty.

That, if anything, sounds like a golden opportunity. Edan slips back into the tent (if such a thing is possible, given the circumstances) for a closer look.

It's as simple as walking in, although it's dark inside and there's a raging Efreet who may set the entire camp ablaze shortly.

Inside the locker is an assortment of what look like shipboard navigation or surveyor's instruments--underneath various Moonrider baroque attachments, they look like sextants and theodolites.

A small, pocket sized, sextant is the one that Edan saw with his sight.

And as simple as that, Edan takes it. What is more complicated is hiding it, especially since so many eyes are looking for it. Hiding it in a fold of Time is out of the question; of course, Space is the same thing... except when it's not. So, Edan pulls some silk cloth and a handful of charcoal out of one of his pockets, heats the charcoal in his fist until it glows with heat, wraps the sextant and the charcoal up in the silk cloth, then moves and turns the wrapped sextant in his hands over and over until it disappears in a puff of smoke. Then, as carefully as coming in, he exits the tent and starts moving back to where he and Bleys first parted.

Edan quickly reaches the paddock. The horses are near-panic and the Efreet seems to have turned directly towards them. It will have to cross most of the camp first. It seems smaller than it was at first.

"Lord Rider! Help me free the mounts, before they are immolated!"

The speaker is another rider, in full armor. Apparently Edan's disguise is still working.

Full armor means he can't guarantee a knockout with a neck punch from behind. Edan opts to help, at least until he has a good idea of where his father has gone. Unless the other rider is his father, in a changed disguise... no time to sit and think about it. And runaway Moonrider horses are a good thing! So, Edan nods and turns his attention to the paddock gate - if it's locked that's one thing, but if it's just knotted and tied he'll opt to slash through it with his sword. Once the gate is open he'll be whistling at the horses to get them moving and out the gate.

[OOC: Edan gains a Moon Rider Name: The Horse Whistler]

A slash and a kick and the horses are in motion. It's chaotic for a few moments, but soon the paddock is cleared.

The other rider turns smoothly and gracefully towards Edan. "My thanks, brother, you have saved them and we can recover them after this passes. What name do you use?"

As Edan is about to respond, he hears a noise. He no longer sees the illusion of moonrider armor on his arm. The amulet has failed.

Edan draws his other sword, the yataghan, and plunges it into the ground. It wails and snaps, even as cracks begin to appear in the wound he's created in the earth.

"No one," he replies, before the wall of magma gushes up and out between them. Edan himself is running straight for the afrit.

Edan sees the rider pull out a small hand-crossbow and start to point it at Edan's no-longer-disguised chest. He actually manages to fire the bolt before the rising magma engulfs it. The rider is gone a moment later. Completely and messily burned by the molten stone, he leaves behind nothing more than the stench of burnt flesh.

The afrit turns as Edan appraches. He seems both angry and territorial.

This part was dangerous, too, but at least Edan had done something like this before. Even afriti can work together. Sometimes.

He takes but a moment to review the High Speech, then speaks in a voice that sounds like the roar of a bonfire. "Well met, brother. You have been called here, too? Let us work together, so that we may finish quickly and return to home and warmth."

"Brother! The Usurper is immanentizing! We will fight her together!"

From the field below the Moonriders are shouting. "The Queen! The Queen!"

Edan would have slapped his forehead, if he dared. Thanks for the heads-up, Father. To the afrit he says, "I... am not yet prepared. And I was to assist with the immanence. Go ahead, and I will be there to fight the Queen apace."

"I fight! If I perish, have my name sung from each of the five-and-twenty gates at Sunrise, Brother!"

The afrit turns and heads directly towards--something.

The Great Lord Bleys says that now is the time for departing, says Kyauta.

"I would sing them myself, Brother. Fight well!"

Unless something stops him, Edan will Part the Veil and go back to where he and Bleys met after the Fight With Four Riders.

It is difficult to Part the Veil, as if the wavering time affect of the Riders or the presence of the Queen does something to his abilities, but it succeeds. Edan arrives, still smoldering, at the remnants of a campfire that is in the same state. Bleys is kneeling before it, shovelling dirt onto wayward embers.

His father turns to him and his teeth glint in the firelight. "How did you do?"

Edan pantomimes unfolding something, at least until his wrapped package really appears. "A sextant, something of power," he says. "And the servants of the Riders, one had something to say about their masters. Something about Razor-of-Justice was at the Ending... and talked to something about the Way being opened, and how that made it hard to close. He presses the search for gateways, and the Marshall prepares in case he succeeds. Does any of that make sense to you?"

Bleys looks over at the package that Edan produces. "Good work that. Some of that makes sense now and some will later, I presume. Razor of Justice was at father's funeral, where he could have talked to many somethings. I believe that we learned that the moonriders are planning to retake Tir-na Nog'th, but that's no surprise. That they are building a way to get there? That's what I expected to find. And that they seem to have achieved theosis back there, which is the part that seems worrying. Anything else?"

Edan grins, a show of teeth. "I learned many things, though you probably already know them. This place is at the forefront of their search. The Moonriders use servants, much as the Altamareans do. They use trade and profit. Enough profit can buy their way to become a Rider. They are subject to visual illusion. The servants can choose who to serve, under the Marshall and the Queen. They care for their animals. They have honor, and strong emotion. They also have uncomfortably quick reflexes, which may be related to Time. Some are very good swordsmen, to hold their own against me. Fire is effective, if they are not prepared. Extrapolating... the Marshall is the military ruler, as the Queen seems to be their spiritual leader as well as their liege. I think we could slay riders until their bodies are in heaps and the sun falls from the sky, but they will never stop until the two are defeated. She is their heart. He is their mind."

At some point during the time when Vere was taking lessons and exercising his magics, it seems that Weyland Smith has left Castle Madoc. Vere's search for him is fruitless. But word comes to him through the affines that Saeth is still in Madoc. Vere doubts that she is permitted to leave.

Saeth can be found wandering the battlements of Castle Madoc, as if she is restless and seeks to be elsewhere. Her form is still disturbingly similar to Aisling's. Perhaps she was trying to appear more human the first time he saw her, because now she bears streamers similar to the ones Aisling once bore. She goes robed, and if there are other variations from human norm in her current body besides her coloration and the streamers, they are not obvious to Vere.

"Cousin Saeth," Vere calls out to her from a distance. He approaches to a more comfortable conversational distance and says, "I hope I am not disturbing you."

Saeth looks confused for a moment. "Whenever two sentients come into proximity, they interact, each disturbing the choices and actions which define the other by their presence. If you wish to interact with me, you should hope to disturb me." She pauses.

"Or else I have misunderstood your Orderish dialect of Thari."

"You have misunderstood my intent," Vere agrees with a smile, "But I believe the fault is in my choice of word. In the Ordered realm words can have different meanings dependent on whether one is using them to refer to a nonliving or living subject. I did not take into account the fact that there is less distinction between these states in Chaos. While one uses the word 'disturb' to refer to any change caused to a nonlinving object or system, there is an implication that the change is unwelcome when the word is used in reference to a living one. So, my intent was to ask whether an interaction with you would be welcome or unwelcome at this time. If unwelcome, I will of course withdraw. But it is my hope that an interaction will be welcomed."

Saeth thinks on this. When it seems to be almost overlong, she finally responds. "I am used to disruptions, and one of the indicators of higher beinghood is adaptability. Being that are less capable do not respond well to unxpected stimuli. Most do not respond at all. So I suppose that the correct answer would be to suggest that I welcome all interaction, because that projects the strength of my personhood." She smiles. It seems a learned gesture. "I am yet young and have only inherited preferences, but I do indeed welcome interaction with you. You remind me of someone that I think my ancestor liked very much."

Vere inclines his head slightly. "I greatly enjoyed my conversations with Aisling." He regards Saeth for a second, then says, "I am not aware of the proprieties of discussing the disruption of the personality of your progenitor. In Order, we would express condolences. But that seems inappropriate, since you would not exist in your current state if she still existed."

She nods. "We have more causality here than many places do. The custom is to pretend that there is no connection moment to moment except in ways that facilitate the creation of the ever-changing present. This is, I believe, a social lie and beings who are truly powerful here have both memory and desire. This Chaos is not one of true detachment, but what is expressed by some here as the ideal seems very wrong to me.

"Is it wrong for me to wish to visit Order, Vere?"

"I do not think it wrong for you to wish that, Saeth. I cannot say whether it would be wise for you to do so, however." Vere pauses, then continues, "Does Lord Madoc counsel against such a visit?"

"Lord Madoc believes I will become ensnared in Amberite plots, or else those of Clarissa or Dara, and thus be unavailable to be ensnared in his.

She turns towards the wall and makes a few gestures. "That will not prevent him for long. In Chaos one exists at the pleasure of the Lord, or one stakes out a solitary lordship and begins creating affines for company. I wish for freedom, and cannot have it in Chaos. I would leave here, but only to freedom. Freedom without isolation is the great gift of Order, and I would have it." Her tone is still slow, lilting and calm. She seems no more excited than if she were discussing quilting.

"Freedom is a difficult thing to achieve," Vere says seriously. "And Lord Madoc is quite correct that others will seek to use you to their own ends. You need to gather knowledge and power before you can make a bid for freedom. Otherwise, you will gain a temporary freedom, followed by a long period of enslavement or death." He considers her for a moment before continuing, "I support freedom for all who can seize and hold it, but I am myself not in a position to be able to assist you currently. I am young myself, and still seeking out the power that will grant me freedom in the future."

Saeth nods. "So you seek freedom as well. You have convinced me. Temporary Freedom is worth the risk of death. I will not hold your unwillingness to help against you, it is exactly what I would expect from a sentient of Chaos. We will see each other again, Gerardson." Whatever magics she was practicing, she drops and starts to walk towards a wall.

"Indeed?" Vere says in a questioning tone. "I had thought I was advising something quite different."

"You did. But as you do not posess some of the facts that I do not wish to disclose, I do not take offense at your advice. It is the best you could do with the information you possess. Please carry my greetings to Prince Merlin. He, too was kind to me."

Saeth walks through a wall.

Vere stares at the wall for several long seconds, frowning, then shakes his head and walks away.

Vere wants to go find Merlin. He'll walk through Madoc with finding Merlin on his mind, but deliberately doing his best not to use the Pattern to affect probability, and see if that works.

It takes Vere some long period of time--difficult to measure here, but Vere feels like he's been walking for a while--before he comes across Merlin, who seems to be doing something that involves juggling what looks like metal balls without touching them (presumably by Sorcery). He stops what he's doing and hastily retrieves the objects with his hands when Vere enters the room.

"Vere," he says, blinking, "I was not expecting you." It isn't a criticism of the unwarned-for approach so much as an expression of surprise.

Vere tilts his head while he considers this statement. "Did you have some reason to expect not to encounter me at this time?" he asks.

"I had no reason to expect you. Normally I am apprised by some affine of Madoc's that you are on your way to me. That I was not warned of your coming is unusual, and reflects some change of circumstance on your part, on mine, or on that of the affines," Merlin explains. "Do you know what could have caused such a change?"

Vere shrugs. "I did not announce my intention to seek you out," he says. "Perhaps they did not realize that I was doing so?"

"Perhaps," Merlin says, but it is clear that he mislikes the idea and is still chewing it over.

He shoves the things he was juggling in his pockets, which must be spatially altered because there are no visible lumps in his clothes when he's done. Either that or he's shapeshifting to accommodate the balls, which is not out of the question for Merlin. "Are you seeking to pass the time, or was there some particular reason you were looking for me? Some lesson I can aid you with?"

"I have learned a great deal of manipulating Space," Vere answers, "And of my limitations in doing so. But I am unsure of where to go from here in learning how it can be used in healing. I thought to ask Saeth, but..." Vere pauses and shakes his head. "She seemed to have her own concerns, and did not stay to listen to my questions."

"I found that to be true of Saeth's parent as well," Merlin says, a touch of sourness creeping into his voice. "It went badly, then?"

Vere tilts his head slightly to one side, considering the question. "Not badly, exactly," he says. "More disappointing, I would say. I had hoped to get to know Saeth, but she was tightly focused upon her own desires, and seemed prepared to hear only what she wished to hear. Once she decided she had heard it, she lost interest in our conversation." He shakes his head. "I have had the experience before, of speaking to someone and realizing that they are hearing something other than what you are saying. But it is always disconcerting, and makes one wonder whether one was unclear."

"It is not simply you. I had difficulty making myself understood to Aisling in a similar manner, and one might think that our common heritage would render our difficulties less. One would be mistaken." Merlin cannot quite be said to snap at Vere, but his tone is sharp. "What did she wish for you to say, that she listened until she heard something approximating her wishes?"

Vere considers the question. "It is difficult to be certain," he says finally, "But I believe that she was seeking support for her desire to travel to the other side of Ygg. I had the impression that Madoc was opposed to this desire, and suggested that she defer any such plans until she had more wisdom and power."

"And she did not listen." Merlin considers this for a few moments, his expression shifting from something sulky and angry to thoughtful to disconcerted as he straightens and looks about the room. "Vere, have you considered that it may be a good time to absent ourselves from the felicity of Madoc?"

Vere frowns slightly. "I had not considered such a thing," he says in response to Merlin. "Do I take it that you think that Lord Madoc will be unhappy with the results of Saeth's conversation with me?"

For all that he is very young, Merlin's eyes can seem very old when he looks at Vere. "I do not think you understand the way a Lord determines cause and effect, which is not always the same as the Ordered fashion. And even if it were, do you think Madoc will prefer to believe his granddaughter is travelling beyond Ygg willfully or that she was inspired to do so by a son of Order?"

Vere frowns. "Is this another example of Truth being malleable in Chaos, Cousin? You are suggesting that Madoc will not wish to believe what I tell him, but will instead seek a scapegoat?" His frown grows deeper. "And do you advise that we flee his realm, rather than discuss the matter with him? I confess to disliking that idea. It seems certain to foster even more misunderstanding, and risk making a powerful Lord of Chaos, and one who is closer to comprehensibility that most, an enemy." He nods his head slightly, and the frown leave his face, which becomes still and emotionless. "But you are wiser than I in the ways of Chaos, Cousin. Please advise me."

Merlin shakes his head. "We may take our leave formally, to be sure. But you do not understand the implications of an angry Lord of Chaos. He is this place. If he is angry at you, the entire castle will be angry with you. I have seen this in my grandfather's demesne. I would not have that anger turned on my cousin or my student."

"Ah," Vere says. "I think I see. In a way, it could be compared to having to live in the dream of someone who is unhappy with you. While their anger might be unjustified - and they might even be aware that there was no justification and not consciously wish you ill - they would not necessarily be able to control their unconscious mind. Is that a valid analogy?"

"This is a valid analogy," Merlin agrees. "But if your conversation with her is the last one she has before doing something rash, or demanding to leave, it is not entirely irrational for him to feel something that you said may have sparked her folly. Do you think our uncles are rational on the subject of their sons and daughters? Was our grandfather so?"

"Then we should go to him immediately," Vere says, "And let him know what has happened."

"Indeed we should." Merlin moves to take Vere's hand, as if there's some concern about them being separated in the castle.

Vere tilts his head to one side, and an inquisitive look appears fleetingly on his face. He schools his expression then, and allows Merlin to take him by the hand.

With Vere's hand in his, Merlin takes the lead and brings them through various parts of the castle, seeking Madoc. Their journey is short, as Merlin seems to have a real instinct for where Madoc must be--or perhaps he is being led. When they walk into Madoc's library, they realize that they are standing on the ceiling, and for a moment Vere's perception of gravity is wrong and his inner ear and stomach rebel a little. Merlin responds coolly by walking along the ceiling and down the wall until they are on the same floor as Madoc, who is seated in a wing chair that would be at home in Amber except for the way that its clawed feet flex and move.

Vere blinks when his sense of proper positioning is momentarily outraged, but once again he controls himself without more than a momentary flicker, and follows Merlin's lead.

Madoc's horns are twitching a little. "You wished to see me, kinsmen?"

Merlin is going to leave this one to Vere to field, it seems.

Vere bows, then straightens. "My lord," he says. "Might I ask if you know where Saeth is?"

Madoc's horns spread wider. "That seems an ominous opening question. Let me check." The Count stands and closes his eyes briefly. He takes a step, frowns, and closes his eyes again.

"I do not, and I would were she within my demesnes." Vere notes the candles and fireplace are suddenly more active than before. "Tell me, cousin, why you ask." It's technically a request.

Merlin remains silent for the moment. He seems tense, as if he's waiting for some signal to act.

"I am concerned about her, my lord. We just spoke, and she mentioned a desire to travel to the other side of the Tree." Vere frowns. "While I advised her that I thought it would be wise for her to wait until she had gained more knowledge and power before attempting such a journey, her parting words to me led me to believe that she was lacking in patience." He shrugs very slightly. "I may be misreading her, my lord, and I apologize if I am causing concern for no good purpose."

"As she is absent, I find your concern to be relevant. She has so much of Aisling in her, and I have been loathe to resorb it. I find myself needing one of two things. Either I must seek her myself, in which case I will need to ask you to leave, or I will need an agent to chase down my wayward daughter."

His look makes it clear who he has in mind.

Vere frowns slightly. "My lord, it is unfortunate that I am so ignorant of Chaosian customs and lives. Could it be that Saeth fears such an absorption, and that her fear is a part of her reason for leaving? I ask, because knowing what she fears, and whether such fears are well or ill founded, must be considered before I decide how to properly act in this situation."

Madoc's horns visibly curl in towards each other and he turns his attention more fully on Vere. The furniture in the room also seems to be paying close attention. "Her very concern is childish. Are not children subject to the discipline of parents in Amber?"

Merlin lays his hand on Vere's shoulder, but does not speak.

"They are, my lord," Vere replies. "Both in Amber, the home of my father, and in The Isles, where my mother ruled and where I was raised. And I do not debate the right of a parent to enact discipline."

He glances briefly at Merlin, then back at Madoc. "But there are realms where the rights of a parent are absolute, and a parent may slay a child for any cause. And I have been led to believe that some Lords of Chaos are such parents. Forgive me, my lord, but I do not know you well enough to know whether you are such a parent or not. So in my ignorance I do not know if Saeth is a stubborn child who seeks adventures that she is not yet ready to brave, or a possible victim seeking to flee a terrifying fate."

Before Madoc can say anything, or before those twitchy horns can translate into some sort of action, Merlin interposes. "But of course you do not know our kinsman as well as I do even now. Uncle Madoc would not do such a thing to Aisling, even if he could." It's hard for even Vere to tell whether this is a prescriptive or a descriptive answer to his implicit question.

Vere nods. "That being the case, I am certain that Uncle Madoc will appreciate the concern I have expressed over my uncertainty of her fate upon her return. With your assurance that my concern is without basis, Cousin, I can now consider my concern over the dangers that Cousin Saeth faces by her ill-considered flight." Vere frowns thoughtfully before continuing. "I am not skilled at travelling through Chaos, and I do not know whether I would be able to track her through these realms. Is my offer of aid even of any use to you in this matter, Uncle? If it is, then you have it."

Madoc looks less grumpy and the furniture seems less hostile. Perhaps he is chalking it up to Vere's taint of Order. "It may be. I expect you are more likely to find her at one of your courts than to cross her path as she travels. I can give you a way of sending me a message when you see her. Hold out your arm and I will give you my token."

Vere holds his left arm out to Madoc without hesitation. "Are you requesting me to return to the Ordered side of Ygg immediately to search for her?" he asks. "Or are you requesting that I seek her in the Ordered Courts once I have finished my business here in Chaos? The former request would have an impact upon Prince Merlin, who has a claim to my assistance with his own affairs."

"I do not. I assume that you will hear news of her from your kinsmen. When you have a message for me, think on it and tap this mark." Madoc takes Vere's wrist and touches it. He draws a quick, stylized picture of a bird, and it stays on Vere's wrist. It is blood red and looks like a birthmark.

Merlin watches this process intently.

"You may go now," says Madoc.

Vere knows a dismissal when he hears one. He bows to Madoc, and takes a step backwards away from him, then stops and looks at Merlin for cues on whether they should walk back up the wall or take a different exit from the room.

Merlin moves back the way they came for the moment, not waiting for Vere to follow him.

[Assuming Vere comes with.]

When they exit the library, they find themselves in a different room. "Unstable symmetries," Merlin says by way of explanation as he walks down the wall to the floor again. "Have you any possessions here you wish to keep, cousin, other than those on your person?"

"Your father's horses," Vere answers immediately. "Other than that, I have kept everything important upon my person since we passed the tree. I take it an immediate departure is called for?"

"You are correct, and wise to have done so." Merlin moves purposefully off in a particular direction, clearly expecting Vere to follow. He quickly finds his way to the stables and checks on the horses, which seem to pass his inspection. "Let us leave now and head directly Yggward," he suggests.

Vere follows, remaining silent as they saddle the horses and pack the saddle bags. He simply watches as Merlin summons a filmy, and follows his directions as they lead the horses onto it and leave Madoc.

Ambrose Parts the Veil to Ygg and ushers Brita and Signy through it. Behind them the disruption in Bleys' scheme of rocks is becoming more prominent, and his nieces can hear him cursing.

On the far side of the Parted Veil is an ancient, gnarled tree. Signy and Brita step through, apparently partway up a hill, or down a valley, depending on how you look at such things. The sky changes color here from time to time, with colored streaks that look like they were fingerpainted in. The valley below is covered in multicolored fog. Brita has been here before, with Ambrose.

Behind them, Ambrose steps through and reality seals itself closed after him. "I can't do the lab in one Parting; I have to stop here. I'm sorry. Bleys thinks I can do it if I set my will to it, but I'm not convinced I have the mastery yet."

As she steps through, Signy's eyes are drawn like a magnet to Ygg, and she opens her Third Eye to look at the tree more fully. "So this is the tree that Bleys was telling me to check out," she murmurs.

She pulls herself from her reverie to give a glance at Ambrose before turning her gaze back on Ygg. "Why couldn't you go through in just one Parting?"

Brita's gaze on the tree is somewhat longing and almost reverent. She bows slightly in its direction. "The World Tree," she states.

Straightening, she notes to Ambrose, "I Would Try Parting the Veil from Here to My Mother's Lab."

If he agrees, she will position herself facing away from Ygg after another slight bow of parting and slice open a gateway to her mother's demesne. After they are all through, she ensures it is properly sealed.

When Signy starts talking about Bleys' suggesting Signy visit Ygg, Ambrose shakes his head slightly: _not yet_. "Most sorcerers can't make a direct transit across Ygg without stopping here. Bleys can and so can Fiona, and so could my father. But I'm not as strong as they are, and I can't, even though Bleys thinks I should be able to." He flushes slightly at the admission. "You shouldn't have any trouble getting back to the lab from here," he says to Brita. "It's just the inflection point problem." He turns back to Signy. "What did Bleys think you could learn here?"

Signy continues her scrutiny of the tree. "I'm not entirely sure, but I have a feeling that it may be a bit of a test. I was asking about how I could learn more about things, and he talked about studying it. I have a feeling that I'll be getting quizzed at some point about what I observe."

Brita pauses in parting the veil and turns back to the tree, waiting respectfully while Signy makes its acquaintance.

"What Grandmother asked me about was how I got here," Ambrose says by way of reply. "I think that's part of the lesson. Much simpler to come with someone the first time and come back later, once you've marked the spot."

Trees are normally visible to the Third Eye, in the way that things that are alive or permanent are. Signy sees two differences with her third eye between this tree and any other tree. The tree is more 'real' than any other tree she has ever observed. It also doesn't seem to end where the actual branches and leaves on it end.

It's definitely not a tree, or at least "not just a tree."

Signy looks at the Tree for a moment longer, absorbing as much as she can before broadening her Third Eye to take in the surroundings, committing as much as possible to memory.

She sighs, and drops her Sorcerous sight as she turns back towards Brita and Ambrose. "Well, I should be able to make my way back here, I hope," she notes. "Once we get back to the lab, if there's nothing pressing going on I may take Tomat and Red Fox Claws back this way before heading back to, well, wherever."

"You can do it by sorcery. The question I wonder whether Bleys was trying to address was whether you could do it by Pattern. But there's no accounting for his meaning. He makes Grandmother look direct sometimes." Ambrose makes a face, but his tone is more affectionate, if mildly so, than the words might have indicated. "If you're ready..."

Brita opens the way to her Mother's lab and, after all are through, makes sure it is well sealed behind them. She wants none tracking a way to the Lab from the World Tree.

Signy steps through the opening back into the lab without further comment.

Ambrose follows Signy through and waits for Brita to seal the breach, watching her ensure that nothing follows them through from Ygg. "I have to see to the code wheels, but after that, I'm free. What are your plans?" he asks Brita and Signy.

Red Fox Claws and Brother Tomat are not in the room the three cousins arrive in (the same one they left from), but they weren't in the same place when the Amberites left, either.

"I Think I shall Go and Visit My Brother in Watery Rebma," Brita notes. Her tone does not betray her concern, but the 'to check on him' still comes through.

Ambrose frowns slightly, his lower lip sliding along his face as if he means to chew on it worriedly. "I didn't know redheads were welcome in Rebma, but I suppose that must have changed with the change of regime. Signy, what do you mean to do next? Can you and your men get back to Xanadu from here, or will you go elsewhere? I mean to report to King Random, and then--" he glances at Brita again "--unless he has other duties, I'll be at loose ends for a time."

Brita glances at Signy, but squeezes in before she can speak, "Come With Me. You can Go to Reality Xanadu from Watery Rebma Afterwards."

It takes him a moment to think about it. "I'll do that. Let's make sure everything is secure first, and leave anything we don't want to get wet, and we'll go." He waves to Signy by way of farewell and they move off together.

Signy shakes her head, still thinking about the Tree.

"No, I think I'll check in, and if it's OK with the King maybe head back by way of the Tree, to at least see if I can pass that test."

Brita calls out as Signy starts to leave, "Let the King Know Where we have Gone."

As Ambrose and Brita start to prepare for their trip Signy pulls the Trump of Random she got from her brother and starts to focus on the image of the King, taking a couple of slow, shuffling steps towards the room where her companions were left waiting.

"Your Majesty?"

Random's image resolves quickly, first into his normal clothes and current location, then popping into a dimensionality, as if he were there, or Signy was with him. "What about my Majesty? Is it showing? I knew I needed a longer tunic..." The king is wearing a loose-fitting white shirt with no sleeves and behind him Signy can see a number of musical instruments.

In her distracted state of still thinking about the Tree and what it is that she should expect to find from it, Random's words trigger the start of a reply out of her days in the Band.

"Well, I've certainly never seen on....."

Her reply cuts off mid-sentence and her face reddens as she realizes who she's bantering with in this fashion.

"I, uh, meant that I wanted to give you an update on the Chain. Your Majesty."

Random grins at her embarrassment. "Kids today. When I was your age, all the girls had seen one." He plays a quick rimshot on the drums in front of him in and waits for the cymbal crash to fade. "Alright, give me your chain update. Let me guess, I have to pass it on to three other people or I'll have bad luck, right?"

Signy's eyes blink rapidly a couple of times, the only outward sign of her confusion over his reply.

Deciding that the best course of action is to just move ahead instead of dig the conversational hole any deeper, she switches back to the main point for her Trump.

"We activated the Chain, and brought back Sit Firumbas, a knight from Tir from before the Moonriders. He went with Prince Garrett back to Paris, a little unsettled at how much time has passed."

She quickly takes another breath before charging on with the rest of her update. "Prince Bleys left on another mission, Brita and Ambrose went to Rebma, and I'm back at Princess Fiona's. I had hoped to return by way of the Tree, unless you have something else you would have me do instead?"

The tone of her voice raises slightly at the end, hopeful that she'll be able to take her side trip before any other objectives the King might have for her.

Random shakes his head, slightly. "I don't have anything in mind that has to be done this second, but when you're back, I'll have a thing for you. Tell me, did you figure out whose chain you've been yanking? Are there more old knights in there?"

Signy shakes her head in the negative.

"We're not sure. We pulled Sir Firumbas out, and after talking with him for a bit Prince Bleys thought it was best if we left because he thought something was coming."

She takes a breath before continuing. "Brita should have the chain, and I think we know how to activate it now, though."

Random makes a mental note to ask Bleys about this later. "So, if I need someone to disappear for a few hundred years, you know how to make them gone? Or if I need an ancient Knight on short notice, you know where to pull them from? OK, I'll keep it in mind. Anything else?"

"No, Sire."

Signy pauses, giving the King the opportunity to get in the last word before breaking the contact.

With appropriate (or perhaps inappropriate) pleasantries, the King dismisses her and then dismisses the trump.

After finishing her conversation with the King, Signy's pace picks up and she quickly arrives where her two companions wait. Collecting them, she starts heading back towards the stables, noting abstractedly that they'd be going back to Xanadu by way of a Tree. Or The Tree. She seems slightly uncertain about its status, referring to it both ways. Of the rest of their recent trip she remains quiet.

Once they're mounted, they ride out from her Aunt's lab, travelling for a couple of miles before she slows and Parts the Veil to allow the group to travel back to The Tree that she'd just departed. She takes a look around, to see if whatever caused the disturbance that alarmed her Uncle and cousin may have tracked them that far, before turning her attention to the Tree itself.

"Have you ever seen such a thing as this," she asks her companions quietly.

There is no sign to Signy's sight that they have been chased back by whatever was happening at the tower with the flying stones.

Red Fox Claws shakes his head in the negative.

"I have not seen it until now, but I have heard of it," Tomat says. "It is the border between Order and Chaos."

Signy acknowledges Red Fox Claws. "Keep an eye out, I don't know who or what we can expect here."

She turns to look at the Tree, letting her eyes take in its physicality for a moment, and ignoring her other Sight.

"What does your Order say about this," she asks Tomat.

Tomat pauses to remember, then recites: "It is the place where Order ends and different rules apply. Beyond it, survival is in the gift of the Lords of Chaos, unless one is a sorcerer of great power or a master of the gifts of Amber." Another pause, then a different voice: "It is said that the tree is sentient, and may speak to those who merit it." Apparently his memory of at least some of the things said to him goes down to the level of the voice that spoke it.

Signy elects not to comment on the different voices.

"Speaks, huh?" she notes, as she steps forward. Placing her hand on the trunk of the Tree, she pauses only a moment longer, feeling the rough bark beneath her fingertips before she opens up her Third Eye to continue Looking.

[OOC: What kind of tree is it? I kinda assume it's an oak tree, but that might not be correct.]

The tree is of no species or genus known to Signy. It doesn't resemble any other tree she's ever seen either. To the sight of her Third Eye, the tree is bright with power with both an Orderly and a Chaotic feel to it. It takes a moment for the outline of a face to emerge from the bark to her sight; it looks at her for a moment and then the lines of the face recede back into the gnarled twists of the tree's wood.

Signy shakes her head slightly before stepping slightly closer to the trunk. She extends her perceptions towards the Tree, the feel of the bark on her fingertips providing a textural counterpoint to her Senses as they swoop down the ever increasing valleys and crevices, to plunge into the knots and whorls of the wood underneath.

She marvels at the sheer chaos of it all, so unlike the precise, ordered rows of the metal she works with at the forge, assembled into nice, compact rows waiting for shaping.

After a time, Red Fox Claws approaches Signy. "Lady?" he asks, tentatively, perhaps not wanting to disturb her if she's working some magic. "Lady, there are two beings coming, from the Chaos side."

Tomat's voice comes from that direction as well. "It looks like two men, human men, mounted." He must have enhanced his sight.

Merlin and Vere soon come into sight, riding upwards out of the fog, and Vere raises a hand and calls out, "Well met, Cousin Signy."

Signy swiftly pulls her sense back into herself, and steps away from the tree. As she moves towards where the riders approach, Tomat hears her quietly murmur "There was a face."

As the riders come closer and hail Signy and her two companions, she flashes a quick nod at Red Fox Claws that they are not an immediate threat.

"Cousin...Vere?" Faces and names still unfamiliar turn her greeting into almost a question. "And...Merlin?" She pauses, thinking. "You were there when Marius came back. When I met Celina." As she thinks back, their faces solidify in her memory.

Merlin says, "We met in my father's court in Paris, after the funerals, yes," nodding his agreement. He continues, "Are you travelling Chaoswards? We will tell you what we know of travel conditions and safety the way we came, if you are."

"While we did not speak, we saw each other in the great Family gathering after the funerals," Vere explains in greater detail. He glances at Ygg and smiles, then looks back at Signy. "It is also a great family tradition to trade information on the current doings of Family when we meet in Shadow, and I for one would be quite agreeable to honour that tradition."

"I should also find it agreeable," Merlin adds. He looks to Vere for any additional insights he may have to offer about the family custom; it is just possible that Vere has seniority here among the three of them, depending on how one counts these things.

Signy nods, and manages to refrain from looking back to see if the face has decided to reappear in the Tree while her back is turned.

"I'm taking a longer road back to Xanadu so I can stop here and see the Tree. Several of us went to Aunt Fiona's labs, and from there out into Shadow to investigate the chain that was brought back when we rescued the Queen from a Shadow near Tir." She pauses briefly to draw breath, before continuing. "We ended up bringing back a knight from Tir that had been imprisoned long before the Moonriders, apparently. He went back to Paris with Prince Garrett, while Brita and Ambrose headed to Rebma and Uncle Bleys went...." she pauses, realizing she's not too sure on where her Uncle went, before finishing somewhat lamely, "somewhere."

Vere dismounts while Signy is speaking, and pats his steed's neck soothingly. He whispers into the horse's ears in a soft, comforting voice, but continues watching Signy so that she knows he is paying close attention to her words.

Merlin also dismounts to see to his horse, although he doesn't seem as concerned about speaking to his steed.

She blinks suddenly, then continues. "My two companions I've known from before I even knew that I belonged to the Family." She points to each in turn. "This is Red Fox Claws, and this is Brother Tomat."

Vere nods a greeting to each of the men. "Vere Gerardsson," he identifies himself to them.

Merlin adds, "Merlin of Paris. My father Corwin is full brother to Signy's mother." He specifies the relationship no further.

Red Fox Claws nods by way of acknowledgement, and Tomat gives a neck-bow.

Introductions done, she looks at her two relatives curiously. "What brings the two of you out this way?" she asks in a companionable tone.

"Prince Merlin kindly offered to be my guide to the realm of Chaos, to further my education," Vere explains. "We are just now returning from the realm of the Chaos Lord Madoc. We met Weyland Smith while we were there, and he asked after you. I was merely able to tell him that you had been in Amber, and had met your brother."

Tomat's attention focuses in eagerly on the idea of travelling in Chaos.

Merlin nods his agreement with Vere's account. "And in due time it became right for us to leave and return to the Ordered side of the universe. If you are travelling to Xanadu, or Paris, perhaps we could travel with you if your business here is done? I am most curious to hear about this warrior and the chain, and we have stories of our own."

At the mention of her father, Signy stiffens slightly, and her eyes harden.

"Well. I should have guessed that he would have run to Madoc." Her voice turns harder. "I hope you did find him well, since it sounds like he had to leave the Tower in a hurry."

She pauses, swallowing hard and wrestling her emotions back under control.

Vere politely pretends not to notice her reaction.

So does Merlin.

She nods her head at the Tree. "We could certainly head back with you. I think that the Tree isn't going to be speaking to me just yet."

Vere turns to look directly at the Tree. "It did not speak to me when I passed it going the other way," he says. "I suppose I am not yet sufficiently interesting for it. It must have seen many things in its existence, if all who travel between Chaos and Order must pass it." He walks a little closer to it.

It's a tree. It's the same funny little tree it was before. It doesn't show faces or talk or do anything other than sit there. "My father said Ygg talked to him once, but he is an unusual man," Merlin muses. "Perhaps if you ask him, Signy, he will speak to you of it."

Vere has a brief internal debate over the wisdom of using the Sorcerous Sight on such a powerful being, but there's never any real chance that curiosity won't triumph over caution. He opens his Third Eye and observes Ygg.

Signy walks over to stand closer to Vere, opening her Third Eye back up to look at the Tree again.

"There was a face, but it turned away pretty quickly. I think it looked at me and thought I wasn't interesting." The tone of mock indignation seems a striking contrast to her earlier anger.

"Maybe it will find you more interesting, or that there's two of us?" Her initial willingness to travel back to Order seems to have vanished almost as quickly as her earlier mood.

The tree is of no species or genus known to Vere, whose knowledge base is different to Signy's. It doesn't resemble any other tree he's seen in his shadow travels, or in any of the Pattern realms, either. What it does resemble is the tree in the basement of Notre Dame. The tree is bright with power with both an Orderly and a Chaotic feel to it when Vere looks at it with his Third Eye.

"My father was a very unusual case," Merlin says. "I would not plan on speaking with it. Or, to be precise, I would not plan on getting a response if I spoke to it."

"Indeed," Vere says. He regards the tree for a few more seconds, then bows to it and turns to Signy. "If you saw a face then you have received more attention from it than I did. Perhaps in a few centuries." He shrugs very slightly. "I am young yet."

He looks around the valley, considering it. "I wonder if it was planted to force this place into existence? Perhaps before that one could slide from Chaos to Order and back again across an infinity of Shadows? But having a single point of entrance gives one a natural choke point. Much easier to defend."

Signy drops her Sight as she shrugs.

"That implies that there's something about the Tree that prevents any other pathways from forming, like The Black Road, yes?"

"I believe that to be the case, but my mathematics are not sufficient to prove it," Merlin answers her. "Nor are they sufficient to extrapolate what happened with the Black Road. I know the basic elements of the story but not how they would have manifested here. Also, I was on that side of Ygg--" he gestures Chaosward "--for most of the war. I only ventured across a few times and then came by way of Ygg or by Trump."

"Another in the endless series of questions to ask our elders when we get the opportunity," Vere says with a slight smile. "Cousin Signy, did you have more business to conduct here, or shall we depart for a shadow where we can find food, drink, and a comfortable place to consume both while we talk?"

Signy shakes her head in the negative, and signals Tomat and Red Fox Claws that it's time to mount up.

"No, I don't think that I'll see that face again, at least not right now."

She glances at Merlin. "Though I've started to study more advanced maths, I'd be interested in knowing what sorts of things to start looking at. All I've gotten so far are vague hints that it's 'complicated and avanced'. Whatever it is."

Tomat and Red Fox Claws ready themselves to mount up. Tomat is still very interested in their conversation.

"Bleys and Fiona are the advanced mathematicians in the family. I am a sorcerer first and foremost, and my biases come from that education. I think I do not have the, how shall we say, mathematical mindset," Merlin says.

Vere remounts, saying as he does so, "Mathematics again. I still maintain that once one sets out down that path, there is no return." He looks at Signy. "Should we seek a comfortable inn, where we can be waited upon, Cousin? Or would you prefer a quick hunt and a dinner over a fire in the wild?"

Phantom aches start to stiffen in her lower back, distant echoes of time spent on the road with the Band.

"An inn sounds like it wouldn't be a bad idea," she observes as she swings up into her saddle.

"Excellent well," Vere answers. He touches boot heels to his mount and leads them out of Ygg's valley at a walk.

In due time, the group finds themselves approaching a small, dusty town, with a few buildings making a main street of some sort and a road that crosses it. A number of the buildings have what looks like some kind of rack to tie horse reins to in front of them.

[Assuming the group chooses to stop here]

As they dismount, Red Fox Claws will take charge of the horses, hitching them properly to the post. Tomat will follow the Amberites into the inn.

Vere slips an apple out of his saddlebag and feeds it to his horse, rubbing his neck and murmuring to him, before heading into the building. As soon as he enters it he takes a step to the side, and looks around the room, gauging the inhabitants and fixing in his mind where all the entrances are, as well as analyzing lines of sight. He coughs quietly to judge the acoustic qualities of the room.

The door to the place is made up of two half-length pieces of wood that swing loosely as people pass through them. Vere thinks it must not get cold here very often.

The acoustics are easy to judge. The place has a piano and someone is playing it, not very well in Vere's opinion. The woman who's singing with it has a decent voice. It reminds Vere of Red Mill a little, if Red Mill were cheap and dusty. There are perhaps a dozen tables and a long bar with a mirror behind it.

Signy easily slides down from her horse, handing the reins to Red Fox Claws. "First round's on me," she murmurs to him, giving a pouch on her belt a quick shake so that he can hear the muted clink of coins within. She's not quite sure how she knows, but she's certain that the coins inside will be sufficient to cover the fairly modest expenses they're likely to incur.

She strides in just behind Vere and pauses next to him, letting her eyes become adjusted to the lowered lighting within. "I wish I'd been able to do this when leading the Band," she notes quietly. "A lot nicer than laying on gravel in the rain."

Merlin says quietly, "There is no guarantee you will never have to do that again, but your odds are significantly better.

Vere's lips form a quick smile, then it passes as he continues to observe the room.

The barkeep calls, "What'll it be, strangers?" and Merlin looks to Vere and Signy for leadership. Tomat, still observing, remains at the door.

"We have had a long ride," Vere calls out in answer as he heads for a table near a wall and away from any other patrons. "What have you got to eat? And do you have any hard cider?" He pulls out a chair facing the long mirror, where he can watch everything happening in the bar, but does not sit yet.

Following his adventures learning about Clervaux in the church with the strange brothers, and Adreano's attempt to seduce Ossian's aunt Florimel, it becomes time for Ossian and Adreano to leave Paris. Corwin assigns a strage knight to assist them; his name is Sir Firumbras. Corwin explains to Ossian that Sir Firumbras was trapped for many centuries and has only recently been freed. In this way, he is much like Reid, for all that he comes from a time before Reid's birth. Corwin thinks Firumbras might know something about Clervaux in addition to his skill at arms. What Corwin does not say, but Ossian may read between the lines, is that Sir Firumbras is something of a puzzle and by sending him with Ossian and Adreano, Corwin may learn as much as they do.

Ossian and Adreano have a copy of the painting of Clervaux from the Church of St. Ninian. They have supplies according to Ossian's instructions as well as the company of Sir Firumbras.

Sir Firumbras proves to be a courtly knight of Paris of old, or so he says. What he looks like is--if the descriptions Ossian has heard and the depictions he has seen are anywhere near accurate--a Moonrider, or something very closely related to it. He is tall and slender, and rides like he was born in the saddle. He has a horseman's blade and a rowan shield and knows strange old songs, which he proves by singing them on the road as they leave Paris, riding three abreast. Once they're clear of the city and the influence of its Pattern, it's up to Ossian to set the direction, as he's the only one of the three who can forge their paththrough Shadow.

Ossian will start shifting towards places that looks like his Clervaux picture, although significantly aged. He explains to his companions that this trip will take time. How do they handle the shifting shadows?

Adreano has heard of the paths travelled by the merchants of Amber, but has never travelled much himself. Certainly he's never done anything as wild and ambitious as travel off the beaten paths with a princeling of Amber. Ossian hears him muttering an occasional fragment of poetry under his breath, as if he's composing some long piece while they travel.

Sir Firumbras has clearly done quite a bit of Shadow travel in the past. He's interested in the process, if not inquisitive about the mechanics. He comes much better practically prepared than either Adreano or (probably) Ossian: he has money and saddlebags with supplies and gear that Ossian realizes, when they get out into Shadow, is for hunting. They can stay in inns while they're in civilized parts of the universe, but they won't have to, and Ossian won't have to do much conjury.

Ossian is duly impressed, and happy that he does not have to spend energy on conjuring food. He will ask Firumbras for some light sparring in the evening, more to judge Firumbras capacity than for the exercise. Ossian will ask him if he's been to Clervaux.

Sir Firumbras is happy to spar with either Adreano or Ossian. (Adreano passes and uses the time to compose.)

Firumbras is Ossian's equal, at least, in swordsmanship, which is unusual for someone not related to Ossian. But he did claim to be one of the peers of the King of Paris in some ancient time, so he might just be that good of a fighter. Ossian might be able to outlast him, but even so, that would take a while to find out and probably harder sparring than they're doing.

"I visited once, briefly, in service to King Carol, but it was never a place I spent much time. It was a place of learning, which I respected--as did the King!--but I was not made for the library or scriptorium."

Ossian nods. "I do wonder what they did study. Reid was learned, but also somewhat barbaric. What was the nature of the Clervauxians?"

"Saving your presence, the Princes of Amber were always ambitious and bloodthirsty. If Reid was of that stock, he brought barbarism to Clervaux with him. The brothers of Clervaux were dedicated to knowledge, sometimes too much so." Firumbras gives Ossian a knowing grin. "They hoarded and traded, gathering in, and sometimes keeping secret what might well have been better off freely disclosed."

"That is a tradition that is carried on by others. Do you know anything of the fate of Clervaux?"

Firumbras shakes his head in the negative. "It's still there to my knowledge, so I suppose it must have happened, whatever it was, after I was taken and ensorcelled."

Off to one side from their spar, Ossian can see Adreano scratching out bits of poetry in a notebook he got in Paris.

"Were you taken from Clervaux?" Ossian asks.

Then Ossian turns to Adreano: "No poetry without an audience. Will you let us listen?"

"I'm not getting anywhere," Adreano says sulkily. He closes the book and crosses his arms.

Firumbras takes the opportunity while Ossian is distracted to touch him lightly with the blade, more of a pay attention than even a love tap of the sort one of his cousins might give him. "No. Idraote, the sorcerer who betrayed me, I have always suspected of being of the order of the Eye in the Pyramid. To the extent that Clervaux was of them, which is debatable, I might say that I was taken by one of them. But I believe that Idraote was acting on his own initiative, and Armida was swayed by him."

"You make me curious". Ossian says taking up the fencing again. "When did this happen? Were you still in the service of the King of Paris."

"I was," Firumbras allows, "and still am, although the king has changed. I am told that many centuries have passed since that time, for all that it seems no time at all has passed. I was prisoned in a silver chain, or so I am told."

If Firumbras has the patience, Ossian will ask him about details of Clervaux, even how the city (is it a city?) is layed out, to make the Shadow shifting more effective.

For him this is a relatively recent set of memories, compared to the hundreds or maybe even thousands of years other people have had to forget everything about Clervaux except what's in that single painting. Firumbras isn't an artist and Ossian isn't a police sketch artist, but with some effort and some paint or at least some charcoal, Ossian can begin to get some idea of what the place might have looked like before its demise.

Dead leaves crunch under Folly's feet as she climbs the hill. She isn't precisely certain where she is -- some place between places, on the verge of a cold winter of the sort Xanadu will rarely if ever see -- but she intuits down to her bones that it is where she is supposed to be.

She crests the low rise and peers out over a grey-brown landscape ringed with scraggly, barren trees too evenly spaced to have sprung up of their own accord. Below, two -- no, three -- children climb on, under, and around a set of playground equipment that has seen a lot of use and not quite enough upkeep.

Folly makes her way toward the playground, toward the only bright spot on the landscape: a woman -- presumably the children's mother -- sits on a nearby park bench. She is wrapped in a voluminous silver fur that seems more appropriate for a premiere than a play-date. She appears to take no notice of Folly's approach, in that polite suburban way of ignoring one's neighbor's business; her eyes remain fixed on the playground, even as Folly settles carefully onto the other end of the park bench with a soft 'oof'.

As she arranges her own rather less impressive winter wrap around her heavily pregnant form, the woman, without turning her head, says, "I was beginning to wonder whether you would ever get here."

"Well, it wasn't time yet," Folly replies. The woman says nothing, but she doesn't have to; Folly can feel her skepticism.

They watch the children for a while. The two older boys, so closely matched that they could be twins, though they are not identical, throw themselves vigorously from one contest of wit and skill to another: now racing, now wrestling, now trying to keep one another from the top of the slide or a certain bar of the jungle gym. Their younger brother lurks in the shadows, mostly playing by himself but occasionally emerging to dog whichever of his older brothers seems about to best the other. All three seem oblivious to the women watching from the bench.

"Your children are beautiful," Folly says. "You must be very proud."

"Proud," the woman replies, blowing out a frosty breath that is almost a laugh. "They are what they are, and will continue to be, with or without me. You know that."

"Well, but you were a part of their making," Folly counters. "They were born of love. I like to think that counts for something." She regards the boys again, searching for signs of affection in their playground rivalry.

After a moment, she asks, "Is it worth it?"

"More than worth it," the woman replies. "Inevitable. When you hear his laughter on the wind, and feel his heartbeat in the very rhythm of the city you love, how can you make any other choice but to give everything you have, everything you are, to make him happy?"

Folly blinks. "What? No, that's not what I---"

"You speak of love, but here you are, running away." The woman has turned to face Folly now; her green eyes flash with inner fire. "Idiot girl! He made you a universe -- what more do you want? He made you a universe, a realm you know to your very core that you would defend with your dying breath, and you run off and leave it to someone else's keeping -- someone who holds your place only under the falsest of false pretenses---"

"That wasn't her fault!"

"---and how will your baby grow up under a mother who doesn't even know how to love it? Oh, she does her best, but it was never meant for her, and you know it. Who is the blind one now?" She leans in and wraps icy fingers around Folly's wrist; her eyes seem to bore into her soul. "Foolish child, he NEEDS you."

"But... but... it didn't get any better, did it? You loved him, but then you DIED, and everyone fought for years and years---"

"Yes, well, you do have that advantage over me, don't you?" A cold wind swirls around the playground, bringing dead leaves and grey mist. Folly suddenly realizes that beneath her coat, the woman is even more heavily pregnant than she is. In the gathering mist, her skin seems to take on a greyish cast -- as if she is already dying.

She begins to fade from view, as the whole landscape is slowly overtaken by featureless fog.

Folly clutches at the woman's hands, as if she could save her from her fate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--- Please, don't go---"

Folly awakes, shivering and slicked with sweat. She has kicked off the covers again. She slides out of bed with a murmurred "'M alright" -- by now a reflex, to reassure Martin; lately she's been up a half-dozen times a night -- but instead of the loo, she heads to the pitcher and basin on the dresser. With shaking hands, she wets a cloth and begins wiping down her face and upper body.

In the dark, she can still feel the force of those green eyes boring into her.

Martin has always been a light sleeper, a necessity in his various professions, and when he hears the wrong set of noises, he's halfway out of bed before he decides there's no threat--at least none physical. "Hey," he says after a moment, his voice rough with sleep if not fuzzy with it. "You ok? Want a hand?"

In a smaller, higher-pitched voice than she intended, Folly replies, "Could we maybe just... turn on the light a minute...?" ...Although at the moment she can't remember if this place even has lights that turn on.

Hastily, realizing that that may have come out sounding like she's worried something is wrong with her or the baby, she adds, "Weird dreams."

There's an audible sigh that might be relief from Martin in the dark. "Let me get a candle," he says after a moment, and then there's the familiar sound of a Zappo lighter striking and some small amount of light from it. When her eyes adjust to the brightness, Folly can see that Martin is ready to brandish the lighter, or the candle, like a weapon if needed, but despite his usual difficult-to-read expression, there's uncertainty in his eyes, as if he's waiting for her to say something so he can decide what to do next.

Her heart is still pounding, but the sight of her husband brandishing a candle against the darkness pushes away some of the gloom and dread from her mind. She is however having a hard time figuring out what to say that doesn't start with, 'Oh, don't worry, I was just having an upsetting conversation with a queen that died in childbirth'.

Instead, in a tone that aims for airy and almost gets there, she says, "I'm sure this is all my mother's fault, somehow." She wipes the cool cloth over her face again, hesitates, then adds, "I should have more faith that your father won't accidentally do something stupid while I'm away."

Martin takes a moment to react. His reaction turns out to be a long breath let out too quickly to be a sigh: more like blowing smoke in someone's face, except without the cigarette. One corner of his mouth quirks up, visible primarily in the way the candle shadows play on his face. "You've got to let the kids out of the nest sometime, Folly." He moves to join her by the sink, watching for any signal that he shouldn't come any closer.

"Yeah, I knooooow," Folly mock-whines, "but, you know, nesting instincts! I've got the universe arranged just how I like it, and I don't want anyone to go screwing it up." She blows out a breath of her own and leans her forehead on Martin's chest.

She's shivering, though the room is not cold.

Without raising her head, she asks, "Did I tell you" -- though she knows she didn't -- "that Mum thinks he and Vialle are going to split up?"

When Folly moves to lean against him, Martin sets down the candle and wraps her in his arms. He doesn't react immediately to the question other than in the long rise and even longer fall of his chest. "Nooooo," he finally says, "but it's nice to see some confirmation that she's smart enough to be your mother. It's pretty obvious when you talk to Dad. I think about you all the time and talk about you a lot. He doesn't talk about Vialle very much, and not just with me."

"Yeah. Even just standing in the middle of Xanadu, you can feel it. I mean...." She looks up at Martin. "If I were gonna make the reality of my desire from scratch, it would be someplace that I was pretty sure you'd be happy, and WE'D be happy, you know?"

She hesitates, frowning, as if she is treading carefully around a dangerous and scary idea or two. What she finally says is, "And I can't even work out which is the lesser of two evils: that they break up, or that they don't break up. And I feel like a shit friend for not being there. And then like kind of a shit wife for obsessing over your father's love life."

Martin closes his eyes with a long exhale and is silent for a long time, long enough that Folly has almost decided that he seems disinclined to answer. Before she says anything, though, he opens his eyes and shrugs. "The thing about negative decisions is that you have to keep making them every day for the rest of your life. Doing something is easy. You just go do it, then it's done. Not doing something means being strong enough to make that decision every time you think about it.

"The problem is that it's better for him if they split, no question, and we both know it. It's just probably not better for me." He doesn't elaborate on what he thinks might be best for Folly.

"YOU are my husband," Folly says with deep conviction; she cradles his cheek in her hand and looks deep into his eyes. "You are my husband and the father of my child, and I love you. Nothing changes that." She intones the words almost like a spell, as if their very truth comes from the force of her will.

She moves her hand up to stroke Martin's short hair. "And if it were just us few we had to worry about, we'd be fine. But it's Xanadu. It's all of your father's brothers and sisters. It's everything. After he's made such a good start of it, I don't want your father to go and make the same mistakes his father made. But I'm still working out the best way to help him. I just wish---"

She hesitates, looking a bit stricken. "I have a lot of faith in your father, but I wish I could be completely, one-hundred-percent certain that he wouldn't do something idiotic like get her pregnant." She doesn't say 'accidentally', but Martin can probably read it in her tone. "But then maybe the rules are different if you're screwing around in the vicinity of your own pattern."

Martin gestures Folly back toward the bed. Apparently if they're going to have this discussion, he thinks they ought to be lying down. "If he gets her pregnant, he gets her pregnant. Same for anybody else he might be getting pregnant. Grandfather did that, too: it's how come Llewella's older than Brand." The slight hesitation before he says his uncle's name may never go away. "And it was why Eric hated Llewella, because he was a bastard the same way she was in the Amber succession, and Grandfather legitimized her but never got around to him.

"But that's beside the point. You can't control what Dad does. Nobody can control what Dad does but Dad. He might get Vialle pregnant, he might get Garrett's mom pregnant again, shit, he might even get Paige pregnant if she flashes her knickers too often in his direction." He makes the last suggestion with resigned exasperation, as if he thinks that's possibly the dumbest thing he's heard of. A moment's reconsideration, and he says, "Or he might even get Silhouette pregnant, since I'm pretty sure she was trying to conduct some horizontal diplomacy and he's probably amenable to the horizontal part.

"And if he does," Martin says with a shrug, "we live with it. And so does he."

He takes the candle and moves it back to the bedside table, a further encouragement to get back in bed. "And just to be clear about the other thing: yeah, I am your husband. But Vialle is Dad's wife. The upside, though, is that you definitely aren't Vialle and I'm definitely not Dad. We're not going to fuck up the way they have; we'll find our own exciting new ways to fuck up."

"And Xanadu is not Amber," Folly adds, and nods as if she has worked something out, or come to some sort of decision.

Rather than come straight back to bed, though, she holds up one finger and gestures toward the loo; as long as she's up, she may as well take care of the other thing, or else she'll just be up again in five minutes.

When she returns, she does come back to bed, and lets Martin help her get situated. Although it takes a few minutes, they eventually find a comfortable position for her that still allows her to pet his hair as they talk. Martin can tell she's almost completely recovered from whatever she dreamed that alarmed her so, but she still finds it reassuring to be able to touch him.

"You're right, of course," she says when they're settled. "Whatever comes, we'll make it through. After all, improvisation means never having to make someone else's mistakes. Second verse, not really very much like the first verse at all, actually." She pauses, thinking, then adds, "And I suppose the whole succession crisis that plagued the last generation becomes rather moot now that we know how succession really works."

"Yeah, it works out for me since I don't want to inherit either of the ones I'm nominally in line for--excuse me, any of the three I'm nominally in line for now. I admit it makes the showy stage bullshit even less tolerable." Folly doesn't need to see Martin's face to know he's rolling his eyes. "Not to mention the politicking around our daughter. But even so, she's the daughter of two successful Patternwalkers and that counts for a lot in a place like Rebma with its track record of Queens dying. I'm hoping whatever ceremony Dad thinks he need can be wrung out of a baby.

"You know," he says, clearly thinking back to the earlier part of the conversation, "it's not like him getting tired of Vialle means it has to be you. Dad has a history, and making a Pattern has got to change a man. So maybe he's going to find someone completely new." There's a long beat and he adds, "And I don't think it'll be Silhouette, either, even if she manages to get in his bed. Dad's easy to get. Keeping him seems to be the difficult part."

Folly's wistful smile is difficult to see in the dark, but it's clearly audible in her voice. "In Texorami there's this plant that grows everywhere -- up through the cracks of sidewalks, along the sides of freeways, in the spaces at the foundations of buildings -- and most people think it's a terrible nuisance and go to great lengths to try to get rid of it, but in the spring it puts out these gorgeous little purple-and-yellow flowers, so bright they make everything glow. So when I got my first place on my own, I tried to transplant some of it from the sidewalk outside to a pot that would live on my windowsill. Turns out it can tolerate just about anything except captivity.

"I would think that making your own universe would make it even harder to try to live on someone else's terms. You know?"

"I don't think Dad did a great job at living on someone else's terms before he put down roots in Xanadu, so yeah." Folly can feel the shrug Martin gives at that even though she can't see it well in the dark, particularly given their positions. "Dad's gotten more responsible but it doesn't mean faithful, except maybe to Xanadu. And he's got a whole universe to explore now. Maybe he needs us to be the model couple and that's what all this fuss about the wedding was over. If that's our job in the brave new word, I guess it's a good thing that I'm me and not him. Probably we should have stayed there for the birth, but you can't have everything."

"...Oh." Folly's voice is small and quiet. "Maybe that's what she was trying to tell me." She falls silent, thinking.

"Huh?" It takes Martin a moment to figure out who, or what, Folly might be talking about. "Is this your mother or people in your dreams? Because unless you think there was a reason the dream was special, I'm going to vote that that's guilt talking. Dreams are funny like that." Which Martin, who has had more than a few bad ones of his own, should know.

"Well," Folly says slowly, "I don't think it was an actual ghost or a sending or anything, if that's what you mean. On the other hand, I do tend to trust my dreams like I trust the cards, to point out the things I don't know that I know. So, call it equal parts 'guilt' and 'intuition'."

She pauses, and chews her bottom lip. "Well, okay, maybe not quite equal parts." She lets out a soft chuckle, a bit sheepishly, and attempts to snuggle closer to Martin. "But it does give me another thing or two to ask Benedict, if he's amenable."

The occasion on which Martin refuses a chance for Folly snuggles will only happen after the end of the universe. After the next end of the universe, anyway. "What are you going to ask him? And before or after he chews us out for the pregnancy?"

"More like 'dependent on how badly he chews us out for the pregnancy'," Folly says, "because what I really want to ask him may require more sensitivity, diplomacy, and tact than even I can muster. I'm pretty sure 'Sorry we broke the universe, and by the way, could you tell me about that time your dad was an ass to your mom?' isn't gonna cut it. Not that that's exactly what I want to ask him, but." She blows out a sigh. "It's kind of in that vein."

Martin makes a bit of a face. "Maybe you better run that question by me so I can gauge how pissed off he's going to be before you ask it."

There is a brief, befuddled sort of silence, and then Folly laughs. "You know, that's almost like asking me to run through that solo I'm gonna improvise with the band next week. I don't know exactly what I'm gonna ask until I know how the conversation is going. But the gist of it is this: How much of Oberon's actions around divorcing Benedict's mother and taking up with Faella were motivated purely by politics, and how much -- if any -- by metaphysics? I mean, Benedict's brothers had to 'die for the good of Amber', and now we hear that it might be dangerous for there to be too many of us. Were those things linked -- in Benedict's mind if not in his father's? And there's a related question, which is: is there some metaphysical reason that the rulers of pattern realms have to be manipulative lying bastards, or does it just work out that way? If Oberon knew that he was the only one who could really rule Amber, why did he string all his children along for lifetimes and lifetimes over questions of succession? And then there's the part about if your father's siblings were willing to swear fealty because they thought his marriage meant he'd somehow suddenly matured, will they still stand by him if he suddenly ends it?"

She shakes her head. "None of those are really an opening converational gambit, though. Mostly I want to understand what Benedict knows about transitions. There could be a lot of different ways to get there."

The note arrives by messenger. A young soldier, the man looks competent but not exemplary. He looks to Lilly as if he has served in combat, but not extensively.

"My Lady, The Protector requires your presence at Castle Avalon tomorrow for the noonday court."

Crossing the channel and reaching the castle across the Isle of Apples will take most of that time. Lilly has time to pack and say her goodbyes, but she needs to land on the Isle before nightfall tonight.

The young man seems to be waiting for her reply.

For several long seconds, the sword maiden simply stares at the man wondering if his disappearance would give her more than a few additional days here at home. Probably not. Chances are the protector would simply find his own way to her doorstep and his mood would certainly be more foul. Better to give in to his request.

Stifling a sigh, Lilly turns from the man and quickly pens a reply. She writes only, "I will be there. - L." It is enough. Neither she nor her father ever wasted words. Why begin now?

Lilly reseals the note before handing it back to the messenger. "Return this to my father," she says brusquely. "I shall settle my affairs here and make way for Castle Avalon as quickly as possible. If there is nothing else, you have my leave." Clearly she wishes to savor a few last moments of calm before rejoining the affairs of her kin.

The lad leaves, taking the note. There is enough traffic to the island that she will not need to travel with him.

Mallet comes walking down the hall. He doesn't speak, but it's clear that he's seen the soldier and has questions.

Lilly meets his eyes and manages a sad smile. As he nears, she reaches out and takes his hands in hers. "I've be summoned," she says quietly. Her grasp tightens slightly as she fights to keep from looking away. "The Protector has need of me, it would seem. As much as I wish to stay here, my family duties call and I..." Her voice falls off as emotion takes hold.

She takes a deep breath and gazes down at their joined hands. "It is time," Lilly mutters as she drops his hand and pulls him into a tentative embrace. It is a rare show of affection and a bit awkward on her part. "I shall miss you both. But I have been gone too long. People might be missing me."

And I might be missing them, she adds silently. The panicked notion that she might not be missed at all flits through her mind but she pushes it away. No more insecurities, she decides. At least not for the time being.

He nods and embraces her just as awkwardly. "We will miss you, but your duty is your own to carry. My guess is that something's happened. I'd heard rumors of a flare-up to the east."

Lilly pulls back opening up a comfortable distance between them. "I've heard nothing," she says. In that moment, she realizes that the sheer lack of rumor and gossip that has reached her ears falls far below the norm. Were they keeping things from her? And if so, why?

"What sort of flare up? What have you heard?"

Mallet smiles. "There hasn't been a smith within fifty miles of The Tecys that hasn't been making more weapons these last two weeks. Ore and refined metal costs are harder to get, and more boys are going off to learn to march in rows. Noblemen are coming to me for armor and weapons to give them an edge.

"War with the East is either happening, or coming. Weeks, daughter. Perhaps Months. Less, if your other father needs you now."

Lilly nods. "So it would seem. I'm glad I have taken the time to heal." She takes a deep breath. "If I am to meet my father on time, I need to leave this evening. Would it be possible for you to inspect my blade before then? If all of the noblemen are ensuring their arms are ready, I should probably do the same." A smile crosses her features as she says the last. For the first time in months, Lilly is looking forward to a fight.

Mallet nods. "Come to the forge. If we need to make any adjustments, I'll want you to work the bellows." Mallet knows that Jade would not approve, but this is not about Jade.

This triggers a wide grin from Lilly. "Of course, father," she says. She might as well take a few minutes to enjoy herself before leaving. Jade might not approve, but in this case, Lilly hopes she will understand. She would not want her daughter to go to war unprotected, after all. "I will go gather me things and meet you down there."

Mallet agrees and heads off, leaving Lilly to gather herself and her belongings alone.

Lilly's arrival had been unplanned at best. She had brought very little with her and quickly decides to leave in much the same fashion. Anything she needs can be acquired on the journey, she reminds herself. All she really requires is her blade. With that in mind, she gathers a minimal amount of things, the few trumps she owns, her weapons and not much more, and heads off to seek out Mallet at the forge.

The forge is hot and crowded with weapons and armor, some clearly recently used and in need of repair. Most of the work can be done by journeymen and apprentices, but some work requires the master's touch.

The only person in the forge when Lilly arrives is Mallet.

Lilly loves this place and can not keep her hands to herself. She reaches out and touches the various items as she passes being careful not to cut herself. As a child, she seldom emerged from the forge unscathed. Back then, she spent hours imagining the great epic battles that caused the damages to the weapons and armor. Next to sparring, it was her favorite activity. Now, she no longer has to imagine. She knows all too well.

"I want to travel light," she says to Mallet as she closes the distance between them. "I think it will just be me and my blade. Unless you have any other suggestions? I figure I should take advantage of Prince Benedict's favorite smith while I have the chance." Lilly smiles brightly as she lays her sword down before Mallet.

"If you get to the island tonight, you can sleep with the fishers of the Isola colony or if you walk on under the moon you might make it to Modest's place before midnight. Otherwise, you might want a blanket in case you need to sleep under the stars. I cannot advise you otherwise because anything might transpire after you meet with the Protector."

He takes her blade. "Stoke the fire, please. I can see better by the red glow."

Lilly nods, glad to have something to do with her hands. "I would like to believe that I know the Protector well enough to anticipate what might happen but I know that would be foolish. I doubt anyone knows him that well. Even in his presence, his face and body language give away very little. Still, I am trying not to be overly anxious. He has yet to give me more then I could handle. If he had, I wouldn't be standing here," she says as she works giving voice to her thoughts.

Mallet nods, looking along the blade for flaws and wear. "The Protector has worked at making you capable of facing anything. So have I. So has your mother. You've worked at it all your life. I have every confidence in you."

He picks up a cloth and a polishing stone. "The blade needs little work, just a bit of polish." He goes to work on it.

Lilly nods. "That is good to know. Thank you."

Mallet continues to work on the stone, giving Lilly the space and the time to decide if she has any other matters to bring up. Lilly thinks the blade needed little work, but that Mallet was using the excuse of the labor to spend a last few moments with her.

He finishes the sword and tells Lilly to try it.

Dearest Aunt,

I would seek your Enlightenment with regard to the history and politics of Rebma, so I might be of service to it and its people. You have been well spoken of by my cousins, and they inform me that your knowledge of this realm is unparalleled. It would be my honor if we might meet in person.

I also understand this must be a sad time for you, so will understand if you would prefer to deny my request. You have my sincerest sympathies.

Your niece,

Silhouette

Calling upon a page, Silhouette sends this missive to her aunt. While she waits, she attempts to engage her triton 'ward' in conversation... if such a thing is even possible with the creatures.

The triton is not very talkative. Perhaps it's a side effect of their generations of slavery at the hands of Rebma during which they did not speak to humans.

Silhouette takes note of this, and intends to continue her attempts at communication. She shares a kinship with them, after all; the phantom pain of cold shackles still lingering on her wrists.

A different castle page returns, a girl with exquisite manners and poise. She bows and address Silhouette. "Princess Llewella extends her compliments and invites her niece to tea in the fan coral room at three."

She seems to be waiting for a reply.

"Please express my acceptance to your Lady. I would be honored," Silhouette replies. "I will join her at the appointed time."

She arrives a few moments early, dressed in the outfit she wore in court. Its sea-grass appearance is a fitting choice for the setting. A prismatic garden of gorgonian structures rings the chamber, protected by a low wall of polished tiger coral. Whips and fronds drift lazily like leafless trees in a summer breeze. Tiny fish dart from colony to colony like flights of birds seeking a place to land. At Silhouette's approach, they disappear behind the protective fans that carpet the garden floor.

The center of the room has been prepared for afternoon tea -- an elegant table and comfortable chairs.

Silhouette remains at the periphery, waiting for the Princess to arrive. She stands so still, several fish begin circling her inquisitively, as if she were some exotic coral herself.

There is a murmur at the door and Princess Llewella is sweeping in. Her unbound hair is like the fan coral around her head and Rebman court wear suits her. In the low light, her skin practically glistens.

"Hello Niece. Thank you for joining me." She smiles, but it's not easy to tell what she means. The Princess is difficult to read.

Silhouette dips her head, "The honor is my, Princess." She walks over to the table; the tiny fish scattering in a colorful display.

She pulls out a chair for her aunt, "Might I first express my condolences. If I can serve you in any regard, you have but to ask."

"Have you learned the knack of serving liquids under the sea? I shall pour." She picks up the pot and begins the ritual.

"Please call me Aunt. Princess is a title, and I prefer the relationship." After she finishes pouring each of them a cup, she sits back.

"I have run across entire shadows where the goal of the inhabitants is the abnegation of all needs. They practice this and consider it a great achievement if they succeed. And yet, the people I know who are without needs and from whom nothing is needed or granted to others are among the most miserable people I have ever met. So it troubles me to tell you have I have no needs that you, or anyone, could serve."

Silhouette nods lightly to this, taking her cup. "I understand, Thea.* Needs are the expense of being human, and are rarely satisfied from without. Queen Celina and I recently touched upon this; although I do not believe she understood or approved of my views on the subject. My hierarchy is different from most." She smiles faintly, "Let it simply be said that I am at your service, as you deem fit."

[* Considering Llewella's elder status, Sil would fall into her native tongue when saying 'Aunt'.]

"There are many who are not sure we are human, and still more who are sure we are not. Is it possible to be human and immortal? I am sure I do not know. I appreciate your offer in the spirit in which it was given."

She sips her tea, drinking in the Rebman style. "I am curious about you. One of my nephews arrived during the war and was nearly executed when he admitted to being Brand's protege (which he was not). You are in a similar situation. Association with Huon will not serve you well here or with my brothers. Your problem with my sisters is also clear. How do you propose to escape from this situation?"

Silhouette smiles, beginning to like this woman. She gives a respectful nod. "Indeed, I have observed the Family's inability to distinguish the difference between association and patronage. The stigma they've placed upon my person is both perplexing and troubling. As such, I intend to faithfully serve either Xanadu or Rebma to dispel this specious attitude - whichever will have me. Furthermore, I shall sever contact with Prince Huon once my obligations to him are fulfilled. A regrettable necessity."

She lifts her cup in perfect mimicry of Llewella. "As for my mother, the sin is hers. And I have made my peace."

Llewella smiles, but doesn't mean it. "You think you have, but it's clear that you judge her based on your guess as to why she did not find you. Few of your generation knew their parent even as briefly as you did. Those who did were not without the consequences of that information. I speak not just of my own daughter here. The Rebman way seems to have been worse than Amber's secrecy. Our children were a weapon against us."

Silhouette shrugs vaguely; her tone remaining perfectly cordial. "I cannot pass judgment on what I do not know, and Mother's reasons are hers to keep. And knowing her stubbornness, she will keep them until death. I offered her the chance to explain, and she threw it back in my face. So, unless she wishes to pursue a Vendetta against me, Mother is of no further consequence. A child might crave its mother's love, but I have matured beyond the need for such self-indulgence."

She sighs softly, "And yes, children are the weapon only those with true Will can survive. If I am honest, I feel fortunate that I have not been tested thusly."

With a tilt of her head, she stares into Llewella's eyes. "Do you know something about my mother's reasons then?"

Llewella looks up and returns Silhouette's gaze, unblinkingly. "I know little, but I find the issue full of gnawing concerns. Your mother was tricked into believing you were dead. Tricked so thoroughly that she is willing to discard the evidence she has that you are not, in fact, dead. Who tricked her? To what end?"

She shifts and her hair moves in waves and creates patterns behind her head as it crosses the coral behind her.

"If it was Huon, what was he doing? If he had that much freedom, then why was he not attacking Bleys? If someone else, who?

"Do you know that we have a cousin who is a shapeshifter, who has impersonated even members of this family to their intimates, and who had an interest in children? Dara is a powerful and dangerous enemy, if she somehow became involved in your life, it would not be an easy attention to bear.

"And all that assumes that Father did not make you suffer for some point or purpose in the games that he played, which none of us were ever able to completely fathom. It's not beyond him.

"There are too many questions to just pretend it wasn't a hostile action."

Silhouette gives a faint nod, "Indeed. However, before I can begin to rule out suspects, the crux of this must be examined. Why would a Family member act thusly? What is their ultimate goal? What effect did my disappearance have on my mother? What role did she play in Family politics at that time? What havoc would such a distraction cause? Unfortunately, I know nothing of her to hazard a guess at any of these questions. And Flora will not speak with me, let alone provide any insight."

She sets her cup down, and then folds her hands together across her belly. "Surely, you know her better than I."

Llewella shakes her head. "We are, in our generation, a family of serial only children. I knew her differently, but there are times when we do not see each other for decades.

"What I see when I see you, and when I hear of my sister's denial, is two women of our family who were wronged, badly. And you let it continue as long as you do not reconcile. And someone, somewhere has done you the kind of wrong that justifies, even with our newfound family peace, retribution. You should not let this blow go unanswered."

"Rest assured dear aunt, should I learn who destroyed my family, they and their kin will understand true suffering before I grant them death's release," Silhouette says in an eerily dispassionate tone. "But until such time, animus is like drinking poison and then waiting for your enemy to die. Only Aite lies down that path. A lesson Mother has yet to learn."

[Aite = "ruin, folly, delusion," the action performed by the hero, usually because of hubris, that leads to his or her death or downfall.]

She tilts her head, raising a brow. "You state your concerns. But words are hollow without Action. Do you offer to break the impasse between my Mother and I?" A curious smile. "And what will such a boon cost me?"

Celina arrives to see her Aunt Llew without announcement. She asks the page there to announce her and ask permission to use an hour of her aunt's time. She waits humbly for a page to advise if Llewella has time for her.

Guards and archivists wait some distance away. They are necessary but not invited to chambers.

When Llewella arrives (alone presumed) Celina starts with a summary of Court business. "I need to advise you about Huon's terms and arrival in Rebma." She sketches out everything she knows, and also describes the questions she has asked her advisers and Silhouette.

"It is my feeling that Bleys could go and escort him to Rebma. It would be a favor to me, but I think it would be a favor to Bleys as well. Even Huon might benefit. What do you think?"

Llewella considers the matter. "Whoever you send is a message, not just to Huon, but to Amber and Paris and the Seaward and the Court and the Gate. Who are your allies? Who do you turn to? How big a threat is Huon to Rebma?"

She considers again. "I would send someone else, were I you. Ideally someone more associated with Rebma than Amber. Martin or Jerod would be a nice touch, but I don't think they are available. Who are your other candidates?"

Celina looks at her hands as if she has Trumps arrayed there. "Conner. Brennan. They know my mind most on things. But I would rather not send Brennan for personal reasons." She looks a bit grim. "Rebma is getting chatty about Conner sleeping with me. Sending him to honor Huon is practical, but also makes me feel vulnerable in a way that sending Brennan would not. Huon might also decide that attacking Conner for the blade made more sense than surrendering to Rebma. Merlin would do it if I called him, but he is away in Chaos and it is not in me to call him back at this time and interrupt he and Vere. Jerod again might do it for me if he were not away from Court with good reason. You are right about playing down the Amber connection."

She looks back at Llewella. "I might ask you. I like that least of all for the time it would remove you from the center of things. I spoke to Rilsa, she strongly declared she is done with aligning herself to any Court for a time. She and Moire are no longer 'on speaking terms'."

Llewella snorts. "She and Moire have not been on speaking terms for a generation, specifically Jerod's lifespan. Eric was the father of Rilsa's son, and yet he was more hated than Random, who Moire blamed for Morganthe's death. Her desire to separate herself from felicity is genuine. In any case, you don't want me. I send the message that you are not in charge."

Celina smiles. "I think Huon respects you and my sending you places would indicate considerable courage and leverage. OK, then Conner mentioned to me... that Brita is willing to do a Trump of Rebma. And other than the wet bit of actually arriving... we should have a Trump of Rebma I think. Conner... also has proposed that he and Brita fetch Huon. The redheads suddenly seem to like being wet. A passing interest in preserving a Pattern too I think." Celina is obviously being wry because she does not consider the sacrifices already made to be 'passing interest' at all and her voice holds that emotion.

Llewella nods approvingly. "Conner and Brita seem appropriate. They show a balanced level of concern on your part, without the trappings of panic or weakness."

Celina goes on to discuss possible locations of the 'Trump arrival' with Llewella so she can send a message to Conner and Brita. She suggests the Torch Gate, that place at the wall immediate to the boulevard that folks arrive at by way of Paris. She votes against any of the dry rooms inside the palace.

Llewella considers the matter for a moment before replying. "I don't think much of them, but as long as they are outside the city and watched, they should be of little harm for now. But will they be safe in a century? Think on the idea of opening up a way to the very gates of Rebma, forever."

Celina hesitates and nods once. "Yes. I will suggest two units be stationed at the Gate with watch times that overlap. Incorruptible commanders from disparate units should add a layer of honor to the duty. I agree it is a risk." She looks deeply in Llewella's eyes. "I spend too much time thinking about forever now. Which brings me to other matters I'd like to talk about with you. I'll make effort to arrange them in the order of importance to Rebma. Do any artifacts belonging to your mother remain in Rebma? Besides the Scepter, Throne and Jewel, were there mirrors that she Used? Did Moins have a Triton favorite and is that worthy still about? I might gain something by talking to him. And since our family blood is mysterious and ultimately potent, where is Moins' shrine and who else is related to my maternal grandmother? Or was your mother's death such that a body was never recovered to honor? I am trying to gather the best understanding of Rebma's armor and weak spots."

Finding himself at loose ends as he waits for Trumps to be made and Huon retrieval plans to be finalized, Conner decides to go on a ramble through the palace. His intention is to informally drop in on just about everyone, magicians and scouts, that he set tasks for and see if any of them have turned up a lead to Moire or anything else of import.

The scouts are away scouting, which is a positive sign.

The mages don't as a class, have any information that is useful. The stories you here are of prophetic dreams that must be interpreted, spirits that must be cajoled into providing information, and counterspells to be defeated.

Lamell nods as Conner enters. "I was about to send you a note. A mirrorsmith was found dead in her studio in town. Murdered. No one knows why."

"Most interesting. Do you anything about this mirrorsmith? Was this person ever employed by the nobility for example?" Conner asks with interest.

Lamell nods. "He was one of the few who was. Which is why it was notable, Your Grace. It may be coincidence, or he may even have gotten sucked into the mages squabbling, but it should be looked into, and I have no idea if the Queen even has someone filling the role of Bend in her court yet."

"I am told Her Majesty is considering openings for the position but at the moment, I am the Emergency Back-up Montage so you did well to inform me. Thank you." Conner gets the address of the Mirrorsmith from Lamell, send the Queen a message explaining where he is going and why, and then heads out with a few soldiers of Khela's guard that just became policeman. It was time to investigate.

Conner and his guards arrive outside the address given. The building is in a fashionable shopping district, and the storefront has an actual window of glass. There also seems to be a warehouse/workshop behind the store. It is all locked and apparently vacant. Neighboring businesses are open, in the late afternoon way that suggests that they are hoping not to be, soon.