Day Nine

Reid approaches Cambina in the halls of the castle...

"His royal mockery has asked that cards or sketches be collected of all family members for storage in a central repository and/or communications center. I was wondering if you have a spare of yourself that you could offer, or if you'd sit for me so I could create one?"

"I've no spares, but I can certainly sit for a trump. Perhaps tomorrow at None? I know just the place. Meet my in my office?"

Reid arrives at the designated time, easel and paints in hand.

"Shall we begin?"

Cambina smiles and says "Certainly. I was thinking I'd like to be painted on the steps."

She leads Reid to the stables, where two horses are equipped and ready. The ride up the mountain is pleasant and brief.

She dismounts and sits on the three stone steps. Her hair blows slightly in the breeze and her eyes close.

"Tell me what it is you have to do, cousin."

"Make yourself comfortable, we can chat while I work. Trump creation is as much about creating the visual likeness as it is capturing the inner essence." Reid instructs.

There's no particular topic Reid will steer things towards. He'll let the conversation take its course, perhaps touching on the current state of the realm, recent goings on in town or court, social events, family reunions, etc. Reid will learn as much by what she does or does not say, as well as her demeanor throughout.

[Any insights the GMs want to impart are welcome, though not particularly necessary.]

Cambina is the family historian, and will ask you questions for as long as you'll answer them about Amber in the old days. Everything from architecture to zoology. She's quite interested in how relations worked between town and castle and, if you're willing to talk, will listen intently and ask questions when there is more depth to plumb. She seems intent on having you talk her ear off. :)

Aside from Reid doing the talking, is there anything he can pick up about Cambina while he makes the art trumpworthy?

She doesn't always use the past tense when you expect her to. Or the future tense. She tells you she's never met your father.

One evening after dinner, Reid catches Brennan's attention.

"His majesty has asked that cards or sketches of family be collected in a central location, to ease communication since we've had an influx of people lately. Do you have a picture of yourself to spare? Or would you mind sitting for me soon?"

Brennan's lips twitch into a momentary half-smirk, but I'm sure Reid will realize it isn't directed at him. "No, I'm afraid I don't, and as I told Ossian, I definitely don't have a Trump of myself. I've never even sat for the process-- what exactly is involved?"

"It's a fairly painless process... choose a comfortable setting, take an hour or so for the initial work. While I'm drawing, we'll chat. Since I don't know you that well yet, conversation will help me discern more of who you really are, which is just as important in making a trump as capturing the physical representation, if not more so. " Reid replies.

"Well, that doesn't sound too painful. Something outdoors, I think. Against the Lighthouse, pehaps."

There's still some hesitance in Brennan's voice, here, but he knows there's no graceful way out of this, nor real reason to oppose it.

[OOC: Kinda assumes the Lighthouse is visible as something more than a bright dot against the horizon from Amber.]

"Do I need to dress the part?"

"You can wear as you please... I can usually capture the inner person regardless of garb. The lighthouse would be fine... one of my favorite subjects, actually." Reid replies.

"Name a time, then."

Reid sets up the time and meeting place. The painting goes smoothly, and Reid does his best to make Brennan feel comfortable during the process. During conversation, are there any personality traits that Reid might pick up on (whether they're on the surface, or buried a bit?)

Brennan notices and appreciates the attempt to make him feel comfortable, but it can only be partly successful. In posture, Brennan is relaxed, and his motions carry the lazy grace of a man who knows exactly where his body is and what it's doing at all times.

Reid is probably also perceptive enough to know that Brennan is a private man, and he orders the world, and his acquaintances, friends, and family members, in a series of concentric circles, each of whom he allows to see him more clearly when the choice is his.

Even that energy he possesses is often hidden, coming out only occasionally in a flash or a spark of his eyes. When he focuses on something, he's got a stare that breaks rocks into gravel. When he concentrates, he turns that glare inward.

He's friendly enough in conversation, but Reid is surely perceptive enough to know that there are some topics of conversation that are going to be offlimits-- Brand, for instance. If Brennan steers the conversation, he asks about the Amber that existed when Reid first knew it, and the people and events of the time.

A few days after the Navy begins returning Solange receives a note.

Solange,

I've been absolutely swamped with Naval duties, but we're getting things under control. Or at least that's what we're telling ourselves.

Can you find some time to have dinner with me?

Worth

Solange's return note says,

Dear Worth,

I can always find time for my Papa. When would you like to have dinner, and where?

Love,

Solange

Worth has Solange to his townhouse where he has had a nice but simple meal prepared. He's never been a good cook, and usually doesn't pay too much attention to menus. He speaks happily of his work with the Navy, the huge task of integrating the two groups and making a fleet out of a collection of ships and men. Eventually he steers the conversation to, of all things, himself.

"So, I've made a decision. I'm done being retired. I'm tired of being an ex-sea captain. I don't think I could go back to that now, anyway.

"I'm asking the King for a command."

Ossian will want to make the initial sketches for the Jerod portrait as soon as both Ossian and Jerod has time for it. Day +8 or later is probably good (the inital sketches should take about a day to make). Will Jerod want more than one sketch at this time?

Yes...:)

How many does he ask Ossian to make?

Two.

One for the Trump chamber, and one other? Whatever, Ossian will agree.

So long as Ossian doesn't mind following Jerod around during his work day, the sketches will proceed. He's not constantly on the "go", but he's busy enough that he can't take an entire day to sit and do nothing. Thankfully he does sit a fair bit, so that should suffice.

Maybe Ossian will have to follow Jerod around for more than one day. We'll have to ask the GMs about that.

I suspect Jerod's not going to be running around that much...but it will be enough that Ossian will see a bit more of Jerod's work schedule than he might be interested in seeing.

Heh. Ossian does not envy Jerod.

Some time between the Artemis Intrusion and the return of the Dragons, Brennan sends Cambina a letter by way of page-net:

Cousin Cambina,

The Royal lore has it that you are the historian of the family. Circumstances being what they are, I am as woefully underacquainted with the finer points of Amber's history as I am with her streets and districts.

Might you grace me with your company for an evening, and help me begin to remedy both?

Brennan

Coz,

I am no raconteur, but I can certainly tell you something of our quondam home's long and varied history. It changes amusingly with every generation of official historians.

I can arrange a coach for our tour and talk.

C

Brennan's immediate reply is:

Cousin Cambina,

I look forward to it. I shall be waiting at the appointed time and place.

Brennan

Brennan is, for him, in a noticeably good mood. Although he does have a bit of an agenda, part of that agenda is to enjoy himself. When Cambina arrives, he greets her with a kiss to the hand, then presents his arm as they walk to the carriage. She may keep possession of his arm for so long as she pleases.

The evening is chilly as Spring evenings can be. Cambina leans against Brennan and allows him to help her in getting into the carriage. "The City, Please, Shorn." she says to the tall coachman.

He assists her willingly, of course.

The coach starts with the slightest of jolts and Cambina is quiet until the coach reaches the first switchback and the city is in sight. Some lights can be seen and the lamps are already lit, showing the lanes and alleys of the city from above.

"Did you ever see Amber from the heights? In her glory?"

"As it happens, no. I'd never been in the City before this week, and those brief excursions I have made have been more hectic than I might have liked. I'm given to understand it is quite exceptional, though."

"It once was moreso." She looks back out the window of the coach.

"Perhaps we can make it so again," he says quietly, but with a certain determination that will not easily be turned aside. "If not the same glory, then one not lesser."

"What do you wish to know about the ancestral home of our late fathers?"

Brennan almost laughs. "Everything, of course! The gaps in my education...." he trails off to think and give a serious answer. "Tell me about Oberon," he asks. "I never met our Grandfather except to see his spectre in the Battle and his casket at the Funeral. I can't understand Amber under its new King without understanding how its citizens saw the past under its departed King. What was he like? How did he rule? What were his successes and failures?"

Now of course, there are some specific things Brennan would like to learn, and he's not trying to hide that, so much as recognizing that the night is young. Besides, he is genuinely curious about Amber's history, one of the few subjects that cannot readily be studied in Shadow, and he hopes that by asking a broad question, Cambina can take and talk about the part of it that most interests her and likewise enjoy the evening.

"Oberon was Amber. There was nothing in Amber that was not, at some remove, the way it was because he so wished it. We know very little of the history, really. Much has been lost and more has been obfuscated. Nestor. Nestor is a hero, Brennan. A lesser man who was Royal Librarian of Amber might have modified the history to suit Eric, Corwin, Gerard or Random. His predecessors did that, frequently. It's one of the reasons that Reid is so fascinating. Just seeing what he's looking at gives me an idea of what we've changed since his youth. He's like an old painting.

"Oberon was king in my girlhood, of course. Even as the only daughter of an Earl, I knew that the Princes and the King were somehow different from people. In a way that wasn't the same as how we were different from the untitled. There was always intrigue for favor and attention from the Princes and the King. Oberon had long made it clear that he would have no Queen from Amber again, but that didn't stop the scheming. The schemes often involved the Princes, of course. None were married.

"I was a bookish girl, and I've always had a reputation for 'spookiness.' I hate it. I can't help what I see. But I recall meeting Oberon. He seemed as old as the mountain to me. And he loomed over Amber like Kolvir, too. Everyone knew he'd always been there. The oldest people recalled tales of him from their elders. I recall speaking to him after Father acknowledged me. I think, generally, that he wished he could have been kinder to me, but the politics of Eric's claim were such that I couldn't be his granddaughter..."

When Cambina mentions her visions, Brennan's mask slips for a rare moment. There's a moment of curiosity, there, but it is followed by a moment of sympathy, as well. And if she is a perceptive sort, she'll see his paradox of the moment-- how to communicate that he'll try not to ask about her reputation or her visions, without bringing them further to her mind.

In the end, he takes the high road, and simply forces himself not to notice. And so he turns back to what she had said about Nestor. He shakes his head in obvious agreement. "Then how in the world does one figure out what actually happened? Was the default assumption simply that Oberon would live forever, and people could ask him?"

"Oberon and Amber ... In some languages there is a form of 'and' that implies that the two things are really one. Oberon and Amber were eternal, essential, central. People didn't think about what would happen after he died, because it wasn't a question that came up.

"Except amongst his children, of course."

Brennan grimaces-- to say his father wasn't innocent is to point out that the ocean isn't dry.

"The emerging question among the grandchildren, of course, is whether anyone has learned anything through all this." He doesn't sound enthusiastic, but he's not as entirely negative as I think Jerod would be on the issue.

"The largest tree in the forest has fallen, and sunlight is reaching places that have not seen it in generations. What I wonder is what did Oberon shield us all from reflexively that we don't fear but should. The despair of the historian is when she realizes that all she does by learning more is increasing her own awareness of her own areas of ignorance."

"Maybe some of the younger trees can grow, now," he muses. That could apply to him, or Cambina, or a great many other people. Or all at the same time.

[Brennan]
"As for threats and shields... I can think of a few things, and they're unpleasant enough. It's the ones none of us know about that are the really scary ones. Now you understand my interest in history comes from-- the weeds are going to grow along with the saplings."

"Hmm. Are you sure you can tell the difference?"

"I'm sure my own weediness is the subject of public and private debate, but I give historians special considerations." Then, "I have a few ideas, but Cambina, I've only known most of the Family for a few weeks."

"Fresh perspectives are often more interesting than opinions that ossified five centuries ago. Prince Corwin, for instance, is only superficially the same man as the one my father told me of."

Brennan gives a slow exhalation of a sigh. He'd rather not, but fair is fair is fair. "Between us? I don't think Lilly has a deceptive or dishonest bone in her body. It may be the unbending idealism of youth, but it's refreshing, and anyone suggesting she is a weed would have a fight on his hands-- and with more than just Lilly. Marius, I think, is a good man, but I think Brand... damaged him, somehow. More than the burns, more than the loss of his mother.

"Aisling is difficult to read, sometimes, but she and Merlin did as much to bring us home after the Funeral as anyone. I don't know Jovian as well as the others, but I respect him." He puts no particular emphasis on the word respect, but anyone who knows Brennan well knows he doesn't give respect lightly.

"And then there's Daeon," he says, almost with affection, but definitely with exasperation.

He spreads his hands.

"Your turn?"

"Cards on the table? Too bad we don't have cards..."

Brennan's not too sure about that, but on the other hand, he's never had nor seen a real Trump reading....

"Reid is older than any of us, and remembers a very different Amber than we have here. He spends more time in the city with the people than anyone except Folly. But he's been alone for a very long time. Brita is probably our best God, but she projects a very young persona. We'll see if that changes after she walks the pattern.

"Jerod will be formidable when he gets some seasoning and a long term viewpoint. That was father's goal. I don't think Jerod could avoid it even if he wanted to. Father liked to arrange things thusly.

"Conner smiles too much, and has the habit of making friends and sticking with them while they dredge up trouble. I think Brita would have died if it had been Conner instead of Daeon. Paige is a slave to her impulses and shares Conner's view of loyalty.

"Lucas I don't understand. It's like he can't muster the energy to be a dissolute rake, so he slouches towards respectability. He still surprises me sometimes, and not always by being crude when I expect sophistication.

"Robin is all ranger, devoted to her father. It's reciprocal. The look on his face when he found out she'd been back was enough to know that. Don't count on her to cross Julian for Amber's sake.

"Solange is hard to read. I think she'd as soon be out of Amber, but feels bound by duty. She took on a lot of jobs during the regency that nobody else would tackle. Vere is a scholar and a gatherer of information. It's hard for me not to respect that, especially in a family full of men who want to do without thinking.

"Martin is the one of us who is most like our elders, which is not necessarily good. He'll be up to his eyeballs in anything that's going on. He's his father's man, though. And he's remarkably insecure, really.

"Ossian is refreshingly open in his self-centeredness. He doesn't always remember that the party line is 'Brand Bad. Very Bad.'

"Folly is still acclimating. She doesn't think like someone who is going to live forever. Most of us don't. Once she figures out what she wants, she'll make someone a good lieutenant.

"And I am who you see. That's the lot. Sometimes I'm amazed we held Amber together while you all were fighting for it."

Brennan takes the metaphorical cards Cambina has laid down and flips them over, though not necessarily in order.

"I don't know Robin, so I can't comment. I've met Solange, but can't really claim to know her. Likewise Reid, although I'll be sitting for a Trump soon. I'm almost looking forward to that."

It's the Trump aspect that bothers him, not the Reid aspect.

"Almost the same with Folly and Lucas, but I think Folly has more potential than she understands, and Lucas might have more potential than he's willing to admit. I don't know Vere very well, but I don't think he's easy to get to know." That's not a value judgement. "But there's more to him than meets the eye."

Brennan gestures to make it clear he's not putting a terrible amount of stock in these first impressions. "So long without relatives or peers, and all of a sudden I need a score card. Bleys offered me a copy of his," he says, amused.

"Get the annotated version. I'm sure it will be much droller than my telling."

"Bleys is that."

"And so much more. All you need to do ask."

Brennan chuckles right from the base of his ribcage. "I made that mistake once." He holds up a finger. "Once."

"Bleys has a facility for convincing people to repeat their mistakes." You can hear the smile in her voice and you're not sure if she's serious or perhaps teasing you a bit.

"I try not to make the same mistake twice. I try to make new and intereting mistakes," he says.

She smiles.

"I don't know how old Martin is, but he must have had to grow up real fast. I'm surprised he can stand to look at me, much less invite me to his poker game." [Brennan] shakes his head. "Ossian would do very well to remember the party line, though. Does he know what the intermediate steps in Brand's plan were?"

Ossian makes Brennan's teeth itch, but he's too polite, this night, to say so.

[Cambina]
"I hope to ask his shade, someday."

"Brita may put a young face forward-- she might even be young-- but she's got a good head on her shoulders. Conner definitely needs to stop smiling like that. And Paige... I might have left it at 'headstrong.'"

But he isn't disagreeing.

"And then there's Jerod.... Jerod has some bad habits," he says, spoken like one who knows, "that he tries to play as virtues. That's a hard road, filled with broken friendships and disappointment, though."

He thinks for a moment.

"And Merlin! Now there's someone I don't know nearly well enough."

The unspoken invitation for her observations on the Chaossiders is clear.

She nods. "My turn, again? As you wish, sir knight. Lilly is ... Prince Benedict just threw her in to sink or swim. If she doesn't fall in with bad companions, she'll do fine. Jovian, I've not met. Daeon didn't get back here, but early reports are not favorable. Marius, we'll see how thick he falls back into it with Caine."

Brennan knows exactly what she means when she mentiones Daeon, but he says nothing. He does let out one of those short exhalations through the nose that would be a sigh of despair, if he weren't covering it with exasperation.

[Cambina]
"And Aisling. Aisling will have a hard time in the city, where more than ten thousand dead were burned after the Sundering, where two kings died fighting creatures like her, where she spied for years. Dara would have had it easier here, although I'm glad she chose not to join us. Aisling has no grasp of the depth of people's feelings, or what will happen when the shock wears off."

"And no good way to get across to people what she risked when she helped bring us back. I don't think we'd have had an army to return with, had she been false, and the Royal Family might have been... truncated."

She smiles, somewhat grimly. "She's not unlike my brother."

Brennan shakes his head. There's a combination....

[Cambina] points out the window at a dark part of town. "That's where the memorial is. I suggest you go there when the sun is up. It's creepy enough when well lit."

[Query to GMs-- is this one of her visions? Or is there, in fact, a memorial out there right now? I'm going to guess the former, and Brennan is going to remain true to his prior pledge and force himself not to notice it.]

[There is a physical memorial. It's a memorial to the dead of the Sundering, designed by Ossian.]

[Brennan]
"It's too chilly for that tonight anyway, I think."

[Cambina] leans into Brennan and waits for Brennan to ask another question.

[Well. The poor boy walked right into that one, didn't he?]

No chill breezes will assault her while Brennan is near at hand. He'll even move a bit closer, the better to protect her from those ill-mannered drafts.

What he really wants to know about, of course, is a little of Amber's military history, especially the Moonrider War, and where to go to find the details that might have been lost in the more common renditions. He chooses to begin this line of questions by asking, "Lady Cambina, have you an escort for the Masquerade?"

Wait. Where did that come from?

Cambina blinks a few times, genuinely surprised.

"No, Sir Brennan. No, I don't."

(If Princess is the more approriate title, given Eric's brief reign, he'll use that instead.)

[Lady is just fine. Princess usually only got used by people who wanted to marry her off to someone else's advantage.]

"Astonishing. An outrage, in fact," he says quietly. Then he continues, showing a far more formal knowledge of Thari than his ordinarily relaxed usage might imply:

"Lady Cambina, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Coronation Masquerade of His Majesty, the King?"

Cambina briefly wonders if Brennan can hear her heartbeat, since it is pounding so loudly in her own ears. She looks at her hands.

"I...yes, I would be honored." She turns and looks out at the city again...

Not fast enough that she doesn't see a rare lopsided grin from Brennan, though.

...and speaks very softly. "I hadn't been planning on being escorted."

Brennan has pretty sharp ears, but he's smart enough to know when to let something go unheard, and more than smart enough not to fill up the air with vacuous nonsense.

Instead, he puts a hand on hers briefly, and says matter of factly, "The honor, Lady Cambina, shall be mine. Thank you." Then, lightening his voice perceptibly and dropping back out of the formal phrasings, he puts a spark in his eyes and asks, "But Cambina, if it's a Masquerade, how will I know you?"

"Perhaps you shan't. But I would be quite disappointed if that were the case. Do you have an idea how we can circumvent this problem?"

Probably we can assume they pass some time in banter, here, finding a lighter tone agreeable to both. Brennan's style often tends toward the acerbic, though obviously not directed at his companion, and occasionally tends toward the self-deprecating on the grounds that no one is going to take him seriously when he self-deprecates.

He'll chat amiably about the up-coming Masque, and try to get a feel for the etiquette of escorting her, and if something is unclear, he's not proud enough to just come right out and ask.

You pick her up at her quarters, escort her to the ballroom, dance with her, and otherwise treat her like a girl you've brought to a ball. [Don't monopolize her, but don't leave her alone while you monopolize someone else....]

Until they pass a structure unambiguously an historical monument of some sort, whereupon he'll point and ask, "Is that a memorial? To what?" and allow her to talk about history, again, if she wishes.

"I don't know. It was torn down in the Sack of the City, and rebuilt. I call it the Monument to Stubbornness. Nobody knew why there was a memorial there, but there had been so there had to be again. Amber is like that. The Temple Quarter is where it is because that is the Temple Quarter. Amber can be a snake swallowing its own tail."

Temple Quarter? For a moment, Brennan is tempted to ask about that, instead, but he's hoping there will always be time later.

"I had recently heard that Amber was sacked," he says. "Bleys mentioned it on the ride home." He passes a long moment, reflecting on the combination of circumstances that would lead to Amber being so badly beaten. "About all I know for certain is that the Moonriders were involved. They were at Oberon's funeral, too."

"They were. They're something of the bugbears of Amber childhood legends. They can't match their reputation. What are they like?"

"They are... impressive. Brand mentioned them when he wanted to frighten me, as a child. As an adult... they're formidable, I believe. Those that I met, and those that I saw, were all warriors, but graceful and fluid.

"Not all of them seemed hostile or malicious. But Bleys and I met them on the way back to Amber, and their High Marhshall..." Brennan trails off, ordering his thoughts. He still can't help but frown. "Their High Marshall is old, bitter, and dangerous. When I sought after the reason for it, I was answered with an insult.

"I never did discover the reason for it all. I was hoping perhaps you knew, because I think about their High Marshall and I find myself drawing defensive plans."

"They attacked Amber, long ago. They rode down the mountain and sacked the city. They couldn't hold it against the Castle and the fleet, so they headed into Garnath. They tried to get into Arden at Jones Falls, and Benedict stopped them. They broke against him like water against a sea-cliff, and then Oberon hit them with secret allies. Something to do with Bleys, they were, but I haven't ever had much of a chance to talk to him about it."

"I knew some of that, but not many details. And never anything of why they attacked, or why they should have come to Oberon's funeral."

"What I don't know is the politics of it all. I get the feeling that the official line was 'that's all over now', and nobody wanted anyone to look into why it happened or what it meant. Why did we give them quarter? Where did they go when they left here? Why were they able to come down the mountain? That never made sense.

"I'll be very interested in what your research turns up."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to help, and interested. Not much of what I've heard makes sense when connected to anything else. Granted, I haven't the perspective of someone who's lived here his whole life, but... wasn't the sacking in the living memory of the City? Seems an odd thing to turn your attention from."

"Living memory works differently in the Eternal City than it does amongst the shorter-lived folk of shadow. Generations work differently. In every way that counts, almost all of our parents and uncles were only children."

"I would imagine. Still, as far as I can tell, there's a window of opportunity to get some of the details from the survivors before they pass out of living memory. I believe Lord Rein is one of them, and I'm going to try to get him to put some of his recollections down in text, if I can. Are there others?"

"He's not exactly the last of his kind, but there are reasons that Prince Corwin did not inspire an uprising of his loyalists. Time is not on their side. It would be a fit subject for a history, Sir Brennan."

"Well, I'll see what I can do. We fought together, after all, and I can say honestly that any compliments I give him will be honest ones. The man is very capable."

He shrugs, then softens that a bit, aware that his curiosity is making him sound judgemental when he started out by admitting ignorance. "I suppose a sacking of the City would be something of a trauma, though. But really," he wonders, "Down from the mountain? I can't think of any mundane explanation that makes sense for that. How'd they get up the mountain?"

"Tactically, if they did, then bypassing the castle was the best choice. It could have been sorcery or magic, or trump, but I don't think it was any of those. I don't know." She sounds slightly frustrated.

Brennan is, likewise, frustrated slightly. "Obviously something downright odd was going on. Probably several somethings."

[I can't remember if I asked-- was Random alive at the time, would Brennan know? If he doesn't know, he asks.]

[It happened in Flora's youth. Corwin held Arden and Julian was his squire. Gerard might have been an infant. Hard to say.]

"What really bothers me," he continues, "is that if you don't know these things, with your interest in history, King Random may not know them either. He wasn't exactly groomed for the role, and this all went down during Rilga's marriage to Oberon."

"Random knows a lot more than anyone gives him credit for. Father liked him, you know. And not just because he kept Aunt Flora out of the castle. For a while I thought it was because he wanted to make sure I had a protector in case Prince Corwin won, but I later decided that Father wasn't that prescient."

Brennna surpresses a smile at the image of Random holding Florimel at bay-- probably with a chicken wing in one hand, and a cigar with smoke calibrated to cling to her hair in the other. He doesn't surpress it very much.

"No, I didn't know that, actually. But it was a concern, not a condemnation. Call it nerves."

"Most of our uncles tend to be pragmatic. It comes from always getting your own way."

Brennan would have thought that went the other way 'round, but doesn't say anything.

He pauses, to reflect, and let Cambina speak, then muses, "[The Moonriders'] names are their stories, I've been told. I wonder how many of them come from the sacking of the City."

"What were the names of the ones you met? What are they like as people?"

"I didn't have as much time with them as I might have liked. During the Funeral itself, I was... occupied with a few other things. Afterwards, their High Marshall overshadowed them all, like..." the first analogy that comes to mind isn't comfortable, but he goes with it, "Like Oberon or Eric have been desrcibed as overshadowing those around them. He was bitter, and angry about something. He considers himself aggrieved over something, and I think it's eaten him so much that when the rest of the world doesn't read his mind, that just makes it worse.

"I don't know if High Marshall is a name, or just a title. Probably both. Another name was Glides Beneath the Waves. That was a woman. Dreams by Moonlight was a man." He stops to think, trying to come up with an anecdote that will do something other than reinforce the High Marshall's dourness, then chuckles.

"There was a short one. Young, I think, too, but how could I really tell? Bleys and I had been harassed along the way by more than a handful of creatures. After we trounced them, we met with the Moonriders who, it turned out, had seen the aftermath. The one I think was young seemed rather eager to show off his knowledge. It's why I think he was young. Bleys and Benedict are probably as much legends among their young as they are to us."

She nods.

"And the High Marshall invited me to Ghenesh. I don't think that was a friendly invitation, though."

"Did he tell you how to get there?"

"No. Ordinarily I'd have asked, but I didn't feel like being mocked again for trying to learn something. Why?"

"Because it's very frustrating to know that your enemy is called the Moonriders of Ghenesh and not even know if Ghenesh is a person or a place. Thank you for telling me that, by the way."

Brennan stops and thinks about that for a moment, reviewing that conversation in his head for a moment. "My pleasure," he says.

"'Perhaps you should visit Ghenesh,' he said," Brennan quotes in recollection, and in a good impression of the High Marshall. "I suppose it could be a person, not a place. The thought never really occured to me. But the title was 'High Marshall of Ghenesh,' too. I'm pretty sure it's a place."

A thought strikes him. "Do you know anything about a journey in conjunction with the Moonriders?"

"No, I don't think so. There is so much I don't know. If there was an agreement which ended with the King's death, then there must have been a parley, a retreat, a negotiation..." She trails off and looks up at the sky.

"There would have had to have been. I asked becuase their High Marshall made reference to a journey. Said they intended to reach home one day, and that an obstacle had just fallen. I did not like the sound of that at all."

"Mayhap we should get Paige and Nestor looking for that treaty. If it even exists in writing, that is."

"Sounds like an excellent idea. Otherwise, I suppose we'd have to try and ask Benedict, Bleys, or one of the others about it." Brennan's tone should leave no doubt that he's not at all above trying to pester Benedict about it, if it comes to that.

Brennan will in fact do just that. Cambina may of course come along if she wants, especially if she wanted to introduce him to Nestor, but it can happen in a compressed thread.

"I had always wondered, as a kid, whether the Moonriders had any connection to Tir, but Brand would never give me a straight answer on it."

"Your father did revel in creating mystery, didn't he? It does make sense, considering that they did come down the mountain. But I don't know of any evidence, either for or against."

"Let's not give him more credit than he's due. I don't have any evidence that he helped create that mystery, only that he preserved it. Frankly, the simplest explanation is that he didn't know either, and derived satisfaction that I didn't either."

"Oh, I wasn't implying he had anything to do with creating the reality, just the mystery of it, for you."

He nods. "In that, you're right. He hated to admit ignorance and loved to extract a toll for knowledge. You knew him?"

She nods back. "My father tried to keep him prisoner here, after he attempted to suborn Caine. He spoke to me frequently, in an attempt to annoy my father."

"He tried to subborn Caine?" Brennan is quite surprised at that. "Caine? When did he get that idea?"

"My father never did give Caine much credit for refusing the advances. Brand had to choose between Caine, Julian, and Gerard. The Unicorn only knows why they chose Brand as their ambassador."

Brennan shrugs. "I can't even begn to guess at the details of the internal politics when they were scheming. It could be as simple as Brand being on an upswing when he convinced them, and on a downswing when he chose out Caine. Or the mania took him and forced him to try the impossible-- that would explain it. He hated Caine.

"Or it could be something ridiculously baroque. I doubt I'll ever know."

[Cambina]
"My father. He was an expert at creating situations that only his personal abilities and talents could extricate himself from. I've come to think that it was his way of proving that his unique abilities made him the only suitable ruler for Amber." She takes another sip of her wine. "Utter nonsense, of course. There may be as many as a dozen who are or would become suitable just in the family."

Brennan chuckles. "I always thought that was part of the problem," he says.

"Probably not the correct explanation, now, but certainly the simplest. And my only evidence, as a boy, was the name: 'Moonriders.' Tir-na Nog'th, he told me about.

"Hmm," he muses. "Their names are their stories. That must apply to their collective name, too. Now I wonder, were they called Moonriders before the war? Or only after?"

"Add it to your list of questions. I haven't seen anything about 'Moonriders' prior to the invasion, but there are still quite a few people around who would remember."

The carriage has been gliding through the restless darkness of the busy city and eventually comes to a halt on the extreme southern border of the dockside region. "There's a watchpost up those stairs. It's a very different view than from the castle."

Brennan is the model of courtly and proper attention as he assists her from the carriage. Up to and including shielding her from the wind so much as is possible, if it is still being pesky.

It is conveniently pesky and you do so.

At the top there is some sort of watch-platform. It is unmanned but ideal for watching the harbor, the seaward approaches, and the north of Garnath. Cambina pulls a blanket out of the basket that she brought from the carriage and spreads it on the platform. "Open the wine, please, Brennan."

He does so, and pours two glasses.

She sits on the blanket and says "What do you think it is that makes Amber worth fighting for, Sir Brennan?"

"My father sought to destroy it," he says, almost without thinking, and then winces just as fast. "I'm sorry. That was unfair of me, and a lousy answer, anyway. Forgive me?"

"Of course. First impulses are of necessity superficial. How could it be otherwise?"

After a moment to think, he tries to articulate. "Beyond all the metaphysics involved? I remember Benedict taking me in, allowing me to give aid when for all he knew I could have been an agent of my father's. I remember Caine proclaiming me under his protection after the battle-- I couldn't very well thank him right then, but he later said he wanted me to have the chance to play my hand, as it were.

"And Random, with this whole Order of the Ruby thing. Not once has he told us what to do with it, or how to comport ourselves, or even who to Knight. It may just be shrewdness on his part, Cambina, but... there are people here, knowing who and what I am, who seem willing to let me be who and what I am. There are people here I am, slowly, coming to trust. It may take me years to get over my surprise," he says, with barely a hint of dryness or sarcasm.

"I've lived a lot of places, and never had a home. But I think Amber is what home feels like."

He looks out over the harbor, to the Lighthouse, evidently a bit embarassed to have spoken so true. "If I cannot build, then right now, let me protect."

She raises her wine glass. "May Amber live up to such noble sentiments."

Brennan gives a little snort, and falls back a little into self-deprecation mode after having said perhaps a little more than he intended. "May I live up to it," he says, touches glasses, and drinks.

After a time, "I understand you're also taken the Pattern. Have you travelled widely?" Brennan is interested to hear what sorts of places, if any, Cambina would seek in Shadow.

She looks up at the moon. "No, not widely. I learned how to use the pattern, but I'm by no means an expert."

He follows her gaze. "Would that it were full. Do you think we'll get it back?" The question is ambiguous.

"Yes." She seems both calm and utterly sure of her answer. "Just not like we expect."

Brennan gives her a sort of a tilt-headed look, balancing his promise to himself against his curiosity. The compromise wins out: "You're thinking something specific, or is that a piece of Cambina's Philosophy of Life?"

"A while back Paige and Reid and I went to a shadow he'd found, one that was much like Amber in many ways. One of those ways was a set of three small steps leading into the sky. We waited for the full moon and saw it, and saw the Tir. But no stairway. Something isn't right. I know I'll get back there, but I'm not sure how or when. I'm pretty sure it won't be from here."

"Hmm. Was it possible to see if the steps of Rebma appeared there, as well?"

Brennan is thoughtful about that, sliding another piece into one of his pet theories (the one about the accidents of Amber being here, and the essentials being elsewhere, mirroring the crack in the Pattern) which he explains, if she's interested.

"As my brother wasn't along, none of us thought to check."

[explanation of theory goes here.]

She laughs at the theory. "Sort of like a tee-totaller's party. All the trappings but none of the fun?"

He chuckles. "Something like that, yes. I think we're still going to get the hangover, though." Which is, of course, a piece of Brennan's Philosophy of Life. "I'm not sure how seriously I take it-- but it has a compelling, twisted logic to it. I wish I could make a prediction out of it, so we could test it."

"When we get some free time, I'll show you the place, and you can decide what you think about it. All cliffs and waterfalls and caves. Beautiful, really. And little unicorn footprints."

"I'd like that." If Brennan has put together the idea that they might have reached the Primal Pattern, he's not letting it show. He's enjoying himself too much to dwell on what was to happen there. "Unicorn prints? Really? Did you see her?"

"No," she shakes her head. "Paige found a print in a pool and there was one by the stair as well."

[Brennan] "That's... an omen, perhaps. Rebma and Tir absent, and print near water and stairs."

"The pool was in the center of a place that was, we thought, the equivalent of the Grove of the Unicorn."

Brennan looks less confused than very slightly blank, after the fashion of someone who is hearing about a landmark he hasn't visitted from someone who has been there. "I haven't been there. Brand mentioned it, but I don't really know where it is, per se."

Cambina says, "It's not that far. I ride down to it sometimes. There's no pool, of course, but the Grove has an atmosphere like the pool's."

"I think I might like to see it, some time . Has she ever appeared to you?"

"Me? No, I've never been so lucky."

"She appeared at the end of the battle in Chaos. Have people been talking about it, much?"

"Not to me. But I didn't have anyone close there." Cambina draws in a breath and releases it.

He reaches out to run a hand, hopefully conforting, along her upper arm for a moment. "Would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes, please," she says, looking off into a distance that Brennan doesn't quite think he can see.

He takes a deep breath of his own, trying to recall all that went on. If Cambina didn't pull away, Brennan didn't take his hand away, either.

"I suppose... the best place to begin is with the death of Brand. He came upon the battlefield suddenly, distant to where I was. He had the Jewel with him, I now know, and he used it terribly. We had been winning-- we had won, it seemed-- but he brought lightning down on us, and storms.

[Brennan] "It was terrible, even in contrast to the killing before."

He continues, "He was at a distance to me, and I couldn't leave to confront him. Deirdre and Marius did. So did Random and Caine and Fiona and even Corwin. Lilly and I had to keep the troops ordered, though, so we stayed.

"It ended when Caine shot him, of course. And he brought Deirdre with him, and pulled her into the Abyss with him, and the Jewel. We had won, but we had lost. The Storm of ReCreation was upon us and Brand pulled the Jewel into the Abyss with him, for spite."

He pauses to try and gauge how much he's telling her that she already knows.

She nods here, so apparently she has heard some part of what happened in the final battle.

"I think most of us believed we were dead, then. Perhaps some of us could have found some refuge, some, in the Courts of Chaos, if they would have stood against that storm. Perhaps they would have. But not all of us. Not even many of us.

"But then, she appeared. No, she came to us. She climbed out of the fabric of the Abyss like we would climb," he chuckles, when he realizes the analogy he's going to make, "like we would climb the stairs to Tir-na Nog'th in Moonlight. She looked... exactly as Dworkin had painted her. And she bore the Jewel of Judgement to Random, annointing him King before us.

"And then she turned and ran away."

"'The Unicorn has provided', Gerard said," Cambina says in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

"So she did." Brennan was looking off into his own distance, there. "That was about the time the Moonriders appeared, escorting Dworkin with Oberon's casket, it seemed at the time. It was a confused time, even in the peace after the battle."