Once the children are settled, Paige sets herself at the desk in her rooms. She had already changed into a comfortable pair of jeans that she isn't quite sure will hold up another few months here in Amber and fit her a bit tighter than the last time she wore them. Her shirt is loose and baggy and smells like Fathom slept in the drawer where she found it. She gazes about the sparsely decorated room, at the bookshelves already empty, the desk already cleared. She's sure that Liam has left some stationary and ink in the top left drawer, just in case she had need of it before leaving...
Ms Hardwind,
As per our agreement, I am looking forward to the voyage. Please make arrangements with all due haste to finalize the departure. Myself and my children will be accompanying my goods and staff.
I look forward to hearing from you quickly.
Yours,
Lady Paige Sommers
Grant,
Finish the loading ASAP. I want to be underway in the next two days if at all possible. Anything that can't be handled by then, leave behind. I haven't sold the property yet, and may not.
P
Your Majesty,
If you have time, I would be desirous of a few moments. My plans for the moment are to attempt the sea route for Xanadu, but before such, I'd appreciate your input.
Sincerely,
Paige
She looks at the golden silk that moments ago was protecting her Trumps and smiles at the thought of the green scarf that once covered them. She'll have to see if anyone had news of her cousins that hadn't made the memorial.
She shuffles the cards and tries to clear her mind before asking, "What does the voyage hold in store?" The cards sketch a quick pyramid and she bends her red head to understand them.
Bottom row:
Merlin (reversed)
Drowning in Armor (reversed)
Nature
Middle row:
Death
The Lion
Top row:
Brand (sideways)
Paige frowns at her deceased uncle, concerned with the frequency that he's been appearing in her readings. Perhaps she wasn't clearing enough. Future are the children, it all resolves about them. And Adonis's passing a Virtue? Paige knew as well as anyone that Death wasn't meant to be literal, but it was indeed the change that spawned the voyage. She needed to get the kids out of Dodge.
Laying her golden silk over the reading for the moment, she rouses Liam from his rest and sends him with the notes, which include her last self-Trump in the one addressed to Random. He is directed to deliver the King's fastest, but to Gilt or the King's chambers, not the King at this hour unless he happened to be awake. He is to then take the other two to the City tonight and return in the morning with answers, if any.
Once Liam is off with a kiss on the cheek, she uncovers the cards again. Strength of body as a fault? Whose body? The Dragon's? The children themselves? She shakes her head and wanders over to the twins' room, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Van stands there on watch and lets her into the room quietly. She makes herself comfortable at the foot of Lief's bed and drifts off, considering Brand as a fate, and not liking the first thoughts that come to mind.
Paige awakes to the dawn's light casting a halo about him in his green riding suit. He was bent over Brooke's bed, gently brushing the hair from her daughter's face. Her first reaction is to smile just before she scowls. Before she can rise, his voice captures her. "She's lovely. Innocent. A cooperative work of art."
"Stay away from her," Paige spits venomously and strains against the invisible restraints that held her at the foot of her son's bed.
"Tsk, tsk, my little student," he answers, turning toward her, the early light casting his face in shadow. "You've always known my appreciation for true art, and these pieces are no different. With the artist's death, they've grown in value almost incomparably."
"You'll not have them," she cries, hoping that it will wake the twins and they might make their own escape.
"What would you do? Die for them?" he asks, stepping closer, his silhouette growing faster than his movement, the green of his tunic now glistening with a hard sheen, his voice now different, something that Paige recognizes instinctively if not consciously.
"No, I'll live for them," she screams defiantly at him.
He's stretched his arms and wide leathery wing drape from them, his eyes a malevolent green. His voice is now hers, her maw stretched wide. "You may, but I won't let them!"
"No!" their mother screams as she awakes, night still full upon them. She stands and checks the beds, reassuring herself that they are still asleep before trying to rest again.
After Lilly has left, Lucas repairs to the Red Mill to spend a delightful evening with Silken, combining business with pleasure.
The business ... Lucas explains to her, much as he has explained to Prudenter, the possibilities for Xanadu. With the funds he has already given her to set up in business in Amber, she may by now have sufficient to buy out her contract at the Red Mill (which was her ambition). Lucas is now suggesting setting her up as an independent businesswoman in Xanadu - turning her economics skills and knowledge to good use. (OOC - I'm assuming that as the discussion about Xanadu with Prudenter was ok'ed, this will be too ... Silken is, after all, discreet. If not, Lucas will be somewhat vaguer about the business opportunities).
The pleasure ... we'll fade to black over that.
Decadence. Simple decadence.
Edan simmers as he works the fastenings of the vest, frowning at his reflection in the mirror before him.
Clothes had been laid out for him at the end of the bed (a bed! How long had it been since he had slept in a bed?) of the proper cut and style and quality. Not suprising, really, since one could now manipulate Shadow here in Amber. But the rest... the footman his father had taken aside had shown Edan the communal baths, the kitchen, given him a basic idea of the castle's layout.
He had crouched, unbelieving, at the edge of one of the pools. It had been cunningly designed, with a slow incoming and outgoing flow of water. The pool itself was beautiful, with many tiny tiles of indigo and green in mosaic patterns.
But all this water... it had shocked him to stillness. A poor desert family could live for months, for years in the Deep Desert on this much water. It was one thing to use the ocean for bathing, but this was potable water, wasted simply for the purpose of sluicing dirt away. To immerse oneself and relax. Immerse oneself in this! And to disrobe here, possibly in the face of strangers? Edan had finally compromised by filling a ewer and bowl with water, had brought it back to his rooms. He had still felt guilty over the act.
He had asked for coffee... instead of the expected small pot with its strong smell of coffee and cinnamon, the delicate cups and mounds of sugar, he had been given a large mug of what looked like glazed and fired clay. It contained a watery atrocity that could hardly have been called a distant cousin to proper coffee. Edan had left it on the dresser.
Finally, the last button in place. White, blousy trousers and shirt of densely packed cotton. Black pointed boots. A dark green sash, and a vest of green and gold. A white turban clasped with an emerald pin. Clothing he would expect to see on a prince of the Western Cities, not something he would normally wear, but it is acceptable. Good enough to be presented before a king.
Edan glances for the twentieth time at his scimitars, laid out with his old clothing in a corner. Old, worn, the hilts rewrapped time and time again, it feels almost as if he were leaving old friends behind. But his father was right; here, he would not need them. Here, it would cause trouble. He frowns one more time at the man in the mirror before heading out.
It takes him some time, for the inside of the castle is more complex than he thought, and the directions were somewhat vague. But eventually, he presents himself before the door to his father's rooms.
Edan reaches up to knock (which in itself is strange; he is used to scratching at the opening of tents) and says, "It is Edan, father. I am ready."
"Come in!" shouts his father. Bleys is sitting in a chair in a shirt and leggings, but with his doublet open. A barber is just finishing shaving him. "The king has flown the coop, and has apparently gone to roost back in Xanadu. We shall catch up with him in a bit, but we have time. You may ask me anything. Oh, do you need a shave?" He looks at the barber.
Edan reaches up to feel along his jaw. "No, thank you," he says. "I did so earlier. Though I would not mind coff... perhaps a strong caffeinated tea."
"Amber is not the trading power she was, my boy. But we do have coffee. Your cousin Jerod brought it from the red coast with four dozen of Abban's best Pirate ships. Just ask for it to be prepared as I told them. If there isn't a fresh pot on the tray, there should be."
Bleys waves vaguely in the direction of a sideboard and Edan feels the stirring that indicates that he has manipulated probability. This is still surprising, since normally it cannot be done on Kolvir, much less in the castle, and you were shown the mathematics to back it up.
[How are Edan's theoretical pattern math skills? ]
[Normally I would say he'd be pretty rusty... but since he's had a few personal mysteries to tackle, Edan's had an enthusiastic re-hash of pattern theory, probability, and sorcery. No answer to his questions, but he's filled scrolls and books with impossible mathematical gobbledygook back home]
He closes the door, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall. "I have missed you, Father. It has been a long time. I have needed your advice, more than once. And when I came to Xanadu, I worried about your fate. I do have many questions... but most of them, I think, can be learned over time. That can wait." He smiles slightly.
"You came looking for me, I heard. Your timing could not have been more perfect... my own desires were about to bear me away from the Land of Peace. But you came to me first. Is there some way that I can serve you, Father?"
"My fate was not to die defending Amber, which still shakes me to my bones. I didn't know that Werewindle could survive the destruction of Amber.
"The war is over, Edan, it's reflected in your own home. The costs are reflected, too. I'd expect changes of leadership in lots of shadows, those who aren't still reflecting the last paroxysms of battle. Shadow fits itself to reality.
"After we found we have conflicting interests, I was content to leave you where you were for the time. You seemed happy enough with your goals and you weren't at risk from my brothers or sisters. You were absorbed enough that you were safe."
Bleys looks out the window. "Times change. I reconciled with Oberon and didn't die for my troubles. Now, there's greater risk being outside of the circle of the family than being in it.
"Father's death puts Amber, and more importantly Xanadu at risk. We need strength to hold them. Do you remember the stories of the Moonriders? The ones who are like the Hashismite versions of the Altamareans? Your cousin Brennan and I ran into a group of them on the way back from Oberon's funeral."
Edan's frown grows deeper from his position at the coffee service, moving there from the doorway. The frown started with the manipulation of shadow, even mitigated with his own attempts outside the castle. It grew deeper at the mention of Werewyndle, deeper still with the talk of a glorious death, and finished with the mention of the Moonriders.
"I remember the stories," he says. "Though I do not remember the sorcery or bargain they took to make them as they are. With Grandfather gone, they will want to test us again, will they not?"
He prepares two cups, brings one to Bleys. "Or have they already? Who fought a war with Amber? The last I have heard, you were leaving with the fleet to remove your brother from the throne."
"Yes," he nods. "There was us. We were amongst the first in the modern set. Trendsetting, I guess. I lost an army and a navy and fell off the mountain for my troubles. Corwin had joined me and was not so lucky.
"Given where things went after that, I was almost relieved when your grandfather sent your cousin Martin to negotiate my return to the fold. I was kept off-stage, a reserve and a safety. Your aunt and I led a contingent of Altamarean Knights who were very useful at key points in the battle against the Lords of Chaos whom your Uncle Brand was lining up to be his next betrayal victims. By the Unicorn, I sometimes think he thought of treason as a performing art.
"In any case, since the death of Oberon, we've faced a civil war in Arcadia and Arden, a war amongst the godlings and priestlings of Rilsa's home shadow, unhappy, unpleasant moonriders, spies, infiltrating Duchesses of Chaos, infiltrating Dragons, faked deaths, pirates, visions, murders, and worst of all, a picnic with your Grandmother. Better to ask 'who hasn't fought a war with Amber?', to which the answer is 'no one to speak of'."
He drinks half his coffee at one gulp, showing no reaction.
Edan stands a long moment, silent, as pieces of a very scattered puzzle begin to fit together.
Father lost an army and navy... Eric was waiting for him, then. Corwin, alive! And both of them fought... two Pattern blades brought against Amber. And Father fell off the mountain... by the One Prophet! They took the Stair! But still they lost...
Martin? I don't know a Martin. But Father was needed. He invoked the oaths of the Altamareans... things were bad, then, very bad. Desperate. They went to Chaos... so the Courts are real, not just the fevered dreams of demon-things from the far southern shadows, and the mathematical proof of a place that I have never seen...
Anger, then. Brand, a traitor. Father said 'erratic' could only begin to describe him. He was a traitor, and the Pattern is broken. He used the Lords of Chaos, and was about to betray them, too. That explains mad Duchesses of Chaos... Uncle Brand spoken of in the past tense, body language to match, he is dead, or missing...
The war is over, Aunt Fiona said. We won, then, or we would not be here. But Amber is weak. Old enemies surface, to test what strength we have left. There is no Pattern... no. There is a new Pattern, it is at Xanadu. It has to be. And Random is king. Amber will fall into decay and death, for there is no Pattern to sustain it. And a city being built in Xanadu, unpopulated, to take those from Amber. Yes. It fits. Refugees. A first-line computation.
Oberon is dead, and there are many who would see his death as a breaking of treaties. Do the shadow-paths still work? Yes... ships from the Dar-es-Salaam at Xanadu. Jerod brought them. A cousin? An uncle? I will find out. Same paths, or new ones laid already. Much work still to do, I imagine. Rebma. Ghenesh. Arcadia- the twins? Paige flinched when I mentioned a dragon to Leif, he will become one.
A dragon in Arcadia? And now in Arden? Against Amber? Paige's children at the crux of the situation? A terrifying thought. And Rebma... it is still there? Obviously. How? Or Werewindle? Or Grayswandir? Would Xanadu... perhaps. Or Werewindle now relies on Father? Considering the cost, he would not be pleased. I must work out the equations for that. Father would have done so, already... Things still hold. Tir split away. Rebma still stands. Amber still stands. The deeper Thing, the other mathematical proof that I have not seen, the Thing reflected in the air and the earth and the water, that is what Brand has broken. And the places connected to it, true Shadows now, left to fend for themselves.
Amber is weak. Grandfather is gone. A... picnic? Hah! From what Father has said of Grandmother, I doubt anyone but her had an appetite... cousins, family now made public, come together. We have ourselves to rely on, now. Only ourselves. At the very least, Amber needs a rearguard action as the people are moved to a place of strength. At most, both Amber and Xanadu need to be defended from those who would see them fall.
Edan stands straight. His golden eyes are unreadable, but his chin lifts in its familiar proud gesture. "My father," he says, softly, urgently. His gaze locks with that of Bleys. "We have had our differences. But I am proud, still proud, to be called a son of my father."
He pulls the turban off of his head, kneels at Bleys's feet, his head bowed. Somehow, he manages not to lose any of his pride or presence doing so. "I am a dutiful son, an obedient one. I am a sword in your hand. Your cause is mine... if you have need of my poor skills, you have but to command me. Do the wraiths of Ghenesh threaten us? I will make them regret to walk that path. My sword, my heart, my mind, my skills, they are yours to use against our enemies."
He smiles, just a little ruefully. "Though my poor skills are one thing I have long wished to ask you about."
Bleys looks at him, his eyebrows elevated. He puts his hand on Edan's shoulder. "That's twice I've been surprised in the last two days. I must be slipping. I accept your allegiance, son. Stand up, please, I'm not much on having my children kneel in my presence.
"However, keep that in mind. Random will almost certainly expect it. I, for instance, knelt to him at the Abyss when the Unicorn gave him the Jewel. It seemed like the thing to do."
Edan stands, and nods. "He is now the king, after all. I would like to know how that has happened, when there is time." In his mind, he thinks, The Jewel of Judgement? From the Unicorn?!
"Oh, by all means, ask him. I would love to hear his version of it."
Bleys will trump Edan to Random, who is sitting at a drum kit in a well but strangely-appointed room in the middle of Castle Xanadu. He's wearing a loose pair of pants and nothing else. He's sweating.
"Bleys! I heard you had someone with you." He looks pointedly at Edan.
"My son, Edan. He came to Amber from Xanadu."
Random stands. "Well then, welcome back, Edan. How did you find Xanadu?"
Edan approaches, kneels, and kisses the ground at Random's feet, in the manner of meeting a king of men.
"My uncle.... Your Majesty," he says when he stands. He has nothing to say about Random's attire; it is not an uncommon thing in the Land of Peace. "Xanadu seems well. It is a clean, fresh place. The people... most of them... are full of hope and promise. May they, and you, be blessed with peace and prosperity."
"Um, thanks! Soren says your buddy is gonna be fine, by the way. We're informal en famille, which means if no one can see you, you don't have to bow and stuff."
Bleys finds Random's injunction inordinately amusing, from the smile he flashes his son.
Edan nods in response to Random's words, looking both relieved at the news of Kyril, and suprised at the lack of formality.
Random continues, "So, what brings you in from the cold? And are you musically talented?"
Edan's eyebrows climb higher. "Ah... as I told your Soren, there are several traditional instruments from my homeland... I can play the sitar, though not very well..." He looks a little off-balance. "I would be more familiar with percussion instruments. Drums... cymbals... chimes... the tambour. Truthfully, my artistic talents lie in other directions. Paint and sculpture, mostly. And I... dance."
He pauses, then says, "As for why I have come... there are two reasons. I had heard that my father sought me, and came looking for him. Considering the events that have occurred, I see why he chose to do so."
He glances at his father, then says, "And I have come to speak for the seven tribes of the Deep Desert. They have won their independence from the Western Cities of the Land of Peace. I would see them recognized as a nation in their own right... not lose their hard-fought freedom at the negotiating table or fade into obscurity in Shadow. Establishing trade with your kingdom, gaining at least some measure of recognition from Xanadu, that would go a long way towards our goal."
Random holds up his index finger, and walks over to a door. He opens a side room and inside it Edan can see a large number of musical instruments. Random walks in, and says "no... no ... no..." Bleys just shakes his head ruefully. From the closet Random shouts "aha!" and walks out a moment later.
While Random is thus engaged, Edan slowly turns his head to look at his father. The question in his eyes is easy to read. Would he miss us if we Trumped out now?
Bleys just smiles.
[Random]'s strapping a Djimbe around his waist and carrying a doumbek, which he puts down. He starts tapping, playing the Djimbe, coaxing a rhythm from the big drum. It's a familiar beat, one Edan could have heard in the Western Cities of the Dar Es Salaam.
"Play," says Random, on the downbeat. "or Dance," on the up.
A strange way to become familiar, Edan thinks. After what I offer for the tribes, he wishes to play? Instead of even taking my measure... and then it dawns on Edan that this is indeed the way Random wishes to observe what kind of man he is. He smiles, inwardly; there are many worse trials.
"Perhaps both?" he asks, lifting a foot up to pull off his boot. There is plenty of room here, and bare feet will be best. He recognizes the rhythm Random plays, a Massmoodi with eight beats per measure. Not so complex as to show off, not so simple as to be insulting. It makes his hands twitch to play the other drum, and already he is thinking of the dance he will perform.
The head of the doumbek is of goat skin, stretched as tight as it can be stretched. It will be a high pitch, a sharp sound. Difficult to play without dominating the mix, and that is not Edan's intention here.
Doum doum teka tek Tek, Doum teka tek Tek teka tek Tek...
Random is playing an open rhythm, a promise of more complicated things to come... Edan starts a counterpoint, more finger taps than anything else, and is pleased with the results...
Doum teka doum tekatekatekaTek! Teka doum tekatekaTek tekatekaTek!...
Random smiles. He is a master. His rhythm closes, becomes a constant thing, fingers scratching the head of the djimbe, the edge of his knife-hand making still another counterpoint, the tempo increasing...
If it were anything else, Edan would be hopelessly lost. But Edan knows this rhythm. His body knows the dances, his hands know the twist and pressure of magic. He keeps up. He starts another counterbeat, three subtle patterns now underneath the thump of the djimbe... the beats stronger, their hands blurring against the edges of the drums, faster still... the suede feel of the drum head, the smooth worn spots where countless hands had beat upon the edges.
He cannot keep up. He cannot. Random's hands are a blur, and yet each beat is crisp and perfect. Edan simply cannot go any faster. The king begins to sweat again; Edan does not. But he has reached his limit. He sits back, signalling a slowing, and Random matches him perfectly. Slowly, the beat changes to a classic Hagala; Edan stands with an eloquent unfolding movement that makes the eyes ache to watch. He leaves the doumbek there, within Random's easy reach; his first few steps are already the beginning movements of a dance.
Bleys has reclined into a large amorphous chair and is merely watching.
It's a strenuous but not overly difficult dance, and Random is grinning as Edan turns back towards him after the first steps. He's got the doumbek under his arm now, but he's still solidly on the Djimbe. At the first transition, he moves to a Karsilamas in 9/8 time. Edan is dancing faster now, concentrating on keeping up with the wild, fast beat. It's like there are two drummers, now, and a glimpse shows Edan that Random is playing the doumbek with his right hand and the Djimbe with his left. The sharp, tight notes of the smaller drum play a 12/8 rhythm in alternating measures of 5 and 7 beats.
It's very challenging, but not impossible, to dance to it.
The Story of Ahmed and Akhmar... that is the story that will fit this rhythm. Edan smiles; unlike the drums, the dance has no hesitation. This is his true calling. This is his strength. Drums are for the Dance; and the Dance is for drums. Ahmed and Akhmar... two kings that were born at the same time, lived similar lives, and it was fated that they would die at the same moment... yet they fought endlessly.
Edan steps, turns on the ball of his foot, and leaps; finished with the story of their youth, he is ready to show their war. Catching the cue, Random's beats increase in tempo. Faster, faster... turning, turning, a leap with each rotation, so like that of a dervish, but arms in different positions... hands slashing, like that of sword- work... still faster... Edan does not sweat, he does not feel pain, the spins and leaps become wild and dangerous... yet his foot hits the ground precisely on the beat, and he is always in position for the next leap...
Then the beats slow, another perfect cue, the story of their fated death... both kings trying to save the other, so as to save themselves... but not in the Merciful One's plan.
A turn again on the ball of his foot. A bend, a bow, arms and hands forward, the beat ending. Edan is breathing hard, hides his smile; the dance is more difficult even than it appeared. But the drumbeats carried him along, and he had lost himself in the rhythm. An element of trust there, for if it had not been played perfectly, he would have been a heap on the floor.
A test on both sides, then. Edan rises, straightens his shirt. Bows, and stands with fists on hips. "That was well done, your M... my uncle. Very well done."
Bleys breaks out into loud, slow applause, "Well done, both of you. I know I'd hire you as palace entertainment, if I could."
Before Edan can react, Random says "Of course you would. It's quality entertainment, after all." Random undoes the drum from around his waist and walks over to a small icebox. He pulls four bottles from it and then, like some maniacal juggler, throws one to Bleys, another to Edan...
Edan catches his, and hesitates while he turns the bottle over in his hands. Caught between his own personal mores and the responsibility to his host, he eventually pops the top of his bottle and drinks from it to show his trust. He then holds the bottle through the rest of the conversation.
The act either shows what lengths Edan is willing to go to make this meeting successful, or else reveals just what kind of standing he feels he has with his faith. Either possibility speaks volumes.
...and a third towards the door, where Soren catches it as he walks in.
"Thanks. You'll repeat that when we've got tape to roll, right? I only caught the last bit from the hallway."
"Daniels," says Random. He pops the top of his bottle and drinks from it. "You know my nephew, Edan, right?"
"Yeah, I found him fighting one of the townies. Something about him being the scourge of civilized folk everywhere." Soren opens his beer.
Bleys looks at his son.
"It is nothing," Edan says. "I met a man named Kyril on my way to Xanadu, and when we arrived here I was recognized by a swordsman from the Land of Peace. He and his companion attacked... Kyril was struck on the head- I trust he is well?" He addresses the last bit to Soren.
Soren nods over his bottle.
"I had heard Amber had come to the Land of Peace. I did not know of Xanadu, nor that there were so many people here from the Dar-es Salaam. The swordsman was very good... we fought until the authorities came and stopped us. I named myself, to prevent further trouble... for us, anyway. Word will likely spread that the Djinn-al-ghanii has come to Xanadu, and that he is the son of a Prince of Amber."
Soren puts his bottle down. "There's only two of them. They were castaways picked up by an Amber ship that ended up here. They had some pretty wild tales. Volcanos, Pirates, Werewolves, ghost ships, and genies for starters. Either they had the wildest ride ever or else they're the biggest liars anywhere."
"Really?," says Random. "I'd like to meet them, if it's the latter. What ship?"
"Le Cygne," Soren replies.
"Captain Davit's," Bleys says. "If I recall they crewed it with Little Furry Guys. I thought that was tacky, personally, but Davit is charming."
Random raises his eyebrows. "Edan, you said you wanted a treaty for your people. I'm not averse, although making deals with the merchants of Amber is not always a way for you to get rich. What then? Are you staying here? Are you off to go kill more of our other allies?"
Edan feels his face redden.
"Relax. Being a Prince, or a son of a Prince, gives you wide latitude. You have to worry about me, your conscience, and your uncles, aunts, and cousins, probably in that order. Beyond that, if you decided to conquer the Land of Peace and install your favorite horse as regent, then more power to you. Eventually you'd get tired of that and we'd just start trading with someplace else. It's difficult for Xanadu to not succeed as a trade hub, since we can always find what we need to have traded."
"Indeed, no place is indispensable, save Am--Xanadu." says Bleys.
Random smiles at his brother, conceding the point. "Anyway, we're trying to at least keep track of everyone these days, what with the attacks. You came just after we buried one of your cousins, you know. What should we expect of you?"
"Father sought me in Shadow," Edan replies. "He felt that at this time, the family should be together. From what little I have learned, I agree completely." He stands straighter. "He knows my capabilities. I came to serve him, and Amber... now Xanadu. And if my service will in some way help preserve the hard-fought freedom of my people, I will do so with a glad heart."
"My son is a proven warrior and leader of men and has skills in recondite arts. I do not fear for him in war, but he is not available to fight, as our brothers did so long ago, 'for the good of Amber'".
"Right," says Random, "no suicide missions. Edan, can you lead ships through shadow?"
I should have Trumped out when I had the chance, Edan thinks, then nods. "Yes, my Uncle," he says. "Though my sailing skills are, ah, out of practice."
Random nods. "That's fine. I've got a perfectly good Navy and they'll do the sailing. They just need someone to take them here. Can you make a shadow path?"
Bleys responds for Edan. "He knows the principles, but not the practice. Unless you've been practicing on your own?" Bleys looks over to Edan.
Edan shakes his head. "Not shadow paths..."
"S'Ok, says Random. "I need leaders, not trailblazers. So, it's settled, then?"
"Of course," Edan says. "Bring the ships of Amber to Xanadu?" He raises an eyebrow. "That is a high honor."
"Is it? Then a buttload of your relatives will be highly honored. There's more people than ships, so there's gonna be a lot of trips." Random looks at Soren. "Ok, we're done here, I think. Edan? Thanks for that. I enjoyed seeing you dance."
Bleys moves towards the door.
Edan gives one of his eloquent bows, fingers touching his lips, then forehead, then outward. "Assalmu alaykum, my uncle," he says. "May you have a blessed and untroubled reign. May prosperity and peace follow your steps. And may this humble servant's task aid you in that cause." The bow is humble, the words are right, but there is still a strong core of pride that keeps Edan's voice steady and his movements graceful and methodical. Pride that would likely remain even if his body were bloodied and broken. Pride that he simply cannot cover with flowery words or humble actions. In this, perhaps, he is far more like his father than he would ever care to admit.
Before returning to Amber, Edan will want to check on his horse and make sure that Aramsham is stabled properly. Also make sure he hasn't bitten all the stablehands, for this stallion is very high-strung :)
That will probably happen in the morning, because it's late in Xanadu and the royal horses are all currently corralled in the town. Apparently there's no royal stable yet, probably because the road isn't fit to bring a good horse up.
When he goes down, Edan will find that Aramsham is being well cared-for, and the hands at the proto-stable are properly respectful of him.
If he stays overnight, and especially if he looks in on Kyril, Edan will have a chance to be introduced in passing to his uncle Gerard. Bleys has spoken of Gerard in the past, praising his great physical strength and his tenacity while being less complimentary to his inability to look past his first impression or to follow a conversation at the speed of redheadedness. It's shocking to see his large, strong body stuffed into a wheelchair and the blanketed remains of his shattered legs.
[OOC: We can say that happens in passing, though, and leave substantive talk for a later date.]
Edan will do his best, then, to make a good first impression during the introduction and save his questions for later.
Last modified: 30 November 2005