With A Capital T


It has been seven days since Edan concluded that he must leave the deep desert that has been his home these last few years, and fewer since word came from Harquahal that the merchants of the cities were ready to negotiate with the naibs of the tribes. So it is that Edan's long war is over, and the time for his departure approaches.

But the riders who came from Harquahal brought more word than simply the messages of the city-dwellers to the naibs. Among the honor-gifts they brought for the naibs and for Edan, there was a letter, worn and travel-stained, but still intact. From his mother, dated several weeks ago.

My dearest son,

If the rumors I have heard are true, this letter will find you in the depths of the desert among the tribes. I have heard many stories of you, of which I will not speak. Know that you are in my prayers, which I hope may have some small part in keeping you from sin and damnation.

But I write not to speak of those things which might divide us, but to speak of those that unite us. Not the least of these is your father. Recently he returned, for the first time in years, and he asked after you. I was able to tell him little but rumors. His business did not permit him to remain more than an afternoon, and he did not know when he would have time to return. He bid me remember him to you if I learned of your whereabouts.

I prayed that I would be given a sign of how to contact you, and the Merciful granted it to me. Thus I send you this letter through a circuitous route.

May the Merciful and Beneficent One hold you in His keeping until next we meet.

Your mother,
Julnar

His father would not have called the letter a coincidence, but then again, his father did not believe in coincidences.

"Neither do I, my father," Edan says softly. He knows just how far fate can be pushed.

He folds the letter, spends a quiet moment looking around the interior of his tent. If there was a sign that he should be going, this would be it. What keeps him here? Surely not the treaty with the cities; the naibs had that well in hand. They would not want his bloody hands signing any papers.

In the center of the tent there is a metal bowl upon a tripod; a small fire burns merrily beneath it. The bowl is filled with sand, and upon that sits his latest work. It reminds him of Julnar, for he had made something similar for her years before. He wanted to visit her, but what would be the point? An hour or two of uncomfortable silence? Their shared heritage would scream more loudly than any spoken word. No, he would send her a letter in response. Later, when his story had faded a bit from the memories of men, he would visit his mother.

He catches a glimpse of the desert outside. It is late afternoon, and the sun reflects upon the bits of silica glass that gives the Bright Desert its name. It is still murderously hot out there; his people would not normally come out from the sietch at this hour, but for the merchants that come to bow and say pretty words and pretend that they had always been friends. They would turn on the tribes at the first opportunity. More reason to leave, to find allies amongst his father's family before the tide turned against them.

His tent is simple, spartan, none of the lavish rugs and tapestries and objects that one would associate with his station. He refused them on principle. Even his dress is simple; his robes, his boots, his cloak, his turban, all are the browns and reds of the desert. The rare flash of gold here and there reveals only the hint of vanity. No treasures to keep me here, he thinks; items are only fleeting.

He moves to the front of the tent. "Jafar!" he calls. In just a moment, the naib appears. Edan quells the impulse to wince; in the few short years of their campaign, he has seen the older man turn from a deadly fighter and a powerful leader to a creature of the jinn-al-Ghanii, a worshipper almost. Not sure if Edan himself were a messenger from God or a true djinn from one of a thousand hells.

More likely the latter. All of them feared him, now. The Merciful One must have a sense of humor, Edan thinks, for Him to allow this kind of irony. The very thing that has secured their future has isolated me from them forever.

"Yes, Nuri?" Jafar asks. At least he still uses Edan's tribal name, his secret name.

"I am going on a trip. A long trip. You do not need me for the next step- and I am weary. I will write a letter... see that it goes with the merchants back to Harquahal."

"Of course." Edan pretends not to notice the look of relief that crosses the face of his right-hand man.

"I will send a small box of jewels, as well. I will leave it to you to insure that it gets to where I want it to go." He nods along with Jafar; the greed of the traders was understood, but so was the violence of the desert-folk. Threats would not even be necessary.

"You are following your plan?" Jafar asks.

"Yes... I will meet with my father's people. If they suddenly decide to ally with the city folk, they could undo everything. With grace from the Merciful One, I shall prevent that."

"Then may God be with you on your journey, Nuri." Jafar looks around. "Do you wish me to send someone to pack for you?"

"No, I will do that... just saddle my horse."

Jafar bows and leaves; the air from outside is like a furnace, but Edan ignores it. He takes one last long look outside at the place he has called home for so long. The descending sun reflects off the gold of his eyes; then he turns and begins to gather his things.

And when he is done, and pulls the tent flap aside for the final time, the sculpture of thick glass he had been fashioning is still within the tent. It is a sand tiger, prowling on the miniature sand dunes within the bowl. Fitting that he should leave it, as well as his name, behind.

Outside, in the reddish hues of sunset, the tribe has gathered to see him off. Jafar, surrounded by the warriors, to one hand. The women, in their long robes that conceal the beauty of the desert flowers, to the other. Jafar's fourth son, the one not old enough yet to be a warrior, holds the reins of Edan's fine black stallion, ready to present them to him.

[Does Edan have any final words for them? And, more importantly to the GMs, what is his planned route to Amber? Through the civilized parts of the Land of Peace, or directly?]

[ooc: when do I ever pass up the chance to make a speech? ;-)]

Edan takes the reins from the boy, pats the neck of his horse to calm it. The stallion shakes its head; it is a spirited horse, and restless. Edan swings into the saddle and pulls on the reins as the stallion steps a little to the side.

He looks around. Good. None of the city merchants are within hearing. Jafar is as careful as ever.

"My people," he says, and takes a pause. All these faces turned up to him... but their expressions are different than the hopeful ones he has seen when he first came to the desert. Now they are a mix of relief and fear. The time has been long due to leave this place.

"See the sun setting before you! It is the end of the day, the time for the evening prayers. Pray with joy in your hearts. For it will be a different sun that rises tomorrow. It will rise on a free people!"

He turns his horse as it rears a little, a small jump. Aramsham is as ready to leave as he is. "I go to secure the peace that we have won, all thanks to the Merciful One. While I am gone, you know what must be done. Stay steady. Stay strong. Do what you can to show that a peaceful desert is more profitable than a bloody one. And keep your eyes upon those of the Western Cities, watch them to ensure they do not turn on you. When I return, my heart will be glad... for I will see a happy and free people. The dream is yours!" He raises a hand in farewell; then with a twitch of the reins, Aramsham gallops towards the dunes.

Behind him, Edan can hear the cheering of the tribe. If he looks back, he can see them waving their farewells to him. Jafar stands watching, a silent sentinel to Edan's departure.

The cheers are genuine. They cheer Edan's heroism and leadership, but some of them cheer his leaving as well.

[ooc: the smart thing to do would be to avoid the city... there's too much of a chance of an enemy taking one last shot at revenge. Edan will go the direct route... I imagine he'll eventually end up coming through Garnath?]

[Garnath would be the direct land route.]

Edan begins to add and subtract from his environment, seeking the sea to his right and the great forest of Arden to his left. This is not a way he knows well; he has travelled it with his father, many years ago, but he was never a frequent visitor to Amber.

If Edan stages the journey, it will take several days, although he will be beyond the grasp of his enemies in the Western cities long before he will need to stop and rest tonight. To make the journey quicker, he could hellride, but he has enough experience and knowledge to understand the risks of hellriding for a place he isn't sure of.

Aramsham is a good horse, trained for battle, and he has been to hell and back with Edan. He should be able to cope with a hellride if Edan thinks one is necessary or useful.

Even though his horse is strong, and restless, now is not the time for a hellride. Edan decides to take the trip slow, in stages.

He has plenty of time to sort out his thoughts as to why he makes this decision. Part of it, he realizes, is that he does not want to let go of his adopted home. Part of it is fear of the unknown, the gnawing of uncertainty in his belly.

Aramsham weaves a path on the beach, near the water. As the leather creaks and the bridle rings faintly with tiny bells, Edan is lost in the concentration of shifting shadow and in his own introspective thought. He does not feel the heat of the sun, and his horse is too full of energy to care.

The landscape slowly fades into shifting probability. The sand loses the twinkle of fused glass and takes on the whitish hue of salt. The air becomes dry, and the temperature falls. There are changes in the sea to his right, a booming rocky surf at one point, currently a thick, flat turbid pool of saline. Edan pulls an edge of his cloak against his face; the smell is terrible. He has gone away from his goal by following his inner thoughts. Aramsham tosses his head, almost in agreement.

Focus on the goal, Edan thinks. There is no longer any point in having thoughts of home. The knife is cast; his hands no longer control its flight. He can only hope that the cast is true.

Riding a little faster now, more effort spent on the task of sculpting reality. It takes a long time, but the sea begins to resemble what he wants, and his forehead relaxes from his unconscious frown as the air begins to hold more moisture.

This... is acceptable, he thinks after a longer period of effort. Not far along the path, perhaps a fourth? A fifth? But still far away from home. His new home, if things work as he has planned.

There is a glade not far ahead, surrounded by lush grass and tall date palms. A small oasis, just as he wanted. He stops, dismounts, unrolls a small rug which he places upon the sand. He kneels upon it, his head touching the ground as the sun is finally allowed to disappear behind the trees at his back.


It is three days later, and the sun is again making its way to the west. The sea is tremendous, a snarling animal of indigo blue that crashes and booms in an eternal war with the coast. The going is slow, for Aramsham is picking his way through a path in the hills. Edan has frequent glimpses of the sea to his right. The huge trees of Arden are out of sight now, but far to his left. Almost half a day was spent in those trees, trying to find a decent path; he had finally turned away to follow the coastline. It would not do to get lost on the way to Amber. Edan shakes his head as he realizes just how long it has been since he had last seen this place.

But, there are good things, as well. The sea is beautiful, with color he has never seen anywhere else. He will see Kolvir again, when the hills part and he enters the vale of Garnath. Perhaps the breath will catch in his throat, just as it did all those years ago. And last night, fireflies came to him on the beach, drawn by his campfire. They swarmed and hovered and flickered, a marvelous dance which he watched, and then joined. They flashed their green light and followed him as he did the Dance of the Fading Sun; then they dispersed as he stopped and his fire burned low. He knows it is a good thing, somehow, a magical thing, but its inner meaning is lost to him.

No matter. He is nearly there. He kicks lightly at his horse's sides; Aramsham responds with a small jump and then a canter. They are still on the coast, and the lighthouse at Cabra will soon come into view.

Quiet, like a wraith in the sea mists, they leave the hills and slip into Garnath.

Riding along the beach, with the last of the forest at one hand and the waters on the other, Edan should see the outline of Kolvir ahead. Cabra should be ahead on his right. And there should be settled land forward and to his left. But the mountain is wrong, there is no city, there is no lighthouse, and the lands ahead have never been cultivated by men so far as Edan can tell.

Edan does not feel that his mastery of the Pattern has failed him, yet he knows in his bones that this place is not Amber. Not as he knew it.

Edan allows his horse to paw at the ground as a moment of self-doubt washes over him. Surely this cannot be so... is it a shadow of a shadow? Are his memories of the past somehow incorrect? Or has he reached for a memory that no longer exists?

He shakes his head, straightens his shoulders. No. Amber is eternal. Perhaps this is just a nearby shadow. It needs a test.

He looks at the unspoiled land to his left. No; it would not be a good thing to get lost in the wild, especially when he was already unsure of where he was. No, following the coast is a better plan. I can verify that Faiella-Bionin is still there, perhaps unravel a bit of this mystery.

He kicks at Aramsham's sides, turns his horse to continue following the coastline. Along the way he continues trying to work with shadow, if not anything else to make sure that he is in shadow... and not the Amber he remembers.

Wherever Edan is, it is real enough that he cannot manipulate the stuff of shadow.

From here it should be two and a half days' ride to Amber proper, less if Edan pushes Aramsham. The cairn marking the stairs to Rebma is an afternoon ride from Amber, so it is near the end of his journey.

As Edan pushes on, he sees no sign of the lighthouse, nor of any of the inhabitants he expects in Garnath. If the hills are there, he can't see them for the trees, but he does cross the mouth of a river that might be the Oisen.

As the sun sets two days later, Edan finds himself at a familiar cairn. Familiar, and yet different, because there is no Faiella-Bionin extending into the water from it.

This close, he has a much better view of the mountain. It is probably close to Kolvir in height, and a waterfall spills down into a pleasant lagoon where two ships are sheltered against any storms. With keen eyes and the glass he brought from his homeland, Edan can see that one of the vessels flies the green and gold of Amber.

Two thirds of the way up the mountain, about where he'd expect Castle Amber to be, a part of the mountain seems to be hollowed out and a fairy palace is cut from the rock there. The waterfall goes by it as it drops into the lagoon. With the glass, Edan can see a Unicorn pennant in red.

Edan lowers the spyglass from his face, and furrows his brow. Somehow, he resists the urge to throw the glass into the ocean.

Focus, he says to himself. Think, Nuri. What are you seeing?

The ship flies green and gold. Amber still stands. But the castle's pennants are red... Edan lowers his glass further. Is this not Amber? All roads lead to Amber. The first maxim my father gave me, he thinks. I had set my path to Amber. There is the sky. There is the sea. Here is Garnath.

But the bridge is gone. The vale is pristine, wild, untouched by the hands of man. And tonight, he is sure there will be no city in the sky, no Tir-na Nog'th. No Rebma. Where has it all gone?

Then, a thought occurs to him. He did not aim for Amber, not exactly. He has come to reality. To the Pattern.

Somehow, Amber has changed. Or else, a new Amber has been created. That ship, it was either returned from a long voyage, and the changes occured while it was gone, or there were now two Ambers.

Was that it? Is there now another Pattern? Incredible. Methodically, Edan unsnaps the rolled-up leather cone that holds the lenses of his spyglass, drops the lenses into his pocket. Then his hands clench.

If only I could reach my father! he thinks. I have been gone far too long. He would explain this to me... unconsciously, Edan looks back out at the ocean. My father is alive. He was looking for me, while I was out in the desert. He is alive. But I have no way to reach him. Was he successful in what he attempted? What I see before me, is this the result? How will they view me, when I go there? It is so much more complicated now, than a simple diplomatic negotiation. There is no city in which to stop and rest, to gather information. I will have to go to the castle directly and take my chances. It would be foolish to do this now.

His fist clenches harder. No, he thinks. I have not come this far to turn around. There is no way to know when men from the cities will come crying to their allies. I have to go. I will not throw away all that I have worked for. I will not quit before I even begin. There really was never any question.

The castle fascinates and repels him. It is beautiful, he thinks. Sublime. But delicate. Of all the buildings and war-machines I have crafted, I could not match these slender spires... but a castle is still a castle, and this one looks as if I could storm it myself and kick it off the mountainside with my bare feet. Perhaps there are harder fortifications within the mountain...

In the end, it is his faith that sustains him. He tends to his horse, then attends to the evening prayers.

"Again, I place myself in your hands, Merciful One. For all the things I have not done, that should have been done..."

Afterwards, as the sun sinks below the horizon and the fairy castle sparkles with light, he gathers driftwood from the beach and kindling from the treeline. They will see the fire, he thinks. They will see me, if they are watching. That would actually be better than a suprise arrival. Either way, I throw myself into the dark, into the unknown.

Edan lights the fire, and prepares his camp.

The fire burns quietly, and if not for the surf, the woods would be as silent as the high desert. Still, the forest is a place of coolness and dampness. His chosen people would never be at home here.

Moonrise is sudden, the appearance of the orb over the distant castle mountain is like a false dawn. The orb is a few days past full, and so there is no saying if the city in the sky is absent from this New Jerusalem or if it is merely not time.

Shortly after moonrise, Edan sees a man walking up the beach. He is dressed for hiking, carrying a large pack on his back and has not shaved in a week. He has not yet seen Edan.

Edan continues to sit on the beach, and shifts his robes where he has arranged them against the coolness of the air.

He looks to the food he has arranged near the fire; it is simple fare, but there is enough for two. Cabbage dolmas, unleavened bread, some dates, a brick of cheese, even a few saray pastries left. A metal skewer of goat's meat and onions and peppers sizzles over the campfire.

Obviously, it is not unheard-of for someone to walk along the beach and up to this new Amber. Edan glances at his swords, in their scabbards nearby, and nods; it is an adequate setting, and situation, to talk. He shifts so that he is sitting on his knees, rather than his rump, and waits.

The man waves when he notes Edan and the fire. He approaches. "Hello. I thought I was all alone on this island." He doesn't seem unfriendly. "I was about to stop for the night, anyway. I have some coffee and some fruit if you'd like to share."

He holds his hand out. "Kyril. Kyril Suon, of Lauderville."

It is not a common custom for him, but certainly not unheard-of. Edan grasps Kyril's hand. "My name is Edan," he says. "I too am a wanderer, but lost, it would seem." He indicates the distant castle. "I take it that you are not from this place."

"Me? No, I'm from Pacifica. I haven't been to Oceania since the war. It's pretty amazing how much they've restored things since the war. I can't tell if this is restored or pristine. All these little islands..."

He takes off his pack. "Where are you from?"

Edan mouths the strange words. Pacifica... Oceania... no. It is not a place he knows. "I am from the Land of Peace," he says, gesturing to the fire, then moving back to it. He picks up the skewer from its place, pushing the food onto large leaves picked from the treeline.

"I grew up in a place much like this," he says as he works. "A city close to the sea. But I moved to the Deep Desert years ago. It is much different than here." He hesitates, then decides to complete the confusion. "What war?"

Kyril's head moves back and his body language suggests he's confused and somewhat suspicious. "I didn't think any of the islands along this chain were big enough to support a desert. Where did you say you were from? Someplace in Atlantea? I thought you guys were all over the war, since it was your colonies that got destroyed first. My med unit treated men from Singhalpoure."

Edan points in the direction from which he came, along the coastline. "I come from that way," he says amiably. "Not from this Atlantea, no. From much farther away." He finishes what he's doing, gestures to a comfortable spot across the fire from his own weapons, and lays one of the leaf-plates close to it.

[Kyril] sits.

Edan settles his weight back on his legs in his half-kneel, takes a bite from his own kabob, and says, "As I have said, I am but a simple traveller... a lost one. I am from the Land of Peace; let me assure you, my home is a very large desert. I sought a place called Amber. Instead, I have ended up here. I suspect my journey is not yet complete." He tilts his head in question. "How did you arrive upon this island? Where is your boat?"

"Amber?" he says, almost shouting. "Holy Crap! You're a space alien like Solly!" He scrambles to his feet, barely missing the leaf-plate in his rush. He looks up and down the beach and his shoulders sag. "Oh, hells. I'm not in Oceania, am I?"

Space alien?

Solly?

Edan represses a smile at the first term, and a frown at the second. Who could this man have met? Who would take on that name? And how close was this man, that they would reveal who they were?

Edan inclines his head, knowing that the firelight will reflect off the molten gold of his eyes. "I do not think that you are," he says in his accented voice. "But, then, I do not know where I am, either. This place has the look of Amber... I visited there long ago... yet it is different. I intend to go to that castle in the morning, and find some answers to this mystery."

[Kyril] squints into the distance. "There's a castle? I can't see it. She said there would be one, though."

He blows out a long sigh. "Ah. Can I go with you? I'm not supposed to be here."

"Yes," Edan says. "That will be better. And you can tell me of this Solly on the way. That is, if those in the castle do not come here later tonight to ask questions."

He pauses, then tries his earlier question again. "I know how I arrived here... how did you?"

"The survey group dropped me at the ruins of Puerta León and told me to walk Northwest up the river for two days and then along the coast to Haversham Bay. 'You can't miss it', they said." He shakes his head. "Are you one of Solly's Alien Knights in Shining Armor?"

That elicits a low chuckle from Edan. He picks up his own leaf-plate and begins eating; as politely as possible between bites, he says, "I have been called many things, Kyril Suon of Lauderville, but never a knight. Armor or otherwise. I am just a man." He does not sound convincing. Or convinced.

A moment later, he adds, "In my homeland, I was called Mahdi. I was called a savior. There were... other names." He looks up. "What name would describe you, that you come here from this... Pacifica with a survey group? You are some kind of healer, yes?"

"When they let me be, yes. I spent the last few years patching up kids in the war and the last few months trying not to die of boredom before they decide to let me out of the Army."

He takes a bite of his share as well. "So, yeah, it's Major Suon of the Pacifican 3rd Medical Corps, until they cashier me for going off with Space Aliens again.

"It may be better if I don't go back. What's up there, anyway?"

Edan looks suddenly uncomfortable. "Truly, I do not know," he says. "This is not the Amber that I remember. But even if it is Amber, or some Shadow that is similar and allied to Amber, I am not sure of my reception. They may find my presence here... discomforting.

"I have come here to be a voice for my people. They have won their liberation. Our enemies, the ones we have defeated, are allies of Amber."

Kyril nods, and looks at the fire.

"Are you here to bring the war to your enemy's allies? If you're here for peaceful purposes, I can put a good word in with Solly's family. I think they were important in Amber. I got the impression that only certain Space Aliens could do what she did.

"Are you here for peaceful purposes? because I just retired from making war. It's not what I became a doctor to do."

"My war is over," Edan says. He sits back, sparing a glance around them, then meets Kyril's eyes.

"For years now, I have devoted mind, body and soul to my cause. I tend to do that... focus on a thing that needs doing, and then keep at it. No matter the obstacle, I will not... quit." He smiles slightly. "The cause was just. I had my faith to sustain me. I had a keen mind, and knew the path I had to take. As a result, my people are free from oppression and suffering." He inclines his head, looks at the stars.

"What I do here... it is not war. I have done what I have set out to do. This... it is merely to insure that the gains made are not lost. Now is the time for words, not for swords. And I will take a much deserved rest. Soon, the Merciful One will show me the next thing that I must do."

He shifts his attention to the fire. "It would be a good thing, if you were to say kind words on my behalf. I am not sure what manner of reception we will have. If this is truly the destination I have sought, they will be very concerned that we are here."

"I'll talk to Solly. If she's here," Kyril says, looking around, and eventually settling his gaze on the mountain. "If she's not, I'll hope they can use a doctor." He finishes the kebab and sets the leaf plate aside. A moment later, he pulls over his pack, roots through it, and pulls out a shiny bag, which he tears open.

"My share of dinner," he explains to Edan, and gestures with the bag, as if to pour the contents out. "They don't give us anything as good as what you had, I'm afraid. It definitely beat s**t on a shingle."

"I should hope not," Edan automatically says, then works out in his head what that had to have meant. He smiles again.

"I have been jealously guarding my own provisions," he says, reaching into the bag to try whatever Kyril was offering. "I do not think I will find much of the same here."

"Probably lots of seafood," replies Kyril. The pouch contains dried foodstuffs, including two small packets that smell of coffee beans. "We'll need to boil some water," he says, getting out a small pot and starting the proceedings. He also pulls out a stem of grapes and offers them to Edan. "We'll be there tomorrow, so no point in hoarding these."

After a bit, when the coffee is starting to brew, Kyril says "What's the wild-animal situation here? Will it be safe to sleep? Because I suddenly feel like I'm about to fall over."

"I do not know," Edan says. He feeds more wood into the fire, bringing it up to a bright, still blaze. "Aramsham has a sensitive nose, though, and I shall not sleep well- I will have to once again become used to the crash of the surf. It should be safe enough for us to rest. I am looking forward to seeing just what this place is about in the morning."

Kyril agrees sleepily and finds a good spot for sleeping. He is also a light sleeper and is awake and alert not long after Edan. Breaking camp is an easy matter, and soon you are ready to leave.

Edan does not waste time, but breaks his camp and packs what he can on his horse. From his attitude and actions, it is obvious that he intends to walk Aramsham wherever they are going. Knowing that his stallion will not be pleased with the arrangement, there are plenty of soothing pats and extra treats for his horse as they set off.

"Harbor first?" he asks of Kyril. "If our curiosity is not sated there, it will be an easy walk to the castle."

Kyril agrees and you set out, making good time in the morning's light. Aramsham is indeed nervous, but calms as the walk becomes routine. There is no habitation short of the harbor, but the harbor is a beehive of activity. The one constant is the noise of the falls; there is no escaping that on the approach to the bay. On a ledge near the falls sits a castle, flying the a red unicorn banner. The rest is obscured by dunes and hillocks as they approach.

The two men come around the crest of a dune and see the base of the falls closely for the first time. Kyril whistles softly in appreciation. The double falls dumps huge amounts of precious water into the circular bay, crashing onto rocks at the base. Around the arms of the bay lie the start of industry. A jetty is being built on the south side, while what look like houses and a makeshift marketplace are set up on the northern arm. There are ships at anchor in the bay, bobbing in the current. Each flies a different banner, including one with Amber's familiar green unicorn banner.

This is not Amber, then, Edan thinks. It looks like Amber, it feels like Amber, but it is a different place. What do I see here? He catalogs things as his gaze slowly travels up the mountain.

New construction. New trade. A time of peace, then. There is no evidence of the hurried frenzy that accompanies wartime building. But there will be glorious confusion all around as details are argued at all levels.

Like Amber, a maritime economy. But the vale-that-is-Garnath is wild, untouched. No doubt the forest is the same. Both could support the castle and the city that is slowly taking shape here.

And the inhabitants... they build houses now, but areas are blocked off for much more. They build for someone else besides themselves, Edan thinks. Who will be coming?

He represses a moment of irritation. The scene will be wrong. He will not be astride his horse, will not be an equal to those merchant princes Edan already knows have come to Amber. Rather, he will look like a pilgrim or a beggar, ready to plead for his people. Those he will meet will be distracted with other things. Will it make a difference? Perhaps the Merciful One has set this stone in his path, a reminder of humility.

There are paths up the cave-pocked cliff face on both sides of the falls, although the far side seems to be the center of activity. That's where the paths that lead to the castle are.

The only activity Edan sees on this side is two boys collecting crabs on the beach. They have buckets and a rowboat nearby. They look up when Edan and Kyril come around the hill with Aramsham.

Edan raises a hand slowly, palm outwards, a gesture of peace and of greeting. At least, he hopes it is. A hope, also, that they can understand his words. "Peace be upon you," he says. "What is the name of the castle up ahead?"

The boys look at Edan and at Aramsham and bow their heads. "It's Castle Xanadu, sir."

Kyril looks over the lagoon and the castle. "Unless your horse is a good swimmer, we may need to make a raft and get a tow across."

One of the boys nudges the other. The second speaks up. "Me brother has a raft. He was using to ferry wood from the south side to the building sites. He could get you across, if you'd like."

"It will be much appreciated," Edan says with a nod. "And well rewarded."

The taller boy grins, and runs off for the woods to the west. "I'll get Nozzle!," he shouts back over he shoulder.

After a few moments, his curiosity gets the better of him. "Tell me... who rules the castle and this land?"

The other boy, who has been looking at Aramsham, looks up. "Sir? Random, King of Amber and Xanadu, is our King. He's a sorcerer."

A young man and the tall boy come out of the woods and walks over to Edan. The man nods a greeting. He looks barely 18. "If your horse will stay calm, we can ferry her across."

"Him," Edan says automatically. "His name is Aramsham." He turns, makes a show of tightening the saddle and checking the bags, stroking the horse's neck all the while.

But inside, Edan's mind is awhirl. Random? The youngest of my uncles?

Oh, my father! What have you done?

What bloodletting took place, that all before him are dead, or passed over their chance? Is this what you planned for, father, when you left on your fleet of ships? Are you dead as well?

No, he assures himself. No. The letter is real. Mother would not lie about such a thing. She has nothing to gain by it. Random. King of Amber and Xanadu. A sorceror. It is doubtful that this is a trick. This place is too real to be a shadow of a shadow. Too real for a shadow Random to be King. But if this is true, then Edan's own status is in question. What if this has all come about because of Bleys's grab for the throne?

He rests his head against his horse, thinks ruefully of galloping away. "I will keep him calm," he says instead.

Kyril looks at the castle. "Does it mean anything here if the flag is at half-staff?"

"That's for the victims of the attack on Amber," says Nozzle. He has a raft near the rowboat the boys used, and he steadies it while Edan and Aramsham get aboard. "I'll row across the channel here. It's the fastest way." He looks at Kyril. "Can you row?" When Kyril nods, he says "then you're with me. The boys can stay on the raft and keep it steady.

The trip across is uneventful. "Just head on in to town. We're used to people just showing up, so you'll get directed right. Xanadu is a great place to be." Nozzle holds out his hand, and Kyril shakes it.

"Thank you," says the Laudervillian.

"You have been most kind," Edan says. "Allow me to give you recompense..." as he pats his robes for a money purse. "Who attacked Amber?"

The young man grins. "Don't worry about that. We're all pretty casual about helping people. We get lots of new arrivals wandering in. It's one of the reasons they sent the boys with me." He rumples the hair of his brother.

"As to who, I don't rightly know. I hear it was magical. Most folks assume it was the same flying woman who attacked the coronation. The Mayor says we're gonna get a lot of people coming here from Amber, since it's so dangerous there. Where are you all from?"

Edan tries not to let his jaw drop. The boy was scattering implications like a handful of sand on a stone floor. If nothing else, it shows how far Edan has fallen behind the times.

A few things were clear, however. The coronation... Random's coronation... is a recent thing. 'New arrivals coming in all the time' meant that their own presence would not stand out. And powerful entities were attacking Amber, if they could fly and use magic there.

"I am from the Land of Peace," Edan says. "My companion, from Lauderville." He pauses. "I am an envoy from my homeland... I speak for many there. It appears that I should find my way up to the castle. What is the best path to take?"

Nozzle nods. "Head to town. Look for the Mayor. If there's not a royal presence at the moment, the Mayor will know when they're next holding court. If nobody can help you, just head up to the castle. They're sorta informal, they say. Not that I've had any business up there. It's too good and too busy down here.

"You might want to consider staying. People here now, they'll have been here since the beginning." He has what almost seems to be a convert's zeal when he discusses the prospects of Xanadu.

Edan gives a short bow, an extended nod of the head, really, but somehow he makes it look as eloquent as a courtly bow. His hand tightens on Aramsham's rein, and the bells jingle a little. "It is likely that I will," he says. "May your efforts be blessed, and grace follow you and your family. Perhaps we will meet again." He touches his chest, his forehead, then gestures to the boys in way of farewell, then turns his horse in the indicated direction.

"Sure, see you later!" The boys return to their raft and head back for the far side.

Edan occasionally glances back as he and Kyril continue up the path. Optimism, he thinks. Purpose. Friendliness. It is easy to see here. Everywhere. He glances up ahead, to where houses and the marketplace are built.

"A clean, fresh place," he says to Kyril as they walk. "Do you not feel it? The people want to work. They see good times ahead. There is purpose and energy in their efforts. Enthusiasm. The air is filled with the sounds and smells of construction. The people are filled with hope."

Kyril nods. "Solly said it felt different. I'm beginning to know what she meant. Maybe I'll just hang out my shingle here, and quietly desert."

He leads them around a bend in the path, keeping a firm grip on his horse as they begin to mix with other people. "I do not think it coincidence that this feeling coincides with a recent coronation," he continues. "Things must have been bad in Amber. They must still be bad, if there is a rush to take refugees." He cranes his neck, looking for an official-looking building. "I suppose that we could ask where to find this Mayor, if his buildings are not central in the town. Or perhaps on the castle side of the town."

Edan wanders towards the center of the fledgling town, heading towards the place where they're building large buildings. Most things seem improvised at best. The two men enter a market square. Apparently trade has already started, for there are a number of shops with goods for sale. Edan notes that most of the shops are tradesmen, but there are a few merchants.

As they are crossing the square, Kyril shouts out and Edan turns to see him being hit with the hilt of a sword. The stranger on the other end of the weapon is in the clothes of a coastal dweller. It looks like Kyril intercepted him as he was going for Edan himself. The man has a medium sized blade out, and is recovering for a swing at Edan.

Behind the newcomer, about 20 yards away, there is another coast-dweller. He is pulling out a weapon of some sort, perhaps a crossbow. "Surrender in the name of the Merciful One, man of the desert!" He speaks the language of the Land of Peace, not Thari.

There is not even time to hesitate, no time to consider; but there is enough time for Edan to ruefully think that the safest thing would be to leave all of them, lose himself amongst the people and shops of the market square.

But new friends, not to mention good horses, are hard to find. Edan thinks of this as he rushes forward, inside the radius of the swordsman's swing. He reaches out, intending to grab the man and interpose him between Edan and the crossbowman. He grips and twists with all of his strength.

It is good that Edan used all of his strength, because less would have been a danger. The man is fast and strong and a master of the blade. He throws Edan over his back and into a vegetable cart. The crossbowman is behind the stalls somewhere, screaming that someone has attacked his brother.

The stranger rolls and comes up with his blade facing Edan. It is, in fact, the blade that gives him away. The writing on it indicates it belongs to a tribe of the Ifrit from distant parts of the Land of Peace. The "man" is at least part Djann.

If Edan's memory serves him right, there was a swordmaster called The Slave of God who was rumored to be part Ifrit. He was the best swordsman in the Cities of the Circle Sea before he was lost at sea in the time of black storms.

Edan regains his footing, and reluctantly draws both his scimitars. An ignoble beginning, at best, he thinks, being dragged to the castle in chains for fighting in the town... or having his body delivered there, sure to be a centerpiece of family questions and gossip for months to come. His golden eyes sparkle as his gaze meets that of the swordsman.

He drops his silence, then, and says, "I doubt you have very much to do with He Who is Most Merciful, O man of the cities. Nor will this attempt to frame me work... too many witnesses saw you with bared steel, and me without... but that was not your intention, was it?" He smiles a tight-lipped smile. "The war is over."

"Did they? But we have lived amongst these people for years, whereas you are a stranger."

"You are the Slave of God, are you not? I have heard of you. But you do not have all the fact-"

He makes his move, and Edan can counter it safely, or he can take a slight wound in his off arm to slice the coast-dweller's leg.

A crowd is starting to gather.

A sliding foot, a swing; Edan catches the precursors of movement, moves to the side to let the thrust go past. Even as his own blades come up, the swordsman reverses his movement and performs a delicate inside beat beween Edan's scimitars.

Out of guard position, Edan ducks. The Slave of God's countering horizontal slash whistles over his head. But Edan keeps moving; stepping lightly, a few quick steps to the side, a foot planted against the side of the cart, and he is up in the air and twisting, landing behind and to the side of the ifrit-born. His sword slices down to cut along the other's leg, even as he feels the cold fire of the other's sword, stabbing into his arm.

Edan drops, rolls, comes up with a twist, and lands near Kyril's unconscious form. His blades come back up into a guard position, though he can feel the pain in his left arm; he puts thoughts of poison and serious injury out of his mind. Instead, he concentrates on another question entirely.

Should he say something? Now was not the best time, and there were no guarantees that it wouldn't make things worse. But there was a crowd, now, probably friends of this swordsman, and they had already drawn far too much attention to just quietly slip away.

Guide my hand, Merciful One, he thinks.

"How dare you attack me -here- over the politics of our homeland!" Edan says loudly, and distinctly, in Thari. "You do not have the authority to deny me here. Let my uncle decide whether I should remain!"

"Your crimes follow you wherever you go, murderer! Surrender and I shall see you given a mercifully quick beheading!"

"Murderer?" Edan's eyes widen. "Murderer? A strange choice of words, coming as it does from a city-dweller. Those who use their airships and stinking artillery to maim and kill children in their tents!"

At this point, two men come running up. The older is definitely exerting himself. "Stop this at once!," the younger one bellows.

The Slave of God is momentarily distracted. Edan could get a quick blow. But he might recover enough to counter it. He is pretty quick.

Edan does not, overcoming some of his baser instincts. Instead, he makes a slow, lazy, contemptous flick of his right wrist. He does not bother to look at the slight line of blood spatter that he leaves glistening on the ground, or on the feet of the gathering crowd.

"I will stop," he says, eyes still on the Slave of God, "when people stop attacking me. I am injured, and so is my companion. Is this how diplomats to your Xanadu are normally treated?"

The younger man pushes himself between the two swordsmen.

"This is no diplomat, but instead a magical assassin from my homeland. He is allied with the Magian fire-worshippers of the deep desert, to whom no depths of treachery are unknown. If he is brought before the King except in chains, we can expect the King to be dead in a searing candle of flame in moments!"

His kinsman has rushed up. "What my brother says is true. This man killed many of our people."

The newcomers seem more wary.

"What do you have to say to this, stranger?," asks the older newcomer.

Why did I not simply try and reach my father? Edan thinks to himself. No matter... take the risk. Pay the consequences. This is the path I have chosen.

He visibly draws himself up. "I am Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon," he says. "I am a son of Amber and of the Land of Peace. I am a friend of the desert. I speak for the seven tribes of the deep desert, who finally have a voice after years of brutal oppression," he pointed at the swordsman and his brother, "by men such as these. I am the djinn-al-ghanii, who led my people to freedom. Now I am their voice. Let the new king of Amber and Xanadu question my credentials. Let my father, a prince of Amber, speak for me. Then we can discuss who belongs in chains."

The crowd that has gathered to watch the spectacle is surprised, and they watch their spokesman open his mouth to speak. He doesn't, but only because he's interrupted.

"We're short on chains and Princes at the moment. Master Bulwark," says the newcomer, "is all well?" The man is tall, of a light but not unsubstantial build, and looks as if he needs a shave.

"Well enough, sir, but your arrival is timely."

Edan notices that the new speaker's hands are calloused, but not in the patterns he'd expect for a swordsman. He may be a master of a more exotic blade.

"OK," says the newcomer. He's dressed in well-fitting but plain clothes and has a small pack slung across his back. "I'm Soren, from the Castle. What's going on? Is that man dead?" He points at Kyril.

Finally, Edan thinks. "We were attacked," he says. "My companion was clubbed on the head with the hilt of a sword. I am hoping that he was not clubbed too hard."

Soren walks over to Kyril and examines his skull. "I'm no expert, but I think he'll live."

He turns to Abd-Allah and asks him "why'd you clock him? Did you mean to kill him?"

"No, my Lord. I meant to kill the murderer before he brought flaming death to our new home. This man interfered."

"I see," says Soren. He turns to Edan. "Flaming death? I'm pretty sure that's against the law here." He sighs.

"OK," he says, looking at Abd-Allah. "You go back to whatever you were doing before you got all jumpy. Don't jump anyone else without a license. Bulwark, have this man cared for," he adds, pointing at Kyril. "You come with me," he says, indicating Edan. "If I turn up dead and on fire later, you can assume he did it." He looks around at all the participants. "Does that satisfy everyone?"

He doesn't look like he expects anyone to say "no".

Edan nods, and sheathes both his swords; the last with an audible click. "Someone will let me know as to his condition, later?" he asks.

Soren says "Bulwark, have that man cared for, away from the sailors if you don't mind. Edan ibn-Bleys, if you will come with me?" He points towards the road that leads up the hill. He intends to walk it.

Edan's head swivels to face the swordsman. He glances at the man's leg, then back up to his face. "I see that the struggle is everywhere," he says in their native tongue. "The battle that was won at home still has to be fought everywhere else. Even here. It is as the Merciful One wills." He looks in the direction of the castle, back to Abdullah. "If you have a personal grudge with me, you know where I can be found. But I think enough blood has been spilled today." He makes a gesture of blessing and respect- at Kyril, not at the others- and follows Soren.

Soren waits until they are out of earshot and says to Edan. "We'll contact your father from the castle. Unless you have means to do so now?"

Edan hesitates before answering. "I do not have his Trump," he says. "And it has been long since I have seen him." He pauses again- the man obviously has standing here, but how far can he be trusted? If this were the Land of Peace...

But it is not. And this Soren knows how to reach his father. And if they are 'contacting' Bleys from the castle, likely he is not sitting in some dungeon cell.

"Word came to me that my father sought me," he says carefully. "I chose to take the walk myself. I looked for Amber... I found this place, this Xanadu, instead. Knowing my father, he will be waiting at the gates, drink in hand, and will tell me that I am late."

"We don't really have gates. Xanadu is the new seat of your family, and don't ask me what that means, because I don't get it all. That's a new thing. As is Xanadu."

Soren leads the two towards a path leading up the mountain. The path is navigable, but isn't much like a road, yet. At the top of it, near a lake is a great house. It doesn't look very defensible.

"I've been out most of the day. We'll see who's home when we get up there."

It's about a 45 minute walk.

Edan spends the time with small talk, designed to find out the general state of affairs in Amber and in Xanadu; but he does have one specific question in mind, which he will ask when the opportunity presents itself:

"My father, he is... all right? What is his place in this Xanadu?"

"Your father is all right. I'm not one of you guys, so I don't really get about half of how you count coup. You'll have to ask someone else about that. My best guess is that the King's brother is an honored guest in Xanadu, but I'm just here to set the mix. I'm with the band, but I'm not in the band."

"In the band... ahhh. You are a musician." It is a nice, safe subject and a good lead-in; for the rest of their walk (and likely a good bit after) Edan tells him of the instruments and music of the Land of Peace. The sitar, the al-'ud, the tablan, the qanun, the daff... he can discuss percussion instruments and rhythms with familiarity, the stringed instruments much less so. "I have played some of these," he says with a shrug, "but I am much better at other things."

Soren nods. "I was the best musician in my world, then I came here and I find that the competition is fiercer.

"The King is a musician. This is a noisy kingdom."

The castle is more of an estate-house; a sprawling edifice next to a lake. A waterfall feeds it and another falls into the bay below. The red unicorn pennant flies from the battlements, at half mast in mourning. The guards at the gate are wearing black armbands.

"Most of the family went to Amber today. For the funeral. Come with me."

Soren leads Edan into the castle, down long passageways whose undecorated walls belie the richness of the rugs and the architectural detail. The building seems empty.

It's also clear to Edan that it runs back into the mountain.

Down a stairway, the passages change. The walls are covered in thick, black cloth and the door that Soren opens leads to a room with more and more elaborate furnishings than Edan has seen yet. The room looks as if it has a special purpose, but Edan cannot tell what it is. The room is well lit by electric lights.

Soren opens up a drawer and pulls out a drawstring bag. From the bag he pulls a familiar looking deck of cards. "I've never used one of these," he says to Edan, "but I've been told how they work. Do you want to call your father with me?"

"You honor me," Edan says automatically. He leaves the other obvious thing unsaid, that if he wasn't who he said he was, there would be someone on the other end of the connection who could deal with him quickly. He looks around the room, letting Soren find the proper Trump.

"Electricity," he says, wonder in his voice. "A much different place than Amber. And my father is there... whose funeral is he attending?"

"Prince Julian's son Daeon was killed in an attack on Castle Amber."

Soren pulls out the trump and holds it where Edan can also see it.

Edan moves beside Soren and regards the Trump. He tries not to reveal the mixed emotions he feels upon seeing the image of his father. He reaches up, touching the edge of the pasteboard for a moment, remembering its coldness.

He concentrates on it and, soon the voice of Bleys, Prince of Amber, is speaking in their heads.

"Who calls?," asks the familiar voice.

"Soren. And Edan. In Xanadu."

Edan's father's face comes into sharp relief and a light breeze blows from the high mountain behind him. He is grinning. "You surprise me Soren, with the company you're keeping. Edan, I see you've discovered the new order of things on your own."

"My father," Edan says; he nods his head, drops his gaze a little while keeping the contact. "Word came to me that you sought me... I decided to come to you. My path to Amber brought me here."

He raises his head and meets Bleys' gaze squarely. "I heard that there was an attack on the castle. You... are all right?"

Bleys raises his eyebrows. "I was never in danger. The creature over-extended herself attacking here and will not try these ramparts any time soon. We shall need to present you to the King, of course. And introduce you to your sister." Soren coughs, as if he'd choked on a glass of water. "You have more cousins than even I was aware of, Edan. I suspect that you will find yourself meeting far more relatives than you want to.

"Who first, Random or Paige?"

"Paige, if it will not offend the king," Edan says after a moment. He glances at Soren. "Random will know that I am here, I believe... I need a little time to prepare what to say. Things are not at all what I expected or planned for... and I will be speaking for others besides myself. I need to learn what has transpired since you left the Land of Peace."

"I wouldn't worry overmuch about speaking for others. Amber and Xanadu are working very hard to return to their normal internally-centered ways.

"The King is up to his eyeballs right now talking to Brand's middle child. Middle children are the most difficult, they say. Paige only has to deal with your niece and your nephew. Come to me, and we'll introduce you to Paige and get you caught up."

Bleys reaches his hand out as if offering Edan the next dance.

"Thank you, Soren, for bringing me here," Edan says as he reaches out. "I will look forward to discussing music with you again, for I am sure I will return soon. Please let me know, if you will, how my friend fares." And with that, he clasps his father's hand and steps forward.


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Last modified: 30 September 2005