Like a river of utter nothingness, the Abyss ran into the sea of primal
chaos.  Benedict and Random surveyed the end of the black road, a sliver
of more-solid blackness that crossed the Abyss to a black citadel.

"Reminds me of Tir" said Random "Floating there with that road like that."

"You always were inappropriately poetic" replied Benedict "You'll be
responsible for the choke-point.  Where the Black Road skirts the Abyss at
the edge of that plain.  If we hold the black road at that point they
can't get from that citadel to Amber."

"Hm.  I can see that.  We anchor on the road on the left flank and that
cliff on the right.  Where will Julian be?"

"In reserve.  We'll also have archers and, if Julian is able to deliver
them, a corps of firebreathing dragons in case we have wyvern problems
like we did last month."

"Pity the guns don't work."

"We wouldn't have enough powder, anyway.  Just keep Eric's men from
killing Corwin's.  Deirdre will help with that.  You're setting up your
lines now, I see."

"Yes, your daughter is certainly is a good field commander."

"Yes.  Because she wants to be.  How is our other nephew doing?"

"Fair enough.  Bristling with desire to prove his true blue-ness, I think.
We'll see what happens under fire."

"I'd have to guess as to when we'll see combat.  Eight to ten hours,
probably.  I hate the time flows here."

"You've spent more time here than the rest of us.  Will it stay stable?"

"No, of course not.  But it should stay stable enough to fight a battle.
They call this 'the fixed place', you know."

"I didn't, actually.  Did you see that Deirdre has a son fighting with
her? It's nice to know we're not the only ones who kept up the family's
average."

"Hmm.  More than I'd like.  Given Brand's little game with the pattern,
we'll need to make sure that all of the children are protected and are
retrieved when we leave.  No sense giving him the tools to do it again."

"You think we'll need to?"

"We haven't held him yet.  I don't want to see another brother die, but
better him than everything."

"How will we know when it's over?"

"I'll know.  We'll all know."

The two men looked down from the height and surveyed the site of the
upcoming battle.  The troops worked furiously, setting pickets and
entrenchments and generally preparing for the main body of troops to
arrive.

Time seemed to pass, or perhaps it did not, really.  It was hard to say in
that place.  Opposition happened.  Reinforcement happened.  Julian
arrived, with two sons of his own, one leading men on flying dragons, as
promised, another like an uncontrollable blast of destructiveness.

Many of the troops were veterans of years of hard fighting with the
creatures at the far end of the Black Road.  Men and women of that ilk had
a grimness to them; they had lost many friends fighting these beings in
their own homes.  Those troops were eager to face the foethings in chaos.
They had been surprised at how short the Black Road really was.

------------------
LILLY
------------------
From the rear, she is surely Benedict's daughter. She has the same thin, 
lythe build, though she stands only 5'6" or so. Her face, of course, bears
the Asian features of her mother. Her eyes are a deep warm brown, off set
by the loose fitting chocolate brown garments she wear. She wears no
armor, no cloak, nothing that might inhibit her movement. Her shirt and
pants are very asian in their style. For this occasion she does wear
knee-high black leather boots. Her raven colored hair is pulled back into
a low ponytail that hangs just past her shoulder blades. The ornate blade
at her side looks more a showpiece than a weapon but she handles it with
great finesse. Everything about her is just so from the polish on her
shoes to the fact that there are no stray hairs framing her long face
(prior to the fight anyway). In the tradition of her father, she almost
never smiles.


You looked up, squinting into the hot Tecys sun.  You hadn't intended to
be on your back.  Someone had taught Pallon a new trick.  He hadn't drawn
blood, but a better swordsman would have.

Your father was there, watching, impassive.

"Lilly", he said, "it's war.  Gather my retainers, we must speak with them
before we leave."  He seemed preoccupied.  The mechanical arm that he was
wearing last week was gone. "Oh, Lilly.  Thank you for not replying with
the riposte in sixte.  It probably would've killed Pallon."

Lilly got to here feet, replaying the just ended fight in her mind. Father
had been right of course. It was a mistake she knew she was not likely to
repeat. And that new trick, she would remember that as well.

He turned and walked towards the castle that has been your home since he
brought you to the Tecys.  "Two hours.  Say your goodbyes to Mallet and
Jade.  Years may elapse before we return."

Watching him walk off, she knew now was not the time for questions. War
was a serious business. If her father wished for her to accompany him,
then she would accept the honor without second thought. Still, saying good
bye would be difficult.

Lilly turned towards Pallon. "Well fought." she said offering a hand. Her
manner was gracious, though within she was still fuming over the loss.

Pallon accepts your hand.  He knows what a close call he's had, and
doesn't gloat.

"If you will excuse me now Pallon, it seems I have business to attend to."
With that she turned and strode off towards the main house. Outwardly she
was the picture of calm. Within she was a mix of emmotions. Taking her
leave of this place would be very hard. She was almost more afraid of
facing Jade then going to war with Benedict. Sighing she looked for her
foster parents as she entered her home for what she feared might be the
last time.

Jade comes to meet you at the gate.  After your father's acknowledgement
of you, Jade and Mallet came to live in the castle, which was a nicer
home, but also, you knew a safer one.  Jade has never really adjusted to
it.

"They say Prince Benedict has come, Lilly, and the rumor is that it's war.
Are you going with him this time?"

Taking her foster mother's hand gently in her own Lilly replies, "Yes,
Momma, Benedict has returned. I know very little, but he himself did tell
me that it was war. He has asked that his retainers be gathered together
quickly so that he may speak with them before he leaves." Pausing for a
moment Lilly gathers herself, fearing Jades's reaction to her next
statement. Looking directly into the woman's eyes she says, "He has asked
that I gather my things and be ready to join him within two hours time."

Jade looks upset, but she clamps down on the emotion.  "Let's find your
Poppa."  As the two of you walk down to the smithy, she adds: "We always
knew this day would come, he and I, but we hoped it wouldn't be so soon!
When do you think you'll be back? What do you think you'll need while
you're gone?  Poppa and I will get your things together while you speak to
Benedict's men."

"Thank you Momma, that will be helpful. I wish to travel lightly. Travel
clothes, my blade of course, the items I need to maintain it's efficiency,
I am unsure of what else." she tries to lift the mood a bit, "What does
one normally bring to a war? And for that matter what should I wear?" Her
expression remains serious, but her foster mother can tell she is teasing.
After all of the etiquette lesson's Jade has doled out over the years,
questions such as these have become almost a running joke between the two
of them.

"Oh, I imagine we can dig up something special for you," Momma says.
"What's the theme of the battle?"

On your route to the smithy, you see several of your father's retainers.
Everyone has been on alert from the Black Road incursions, but it is clear
that word of Benedict's presence and the rumor of war have not yet reached
them.

Hopefully, she will come across one of his more trusted retainers. Or
atleast someone she herself knows well. At that point she will excuse
herself from Jade momentarily and walk over to him.

"Excuse me, it is important." Lilly says awaiting the man's full
attention.

"My father, Prince Benedict, has arrived. He wishes his retainers to be
gathered. He wants to speak to all of you. From what he has told me, there
is war on the horizon. I know no more then that. Please, gather as many of
his men as you can and await him in the courtyard."

"Yes, ma'am.  At once, ma'am." He moves off to spread the word.  As you go
further along, you see the first signs of swarming activity which will
precede the gathering and Benedict's announcement, whatever it may be, in
the courtyard.

Then you are at the smithy, and your Poppa is putting down the sword he is
working on and coming out to see you and your Momma.

Lilly greets her foster father with a warm smile and a gentle kiss on the
cheek. "There is news Poppa. Prince Benedict has returned. His men are
gathering in the court yard as we speak." There is a slight pause, as her
voice takes on a much more serious tone. "It is war Poppa and he has asked
me to accompany him. We leave in just under two hours."

She gives Mallett a moment to let her words fully sink in before
continuing, "Momma has offered to help gather my things. I would very much
appreciate that. Is there anything you might suggest I take with me?
Something I might not think of? I do not want to be caught unprepared."

Poppa looks around the smithy and produces a new dagger, which he offers
to you.  "Your sword is already the best I can make, but this will be
useful if that's not enough." The thought of _or if you have to leave it
in something_ remains unspoken.

"There's mail here if you want a suit, but it's not so fine as your blade.
What do you know of where you'll be going?  The conditions of the combat
dictate what weapons and armor you'll need. But you know that as well as
I, Lilly -- you're just anxious right now."

The girl nods, "Yes, Poppa, you are right of course. My father has said
very little about where it is we are going. Perhaps I will find out more
when he speaks to his men. No matter what though, I have never been overly
comfortable in armor. It restricts my movement. Though it might be wise...
First I believe I should go listen to what Prince Benedict has to say and
maybe try to get a word with him before making weaponry decisions."

With that she takes Mallet's arm and begins to walk back to the courtyard.

The retainers gather, a collection of Benedict's best.  Soldiers all. you
can see that many of them, regardless of age or condition, are armed.  At
the appointed moment, Benedict steps out, the tied-off sleeve of his tunic
fluttering in the breeze.  He stands on a treestump that inside the
courtyard., his good hand on a wicked, scythe-like weapon that Mallet had
long called Benedict's best weapon.

"I am not a speechmaker.  I have held and protected this place, and you
and your ancestors have held this place, these walls, and your honor up
for more than a thousand years.  We have fought here, we have fought past
Ygg and against the Moonriders.  Long ago, we fought against the Armies of
Chaos and created Tecys, the place, the people, and the castle.  We pushed
them out and made this ours.

"Against this ancient enemy war brews again.  War of my family's doing,
and far from here.  I am needed there to lead my brothers and you are
needed here to defend.  If an attack comes here, and I deem it possible
but unlikely, it will be as if hell has come to Tecys.  I trust you will
do what is best.  It may be some time before I can return.

"If we succeed, the Black Road will be no more.  That is all.  Pallon,
Lilly, please stay."

He waits for his forces to depart.  "Pallon.  You'll be in charge here.  I
am sorry to report that your Mother was killed in Avalon.  The war will be
won or lost in this battle, but it may not be clear to you here for years.
Hold the fort.  Unless we are all undone, I shall return.  The battle will
be at the gates of the Courts of Chaos, and our objective is to deny the
enemy the use of the black road for a time. It will be..unsettling to man
and beast.

"Lilly, fetch us horses, seasoned hellriders, please."

You do so, aware that he has more to say to Pallon.  Pallon seems to be
arguing with Benedict when you return.  He quiets upon seeing you bows. 
He leaves without saying another word.

Benedict pulls out a trump from his deck, and tells you to put your hand
on his shoullder.  It seems so odd, with his arm missing.  You wonder how
it feels to fight without it.  It occurs to you that your father may know.

He stares at the trump and you feel a breeze.  First it is hot, then cold.
He takes a step forward and you are in a place of madness.  Both horses
flare their nostrils and Redtooth snorts, but they have seen odd things
before.  You stand on a hilltop overlooking a plain. To your right is a
river of flowing blackness flowing into a sea of inky stillness and beside
it and twisting away into shadow is a black road.  You trace it back and
it seems to emerge from a tiny building, floating in the black ocean that
is at the end of the abyssal river.

------------------
DAEON
------------------

At the time of the battle, Kern stands tall and grim, well muscled and
tanned with dense curly black hair. His eyes resemble those of his
father's dogs somewhat - dark grey, the colour of a mountain tarn under a
leaden December sky. There's no apparent pupil or white of the eye.
[Should anyone get close enough to look.]

He's naked save for a strip of white cloth tucked into a dark leather
jockstrap. He bears a spear, knife, bow and arrows, all tipped with flint
or stone.

Those near him feel cold and there's a certain inhuman quality to him.

Oh, and I nearly forgot; he bears a magnificent 12pt set of antlers. I
don't know if his father's dogs are around.


Julian's rangers are massed for war, mirroring your hatred and rage.  Five
long years of battles against the things on the Black Road has hardened
the company and men who became Rangers for love of the land and the forest
now kill daily.  In some ways they are a reflection of you.  The mood of
the forest is very dark, and there is joy at the thought of vengeance.

Kern seeks vengeance but takes no joy in it. Still, it is good Pater's
minions are so...emotional.

It is one of Julian's brothers who leads here, the youngest.  He holds the
troops in readiness and awaits orders or your father.  He relies on
Julian's seconds, which is good.  He does not have the ways of the forest
in him.  He reminds you of a bird.

The rangers do not all know you, but they seem to sense that your presence
is correct.  They leave you alone and seem unwilling to question your
place with them.  Some seem comforted by you, as if they feel the forest
they love is fighting with them.

Knowing they are not the object of his vengeance and that shortly he will
need to talk to his father. Daeon tries to keep Kern in the background as
much as possible. Still, his head seems mishapen, some of the men glimpse
short double-pronged antlers but rub their eyes and find them gone.
Occasionally, an icy wind seems to whip around their tails - but then
Autumn's coming. The stoats and weasels seem to be assuming their winter
coats early this year.

You rove around them, neither too close to require them to consider you
nor too far to go to war.  You feel his presence in the forest before you
see him.  Father.  He is with his commanders and his brother, conferring. 
He is clearly worried.  He scans the rangers more than once, looking for
someone, perhaps for you.

Julian looks in your direction and sees that you are accoutered for war.
He gestures for you to approach,  He looks unusually grim.  "Daeon.  What
word from Arcadia?"

At his name, Daeon feels Kern slip further away. He approaches his father,
reflecting his grimness. Julian can also see anger, hatred and misery in
his son. "I bring no men, only myself come late with evil tidings to join
you in vengeance."

"The boon of your men would not be so welcome as you, son.  The tidings
are evil throughout Shadow, but --"  Julian looks at Daeon "-- not so ill
as those you bring, I suspect.  Tell me yours, then."

Daeon is reasonably certain that his form and demeanor have betrayed the
gist of his news to Julian already.

"Pater! It has been several years since last we spoke. Then I mocked your
words. I am sorry I did that now; you were right, I should have heeded
you. The things you spoke of came into Arcadia. I was...maimed, the land
ravaged, worst of all they slew...a goddess." At Julian's reaction, Daeon
hurries on, his voice deepening as antlers bud from his brow.

"Dione is no more! I slew the deicide and it suffered as did your
daughter. Now at Mater's direction Kern has come to bring vengeance to
their homeland under your aegis."

Julian stands silent for what seems like forever, although it is surely
less than a full minute. Perhaps he is grieving for the daughter who is
dead; perhaps he is relieved that a woman, a goddess even, whom he has
loved is not; perhaps he is considering how best to console a disconsolate
son.

Strangely - or perhaps not so strangely - Daeon feels his father needs
support more than him, Daeon's already had the chance to initiate
vengence, after all. He puts a hand to his father's arm and his budding
antlers dwindle again.

Finally he replies: "I am not sorry for your company, though I would not
have had you learn this lesson so, son.  I grieve for your sister, but
mourning must come later, or many more lives will be lost, and perhaps
everything.  

"When she is avenged, you will hear me sing a lament over her grave. Then
we will grieve."

"Your mother is correct: we take this battle to the enemy.
Your brother Jovian will be joining us with some of his Calusan dragons,
and there will be other troops from across the Shadows."

Julian takes a strip of white cloth from an inner pocket of his cloak and
hands it to Daeon. "Wear this somewhere, perhaps on your arm, and the
armies of Amber will know you are one of mine.  I would have you wait with
me for your brother, if you need not go ahead to slake your thirst for
vengeance at once."

Daeon takes the cloth, looking uncertain for a second while he thinks
where to put it. Finally he loops it through the front of his leather
jockstrap. "I will do as you bid me, Pater. I feel vengeance will be more
complete that way."

A man Daeon recognizes as a senior ranger has come up to the two of them
and takes advantage of Julian's momentary pause to interrupt.  "My Lord,"
he says to Julian, "there's no sign of her.  We can search further out,
but it will delay the scheduled movements."

Julian shakes his head.  "No. We cannot stop here for any single soul, not
even for her, not even now.  Keep to the schedule; take your troops to my
brother and he will instruct you.  Thank you, Sparrowhawk. I know you have
all done your best."

"My Lord." Sparrowhawk nods, looking unhappy at whatever failure he has
reported to Julian, and departs.

Julian turns back to Daeon. "My brother Random and I are bringing troops
through to Benedict via the Trumps, as I have shown you before.  We will
be fighting at the origin point of the Black Road. Father will repair the
Pattern, which has now been damaged. We will hold the road to keep them
from attacking during the repair.  When we are finished, we will have
struck at our foes in a way from which they will not soon recover.  Will
you take command of a unit, or would you fight alone?" 

The antlers come back again [Julian has almost certainly never seen his
son so unsettled], Daeon visibly fighting to keep Kern in the background.
"Kern should not mix with mortals, Pater." He says, his breath turning
icy. "he will unsettle them. But give me your dogs and Kern the Hunter
shall bring the fear of Winter to our enemies."

Julian ponders for a moment.  "I will summon them, but they go where they
will. If they choose to follow you, you can lead them."

He takes you for a walk, away from the men, and whistles for the hounds.

Guessing what will come, Kern keeps a lookout as they walk for small
animals, even a weasel will do. If the two men come across the path of
one, it is likely to stop and freeze in awe at Kern's passing. If it does
so, Kern will pick it up and slice its head off. Otherwise, he'll shoot a
squirrel or something - he does *not* want a massive game animal; small is
beautiful.

A male badger wanders across your way and you take it without struggle.

The whistle is audible to you, but there's a piercingness to it that
you're not quite sure how human lips can render -- if Pater is, after all,
human, and not a god himself.

The hounds come running at Julian's call.  To you they are at first
standoffish, but Julian introduces you to the alphas, the wolf and the
bitch, not for the first time.  They inspect you, noting your scent. There
is much barking and yapping among the pack.

Kern stands still as Julian does the necessary, holding the bloody
offering behind his back. Kern is the closest to Julian's dogs in spirit
and is often followed by scavenging wolves in Arcadia.

Julian looks at you expectantly, as if you should know what to do next to
lead them.  If you  fight the alpha male for dominance, you are likely to
win, but then you will go to the battle tired.  If you choose the wrong
way to show them your leadership, they will not follow.  If you do nothing
at all, you may lose the moment.

Daeon has seen his father's behaviour with them. The trick with all pack
animals is to convince them you're their leader but that does not
necessarily mean fighting. Most pack interactions operate through body
language, sounds and smells. Kern's biggest advantage is he's not afraid,
it's natural his father's dogs follow him and they'll know that too as
long as he does nothing stupid.

Kern steps toward the alpha male, answering any challenge with a warning
growl of his own. Kern's is deep and falls deeper at the end; it says,
'don't mess with me, laddie'. He ignores the others of the pack - the
implication being he's not here to challenge the AM's authority. Then he
drops to one knee, lowering his height and reducing the implied threat,
though still maintaining a crucial degree of dominance. A peculiar
quizzical yip comes from his throat, still deeper than the AM's, says 'but
why fight? We should be friends.'

'And there are rewards. Look here! Fresh meat, just for you. And more of
the same if you run behind me. Bring your pack; it'll be fun!'

Kern expects AM to go for the meat offered cautiously, a little confused
and uncertain of Kern's intentions. As AM takes the kill from his hand,
his other will ruffle the dog's ears. 'We can be special friends, you and
I - and together we're so strong!'

The alpha takes the kill from you cautiously and, equally cautiously,
accepts your caress.  He looks at Julian for a moment, but Julian remains
impassive.  Then he sniffs you again and looks at Julian again.

Julian arches an eyebrow at the hound as if the hound were a man.  The
hound whines at him once, then barks questioningly. "Is this OK?"

Julian steps up beside you and places your hand on the alpha's head. _I
endorse this._  The alpha devours part of the badger, then offers the
remnant to the alpha bitch, who consumes the remainder.  Julian steps back
while they eat.

Afterwards, the hounds look at you expectantly.  Julian says "Keep them by
you; we should be moving out soon.  I shall whistle when we're ready to
go."  And he is gone, back to his human followers.

Kern waits until the badger's just a smear on the ground and then leads
the pack through the woods, bringing them closer to the road and his
father's troops by an oblique route. He takes a quick head count of the
dogs.

By now he's fully Kern with a magnificent spread of antlers.

One thing that Kern in Chaos has that Kern in Arden hasn't is...a spear.
This is not naturally part of his normal equipment but I think he needs
something to keep nasties at a distance in battle. The solution is obvious
- as he moves through Arden towards his father's position, he makes one
from a suitable sapling cut and trimmed with his knife and tipped with a
point hammered from a suitable piece of flint or sharp stone. He cuts the
base into a butt-spike, partly for ease of fixing in the ground when using
his bow, partly to make that end a little unpleasant too.

To finish it, he'll put a crosspiece about 2 feet behind the point, lashed
in place with either a suitable creeper or leather thong.

And then he's ready!

---------------------
JOVIAN
---------------------
Things have been very rough in Calusa.  The Black Road manifested as a
circle of dark, tainted moss that spread, engulfing one of the new
southern holds and destroying years of work. But despite the danger and
terror of this new, unThreadlike menace, men and dragons have pulled
together and won, if not a final victory, at least a breather.

At a particular point in time during the last few days -- when you track
it to Amber time later, you realize at the moment when Corwin's troops
finished the Black Road invasion in Amber --  the dragons of Calusa united
against the moss and sealed it back into what you believe to be the cave
where it originated.  No one has been able to check out the cave yet, as
the place still glows with dragonfire.

Julian's advice would be really useful, but he has been absent from
Calusa. So it is with some surprise that you see him in your chambers,
unannounced as always, looking grim.

"Son," he says, "you know that my responsibilities in Amber have kept me
from visiting you for some time now. I know that your straits here must
have been dire, and I regret that I have been unable to aid you as I
should have.

"The details are rather involved, and I have not the time to tell you all
I would wish.  But the heart of the matter is this: the Pattern is
damaged, and we must go to the citadel of our enemies in Chaos to hold
them off while it is repaired.  All of Shadow has reverberated with the
war between Amber and her enemies; every place in the universe has seen
the reflections of the depredations visited on Amber.  Whatever perils you
have faced here are a part of that."

Jovian takes all this in silently, gradually, with the expression of
someone finally fitting the pieces of a puzzle together to find it's a
fully functional nuclear device.

"Now," he continues, "I must ask even more of you. In the last battle, we
faced flying creatures -- wyverns and other things -- that took a terrible
toll on our forces.  We were able to fight them off with firearms, but
firearms will fail us in the environs where we will make our next stand.
We need a corps of flyers -- disciplined flyers -- and creatures of will,
rather than mechanical things that can break.  Calusa is the best place I
know to find such, and her men and dragons the best equipped I can imagine
to survive the upcoming battle.

"The risks and the costs will be high -- many will die.  But if we win
this battle, son, we will have ended the threat to Amber, and to Calusa as
well. I can give you my Trump, and wait for three hours Amber time. How
many men and dragons can you bring me by then?"

"Three hours. Three *hours?*" Jovian exclaims, his eyes - green like his
mother's - gleaming the way hers did when she was in a state. "Faranth's
teeth, Dad, if I hadn't just come from Conclave I'd say it's impossible.
As it is, I'm going to have to *time it* to get everybody together, and
you *know* how dicey that is."

Julian looks unpleased by Jovian's plan, but he can hardly deny the
gravity of the situation or the necessity of the risk. Protests being
futile, he makes none.

Jovian stops, looks into the middle distance 
for a moment. Concentrating, as if doing complex equations - not the
faraway look of Trump contact or bespeaking his dragon. "I'll do what I
can," he says after a moment, "without running into myself in the process.
With luck I can get a couple wings together."

Julian looks even grimmer for a moment.  "I cannot remain in Calusa to
help you convince them, either.  I must return to Arden as soon as I can. 
I am needed for the troop movements, and -- Robin is missing."

More tension around the dragonrider's eyes, but no words. It is clear
there is no time to search for her.

He turns back to the subject at hand.  "If there is aught that would win
the hearts of your comrades, tell me what and we shall do it. Or if you
have any questions I can answer quickly, ask them.  Otherwise, I must go,
and will expect to hear from you at the appointed hour."

Jovian's face darkens as he considers. "These people are rationalists,
Dad. I can't just walk in and tell them that....that mess down in Southern
is seeping in from another world; they'll send me off to the healers. I'm
going to have to bring some of them - the Weyrleaders anyway, maybe six
dragonriders in all - out through Shadow and *show* them."

"Rationalism is a hobgoblin of little minds, Jovian.  Those who haven't
the strength for a quick jaunt through Shadow will hardly be able to cope
with what we'll face in Chaos. Better to know now than to bring anyone
through who will fail in the crisis."

"Where should I take them, to show them how bad it's gotten? The 
battle site in Amber? Or is there a good example in near Shadow? I 
haven't seen what the situation is outside Calusa."

"Garnath, I suppose, or one of the near shadows.  The black road runs
clearest through them.  But it hardly matters -- it runs in some form
through every shadow out there. I wish I had known it ran all the way to
Chaos before I sent Robin to scout it."

For the barest fraction of a second the wince creases the corners 
of Jovian's eyes, but he stills it before it spreads to the rest of his
face. *Move on from there,* the determined line of his mouth almost speaks
aloud. *Later, there will be time for that.*

Julian pauses to regather his
thoughts, and perhaps his temper, which seems remarkably frayed. "I know
you will bring me only the best, son. If you see your mother, give her my
regards, as always."

"I'll have to. I will." Jovian's tone is abruptly as grave as Julian's
own.

Julian hands you his Trump and keeps Random's Trump out for his return
trip to Arden. "I know I will hear from you in exactly three hours, of
course, but if your timing must be less than perfect, let it be so with
me." 

"I've always had perfect timing," his son replies with a wry little 
smile. "Look, Dad, I know how you feel about it. But if I'm going to bend
the rules - and we're agreed, I have to! - can I drop you off somewhen?
Shortly after the last Trump call you received ought to be safe and might
buy you a few needed hours."

"I have been in Trump contact with one or another of my brothers
throughout the day. We would gain little for whatever it would cost you. 
The offer is gracious, Jovian, but I cannot accept it."

The ghost of a smile plays at the edge of his mouth.  "Until later,"
he says to you, then, to the card, "Random? Bring me through ..." and he
is gone in a dazzle of rainbow brilliance.

"All right. Three hours, then." There is a moment of tension, 
Jovian's hand lifts a bare inch from his side, then drops again. His eyes
say far more than the terse "Good luck" he raps out over his shoulder as
he turns to collect his riding gear, not looking back to watch the rainbow
shimmer fade.

//Canareth, we've got a job to do. And you're not going to like it 
much.//

How does Jovian go about gathering his corps of dragonriders?

Fortunately, J'rim was one of the first to leave the Conclave the 
previous evening. Meaning he can time it back to some few 
minutes after he left and still catch more than half the Weyrleaders, to
pull them back into conference and lay out the situation. They'll know
I've been timing it, but they also might begin to see the urgency of it.

Using your impeccable sense of timing, you arrive at Citadel Weyr before
the echoes of Canareth's departing bugle fade.

"J'rim?  Did you forget somethin..."  The weyrwoman's words trail off as
she scans his face, noting the signs that he is time-stressed.

They are, as a group, both serious and blase about your return.  "How far
back have you come, J'rim, and what do you want of us?" asks T'bor, the
Citadel Weyrleader.

"I found a place where we can attack the blackness at the source.  I need
riders and firestone.  Wings of riders."

"It's contained underground, are you planning on taking the dragons down
tunnels?"

"No, let me show you."

You wrangle for a while and eventually, your insistence convinces
Weyrleader T'bor to accompany you.  His Amadath was a hatchmate of
Canareth's. J'rim and T'bor are accompanied by T'bor's weyrsecond L'tarn 
aboard bronze Maranth, and Weyrwoman Kourin and gold Hoshith of 
Janus Weyr.

You take him through shadows, a few moments to fly a distance he could
never bridge without you.  Momentarily, you hover over the forest of
Arden, choosing a spot.  You land on a height in the northern Kolvir range
and dismount to observe and speak.  T'bor looks and thinks, and you know
not to interrupt him. L'tarn and Kourin are silent, thoughtful...poleaxed. 
When T'bor is first to recover, they let him speak for them as well.

T'bor looks over the alien forest.  "OK, I have a few questions.  We flew
straight for 10 leagues and we are not over Idris Seahold, but rather a
vast and strange forest, which clearly shows the ravages of the doom, but
no signs that it is protected by dragonfire from thread.  Amadath cannot
hear any dragon except Canareth and cannot explain how he got here or how
he will get back, The sky feels wrong, the sun feels wrong, and the red
star is gone.  Is this the place you want us to attack?  How did you find
it?  How did we get here?  In a nutshell, (and I use that word advisedly)
what the hell is going on?"


>"Every world my family can reach is sending troops to this battle. My
>father has charged me with the task of protecting them from above. It
>means the end of *everything* if we fail."
>
>J'rim falls silent, his eyes locked with T'bor's, his spine straight and
>gitar-wire taut. There is both challenge and appeal in his bearing as he
>waits out the weyrleader's thoughts.

T'bor looks at J'rim.  "Your father had a reputation for being a hell of a
fighter, and a man-and-a-half, and given to saying outrageous things.  I
only barely remember him, but Amadath recalls him as a good man, and says
Canareth thinks of him in the present tense."

Kourin adds "You've shown us some of what you can do, and told us enough
to make some of the stories about J'lin make more sense, and now of
course, we wonder 'what else is there' and 'why did you stay in our
marginal world when you could have had this?'"

T'bor says "We can hardly refuse to try to save *everything*, but I for
one wonder, 'what's *everything* going to do for us when it's all over?' 
Can we at least get a price for our aid?  What are wings of dragons worth
to your family?"

You note that "we" does not seem to include J'rim.  The personal price may
be very high.

J'rim replies.  "I'd have thought survival, continued existence, might be
a fair price. Don't forget, T'bor, that if this land of Amber falls, every
world in the path to it will be plunged into chaos. What you see in this
vale is the aftermath of a successful  defense." J'rim looks out on the
ravaged land, arms akimbo, sighing deeply, collecting his thoughts

Canareth's rider looks from face to face again. Kourin meets his eyes, but
she is troubled, doubtful. L'tarn is staring at the forest primeval, his
thoughts a mystery. "But if there is to be a price, don't forget that I
share my father's ability to traverse worlds, and I have proven in the
choice I made--" and here his gaze locks with Kourin's -- "that I love
Calusa as much as any of you." There is a subtle emphasis shift as he
focuses on the beautiful Weyrwoman.

"To a limited extent, I can put the resources and knowledge of quite a few
worlds in the hands of the Weyrs and the Smithcraft. But I will not see my
homeland become dependent on resources only an outsider can provide. With
that in mind, do you want to name a price on behalf of all Calusa, T'bor?
Or should I try to read your mind?"

Before T'bor can reply, L'tarn speaks up.  "I'm going.  How could I not?
Look at this, it's *magnificent*.  I see a tree that Maranth could perch
in."

"That's part of what I am afraid of, J'rim; the number of our best you'll
drain off.  Calusa is a desperate place and it is despicable to bargain
over terms when so much else is at stake, but I want your word that we'll
have aid from your family to improve the safety of our people, if we all
survive.  I'm no holder or craftmaster,all I can say is figure out how to
help us.

"You'll get your riders, I wouldn't be able to stop them from joining you.
I suggest you restrict it to seasoned fighters and no Weyrleaders.  We're
losing at least two valuable seconds, and I don't want to lose all of our
leaders, or our children.

"If I have your word, we have a bargain.  Let's head back, the others are
waiting for my report."

J'rim agrees--these aren't difficult terms.  "You have my word, T'bor. If
Amber and the Golden Circle of kingdoms surrounding it survive, Calusa
will have aid in return. Without," he adds with a smile, "allowing
dragonriders to become meaningless to the Holders. Agreed: no Weyrleaders,
no weyrlings."

J'rim starts to walk toward Canareth, then turns back. "L'tarn, if we both
survive I won't deny you a return to Arden. But T'bor is right. Your first
responsibility is to Calusa and Citadel. I want your word - to *him* -
that you won't abandon your home entirely."

L'tarn looks at you for  longer than you would like, and then nods once,
abruptly.  "I will do my duty to weyr and weyrleader."  T'bor seems
satisfied that you all agree and the four of you mount your dragons. You
return to Citadel Weyr, this time flying over the ocean to remove the
forest from sight.  Canareth reports on much activity--troop movements,
and rangers in the forest, and many sailings.  You stay very high to avoid
the risk of being taken for enemies.  He also tells you that Maranth's
rider, L'tarn, is very excited.  Canareth says the dragons find their
rider's surprise amusing.

//Canareth, Amadath's rider needs to know how much Dad's asking for. I'm
sure he'll be going straight into Conclave when we get there.//

//From the size of the mess in Garnath, I'm thinking four wings of
seasoned fighters - each wing with two noncombatant greens to ferry
firestone. Firestone - shells, we're going to need *tons* of the
stuff. We don't know how long the battle will last; we'd better have about 3
times the stone that many dragons would usually use in a heavy fall.
If anyone balks at the quantity, remind them that if we run out of
flame, we may have to go claw-to-claw with an unknown number of flyers.//

//Amadath's rider says "Maranth's rider will assist you with logistics.
You've got a recruiting tour to go on."//

While you speed to the weyrs recruiting volunteers, making sure not to
deplete any weyrs or to exclude any, L'tarn helps you gather supplies. 
The speed at which he works is amazing and it allows you time to visit
your mother (off-thread).  It is chaos, but in a good way.  It does not
take dragonriders very long to accouter themselves for war.

When you get back, you ask L'tarn about the firestone.  "I've got it taken
care of" is all he will say.  True to his word, you arrive at the
appointed place, exhausted but exhilarated.  You were not sure you could
do it, but you have met your father's need.  It is some 4 minutes and 24
seconds before the appointed time, and you are looking over the gathered
wings and the loaded wagons.  You immediately notice that there is an
extra wing of three golden queens with your fighting wings.  The dragons
are loaded with stone, which you need.  What you don't see is anyone
unloading them.  As you land, you see the queen riders are dressed for
riding.  The lead rider turns and it is Kourin and you can tell.  She
thinks she's going.

"We're going, J'rim, and if you stop us, we'll ground every dragon on this
height, possibly including Canareth."

"ALL of you are going? Kourin, you're crazy! There's a *very* good chance
of getting killed out there, I can't ask that of three queens!"  The look
in his eyes suggests he's not voicing another objection, one rather nearer
his heart.

Kourin just continues to look at you, neither backing down nor arguing.

J'rim squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, opens them again. "You're
intent on fighting?"

The junior queenriders from Citadel and Ardrahan grin, as if they know
that Kourin has won.

"T'bor made me promise, no Weyrleaders. And you want me to take three
Weyrwomen to the gates of hell?"

"Yes.  He knows.  I told him."

In a more level voice he continues, "I'm not planning on physical
engagement unless there's no choice. I've already put in for
noncombatant green riders to ferry stone for us, and I expect I'll
have to beat off volunteers with a stick. I'm not sure how these
creatures we're fighting will react to agenothree - I've a bad feeling
it's not strong enough to do them any harm. So what do you propose?" But
by his tone, it's clear that he's settling into a discussion of tactics,
rather than trying to fight them off."

She nods.  "If we can't fight them, we'll do other useful things.  Queens
are resourceful."

You cannot argue with her any more as the time has come to contact Julian.
You do so and he opens a gate between Arden and Calusa and you lead 43
dragons and their riders into the heart of Arden.  The trees soar above
you and the dragons and riders see a new world.  L'tarn is pointing and
talking excitedly with several of the other riders.

Julian looks at your forces and nods.  "They should do, I think.. I have
already sent the rangers on.  Daeon has joined us from Arcadia, and he
will take my hounds.  Be kind to him, for he has suffered a great loss."
He takes in a breath, expels it: no way to say it softly. "Your sister
Dione was killed by the Black Road incursion into Arcadia."  Of his own
feelings he says nothing. "We'll all talk tactics after you get to the
Courts."

Jovian nods solemnly, knowing that even if there were time, he 
could not find the words to give solace at such news.

Julian sounds a piercing whistle, summoning the animals others call
hell-hounds to him.

While you wait, he says quietly, "There's no word of Robin, either."


---------------------------
JOVIAN/DAEON
---------------------------
The whistle is answered by the baying of dogs and within minutes the pack
leader bounds out of the trees followed by the rest of the pack. A few
yards short of Julian and Jovian, the dogs pull up sharply in answer to a
whistle very like Julian's and from the edge of the trees emerges  a tall,
well-muscled figure dressed in a jockstrap. If the police ask for any
distiguishing features, it might be an idea to mention the antlers. He
stands over eight feet tall with headgear.

He emerges and approaches slowly. When up close, there's a marked drop in
temperature. Both father and brother might be disturbed at the change in
his countenance from their last meetings. He regards both impassively,
serene; his eyes all black, expressionless and inhuman. He leans on a
spear he did not have a few hours ago, surveying people and dragons, and
waits.

Jovian has a long, hard look at the hat rack, noticing the eyes 
secondarily. He glances about the pack, noting the attitude of the 
hounds, and nods - first to himself, as if putting connections 
together and making sense of something heard long ago. Then to 
his brother, as he extends a gloved hand.

Kern's eyes drop slowly to the proffered hand then, without blinking, they
languidly follow the arm to the face above where they linger for a moment.
At no time does either of Kern's hands leave his spear. He nods once,
making a sound somewhere between a sigh and a cough and a gust of frosty
air sweeps past Jovian. Then his gaze slides off on to Julian where they
wait impassively.

Jovian snorts in return, a sound not unlike a restless warhorse on a cold
morning, tossing his head slightly as if gesturing toward Kern with his
chin. He turns back to Canareth, preparing to mount up, looking to Julian
as well with one foot propped up on the bronze's offered foreleg.

Julian, standing next to his own grey steed, looks at both of you. A
second horse, night-black, red-eyed, and wild-maned, stands at his other
side, snorting.  Kern knows at once that it is his.  Neither of the horses
show any fear of the huge draconic predators, or the smaller ones
accompanying Kern.

"Random has gone ahead with the rangers and the rest of the troops.  We
are the last here," Julian says to both of his sons.

To Jovian he says. "I thought that walking Canareth and your comrades
through a trump contact would be -- undignified, to say the least.  This
way is harder, but will bring terror to our foes as we arrive."

Julian mounts Morgenstern then, and stands tall in the saddle.
"Dragonriders of Calusa!" he says in a voice that echoes through the
forest.  "I am Julian of Amber, father of J'rim, bronze Canareth's rider.
Today, Calusa's best face the most terrible foes the universe has to
offer. I do not doubt that we will triumph, but the battle will be hard,
and the way is long. I will lead you.

"As we travel, you must follow me, and only me.  All else is illusion and
shadow. At the end, we fight, but now, we ride.  Canareth, raise the
wings!"

//At once, J'lin -- Julian.//

Kern makes a strange double yip followed by a gruff cough. The dogs switch
their attention his way, then fall in behind his mount as he follows
Julian.

And as Kern mounts and the hounds follow, the dragons all rise in flight
over Arden and Julian leads you onwards.  Beside you, reality shreds and
flows, but all that is unimportant now, because Julian is all you let
yourselves see.  Behind you, there are dragons -- and Jovian especially is
aware of that, aware of what it takes to keep everyone focused on Julian,
aware that Canareth's links to the other dragons are somehow aiding them
all in keeping up, aware that as exhausting as a hellride to the far end
of the universe for one must be, Julian shows no signs of faltering with
fivescore and more of men and women, gods and dragons, and hounds.

//Canareth, you're working too hard,// Jovian observes along the way.
//You concentrate on keeping the *queens* focused on Dad. Let *them* help
you hold the rest in focus; that's their job.//

How long the ride takes is impossible to say.  Perhaps minutes, perhaps
hours, perhaps years.  But at the end of it, you're there, by the abyssal
river, and Julian shows you all the heights with the archers whom the
dragonriders will defend, and the heights where the dragons may perch,
before going to confer with Random.

Jovian signals the riders to dismount and gathers them together. "I warned
you it would get weird," he reminds them. "If any of you aren't sure you
can handle it, I understand, but there's no time to take you home now." He
looks around among their faces, gauging reactions.

"Our task is to protect the archers below us from wyverns and other flying
beasts coming out of that citadel," he continues, pointing a long gloved
hand at the distant black fortress/palace. "Depending on their numbers, we
may be able to keep them out of the ground battle entirely, but if we're
forced to fall back from protecting the main line to cover the archers,
that's our goal.

"The wyverns were the main body of flyers when they tried to take Amber.
They're smaller, less intelligent than dragons and more dependent on their
riders' direction - take out the riders and we ought to be able to scatter
the beasts. You," he adds, addressing the noncombatant greens, "are going
to be vital. We'll be going through a lot of stone. I want us to hold
formation and rely on flame as much as possible. Try to come in from above
and blast the riders off the wyverns' backs, and we won't close to contact
unless we have no choice. But look sharp - we're dealing with
shapeshifters, and other sorts of flying creatures could come in on us.
We'll have to deal with that as it comes."

He surveys the sky, a shadow of worry drifting across his face. "The
effects we saw on the way down, with the landscape tearing itself up? It
wasn't just illusion. The substance of space and time here is less stable
than it is back home. Hopping between could be very unpredictable. It is
VITAL that you keep control of your dragons' impulses. Don't go between
unless you're *dead* if you don't." Again, he watches faces for reactions
to this.

And again, his eyes turn to the citadel. "The signal to launch will come
when their flyers become visible in the air. Start giving your dragons
stone on my word, a bit ahead of time during the ground battle - they may
have to hold phosphine in their crops a little longer than usual, but
that's better than being caught flat." When he looks back over at the
dragons, especially the queens, his face is hard-set and grim. "Hats and
bags, ladies and gentlemen."

He dons his own helmet and strides toward the firestone stock.

Kern Julian tells to wait alone, near his reserves, but not too close.  If
any of the enemy approach, Kern is their first line of defense for now.
When he returns, he'll know where Kern may best take the battle to the
foe.

Remaining mounted for the moment, purely for the better field of view,
with his left hand he unstops a wooden flask at his side and tips a
quantity of some liquid into the same hand, deftly restopping the flask
with his fingers. He then solemnly annoints the tip of his spear with the
liquid, followed by the blade of his knife and the two lowest prongs of
his antlers, the one protruding forward over his eyes.

When he's finished, his left hand is remains smeared with the stuff. He
gazes at his open hand as if fascinated by it, then delicately sniffs and
finally touches the tip of a finger to his toungue. Satisfied, he plants
the butt of his spear in the ground, takes his bow from his back, fits and
arrow and awaits observantly, occasionally searching for his brother's
dragon on the ledge and making noises to control the impatient dogs.

As the spearpoint dries, the pale-green gunk dries to the same colour as
the arrowheads, of which he has twenty-three.


------------------------
MARIUS
------------------------
The fleet has been in a state of chaos, near mutiny, since Caine's murder.
Some ships had sailed out to sea, their captains and crews vowing never to
serve under Corwin.

The admirals were, mostly, less hotheaded.  The navy was, after all, the
soul of Amber and it persevered.  The navy had a long view, like Caine
had. If it had been harmed, it would find out, and it would assure that no
Fratricide kept the throne of Amber.

Gerard was often in consultation with them.  It was hard to say if he
whipped them into a frenzy of suspicion or if they did so to him.

When the news of Oberon's return flashed through the fleets, it was like
an earthquake.  There were riots on the docks, but they were quickly
suppressed.  The word came down.  "Make no rash moves.  We will wait and
see."

Two days later, many of the sailors were armed with pikes and swords and
send to fight on land with Benedict.  Your mother approached you.

"Marius, I need you to join me.  We're taking the troops to Chaos to
fight, all of them,  It's a holding action so that Father can erase the
Black Road.  We've got a bad draw: Gerard's and Caine's sailors and Eric's
troops.  We have to keep them fighting the enemy.  I need you to lead the
sailors.  When we win, you'll be well-positioned, and Corwin will need
your support in the Navy all the more.  This is what we've been waiting
for. How soon can you be ready?  And what else do you need?"

As for needs, mother, I have few.  Caine has positioned me well in the
navy.  All I require to lead the sailors into battle is the endorsement of
a son of Amber.  The men know my skills.  They simply need to know that
where I lead they are duty bound to follow.

As Caine is absent, Gerard's confirmation of my lineage ought to be
sufficient.  If you would arrange this, I will muster the men and prepare
to follow.

Everyone is on alert now, for good reason or for ill.  The muster will not
take long.  We will need to leave the ships sufficiently manned to guard
against a feint or attack by sea.  Everyone else who can be spared will
come with us.

Deirdre frowns. "Father says there will be no attack by sea, Marius, and
when he says something in such a way, it is true.  I'll arrange for Gerard
to speak to the men, but you know that half of them think you're Caine's
son anyway.  They'll follow you to hell and back, which is good, because
that's where we're going."

Within the hour, the senior officers of the fleet have gathered on
Gerard's flagship with you and your mother, and Gerard has announced to
them that you are his nephew and Caine's acknowledged heir.  Deirdre is
quiet in her moment of triumph, but her satisfaction resonates in ways
that you and she alone can sense as the leaders of Amber's navy shake your
hand.

You help your mother hold the trump contact and bring the men through from
the dockside to the very gates of that hell your mother mentioned. 
Keeping the Navy men separate from Eric's troops is something of a chore. 
It occurs to you to wonder whether Oberon is hoping that the troops
drained from Amber for this battle simply won't return, and whether your
life and your mother's are being sacrificed on the altar of the greater
good.  It occurs to you that your mother wouldn't like this idea very
much.

You and your mother are assigned as subcommanders to her brother Random,
who has the center.  Your mother has never thought much of Random, and the
feeling is apparently mutual, but you know he stands high in the favor of
Corwin, who seems even with Oberon's reappearance to stand high.  He's not
on this field -- he was given a special task by your grandfather and is
expected later.  For now it is Random you must woo.

"Deirdre's son, huh?" Random says, sounding altogether too chipper for a
man who's about to have to hold the center against a bunch of demons and
who-knows-what.  He sticks out his hand to shake yours.  "Good to have you
aboard, Marius. Deirdre says Caine fostered you, and his men are pretty
attached to you.  You'll take the sailors, then, and your mother will have
Eric's men. You'll both be on the left flank."  That should keep you both
busy -- it's the nearest part of the center to the road itself and it
promises to be a meat grinder.

"If you've got any tactical recommendations for this line, now is the
moment." 

Marius smiles broadly at his introduction to Random and shakes his hand
firmly.  Once the pleasantries are past, Marius' expression becomes firm
and cold.

"While I have longed to meet you, I am afraid there is little time for us
to get to know each other.  Our time is better spent preparing for the
onslaught to come.  I do have some feelings about the military issues,
however.

"Naval fighters are not much good when it comes to disciplined troop
movements.  When one boards an enemy ship, chaos is the rule of the day. 
Therefore, I propose that the sailors and I hold the far flank where there
will be less need of order and more ability for the reckless fighting in
which they excel.  Chaos on the far flank should further disrupt the
opposing troops and give them something of a distraction to the rear.

"Additionally, the sailors are not overly fond of Eric's men, as you well
know.  Placing them next to each other may have us fighting with ourselves
as much as the enemy.  I will control the men as best I can, but in the
heat of battle I cannot be everywhere.  Therefore, if there is a space
between the troops, it only works better for all concerned."


-------------------------
BRENNAN
-------------------------
To kick things off, I'll even give a description of Brennan, beyond
the picture of Kiefer Sutherland on the web site:

To see Brennan next to Brand, or next to Bleys, is to see the family
resemblance.  Brennan has the Clarissan hair only scarcely dimmed with the
passing of another generation; he wears it long, now pulled back severely,
bundled with elastic cords at several points and secured so it won't flop
about.  Though he does not share the weak chin of his father and uncle, he
still wears a short cropped red beard.  He also has Brand's piercing green
eyes, absolutely undimmed by the generation, perhaps even brighter. 

Right now, those eyes are about as serious as a death in the family.

His attire is simple enough-- dark red shirt, black pants, black
boots, long black coat unbuttoned, all sturdy enough and proof of any
normal weather that might be encountered.  He has a blade, still sheathed
and at his hip.  It's a simple enough affair with a very slight curve to
it, and it's at home in a simple enough scabbard of black leather.

You're standing on the top of a cliff in the middle of Chaos, looking at a
floating citadel in a river of nothingness.  It's not quite like anything
you've ever seen before.  You get the impression that the man next to you
isn't seeing it for the first time, or even the second.

"Bringing you with me was one of my more impulsive acts," says Benedict.
"Your story has the ring of truth, and I can see how a son of Brand might
feel a need to prove himself and his loyalty to the family."

Brennan takes this rather stoicly and, since there's not much to say
one way or the other, in silence, with a nod of his head.  

"I believe you will serve best assigned to the center line with Random. 
He is in need of additional subcommanders and attaches of the blood.  And
he has also recently discovered a streak of -- paternal kindness, let's
call it.  I think -- yes, I think Random, since I'm acting on impulse
today." Benedict gestures to his younger brother, who joins him, glancing
once at you.

Random.  Whoever thought Benedict would have such a highly developed sense
of irony?

About the time Random is giving Brennan the once-over, Brennan returns the
favor, taking a quick, critical look up one side and down the other. 

Benedict confers quietly with Random for a few moments. Then Random nods
once, abruptly, and comes over to Brennan. "Looks like you're with me,
kiddo.  We've got the center and I can use all the subcommanders I can
get." He sticks out his hand to shake. "I hope you're better with that
pigsticker than your old man."

Brennan reaches out accordingly and shakes Random's hand with a firm
grip.  Glancing down at his side for a moment, he responds, "So do I. So
do I."

As the two of you walk what might be down the might-be cliff, Random
continues, "If you've got any questions, this is the moment, because when
they come for us, there'll be no time for talking. And I'd rather have any
-- questions, let's call them -- dealt with before I send you through." 

"Let's start with the bare essentials-- what's the command structure, and
how do your men know I'm not John Q. Putz?  What do we have in the way of
a plan?  What are my responsibilities?"

As they walk, Brennan's posture is alert and ready (as befits one
walking into battle) and his eyes are taking in all the details they
can.

"Communications are primitive enough here that the staff college model
just won't work.  Think Sun-Tzu, not Clausewitz.  Benedict runs the
battle.  He has given me two objectives-- prevent the enemy from using the
black road and protect the archers on the heights.  The reserves will be
on the right flank, nearest the archers and the black road and the abyss
will be on our left.

"You'd be surprised what you can set up with enough creativity and
time.  But if we haven't got the time, then we haven't got the time."

"Pretty damn simple, except that we expect hordes from chaos to swarm us
from the road and from those hills.  And Brand."

"Brand is the one you should be worried about."

"It's a small unit engagement, writ large, kiddo.  Flora and Julian and I
follow Benedict's orders, you and Lilly follow mine, the troops follow
yours."

"'Lilly?'  I'll recognize Flora and Julian.  Who's Lilly?"

You have reached the back lines of the troops.  They are small and red and
furry in this section, and number only a couple of hundred.

"Authority comes like this, " Random says to you.  He turns to face a
soldier who has come to attention in his presence.  Random looks the man
up and down, as if inspecting him.

"Who am I?"  he asks the red-furred trooper.

"You are the God Random."

"Who is Brand?"

"The Lord of Evil."

Random turns and grins back at Brennan....Only to find that Brennan's right 
eyebrow has crawled haflway up his forehead.  The eyebrow goes down quickly.  
He does not grin back.

"This is Brennan, my brother's son.  He will lead you in battle.  You are
his chosen people. " Random turns to another of the soldiers.  Their eyes
are wide and they are fixed on Brennan.  "What will happen if you die in
this place?"

"I will feast this evening in paradise."

"Tell your brothers of the God Brennan."

They bow low.

Once Brennan and Random aren't the subject of scrutiny by his troops,
Brennan's expression changes from one of surprise, to one of faint
revulsion.

He is very careful to make sure that the troops who be fighting and
dying under his command do not see his expression, even if it's not
clear whether he's directing it at Random or the troops themselves.

Random leads you towards the front.  "That should do it for you.  Normally
I don't go in for that style of leadership, but these were Corwin's.  You
make do with what you get..." At this, Brennan's expression eases somewhat.

Random leads you out to the front, showing you the line.  "This will be
our starting position.  My brother has some aces up his sleeve, so follow
my lead, closely.  Don't hold a position that is too far advanced; if
we're pulling back the line, then it's either for a pincer or a flank. 
You can kill them all, you know.  They will do anything for you.  Don't,
if you don't have to."

"If I read this right, then," Brennan begins ticking points off on his
fingers, his prior revulsion at the mentality of the troops Corwin has
chosen faded under concentration of the problem, "One:  We're deep in
hostile ground.  Two:  This is a last ditch delaying effort until Oberon
finishes his work.  Three: What we see is more or less what we have,
otherwise Julian's reserves would be a lot farther away.  Four:  We can't
say the same on their end.  

"Life taught me to expect the worst, and experience on the Black
Road... Well, I wouldn't be surprised if they throw a first wave with the
express purpose of depleting us quickly, and then try to overrun us with a
hidden second."

Brennan looks up and takes a moment to survey the rest of the line,
taking note of numbers, formations, weapons.  

"Tell me we've got some heavy infantry, to slow these guys down.  Did I
hear something earlier about air support?"

"Yes, hold that thought, though."

You come to a camp table set near a tree.  The tree is rustling, despite
the lack of wind.  It is as if it is responding to weather conditions
elsewhere.  Two women and a man are there, and as you approach they are
seen to be giving orders to various troops.


--------------------------
AISLING
--------------------------
Aisling is not quite human even now, and that's mainly due to the six
velvety purple streamers springing from her back in a sort of a "v"
pattern.  They're about the length of her arm, and move a bit like a cat's
tail when it's mildly interested in something.  Her hair is also a bit
odd, being lavender with blonde streaks.  It would fall a little past her
shoulders, but currently it's drifting loosely in some eldritch breeze.
Her eyebrows are royal purple, and rather flat.  Her eyes are violet.  Her
teeth are even.  Her smile is wide.  Her skin is mostly ivory, though
slightly golden.  She is graceful, about 5'8", pretty, and flickering with
life.

She's currently wearing a comfortable-looking halter clipped at the nape
of the neck and the small of the back; a loose style, like something you'd
see on a Greek vase.  It's of some melon-colored fabric that may have been
something other than flannel before it was washed ten thousand times.
She's got a pair of loose pants and, yes, slippers-- not slippers entirely
impractical for clambering over rocks with, but nonetheless slippers that
would be more at home propped on a hearth.  And that's it.  No belt, bags,
weapons...  If it weren't for her air of belonging and the excellent
spyglass she's holding, you'd suspect she was ripped from, say, writing a
letter by the fire in her house, and that she didn't really plan to be at
a battle today.

After additional conversation, you agree with Oberon that you are ready to
go to Benedict.

Oberon cleared the tea service his throat and said "Stand up, then,
child."

You do so and Oberon makes a distinctive motion with his right hand.  A
blood-red bird flutters from *somewhere else* and lands on his
outstretched finger.  He addresses the bird.  "She is Aisling, of the line
of Benedict. Take her to Benedict with this note, then return to your
maker with my message."

You had not known that bloodcreatures could take such complicated
directions.

"Aisling, this is safe.  It is the best way I can send you now, it will do
you no harm.  Benedict will know how to use your talents."

Oberon looks at you and you feel the same sense of being pulled in a
direction you cannot discribe that you did when Martin brought you through
the trump.

Then, and then, and then, with each pulse something went out of the world
around you.  Depth, perspective, form, light all become unreal, wrong.

Aisling meets his eyes (so sudden, the leavetaking!) for so long as she is
in the same fragment of the universe (he must hate goodbyes); steadfast,
she wishes him well.

Beyond the bounds of chaos or order, you pass through what seems to be a
gap in existence, which might have lasted an instant or an eternity.

She drinks in the experience, sensing rather than thinking.

Suddenly (or perhaps inevitably), there is a hand, reaching for you.
instinctively you take it in yours and you find yourself emerging from a
card, standing on a hill overlooking the Fixed Place.

She sways from the suddenness (or perhaps the inevitability) of the
arrival, holding on to the hand and looking out on the Fixed Place, as
Oberon will no more.  Such a short time to be there...  She blinks several
times, eyes suddenly damp, and looks up at Benedict.

Benedict is holding your hand in his, looking at you.  "Oberon tells me
you are my grandson's child.  If we survive this, I will certainly want
that tale."

Aisling grins, eyes sparkling for many reasons, the least of which is the
reflection of the half-starry sky above them.  "From the stories I hear,
you are apt to dance through battle like a wind through a wildfire; and I
have had a good deal of experience at surviving.  I will look forward to
the telling.  What can I do for you now?"

"I hope not to engage in combat in this battle.  My brothers and sisters
will do better if they know I am here to lead them.  Reputation is an
amazing thing, Aisling.

For now?  Observe with me.  This battle should last for some time and has
yet to begin."  He hands her a brass spyglass that reminds you, somehow,
of Gerard.  "Look to the nighted citadel.  What do you see there?"

Aisling weighs the glass in her hand, wondering at the trace of memory,
then brings it to her eye.

You hold the glass to your eye, looking into the distance at the holy
city. Other times when you have visited it, it has seemed abandoned, a
relic perhaps, but of what you cannot say.  Now it teems.  The city is
becoming a citadel, reacting to the presence of so much Order.  It occurs
to you to wonder about the nature of the holy place.  Is it a Lordship
unto itself? What binds it?

But that is not what Benedict wants from you, you sense.  The Holy Place
seems to be generating a gate, and you feel it's intent to discharge
beings to contest the piece of the Black Road that the Amber troops are
defending. It smells of battle, and soon.

She reports as she views.  "The holy city is forming itself into a
citadel, in reaction to the presence of so much Order.  It bristles. 
There seems to be a gate opening...  Soon, I feel, battle will be joined
over the piece of the Black Road that you bar."

She lowers the glass, looks up at Benedict.  "You who know the value of
reputation will recognize that I have much to overcome.  If I can best
serve Amber by staying by you I will glady remain out of this battle;
otherwise, however, I feel that I have something to prove."  A corner of
her mouth quirks up, then, and she continues, "Although, between the two
of us, I am not a fighter of Amberite caliber.  What successes I have are
due to trickery and planning."  Her smile, self-mocking as it was, has
faded.

"Tricks and plans are better tools than brawn and numbers, Aisling.  You
can beat the latter with the former.  That's my intent today, after all.

She smiles again, slightly.  Telling the assassin the value of planning?
He'll get no argument from this quarter...

"We have weaknesses here, and unknown vulnerabilities.  I have two chief
concerns.

"First, I have five commanders to whom I cannot talk except by signals. 
We have signals arranged, but I would rather we had a better method.  Easy
enough for the ground units, but the archers and the dragons will be hard
to coordinate.

She goes back to scanning with the spyglass, looking over Amber's forces
more thoroughly to pick out the commanders Benedict mentions and note the
layout.

"Second, I don't know what surprises our foes will have or what tricks
they will try.

"What do you expect them to do?"

Aisling glances up at him, marshalling her thoughts, and then briefly lays
out the basic tactics she expects, drawing on what she can see of both
starting positions, what she knows of Chaosite tactics, and what she's
learned from watching every previous battle between the troops of Amber
and those of Chaos.  She's brief because she expects Julian has already
done a better job of explaining all this to Benedict.  She then goes into
more detail, quickly laying out possible tactics available only in the
comfortable environs of Chaos.  She mentions everything she expects may
come into play.

Benedict asks you several questions, all incisive.   You are convinced
that if he were in the holy place, Amber would suffer a tremendous defeat.

She concludes, watching him again, "As for your first concern, of
communications...  I am a shapeshifter.  If you think it would be useful,
I could easily be a something inconspicious and fast like a talking raven,
and carry messages from you to your commanders and archers and dragons."

"Hmm, useful.  Are you relying on speed and inconspicuousness to survive
or does this form have combat advantages?  That shall be our tentative
plan. While you are up here with me, you should probably maintain a more
defensive form, of course.

"Can you ride?  Do you want a horse?"

Benedict continues to watch the forming armies all the while.

Aisling nods.  "I can ride.  I believe I can transport myself better
without a horse, though.  I Could do with a sword or two, or some other
form of weapon.  As for the bird form, there's only so many attack
capabilities one can pack into such before it ceases to be able to pass as
a bird...  And it seems to me that I may have to worry more about getting
attacked by your men than by the Chaosi.  My main defensive form, for
instance, looks like nothing human."  A kind of suppressed grin works its
way to her face.


--------------------------
COMMAND
--------------------------
"OK, family dear, we've got another lost cousin to help us.  Benedict has
assigned us Brennan here to fill our missing command slot.  Brennan is
Brand's son, but Ben says that he's on the level.  he's got Corwin's
troops, the little red guys with the pikes.

Brennan looks at the assembled family members and gives them each a
quick look.  Deirdre, he seems to recognize.  The others, not.  

He gives the group something between a wave and a sketchy salute.

Lilly's eyes meet his for a moment and then she bows her head slightly
before returning her attention to Random.

"Marius, I like your plan.  You've got the black road and the extreme left
flank.

"Deirdre, you're his backup and his protection.  You'll take anything that
is coming across the plain at Marius.  You've got the knights and the
nobles.

"Brennan, you asked about heavy infantry?  You've got the pikemen.  They
aren't fast, but they're strong as hell and they follow orders like they
come from God.  They are the anchor and when I need to move the line, I
tell you and you do it.  Forward or back, whatever I say.  Hell, I might
not know why, but Benedict is running the overall show and he's got good
reasons for whatever he does.  Did your father tell you about Benedict?  I
don't think he can be beat, not by military force.

"Benedict was one of the two brothers that Brand feared, actually."

"Lilly, you've got Eric's troops on the right flank, protecting the
archers, our flank, the reserves, and from sneak attacks.  The men are
seasoned, but they're not used to defensive battles.  They need a steady
hand and should respond better to you than to our other choices.

Lilly nods. No point in wasting words, if father had chosen this as her
duty, then she would honor him by doing it well. To her it was really just
that simple.

"I'll be directing.  If you need me, or anything, send word to Brennan."

"This is important.  There isn't glory to be one here, for anyone.  We
hold them off and we win.  We don't know what tactics they'll use, but we
expect this to be a brute force slugfest.  Anyone not asking for help if
they need it may endanger us all.  There ain't no second chances tomorrow,
boys and girls."

Deirdre speaks up.  Her voice is like sloe gin.  "If what I've heard from
our elders is right, fights with chaos are weirdly predictable.  Think of
a massed barbarian wave hitting a disciplined legion of troops.  We win if
we follow orders and work as a unit.  They win if we break and fight them
one-on-one.  They can't regroup, we can.  They can't hold reserves, we do.
It's the only reason we've got a chance, considering their numbers."

Random replies "She's right, of course.  You all should introduce
yourselves.  You may be dying for each other in a few hours."  When he is
met with silence, he continues, unable to maintain his grim demeanor.
Those of you with shadow Earth backgrounds will recognize the comic
Viennese accent. "Zot khon-cloooodes ze lectoore portion of zis
eve-a-ning's zympoooozium. Are zere any kveztions?"   He grins a rather
self-satisfied grin at the looks on your faces.

Anyone who's spent some time around Brennan might be able to tell that
he's more amused by Random's tension-lightening antics than he lets on. 
However, none of those people are here, and Brennan is a pretty good poker
face, so cousins, aunts and uncles might be out of luck in that regard.

A very slight look of confusion crosses Lilly's face for an instant. She
was trying to decide what exactly her Uncle was trying to accomplish.
*Father knows what he is doing* she reminds herself. Before she can speak
her introduction Brennan breaks the silence.

"Yo," says Brennan.  "A question and a comment."

"First, do we have a better system of asking for help than the
traditional blood-curdling scream?"  This, delivered stone dead-pan.
"Brand and I didn't exactly part on the best terms, lo those many
years ago, so if we're planning on Trumps, I haven't got a family
deck.  I don't have any of my own, either."

"You scream.  I'm right behind you."

Deirdre speaks, choosing her words carefully.  "Unless you're better,
significantly better, than anyone I've ever met, you can't use trumps and
defend yourself in a battle.  We've never counted on them."

"Exactly," says Random.  "It's why we need so many commanders.  You've
got to be able to direct your troops, both from the rear and possibly by
physically leading them.  It's going to be an old fashioned smash-em-up.
Watch me and follow my orders.  If you can't, I'll have to replace you."

"Second, to reinforce what Deirdre said:  I don't know who else has
fought these guys before, but I have, or at least their counterparts
on the Black Road.  They don't hold battlefield reserves very well,
in the tactical sense, but they've been known to mass waves on
occasion.  Another reason to hold discipline, keep cohesion, and not
throw ourselves away to gain ground."

That said, and depending on how much conversation ensues, Brennan
profers the asked-for introduction.  It's brief.  "Like Random said,
I'm Brennan.  Brand's kid, and the only such unlucky bastard I know
of.  I haven't seen him in many, many decades, and we parted on very
unpleasant terms.  I, personally, am more worried about Brand's
influence on the battle than I am about yon Chaosi mass, out there. 
But that's just me."

"You," he points at Deirdre, "I recognized before Random mentioned
your name.  A pleasure, I'm sure.  You guys," he points at Marius and
Lilly, "Well, I know your names, but, unfortunately, I don't know who you
are."

Again meeting his eyes Lilly says, "Patience cousin, you have not given us
a moment for a proper inrtoduction. Now then, I am Lilly, daughter of
Benedict. For the record, I hold no man accountable for his heritage. We
all are as we make ourselves to be. I also trust deeply in my father's
judgment. Brand was right to fear him."

Marius listens to the introductions quietly, observing each persons'
reactions in turn.  Despite all that has happened recently, his naval
uniform remains clean and unmarred by creases.   When all introductions
have been completed, he speaks, quietly but firmly.

I am Marius.  I have served in the navy of Amber and will lead the naval
warriors in the upcoming battle.  A word of warning, however.  Naval
officers and midshipmen are undisciplined fighters, especially in large
armies.  For that reason, Random has chosen to deploy us on the far flank.
 In the heat of battle, the only thing which will keep you safe from the
attack of a naval warrior, is the uniform of the Amber navy.  As none of
you have such a uniform, I advise caution.

Our role in the battle will be to create confusion on the flank in order
to allow the more organized military movements to have a maximum impact.

I hope to have greater time to know you all when the combat is through,
but for now I need to meet with my men.  Therefore, I bid you all luck and
good-bye.

Random raises his hand, delaying you.

"Two things,

"One: Your mother and her armored nobles will be on your right flank.  Try
not to commit matricide.  Doesn't look good on the resume.

"Two: The flank you are on consists of the black road.  Your role is to
prevent it's use by our enemies.  You are our first line of defense for
it. Our enemies will want to use it to attack Amber during the confusion. 
If they get by you, they can do so.  If they get by you in sufficient
number, they threaten the King.

"Oh.  Three: If we need to move additional troops onto the road, they will
be sufficiently ahead of or behind you to provide a buffer space.

"And Four: I expect that you will be aware and in control and do whatever
you can to make your men follow orders.  I don't expect miracles, but I've
got a better chance of keeping them alive if you and I can keep them in
line."

With that, Marius nods respectfully to Random first and then the entire
group.  A grim smile passes his face as he makes eye-contact with Deirdre.
 He pauses then, but for only a moment as an unspoken understanding seems
to pass between them.  He then walks quickly to where the naval soldiers
are set up to begin organizing the men and whipping them into battle
frenzy.

Those who see Marius in the fight will notice that he fights two handed--
one hand carries a sword, the other a long knife.  Anyone who observes
very carefully will not that the sword is used for defensive purposes
primarily in order to create an avenue of attack for the knife.

Quietly Lilly listens to all the commands her Uncle Random is giving,
noting with a bit of unseen humor his counting ability. When all has
finally fallen silent, her gaze meets her Uncle's and she asks, "If there
are no further instructions Uncle Random, I feel I too should be returning
to my men." Her gaze holding steady with his until she is dismissed.

Brennan hadn't dignified Random's last comments with a response (and
had only favored Deirdre with a small "your loss" kind of a shrug)
and looks to be ready to follow Lilly's suit, obviously thinking
about how best to deliver a St. Crispin's Day speech when you've
never seen your men before the day of battle, and you're the sone of
the Lord of Darkness.

Lilly and Brennan return to their new units to consider motivating
speeches and guiding hands.  Marius is left with his mother and Random.

Deirdre turns to Marius "I'll have the cities armored nobles with
me--useful in a fight, even if I do sometimes wish some of them would
wander into harms way with the Navy.  Best get to your men, son.  I've got
to get to mine."

It is clear from the sounds that your forces have been noticed by the
enemy.  You all think you should make whatever combat arangements you're
going to make.

With that, Marius nods respectfully to Random first and then the entire
group.  A grim smile passes his face as he makes eye-contact with Deirdre.
 He pauses then, but for only a moment as an unspoken understanding seems
to pass between them.  He then walks quickly to where the naval soldiers
are set up to begin organizing the men and whipping them into battle
frenzy.

Those who see Marius in the fight will notice that he fights two handed--
one hand carries a sword, the other a long knife.  Anyone who observes
very carefully will not that the sword is used for defensive purposes
primarily in order to create an avenue of attack for the knife.

Having left Random, and any others who might still have been standing with
him still, Brennan approaches his own troops-- those who had followed
Corwin through storm and Shadow.

When he arrives, he spends a few moments moving among the men,
letting them look at him, see him, and recognize him from the
descriptions which have already spread.  Doing this, he spreads
individual encouragements and forms the men into the line of battle
he prefers, selecting a few men as under-officers... and evaluating
the men as he does this.

This done, he finds a reasonably large boulder or stone outcropping
in the area, hops up on top of it gingerly, and lets loose with a
surprisingly leather-lunged "HEAR ME!" loud enough for all his troops to
hear, but probably not enough-- by choice-- to carry over much more of the
field.

"You stand together with us at the edge of all that there is!  You
stand here, chosen of the Gods, because of your faith.  You assemble
here, hands and weapons of the Gods, because you are the finest and
and the fiercest and the strongest.  

"Soon, the hordes of Chaos will disgorge, and you will fight under
the God of War, with the God of Luck at your backs, because Brand,
the Fallen One, Lord of Evil has sought to deal with the lords of
Chaos, and the Gods have banded together to cast him down.  Know that even
the Fallen One's son has gathered to cast him into the pit!

"You stand here, most honored by the Gods, as the anchor and the
center of our forces.  We advance in the footsteps of your sweat, 
we fall back protected by your blood-- the line of battle rises and
falls on your shoulders.  You are the rock of battle!  You stand in
defense of Paradise!  You are the rock of Amber!  You stand in the
sight of your salvation!  You are the rock on which the waves of Chaos
will be broken!

"MAKE YOURSELVES READY!"

Brennan pauses for the swelling roar that must surely follow his
inspiring speech.

The roar is greater even than Brennan expected, and the troops are whipped
to a fever pitch.  It is all your new sub-captains can do to keep the most
eagar volunteers from rushing the forming lines of enemies and dying for
the gods, thus assuring paradise.  You wonder if you were too encouraging
in your speech.

Well, that is a nightmare Brennan does _not_ need to deal with.  For
the moment, it looks as though his new officer corps draftees have the
situation in hand-- being as upbeat as humanly possible, he takes this as
a vindication of his ability to choose lieutenants.

Presumeably, his failure to draw a weapon or otherwise charge off into the
roiling mass will further convey the idea of staying in place. And if that
doesn't do it, a messenger will.

With this, Brennan breaks into a martial song, one in Thari and picked up
from a Shadow close enough to Amber that he hopes the men will have heard
it.  If not, the refrains are simple enough for them to join in anyway.

The men pick up the song easily, singing it like a work shanty, it is
almost totemic.  You believe you will hear it all day, even as the dark
warriors die.

You hear another voice singing the song as well.  Random is mounted on a
jet black mare with a white blaze.  "I caught the end of that.  Nice
speech.  And a good song, too.  A minor, no high notes, 4/4 time, the
people's tempo.  If you were a little younger we could get you into a
boy-band. "  You don't know what he means, but he's obviously grinning in
an attempt to take the sting  out of it.

Since Brennan doesn't know what the appropriate response to that quip is--
and hasn't gotten whatever familial etiquette covers unfamiliar
Shadow-references and in-jokes-- he's going to let it lie.

He is taking this opportunity to mount his own steed, though, the
better to see what's going on, and the better to converse with
Random.

"You're going to be my second set of eyes, and if need be, my first
replacement commander.  The problem here is that we've got Caine's men,
Corwin's men, Eric's men, and Julian's men.  Some group of these guys have
been at war with some other for most of the the last five years.  You
heard Marius' speech, 'keep away from us'.  Even if the commanders don't
want trouble, trouble may happen and I may need you to go knock some
heads.

The first half of Random's speech is met with a 'So-I-noticed' glance. No
words are necessary.  When Random pauses for breath, Brennan says,
"Wunderbar.  Well, someone's going to have to do it.  Hope the others
realize that, when the time comes."

"As to being my eyes, I need you to be able to tell me what's going on up
and down the line.  Who's asking for help and who should be asking for
help, and who needs to be reined in."

"I've got a conference with our fearless leader, but I should be back
before the battle starts.  Stay mounted and keep a few personal reserves,
whatever you think is necessary."

"Done.  And tell our Fearless Leader that we're ready, down here."

Random turns to ride away but turns back.  "Oh, ah, kiddo, just so you
know.  I am sincerely glad you're on this side and not that one."

Brennan doesn't give this a spoken response, but the first faint hint of a
lopsided, lefthanded smile pulls at his cheek as he gives Random a Roman
chest-pound of a salute.  Then he goes back to the business of selecting
his reserve force-- the ones tha tlook best able to sprint for speed in
formation.

Once that's done, he'll take what is likely to be the last piece of
silence and order to survey the rest of the line not under his
command, to his right and left, trying to get a gauge on what to
expect.

Battle awaits.

//Canareth,// Jovian projected, looking out upon the eighty-four men,
women and sentient beasts he was about to lead to death or glory -- or
both. //Pass this along to the rest of the dragons. The riders don't need
to be shouted at.//

//Comrades, I'm not one for speech-making, and I need you cool and
focused, not whipped into a frenzy. So I'll keep this short.

//We're about to launch on the most important flight of our lives. If we
fail here, we don't go home disgraced - because there won't be a home to
go back to. For anyone.

//We're not going to fail. Not just out of all of reality, but out of all
*possible* realities, you have been chosen as the strongest, boldest, most
disciplined and skilled aerial fighters to defend not just the armies
below us, but the path to the source of power that keeps our world and
countless others from plunging into Chaos. We have prevailed for twelve
Passes, carrying out our duty to protect and defend our world. And now we
will prevail again in our duty to protect and defend all worlds.

//I am honored to know each one of you, and twice honored to lead you and
fly with you today. The Harpers will not quite know what to make of this
day, my friends, but they'll know what to make of you.

//Heroes.//

Lilly will regard the troops for a few moments before speaking and/or
making any final decisions, trying to best gage any apparent strengths or
weaknesses. She will not waste too much time doing this however. The plan
is to gather her seconds, those that will aid her in command, and question
them briefly on what they believe each of their assigned troops greatest
stengths and weaknesses are. From that she will then decide on their exact
plan of attack and defense, remembering the words spoken just a short
while earlier. No matter what, she will try to maintain as much order as
possible. Lastly, she will address everyone, letting her natural passion
flow forth from her in a way that seldom happens. But she will try to
instill in the troops the need for organization and holding together.

Beyond that, I don't think there is much else that can be done. Let the
battle begin...

Kern sits on his horse amidst Julian's stormhounds, waiting for his
father's orders.

I don't know how you give a pep-talk to a dog but then I've sneaking
suspicion Julian's dogs don't need one; Kern growls at them occasionally
to keep them to heel, or as near as they're ever likely to get.

If the enemy make a foray towards his side of Julian's troops, then he'll
move against them but otherwise he'll wait for Pater.


-----------------------
FIRST WAVE
-----------------------
The battle starts to slouch into being, first as a series of incidents
along the black road, then as stronger sorties.  The keen-eyed amongst you
think the enemy is massing at the floating citadel at the end of the black
road.

It is at this point that a messenger bird, blood-red and large, flaps
lazily in to the command post the Benedict is holding on a hill behind the
battle.

Marius is with Deirdre on the left flank, guarding the entrance to the
black road and the flank of Random's main troops.

Lilly and Brennan are with Random in the long center section.  Enemy
troops that are trying to relieve the nighted citadel hit your front hard
and frequently.

Julian's Rangers are in reserve.  They have skirmished along the right
flank, which they are now guarding, but they are currently waiting for
Benedict's orders.

Jovian's dragonriders are on a high place overlooking the abyss.  They are
prepared for battle and are awaiting the wyverns.

Aisling is now with Benedict, observing the battle and prepared to deliver
messages or defend her great grandfather.

After the morning's almost impersonal attacks, it is something of a relief
when a mass of the foemen fall upon your lines.  Two distinct forces are
attacking, either cooperatively or coincidentally.  One force is driving
up the black road at Marius and the sailors while another is charging
across the plains at Lilly and Brennan's troops.  As they get nearer you
decide that foe*men* was the wrong term--both attacks are comprised
entirely of beasts.

Leading the way towards Brennan's pikemen are a group of manticora.  While
you are glad that you will be beind a pile wall made with 18 foot long
spears, you are concerned that it may not be enough.

Heavy infantry is Brennan's friend.
Brennan rejoices in big steel pikes and bigger iron-bound shields.
Soon enough, he will glory in the benefits of heavy cavalry and air
support, but that time is not yet come.

When the time comes for Brennan to put his own hand to it, he does so
without reservation or hesitation, but with the grim, brutal efficiency of
one who has done this sort of thing before.  Like Marius, he also has a
dagger for his left hand, but from his mounted position, he gets little
use of it.  

His time is spent, as much as he is able to determine for himself,
among the front line, providing the critical boost of morale for
pockets of pressed men, and the critical wounds to the manticora that
press them.

The line gets hit and hit hard.  Random draws his own guard around the
left flank and signals Lilly to come in on the right.  Brennan, your
reserves and you yourself shore up the line well, effectively boxing in
the foes on three sides.   It was a textbook enclosure movement, elegantly
executed. The foe break, and do so more quickly then you expected.  They
are funnelled out towards the plain they so recently crossed.

Brennan scowls.
It is the scowl of a man who knows he's being screwed with, knows he's
being taunted, and knows he's being underestimated-- and doesn't like it
one damn bit.  There is that within him that would love to teach them a
lesson right here and now, but it is ruthlessly and efficiently quashed by
the other part which whispers, 'Soon enough-- and on my terms.'

Brennan, Lilly, Daeon, you're in a position to pursue if you want. 
Jovian, you could launch a wing to burn them as they retreat.  Heck,
Marius could send sailors after them in a moment.  Anyone who wants a
piece of them can try for it.

"Hold!  Hold!  HOLD THOSE LINES!  No one advances without my order!"
The stentorian voice is back, louder than before in the heat of
battle.  It is probably audible well beyond his own section of the
line.

They wish us to persue, Lilly thinks to herself beforing giving her men
the signal to hold the line. She will not be the pawn in their little
game. "HOLD! This is but a test, a ploy to break us apart. We shall not
allow ourselves to succumb to such a poorly designed plot." Immediantely
she begins to scan the horizon for whatever is to come next. Again she
turns to her men, knowing that they are now hungry for the blood of the
enemy. "Stay Alert! Do not drop your gaurd for an instant. More is coming,
of that I am sure. Victory will be ours, of that I am sure. But for now
patience is called for. We will hold our position and wait."

Daeon lets them go, holding the dogs back; pursuit at this stage would
expose the rangers' flank.

The word is not yet given to start chewing stone, never mind to 
launch. It's a feint, they're toying with us. Jovian's mood is suffused
with a grim, *cold* determination that cannot help but pass through his
link with Canareth and the rest of the force...but he holds steady.

On the left flank, a smaller squad, also entirely unhuman, lopes up the
black road towards Marius.  His troops are like a wedge, driving some into
the Abyss and others into Deirdre.  They are defeated easily, clearly
unable to stand before the sailors.  If chaos cannot offer better, then
you should have an easy time of it.

Brennan's lieutenants can clearly hear him muttering, "Don't do it,
Marius.  Don't even bloody think about it.  That was entirely too
easy."

Casualties are light, a handful of troops.  Brennan, you lost a good
number of pikes that got left in Manticora.  It was probably the right
choice at the time, but now you have some troops armed only with
shortswords.  If they keep that up, they'll disarm you...

There's little enough to be done for it, except to reform the lines a
little, moving those with nothing but short swords up right behind the
shields and into a better position to knife, hamstring, and generally
abuse anyone who gets close enough to get stopped by the remaining pike
wall.

These orders, he gives to his lieutenants while he surveys the rest of the
line up and down.  When he's ascertained the situation, he sends one
runner back to Random with as detailed a report as is appropriate for the
situation; about half the detail on the condition of his own lines, the
other half, as requested, on the the perceived status of the others.
Kern and the hounds are kept at bay by Julian, with soothing words and
pack discipline.  On one level Kern understands the pack and the need to
hold back and on another he hears his father speak of the flank and the
reserves and protecting the rangers from their exposed right flank.  Kern
does not hear the horn and so does not fly forward.  He can tell this is
not the real attack, it just doesn't feel like an attack.

He begins to move te pack around while he remains on horseback. He wants
to get them used to moving under orders and they need be active or they'll
get over-excited.

When the first wave is over, Marius gathers the sailors around him to
address the troops.  Marius is a good public speaker and his eyes contain
a fire and passion.  He starts speaking slowly and in a voice just loud
enough to force the back ranks to lean in, just a little bit.  As he
talks, his speach grows louder and more animated.

"There is little time to speak.  The first wave has broken off, but the
battle is far from over.  As I expected, your conduct has been exemplary
and I am proud of each of you.  You do credit to your uniform, to your
shipmates, to me and to Amber.  I only wish there were more time to revel
in this pride.

"The second wave will be on us soon.  We have been entrusted with the left
flank of the army.  It is our job-- no, our duty-- to make sure that the
forces of chaos are funnelled through to the main body of Amber's forces. 
When the chaos troops have passed us, then, and only then, will we sweep
in behind them, to slay them with our righteous fury, to throw them down
for having the impunity to attack the holy city, the one true realm of
Amber.

"What you have seen thus far is but a taste of the attack to come.  There
is nothing solid about our foes, they are demons whose shape and size will
change.  They live in a hell of shifting planes and landscapes.  As you
fight on the field, there will be only one thing which is true and
certain-- the uniform that you wear and that the man next to you shares. 
In this, you will find all the reason you need to fight and all the
strength that you need to prevail.  It is the strength of your hearts that
keeps the navy great.  The strength of you minds that keeps Amber strong. 
The strength of your spirit which drives back the demons and madness which
you now face.

"I stand amidst the greatest force ever placed on a battlefield preparing
for the greatest battle fought in the course of history.  Some men would
falter for the fear and pressure created by such a moment.  Standing here
among you, I feel no fear, no pressure.  For I know that I am surrounded
by greatness, a greatness created by each of you, a greatness which far
exceeds each man here.

(Although he has been getting progressively louder, Marius gets quiet for
the next bit, only to get loud again quickly...)

Many of us will die in the coming battle.  If I die, so be it, for I will
fall as part of the greatest cause of all-- the salvation of Amber, the
one true realm.  If I die, I will die knowing that I will have died the
finest death possible, a death in battle surrounded by the best company
any man could hope for.

As we begin the battle, your eyes will be sharp, your strength steel, your
heart shall be on fire and your spirit shall be pure.  None can stand
against your holy fury.

(By now, Marius is shouting...)

For ORDER, for OBERON, for AMBER!  VICTORY SHALL BE OURS!

In the hills behind the battle, a one armed man talks to  a woman with
violet skin, scanning her face as if he is memorizing it.  "We're going to
move about, so you should get a horse if you can't keep up with mine.  We
should move now.

"Very well.  I will demonstrate the defensive and travelling form I'd like
to use.  Please keep anyone from poking me with a spear while I change; it
may be a bit startling."  Aisling sets down the spyglass and glances
around, making sure that no one nearby looks especially trigger-happy, and
then...  Changes.

She's becoming something bulky, something like a lion, something like a
squid, something like a spider, except somehow appallingly reminiscent of
something human, somehow as if only the corners of your eyes can see how
horrible it really is...  She chuckles, deep and melodious, and shifts
away the aura of nightmare that blanketed the thing, and it becomes much
easier to focus on.  It really isn't that different from a lion, except
for the large bull-like chest, the ring of five eyes around the head, the
three arm-like tentacles coming from the neck region, the long whip-like
tail, the smoky lavender color, and various other smaller details.  For
those who can get past all that, its matte sandpapery skin is really
rather appealing.

Aisling makes no large moves, looking in all directions at once to gauge
the reactions she's induced.  Then she picks up the spyglass with a
tentacle, handing it to Benedict with a solemn, "Loathe as I am to
relinquish this, I believe you'll get more use of it than I."  Her voice
is still familiar, though far lower and more harmonic...  And there seems
to be a bit of a chuckle behind it.  And then she pads after him to his
horse...  A few feet above the ground, walking gracefully on the air.  She
picks up a sword en route.

"Let me introduce you to the dragons and their people.  They are our
biggest communication risk."  He glances at the black road.  "The Chaos
side plays with us.  They send children counting coup.  That should change
with the pattern repair is initiated."

Aisling nods, watching the attacks, looking a bit sad.  (And yes, this
thing she is has an expressive countenance.)  She doesn't feel any need to
add something to Benedict's words, though.

You cross the heights to a clifftop overlooking the abyss. Benedict seems
uninterested in monitoring the battle and rides directly to where J'rim
and L'tarn are discussing tactics.  Benedict's horse, which is striped
like the sky, does not seem bothered by the dragons.  Several of the
beasts look curiously at Aisling.

Aisling returns the curious looks.  Not bad at all.  The skin is nice, but
the eyes are really impressive.  She considers how the swirling effect
could be done, and thinks about incorporating it into several of her
forms...  The while, of course, analyzing the beasts' likely flight
capabilities and weak points.  She sizes up the men similarly.

"You're Jovian, Julian's son?  I am Benedict of Amber, commander in this
place.  I know your father has given you orders, and they stand.  This is
your cousin Aisling, my great-grandchild and an ally of ours.  She will be
our messenger, if it's safe for her to fly.  Can you tell your dragons to
watch for her?  You'll be needed in the air before..."

Jovian regards the creature-cousin at Benedict's side with a look of only
faintly puzzled speculation. He has opened his mouth to reply when--

Aisling looks slightly surprised at Jovian's identity, and then slightly
uncomfortable at Benedict's introduction.

Benedict stops speaking, apparently in mid-thought.  It is as if he smells
something remembered or has a ringing in his ears.

Aisling raises her head, inhaling deeply, and pauses, in a listening
position.

Soon everyone notices it.  Some thing is starting.  Somewhere.

Far on the northern horizon, there is a distinct darkening of the
particolored sky.

//Canareth, the word is given. Start on the stone. The signal to 
launch is imminent.//

Outwardly, the dragonrider is silent, his face a grim mask. He 
draws several head-sized chunks of phosphine-bearing rock from 
his saddlebag, feeding each to his faithful behemoth, then lowers 
goggles over his eyes and adjusts his wine-red scarf to cover his 
mouth and nose.

All along the cliff, dragons and riders follow his example. The mood in
the air is so taut it hums.

Aisling sighs, soundlessly, and while people are perhaps momentarily
distracted she changes again, returning to her mostly human form.  When
the moment has passed, she approaches Jovian-- lavender hair, purple back
streamers, other than that not too horrible.  She offers her hand to shake
and says, "I am pleased to meet you, Jovian, son of Julian, and I wish you
well today.  I will probably be carrying messages in the form of a black
bird...  Seems harder to shoot."  She grins.

As Canareth chews on the phosphine-bearing rock, in effect arming himself
for battle, Jovian squints at the northern horizon. He digests Aisling's
advisory for a quiet moment, then regards her again.

"I can't guarantee your safety if you come out to the line like that. If
Chaos starts throwing variegated flyers at us, the wings will be burning
anything in the sky that isn't a dragon. I can't afford to hold them
back."

She shrugs, cocking an eyebrow at him.  "Much as I'd expected; thus the
small, maneuverable form."

He looks back over his shoulder, then continues. "Go and introduce
yourself to the riders of those three gold dragons, the biggest ones, in
back of the line - their team leader is Kourin, tell her J'rim sent you.
They're our rear echelon; they'll be safer for you to approach. The
dragons are telepathic - tell one of them and you've told us all."

//We will not hurt her.  I shall tell Hoshith of her.//

Mentally, his tone seems a bit hurt or perhaps peevish.


//I know you won't, Canareth. But things are going to get confusing and
dangerous out there. That was a reason for her to keep out of the line of
fire that she'll accept.// With that word, he returns to his pre-flight 
preparations.

Aisling glances to Benedict, then shrugs again and nods.  She turns and
walks away, to a place where she has space, and then changes again:
blacker, smaller, feathery...  Until she is a war crow, hovering with
beating wings in the air.  She chuckles quietly again, a sound like a
interrupted, cooing caw, and she does a wing waggle and flies away to the
back of the line, her lines surreptitiously changing as she goes.

Approaching the big golden dragons slowly she calls, "Hello!  J'rim sent
me!  I'm to speak to Kourin!" her tone polite, though her voice harsh and
crowlike.  When one acknowledges herself Kourin, Aisling settles down on a
sharp rock upthrust nearby and continues, "I'm Aisling, a messenger from
Benedict, who is the main general of this battle.  I'm a shapeshifter.
Jovian tells me that I should pass messages from Benedict to him though
you three, since I'm less likely to get torched that way."  She cocks her
head, birdlike.  "Have you any suggestions for avoiding getting myself
killed by dragons?  Also, it is possible I will be able to patch in some
telepathic capabilites; would it be possible to so talk with the dragons
while out of attack range?"

Kourin is not yet mounted.  "I'm Kourin, Hoshith's rider."  She begins to
offer her hand, notices you have no arms, and awkwardly withdraws it.

Aisling ducks forward as if to plunge off the rock outcropping, and then
pulls back...  The bird-form equivalent of a bow.

"Hoshith tells me that the dragons have all looked at you and they won't
hurt you.  'We will not harm The Eldest One's Fledgling.'  Did she get
that right?  Dragons are lousy with names and relationships, but they're
reasonably quick to tag someone with a description.  Anyway, you should be
safe amongst us.  Dragons do what they say they'll do."

"Um...  I guess that's right,"  Aisling answers her, looking down
sheepishly.  "Thanks."

"Right now, they're telling us that Carenath wants us to get airborne and
look at whatever that is that's coming at us.  I hope it's something to
fight and not just a thunderstorm or something."

Aisling bunches down in her feathers and nods.

She looks somewhat nervous and then says, somewhat more quickly, "I
probably shouldn't ask, but could you show us this shapeshifting?  I mean,
I know that J'lin's family is supposed to be different, but I want to see
it.  Besides if our foes are supposed to do it...  Would you mind?  It
would help us to let people know what to expect."

Kourin stands there, looking sheepish but anxious.

"Um, I'm not the best representative of J'lin's family," she says, looking
like she's grinning.  "And I don't think you'll be seeing much of this in
the midst of combat...  But, sure!"

And she changes once more, becoming larger, more golden, her wings
spreading out behind her...  Until she is perched on the sharp outcropping
like the animated statue of an Egyptian god, ready to pounce.  Golden head
of an eagle, smooth undetailed body of a woman, wings, and an air of cruel
power.  She stands upright on the crag in an attempt to look less
foreboding, and winks.  In fact, she probably matches the golden dragons
to some degree, now.  This is proper, as she will attempt to address one,
quietly:  //Hoshith, can you hear me?//

"ON ALERT MEN! Not just to the North. Be wary in all directions. Our
victory draws nearer." Lilly commands her own heart racing as the
adreneline begins to push through her veins.


---------------------
SECOND WAVE
---------------------
The lull between waves is welcome, if all too short.  For many of the
troops it will last most of the rest of their lives.  As you watch, the
enemy on the far hills grows in number but does not descend.  Those of you
with Chaos knowledge think it probably takes a lord of tremendous
willpower to do that, which does not bode well for you.

Aisling mentions this and other things to Benedict, when she returns to
him after clearing things up with the dragonriders.

Like a slow motion train wreck the forces of Chaos come at you from the
hills.  Above them fly wyverns, each carrying a smaller beast.  They seem
headed for the archers.

This time the foes include men and manlike beasts and the fighting spills
across the entire line.  The line bows back, but holds.  The forces of
Amber are strong, and there are successes as well as deaths all along the
front.  Lilly's forces are almost flanked, but Kern's storm hounds keep
the enemy at bay.

The battle moves back and forth across the same trenches in a one-day
repetition of much of The Great War.  Little is gained or lost by either
side, territorially.

Overhead, the dragons keep the wyverns away from the archers with little
effort.  Occasionally, a sickeningly burnt creature drops from the sky
into the battlefield.  Less frequently, a dragon disappears from sight.

The black road is a mess, sometimes a subject of assault and other times
untouched while hell happens 5 feet away.

Again, that feeling of immanence rolls across you all and you see rain
falling far to the north.  Farther, somehow, than you expect your vision
to extend.

Despite occasional washes of the stench of guts and death when the errant
winds of Chaos blow her way, Aisling does not dispense with a keen sense
of smell.  She wonders with a small portion of her mind what the scent of
the storm to the north will be.

The battle progresses well, and at this moment the army is on the attack,
pressing forward in several places, holding the lines but making deep cuts
into enemy forces.  The line moves, forward, farther than it has been
before.  The militarily minded think that a counterattack should be coming
soon.

In the air, the wyverns pull back.  Two of the beasts execute a flying
maneuver that, in a dragon, would be considered murder-suicide.  They fly
directly at each other and, rather than smashing into each other and
falling from the sky, they merge.  Several others are flying towards the
new large creature.  The first pass of L'tarn's wing suggests that it is,
unfortunately, fireproof.  At the moment it is hovering, in exactly the
way that dragons do not, over the enemy's lines.

Brennan, at that moment, blinks up at the spectacle and mutters,
"Well, that can't be good."  His instinct is to call out some form of
instruction, or even enouragement, to the dragon wing above, but Brennan
knows he has nothing useful to add, so he busies himself with the more
mundane task of making sure his men give neither ground nor quarter.

Jovian watches L'tarn's wing come back from its strafing run, 
dismay turning to anger as they return. Thus far it had been a 
pretty near textbook engagement, played by Calusan rules. But 
now...things were going to have to get ugly. And fast. Whatever the 
Chaos flyers were forming, they must NOT be allowed to complete.

//New orders, Canareth. This is going to suck, but I don't think we 
can afford *not* to close to contact.

//V'laren and Hyloth's wing goes in on the left of that...thing. We 
take our wing in on the right. The others hang back in reserve in 
case this doesn't work. Don't get too close. We come in hard and 
fast. Hit and run - strike with your rear legs and get out. Aim to 
break the wyverns' necks before they can merge - tear off heads if 
you can manage it, but *don't* slow down under any 
circumstance.//

In Marius's area, the citadel troops also change tactics.  They had been
attempting to beat you.  Now they are trying to get past you.  Some of
them are runners, some have hardened carapaces for armor.
Some few of these get by and Marius regroups his troops and prepares to
fall back, leaving a rearguard to protect his withdrawing men.

Aisling, Benedict shares the plan with you and asks you to go tell it to
Julian and then Random.  Random can send a response via you, if need be.
He requests that you walk down the hill in human form, because Julian
doesn't have any mind-reading dragons to tell him who is and isn't on our
side.  Random and Julian are together.  They take your instructions and
nod.  They both look up at Benedict on the hilltop, who dips his
scythelike weapon at them.  Random sends you to Lilly.  "Please tell her
that when Julian's horn blows a large body of Julian's troops will move up
in support of her line.  This will stabilize us  and allow us to break
their counterattack."

Aisling nods, and changes back to a big black bird on the spot.  She
pauses for a few moments to adjust the form-- its lines change, and it
gains a few small black eyes in the back of its head-- and then she slips
away through the curdled air.

Kern is by this time sweeping along the flank of Lilly's troops, keeping
her free.  You notice that there is a place that the enemy is avoiding. 
It lies between two hills to the east.  Something is there, though Kern
cannot tell what.

Briefly Kern considers hunting in that direction but there's far too much
to be done here.

Anyone with time to consider his methods might find them  a little
chilling. He uses his spear, knife and even his fingers usually to
incapacitate opponents by blinding or disembowelling, then leaving them
for the dogs. The victims try to shapeshift their wounds closed again but
most start thrashing and clawing at them within seconds, distracting them
from the necessary concentration. Soon, their screams fill the battlefield
his side of Lilly's troops. Kern frequently reannoints his weapons from
the pot at his waist and strikes as often to save one of the dogs as to
save himself. He brings a new meaning to the term 'dirty fighting', using
one victim's entrails to tangle another.

In the occasional lull, he draws his bow and snipes at longer range
targets but he uses his arrows sparingly and where possible retrieves
them.

Corwin's erstwhile riflemen with pikes have lost 15% of their number,
bearing much of the brunt of heavy fighting.  They can hold the line for a
while, but not indefinitely.  Random offers you some of his unmounted
guard, whom you can either arm with pikes (which now outnumber soldiers,
due to casualties) or you can use as free-ranging support to shore up the
line as it needs it  (Those are Random's suggestions, anyway--you can do
anything you want with them).

Brennan takes enough men to plug up the gaps in the line, and turns
around to request at least as many more-- mounted, if possible.  The
first, he uses as Random suggests, directing them to pick up the
pikes and integrate thesmelves into the little-hairy-guy lines.

Any additional men he receives, he keeps as his own personal reserve. He
does not use them immediately (one reason for which is that the player
doesn't know if his request is granted) but his two immediate concerns are
the forces trying to rush past Marius, and the fight that threatens to
break out in Lilly's lines.  He's not moving yet, but if something goes
wrong, he wants to be able to move, and he wants to have something to move
with. 


---------------------
FALLBACK
---------------------
Lilly's troops are a motley array, some strong and some weak.  You use the
troops well despite the balancing act required to keep so  diverse a group
functioning.  Lilly's personal leadership is a great aid in getting the
various troops to follow her.

However, it does seem that some sort of crisis is developing in the rear
ranks of your troops.  Two small groups are fighting each other.  You pull
back from the lines and ride over to do something about it.  You get them
separated with the help of a minor officer who was in charge of one group.
There are about 5 men in each faction.  They are still yelling at each
other.  One group is pointing to a body and saying the others murdered
him, the accused claim he was deserting.  Aisling you arrive about the
time Lilly gets her fighting men apart.

"Lilly!" she calls in nearly the voice of a crow, doing her best to hover
above sword range and talk at the same time.  She looks like a cross
between a falcon and a swallow, with the rough black feathers of a crow.
"I'm from Random.  When Julian's horn blows, a large body of his troops
will move up to support your line, to stabilize it and break the Chaos
counterattack."  She remains for a moment, to make sure Lilly has gotten
the message, while watching to see that none of the men take it in their
head to turn their aggressions to the talking bird.

Turning her almond shaped eyes skyward to look upon the bird, Lilly nods
her understanding then immediantely returns to her initial problem. "If
you ten wish to slay one another, please do so quickly. I will even assist
if neccesary. I have not the time nor the desire to hold court on this
subject right now. Orders have been given. I will not have ten men putting
our victory in jeopardy. Save your anger for the true enemy. It is they,"
she gestures outwards toward the heart of chaos, "who have truly slain
this man. Blame not each other. This is war. People die. Death gives us
strength. Use that strenght wisely." Her eyes are harsh. She clearly means
everything she is saying.

Without waiting, she turns to her closest second, and says, "Prince Random
sends word. At the sound of the horn blowing we shall be joined. Until
that time, I want it to look as if we are falling back and regrouping.
Take care not to give away our true intentions. Pass word, and quickly."

"Now," turning her attention once again to the ten men who were fighting,
"Are you ready to resume the true fight? I have no time for babysitting.
And remember, the blade is my preferred method of discipline."

It is into this delightful mix of activity that the enemy's counterattack
falls.  The order from Random, passed up and down the line, is to fall
back in an orderly fashion.

Her second moves to shore up the lines and keep the fallback from turning
into a rout.  The men are wavering and it is clear that there is a great
deal of fear in the ranks.

The fighting men look sullen, but seem disposed to return to fighting the
enemy.  They begin to disperse.  Just before Lilly thinks the danger is
over, one of the men throws a dagger.  It goes wide of the mark and hits
the officer who had been helping you to keep the sides apart.  both sides
are running towards you and the bleeding officer, all signs of peace gone
and mayhem in their eyes.  If you don't stop this soon, it will spread. 

For a brief moment Lilly's confidence wavers. Damn her father, she had no
experince in dealing with these sorts of situations, what could he have
been thinking. With a heavy sigh she dismounts her horse and stridesover
to the injured officer, her hand on her sword, prepared to draw it if need
be. It is then that a touch of paranio slips into her mind. Perhaps the
enemy has indeed invaded her ranks. This would be an ideal way to cause
chaos, the thing they most needed for victory. Lilly uses every once of
her deductive reasoning to try to determine who the knife thrower was/is
as she makes her way to her officer.

As she approaches the downed man, she sees that the dagger was not a
dagger, but some kind of chaos creature.  Her unconscious officer is being
gnawed upon by it and if it is not yet fatal, it will be soon.

Lilly's gut reaction is to cut the thing away. It might not save his life,
indeed it might just make him bleed more. Still she will try to get the
thing off of him while keeping her senses very alert for trouble.

As Lilly looks up to speak to the men, she sees that they are descending
upon her, weapons drawn.  Your paranoia seems to have been justified, and
it may have saved your life because you  are aware enough of the attack to
defend yourself.  As they fight, you notice a certain slackness to the
features of the men and a glazed quality to their eyes.  You wonder if
they are directing their own actions.

You can kill them all or you can try to wound/disarm/incapacitate them.
The latter will take longer. It is clear to you that the reinforcements
will be coming soon, and that your troops are mostly holding because of
Daeon's flank protection.  But you know you need to get back to them soon.
Aisling spirals up and away after Lilly's nod, losing the thread of her
words in the clash of the battle.  She takes the chance to gain altitude
and a different perspective on things, cruising high over Deirdre's lines
to see if she can see the fortunes of anyone she knows.  She's tempted to
get a birds-eye view of the whole battle, but refrains...  Dropping back
down and coming in low to Random's position.  "Lilly has been informed,"
she reports, and then wings up the hillock back to Benedict.

Aisling follows orders and returns to Benedict.  "Thank you.  Some of them
have gotten behind Marius and will be heading up the road.  Get the
dragons to..."  He scans the sky.  "ah.  See if you can take them or else
inform Random of the problem.  Then try to find my dragons.  I seem to
have misplaced them."

She turns a black main eye towards the cloud hiding the dragons, and she 
nods.  "I understand."

Benedict suspects that she does not, but does not contradict her.

She pops up into the crazy sky and heads out towards Marius's lines to
look upon these slippery Chaosites; staying with the blackness behind her
back so they are unlikely to pick her out.

Six of them, almost all the same (which screams "conjured creatures!" to
you), they seem to be something like an armor plated buffalo with a
mohawk. They seem directed rather than smart. 

She turns, sliding down the air to Random.  "Six armored bull-like 
Chaosites have slipped past Marius and the archers and are heading down 
the black road.  Benedict sent me to see if I can take them; I'm going to try
to stop them, and I'd appreciate it if you could send a few men to help kill 
them.  I'll be purplish and lionish."

Random has moved between Brennan's troops and Deirdre's.  He says "Right."
He points to two of Deirdre's noble warriors, two that he has been
watching defeat large numbers of the enemy.  "You two!  Follow the talking
bird. It'll become a purple lion.  It'll take you to more enemies"

In a quieter tone, Random repeats himself, apparently vastly amused.
"'Follow the talking bird, it'll become a purple lion.'  I knew I took a
wrong turn at Ygg."

The two knights, both armored head to foot, wheel and follow, per Random's
orders, the talking bird.

Marius surveys the situation.  The question is how to best gather in the
rampaging and disorderly naval warriors for something vaguely resembling
an orderly retreat while preventing the soldiers from getting flanked.

Marius sounds the call to the general troops, holding a small force back
to guard the rear of the retreating naval fighters.  Marius recognizes
that this troop may be on a suicide mission, but the protection is
necessary nonetheless.  The decision takes almost no time to make.

As his troops pass the remaining forces, Marius addresses the troops.

"Men.  There is no time to talk.  You are here to guard against our
withdrawal.  Benedict, the greatest general in the history of Amber, has
decided to call a general fall back to consolidate our forces against the
next wave of attack.  It is your job to provide us with the protection we
will need to avoid a sneak attack while we fall back.

"I will not lie to you.  If the enemy sweeps in, you will all die in the
service of Amber.  You will die as the warriors you are, replete with
honor and glory which we shall take to your families in Amber when the
battle is done.  I am proud to have served with you and will see to it
that your memory is not forgotten when the battle is won.

When the main force has had the opportunity to fall back, then and only
then are you to turn and follow.  Until then, I know that you will acquit
yourselves as men of honor, as sailors and warriors to be reckoned with.

Regardless of what happens next, we shall meet again, whether in this
world or the next.  When we meet again, I will toast your good name and
your honor.  Be well and be strong.  Amber is counting on you."

With that, Marius leaves the men and organizes the withdrawal.

Marius's troops fall back, leaving a small body of sailors to hold the
enemy from them.  These few men, fewer than could crew a ship of the Amber
Navy will, in a place that is as far as one can go from the seas, become
heroes of the Black Road War.  Heroes is what live kings call brave dead
men.  The cost to hold off the brunt of the enemy's attack is high, and
they pay it.

Marius regroups, and his men turn and see what has happened to their
friends and shipmates.  The anger is palpable, and it is unclear if they
can hear orders, much less follow them.  They seem to be on the verge of
frenzy.  Luckily, the enemy is advancing and the fury of the troops is
enough to rebuff the first wave of the attack.

The battle, here as elsewhere, is begun in earnest as Chaos throws all
they can muster at Amber in their attempt to break the chokehold Amber has
on the Road.  The enemy seems more driven to get past you and less intent
on sheer mayhem.   They seem more directed, as if a new battlefield
commander had arrived.

You spare few thoughts for him, whoever he is.  You must fight and let
others look at the big picture.  For now. 

Kern kills with a deadly rhythm on the far flank, Ahead of him, somewhat
out from the battle lines, he spots a beast.  It is a downed wyvern.  It
is shifting it's shape, becoming longer, lither and more deadly.  Kern
recognizes the Lamia and knows it will have a power that will make it a
risk to Lilly's men.  It is heading towards them,  The alpha bitch happens
to be at your side.  She whines, wanting to fall on the enemy with her
pack.

Kern holds her back with a clicking noise he's heard his father use while
he places his spear and nocks an arrow to his bow. He takes careful aim,
seeking the most vulnerable spot before loosing. He has a second nocked
before the first even strikes but doesn't loose until he sees the effect
of the first...the poison should start taking effect about...now!

If the thing starts writhing, he'll loose a second arrow; either way he'll
then grab his spear and lead the dogs to engage it and any others.

The Lamia does not writhe, but she is bleeding from the blow.

As he moves, some sense of forboding makes him seek his brother's mount
and he feels something of the foulness in the sky. Seeing the thing
miraculously just sitting in the air makes Kern wonder about gravity;
perhaps an arrow will carry here, perhaps it won't. He looses one more
straight up at the massive thing along with an unworded prayer to speed it
on its way. Even if it hits, the huge parody of a dragon probably won't
feel it; call it symbolic, it's the best Kern can do.

Without even waiting to see if the arrow falls to the ground, he looks
back down in time to engage the lamia with his boar-spear, even as the
dogs close on its flanks.

Kern fires an arrow into the beast and it flies straight and true, as if
unbound by gravity.  It courses far further and faster than it should and
hits the creature where a normal beast would have a heart.  That is the
last you see of it as clouds obscure the battle above and danger below the
clouds diverts your attention.

You wonder if it is some thing about you that caused the arrow to ignore
what pass for the laws of physics in this place.  Perhaps there is power
in the prayer of a god.  Or maybe Chaos is just like that.  You can't
tell.

The lamia turns its attention to you, attempting to seduce you, calm you,
entice you.  You should call off the pack, you should turn on your
enemies, you should kill the men and horses behind you.

You are unimpressed.  It attacks with a sword in an arm that was not
obvious before, or perhaps was not there.  It seems to be keeping the boar
spear at bay, but the dogs are troubling it.  Your horse is snapping at
her, and it's teeth and hooves seem wicked, as they should.

The dogs are on it, yelping and barking excitedly.

It will be quite a fight, and some of the dogs may be lost, but you know
you are keeping it from routing the retreat of the line.

Several of the bullish armored types have just broken past the sailors and
are trotting down the road behind him.  The archers can't seem to touch
them and have given up.  They still have to get past Benedict, but there
are enough that he might not get them all, especially if he's working on
the plan...

Some of the things that are coming across the plain right now look like
the traditional demons of the swarthy little guys, though.  You aren't
sure if they won't break if you leave them.  They think that A: it is a
sin to kill a demon and B: it can't be done because they are immune to
weapons.  Hell, you're not sure you can hold them if you stay.  You could
solve this problem if you had a sniper rifle, but you don't.

Well, isn't this charming.
The feeling that someone is running a game here is deepening by the
minute.  "Look like the traditional demons of my troops," indeed.

Brennan quickly surveys the scene and realizes that there are more
fires going on than he has the ability to put out.  By about a factor of
three, or so.  "Sorry, Lilly," he thinks to himself, "You're probably on
your own."

Brennan is a firm believer in messengers, however, and he tries always to
have one at the ready, with instructions to return as swiftly as humanly
(or, in this case, little-furry-guyily) possible.  He sends the closest
one (or commandeers someone else's, if need be) hauling ass off to Random
with a status update, with emphasis on Lilly, Marius, and his own
predicament, in that order.

The second action is to dispatch the riders and men that Random had
given him to go kill, trample, break, or in some other way impede the flow
of troops that straggled past Marius-- by any means necessary.

He does not send any of the little furry guys, because they don't
look human enough to pass in the confusion, and he doesn't want the
sailors taking a swipe at the little dudes out of hatred for Corwin.

They should sing the Amber war song that Brennan started, though.

Once all that's out of the way, he eyes the approaching line of
"traditional demons" and singles out one that seems to be heading
right for his line, out in the front.  He quickly dismounts from his
horse, because he's not fond of being pinned under it for the duration of
the battle, and pushes his way out just barely in front of the line, on a
patch of clear and solid ground.

He picks up one blade from a fallen soldier, and holds it in his left
hand, and takes his own blade from its sheathe and holds it in his right. 
He crosses them in the air over his head for a moment, then adopts a
fighting stance, bellowing the war song he had begun so long ago at the
top of his lungs, hoping to bolster his troops.  

They are expected to sing back.
Especially the parts about how the gods honor loyalty and bravery,
dammitall.

He lets his designated lieutenants handle the orderly fall back that
Benedict commanded, and woe betide them if they break discipline.  

He steps backward himself, following their retreat.

The small furry men are in awe of their god, the demon fighter, the
fearless and they sing his song as they pull back.

They watch with fear and hope as a demon charges directly at Brennan.  It
looks rather like the short, swarthy troops, except it  have an extra pair
of arms, great curving tusks, and a pulsing red skin.  It has a third eye
in their foreheads and each arm holds a weapon.  It is three times as tall
as a furry guy.  It moves somewhat clumsily, as if in a Harryhausen Sinbad
movie.

The men sing and the foe reaches Brennan.  It acts somewhat surprised, as
if it expected no opposition.  It swings all four weapons, each one in
order as if it is dancing, each one parried or dodged by Brennan.  It
takes risks, and Brennan takes advantage of it.  An overreaching thrust on
it's part gives Brennan the opportunity to take a weaponbreaking shot.  He
misses the weapon but connects with the wrist.  The blow is true and would
have broken the scimitar.  On the wrist it penetrates the creature's
flesh. There is no bone to stop it so the cut cleanly exits, severing one
of the creature's four weapon hands.

It pulls back and stares for a second, and the wound closes while Brennan
recovers.  You have proven, at least, thet they are not immune to weapons.
It is off balance and apparently weakened by the attack.  In fact it goes
down quickly enough.  For all it's ferocity and appearance, it was no
match for the son of a Prince of Amber.  The retreat is protected and
orderly.

Excellent.  All Brennan could possibly have hoped for.

But, fun as it may be lopping the hands off of incredibly stupid 
demons, a good captain has other duties in battle.  That being the
case, once the little furry guys' morale is firmly back in place and
they realize that they were being conned, Brennan pulls himself off
toward the side of the battle (or at least out of the thick of it)
finds his horse, gets back on it, and takes a quick look around the
field to see what's going on.

He keeps a sharp eye out for anything going seriously wrong, as these guys
were almost too stupid to have been a real threat.  Either they're getting
desperate, or they're still ratchetting up the pressure.  Brennan hopes
for the former, but at heart he's a pessimist.


The dragon wings begin a concerted attack on the gathering wyverns,
ripping some to pieces and pulling them apart in the air.  The pieces,
which had been falling in the previous attacks, now begin to break apart
into gas. At first it is a mist, but it rapidly becomes a layer of clouds,
effectively isolating the air-war from the ground battle.  The pulsating,
growing mass still shows bits and pieces of wyvern in it, but it is
becoming more quick to respond to your attacks.

At one point it latches on to a brown dragon, and drags the dragon and the
rider into it.  For a few seconds you hear awful mental screams, and then
nothing.  The keening begins immediately, as the Dragons honor their dead.
The attack does not slow and the dragons need no encouragement to fight
this odd foe.

It is a long, hard fight and you are isolated from the ground, you tore up
many of the wyverns and now there are none left. The creature in front of
you is like a gigantic dragon, if dragons had wings sprouting out of every
surface and skin like a bag full of rodents.  The part of it that is the
most distinct and unchanging is the maw, which has row after row of tiny
razorlike teeth.

It had been mostly immobile while it was forming.  It lifts up into the
sky with a screech and bolts towards the foremost wing.

No time for words. Jovian impresses an *image* upon Canareth, clearer than
any verbal instruction, to pass through to the wings.

*The wings holding position, tight formation as the beast approaches...
focus, hold, hold...and *break* with its jaws just meters away, flowing
past it on either side and tearing away pieces of its wings as we go*

And to the reserves: //Get somebody below the cloud cover to keep an eye
on the archers. And for Faranth's sake, don't breathe in that cloud!//

Four wings fly at the the beast in tight formation.  Executing a precision
maneuver worthy of a medal at the spring games, they peel off within
meters of the creature and each dragon executes a strafing attack on the
sides of the beast.  It is well done and causes some damage.  The flanker
for the last wing stays too close for too long and is hit by a tail sweep.
 He may have broken some ribs, but he does not wish to withdraw from the
fight.

The creature turns after you pass and as you are reforming the wings after
the assault it begins flying (or at least moving towards you.  At first it
is not very fast, but it seems to be coming up to speed.

One of the more difficult parts about reforming the wings is that the
direction that is 'down' is different for every dragon.  For the most
part, they are all within about 90 degrees of each other, but it's been
getting worse. 

//The clouds are down. The clouds are down,// Jovian impresses 
with all the confidence and will he can muster, to calm any impulse 
to panic the dragons and riders may be feeling at the loss of local 
vertical. //Reach for the minds of the queens. They are down!//

The next maneuver ordered is a parabolic flight pattern, first soaring
anti-queenward in a high arch over the dracoform - then streaking in a
power-dive queenward around the thing, ripping as much off its sides as we
can. When we're clear of it, everyone is to hold their breath and KEEP
diving - do not form up for another attack. Keep tight formation, head for
the queens and HOLD YOUR BREATH.

We are going through the clouds. We are staying together, we are 
staying focused and oriented, and we are returning to the main 
battle.

The queens wing drops as a formation and heads into the cloud, just as
your forces are raking the flanks of the beast.  As you reform afterwards,
you receive the following word: //We are at a great height.  We think we
can tell where the armies are but we are unsure.  Should we fly down?  You
are still going up.  Unless the ground is going down.//

//Get down there, Kourin. Don't engage anyone, we're on our way. 
Find the archers and report!//


Marius quickly pulls in the troops, a tight formation to await the
onslaught.  Marius directs a few additional men to hold the far side of
the flank, to prevent the chaosites from making and end-run around the
formation and to force the attack back towards the middle and back towards
the men under Deirdre's command.

"HOLD YOURSELVES-- THEY WILL COME TO YOU".  Marius stands only slightly in
front of the men, far enough so they can await the signal.

When the chaosites come within 100 feet, Marius raises his sword.  His
order to attack is more akin to a cry of pure rage than a word.  At this
point he pulls his sword down and begins the charge.

Let the mayhem begin.

Kern starts by forcing the lamia to manouevre so as to open angles for the
dogs. As they go for the hamstrings [or whatever the equivalent is on this
thing] Kern takes the opportunity to close, using his spear to push the
sword wide long enough to close and grapple, inside the effective swing.

By now his aspect has consumed him completely, his antlers born by a
goat-headed man with cold, leaden eyes. He opens the corps-a-corps with a
butt to the face, then green-stained fingers probe for the lamia's eyes
while the other hand rips upward with the stone knife. His fighting style
is instinctive, furious and savage; his mind focused on killing the
soulless demon, imagining it lifeless, dogmeat.

[Assuming the lamia goes down eventually] When the thing is dead, he
savours the victory for just a few seconds before turning a full circle on
his heel to survey the situation.


The enemy is large, well defended and dumb as...well whoever conjured them
didn't waste time on a braincase.  They seem almost mindless.  Aisling can
slow them and she can hurt them, but they aren't going down.   The don't
seem interested in attacking her; they don't even seem to have an attack
form.  You think you could handle one or two by your self, but not half a
dozen.

Perhaps they're supposed to shift shape when they get somewhere.

Aisling manages to delay the herd until the two knights arrive.  You
wonder if so few can help, but they seem to be very confident.  The enemy
has moved the battle back to a part of the black road that has begun to
curve up towards the heights where the archers are stationed.

Mindless cattle?  What benefit is that to have them get through enemy
lines and head towards Amber alone?  Considerations of this kind keep
Aisling from sneering, as she busily works to whip out the eyes of every
creature in the herd, for a starter.  

It is a stalemate for some minutes.  They cannot pass your line and you
cannot seem to do more than minor damage to them.  Your howl and
appearance seem to slow them.

When additional reinforcements from Brennan arrive, the balance is tipped.
The knights charge the foes, while the new fighters press in from the
flanks .  The green knight in particular is an amazing fighter.  Something
about him makes you wonder if you knew him in Amber.  The knight in purple
has the presence to tell the new arrivals that the purple floating lion is
on their side.

He leaves his sword deep in the back of the lead creature, which barely
damages it. Drawing a mace from his side, he attacks another of the
creatures, this one close to the edge.  The force of the blow from his
charge drives the creature a few feet to the side, but those feet are
enough.  It goes over the edge of the black road, into the abyss.  You see
it change form, becoming a smaller and more human-like creature.  It
reaches out and grabs the horse of the knight in green, pulling it with
him, over the edge.  Now they are both falling.  The knight leaps off, and
manages to catch the edge of the black road.  He pulls himself up from the
abyss and picks up his mace.  You think he must be very strong and very
fast.

"Throw them all off!," he shouts, bringing you back to the present
problem. His plan is a successful one, if time consuming.  The creatures
you consign to the abyss will not die, but they will not be able to return
in time to affect the battle.

The lot of you team up to throw the mindless juggernauts off of the side
of the abyss.  Your tentacles help immensely, but the strength of the
knight in green is beyond human.  The knight in purple is not as strong,
or as lucky.  His armor locks with the last of the beasts and he goes over
the edge with it.

Crap!  If it is possible, Aisling would like to grab him and stop his
fall. If for him to fall means death, and if Aisling could stop that without 
herself dying or becoming useless to Benedict, she'll try...

So would the knight in green.

You reach out with a long elastic limb reaching for him, a hand at the end
of it.  He sees you and struggles for a moment with the thing that has
him. It's clearly a shapeshifter, because it is definitely losing mass. 
Now it begins to split into smaller pieces, instant fission into small,
fast runners.  You recognize them as a particularly nasty form of
shapeshifting parasite.  Several have climbed past the knight and are
heading up what we should probably call your arm towards your body.  You
shake your arm trying to dislodge them, and mostly succeed.

One of them bites you and your nervous system automatically  closes off
the poisoned flash, preventing the parasite from invading your body. 
Beyond the firewall your hand pulses red, red, red and stops responding to
your commands.  The stress of holding the knight in purple and the
creature that he is wrapped around and the encapsulated poison are likely
to become too much for your autonomic shapeshifting to overcome.  You
believe that this would kill most shapeshifters and could do a great deal
of damage even to ones as powerful as you.  It is unlikely that the knight
is still alive. You can let go or try to bring them both in.  They are not
moving, but there are still two of the parasites that are climbing over
him towards you.

Aisling does a lightning-fast mental calculation:  possibility of knight
being recoverable?  -he's stopped moving, these things are very bad; I
probably can't shake them all into the abyss, I can't risk letting them
get another shot at me or these humans around me...  She has to let the
guy go.

Of course, if her hand has stopped responding to her that could be a bit
difficult.  She'd really, really much rather not have to cut it off. 
She'd rather knock it free with another of her hands, if she can do that
without getting hand #2 attacked, and if the healing process of driving
the poison from her body in a wave of holy wrath would be shorter than the
process of regenerating a hand...  But if not, out comes the hand with the
sword, and away fall the desecrated bits of three beings.

She reels a few steps back from the Abyss in reaction, and watches the
purple knight shrink within it...  Cradling her hand to her or holding it
away from her distastefully, as the case may be.  "Shit," she remarks in
that deep melodious voice.

The knight in green stares for a moment at his falling companion, unknown
thoughts and feelings running beneath the closed visor of his helmet.  He
picks up his mace and mounts the purple knight's horse.  He salutes you
with the mace in what can only be considered a jaunty, insouciant way, and
spurs back towards the battle line.

Aisling nods once in reply, levelly.
Aisling climbs up the air towards the low clouds, walking through them as
if on an invisible staircase.  Above the clouds you see the vast horizon
of the sky, but no dragons.  There are more clouds above you, but they are
at what is, even by Chaos' standards, a considerable distance.

Aisling pauses.  If it was possible to talk to the dragons by telepathy
when she tried before, she'll patch that in to her current form and
listen.
 If not, and in any case, she'll continue her smooth run upwards,
spiralling silently into the sky in a pace and angle a tad more abrupt
than her usual long-travelling attitude.  She wants to get there fast, but
with plenty of energy left to fight at the top.  
With the mental energy she isn't using to watch with, she considers the
knights, particularly the green knight.  She runs down the roll of Amber
heraldry, seeing if anything rings any bells...  More detailled analysis
of why he seemed familiar will have to wait for later, though.

The wings move with the precision of years of close combat to drop in
formation below the cloudbanks.  The cloudstuff sticks like gray cotton
candy to yourselves and your dragons.  It is as if you have dived through
an enormous jellyfish.

You see below you a rapidly shrinking vista of land and you see that a
very low layer of clouds is building preternaturally quickly, but what
isn't preternatural in this place?  It is darkening from the north, where
you can also see a line of approaching rain, a rain too dark to see into.

Canerath reports that the creature walking up the air towards you is //The
Fledgling//.  She is not within speakng distance of the queen, which will
take some time, even with the queen's wing dropping down.

Jovian, your immediate concern is probably the cloud you just left.  It
seems to be raining baby wyverns.  The first ones seem materially bigger.

She will carefully dash in when the golden ones, the lowest, attain her
level...  Close enough to bellow to their riders.  "The archers are
currently unmolested, but Benedict is wondering what happened to you."

If any of them stray too close, we'll test whether these little guys are
fireproof too. We will avoid, avoid, AVOID the temptation to go *between*
to shake this goop the way we would with a Thread tangle.....

We are not, however, breaking off to pursue the cloud-hatchlings. 
Not when something plainly wants this desperately to separate us 
from the ground battle. I'll slow down to talk with the Fledgling if she
still wants me after she's talked with Kourin, but that's about it.

Aisling's immediate concern is to make sure she's not in the path of the
dragons dropping.  Just in case.  Plus, it'll be easier to approach them
from above or the side than from below.  

Meanwhile, she watches the sky, to see the further developments of the
dogfight.

Brennan's men return to him, reporting success.  They are pleased with
themselves, and impressed as all hell by the knight in green.

As well they should be.

Brennan takes their report, and by this time has taken a good look up and
down the field of battle.  He sends one of the just returned riders back
to Random with a report on the status of his own men, of Marius' men
(which he probably already knows) and the status of Lilly's men.  

He can see that there is some disturbance in Lilly's lines, but he
probably hasn't the time or vantage point to get a good detailed look at
what's going on.  It seems pretty chaotic, though, and perhaps not best
served by throwing more unfamiliar men into the mix.

He figures that about the best thing he can do in this situation is
let the little furry guys and his appointed lieutenants continue to
deal with the retreat, now that they have morale and realize that the
"demons" can be wounded just like anyone else.

Brennan, however, takes the men that have just returned and extends
them along the right side of his lines, near to Lilly's own.  The idea is
to stabilize Lilly's line as much as possible until she works out her
difficulties, without straying from his own area of responsibility.

Brennan is not above snapping out the occasional order to her men, if they
seem receptive.  They are all suited to the goal of following Benedict's
overall orders for an orderly retreat.  If they seem receptive, or once
they realize that he's an allied commander, he will exhort them to
discipline, formation, and bravery.

However, his first priority is always the safety and conduct of his
own men.  He pursues this secondary goal only in the degree that
watching his own men will allow; neither will he allow himself to be
pulled away from his own men.  And his lieutenants are made to know
that he will not be outside the range of a good holler.

Anger begins to rise up in Lilly's chest. She feels a bit foolish for
allowing her self to be put into the center of an attack such as this.
Whether their actions are their own or not, this is war. These men came
into this with the full knowledge that their lives might be sacrificed for
the greater good. And right now Lilly believed herself to be the greater
good. Without hesitation she begins to simultaneously defend herself while
taking down her attackers. She will not stop, or take a moment to think
about the loss of life until she is sure that she is safe from this
particular menace.

The fight is long and exhausting and the tight focus Kern has used to keep
the Lamia from kiling him has prevented him from seeing how far he has
been drawn from the battle.  Lilly's flank is a long way away and there is
little you can do for her from here.  She seems safe on the flank, though,
at least for a few moments.

While you are cut off, you also have something of a breather, because the
battle has passed you by, or perhaps you, it.

You have been drawn to the northern hills, to a place you noticed and
wondered about previously.  This pass is unguarded and avoided.  Your
senses tell you that there are people nearby and you think a quick look
behind this hill might tell you something you really need to know.  if
there is an ambush, it's here. 

There's no woods around so Kern instead uses rocks and breaks in the
terrain as cover. Eyeing the dogs for clues as to the quarry, while
keeping them as quiet as possible, Kern stalks his prey, ritually
annointing his weapons (the spear must have been left way behind so it's a
knife until he decides to use the bow). Despite the antlers, he seems to
melt into the landscape - perhaps they help break up the outline of his
head?

Kern keeps the dogs quiet, quiet enough with a storm coming and a battle
behind him, to creep over the far shoulder of the hill and look down into
the notch he has seen in the hills.  to the east is the battle, but here
are warriors, mounted and armed, waiting.  You can see that there is a
watcher on the far side of the notch, looking back towards the battle. 
The force looks strong and could, if appropriately applied, be decisive.

That have not seen you yet, or heard the dogs.  That will happen soon, you
think, if you stay where you are.

Kern does not want to wait too long but it could be very important to find
which side these guys are on so, before ducking out of sight, he'll
quickly scan them for liveries or an important identifiable figure. Since
he's now had a chance to see Chaos and Amber close-up, are they obviously
from one end of the Universe or the other?

If they turn out to be Chaos troops, he'll retreat a short distance and
consider the chances of an ambush by 12 dogs and a fertility god or of
warning the Amber forces before they strike. If they turn out to be Amber
troops and he has no reason to be suspicious of their leader, he'll return
to the battle via his spear and continue slaying the opposition.

Since he's been spotted there's no point in trying to duck now. Kern holds
the woman's gaze for a few seconds; this normally unsettles people but does
he recognise her?

No. She has an amazing presence.  It occurs to you that she might be a goddess.

She salutes you with her rapier.

Kern acknowledges her gesture with a slight incline of his [antlered
goat's] head.

Then he turns away and vanishes back towards the battle, intending to
let his vengefulness take full reign. He'd like to pick up his spear
but if the situation doesn't allow, he'll not weep over it.


--------------------
CHARGE
--------------------
As the line of Amber forces stretching from Marius' sailors on the black
road and adjacent to the abyss through Deirdre's nobles to Random to
Brennan to Lilly to Kern struggle to maintain order, Benedict watches all
from his far hillside.  Were he to glance up, he would not that the sky
has been cleared of both his adversaries and his allies.  Clouds cover
half the horizon and in the distance it is raining hard enough to obscure
vision. The black road runs off into the storm.  That way lies Amber.

On the far side of the field, new reinforcements arrive in groups, adding
momentum to the forces of Chaos.  They threaten to overwhelm the
defenders, and cause the battle to be lost and the defense to fail.

Benedict observes the lines and sees where it is holding and where it is
giving.  He sees something he has been waiting for, a signal from Random,
who has just conferred with one of the knights.  At an instant in time
that few can dispute is ideal for it, he gives an order.

A horn blasts in response, loud and long and legendary.  It is a call that
is heard in only two places; in Arden and when the Rangers of Arden go to
war.  Those who know it are cheered, for it presages reinforcements.

Lilly deals quickly with the remaining trouble behind the lines, quickly
the 10 armed men become no threat to her.  Those who are nearby watch
wide-eyed.  Lilly does not have to go towards the frong because the front
falls back to her.  Around her and at her command the troops rally.

A along the lines a ragged cheer starts, swells, and becomes a roaring. 
As the reinforcements blast into the enemies troops, the defenders rally,
stopping their opponent's advance, holding the line, and finally pushing
it forward.  Foe after foe lies dead or maimed on the well-churned ground,
although many of the most chaotic dissolve into an atomic mist before your
assault.

Through it all, the sailors of Amber's navy hold the anchor point, pushing
off attackers to hold the black road.  The relief on the far side of the
line strengthens all the parts of it.  The sailors , too press forward,
holding their ground and regaining the spot that their comrades died to
protect.

After a period of time, you all begin to think it may not be enough.  The
advance begins to run out of steam, the lines are holding, but the push
slows then stops.  You are holding your ground, but going nowhere.  The
enemy have regrouped and seem to have formed lines that *they* can hold.

Your troops have done an amazing job and there are many brave men both
alive and dead on the field, and your parents and aunts and uncles all
show themselves to be amazing fighters, but the lines are no longer
moving. They may just be starting to fall back a bit.

Brennan, Lilly, and Marius are at the front of thier respective forces.

And Brennan wastes no time.

By this point, he has long since put himself back in the custody and
keeping of his own men, since Lilly has long since dealt with her
situation to her own satisfaction.  Although he has kept himself out
of the direct conflict as much as possible, preferring instead to
maintain the organization of his men, he still bears and fights with
two blades.  They come in handy when facing demons, traditional or
modern, who have tendencies toward multi-limbed activities.

Bellowing under stippled sky and thunder, "Forward the line of
victory!  FORWARD THE FORCE OF AMBER!!" Brennan does something which
might be considered risky, if done by someone whose troops had not
previously been awed and inspired by the courage and tenacity of a 
divine demon-slayer.

Not content to simply hold the line, and seeing to reason to settle,
he bellows his war cry across the field and once again enters into the
conflict ahead of his men, lashing out with blades, boots, or any weapon
come easily to grasp. 

He trusts his men utterly, and places his life in their furry but
capable hands.  It is easy enough for Brennan to move forward, and to
leave a string of broken bodies in his wake.  It is just as easy for
Brennan to move far enough ahead to be surrounded and cut off.  But his
men could never allow that as they quicken pace to keep up; to fill the
fleeting, momentary void that Brennan might create; to protect him as he
leads them.

He trusts his men utterly, and doesn't look back.

He fights to give his men the opportunity to form a wedge against the
enemy.  He fights to bring his men, and the force of Amber, forward
against the enemy, and forward again, and forward one more time; pulling
them forward step by step by rock and stone, on the sheer force of
determination and conviction.

Lilly's eye catches the mad surge of her cousins troops. It was a bave
move, perhaps a bit unwise, but brave. She smiled slightly to herself as
her brain began to formulate her reaction.

"Brave soldiers, follow my lead. Time has come for a retreat so that we
may regroup and be more deadly when the need returns." She yells at the
top of her lungs and the she begins moving not backwards, but sideways,
away from her cousins charge. Her trust is not in her troops the way his
is. No, her trust is place in the enemy. Every once of her fully expects
their line to now move forward to rapidly in the hole she has left. Once
the line looks to be somewhat broken, she calls to her troops once more.
"Now men, CHARGE!" In essence she brings her troops in at them from a new
angle, acting as hammer to her cousins anvil.

The fighting is furious.  The bodies of the dead pile high.  The sailors
continue to battle ferociously.  There is no talking, only killing.

Lots and lots of killing.  Tons.  Rivers of blood type stuff.  More gore
than George Romero could jam into a "living dead" type movie.  Food for a
hundred vultures.  No, a thousand.  No even more than that.  I mean, can't
you just feel the carnage?

Kern has taken several small wounds.  If any of these are actually
serious is not clear.  He has blood and other liquids on him.  He does
not feel slowed by his wounds, but that could be the rush of battle and
Kern's monomania.

No reason to be cautious, then. :-)

Kern surveys the field, and sees a group of likely targets.  Lilly has
swept up the flank and filled a hole in the line, and the vista to the
east is almost evenly split between the forces of Amber and the forces of
Chaos. It is at this moment, standing beside his black mount, with the dogs at
heel nearby, that Kern hears a trumpet blast.

Knowing the cavalry he's just seen will be sweeping up behind him any
second, he takes the dogs off to the side before leading them in a
parallel charge on the same flank, aiming slightly behind the enemy line.

He shoots off the last of his arrows as he charges in and by the time the
dogs and he make contact, he's throwing rocks. Then it's knife work! By
now his poison's all used up too but the dogs are as vicious as ever.

Lilly and Brennan act together, he bringing his forces out and she
flanking those soldiers he has rolled up along his extended lines.  It
is hard-fought and not without casualties, but it stems for now the
enemy's threatened breakthrough between your forces.  Many of their
soldiers and creatures die in the gauntlet between your troops.

The lines resolve and it looks to be a slow battle of attrition.  The
vagaries of battle have moved such that Lilly and Brennan have fought
towards each other, and reach each other in a moment of relative
tranquility.

You have a moment to speak, if you wish.  Or you can return to the
battle.

Brennan doesn't bother to comment much on what's gone before.  But in the
moments they've got to hold a battlefield conclave, he starts out with,
"This has been going on far too long, you ask me.  What do you think about
one of us minding the fort, while the other starts looking for officers to
kill?"

The girl nods, pushing a few stray hairs from her eyes. "Your men are
probably in more ways more loyal, though less trained. Based upon that, I
beleive I should hold the line here. Is that acceptable?" Her voice is
soft, just rising above the din of the battle. She evidently does not wish
for the troops to hear her assesment.

"Could be.  Ever wanted to play at being a god?" he says with a
slightly sour face and the same lowered voice.  "Power flows from the
barrel of a canon for these guys, and being the war god's daughter is
definitely an in "

Lilly smiles very softly, a slight blush coming to her cheeks, "I suppose
there is no point in denying my heritage. And if your men revere my
father, well then I can see the wisdom behind your words."

Here, Brennan shrugs.
"Well, they're out there chopping away at their own mythology right
now, under the command of the son of the Lord of Darkness.  I don't
think your heritage can possibly hurt."

While speaking Brennan is scanning the field, looking for likely
targets who are close to the front lines.  In the grudging event that he
doesn't see any, he adds, "Any good ideas on how to sucker one of these
guys up close to the lines?"

A moment after saying this, Brennan's eyes narrow and glint with all the
ferality of a vicious idea.  "Hey," he says softly.  "Don't we have one of
the Chaosi on our side?"

With a quick nod she responds, "Indeed, her name is Aisling, is it not?
Attracting her attention might be difficult however. I can only imagine
the tasks which my father has assigned her. Perhaps we can cause a tiff
between their soldiers? Trust me, that will get the attention of the
officers." There is an odd look in her eyes and her words carry the irony
she is feeling in her heart.

His grin deepens, and becomes downright lupine.  "Yeah, turnabout
would indeed be fairplay here."  He sobers a little.  "But I have no
good idea on how to provoke that.  Again, a shapeshifter would help."

He continues scanning the battlefield, looking for a good opportunity, or
a friendly shapeshifter, or a GM update.

They're on the far hills, just like your officer(s) are on the hills
behind you.  Chaos tactics are "Get em!", so they don't need a lot of
order and discipline.  The field is a massive swirling cloud of enemy
fighters, all pressing each other for an opportunity to attack you.  The
field is rapidly becoming a mud-pit as a light rain drifts from the north.

Brennan heaves a great, disappointed sigh.
There is no joy in Mudville, if the other team won't come out and
play, the cowardly bastards.  

You notice Kern, having beaten a giant snake-man thing, has ranged further
afield.  It is a good thing your flank is clear, because he is out of
position to help you.

Word comes down from Random.  "Hold 'em here and wait for the signal.
You'll know when to charge."

No shapeshifter in sight. low clouds overhead.  rain, but not a lot.
It's a maddening directive from Random; your reserves are committed, so
it's unclear what he gains.  You hold the line, though, and it is clear
that Deirdre's knights are holding back, they are ready to break out.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, a similar lull has
provided a moment to Marius and Deirdre.

"I am literaly falling off my feet, and they are going to want me to be
"Deirdre the Axe Princess" again here soon.  Have some water."  She offers
him a flask.

"How goes it with the sailors?"

The sailors fight and die well, mother.  They are a credit to the navy. 
And to me.

I do not think their battle frenzy will abate soon.  They saw their
rearguard get slaughtered to the man.  A sight they won't soon forget.

When the battle is done, we will need to speak at some length about where
we go next and how we proceed.  There are many new players on the board,
and much work to be done.  There do not appear to be any children of
Corwin running about, which is good.  Eric's daughter possesses no better
claim than he did.

There is an opportunity here, don't you think?

"Yes, son.  But play the long game.  You'll do better if you reluctantly
accept the will of the people than if you proclaim your right.  This
should secure Caine's navy for you.

"Don't forget, time is different here.  Eric's son may have had years to
work on Gerard, and who knows who else is there.  It will be interesting
to see how the returning veterans are treated.  You may wish to be their
champion, if things fall out that way.

"Also, consider Benedict's granddaughter.  That claim, while long in
abeyance, still sounds a tocsin to people of power in Amber.  You might
consider marrying her.  She would be more useful to you than Eric's
daughter."

Deirdre looks up, and sees that her troops are becoming more heavily
engaged.  "Fight well.  I shall see you when all this is over, son.  You
make me proud."

Time stretches and you begin to wonder if the line can hold.  Just before
you decide that  it will not, you hear a trumpet blast from the west, in
the direction that Daeon went.

The blast is followed by several more, and a thundering of hooves audible
across even this battlefield, over the light but worsening rainfall.  It
is as if all activity stops on the field as the ethereal calvary charges,
building speed and power.  It is as if it is the only force allowed to
move.  On your side, on the chaos side, the magnificent calvary holds all
eyes.

Brennan is not as easily wowed, nor is he above slitting a few throats in
this great mess.

The knights fight their way across the field, clearing the plains of the
foe.  Man, Beast, and Man-Beast does not stand before them.  The defeat
your foresaw so recently for Amber now seems to be chaos's destiny.  The
cavalry works with Deirdre's forces on the flank, riding north to fight
the remaining foe.

The field is clear and the troops are charging forwards, driving the
remnants of their foes down or back.

Brennan manages his segment, driving them hard, but making sure that
they do not get over-extended, or too far ahead of everyone else.  It is
extremely unlikely that this is a Chaosi set-up, but military discipline
is always a good idea.

The fight goes well, and it should soon be an inevitable victory for
Amber. It is then that you notice the red lightning, striking at your
forces. Eric's men and Julian's are struck and struck hard by it, losing
ground and troops and morale.

You notice that the response of the leaders is to charge.  Deirdre and a
group of knights and Random and several others are making personal
efforts to break through to take the wizard responsible for this.

Brennan studies the field in detail for a moment, then glares up at
the Red Wizard in the distance.  His eyes, when the lightning isn't
flashing off them, are a burning electric green, and if looks could
kill from a distance, the Red Wizard would be fertilizer.

But counting the Green Knight, the lines of Amber are already down by
three or four champions; and Brennan is half expecting another one or two
to head that way; and the line still needs to be held in good order.

Brennan consoles himself by spitting in the direction of the Red
Wizard, then falls back and drifts to his left.  Messengers are sent
out, first to Benedict noting who and how many have quit the field,
and that instructions should now be relayed through him; then to Lilly
asking for updates and for her to keep the right flanks stable while
Brennan minds the left.

That done, after his drift back and left, he should be in a place 
reasonably between his own troops and those that Deirdre and the Green
Knight left behind in their rush forward toward the Red Wizard.  Over
these, he establishes command.

He does not engage in direct personal combat, unless some
extraordinary circumstance dictates it.  (A fleeing field commander
of the opposite side might be such a thing.)  Rather, since the enemy is
in disarray, he concentrates on keeping all in good order on the Amber
side.

Brennan also keeps an eye on the remnants of the Black Road.

Marius senses that the time is now or never, for any number of things.  He
hacks his way to join Deirdre and Random, moving towards the wizard.  When
he joins them, he nods grimly and keeps dispensing death.

Marius says nothing.  The who and why of the wizard attack are far less
important than the threat itself.  There will be time later to ask
questions.

That's about what I expected.
An entirely uncommanded left flank.  

Consider Marius' actions incorporated in Brennan's initial report,
along with a "Hey, subcommanders are getting pretty sparse, down
here," undercurrent to it.


--------------------
CONSOLIDATION
--------------------
Your orders are returned.  Command the troops between Prince Bleys and
Prince Julian.  Do not worry about the sailors.  Look to the Princes if
you need aid.  I will personally take control of the Black Road.

Lilly, your orders are to roll up the flank in case of attack but hold
your troops in reserve.  You're the next option.  Prince Julian or Prince
Bleys will issue the Call for Assistance on their trumpets if they need
you to come in.

Fair enough.  Brennan personally hadn't wanted much to do with the
sailors, anyway-- getting decent order out of them would probably
taken as much effort as commanding his own, Deirdre's and Random's men
together.  Benedict can have them for the time being.

Consider Brennan's end position even farther left than before, as he
tries to find a reasonable center-back position to try managing a
bunch of suddenly abandoned troops.  Brennan is probably doing a lot
of shouting at various people within reach, trying to maintain good
order.  A lot get drafted into playing messenger to make sure
everyone understands that that the name of the game is still
*orderly* advance, and battlefield promotions are handed out where
appropriate.

Brennan considers spitting in that general direction one more time for
good measure, but probably hasn't the time.

The sailors are on it.  You notice that Prince Benedict himself has ridden
down the black road to join them.  They have cleared the road and are
awaiting any futher activity on from the nighted citadel.  It is amazing
the amount of Order Prince Benedict can bring to them very quickly.

Brennan notes this with appreciation.
He hadn't been entirely certain how he was going to manage that lot,
and three others at the same time.  He's sure he could have...
somehow... badgered them into line, but this isn't the situation he'd have
wanted to try it.  

As it is, in his copious spare time, Brennan watches and tries to
learn.

Brennan is a big fan of re-using anything that worked before, and
seems likely to work again.  As best as he is able, he forms his
expanded group of men into a line-- Deirdre's on the left, his own
anchoring the center, and Random's on the right.  These, he tries to
array in a broad, shallow wedge with his own men at center and
leading, the others to either side.

This is not the hyper-agressive wedge formation that Brennen used when
only commanding the little furry guys; the idea is to keep them moving
forward in good order until they're even with Bleys' and Julian's forces.

Brennan, with his expanded responsibility, does not lead from the
thick of battle, unless some situation along the line absolutely
demands it.  Lieutenants lead from the front; captains manage from
behind.

Kern's first instinct is to hunt down demons with the dogs so he remains
in place unless the 'affinity' for that 'knight' dictates otherwise?

They are well disciplined.  They want to go with her, but you are the
leader.  It is not unlike how they were with your brother.  Or you before
Julian assigned them to you.  They seem to know their friends.  She is
clearly a familiar ally.

You and the hounds are as a force of nature on the battlefield, pushing
back the foe and preventing them from regrouping in front of the troops.

The rain is coming down harder now, and visibility is lessened, but the
field was already muddy from the churn and the blood.

You fight on, unleashing the destructive power of your godhead upon them.

Part of Lilly wants to confront the wizard, but as usual, intellect
over rides. If all of the field commanders were to simply abandon their
troops, the men would fall into disarray. Which was just what she expected
Chaos wanted. She would be damned if she would give into them that easily.

Lilly takes time to asses her troops and strengthen the right flank as
much as possible. She then sends for a messenger to take word to Brennan.
Foutunantely her cousin and her seem to be working well together, as his
messenger arrives before she can send hers out. Her assesment is then of
course given to him to deliver back to Brennan.

For the briefest of seconds she thinks about how much she would like to
get to know Brennan should they both survive this. Then just as quickly
she thrusts the thought from her mind and gets back to the business at
hand, trying to as a calming voice of reason and stability to her men even
as she swings her sword.

It appears that Benedict is setting up to deal with a lull in the battle.
You are all told not to attack.  The word is, the red flashes indicate
that there is no longer any need to protect the road, only yourselves. 
Don't waste any troops in attacks, just fight back and if they don't
attack, dig in. The enemy is doing the same.  This is good, as the 
increasing rainfall has made fighting almost impossible.

Brennan is more annoyed by the rain than by Benedict's command. 

However, it will give him the chance to make sure he has his forces
organized to best advantage.  Instead of a frenzied series of commands
trying to shape things up in a hurry, Brennan can now-- and will-- take
more time and care about things, make a greater consideration when handing
out his battlefield promotions, etc. 

In general, though, his orders are the same with regards to the
positioning of his groups.  The only difference is that, if there are
enough men from Deirdre's and Random's groups, he will form a small
reserve corps in case of emergency.  (He doesn't add his own men to this,
because they're too valuable as front line shock troops.)

Lilly will begin to use this situation to her advantage. Now, she feels,
is the time for her men to gat some rest and much needed nourishment. Not
everyone has the stamina granted from the blood of Amber afterall. She
keeps her troops watchful, wary, allowing rest to come to small groups at
a time. At no point does she want to be defenseless.

Being who she is, Lilly will even treat her blade to a quick cleaning
should she have a moment to do so.

Kourin relays your message and the queen's wing, followed by Aisling
decends towards the lower clouds.  Everyone notices that they are
thickening and growing.  Even in a steep dive, the wings will be some
minutes behind the queens.

The queens slow and pull up, ordering the wings to do so as well.

Kourin calls out to Aisling:" What happened to the cloud?  It looks like
it's solid rock!  Can we fly through that?"

She sings out a low note and listens to hear if the sound reflects like it
would off solid matter.  Then she pokes the cloud with the sword, and then
with her hand, and then drops on down into it, hollering up reports to
Kourin all the while.

Kourin relays them to the wings, which choose not to dive into the clouds,
which now look like rocks.  The Fledgeling is perched on one of the rocks.
She seems to be slightly wounded.  She indicates that it seems to be
solid.

Aisling watches the approach of the wyverns from above while
simultaneously examining the cloud/ground below.  Then, before trying less
forgiveable things (such as seeing about carving her way into this, or
visualizing walking through it), she spends a few moments talking to it,
because this is Chaos.  "Oh, great cloud-shaped being, I come to politely
request passage through you for me and my swirly-eyed dragon friends and
their human shaped-riders.   Please know that we hold you in great respect
and mean you no harm, and that we may both go our separate ways without
further trouble if you do but open up a hole to the ground which we all
pass through."

It is a creature, but it's response is unclear.  It is a very primitive
type that can only exist close to primal chaos.  You are having trouble
communicating with it.  You probably are speaking over it's head.
She's also watching to see if any of the lifeforms in the sky seem to be
focused on holding the cloud solid.

Hm.  Aisling takes this as a good thing, and tries again slower, with a
simpler message.  "Open a hole, or we will hurt you.  We don't want to
hurt you.  We want you to open a big hole to the ground."  She uses tone
broadly to put across meaning:  threat, brotherliness, and encouragement,
for a rough sentence play-by-play.

Meanwhile she's still keeping a look out all around for wyverns plashing
down from above, or far-flung bits of the cloud getting pissed.

It takes some time but you do get into contact with it.  It seems to have
received your message.  The reply is "Free me!  Protect me and I will
serve you, Lord!"

Aisling thinks for a half moment and then metaphorically takes the hand
the cloud-being has extended.  "Serve me and I will protect you, my
affine," she completes the formula in her low chuckling rumble, and hopes
this next part is going to be easy...

Meanwhile, Jovian scans above, looking to see if they are being pursued.
He sees several very large wyverns bearing down on the wings.  They seem
to have acquired riders.

The order goes out to spread out a bit, forcing the wyverns to 
spread out a bit too. 

[[OOC: You don't define 'several' or 'very large' here. 'Several' to me
means a wing or so - still on the order of half as many as we have
dragons. 'Several' is not to me a word that describes masses. If you mean
a large number, I'd appreciate specifics. 'Very large' I would expect to
mean compared to the wyverns we've faced so far, which still leaves room
for them considerably smaller than dragons. Again, if this is not correct,
please enlighten me.]]

Leaving the other wingleaders with an impression of what to do and 
letting them organize their wings, Jovan takes his group down fairly close
to the stone cloud and hovers there, close enough that a careless charge
at them could slam into the deck. The larger dragons are to sideslip past
the charge with minimum clearance and each strike at an attacker, tearing
through the rider to strike the neck of the wyvern. The smaller dragons
are to leave more of a margin and tear at the beasts' wings.

What do you do about the fledgling?  She is on or near the
ground-cloud. Talking to it.  Hey, you're seen odder stuff...

Sheeesh. Well...the wyverns are headed generally down, so we 
can position pretty much anywhere above the deck without making 
them go past her to get to us. We'll give her a decent amount of 
space.

//Kourin, can your queens and the greens cover Aisling when the 
wyverns scatter?//

//No problem.//

The wyverns attack, and they fight hard against you.  There are a few
casualties on your side, but the wyverns take many more.  Their bodies
drop to the ground and sink slowly into it, dissolving into the
cloud-ground. You knock out many of them, but they seem to keep coming, as
if they are being blown like soap-bubbles from the clouds above.

The next part is amongst the most difficult things Aisling has ever done.  In
a moment of time that seems both instantaneous and everlasting, you apply
your will to the prospect of aiding the creature.  It reaches out mentally
for you and you feel it's need, it's desires, it's fear, it's love.

The dragonriders who are not preoccupied fighting the upper opponent see
that the ground cloud is swallowing itself up.  Eventually it becomes an
egg-shaped mass, on which Aisling still stands.  She is apparently
oblivious to the changes.  The dragon queens can see the battle, far
below.

Aisling, you reach a point where you are sure that either the Universe
will break or you will, and you push ahead.  You find yourself screaming
and you feel as if your blood vessels all are bursting open and then
suddenly there is a tremendous crack! and the pressure is off.

The egg-shaped thing is the subject of the full attention of the fledgling
and eventually she starts screaming at the top of her lungs.  just as
Kourin is about to drop down to investigate, There is an explosion of rock
and clouds and dirt.  The egg explodes, sending rock fragments everywhere,
damaging several dragons and a rider and a handful of wyverns.  The rock
fragments separate and fall, presumably towards the ground.

Aisling also falls, limply, for half a moment; then she notes that she's
falling and ceases to do so.  She hunches down in the air and looks
around, and when she's gotten over the shock a bit more she stands tall
again.

Standing next to Aisling is a giant, perhaps a third the size of a dragon.
She is made of stone and has various organs on her skin.  With a mouth
that is currently sliding from her back towards her face, the giant
speaks.

She points something that will probably become an arm in the general
direction of the dragons, wyverns and clouds and says  "Thank you, Lord.
Enemy?"

"Wait a moment," Aisling says, holding her hand up.  Then she turns and
calls up to Kourin in a voice a bit more subdued and rougher for the wear,
"I think I'm ok now...  Um, would you guys like our help?"

Jovian takes the relayed query, bidding Hoshith to bide a moment 
while he regroups his wing for the next attack - filling holes left in the
formation by rock-schrapnel-struck dragons.

When the wing is organized again and ready for the next strike, he 
relays the message, calmly but compellingly: //The cloud above. 
The cloud above us is the enemy.//

That message given, he leads his wing in another charge upon the 
ever-replenishing wyverns.

While thoughts bounce around between various commanders in the sky,
Aisling quietly questions her new affine.  "Who was your lord before me? 
What were you bound to do?  And what is your name?"

Aisling gets the message relayed through Kourin, and her five brows
momentarily furrow.  I believe that's a yes, she decides, but I hope he
isn't making things complex so he can claim unwarranted interference
later-- no, he's an Amberite.  He wouldn't do that.

So having heard her giant's answers, Aisling orders her, "The cloud above
is the enemy.  Do not hurt the flying things unless they hurt you.  Stop
the cloud from making more flying things."  Aisling uses two of her hands
to point and help shape out her meaning, and continues to hold the stump
of her third hand wrapped in near to her chest.

She glances down to the battle, nearly invisible from distance and rain,
and then follows her affine up to offer what knowledge and help she can; a
smoky lavender outline in a misty grey sky.

The giant takes three running steps in the air and then leaps up, reaching
towards the cloud.  It stops suddenly short of the cloud.  You see a flash
of teeth in the giant's mouth and you are sure that the mouth was smaller
and less specialized before it leapt.

The giant begins ripping the cloud apart and, revoltingly, it stuffs much
of it into that toothy maw.  It is not under attack and seems to be making
progress.

If it were not raining so hard, it would be obvious that the wyverns
aren't replenishing as quickly.

When you look downwards (you think that direction is downwards), you
cannot see the ground below for the increasing rain.

Aisling lashes her tail nervously.  Mentally, she rings up the balances of
factors like "looking impressive" versus "staying alive".  Hanging between
the dragons and the giant, where she tries to keep a look out for the
giant while still keeping an eye on the air battle below as best she can,
she considers the problem from several angles and decides that her chances
of living are good enough, and better than they appear.  So she will
continue to provide her affine support...  At least until Jovian calls for
a retreat.  

Meanwhile she quells unease by taking pride in her giant.  Set a crook to
catch a crook...   It does not bother her in the slightest that it eats
what it kills.  The creature loves her, and she is pleased that it turned
out so worthwhile.

The battle in the air rages on and the rain gets heavier.  It will be hard
to keep the wings up for much longer.  It's beginning to get hard to find
your foes.  If not for the dragons, you couldn't.  You may have to land
soon.  If there is still any land.

Time for an orderly fall-back. The order goes out to disengage and 
regroup at lower altitude, test the winds lower to the ground, see if we
can *find* the ground and the state of the battle below. Keep it orderly,
keep it tight and keep an eye on your flanks and your wingmen - in this
soup, the wyverns might not be able to coordinate and engage us
effectively, but keep the guard up and assume nothing.

The rain intensifies and the wyverns lessen.

//Kourin says we need to land.  The greens can't stay up in this and we're
going to have accidents if we stay up.//

The dragons are barely able to keep aloft, although your affine has no
apparent problem.  It (he?) seems to be impervious to the rain and wind.
As you watch, it climbs into the hole it has eaten and continues
attacking.

It is unclear how much longer you can stay up here in this form.  You're
starting to slip off the air as the wind and storm beat around you.

This, Aisling decides, is a waste of resources.  My creature is clearly
doing very well on its own, and in these conditions I can be little more
than a distraction to it in any case.  

"Cloudeater," she bellows up to it, naming it in the process, "You are
doing well.  Continue your job, and when you are done, find me near the
ground."  Shading a pair of her eyes from the rain with her hands, she
watches to make sure this last distraction hasn't changed the cloud/giant
balance of power.  When she is satisfied it has not, she will bound
downwards in great leaps, choosing not to merely plummet so as to retain
some control in these chaotic circumstances.  She hopes this is not the
last she sees of her courageous creature.

She directs her course towards a gold dragon, and informs its rider, "I
have delegated my responsibility for helping you to my affine, the stone
giant.  It is currently ripping asunder the cloud that spawned the
wyverns, and it will return to me when it finishes.  I will be returning
to Benedict; has Jovian any messages he wishes me to relay?"

Then she continues bound gracefully down out of the heights of the sky,
sticking within sight range of the dragons until she's close enough to the
ground that she can determine where Benedict has gotten to in the long
period since last she saw him.  

//All right. Everyone back to the ledge above the archers, where we 
started. At least we can keep an eye on things from there.//


--------------------
REDEMPTION
--------------------
The fighting, like the rain, lightens, although there are the odd pockets
here and there of both.  Things happen on the far side of the field and
the red bolts stop for a time.

Brennan and Lilly take care of their forces.  Things are quiet enough that
you could retire to the central command post that Julian has set up.

Marius is out of sight at the confrontation on the edge of the abyss.

Aisling arrives to find Benedict in conference with Bleys, behind the
lines of what really can't be called a battle anymore.  Troops everywhere
are resting, regrouping, and generally separating.  There seems to be no
threat to the black road.

"I see you found the dragons, Aisling.  Thank you."  He turns to Bleys.
"She's the one I told you about, that father sent to me."

Bleys smiles at you and bows with a wry grin.  "Well met, cousin
shapeshifter, if indeed this is our first meeting.  When all this blows
over, I will look forward to discussing our mutual ancestry with you."  He
seems somewhat agitated, but the world may be about to end.

A grin flickers across Aisling's face/muzzle at the "first meeting" bit.
She soberly bends her forelegs and returns the bow, replying politely in
her low, good-humored voice, "In that case, may the storm end soon."  

Benedict looks more closely over Aisling.  "Do you need a medic for that
hand?"

Aisling, who spent the walk over taking stock of the situation both
external and internal, can answer this accurately.  "Perhaps when I return
to a more human-like form.  For the moment, I will heal as I am."  She
then seizes the first opportunity, to report:  (And while she speaks, she
unconsciously shifts the position of her arm so that the missing hand is
even less obvious, and goes to a subtle stance that says, "Hurt?  Me?
Poppycock!  I could wipe the floor with any of you!")  

"With the help of two of Random's knights and a troop of men, sent, I
believe, by Brennan, the incursion of things down the black road was
destroyed.  The dragons, I then found, had been tricked away to high above
the field.  The cloud that I climbed through to find them turned to rock,
blocking our return to the ground.  While the dragons fought wyverns that
were raining from a cloud above, I ...won the loyalty of the cloud below,
and in the form of a giant it went to rip apart the cloud above.  The air
was by then too thick with water to fly in, and we returned to the ground.
The giant will come back to me if it lives.  The dragons have lost a third
of their number.  Jovian, I believe, is physically undamaged."

On the field Kern hears a whistle, long and piercing and loud.  The
stormhounds turn, knowing the hunt is called off.  You return to your
father, behind the lines.  Rangers are tending to horses and wounded men.
Water is provided for the stormhounds.  "Son.  Now we wait, and rest, and
keep ready."  Kern is hurt, but nowhere badly.  One or two might scar,
perhaps.

J'rim lands the wings.  This is in some ways a very good battle for
dragons, if not for riders.  missing dragons are gone and there are no
injured.  For creatures with the memories of dragons, the past is like a
river.  For the moment, the riders are numb.  It is not clear if they can
deal with their grief or if they will be needed again.

Two women from the archers have climbed the path up the cliff face to your
spot and approach.  You think the strawberry blonde knows she's beautiful.
The darker woman may not.  Both show signs of a hard day's battle.

The blonde looks at you appraisingly.  "So you're Julian's.  I suppose I
should be surprised."

"Flora!" the other one chides.  "Thank you for the air support, nephew.  I
am your father's sister Llewella.  It looks as if we may possibly survive
this adventure.  Flora and I are now considering the logistics of
leaving."

While you think she might have been about to ask something, or for
something, it is forestalled as Flora points out the great cloud covering
the sun and lightening the horizon.  The rain is now only falling where
people are not.

As if in a dream, everyone, family, soldiers, chaos, turns to look
expectantly at a cloud that is forming to the north.  There is something
about it that compels.

The largest and brightest of the clouds seems to swirl and a cloud that
looked like a face becomes a face in the clouds.  It is a face known to
you all, from trumps or portraits or remembrance.  Oberon, King of Amber.
Ruler of the center of existence.  Architect and guardian of more than you
can imagine.

He looks out, as if contemplating you, severally and individually.  He
speaks, and it is as if you are in a small room with him.  The illusion
that he could reach out and touch you is strong.

"Grandchildren.  I have long watched you growing in secret, kept by
caution or suspicion or ignorance from your birthright.  My children's
generation is coming of age under fire, yours is born of it.  Those of you
who survive will be stronger for it and will know the value of unity in a
way my children are only learning on this field.

"What I undertake on the Pattern will strain the universe to a breaking
point.  I expect that it will recover and that it will prove fatal to me.
I work now on my legacy, which will be that something survives me.  What
better cause could a monarch have to die for?

"I have met few of you and you have no reason to love me.  I will miss the
opportunity to foster such.  Grandchildren are supposed to be easier to
deal with than children.  So says my father, at any rate.

"There are so many lessons to be learned from all this.  The  danger one
of you could pose, the power of all together, the differences between
ourselves and our enemies.  I ask that you learn something and use it to
make your home a better place.

"I leave you, Grandchildren, with my blessing.  Take care of the Universe.
I do not think I will be able to do this again in the near future."

Then his face begins to fade and the brightness drains from the cloudbank
In a little while, it is gone.  A stillness lies on the field. 

Aisling watches the spectacle, wide-eyed.  Her body is motionless, while
her mind is racing along grasping at implications.  When it is over, she
does not particularly feel like jumping in to break the stillness around
her.

There is commotion in the hills, and then silence.  There is no fighting
now.

Julian turns to Kern: "Pax, Daeon.  We'll want to be presentable for the
family council which surely must come next.  There is no point in further
fighting."

Kern shakes off a couple of dogs as he rises. Already he wears a human
face and Julian's words suppress Kern further but still the antlers remain
and from his expression, it's clear Kern remains and remains implacable.
However, a fleeting expression of disgust, like a breeze across a field of
corn on an August afternoon, reveals something behind the antlered face is
sickened by the prevalence of death on the battlefield.

Exactly what Julian means by 'presentable' is unclear but Kern doesn't
seem to notice that he's lost his leather loincloth during the
rough-&-tumble. Despite the ministrations of the dogs, he's still covered
in half-dried gore and ichor.

To Lilly Julian says "You honor your father.  I'd like it if you showed me
that manouever where you disarmed that large demon.  It looked useful."

Lilly answers only with a simple bow of her head. To her it is humbling to
have her Uncles speak to her in such a way. While knowing it best not to
give all of one secrets her reservations were lessened here. They were all
family after all. Still, now was not the time or place.

Whatever spark within Kern that's revolted by war directs his attention to
Lilly; he looks her up and down, impassively. Sharp-eyed or empathic
individuals might note his eyes dilate slightly.

Benedict and Bleys respect Aisling's desire to hold the moment.  You
suspect that they may feel the same impulse, even if they feel they must
supress it.

Heh.  Aisling only knew Oberon for about 20 minutes...  She was standing
clear in deference to the feelings of those who knew him for hundreds of
years.  She considers slipping in a question about the display in the
cloud while its effect is still just barely on the trio, but decides
instead to hold her ground and let Benedict and Bleys ask questions or
move on at their own pace.  After all, Oberon claims to be dead, and so
curiousity about his abilities is less immediately important than care for
the living.
 There will be time enough later for questions, unless they all die, in
which case one more thing she dies not knowing isn't going to make much of
a difference.

Brennan and Marius are also free to do whatever they choose to do next,
circumstances allowing.
For his part, Brennan has been striding toward the central command
tent since about the time it became likely that Brand had met with a
fatality provoking event.

His hair, formerly tied back before battle in several bands, has
mostly come loose.  As he walks toward the tent, he is already
picking the bands out of his hair and trying to put it back into some
array.  He is both helped and hindered by the pouring rain.  By the time
he reaches the tent, he has settled for pulling it back, scrunching it
together, and letting the water keep it sticking together.

This works about as well as it sounds, though, and there are tendrils of
bright red hair creeping around the side of his face and over his
forehead.

But on the plus side, the rain has washed most of the bloodstains off him.
 Most if not all of the blood and ichor he had accumulated belonged to
other people and creatures, anyway.

He is leading two horses, both his own, and Random's, and he takes the
first opportunity to tie them-- securely!-- to a hitching post.

Looking around at the group within the command center, Lilly tries to spot
her cousin Brennan, hoping to have a word with him before the rain
completes it's agenda. Afterwards there might not be time for a kind word
between the two of them.

When he spots the group of important looking people, and sees Lilly
trying to catch his eye, he heads over.  About the time Kern is
looking Lilly up and down, Brennan is looking him up and down in
return.  It's a liesurely evaluation that starts at the antlers,
heads down to the toes, then reverses and ends back at the antlers.

"Nice rack," he says, quietly and flatly.

Kern shifts his attention to the new figure, nodding a curt greeting. He
doesn't look Brennan up and down but looks directly into his eyes.

Brennan meets his eyes matter-of-factly, and holds them just long
enough to let Daeon wonder where that bright glittering might be
coming from in the pouring rain, before turning to Lilly.

He doesn't give any indication of noticing the temperature, either.

Lilly thought nothing of their appraisals. When first they had met there
had been no time for such things. Now they had a much better grasp of what
each other was capable of. Taking a moment to completely size the other up
seemed almost normal. She her self allowed her gaze to settle on Brennan,
not realizing she might be staring.

Then turning to Lilly, he greets her with a half smile.  "Cousin,
glad you made it."

She had wished a few words with him, and here he stood talking to her.
Opening her mouth as if to say something, the words catch. A gentle smile
takes its place upon her lips before she begins again. "Well fought
cousin. I shall be honored to have you fight at my side again. Perhaps not
too quickly though."

"Maybe this time tomorrow," Brennan replies. "After we've figured out how
many relatives we'll still have by then."

Finally, he turns to Julian and introduces himself.  "Brennan.
Brand's son."  Giving a quick glance at the horses he just hitched, he
asks, of the group in general, "Has anyone seen Random?"

Lilly simply shakes her head. Her eyes then scan the area to see who else
is present.

Julian replies "Well met and well fought, Brand's son.  Lilly you know,
and this is my son, Daeon."  (Those with high water will hear the
normative statement involved in choosing that name rather than some other
name...)

You would swear the antlers are smaller than they were a minute ago,
neither is it quite as chilly in the tent. Though Kern glances at his
father with a flicker of annoyance passing over his otherwise impassive
countenance.

Lilly also gives Daeon the standard bow of her head. "Well met cousin."

Lilly would swear Kern almost smiles, though his face doesn't seem
accostomed to showing emotion. After a few moments, he leaves the tent to
look for his horse.

"Last I saw of Random, he was on his way up that hillside.  We should 
hear something one way or another very soon.  Can any of you make your
trumps work?"

"No.  I tried using Random's to contact him when I found his horse
wandering around loose."

"I do not have Trumps available to me, nor have I been schooled in there
use." Lilly says in a very matter of fact way. There is nothing behind the
words, they are what they are.

Flora says to Jovian "How good are those big swirling eyes?  Can your
mounts see what's going on on those hills over there?"

At an unverbalized command, Canareth comes alongside Jovian and crouches,
his great right eye swirling with amusement. "Very good," the dragonrider
admits, looking Flora over, not entirely without appreciation. "But not
quite that good. How badly do you need to know?" With this last he reaches
up for Canareth's riding straps, cocking a brow at the behemoth's extended
foreleg.

"Is it that unpleasant to be close to you?" she asks, apparently oblivious
to 80 tons of fire-breathing reptile.  The dazzling smile removes the
sting as you realize she is teasing you.  She reaches for the strap and
some assistance, which may be just her way of verifying that you're
offering her a ride.  Or it may be something else.

"Oh, you look like you can handle a little danger now and then," 
Jovian ripostes, attempting lightness but unable to entirely purge 
the grim weariness in his undertone. He shows her how to hold 
*here* and step *there*, and if his hand lingers a bit close to the 
elegant curve of her bottom as she climbs up, well, a dragon's 
foreleg isn't the easiest thing to balance on.

And if Flora's really too experienced at mounting up to need the 
assistance, well it would be rude to let you know that, wouldn't it?

He slings himself easily up behind her, a bit heavily perhaps but 
with none of the stiffness that might be expected from hours of hard
riding. Reaching around her he takes the riding straps and, holding her
steady, urges Canareth into the air.

Canareth launches into the sky, and you move closer to the hills.  Flora
settles back comfortably into Jovian; the two of you could be riding a
horse in Arden for all the tension Jovian senses in her.

And the rain to the north begins to take on an undefinably sinister
characteristic.

Jovian squints calculatingly at the storm front, then mentally runs
through his roster. One of his flyers had starsmith's apprentice training
before Impression...but...that was Sleth's rider. He forced himself not to
dwell on that one's death - in mortal peril, Sleth had been unable to heed
the warning against going *between* and the result had been as bad as
Jovian had feared. There simply was not enough room *inside* a wyvern for
a dragon to materialize.

//Canareth,// he instructed at last. //Have Hyloth and V'laren keep their
eyes on that storm front. We may have to move to a more protected
position.//

//We are far from the weyr.  They say they will watch it.//

//OK, bronze boy, this is reconnaisance. We're not getting too 
close, we're not engaging. Just show me what you see on those 
hills when we get closer.//

Marius acts on Random's orders, climbing around the low hills in a daze,
finding a horse he leans on it, not mounting.  Perhaps he is unable to
ride.  He begins walking across the field of battle.

Above he is spotted by Canareth. //The Sailor is returning from the Edge.
He is...wounded.//

Jovian keeps his arms around Flora to hold the straps in front of her,
holding her tight but not too tight against him. Before long he points to
a place on the ground near Benedict's command post, where a tiny figure
moves haltingly. 

"The Sailor," he tells Flora, raising his voice above the wind.
"Canareth's name for Marius. He's hurt," he adds, as another figure goes
out to meet the first.

Bleys' men see him long before he reaches their lines and bring him to the
command post.  Marius is bleeding under his armor and seems to be less
coherent than expected.

"It's over, they killed him."  He gasps out, as a slightly inhuman rider
helps him to the ground.  He sits and catches a breath.  "He killed her,
though."

"Her?" Bleys says, worry or perhaps disbelief in his tones.

"Deridre" Benedict says quickly, and Bleys is assured.  "Marius' mother,"
he explains.

Bleys looks down with concern.  He speaks to one of his men.  "Orbit,
fetch a medic for Lord Marius.  He is wounded."

Benedict looks impassively over the scene. "He can recover here.  We must
go to the edge of the abyss."

He turns, remembering that Aisling is present.  "Aisling, will you please
inform Prince Julian and my sisters that we meet on the far heights.  All
of your cousins should also join us.  The troops are to stay here, but
there will be no more attack."

Benedict mounts his striped horse and makes ready to ride.

Aisling, who has been hanging back while changing forms to something more
human, stops.  She looks at Marius, the desire to help written clearly
across her features; then glances at the sky, then looks at Benedict and
nods.  She regresses back to big purple form, takes care that the scab
over her wrist reseals, and then turns and canters away towards Julian's
command tent without a backward look.  (Of course, she's got eyes in the
back of her head, but it's all in the attitude.)

Hopefully Julian's sentries recognize her form, or at least the direction
from which she came...  She'd rather not have to go through a lot of
hassle to get to him.

She leaves the sword she has been carrying outside the door of the tent,
and with her other hand lifts the flap aside and enters.  She takes up a
significant amount of space in this form, but the tighter quarters do not
seem to hamper her as she steps to the side to leave the path to the door
open, and bows.  Politely she delivers her message,  "Greetings to all
within; Julian, Benedict says there will be no more attack, and he wishes
all of the family members to meet him now on the far heights, near the
Abyss.  The troops are to remain here."  

She pauses a moment to see if there are any questions, using the time to
take a few slow breaths to absorb the smells of the place (and lord, does
this thing have lungs!) and to observe the people within.  

She herself, for those who lost the first message, is a sort of
smoky-quartz-purple bull/lion thing with an expressive countenance; she's
currently got two tentacle-arms wreathed around her neck with the third
held loose.

Brennan shoots a glance toward Lilly saying, "Told you we had a
Chaosi, hereabouts."

"I never dobted you." Lilly says with the hint of a smile playing upon
her lips.

He has his hair mostly wrung out from the rain and tied in back once
again, and after he comments to Lilly, he heads off to see if he can
spot Benedict.  When he does, he'll decide that the Chaosi is telling the
truth, and make his way over to Benedict.

Lilly retrieves her mount, sends word to her troops that they are to
halt any fighting and then heads over to Brennan. "Perhaps it would be
wise to move towards the Abyss as a group."

Brennan looks back, and those who are perceptive will note that he
seems honestly, just a little bit surprised that Lilly and Julian
haven't already moved to follow him.  It slowly dawns on him that they
might be waiting for the naked guy with antlers, but by this time his body
language is already saying, "Well?  What are you waiting for?"

Aisling isn't particularly keen on loitering around and getting
introduced, so when things start to break up she will turn and begin to
leave, unless Julian speaks out to her, in which case she'll be delayed
some.

Julian nods to her to acknowledge her departure, but he seems more
concerned with his son at the moment.

Then Julian probably relaxes at the sight of a beautiful youth galloping
toward his pavillion on a magnificent horse. The two pull up and the youth
salutes Julian with the spear while nodding to Lilly and Brennan. There's
no sign of riding tackle.

"We must go, Pater! This may be the end of the world or not but I think we
should get out of the rain."

[I've no idea how perceptive either Brennan or Lilly are but the pattern
of superficial wounds and remains of dried gore, [much having washed off
in the rain], indicates it's the antlered chap, now without antlers but
wearing a scavenged rag round his waist.

With a clear, 'Hey, the naked guy is back,' expression, Brennan
decides that he will wait no more.  Heading over to where he's stashed his
and Random's horses, he unties them and mounts up.

If Lilly, for whatever reason, has no horse, he'll offer her Random's.
Otherwise, he'll keep both reins.  Either way, he's going.

Lilly wastes no time either, she does allow Julian to take the lead
however, feeling it might be rude to do so herself. She stays very alert
as they move, looking for any sign of distant trouble. Trouble beyond what
they were already expecting with the rain and such that is.

Assuming Julian needs no one to hold Morgernstern while he mounts up, the
youth lets him lead the way, choosing to ride a little behind and to one
side. He holds a stone-tipped spear at rest but scans the skies alertly,
seaching for something in the air, perhaps.

Aisling follows her course to the bluffs on which the archers and dragons
rest, and determines that the bronze dragon in the air must be Canareth.
Fortunately, she doesn't have to go hunt him down.  This telepathy thing
is fantastically useful.  She passes on her message to Kourin and
Llewella; "Benedict has sent me with a message that he wishes all of the
family to meet now on those heights, near the Abyss.  The troops are to
remain; there will be no more attack."

When Llewella is ready to go, Aisling adds, "My path also takes me to the
heights; may I travel with you?"  She bows.  "My name is Aisling.  I have
been working with Benedict."

"I would be pleased to have your company," Llewella says.  Her short green
hair is plastered to her head, and she looks weary as the rest.  She's
carrying a bow as long as she is tall.  She unstrings it to use as a
walking staff on the way.

"If you wish, I can provide you a ride there," Aisling offers neutrally,
appraising Llewella's fatigue.  She glances at the oncoming storm, and
makes small talk as they move-- that is, talking about anything but the
end of everything.  "I spent the last half of the battle trapped above the
clouds with the dragons.  I can see the results, but I am curious:  how
did things go?"

Llewella smiles, a complex thing that looks as if it is unfamiliar in the
outline of her face.  "For the archers, there are only two kinds of
battle. The good and the very, very bad.  This one was good. If it ends
the war, anyway.  We've paid a great cost..."

Llewella trails off for a moment, but resumes speaking.  "Forgive me,
Aisling.  It's been a hard month on all of us.  Yes, Thank you, I'll take
a ride.  As long as you don't turn into one of those dragons."

Llewella watches, wondering what you will change into or if you will ask
her to ride this form. 

A momentary look of startlement and paranoia flickers across Aisling's
face.  She hadn't thought Llewella knew what she was.  Of course, it's
likely that Benedict wasn't the only one to bring a telescope to the
field; and just as likely that Random has been passing around a wide range
of information.

She chuckles quietly.  "They don't seem like such bad sorts... "

"Leave it to Julian to find Admirable Dragons.  Or make them, perhaps."

"But it Would be best if I stayed as I am currently.  I could take the time to
make some modifications to this form, if it would make you more
comfortable."

"Don't trouble yourself on my behalf.  I'd end up asking you too many
questions about how it worked and we'd miss the party."

Llewella waits until you signal that she should mount and then does so,
fluidly finding the best place to ride an Aisling.  She watches with
interest as you step into the air.

Moments later the Rim comes into view. "One man down," comes Jovian's
strong baritone from behind his passenger. "Not moving, no blood. Dressed
in black. No other activity now - the others are just standing there. Like
they're in shock, maybe."

He falls silent for a moment.

//Jovian, Hoshith has news from the Fledgling.  Your family is gathering
at the heights there, and you and the Bloodflower are also summoned. 
There will be no more attacks.//

"We have word from Benedict," he tells Flora. "Battle's over, I'm to meet
the family over there. And bring the Bloodflower with me." He punctuates
the dragons' name for Flora with a light squeeze of his arms around her.
He keeps commentary on the nickname to himself, but the smile is clear in
his voice.

Julian just nods at his son and doesn't seem to notice that he is using a
different body and voice.  He makes a barely audible clucking noise with
his tongue and yet the mighty Morgenstern appears at his side.  If Julian
looked to see that his mount was present, you did not notice it.   He is
astride in the fluid motion of one used to leaping, fully armored, onto
the back of the greatest warhorse ever built.  Perhaps the most disturbing
part of this image is that neither he nor Morgenstern make any noise.

You ride out, more or less as a group.  Even Adonis' teratophagous mount
seems subdued and inconsequential in the presence of the mighty
Morgenstern.  You may if you wish ride ahead of Julian as Remora swim in
front of a shark.

Morgenstern is not perturbed by anything on the field of battle, although
he seems annoyed when he spies Aisling and rears and paws at the sky.  On
reconsideration, you are not sure if Julian's greatest creation *could*
actually walk on Air, if he set the course of his desire to do so.

You all ride across the short distance to the hills, dismounting on a
height that looks down on the ridge where Random is sitting watch over
Corwin's body.  Corwin has been moved back from the edge, but has not
stirred.

Down the hill on the near side (away from the abyss) is a flat crag, which
has apparently become the landing place for flyers and airwalkers.  You
see for the first time one of the great Calusan dragons that were so
deadly to the Wyverns.  Coming in to the same plateau you see the creature
which calls itself Aisling.  Flora and Jovian stand by Canareth as Aisling
approaches.

Should Jovian look his way, and Adonis hopes he does, he'll gesture once
with the spear. Either way, Adonis ceases to search the skies.

Aisling uncurls her arm from around Llewella's waist and holds it
chivalrously for aid in dismounting.  Then she acquires a handkerchief or
two (if Flora, Llewella, or Jovian have none to offer, no doubt there are
stores or dead people somewhere nearby) and excuses herself.  She walks
off to the side, settles back on her haunches with her hands resting in
front of her, and changes into a humanoid.  This ends with her kneeling
and cupping the remnants of one hand in the handkerchief held in the
other, applying pressure to staunch the renewed flow of blood.  Her breath
hisses out from between her teeth and her eyes are screwed shut with pain,
but soon enough the trickle of blood slows and stops.  Shortly she takes
her left hand away and glances at the effects on the right:  most of the
hand, three fingers and the tip of the index finger gone, and a chunk out
of the wrist as well.  At least it's a clean cut.  She binds the whole
mess up with the other handkerchief, bracing it against her knee and
leaving a smudge of blood, using her left hand and her teeth to knot it. 

Then she stands, leaving the sword behind, and picks her way up the hill
in her slippers, to the very edges of the group gathering around Benedict.
She looks drawn, distracted, tentative, and a bit scared.

When he crests the hill, Brennan pauses a moment to take stock of the
situation.  He takes a long glance, then a longer one, counting.

Turning to Lilly, he says softly, "Where's Deirdre?"

Lilly also looks about before answering, "I am unsure. I do not see her
but perhaps she has moved beyond our sight." With a shrug she continues
following along.

On the hilltop, Benedict and Bleys approach Julian, who has just
dismounted.  Bleys and Julian embrace and exchange a few brief words. 
Then Bleys heads down to the edge.

Adonis remains with Lilly at a respectful distance from his father,
looking round for other members of the family.

Benedict waits for everyone to gather around him.

After his exchange with Lilly, Brennan will make his way toward
Benedict.  Unless otherwise noted, he does not dismount.

The dragonrider moves forward from his position leaning against the 
great bronze dragon's foreleg, his bearing erect but his movements 
a bit slow. The first eyes he meets are Adonis' - his brows knit a 
second, but then recognition lights his eyes and he nods solemnly. 
His gaze crosses each face in turn, meeting each pair of eyes but 
not altering his expression significantly. His look is appraising, but
largely impassive. He is weary, somber. There is grief that shows only at
the corners of his eyes.

He loosens the last buckle of his honey-brown leather jacket as he 
walks toward the gathering; the shirt underneath is soaked with 
sweat, and closer inspection reveals lines of fine dust, like soot or ash,
across his cheekbones. His hair is plastered flat to his head - evidently
by the leather helmet hanging in his hand. He comes to stand not far from
Julian's right shoulder. At that proximity the resemblence becomes
noticeable, though still vague.

As you watch Bleys make his way down to the group at the edge of the
abyss, you see two armored figures coming up the hill.  Benedict looks at
them.

"My Lords Chantris, Feldane.  Tell us what has happened here."  His voice
is impassive, as if he has no more emotion to spare on such mundane things
as the continuing existence of the cosmos.  Or perhaps he already knows.

"I am happy to say, Prince Benedict, that Prince Brand is dead.  I am
inestimably sorrowful to add that Princess Deirdre is as well."  Chantris,
or perhaps Feldane says.  He seems young for a noble of Amber.

And this, Brennan tastefully and tactfully lowers his head, for though he
had not known her long, he is distressed at the loss of yet another member
of the family.

Keen observers will note that it is only after mention of Deirdre's
death that Brennan shows some sign of regret.  

Aisling's eyes turn to Brennan to see how he takes the announcement of
Brand's demise.  She may or may not know of his parentage, but he is
assuredly a redhead, the only one who this might be news to, and up on a
horse where he's easy to see.  When they get to telling of Deirdre's
death, she looks at the reactions of no one in particular; perhaps Flora
and Llewella foremost among them.

Well, if Aisling was anywhere within range of Brennan's
morale-building speech to his troops before battle, that would have
been a pretty good indicator of his parentage.  Unless there's another son
of the Lord of Darkness around here, somewhere.

The resemblance is definitely there in the eyes, too, but aside from
that, he's built more along Bleys' lines than Brand's.

His reaction at hearing of his father's death is minimal.  There's not
much reaction one way or the other, but there is no hint of any special
sorrow for his passing.

When he raises his head, he takes another look around the area,
looking to catch sight of Marius.

Adonis studies the faces of his father and uncles to see how they take the
news, sympathy writ large on his face.

Chantris, or is it Feldane, continues.  "The Princess bade us charge 
the field to face
your brother Prince Brand.  He held us off with his magics and a crossbow.
He had killed two men with the crossbow and was aiming at a third when
Princess Deirdre attacked him.  The crossbow went over the edge of the
cliff but Prince Brand managed to bring a knife to the Princess' throat.
He held her there while King Oberon, may he rest in peace, told us of our
duty.  By then the Princess Fiona was present, and Prince Corwin arrived
as well.  Prince Brand was distracted by sorcery and lost control of his
hostage.  As soon as she was away from her,  his chest and his throat were
pierced by arrows."

Feldane, or perhaps Chantris, continues.  "Arrows fired by Prince Caine,
whose funeral I attended last week.  Brand fell off the cliffside, but
managed to drag Princess Deirdre with him.  If it were not for Prince
Random, Prince Corwin would have followed them."

Aisling's brows draw together.  Is he saying that Caine is alive?  If
Caine was alive, wouldn't he be here being smug?  Something nags at the
back of her mind, but she's got a lot to pay attention to, here.

At the news of Caine, Adonis raises and eyebrow and starts scanning the
immediate area for him.

Adonis (and anyone else even casually looking for him) can see Caine
below, explaining to Corwin that attempted Corwincide had seemed like a
good idea at the time.

As Rosencranz and Guildenstern go through the tale, Jovian's 
expression is generally one of concentration, as if studying the 
pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He does take in who reacts to what, and 
occasionally a glimmer of recognition lights his eye - the only 
notable reaction of his own.

Julian looks down the slope at the conclave of the families best sorcerous
minds and then back at the warriors on the hilltop.  His first words are
for Chantris and Feldane.  "Thank you my Lords.  There is food and water
with the mounts."  They are high enough water to read the obvious
dismissal and step far enough away from the royals and their descendants
to allow for a family confab.

Aisling remains, in the same neutral "staying under the radar of
attention" position she has been in.

Benedict speaks to you all.  "We will not know until we return to Amber if
we have won, but here, in this place and because of you, we have not lost.
I have no talent for gallant speeches--those you will have to come up with
for your own troops on your own.  Prince Bleys will send us news if there
is any or if we are needed.  That is all."

As news of the battle unfolds, Lilly listens closely. There is little show
of emmotion from her. War brings casualties. There is nothing to be done
about it now.

In the brief pause between her father's words and the beginning of her
Uncle Julian's speech, she looks to Brennan breifly wondering how this is
all going to affect him. The thoughts barely have time to form however and
go forgotten as Julain begins.

Julian steps up.  "Children, nieces and nephews.  Today you did well for
Amber.  We fought--"

His speech is interrupted by a trumpet blast from the north.  From the
black curtain that separates the rain from something that is more like the
black road and less like reality, a rider emerges.  His ghostly mien
stands in sharp relief to the blackness that surrounds him.  He blows
another trumpet blast as more horsemen appear.

"Moonriders?"  asks Julian.  Benedict nods once in reply.

Lilly looks to her father awaiting his reaction. She realizes that this
means something but she is not quite sure what. Her hand instinctively
gives to her blade.

Aisling glances to Benedict to get the read of the situation and his
reaction, and then turns her full attention on the things coming out of
the sheet of destruction.  Moonriders!  The epic tale of Benedict and the
Moonriders of Ghenesh makes up a non-trivial part of what she knows about
the man...

Brennan turns at the sound of the horns, and tenses at the name of the
Moonriders.  He wheels his mount around to get a better look at the whole
tableau.  In the moment of silence between trumpets as everyone else has
turned to survey the field as well, Brennan slowly but distinctly draws
his blade.

He does not charge, or even advance, but the gesture is easy enough to
interpret-- he is at Benedict's command.

Jovian's eyes gleam with something related by marriage to anger 
as he studies the riders on the horizon. Concentration furrows his 
brow, and a bugling roar comes from behind and below - from the 
dragon who waits for him a little down the hill. Those who look back will
notice the dragon rearing, neck arched, eyes whirling yellow- orange. On
the ridge across the battlefield, overlooking the archers' position, there
is some commotion.

There is something hawkish in Jovian's mien - the resemblence to 
Julian becomes stronger for the expression - as his head snaps 
around to stare a question at Benedict.

Benedict is cool and speaks but one word at first.  "Bide" he says, and it
really is all you can do for the moment.   The procession is far from you,
yet you see it with the utmost clarity.  Behind the trumpeters come a mass
of horsemen, bearing banners which seem half-familiar, although you know
you have not ever seen them before.

Julian gets as far as "What..." when Benedict continues.  "We do nothing.
They are fulfilling an ancient obligation."  If Julian has no idea what
Benedict is saying, he keeps that to himself.

Aisling has half a guess, but she can keep her mouth shut as well as any
descendant of Benedict...

Behind the horsemen are foot soldiers with torches.  If you listen, you
imagine that you can hear them singing.  If you strain, you are convinced
you recognize the tune.

The tense lines of Jovian's face smooth as the eighth-mark drops, and
Canareth calms at once.

//Canareth,// Jovian silently commands. //Cancel the alert, but I want
everyone in the air anyway. Four wings, nine-dragon formations. The queens
and I will each take point on a wing. Number Six positions *vacant.*
Now.//

Before Benedict speaks next, Jovian returns to his dragon and mounts up,
but does not don his helmet.

Benedict says "Lord Chantris, please ride down with my orders.  The
procession is not to be disturbed   All our troops are to withdraw from
the Black Road.  We will want to present an honor guard at the edge, but
do not cross it."  Chantris leaves and you surmise that the remaining
noble, the younger of the two, must be Feldane.

"We should join the others" says Llewella.  Benedict agrees and, as if in
a hypnotic trance, the entire group follows the path Bleys took moments
ago down the slope.

From your new locale, you watch the procession, with its dragons and
beast-men, its creatures of pure light and floating machines, its ghosts
and probabilities.  It seems unending, and yet you cannot, do not move.
The stormfront has gotten no closer.

After an unmeasurable period, there is another new thing, one that makes
your uncles and aunts and parents react very strongly.  It is a funeral
wagon, covered with a flag.  The flag is green with a white Unicorn and
covers a casket.  The driver of the wagon is a hunchback.

Julian sees this and says, softly, "Dad..."

Adonis glances across as his father voices this one word, then looks back
to the cortege, nodding agreement with some inner thought.

Aisling sits on a handy rock and watches the procession as if she might
have to reproduce it someday.  When the coffin comes by she looks a bit
unsettled, and ends up wiping her eyes some with her left hand.

Soaring in from the south, high above, four wings of Calusan dragons sweep
in to follow the procession. Their formations are impeccably tight and the
open spot in each heartbreakingly obvious.

They track the procession's path, back to front, wheel and double back,
then fly its length a second time, locked in their broken formations as if
by invisible chains. 

At the end of the second run, as the wings break off to the south again,
the keening at last begins. It is a sound that tears at the soul.

No rider sees it, but the dragons will all know that J'lin honored the
dead as well as a dragonless man can do, in his heart and with a salute
during the overflight.  They will not mention it, as it is a thing that
happened, not a thing in the now... 

There is a brief discussion of funerals and patterns, and then the elders
are silent again.

Jovian does not return for some time.

After another period that you cannot measure, the last of the escorts pass
into the citidel.  It becomes apparent that the black storm has begin to
move towards you again.

"Some traditions have it that when the Skyfather dies, the End of the
World is nigh."

Aisling shivers, and looks to the likliest candidate for king now... 
Corwin.

The keening of the dragons seems to up the frequency with which Aisling
has to wipe her eyes.  Soon enough she has gotten herself under control
again, though; soon enough to pay attention to the approaching figure.

A single figure, unarmed, unarmored, approaches from the south.  He looks
both young and sad, as if he is carrying weight beyond his years upon his
shoulders.

Julian looks at him, his eyes narrow, and he says to you all "let him
approach.  He may be an  emissary from the other side."

For the record, Brennan took no particular action after he drew his
blade.  It has not been sheathed, though, and rests across his knees
as he sits his horse.

As he gets closer, Random stares, then starts rumaging at his belt,
looking for yet another lost deck of trump.  He seems annoyed with the
state of the universe.

"Hey, Random," calls Brennan.  It's not a loud shout, but it's pitched to
carry in that direction.  "You left them in your saddlebags."  With that,
when Random looks up, he reaches into his pocket, withdraws the pack, and
sidearms it back to Random.

While it is possible that some percentage of the elders do not believe
that "Hey Random" is the way to address even the least of their siblings,
Random does not seem to notice.

Random catches the deck and scans his cards.  "Thanks, kiddo," he says, in
a passable imitation of Humphrey Bogart taking a pack of smokes from a
lesser luminary.

Julian's words call Adonis from his reverie on Caine. He shifts position,
possibly to flank the new arrival should he prove belligerent, though
perhaps it's a little odd that he's looking over the family gathered
around and behind Julian.

The young man approaches Julian, who has placed himself across the path
like an armored wall.  A stormhound sits at his side.

"Prince Julian?  My name is Merlin.  I'd like to see my father."

Fiona answers for him.  She must have come down from the ledge where
Corwin has been left to rest.  "You'll have to wait, Merlin.  He's with
your mother, now."  Her voice is soft and distinct and most would call it
beautiful.  The poetic would describe her as if she were a porcelain doll
in lacquered armor.  Instead you have Random.

Adonis focuses on Fiona, examining her from a few yards of perspective. He
runs his tongue over his lip slowly and appreciatively.

Random says, not to anyone in particular, "another nephew?  I thought I
was the only one who couldn't..."  He does not finish the thought, at
least not aloud.

Adonis smiles lasciviously and secretively, still eyeing up Fiona.

Merlin replies.  "I will wait.  I... Is he all right?"  The worry in his
voice is clear.  He scans your faces, looking for hints to the many
questions he has not begun to ask.

Adonis meets his gaze for a second and returns to Fiona.

Neither Julian nor Fiona seem to notice Adonis' attention to the Princess,
nor do the other elders.  One of the Storm Hounds, in what can only be
described as an incredibly subtle display *for a Storm Hound*, pads over
and sits at Fiona's feet, between her and Adonis.  Her hand absently comes
up to stroke the creature under the chin.

Adonis nods slightly, to himself, as if agreeing with a well-made point in
some internal dialogue. His smile broadens but loses its lasciviousness.
He kneels and starts stroking another of the dogs, *not* the one near
Fiona. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to the drama around him but
a more perceptive observer might think otherwise.

Aisling stands, despite her tiredness.  There are connections she would
like to be sure of.  When Merlin looks at her, she smiles, like a
momentary patch of sunlight, and answers him, "Corwin?  Before the
procession, he was speaking with Caine.  He looked all right from 60 yards
away.  ...Your mother?"  she asks in return, hoping for a name.  She
glances between Merlin and Fiona.

"Dara," Fiona replies.  "She came in from the north just before I came
down."  Fiona looks at Benedict and continues.  "She seemed upset.

"Your father is unwounded, but exhausted.  He has ridden from the center
to the ends of the earth and undertaken things beyond comprehension.

Benedict's nostrils flare and he shifts his stance, looking at all
assembled for reactions to this,

Still stroking the dog, Adonis glances over his shoulder at Corwin. The
man looks tough, it must have taken a lot to get him as exhausted as that.
Fiona's right! Perhaps those in the battle had it easy?

Fiona says  "He is exhausted both mentally and emotionally and the he has
not yet come to terms with the outcome of this battle.  He may be in
shock. I suspect that your mother is not helping.  If you speak with him,
be kind."

Merlin nods.  "Thank you, I will.  I had other friends on your side.  Were
Martin or Paige here?"

Adonis looks up at Fiona and Bleys, then to Benedict, finally his father,
perhaps looking for some indication of who these people are.

Bleys and Fiona look at each other and Random looks up from his card deck.

"Martin stayed in Amber, I guess.  He was taking his orders from Dad just
like the rest of us.  I can't reach him on his Trump.  Who's Paige?"

None of the Elders or Merlin answer that question immediately.

Bleys waits until the silence is about to go beyond mere
uncomfortableness. "Ah, Unless I am very wrong, she should be safely in
Amber.  I didn't know that you knew her, Nephew."

Merlin nods, oblivious to the import of the Prince's intonation.  "Martin
introduced us some time ago.  She taught me many things."

Bleys eyes narrow and Merlin continues.  "Painting.  She was my painting
mistress."

Bleys says "Let us talk of her later, Nephew.  I am sure she is safe and
there is more to learn about you."

"Dara, daughter of Borel?" Aisling asks Merlin as if they were the only
two people in a room, having taken a couple involuntary steps forward,
looking like she's attempting not to look vastly surprised and failing due
to lack of attention.

Merlin nods, once, slowly.  "Yes.  The duke was my mother's father. 
Mother was convinced that no one knew of it, on your side.  Is one
permitted to inquire as to your name, fair cousin?"

With a couple minute shakes of her head and a bit of blinking, Aisling
manages to snap into courtier mode.  She goes ahead and continues her walk
until she has closed the distance between them, so that they can speak
with a bit more intimacy, meanwhile remarking conversationally, "Indeed,
such an inquiry is permitted, and moreover, should it not presume too much
upon your good nature, I would go so far as to upset the natural order and
provide the answer even before the question; to wit:" at which point,
having reached him, she spreads her hands at waist level and bows--a
medium sort of bow, a bow that says "I would like to give you a greater
bow, but unfortunately I have not been formally introduced to almost
everyone here and thus can't play favorites when necessity drives me to
introduce myself" (Lord only knows how much of that he [or any of the rest
of you watching what is only by unfortunate circumstance a public
exchange] catches)--and continues (quietly enough that perhaps only Julian
and Fiona will overhear), "I am named Aisling.  I am your mother's cousin.
 I hope that we are well-met."  She grins tentatively.

Merlin bows back, gravely, with the seriousness of a child who knows that
he is doing something *important*.  His eyes widen a bit at your last
statement, as if he is considering several spots in the family tree where
you might fit.

"Well met indeed, cousin Aisling, although I wish it were not such a sad
occasion.  Aunts and Uncles I know of from the Cards, but cousins are a
new thing for me,"  he lies politely, "can you introduce me?  I fear that
relationships are much more complex here than in my home."

Lilly looks up at the dark haired gentleman, truly seeing him for the
first time. She smiles gently, her soft voice just loud enough for Merlin,
Aisling and anyone else nearby to hear. "Introductions have been a bit
lacking. I dobt their is any among the cousins who could identify us all
properly." Her gaze, along with the smile passes to Aisling and then back
again to Merlin. "I am called Lilly. My father is Benedict. Cousins, and
for that matter extended family, are new to me as well. You are not alone
Cousin Merlin." With that she bows her head.

Aisling gracefully takes a couple steps to open out the conversational
cluster so that not only Lilly is included, but everyone else as well. 
She bows to the daughter of Benedict and smiles.  "I am delighted to meet
you, Lilly.  And I must admit your perspicacity; I, too, am unsure of the
identities of a couple of the people here."  Her glance touches on Adonis,
and passes to Merlin to whom she adds wryly, "And most of the people I do
know don't know me."

Adonis looks up from the dog, gives it a fairwell ruffle of the ears and
stands, waiting for his father, or someone, to introduce him.

Jovian leaves off staring at the storm-front. The timeless last 
moments of the procession spent with his comrades in arms 
opened a floodgate...but the new conditions, dark, ominous and 
closing in, bring back the stolid presence of the field commander - 
grief pushed firmly to the side for later while there are still matters to
be seen to.

His attention strays to the tableau surrounding his new-found 
cousin and the diplomatic autopilot that has guided him through 
endless Conclaves kicks in. He strides over, extending a hand. 
"Jovian, son of Julian," he offers simply. "The pretty boy eyeing up Aunt
Fiona is one aspect of my brother Daeon."

Merlin looks at the hand for a moment longer than you would expect and
then grasps it, in the manner of someone participating in a custom they
have only heard of amongst the Fabled South Sea Cannibals.  His gaze darts
about, focusing on any stray noise or movement.

Aisling turns her glowing smile on Jovian, because he could probably use
it, and because he's rerouted this impolitely strained situation into
something useful.

The pretty boy winks at his brother and grins engagingly. "Call me
Adonis!" As Merlin takes the profferred hand [assuming he does] , Adonis
covers it with his left in a firm double handclasp. "This must have been
bad for you - family, friends, on both sides, yes?"

Merlin smiles tentatively at Adonis, and is happy enough that the clasp is
at arms length.  He seems a bit overwhelmed by all of the new names to
learn.  At Adonis' question he rather quickly hides the pain in his eyes
from most, although Fiona notices.

"It has been...quite a strain, Cousin.  My mother and I..."  That thought
is squelched, ruthlessly.  "I was born into two worlds in conflict, and
today, both of my grandfathers died.  How can one come to grips with the
enormity of it all?  It is as if the world has already ended and we are
ghosts, awaiting our fading.  There is so much I do not understand." 

Aisling half-cocks an eyebrow at Adonis, thanks to his names and to his
excessively tight focus, and meanwhile turns to quietly fill Lilly in on
the names of the older generation.  Her back streamers stir a bit in the
light pre-frontal breeze, as they hang there in midair.  "I suspect you've
met Random and Julian already, since you commanded in the battle? <she
cocks her head very slightly and on some sort of positive indication
continues,> The red-headed lady who was talking to Merlin is Fiona.  The
tall redhead with the short beard over by Benedict is her brother, Bleys."

Aisling, catching Merlin's commentary, breaks off her words to Lilly and 
turns to Merlin.  "Borel?  I'm-- sorry..." she says, looking paler.

Adonis nods gently at Aisling's words, releasing Merlin's hand in response
to his obvious discomfort. "I am not sure how many grandfather's I have
lost today, but I have never had the chance to speak with either
and...others are also lost." Then his demeanour brightens and he turns to
include Aisling, Lilly and Jovian, reaching for his brother's shoulder.
"But let us not lose hope for the world is not yet ended; we must have
faith!"

Merlin nods, "It may be that it is all that we can have, cousin.  I am not
sure I will know what it is that I must have faith in until I learn what
survived the passing of the King."

(Aisling to Lilly, continuing)
"The lady with the green bobbed hair is Llewella, and next to her is
Florimel.  Corwin, who I don't believe you've seen yet, has black hair and
looks like..." she glances around, "a slightly burlier version of Merlin.
Caine you may have met; he was the Green Knight who did so well on the
battlefield, and he also has black hair.  The only one of Benedict's
half-siblings who remained in Amber, I believe, was Gerard...?"  She looks
to Julian for conformation on this one.

"And there is one other of your cousins who was at the battle is but not
right in this group, that I know about; his name is Marius.  He's got
curly black hair.  His mother was Deirdre.  Last I saw him, he was
bleeding, and I think he's off getting that treated now."

Julian is staring at the northern horizon.  Anyone who follows his glance
will notice that the storm is again on the move. 

Aisling follows his gaze, and then speaks, "Perhaps it would be good to
use this time of respite to have a bite to eat?"  She looks over the
family, hoping for agreement, and more than that, for people who will go
with her to deal with the valets.  Either way, she'll head off in a
moment, and go arrange for food and drink and fire; by chutzpah alone if
none of the recognizeable people go along.  

Once the machinery of food-providing is in action, she'll get someone with
medical knowledge to properly dress her hand.  And she'd like a cloak and
some decent footwear and a satchel, too, if there's someone around
interested in helping her out.

Aisling convinces the little furry guys to provide food.  Most of the
troops have gathered at the foot of the hill, fearful of the storm and
close to their protectors.  They are, for a victorious army, somewhat
subdued.

They provide food to their gods and it is a miracle that they do not drop
it for trembling.  It is clear that they are on the far side of terror.
The food they serve is clearly not poisonous, and it is edible, but it was
cooked by people who had no idea what the gods might like. By the
standards of little fuzzy guys, it is probably delicious, but you all
think it is abysmal.

Well, since it's the LFGs who got co-opted, Brennan will let them know
that they have done well.  The day is won, and their gods are pleased with
them.  They'll have to hold on a while for their victory rally speech,
though.

As for the food, I'm sure Brennan has had worse in his day.

Brennan's comment, in a mutter that still manages to carry fairly well
(he's very good at that) is, "Perhaps it would be good get out of the
rain," eyeing the approaching storm.

Merlin looks at the storm, calculating.  "It is several hours away, yet.
There is much, both physical and metaphysical, to be dissolved first.  If
you wish to keep them you should move your armies to the Fixed Place,
assuming they can behave themselves."

"They will," replies Julian. "if necessary and if they are unprovoked."

"They must, " counters Merlin.  "To fight on holy ground is to name
yourself the enemy of all.  You would not understand the fury of the
beings of chaos if you were to do so."

Benedict nods.  "It is as it was written.  We will comply with the Law of
the place.  If I recall the doctrine, we should send an emissary first."

Fiona comes up behind the three of you and puts a hand on Merlin's
shoulder.  "Let's go see if your father is done talking to your mother."
If he is startled by it, he suppresses his reaction well.

Merlin performs a polite bow to the both of you and follows Fiona to the
seperate outcropping where Corwin is resting.  Dara is no longer in sight.
Those watching below will note that Merlin reaches out to clasp Corwin's
hand. 

"I'm sure someone will turn up." Calls Adonis as he leaves, smiling
encouragingly.

Adonis watches Merlin, or it might be another excuse to admire Fiona.
Those standing near him can hear him singing a nonsense song quietly to
himself. As Merlin and Corwin clasp hands, Adonis turns to Jovian.

"How went things for you, brother? I saw some of the air battle and sent
you a prayer on an arrow but I don't know if it helped."

"The arrow probably got caught when the cloud went dense," Jovian 
answers with a half-shrug. "Maybe it inspired the being that formed 
of the cloud to switch sides, I dunno. Anyway, I must make a note: 
before going into battle against hostile creatures, study them to 
find out where they keep their vital organs." There may be irony to 
this, or it may just be how he talks.

"Cloud being?" Adonis clearly has no idea what Jovian means. "I think the
arrow hit the huge wyvern agglutinate but the clouds came immediately
after and we saw so little of what happened from then on." He gestures
broadly to one side. "You can see much of what happened here <heartfelt
sigh> I know Kern came here looking for vengeance and Death *is* an
integral part of life but the way I feel right now...well, you *can* have
too much of a good thing."

"The cloud bank started forming while the creature was forming, out of
the shreds of wyverns we kept from merging into it," Jovian elaborates
with remarkable detachment. Only a twinge at the corners of his eyes
hints at his revulsion. "I don't know when your arrow came up, I never
saw it. But near as I can tell, the cloud bank formed into *another*
sentient being that blocked our return to the ground battle for a
while."

"The arrow went up just before the...er...cloud being." There's no sign of
revulsion in Adonis, but then he didn't have to face the wyverns and
associated morphs. "But it was only an arrow, I wouldn't expect anyone to
notice, though it flew true straight up. It was as lethal as I could make
it but even so the prayer was probably the more efficacious. No matter!"
he grins. "We both made it through!"

"That we did. There don't seem to have been any *family* losses in 
the battle proper." His stress on the word conveys relief but is not
without bitterness either.

Jovian surveys the field, following his brother's gesture. "Looks like
you were busy enough, all right."

"Oh! Well Kern can hardly take credit for it all and far too many bodies
are ours." He half turns and points to the furthest flank. "Kern was over
there; most of the ichor beyond the furthest edge of Lilly's flank was
spilt by him. You can just make out what little remains of the Lamia eaten
by my horse."

Adonis is silent for a second. "Did you lose many dragons and
dragonriders?"

"You heard the keening," Jovian replies somberly, his gaze 
returning to the ridge to the south. It is a long moment before he 
elaborates. "Eleven dragons and riders, one-third of the fighting 
force." Only then do his eyes return to his brother as he continues. "It
doesn't matter whether it's the dragon or rider who's fatally injured, you
know. When the rider dies, the dragon must die. When the dragon dies, if
the rider doesn't go *between* with him, he's never a whole man again."

Aisling watches Merlin leave, and his father rise to meet him.  That seems
to be going well enough.  When they sit down and are no longer so visible,
she turns back to the group near her.  "Adonis," she says with a smile and
a nod.  "And Jovian.  I was just pointing out the names of your father's
siblings to Lilly.  Are you already aware of them?"

Jovian's reaction to being addressed is slightly delayed, as though 
processing that it was he being addressed. He frowns at himself for 
a half-second before quirking one corner of his mouth at Aisling. 
"Let's just say getting to know them eventually has always been in 
the cards."

"The cards?" Adonis' eyes flick down to the pack on his brother's belt.
[Or to wherever the nearest pack is] "Ah, yes! The cards!" He smiles at
Jovian to show he understood the witticism, albeit a tad late, then looks
back to Aisling. "Yes, I have seen the cards and I am acquainted with the
House of...Amber." His manner seems cold and formal, belieing his dress.
Aisling might notice Adonis does not immediately eye her up as he does
every other woman he's met so far.

"By name, reputation and artist's rendering of appearance?"Jovian notes. 
"We're about on a par, then."

Aisling does notice this suddenly cold shoulder from a man who has
heretofore been warm and bubbly as a fruit cobbler.  She steals a quick
glance at Lilly, wondering if she is also included in this non-Amber
approbation, then draws the obvious conclusions and looks faintly sad. 
She smiles regardless, however, and says politely, "Perhaps, then, you
will be so kind as to point out to Lilly the names of the rest of your
relatives. I find that the longer I delay seeing this (with a movement of
the ex-hand) treated, the more I am pained."  She bows to the group, a
moderately deep bow with spread hands, and backs a step and turns and
leaves...  Her eyes never having wandered from Adonis.

In which case, since she's been otherwise engaged all along, she 
may or may not notice that Jovian's eyes follow her in retreat. 
There is nothing hard or cold about his stare - there is curiosity 
there, but also appreciation, as if of a novel but pleasing work of art.

Adonis offers an outstretched hand and a warm smile to Lilly. "Come Lilly!
What a lovely name! I think Jovian is better acquainted with our
patriarchal relatives than I. This should be an education for both of us."
[Assuming she takes his hand] He smiles warmly into her eyes; Adonis is a
very pretty boy indeed, quite heart-stoppingly beautiful, in fact - and he
knows it.

Lilly is a bit hesitant in taking his hand. In truth she seems a bit
confused by the gesture. Still, she doesn't wish to offend, atleast not
yet. She reaches out a bit stiffly, her posture remaining very straight,
her face not betraying any emmotion.

The returned smile seems a bit forced, Lilly is clearly a bit
uncomfortable. "Have you spent much time in Amber? I know only what Father
has told me and that is very little. My travels in Shadow are very limited
as well. I would be grateful for any aid you could offer." Theb words are
very honest. There is no hidden meaning behind them. She remains studious,
calm, and a bit detached without crossing the line into cold.

"I've spent most of my life close to Amber and have visited several times
and toured the closer...er...places." His tone is expansive and friendly,
perhaps the raw sexual charisma is geared down a notch to be replaced by
an ardent desire to set her at ease. "I'll be pleased to take you on a
tour of the better taverns when we return." He doesn't seem to accept the
possibility of not returning.

Lilly seems to react better to friendly. Sexuality is a foreign concept to
her. She simply nods along as he speaks, taking in his words and wondering
vaguely if a daughter of a Prince can visit the Taverns in Amber without
garnering an unwanted reputation.

"Of our elders, the one I know best is our pater, Julian; he's the one in
white talking to Benedict, who from the semblance of the eyes must be your
father, yes?"
 
This too is answered with a simple nod. Her resemblance to her father does
not end with the sparkle of their eyes. It is in her countenance, her
detachment, her mannerisms. Any who know Benedict could not mistake her
parentage.

Meanwhile, Benedcit scans the faces of his relatives--brothers, daughters, 
nephews. He passes over each of them in turn, perhaps finding some flaw 
in each that he does not mention.

"Sister," he says at last, looking at Flora.  "Will you be the family's
embassy to the Funeral Place?"

Flora looks delighted.  "I shall.  What do you wish of me, Ben?"

"Go to the gates and tell them that by ancient Right, the affines of
Oberon wish to enter the Fixed Place.  Then go in and don't sell them the
castle until we get there."  Benedict is smiling lightly by the end of his
comment and, for those who knew them both, is slightly reminiscent of King
Oberon himself.  "You should take my horse.  It is not the fastest, but it
will serve."

Flora nods her head and walks down to the mounts and departs, expertly
sitting the great striped warhorse which had served Benedict during the
battle.  She rides gracefully on to the black road and away.

Adonis continues, "For the rest, I think my brother, here, is better
acquainted than I." His smile widens to encompass Jovian. "Jovian, perhaps
you could start with the green-haired lady with the bow?

Lilly looks at Jovian with interest but chooses to remain silent and await
his reponse.

The dragonrider tosses a sidelong glance at 'Adonis,' colored with
resentment but not entirely unfriendly, before responding. "The
green-haired one I have met, briefly. She's our *Aunt* Llewella." The
emphasis appears to be for Adonis' benefit, and it is as pointed as his
bronze companion's talons. 

Adonis gives no sign of noticing his brother's exasperation, emphasis or
meaning but Lilly's hand receives another reassuring little squeeze. If
she looks his way, she might catch the briefest of winks, probably not
seen by Jovian.

"You heard Fiona identified, though not introduced; she's our aunt as well."

Adonis can't help the most miniscule and briefest of pouts but a *very*
observant person might think his interest in Fiona as much spiritual as
sensual.

"The red-bearded fellow is our uncle Bleys,"Jovian continues . I believe 
you met Random earlier. And the wiry one over there where
Aisling is getting patched up...." Jovian's brow furrows, as if studying a
fanned hand of cards before him. "Must be Caine," he says finally, with a
nod more to himself than anyone else.

"Ah!" Comments Adonis, "He who arose from the dead!" [Since Caine's
looking this way, their eyes might briefly meet.] Then Adonis turns away
to point down the hill. "And if you stand on tip-toe, you might just catch
a glimpse of Corwin, whom I was once led to believe was also dead and not
to be trusted or liked even then." He turns back to the other two.
"There's a few unaccounted for but all the rest in view here are our
cousins and they I know not at all - Jovian?"

One corner of the dragonman's mouth twists. "You were on the 
ground when the battle lines were forming, bror. You should know 
better than I."

Lilly turns at her father's call as Adonis replies to his brother. "There
goes the only one I saw at all closely. I met no one aside from Random.
Pater kept us with the reserves and most others were committed before we
engaged. I was party to no councils of war."

Lilly, Jovian, and Adonis chat a bit longer and then Lilly goes to speak
to her father, who has called her over.  She joins Benedict, Bleys, and
Julian, who are discussing swordplay techniques.

Jovian and Adonis watch her leave and then fall into a turn back to look
over the Abyss.

Aisling, having convinced the furry guys to get her a cloak and some boots
and a belt with a dagger and a satchel to put her slippers in, is finally
somewhat outfitted for a battle, about an hour late.  With the cloak
covering her back she looks almost human.

If it's not too far a stretch, it'd be nice if she could get a medical kit
and somehow manage to take Brennan up on that bandaging offer...  After a
couple of whiffs of the food, she is not particularly inspired with
confidence in the capabilities of the LFGs.

Or you could just ask Brennan if that's a medical kit he fished out of his
saddlebags.

Flora's departure she takes with equanimity.  On one hand, her knowledge
of Chaos could possibly have been of use to Flora; on the other, she's not
exactly in top form, and she's tired of flitting hither and yon and never
quite meeting anyone.  Flora should be safe in the Fixed Place, of all
places...

"She was the best choice," Benedict says, forestalling any questions. 
"She is the most polished courtier we have left."

Fiona walks back to the group and stands silently for a moment.  "Merlin,
please come with me.."

Merlin rises and follows her, heading for the place where Corwin is
supposed to be resting.

"Excuse me, but does that happen to be a medical kit?" Aisling asks,
momentarily paused at the outside edge of conversational range, where it
has caught her eye.

"A-yup.  Looked like some people around here could use it.   Looks
like you could use it, come to mention it."  

"Indeed.  Alas, I no longer have the ability to use it alone...  Do you
have medical knowledge?"

"Enough for my every day purposes, yeah.  What I do not have is a
detailed knowledge of Chaosi innards, so you're going to have to help me
out with this.  Hope you don't mind your doctor asking questions."

Brennan is saying this as he dismounts his horse.  At some point or
other, his blade got sheathed, too.

"By all means, ask away.  I'd much rather you were sure about what you're
doing.  But I am pretty human in this form."

Aisling will approach after the answer above, and will allow Brennan to
look over the wound...  I suspect they'll end up sitting across from (or
next to) each other so he can work on it.  What they're dealing with is
the loss of much of the right hand, three fingers, the tip of the pointer,
and chunk of the wrist.  It's a clean cut with a solid scab over it by
now, but the handkerchief Aisling used to help staunch blood flow is
caught up in the scab.

"Well, that's pretty nasty.  A little less swashing and a little more
buckling for you in the future.  How'd this happen?"  That's pretty much a
distraction, as Brennan pulls out a vial of medicinal grade alcohol,
clamps her arm in a firm grip, and pours about a third of it over the
wounded area.

The bloody handkerchief has been plucked aside with tweezers and
discarded.

Aisling starts to yell in startlement/pain and squashes it, so it comes
out sounding like "uhoAAHHhh--!"  She grits her teeth, wipes some tearing
away from her eyes with her left hand, and says something about failing to
save a man from being pulled into the Abyss in answer to Brennan's
question.

"Yeah, sorry about that."
He proceeds to thorougly clean and debride the wound.  From here out, he
goes slowly and warns her when he thinks something is going to be
particularly painful.  He goes slowly not only because he's a curious
type, but because the anatomy may surprise him.

Well, I suppose on the list of surprising things he might notice, while
being close enough to her to have her in an armlock:  she may be
doublejointed, not having reacted quite as expected; she's warmer than
most people, maybe a bit shy of feverish; she smells very very faintly of
lilac and seabreeze (somewhere under the blood and sweat :) ), like if you
were on a ship in the middle of the ocean and a quarter-mile upwind was a
rocky knoll covered with flowering lilac bushes.  Anything stand out about
him at this range?

She wears perfume to a battle.
And house-slippers.  ;)
Yeah, pretty poor planning, ain't it?

Brennan's not entirely sure how to take that, so he doesn't say
anything about it.
He's your standard human-type.

Up close, though, it's easy to see that he draws his heritage from one of
Clarissa's brood.  His frame takes more after Bleys than Brand-- Brennan
isn't a big bulky type, but there's some real solidity to his frame.  His
chin isn't as weak as Bleys' or Brand's, but his beard gives most of his
face a resemblance to Bleys as well.

The eyes, though, are all Brand's and more.  They're a sharp piercing
green, and they convey the impression that whatever he's looking at, he's
looking at for a darned good reason, and giving it the full measure of his
focus.

Right now, since he's focussing intently on the task at hand, that's
probably comforting.

He's got some blood on him, too, but not very much.  It seems to
belong to other people (or other things) and has mostly washed off in the
downpour.

"So," he says, looking her up and down.  "I'm betting you're Random's
'talking bird.'  What brings you to this side of the family get reunion?"

Aisling chuckles.  "Good bet, though I suspected you'd know me as
Benedict's purple lion.  My name is Aisling."  She grins; shaking is right
out.  "As for what brought me..."  she hisses in some breath as something
painful happens to her hand. "Um.  I guess to make a long story short, I 
could say that Oberon sent me." She looks up into his eyes, asks easily, 
"What about you?  You're....  Brennan, who commanded the furry men in 
the middle, correct?  What is your connection with this fight?"

He nods, with a wry almost-grin, figuring that his name is forever
more going to be linked with the Little Furry Guys.  In reply, he
says, "I came to make sure my father died."

Having finished the debridement, he then asks Aisling her medical
opinion.  "If this were anyone else, I'd get out my sewing kit, stich it
shut, and pack it.  Does that differe from your opinion of standard
treatment?"

Aisling either agrees or disagrees and offers another option, based on
medical knowledge that she has that I don't.  :)  Either way, it's pithy.
She does add, "Could you also splint the wrist?  Until I regenerate it, it
is painful to have it move."  

"Yeah, I think we can manage a splint.  First the stitching, though.
Hold that steady and don't get it dirty, or I'll have to douse it all over
again."

She quirks a purple "oh really" eyebrow at him.

He rummages in the kit, bringing out a sewing kit, several packages of
gauze and other bandaging material, and the fixings of a good splint.

"This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch.  I'd try for some
anaesthetic, but I'm none too sure of what will work here, and what
will work on you.  This is your chance to back out."

"Give me a few more moments and I'll see what I can do about damping down
my ability to feel in the region," says Aisling, who has already been
working on this while he pokes around collecting stuff.

Assuming she doesn't, he begins to work.  He is methodical and
thorough.  He starts out slowly at first, to make sure that he has a
feel for the anatomy, but his previous debridement treatment helped
there, and he picks up speed rapidly.

She occasionally has to glance up to the sky/storm and blink to beat back
tearing, but she does not cry out.

Then she goes back to an earlier statement he made...  "Your 
father...  He was Brand?"

"He was, in biological terms only.  Hadn't seen him for over a hundred
years, which suited me just fine."

It is only now at the mention of Brand, that Aisling can realize that by
his lights, Brennan had been keeping a damper on the penetrating power of
his gaze.  Where before they were bright and sharp, at Brand's name they
go lambent and lacerating.

No one noticed Caine's approach, but it is clear that he thinks Brennan
has been heard by his brothers.  He speaks loudly, and perhaps overly
belligerently.  "Yes, Brand was Brennan's father.  He's under my
protection, as is Marius."  His gaze sweeps his brothers.  Seeing none
inclined to comment, he reaches into the medical supplies, rummaging for
something.

When Caine sets to rummaging in the medical supplies, Brennan pauses
in his stitchery to take an almost exaggerated glance behind him to
see which of his aunts, uncles, or cousins might have been drawing
targets on his back.  Also seeing none inclined to shoot him at the
moment, he gives a small shrug and returns to the task at hand.

If Caine rummages for long, Brennan will address him:  "Scuttlebutt
has it you killed my father."

"I guess a compression bandage roll is out of the question here?  Yes, I
fired the shot.  I used a very special arrow."

Brennan rolls that around in his head for a moment, then:  "Good."

In reference to the bandage, he nods that the roll he has set out to
tape Aisling's arm back together with the splint, which is probably
going to happen any moment now.  "I'm going to be using some of that
real soon, now.  If you're hurt, I can tend you next."

"Marius.  Back there."  He gestures.  "What's up with them?", he asks in a
quiet voice, looking at Adonis and Jovian.  They are staring into the
Abyss, apparently oblivious to anything else. 

"I was wondering where he'd gotten to.  If he's ambulatory, I'll treat him
here.  If not, then as soon as I finish this splint, I'll bring the whole
kit to him."  In reference the Julianers:  "Dunno.  Spitting on my
father's corpse?  If so, they're going to need to move over, in a minute
or two."

Damn straight Aisling didn't notice his approach...  Absorbed in what she
thought was an ignored talk with Brennan, she is caught by surprise by
Caine's decree.  She can't jump when he speaks out because her hand is
getting stitched up, so instead she tenses up and freezes, watching him.
Then, making a conscious effort, she relaxes some, nods politely to the
revenant, and continues her talk with Brennan as she would have. "I am 
sorry that he was such a father to you that his death elicts no
mourning.  I know only what I have heard about him, but not all of that
was bad,"  Aisling offers quietly.

"I'll bet it wasn't."

"In Amber," Aisling clarifies firmly.

"Did they tell you about the bad parts, too?"

She nods, says softly, "I gathered what I thought was a reasonably
accurate account of his character.  But then, no one in Amber knew he was
behind Oberon's disappearance and the Black Road until less than a week
ago..."

"Doesn't matter.  Just think about growing up with that."

Aisling nods again, and gives it some thought. "How did you know that he 
would be at a battle here?"

At this Brennan spares her a sidelong glance.
"Have you been _anywhere_ in Shadow, recently?"

She glances at the sky, thinking, and then says, "Nope.  There's a nasty
Black Road, goes two ways, right?"  She grins.

A long, drawn out, "A-yup."
Then, sensing that might not be a sufficient answer:  "That's the
sort of thing makes inquiring minds want to know more.  A little
investigative journalism led me here."

"Have you been hanging out here for long?  And how did you know Brand
was behind this?"

"Let's just call it a good hunch."

"What in the world was a Chaosi doing in Amber?  The obvious?"

She smiles and replies, "Well, the un-obvious, really."  Then she looks
down and away and says quietly, "I was a spy.  For a faction I don't
believe was directly involved."

"Spying _was_ the obvious.  And you're on our side, now?"

"If it was obvious, I would have been caught," she says with a devilish
grin, and then sobers.  "Yes.  If you've spent much time in Chaos, you'll
likely know that Amber is a kinder place."

Brennan's face is a mask of exaggerated, but very calm surprise,
daring her to explain what she could possibly mean by Amber being a
kinder place than the Courts. 

But what he says is, "It must have been obvious to Oberon."

"What makes you think I didn't take his sudden return as my chance to make
the switch I'd been considering for so long?"


During all of the confusion, Marius has received some treatment for his
wounds and now begins to rejoin the group.  He has straightened his
uniform as best as he can.  It cuts a good, if not unblemished appearance.
 He holds himself well, although his movements are fairly stiff still. 
Presumably, this is the result of a wound sustained during the battle.

To those with medical training, it is clear that he has had battlefield
"patch him up and throw him back in" treatment and probably could use a
doctor's attention.

To those with a keen eye and a clever mind, it might be possible to deduce
that Marius has been rather closer to Red Lightning than he may have
wanted to be.

Without intentionally disregarding anyone, Marius walks to the edge of the
abyss and looks down over the precipice.  His face betrays no emotion as
he stands there.  Careful observers will notice that his feet hang over
the ledge just a bit.  If anyone asks about him during this juncture,
Marius will state that he needs to be alone for a few moments and then
turn away.

After several uncomfortable minutes, Marius closes his eyes and steps away
from the ledge.  He scans the crowd until he sees Caine.  Marius makes his
way over to Caine, waiting until Caine acknowledges him.  When that
happens, Marius says the following:

"It is good to see you again, sir.  We had feared you lost.  Your sailors
have brought honor to themselves and their families, especially those who
sacrificed themselves to save their brothers.  I am proud of them, and
commend them all to you.  The navy has been kept safe in your absence, and
awaits your return.  There are other matters on which we must speak, but
they can wait."

Marius waits for Caine to respond.  If Marius can pull Caine away from the
crowd to speak he will do so, but otherwise he will bide his time.

"I'm hard to kill, and I should know."  A standard cryptic Caine response.
"It runs in the family.  I saw your work.  We have done  well enough for
Amber, it seems, although perhaps not enough to save ourselves.

"I am sorry about the deception--if I had reassured you all, it would have
undone the value of it.  I had to go alone to be sure.  Your
mother...you've been told, haven't you?"

Caine is speaking quietly to you, but is not concerned that Aisling and
Brennan are present.  He does not wish to be led away, as he is very
interested in Adonis and Jovian.

Marius looks directly at Caine.  He is aware of the presence of others,
but at this time his attentions are solely directed at Caine.

"Yes.  Mother is gone.  I watched it happen just before backing out.  I
see no trace of her in the abyss, which is small comfort.  She did her
duty for Amber and Amber will do its duty for her when all is finished. 
In the meantime, I pass command of the navy back to you and await your
orders. However, if it be convenient, I would like to be excused from duty
for a short time.  There is much to think on, and I would like the freedom
to do so."

It's at this point that Brennan, who is recently finished bandaging up one
Chaosi purple girl, looks up, sees Marius hobbling around, and begins
waving a roll of bandages around to get either his attention, or Caine's,
whoever happens to be facing him.

A "come here" gesture follows, if it is Marius who sees him, or a
"bring him here" gesture, if Caine.

Aisling, having finished looking over her hand, moving it about a bit,
feeling to see that it is alright, turns to Brennan and gives him a
private just-between-the-two-of-them beam.  "Thank you," she whispers. 
She draws the edge of her cloak to cover the remains of her hand, and then
she sees how things will develop with Caine and Marius and medical
attention.


--------------------
RECLAMATION
--------------------
Jovian and Adonis, you watch Lilly depart and turn towards the Abyss.
Without really willing it you take a few steps forward until you are at
the edge of a cliff over a nothingness so vast that your mind cannot
reconcile it with anything to be afraid of.  There is no feeling of
height.

You face the essence of emptiness, a place with no boundaries, no
exceptions, no colors, nothing.  It is utterly dark, beyond the capacity
of your minds to accept, and the illusion that there are subtle plays of
color just under your vision--deep indigos and mauves in great, skywashing
waves that you cannot define.

Adonis murmers something to himself, "Colours I've none, dark or light,
red, white or blue - cold is my touch, freezing..." His manner is that of
someone finally realising the meaning of a nursery rhyme heard as a child
and scarce thought of since. Only Jovian might hear the words, if he's
listening.

To Adonis, this is your vision of a place with no gods.  For Jovian, it is
as if he is standing on the watchstones and staring at *between*.  Neither
of you are comforted by your thoughts.

In many ways, it would be a relief if the Abyss were maleficent.  Instead
the void is not just uncaring, but incapable of caring.  There are places
where this would be worshiped; Adonis has heard of stranger things,
although perhaps none more dangerous.  The secret wisdom of the Abyss is
that All of Everything is nothing compared to Nothing.  Standing there, it
is impossible not to consider that it might be True.

It would be a relief to see the Nighted Citadel, the place that has
swallowed so many, including your Aunt and your late Grandfather, but a
trick of Geography puts it out of sight.  The nothingness is complete.

You lose track of time, place, self.  People move and speak, but it is not
to be noticed.  It is as if you fight an involuntary contest of wills to
assert that you exist and are not merely a speck in the greater
nothingness.

After an unmeasurable interval, you notice a white dot in the distance.
Just when you are convinced that it, too is a hallucination brought on by
the lack of being, it starts getting bigger.  A four-footed figure
zig-zags across invisible pathways, moving now further, now closer to you.

Suddenly the shape is clear.  It rears and you see the source of legends.
It looks exactly like the back of a trump, mane flowing, forelocks
flashing, a single spiralled horn.   *The* Unicorn.  Magnificent and
white, it rears, standing on the void with forehooves in the 'air'.  You
are transfixed by the beauty, grace, and power of it.  It comes closer,
galloping along a path only it sees, across the emptiness.

The mesmerizing power of the Abyss is broken.  Somehow The Unicorn is as
real as it is unreal.  She runs at you, throwing defiance at the nihilism
of the Abyss by her mere existence.

In Castle Amber, a woman goes into labor.

Adonis' face lights up. The place with no gods is subservient to at least
one.

After an awestruck moment and with a supreme effort, Jovian finds his
voice. To point would be too much to ask, an act of which the concept of
sacrelige is but a shadow.

"She is Coming," he says simply, his voice a little hoarse but the capital
pronounced. Then, louder, clearer: "Dad. She is Coming!"

If Adonis hears his brother, he gives no sign of it. A feirce joy lights
his face as he throws his arms wide and steps forward, reaching for The
Unicorn like a long-lost lover.

Instinctively, without thought or a sideways look, Jovian's arm is out,
across his brother's chest. "Let Her choose the meeting place," he
half-whispers.

Adonis might hear him or he might not but he seems suddenly confused; he
struggles against his brother's arm not seeming to realise it's there.
Then when he does, he looks down at it, quickly follows it to Jovian and
pushes him aside. However, by that time The Unicorn is over the lip of the
Abyss and past and Adonis merely turns to slowly follow her, looking
somewhat deflated.

If Adonis doesn't hear Jovian, he is the only one.  By some accoustical
quirk of the location, the sound carries, distorted, across the hills and
to the troops below. Beyond the group at the abyss, the sound is an
inarticulate shout. 

Aisling whips around at the shout, standing in one graceful motion.  She
moves forwards a few steps towards the group at the very edge of the
Abyss, wondering what's going on, and then she sees the Unicorn.  She
freezes.

The entirety of the Force of Amber are staring at
the creature that caused Jovian to raise his voice.  Aches and Fatigues
fade as if meaningless and there is a twinge in even the most possimistic
that this might not be the end.

The Unicorn climbs the air towards you,   She looks across the assembled
crowd and locks eyes with Corwin.  Even he cannot truly resist the
implacable will of the great creature.

She takes a few dainty steps away from the edge of the Abyss, and seems
somewhat reluctant to approach anyone, much less the large crowd present.

She has a large ruby on a chain around her neck.  For those who know, it
is obviously the Jewel of Judgement, the tool and symbol of power that
your fathers and uncles think can save you.

Brennan, having put away most of his medical kit since Marius decided that
Big Boys Don't Cry (or need medical attention) had been standing and was
about to approach the Abyss anyway, to see if he could drop something
unplesant in the direction of his father.

When the Unicorn appears, Brennan stops abruptly and watches her like a
hawk.  His arms are folded across his chest.  Brennan is normally pretty
hard to read, but those with a high water score might sense that there's
an unasked question pacing back and forth behind his eyes.  

She steps forward towards the largest cluster of Oberon's children.
Julian, Random, Bleys, Fiona, Llewella, Benedict, Lilly, and several
others are there.  She stops in front of Random. and drops to her knees in
front of him and he takes it from the tip of the horn of the Unicorn.

"Thank you" says Random.

This is a sight like none Lilly has ever seen. She is a bit overwhelmed by
it and part of the symbolism is lost on her. Still, one would have to be
dead not to realize that this moment held great importance. from the
conrer of her eye, she watches her father, ready to mirror his reactions
as neccesary.

Julian unsheathes a blade and places it at Random's feet.  He kneels. 
Bley and Benedict, Caine, Fiona and Llewella join him.  Others are coming
to do the same.

And so it is. As Benedict kneels before the new king so does his daughter.
For now this is how it should be, there will be time for questions later.

Adonis has eyes only for The Unicorn. Perhaps Jovian's words have sunk in
because he stands back from her, OTOH, maybe he's scared to approach. He
doesn't know what the JoJ is though at some level he knows it's
significant.

Even as she is thinking out the implications of what is happening, Aisling
is moving forwards.  Approaching the Unicorn is nerve-wracking;
approaching the Unicorn and drawing a weapon is counter to everything in
her, but nonetheless, she, too, ends up kneeling in the group around
Random's feet with her dagger laid out in front of her.  How appropriate
that it is a dagger, she thinks, and how appropriately offered with the
sinister hand. She does not kneel with her face down, but rather watches
Random...  And also observes directly the Unicorn.

Jovian does, indeed, join the circle of his family. He first bows to the
unicorn, from the waist but deeply, then takes his place beside his
father. Having no sword, he draws his long belt knife.

He pauses, thinks a moment...then pulls his leather gauntlets from the
belt of his flight jacket, finding the strong firestone smell clinging to
them appropriate for the symbolism intended. He lays the knife upon the
gloves and adds them to the arsenal at Random's feet.

Though he bends the knee, he does not bow his head, but meets Random's
eyes squarely.

Marius has been watching the goings on with a vaguely detached interest.
The motivation for this action is unclear.  For those paying attention, he
watches the unicorn carefully.  When the Unicorn selects Random to take
the jewel, Marius makes no overt reaction.  However, his eyes betray a
shock, even an anger at seeing this.  He says nothing.

When he observes everyone pay fealty to Random. Marius follows suit.  As
he lays his sword on the ground, Marius bows in a military fashion.  When
he stands forth, he address Random in a military fashion, stating "The
navy of Amber and I await your orders.  So it be said, so it shall be
done."  With that, Marius bows again quickly, and backs into the rear of
the party. However, his eyes linger on the jewel perhaps a second too
long.  He continues to scan the crowd for reactions when he is done, but
says nothing to anyone.  His tone and demeanor should indicate to all that
he is uninterested in interaction at this time.

The nobles and soldiers who are near enough to see, rapidly bring
themselves to their knees as well.

[Brennan, Adonis?  It won't change any of the next actions, but it may be
Noted if you don't.]

Brennan spends a good deal of this time standing stock still, regarding
the Unicorn, with his arms across his chest, his chin high, and an
expression mostly unreadable on his face.  The part that is readable
echoes that which he showed when Random introduced him as a god to
Corwin's troops.

When he comes to himself, he still does not move, but considers.

Finally, he walks to the crowd, positions himself as far from the
Unicorn as possible, and face it not.   He lowers himself to one knee,
takes the blade of the fallen LFG which he had used to kill one of the
fake Chaosi demons, and lays that on the ground.  He ignores the Unicorn
as much as the Unicorn seems to ignore everyone else, and instead focusses
on Random.  His head is not down or bowed, and he looks Random directly in
the eye.

Unless Julian indicates he should, the idea of offering homage just never
occurs to Adonis - gods just don't do that, and no one should do it to
someone they don't know. He continues to observe the Unicorn, hoping
she'll at least glance his way.

Random stares out at the sea of foreheads, some looking him in the eye,
most not.  Brothers, Sisters, some tormentors, some lovers, some friends.
He spends a few moments gathering his new role around him like a cloak. 
"I accept your allegiance," he says, "now get up, all of you."

As everyone rises, the Unicorn turns and bolts.  She races down the
slope and out of sight in a matter of moments.  Many sigh as she
departs; it is an involuntary sound.

Adonis is one who sighs but his is of someone who has lost something very
dear to him, though still still he treasures the memories that were.

Brennan does not.