As Merlin and Aisling enter the valley, you see the troops and the
dragons. They do not look particularly at their ease.  The valley is a
pastoral version of the Hudson about where the Tappan Zee bridge crosses
it, without the people or the bridge.  Birds sing and leaves rustle in the
breeze, and a beautiful fall morning seems to be starting, with a
crispness that should burn off in a few hours.

"The birds will repeat in about 600 heartbeats, as will the wind. If you
watch the leaves, they are on the same cycle.  Sloppy casting, I think.  I
would prefer to be out of sight of the path from the Fixed Place.  It will
make a better trump if that is not in it."

If he has other motivations, he does not mention them.  "Can your affine
prevent us from being disturbed by the troops?  We both have difficult
tasks.  Mine, I think, is the easier of the two.  I only need you for a
moment now, and then at the end to finish it.  I shall do a sketch, not a
permanent thing."

Aisling walks to a bluff on on end of the valley, overlooking it.  There
is no sign that this is not what she intended to do anyway.
She nods to Cloudeater, giving him the go-ahead for this.

You walk along to a likely looking rock and he directs you to sit on it.
Too late, she's found her own seat on the grass overlooking the valley.
She loosely wraps her arms around her knees and looks out.
He begins a quick pencil sketch.  You hadn't even noticed that he had a
sketchbook.  He sketches in silence.

"You may talk to me now, but do not move your legs yet,"  he says after a
moment.  

Aisling gets an ironic twist to her mouth, and then smoothes it out.  Six
years ago she would have dished out an acrid comment, but times have
changed.  For a few moments she says nothing, and then she says, "Tell me
of Courts and their creation and inheritance.  Tell me of this place where
we are.  I would like to hear your ideas."

"I was not bred to inherit a court in Chaos, cousin, so little of such
matters was in my training. We are on the edges of the Fixed Place, of
which I would think your father told you as much as I know, if not more."
Aisling frowns.  She wasn't asking for facts, she was asking for anything
at all...

Merlin puts the finishing touches on his sketch and says, "I suggest we
move along, unless you wish to contest with my mother. She is very
powerful, and likely to destroy your affine if made sufficiently angry. It
would be better for you and me if we are somewhere further away when she
emerges from the Fixed Place."

Aisling's streamers arch out in a back-off-asshole kind of way.  The
threat against Ce'e was a big mistake.  "I like it here, she has little
problem with -me-, and I have little desire to sacrifice ranks of Amber's
soldiers to the futile effort of slowing her down.  You can get chased
around this place like a marble in a bowl if you like; it seems to me that
buying her off with words is a more viable long-term solution, but you
know her better than I."  She manages to wipe a lot of the acridity out of
her voice and goes on without pausing,  "I would be willing to offer you
some kinds of help?"  She looks like whether she gets up or not is
directly related to whether Merlin replies sensibly or not.

Merlin literally starts at the movement of Aisling's streamers. He does 
not seem to have missed the acridity. "You take my words as a
threat when you would do better to hear them as a warning. My mother is
not entirely rational on certain subjects, and my return to Borel is one
of them. I am sufficient to defeat her neither as a sorcerer nor as a
warrior, and she also has the magic of Pattern, which I have not taken.
There are very few people who can overcome her with words or deeds, and I
doubt you or your affine have that capacity."

He pauses. "Perhaps I should give you the sketch and depart myself. I have
means of going to Amber other than the ones you would use. My mother will
follow me, perhaps, and leave you unmolested."

Another threat to attempt to move her to action.  Still, this one is far
more like something Aisling herself has considered.  And, as by her lights
Merlin's most recent statement was sensible enough, and she is duty-bound
to help him, she merely notes it and stands, beginning to stump gracefully
(gotta be some trick to that) farther away as Merlin desires.  She says,
"Why don't I go over to someplace far away and visible while you go to
earth.  Dara will arrive, see me, go over to talk to me, and you can take
that moment to duck back into the sanctuary of the fixed place, cleaving
to Benedict when the time comes again to leave?"

"And what are these other means of returning to Amber, and why can you not
use them from Borel if Dara does manage to capture you?"

Merlin looks oddly at Aisling for a moment, then says, "It speaks well of
Count Madoc that you do not understand that which concerns me. My mother,
for all that she has the outward appearance of one of Amber, is truly a
Lord of Chaos. She feels that she has vested too much of her power in me
and seeks to reclaim it."

Aisling suddenly understands and goes pale.  "I had not grasped what you
meant by 'your return to Borel.'"  She picks up the pace.

He considers his options. "It is possible that I could conceal myself
sorcerously from my mother for a brief time, but I do not know how long
such a concealment would hold. Anything I do not tell you, you cannot be
forced to reveal, and you are outside the protection of the fixed place.
My mother would not hesitate to --" he stops, and shrugs. "She has tried
to affinate at least one of our cousins that I know of, and the protection
of a Count may not aid you against a Duchess."

Yeah, Aisling's looking entirely white now.  "Well, in that case, I should
like to be back in the fixed place myself.  However, it seems to me that
you are in more danger from her.  I am still willing to be visible.  If
you can get back to our kin with your sketch, perhaps I can have some
help. Will she be able to pick Ce'e out of the crowd of humans?"  Aisling
waves down to the army, switching her thoughts for a moment to the safety
of her affine.

"Perhaps; she knows more of the appearance of humans than I. And she may
since your bond of affinity ---" and Merlin pauses here, with a suddenly
distant look in his eyes. Aisling casts him a worried look.

After a moment he speaks. "Yes, Father. If you desire it, Father." He
extends his hand, and another dark-haired man in black appears an a
rainbow arc of color that is gone as quickly as he emerges from it. "I
have been watching for her, Father, but I have not seen her." Then,
suddenly, remembering his manners, "Father, this is Lady Aisling. Aisling,
this is my father, Prince Corwin of Amber."

At this evidence of the benign nature of Merlin's distraction, Aisling
looks relieved and a faint bit hopeful.

Corwin takes Aisling's hand and bows over it. "Lady Aisling," he says, " a
pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under the circumstances."

Aisling does her best to look like's she's not dead on her feet, wasn't a
moment ago in fear for her life, and doesn't have a vast number of
interests in Corwin.  That is, she tries to look grateful at his
appearance, but not pathetically grateful.  Hopefully collected and warm,
she bows her head and replies, "As I am very pleased to be introduced to
you, Prince Corwin, especially under the circumstances," and she smiles
slightly.  She retrieves her hand to introduce the other in the immediate
group, "Corwin, this is my affine, Ce'e."

Corwin nods at him, which is a proper response by both Aisling's standards
and by what she knows of Amber's standards.

"Father," says Merlin, "Mother saw me in the Fixed Place, and I believe
she is on her way here to retrieve me." He doesn't quite sound
pathetically grateful for Corwin's presence either, but he's also close to
it.

Corwin frowns. "I'd say over my dead body, but you mother would be 
perfectly happy to arrange for that right now." He draws his silvery
blade, and in the werelight of this place, neither sun nor starlight, a
familiar-yet-unfamiliar tracery glistens on its lengths like a purple
bloody flame. "We're out of the school zone here, aren't we? We so have a
plan for getting out of here, so there's a reason you're just standing
here, and not Trumping down to the rest of the troops?"

Aisling is vaguely confused, and tries not to look it.  School zone?  How
could they Trump to the troops without a card?  She's also a wee bit
uneasy about being so close to Grayswandir.  Her ability to hide emotions
may be benefited by the hopeless clutter of emotions she's hiding.

Merlin says, "I have finished my part; the work that is left is for
Aisling and the others to do."

Corwin looks back at Aisling for further enlightenment.

Aisling answers his look with a low voice, in the manner of one quickly
sharing a secret, "We will be getting the army back to Shadow by making
off with this whole valley.  I will provide the will, Bleys and Fiona the
power.  I had come here to see about talking the valley around to make
this easier; I can do that from amidst the troops, 'twere it better."  As
for the other question, "We who were in the sacred city are possibly fair
game here; the troops should still be under the protection of the
agreement." The tone she gives to "should" expresses her grave
reservations about the likelihood that Dara will hold to this accord.

----------

Dara flies back out of the building the way you all entered. Fiona follows
her as closely as her small size allows, still gliding, and more quickly
than Brennan expected.

Outside the building, Fiona stops for a moment and turns to Brennan,
tossing him a deck of cards of familiar heft. "Thank you for your escort,
Brennan, but you cannot follow me further. Tell Benedict that it is time
to depart, and coordinate with him to gather the rest of the family."

With a never-underestimate expression on his face, Brennan chooses not to
press the point, but to catch the pack of Trumps in his left hand. He's
already flicking the case open, as he says, "I assume we're meeting here?"

Fiona gazes for a moment into the air, whispering something, and making a
fluid, sweeping gesture that extends her arms to their full length, then
down. As her arms descend, she rises into the air, following the trail of
the unearthly flaming butterfly-bird. She stretches her arms forward, as
if diving into the air, and her height and speed of movement increase.
Then both she and Dara are gone, passed out of sight too quickly and
wrongly in the changing landscape.

Well, there's something you don't see every day.

By this time, Brennan has no doubt gotten the trumps opened and
Benedict's shuffled to the front, and he hits Benedict's card with the
anvil of his personality, expecting a contact.

"Benedict.  Fiona says we should gather, and be ready to withdraw.  How
can I help?"

Contacting Benedict's mind is like jumping on a treadmill.  It just goes
faster and it takes mental energy to keep up.

"The family is with me," he says.  "Can you bring us through?"

"Come."

He extends his free hand, waiting for either Benedict or someone near him
to take hold of it.

The contact has a wavering nature, as if the distance or the time flow
were not constant.  You concentrate and feel Benedict's strong right arm
grasping yours.

"We are coming.  Lilly, first.  Then the others." says Benedict.  This
last seems to be an order to his younger relations.

Well, Brennan's left hand has a pack of Trumps, and his other hand is
gripping Benedict's... right... hand. (*)  The GMs are going to have to
define how that sort of transfer works, in terms of physical actions.  (It
seemed to me that the act of Brennan and Benedict clasping hands opened up
a door, through which anyone in the proximity can walk if Brennan and/or
Benedict don't interfere.  But assuming Lilly gets through after whatever
physical acts are necessary...)

Under other circumstances, Brennan would probably smile, but right now he
has neither the time nor the concentration to spare.  Instead, he nods to
his right saying tersely, "There, hand on your weapon.  Don't draw. 
Wait."  Anyone else following through gets more or less the same
treatment, except they're directed to slightly different locations.  If
anyone is paying attention, Brennan is treating the Trump connection (ie,
right in front of him) as a bridgehead, and his cousins (and aunts and
uncles if need be and appropriate) are being deployed around it.

Never let it be said that Brennan displays an insufficient amount of
paranoia.

Lilly comes through, and it is both painless and momentarily disorienting
to go from here to there with out going between.  Lilly feels what she
guesses is a reflection of the mental connection and it is as if she is
being swallowed.  Before she can react, she is un-swallowed with her hand
on Brennan's  arm.  She steps away from him and takes in the tactical
situation.

Lilly's hand instictevly finds the hilt of her sword. She certainly didn't
need Brennan instructing her on that. As for his instructions on where to
stand, she complied silently. He had been here for a few moments and had
time to consider such things. Until she had a feel for the situation, she
would take his command.

Lilly and Brennan are standing at the top of a valley, looking down over
pastoral scenes.  The only fauna she sees is that which was brought by
Amber to the war.  As best she can see, there is no enemy in sight.
Somehow that wasn't as nearly as comforting as it should be.

Lilly and Brennan hear their Uncle Julian, mid connection, say "Follow",
He steps through and away from Brennan and begins scanning the sky.  He
whistles, once, in a tone that you imagine can be heard to the end of the
Universe, although that isn't far.

With Brennan's attentions focused on maintaining the link between himself
and Benedict, Lilly feels it is a near duty to keep hers focused
elsewhere. She continually scans the area around them looking for any sign
of movement or trouble. Saying nothing, she basically ignores those
stepping through to the top of the valley.

Hand still on his father's shoulder, Adonis steps through with Julian but
once past Brennan separates and looks around at ground level for the
horses and troops.

Jovian follows, trying not to be distracted by inner voices.
//We saw your kinfolk fly in.  Maranth's rider wants to know if your
family can also breathe fire. //

//Only at each other, Canareth. They can only go *between* to each 
other, too,// he adds, his mental tone shifting to all business. //Stay
alert, there may be trouble. Tell Maranth and the others that the word is
still imminent. Even if there's not trouble, warn them that this place may
be moving soon. I'm not joking; this whole valley is going to move. It may
be disorienting. Be prepared for it as best you can.//

Llewella follows Jovian and then Benedict himself comes through.  Brennan
notices a slightly different flavor to the contact as each of his
relations is moved from *there* to *here*, but it is nothing he can
quantify.  The contact becomes more real as Benedict comes through, and
for a moment you see an illusion of a right arm, but it doesn't outlast
the rainbow shimmer that surrounds your Uncle.

He takes in the scene with a long, slow look, and nods once, perhaps
approving of the defensive posture you have taken around the beachhead.
What Brennan's thoughts on that are, are not immediately apparent,
except the possibility that he hadn't really noticed, having spent a
very brief moment collecting himself after the rest of the family came
through, and reviewing the event in his mind.

He does give a glance around the circle, though, noting the perimeter that
he'd set up, wishing he'd had the concentration to spare in order to have
been less brusque about it.

"The party is over.  Return to your troops, and keep them from causing
trouble.  Jovian, can you speak to your Dragons from here?  Good, you will
stay with me.  We will relay messages through the dragons if we need to
organizae a defense.

"Already alerted Canareth, General," Jovian says as if with some effort,
his eyes still in the middle distance. After a moment [or the duration of
Canareth's reply to the above], he comes back to full focus, wearing an
expression that vaguely suggests the mother of all headaches is coming on.

...Which is about what Brennan had expected.

Lilly answers her father with a nod of the head without ever turning to
meet his eyes. She begins to move downward towards her troops without so
much as a word. Some might think she was unhappy with the situation, but
nothing could be farther from the truth. To Lilly it was far easier to
take the role of commander then socialite. It was nice not to have to
waste words once again.

Brennan catches (or tries to catch) Lilly's and Adonis' eyes, and it's
obvious that he wants to talk with them both as they head back to the
troops.  He'll move in the direction of whichever of them is along his
natural route to his troops, waiting for the other to join them before
continuing.

At Benedict's words, with a glance to Julian to check acquiescence,
Adonis takes a couple of steps in the direction of Epona, his equipment
and the rangers but falters and halts. With his head on one side as if
listening, he turns slowly through 180 degrees. For a second, Brennan
might think he's caught his eye but Adonis' gaze wanders off into the
distance, looking for something. He sniffs the air, as if searching for a
faint but delicate aroma.

Brennan sees this, and gives that characteristic facial shrug he has
when something unexpected happens.  He looks like he's reconsidering
something, bit what or why isn't exactly clear.  The end result is an
"It'll keep," expression, tinged with, "Lilly's busy, too," as she hurries
away.

Having never looked back, it is impossible or Brennan to catch Lilly's
eye. Still, if he moves behind her, he will get her attention. As the
footsteps close in, Lilly will turn almost abruptly and give him a
questioning look.

Noiselessly, as a fragile soap-bubble bursting, a wall of the nighted
citadel suddenly ceases to be.  The castle is no less hulking or menacing
and it still commands the valley, a dismal sentry overlooking the
incongruous pastoral scene below.

You feel, somehow, the gust of the down sweep of great wings above you,
despite the distance between you and them.  The sky over the valley's
entrance is covered momentarily by the passage of the great black dragon
from the funeral.  She wears a harness of some sort and you can see that
she is straining her unimaginable strength against some vast burden.

A breath later and her burden is visible.  A coffin--THE Coffin, still
flag-draped, is trailing behind her as if it were the weight of the world.

"I never..." LLewella starts to say, but fails to finish her thought.

The incongruity of such a small object being that great a burden for the
immense creature somehow fails to faze Jovian, where at another time it
might. He admires the lines of the creature in flight, struck as well by
its actual (and uncontrolled) size....

You all watch for a time you cannot measure, until long past the last
moment that the dragon is visible against the vast emptiness that is the
Abyss.

From the Valley, you hear the deep harmonic keening from the Dragons that
they have used to honor their dead.

At the first note, Adonis turns, seeking his brother. He quickly finds
Jovian still standing close to Benedict, a few paces behind him.

The dragonman watches her go, watches her disappear into the 
mind-numbing void. His expression is understanding, but troubled. 
The sound of keening does not surprise him. For a long moment 
his face shows a sadness and weariness beyond his years, but 
something not quite readable lingers in his eyes well after.
Adonis regards Jovian intently for a few seconds but turns away before his
brother notices his attention and resumes his progress towards Epona and
the rangers.

This is an entirely different class of unexpected, and it gets Brennan's
very close attention while it lasts.  It's been a day of things you
just don't see every day, and by this point, even Brennan is wondering
what's going to be next.  No doubt the valley will take wings and fly them
all back to Amber, he thinks.

There's a brief, very brief moment while Brennan considers the
implications of that, and he even sports an incongruous mirk as he
contemplates the various methods of dissing the Citadel under those
circumstances, but then the moment passes and Brennan goes to move.

With his height and his legs, Brennan has a fairly long stride, and
Benedict's tone left little room for misinterpretation or
malingering-- his long stride is matched to a quick pace which likely
takes him right along the same path as Lilly, although he no longer seems
quite as inclined to talk-- his mind is elsewhere.  

Adonis rubs his brow before shaking his head, perhaps clearing it of some
noxious fumes. Gently massaging a temple, he gestures along his path.
"Brennan!" he smiles, "Will you walk with me?"

If it doesn't, Adonis shrugs and jogs to his horse, etc. He ties the
empty quiver round his waist, puts the bow over his back and vaults onto
Epona's back. Then he siezes his spear and joins his father has he calms
the rangers.

Actually, he does this even if Brennan does want to talk, he just has a
conversation while he jogs over. :-)

----------

Corwin nods.  "Dara was good in Avalon, and we're closer to her seat of
power here and farther from ours.  Still, we have our assets."  He swings
his blade and the traced glow increases.

Corwin looks into the air.  "They are coming.  Aisling, please do what you
need to do.  Merlin, to Bleys, if you will."  Corwin smoothly tosses a
well-worn trump case to his son.

Merlin catches it and opens it.  "Aisling!  Be..."  He changes his mind
and says "we shall trump you soon."

Before very long, a coruscating fold of light indicates that he has found
and used one of the trumps.

Aisling looks surprised, her face says clearly, "What, here?"  But then,
since there's no way of getting down to the army fast enough, and since
she's intimated that she has to be in this place, she supposes Corwin's
making the best call in keeping her around where she can be defended...
Hell.  Still, he seems to believe he can handle this.  She moves over
close to Cloudeater and resists the urge to clasp his hand, not wishing
the oncoming things to observe it.  She drops to one knee, crouching
forward with her face inches from the ground like she's tracking something
carefully, and begins murmuring to the dirt, quietly enough that Corwin
may hear it only if he's paying attention.

"Ye have been doing well, oh little frozen fragment of Chaos, holding
these creatures in safety.  Does it not feel right, strengthening, to
serve your purpose well?"  She pauses for an instant, looking up to see
what the "them" is and giving the valley time to think this over, then
looks back down.  

"I shall be sad to see ye slip once more into the all-devouring Chaos--
barely born, barely having lived, with all those who once gave a thought
to you moving away from the Holy Fixed Place.  I have moved away from the
Fixed Place before in my life; it is a consummation devoutly to be
wished."
 She glances up to update her ETA of those approaching.  

"I find myself thinking of life as I wait for my cousin to arrive," she
informs the valley chattily.  "To move, to feel the breeze brushing past
you, to have beings care about you; beauty even more precious because
someday it will end.  A lifetime is the most valuable gift that can ever
be given."

The valley responds, slowly, tenuously, and you suspect unwillingly.

"W H Y ?"  There is no malice in the question and you do not think it
means to shout in your mind.  This is much more primitive than Ce'e,
mentally. Even this much contact is mentally draining.  You can maintain
it for a while, but not indefinitely.  And you don't think that you can
convince the valley without some help.

The fact that she can maintain it at all makes some little hidden part of
her smug.  And perhaps help will be on the way in the form of a Trump
contact...

She pauses here, straightening up a bit with her arm laid across her knee,
to observe the first clash.  Like most orators in the throes of discourse,
she has convinced herself, and is feeling rather more peaceful for it.

From the sky you see a brightly winged creature of indescribable beauty
flare across the sky.  The thing that passes for the Westchester County
sun, you notice , has not moved since you arrived.  Nor does light cast
shadow on the ground.

Above the creature you see a small woman wearing bright armor.  She is
circling as the creature descends.  Corwin stands between you and it as it
alights.  It steps down behind a rock and, seconds later, Dara walks out.

Her eyes betray her anger and frustration.

"Where is he?"  she snaps.  When Corwin doesn't answer, she continues. 
"My son is not going back with you!"

"It's what he wants, Dara.  We should not interfere."  says Corwin, calmer
than you would expect him to be.

"My son doesn't know what he wants,  He's not yours to take away."  Dara
replies.

Aisling is as one with the valley.  She is a rock; another mossy
lichen-covered organic form naturally part of the slope.  Well, not
really.
 She's not being so unnoticeable that it's attention-drawing, but she's
definitely not doing anything to draw Dara's attention.  She's still but
not absolutely still, and she's not looking directly at either of the two
participants, and her expression gives the impression that her attention
is not fully on the scene.

She replies to the valley with her mind.  "Think of the things ye desire.
Peace, satisfaction in a job well-done, change?  All are merely aspects of
a lifetime, flashes in a pool that can contain everything, of which every
drop can be part of you.  How rich would the return to Chaos be, knowing
what Chaos is not?"

Aisling slips into deeper rapport with the stone.  It is good that she
trusts Corwin, because she really finds it difficult to focus on Dara and
the conversation outside.  They seem to be talking, but it is not clear to
Aisling what is said.  They move very, very quickly.  The valley is vast,
slow, and simple, and there is a risk that it will absorb Aisling rather
than communicate with her.

The valley, you realize, cannot be convinced.  It must be willed, which
will take a further plunge into it.  It may be dangerous to make such a
plunge, and you know that you cannot stay in this partial rapport for
long. However, you are certain that you could still pull out. 

"Think on desire," Aisling thinks, the word 'desire' itself like a
sensuous caress.  "I will return."  And she withdraws, her only
distraction from Corwin and Dara now her searing fury, for she does not
trust Corwin, at all, and of all the things she has just barely not heard
today, the interactions between Dara and Corwin are at once the most
crucial to her and the least likely to ever be duplicated.  Not to mention
her anger at nearly dying.  Fortunately, she can conceal this and to some
degree harness it...  Still, the attention she turns on the scene now has
more than a touch of malice.  And she drinks in situational awareness like
a black hole thirsting for light, and still without moving she changes the
scene from one with two-some people to one with at least three.

Like a tree ungrowing roots from rocky soil you reverse yourself and
withdraw from rapport with the valley.  It is, perhaps, more difficult to
withdraw than it was to work yourself in, but you manage not to hurt the
valley or yourself.  It is clear to you that there is some fundamental
difference between the stuff of which the valley is made and yourself and
Ce'e.

Fine and good.  What she'd do with an affine that big she hasn't the
faintest.

By dint of willpower alone, you return to the world of self and valley and
Corwin.  More time seems to have passed than you thought.

The two figures move quickly, blurs in motion.  Like a projector slowing
to normal speed you begin to understand their speech, and you sync into
it.

"...another lover's quarrel, then.  She took off you'd set her on fire."

"She's looking for Merlin.  Don't worry, he's safe.  I sent him to people
I trust like brothers."

The woman chuckles and, as Corwin moves, you realize that he is talking to
Fiona, not Dara.

Corwin notices some movement or sign of consciousness in you.  "Aisling?
What's wrong?"

Fiona's eyes get large.  "Aisling, couldn't you reach it?  Don't let them
contact you!  You can't handle the power they'll send until you have
someplace to put it!"

Aisling stands in a single swift motion (and touches a hand lightly to
Cloudeater's arm as if to reassure him, but in actuality to keep herself
from reeling), her chin raising as she shakes out her hair, practically
crackling with irritation (and strain).  "I laid groundwork," she says.

You feel a sharp mental probing, as if you entire mind was being asked a
question.

An' were it, her answer right now would be a snarl of "Blow!" softening,
as she shuffles this latest difficultly with emotion off towards the
wings, into, "Bide."

"Are all of the Amberites now within the valley?"

Corwin starts to say something when Fiona's hand on his arm stops him.
"Aisling," she says calmly, "We are standing in a valley that exists at
the whim of our enemies.  If they remember to do so, they can consign us
all to the Abyss.  I think that we're all in the valley, but anyone who
isn't can be brought through on a trump.  Corwin and I are here to keep
any agents of Chaos from preventing you from doing your part.  I
appreciate your concern, but you must not delay because it puts everyone
at risk.  You may rest assured that we have no intention of leaving any of
our people behind.  We will do our parts, but you have to do yours.  It's
important."

Whatever Corwin wanted to say, one part of Aisling's mind muses, she'd bet
blood it is far better Fi had kept her mouth shut and let him talk.

Aisling pales with fury at having this explained to her at length in small
words.  *Her* delay?  Where were *they* when she needed them?  Her mind
leaps into a twisting ouborous of suspicion (They don't have trumps of
everyone.  Why is she pushing me into taking responsibility without giving
me information?), and then reason steps in and settles things down (Any
stragglers are under sanctuary.  I can pick them up later, Trump or no...
Unless they kill me, but I've been through that already.).  Just because
Fiona has taken all leave of grace doesn't mean she has to.  (Besides, it
may very well be that Fi is also stressed and not at her best.)

So she raises her eyebrows in the genteel "Oh really?" expression she
granted Brennan earlier, and then lowers her eyelids and chin as if
listening to the ground.  She turns her head halfway back to her affine
and whispers, "Do not let me fall until this is over.  ...I will not leave
you lordless." 

Ce'e nods once, gravely.  You suspect that if he had learned about pores,
he would be sweating.

And with this ominous reassurance, she turns her attention
once more to the roots of thing where she so recently existed, slipping
back down paths so recently vacated.  She makes sure the irritating mental
questioning stays at about the same level of intensity as she goes,
considering that earlier she may have been unreachable.

When she is roughly in position, she answers the question.

You seek for some time, finding it hard to return to the equilibrium you
had reached the last time.  It is harder this time than last to get any
response from the valley, and when it comes it is not as sharply focused
as before.

The communication and messages are primal.  "I am."  "You are."  There are
no desires, no past, no future.  It is all you can do to maintain that
there are two separate beings,  Aisling and Other.   You suspect that you
are not so deep as before, but that you are in an adequate position.

You feel an answer, tinged with relief, perhaps and even fear.  As you
reconstruct this event later, you will realize that there are several
minds contacting yours.  Now, it is a single varied bright link from
outside, and it is connected through the part of you that is Aisling to
the Other.

It has to be this way, you realize.  You have slowed to a speed where you
cannot communicate with your family but you are still too fast for the
Other, the essence of the Valley.

The internal contact is strong, sharp, and somewhat painful.  You perceive
a rejection in the contact, something it is unwilling to accept or absorb
from you.  It does not mesh cleanly with you.

The power flows and you instinctively feed it to your connection to the
Valley.  It resists, like water resists a falling body or your chin would
resist an uppercut.  You have never done anything so difficult and you are
not sure if you will survive it.  It is an effort of pure will.  All you
can tell is that surrender or even retreat at this point would mean
annihilation.

She knew this going in, but she did not know it then like she knows it
now.
 There are dark parts in her, not so far below the surface, that desire
annihilation, and she also knew this going in but not so immediately as
she knows it now.  She suspected that she was stronger than herself,
though, and would be pleased, were she not at the moment a being of pure
will, to find that she will still fight to prevail so long as there is any
speck of her in existence.

It is as you consider this that something changes, as if you had stepped
through a veil. The Valley abruptly begins to draw energy from you rather
than resisting.  It seems to need to absorb you to continue, and yet it is
dependent now on you for its moment-to-moment existence.  Now you resist
it rather than pushing away, and the resistance takes all that you have.
Were there room for doubt, she might fear that she was doing wrong here;
were there room for mental divisions, she would have less trouble aligning
her self to resist this new danger.  But there is not.

The touch, when it comes, is gentle.  The pressure lifts and something in
how you are connected *changes*.  You become more detached, a conduit for
the will of others rather than a target and weapon combined.

The stranger says "I shall have to let it back, soon.  Keep yourself apart
and merely guide the power that flows."  The mental touch is what you
would have imagined Oberon's to be like, but it is not his.  Perhaps some
ancient Lord of Chaos has interests in seeing you succeed?  You suspect
that the stranger has saved your life. Later she will be chary at this.  Now 
there is only thanks.

The stranger's contact fades, and yet you feel the subtle adjustments in
your connections that he created.  You begin to think this may be
possible, after all.

She goes by her instincts, pleased to find that she has instincts which
apply to this situation, wishing to create a moving haven for the
Amberites.

At the other end of the valley, a rift opens behind Benedict.  The Valley
is no longer attached to the Nighted Citadel.

----------

Something about where you are going is causing the valley to become less
coherent.  Not dangerously so, but you notice.  It's like it's on a diet:
all the same bits are there, but there seem to be less of them.

This is worrying, in the long term.

There are indeed rivulets of worry skirling through the endeavour.  Still,
change is what she expects this valley to do; its foundation is in keeping
the army alive, and she suspects that she's integrated into this enough to
know it when the foundation loses integrity, and to be able to attempt to
secure it with herself...

[Otherwise, a pretty boring time for Aisling.]

Brennan, Lilly, and Adonis move towards the interior of the valley, as do
Julian and Llewella.  It is neither cold enough nor dark enough for fires,
and that is good.  You find out that the 'wood' neither cuts nor burns. 
It is as if it is part of the rock floor of the valley.

The troops sit or lie about, almost numb from the fighting and the
unreality.  The more energetic stir somewhat when you approach, but for
the most part, they rest, looking for all the world like men who have
marched into their own nightmares.

As Lilly makes her way towards her commanders, she radiates confidence.
Nothing in her demeanor shows any doubt in relation to their immenent
escape from Chaos. The reason for this is quite simple, she has none to
show. Her father in her father is nearly unshakable.

Flora has arranged for treatment for the wounded, and the dragonriders
have a wing ready to fly out to deal with trouble, but the troops are for
the most part quiet.

Good. Lilly fully intends to leave them that way. She makes no effort to
rise them up. Seeking out her commanders she gives them a short,
unemotional speech. "Our journey home has been arranged. It may seem a bit
odd at times, but have faith. Have the troops remain calm unless I tell
you otherwise. Now is a time to rest." With that she begins to vigilantly
watch over the valley, and her men.

Brennan surveys this in due course, then moves to where he'll best be
heard by the bulk of his (and Random's and Deirdre's and Marius') troops
before taking action.  One hopes that his sub-officers are already
approaching him, drawn by his commanding, magnetic, dynamic personality. 
Failing that, those that aren't are promptly shagged(*) to his little
gathering, or replaced impromptu with stabler, more level-headed men.

He'll start out by spreading the basic information that he has-- no
new deaths, and an imminent departure-- and asking for a rundown on
the local rumor mill, if it's been active in this malaise.  Then,
quashing any silly rumors if necessary, he'll give instructions, and
they are quite simple:  "Make the rounds of the men.  Keep them quiet, and
if you can't, come get me.  Keep them in place, and if you can't, come get
me.  Note anything that looks odd or suspicious," he acknowledges the
absurdity of the request with a sidelong glance at the environment, "And
report back to me."

At the valley's mouth, Benedict turns as a shimmering film of black
approaches.  On it ride Caine, Merlin, and Bleys.  Caine and Bleys stare
fixedly at a drawing of Aisling, her graceful form captured in paints on a
large card.

Merlin lands his filmy by Benedict and Jovian and it suddenly stops being.
Benedict signals to Jovian not to disturb them and looks up.  Jovian sees,
far above the valley, a brightly winged figure of indescribable beauty.

Merlin wispers once, quietly, and the castle starts to move away from the
valley.  "Catch them if they fall" is all Benedict says to Jovian.  He
strokes his striped mount with his left hand.

Jovian moves silently or nearly so, not disturbing the confab, until he
has positioned himself to either catch or break the fall of any of the
three. If this puts him in a good position to see what they're doing with
that card, so much the better....

//The valley is starting to move,// Jovian warns Canareth. //We may 
be able to feel it soon. Be sure the queens know not to be alarmed, 
it just means this adventure is coming to a close. If anyone needs 
a healer's attention, they should seek the Bloodflower - spread the 
word. Are you all right?//

At this, Brennan turns from the knot of sub-officers he's gathered
around him, and looks around with the air of one who thinks the cosmos is
playing games with him, again.  Clearly, he thinks to himself, I should
have seen that coming, somehow....

Then the moment passes, and he turns back to his officers, and then
finally to his troops.  When in doubt, keep it short and simple and
tell a lie that no one can possibly call you on.

"We're going home!" he shouts, and pumps a fist above his head for
good measure.  "We're not there, yet, but we're going home!  Stay
where you are, because the less commotion we make, the faster we get
there!"

Adonis does not ride Epona but instead
starts walking through the rangers, smiling, clasping hands and shoulders,
speaking a few words, sometimes saying a prayer or singing a song; frex
that "Songs from the Wood" they heard him sing earlier or...

"Wond'ring aloud -- 
how we feel today. 
Last night sipped the sunset -- 
my hands in her hair. 
We are our own saviours 
as we start both our hearts beating life 
into each other. "

As he walks, he tries to spread a little light, a little hope; a belief
that things will be 'all right'.

As the valley moves away from the castle, you hear a bell-like woman's
laughter ringing throughout the area.  It sounds neither kind nor unkind,
It is clear that someone, somewhere is vastly amused.

Brennan quite ostentatiously pays no attention to it, and woe betide
the man in his command who does.

"Ignore...it!" Adonis tells the troops around him. "It is merely trying to
unsettle you."

//Let Hoshith know that's not to worry about. Just someone with a 
keen sense of irony. Tell Maranth - stay cool, but alert.//

If the men seem unnerved, Lilly tries to calm them. Allowing her actions
to speak for her, Lilly allowed herself to take a moments rest, physically
anyway, as the sound pierced the air. Laughter was merely a noise, nothing
more and nothing less. Perhaps this strange 'ship' they were using to
leave was amusing to the Lords and ladies of Chaos, that mattered not. Her
own personal faith in their ability to leave this place was unfaltering.

The castle and the laughter diminish and soon, without a fixed point of
reference, it is as if the valley was not moving at all.

The brief reconnaissance provides no excitement and, while there is no sun
per se, the junior officers are beginning to suggest that the troops sleep
where they are.  Sentries are posted and the troops take their rest.
{Knights of the Order of the Ruby may join them as they see fit.}

Jovian will stay awake as long as he is able, being the sort of 
commander who wouldn't ask his people to do anything he wouldn't do 
himself. Besides, he wants to absorb as much detail of the shadows they
pass through as possible....

It is from this fitful slumber that all of the troops awaken with a shout.
All report that they dreamed of being alone in the valley, and having
crab-like creatures, 4 legged, and brightly colored, crawl all over them..
The creatures are widely considered to be both real and malevolent by the
troops, most of whom decline to return to sleep.  They elect, instead to
care for their weapons.

Any dragonriders who want to stay awake are welcome to a special duty:
walking patrols *through* the camps, not getting in anyone's way but
looking carefully for signs that anything has been disturbed by the
passage of these phantom beasties.

On a hill that he feels uncomfortable looking down, Jovian listens to
Canareth, //No, Hoshith's rider reports that the dragons are untroubled 
by dreams.  This is a restful place, with no thread and no black road.//

//It would be good to take turns keeping watch,// Jovian responds, //to
check the perceptions of the human sentries. Browns especially; I don't
want anyone getting jumpy without definite cause.//

Everyone is jumpy without a definite cause.

Lilly has been trying to maintain the outward appearance of one is 
completely calm and at ease in front of her troops. She does not want to
alarm them in any way. Still, beneath the stoic exterior, she is
concerned. All if this is very new to her.

A million questions race through her mind as they make this strange voyage
through the skies. From the simple when will they reach their final
destination, to the much more complex how is all of this possible. Part of
her wants to seek out Benedict. And Part of her knows her duty now is to
be with her men. The more practical side manages to maintain it's position
and she remains - for now. Father can be questioned, she hopes, in the
near future.

The troops are disturbed by the recent trouble, but are comforted by the
presence of the Royal Family.  Benedict's men are at ease, but some of the
others, such as Random's and Marius' are worried about how they will get
home.  Many of them are nervous about the dragons, and hope that they
aren't coming to Amber.  It's also clear that there is still some bad
blood between the factions, but you think that everyone is too tired to
kill each other.  For now.

Just after Cap'n Caine had gotten us all under way, Brennan made a
point of making an extended patrol of all the men gathered up under
his command, letting them see him-- and more importantly, letting them see
that he wasn't particularly concerned with Dara's laughter before it faded
away, or too concerned with anything else.  A few orders were given for
the sake of giving orders-- again, letting the men know that no matter how
strange things might seem, they were still by Kolvir *soldiers* (or in the
case of marius' men, sailors) and that a little weirdness was no excuse
for malingering.

The bulk of the men were allowed to taken their rest, but a few were
kept up and active for sentry duty, picketting, etc.

After that, Brennan staked out a nice position, sitting almost lotus
position on a large rock, just surveying the activity.

After the incident with the dreams, Brennan was up and about
immediately, again making the rounds of his men.  He quizzed several
of them, from several different groups, comparing and contrasting the
stories he got of the dreams.  When he forms an opinion about the whole
thing, it's obviously more annoyance than anything else.  We come across
the entire length of Shadow to crush them on the field while Oberon dies
to repair the damage done to the Pattern, and they're throwing parlor
tricks, harassing the men in their dreams as a parting shot?

Venality and pettiness.

Brennan is not afraid to let that opinion leak out among his men,
along with the appropriate words of encouragement, before staking out the
position on his boulder again, waiting for the next petty annoyance on the
road home.

One of the oldest of the little red guys wants to speak to you.  "Oh,
great one, the men are pleased that the Gods have triumphed over their
foes. Will we be going to Paradise soon?"

Brennan quirks one of his half-grins.
"One way or another.  So what exactly did Prince Corwin tell you all
about Amber?"

His eyes shine and he begins to speak, eagerly.  :"I shall recite it, my
lord, as the servant of the God spake it to me following the battle.  We
know that we have trod on Holy Ground and cannot return to the Land, but
we hope that they will learn the Lay Of the Forces."

His voice changes then, the intonation is slow and modulated.  It is clear
that he has memorized this speech.

"In the Fifth Year of the Age of the Gods, in the End Times when the Very
Land was Blighted by The Black Corruption, did the Great God Corwin, who
was also called Crajna, the Resurrected One return to the Land of the
Chosen People.  He told of the suffering of the People of the Holy City
and the death of his brother, the Great God Bleys, at the Hands of the
Lord of Evil.  Then were the Chosen People afraid, lest the Lord of Evil
turn his Baleful Eye upon them.

"Again the Great God Corwin spake and reassured the Chosen People that the
War of Heaven was not done and that the people must stand with the Gods as
Prophesy required and the People rejoiced, for it is right and proper for
the Chosen People of the Gods to do their Bidding.

"The Great God Corwin spake of the Holy City, The Pearl, The Birthplace
and Home of the Gods and he told unto the people the secret name of it,
which is Amber.  And the God Corwin called forth the Warriors of the
Chosen People and looked upon them.  He told the People of the Battle for
the Stairs and the Valiant Deeds done by the Forces of Mercy and Light and
of the Treachery of the Lord of Evil and his mighty Sorceries.

"Then he gave unto the Chosen People Arms of Fire, with which they could
Smite in a mere moment a score or more of the Minions of The Evil One.  He
bade the Chosen People to select only ten score of men.  Many more were
called, but the Elders of the Chosen People were Wise and made the New
Holy Army and sent it to do the bidding of the Great God Corwin, as was
their Duty.

"And the Ten Score went, and Fought the Battle for the Forces of Mercy and
Light at the Foot of the Holy Mountain, the Kolvir, the Root of the World.
And Eric did repent of his Evil and Join them and it was revealed that
Brand was the Lord of Evil and thus the Prophesy was made True, that the
Brother Gods would not Know, until the Final Trump, who would answer the
Call of Mercy and Light.

"Thus The Chosen People stayed in the Holy City, Protecting it from the
Forces of the Revealed Lord of Evil, who would, betimes, attack and at
others not.  And the People of the Holy City were Sore Amazed, for they
had neither seen the Chosen People nor the Arms of Fire.

"In time it was Revealed that Ganelon of the People of the Holy City and
beloved of the Great God Corwin was Ogeron, Father of the Gods, travelling
in disguise to weigh the Souls of the Forces of Mercy and Light.  He found
the Forces to be Good and bade them go to the Heart of the Enemy, the
Unmaker, to break his power and to Defeat the Revealed Evil One.

"And the Chosen People stood on the battlefield, looking at the enemies of
all and they were strong and brave.  The Lord of the Gods spake unto the
Chosen People and told them to obey the God Brennan, who was the son
of...Oh!"

The little guy stops there and looks up in sheer terror.  It is similar to
the expression on the small crowd of little guys who have gathered during
the recitation, although the on the reciter, it is much more acute.

You suspect that Corwin did not word it exactly as it was spoken to you.

And when he manages to look all the way up, past the arms folded over
chest, to Brennan's face, there rests thereupon a darkly cynical smile. 
He gestures for the Little Furry Guy to continue, prompting, "Yes, obey
the Great God Brennan, who was the son of...?"

Brennan is scanning the little assembled crowd to see if they all have
that expression of religious fervor, or if it looks like there are any
more secular-minded of the little critters. Hard to tell.  It seems as if 
many of them are also learning to recite the Lay.

Yeah, well.
He's going to mark out the less fervent seeming ones-- or perhaps,
mark the ones who aren't standing around right then and there, to
whisper a quiet, "Let's not go overboard with all this jazz," later
on.

He's also getting ready to break up the little party after the guy
continues the story, because he'd really like to be able to keep his eye
on the whole assembled body, not just the Little Furry Guys.  

"O...Obey the *Great* God Brennan, who was the son of the Fallen One.  For
the Ten Score are his Chosen People and those who die on the Field of
Battle will Feast in Paradise that Evening.

"And the...*Great* God Brennan spake and told the Ten Score of their task
and he judged them and found them the finest and the fiercest and  the
strongest.  The *Great* God Brennan spake of the Defense of Paradise and
the assuredness of Victory for the Forces of Mercy and Light.

"The Ten Score stood, Hands and Weapons of the Gods, and withstood the
waves of forces of the Lord of Evil.  Creatures and People both Heavenly
and Demonic attacked and the Chosen People of the God Brennan, the Ten
Score fought and some gave their lives.  Ranno of Dardrennel was the First
to go to Paradise, killed by a Manticore..."

[...Lets just skip thirty verses and sixtysomething dead LFGs and their
families...  It is an accurate if boring history, including your special
deeds of bravery w/the demons...]

"And so the Gods Assembled Cast the Fallen One, The Brand, The Lord of
Evil into the Pit, as was foretold.  But The Lord of Evil slew The Great
God Deirdre and would have killed all in his spite if not for the Power of
the Sky God and the Horned God.

"Thus the Gods took the Chosen People, the Ten Score to dwell in Paradise
and Feast in the Halls of the Gods for ever."
Ah, well that answers that part of the question, anyway.

You also suspect that the last part is still in revision.  Not only was it
less polished, the delivery was less perfect.

In parting, though, Brennan does stop, turn, and ask almost as an
afterthought, "By the way, did Corwin ever tell you what he was God
*of*?"

"He was the Brother of the Great God Bleys, Prince of Light.  He is the
Crajna, the Reborn One who dies and is reborn and WhoRemakes the World. 
He is responsible for crops and flocks multiplying and of fertility in
women. We think that his son, the God Adonis, who is with our reserves, is
his avatar."

Brennan's eyebrows don't rise at all that, but he does tilt his head a
little through a carefully neutral expression.  The urge to screw with the
heads, hearts and souls of the Little Furry Guys is lurking restlessly
somewhere behind Brennan's eyes, but with a superhuman degree of restraint
for which Benedict himself would no doubt pat him on the back, he manages
to subdue it.

"Adonis?  Pretty boy screwing around with the Rangers, just now?"  He
lowers his voice, making it a more private comment.  "Julian's boy."

They nod in agreement.  High Water Characters observing the exchange might
believe that they would agree with anything you said.  You are not sure if
you've convinced them.  Either that or the usual male-female arrangement
is optional for LFGs. 

Flora and Llewella are assisting with the remaining troops, except for
the Rangers who are with Adonis (How they are with Adonis is left as an
exercise for the reader).

Well, Brennan is going to make another quick tour of his own men--
which includes the LIttle Furry Guys, Random's Irregulars, Deirdre's
Highborns, and Marius' Swashbucklers.

If Flora and Llewella are mixing among them, he'll go over to talk to
them, as well.  If they are separate, he'll seek out the one he's not yet
met-- namely, Llewella.

They are not together.  Llewella is with the nobles, and seems happy to
have you rescue her.

Then Brennan leaves the nobles for last, and keeps his tour of the
other groups very brief.  If he crosses paths with Flora (he does not seek
her out) he nods or waves in a not unfriendly manner, unless she wants to
talk.  Or unless she's doing something outrageous, like trying to give his
men orders or some silliness like that.

When he does reach the nobles, he'll head over to Llewella without
further delay, take a moment to look her up and down and then say,
"You must be my aunt Llewella."  He extends his hand.  "Brennan."

She takes it, of course.  She does not let go of it.
Llewella looks neither sad nor moist.  "Sir Brennan.  You did well on the
battlefield.  You all did."  You think she is at least in part speaking to
the nobles. 

Brennan shrugs expansively at this, accepting the compliment but not
commenting on it.

Also, what are the various nobility doing? The usual.  Reeling, Writhing, 
and Fainting in Coils...

Some are too wounded or worn out to do much more than rest, while others
seem to be quietly discussing the ramifications of King Random on their
various noble interests. There is some tension, but it is not clear,
except that some of the nobles do not like some of the others.

After a moment of awkwardness, Llewella introduces Brennan to a few of the
assembled nobles.  Lords Chantris and Feldane bow, apprising you.  They
are huge men, with shaggy beards, and wearing what looks to be very old,
very highly polished armor.  It looks very functional.

Brennan greets the Lords Chantris and Feldane with a firm handshake.
Not a manly-man try to crush them handshake, but a firm one.  "Lord
Chantris, Lord Feldane.  A pleasure."  If he witnessed any of their
personal activities in the battle, he compliments them.  Assuming it
was complimentary action.

His stance with them is completely at ease-- they know he's their
commander.

Then his attention shifts back to encompass Llewella, as well, and he
says, "We were a bit busy down in the front ranks," we, obviously
including the lords.  "How was your end?"

Llewella is not unfriendly and she has introduced you to the nobles in her
little circle.  They will chat about the battle and your knighthood, but
you feel as if you might have interrupted a conversation that they aren't
done with.  Llewella will invite you to visit in Rebma and Chantris and
Feldane ask you to look them up at their clubs in the city.  Amazingly,
they produce calling cards.

...Which Brennan will take, with an expression keeping his bemusement in
check-- after all, the nobles *did* fight, and presumeably fought well--
give them a brief look-see, and put them in one of his pouches without
crushing them.

Eventually, he'll leave with some degree of grace, head back to his
LFGs.

----------

An  indeterminate amount of time passes, with some changing of which Elder
is helping Aisling power this valley.  It may be an illusion based on your
perceived motion, but the valley seems slightly 'shiplike'.

It is only some time after the change occurs that someone notices that the
valley seems to be moving through something, rather than through nothing.
At first it is tenuous, as if it is merely the illusion of a reality, but
then it becomes something that you are definitely riding through, rather
like a rock in the air.

When it becomes slightly more solid, as if the ground were oatmeal, Caine
turns to Benedict.

"Have you any idea how we can stop this and return to the ground?"

Jovian, having stayed fairly nearby at Benedict's behest, looks up 
and around when he hears this - concentrating, as if searching or 
listening for something. After a moment, he turns to Benedict and 
Caine.

"General," he starts, not entirely at ease but with growing certainty.
"Whatever that goop is, I suspect it will be impassable well before it
will actually support us. But I think I have enough of a grip on the stuff
of shadow at this point that Canareth and I can scout ahead for solid
ground. Once we've flown to a suitable beachhead, we can establish Trump
contact. Marching the army through single file will be a chore, but it
should be safe, right? For that matter," he considers further, "we could
send my cousins through first with Trumps of other elders, set up six or
seven lines."

Bleys, who is nearby with Merlin and Fiona, barks out a laugh.

"Ha!  Yes, send the scouts out.  See if he comes back with an olive tree."
He turns back to the magical convention.

Caine looks down at the oatmeal-reality through which the valley coursed.
"It's like sailing through pack-ice.  If you stop, you won't get started
again and if you keep going you'll hit something...  Yes. " he says,
turning his attention to you.  "That should work.  You'll take your father
and another cousin with you a-wing.  Shift to through nearby shadow and
find solid ground.  After we bring through enough of us, we'll move the
troops through it.  Well?  Move!  Execute your plan."

"I shall," Jovian responds starchily, with a half-second's glance to
Benedict and a millimeter of arched left brow. "My interest in getting out
of here is as strong as your own. Kindly remember that I am not your tar
or your lackey."

Without waiting for a response, the dragonman turns on his heel and
heads for the Rangers' encampment, there to locate Julian.
Jovian finds him, astride Morgenstern, near to but apart from the Rangers.
With him are Daeon (in some form or another.  Adonis still?) and his horse
Epona.  Julian looks at his son as he walks over.  If Julian's eyebrow
could speak it would say "Well?"

Jovian nods a greeting to Daeonis, then addresses their father. 
Adonis returns a friendly wave.

"Canareth and I are scouting ahead in Shadow to find ground solid 
enough to move the troops by Trump. Caine *suggested*--" he 
continues, the corner of his mouth twisting at the usage, "that you 
accompany me." Adonis looks to Julian, expecting to be given 
command of the rangers in his father's absence. He's a little 
envious that his father will get to fly on a dragon but he doesn't let 
it show.

"I see that a sojourn among the dead has done nothing to improve my
brother's manners," says Julian.

"I don't think he enjoyed being reminded that he's not in my TOC, 
either," Jovian adds, the mouth-twist turning into a sardonic half-
smile. Plainly *he* enjoyed it, at least.

Julian turns to Adonis. "Take charge of the Rangers and do anything
needful until I return. If I have a message for you, I will have it sent
down."

----------

Adonis nods gravely, smiling sardonically.

He swings off Morgenstern's back and moves to accompany Jovian. Adonis
suspects that he regards the prospect of riding a dragon, even Canareth,
with little pleasure. 'Pity!' thinks Adonis, and returns to his self-imposed 
ministry among the rangers.

Some of the Rangers wish it was darker, because some of Eric's men need to
be garroted in their sleep, for the good of Amber.  They don't say that.
But they keep to themselves in camp and you can tell that they have
_opinions_.

Adonis does not tell anyone directly that they are wrong but instead
sets about his 'ministry', spreading his creed of love. He does this by
(a) bedding as many women as he can find among the rangers [probably not
many but hopefully at least one or two] and (b) singing about it before
during and after. Anyone who might overhear his singing feels a sense of
heartfelt love, both tremendously caring and powerfully erotic.

There are women among the Rangers, but not many. Daeon is capable of
finding a woman and, er, arousing her interest with his singing, but he
senses that she would prefer privacy for the actual act. Does he accede to
her demands?

If privacy can be found reasonably close to the rangers so Adonis can keep
an eye on them throughout, sure; he wants to her to be as comfortable as
is reasonably possible. Otherwise, he'll use his charms to persuade her
that complete privacy isn't all it's cracked up to be. In either case, his
singing should let everyone within earshot know where he can be found and
in no doubt as to what's going on.

Privacy is available.  'Doubt' is not to be had.  Everyone knows where to
find you, although no one wishes to disturb you.

That's nice! For a few hours, Adonis makes [let's call her 'George',
short for Georgina] feel as if she's the only woman in the world. As
well as the physical ecstasy of lovemaking, she also feels cared for in a
mystic sense she's never experienced before. :-)

If anyone asks him questions regarding a conflict of feelings towards
Eric's men or anyone else, Adonis will answer in parable form. [The
precise words will depend on the nature of the problem and the many in
which it is presented - by all means proffer a specific instance if you
want an illustration, Oh Mighty GMs. :-)]

There are no specific questions asked at this time (especially if Adonis
is, er, courting), but the Rangers think of Eric and his people as
responsible for the burning of Garnath, and blame them for the death and
destruction of the forest. The undertone is that Eric preferred to destroy
the land rather than send the armies of Amber to fight there and possibly
save it. 

In that case, Adonis' few words are along the lines of turning the other
cheek and not blaming sons [common soldiery] for the acts [orders] of the
father [CiC]. He doesn't expect an immediate turnaround but hopefully he
can instill the beginnings of a more constructive attitude.

You start to do this, but it seems clear to you that you could alienate
them, badly, if you push it too far.  There is a great deal of concern for
a certain missing Ranger named 'Robin' and the anger that you sense is
long standing.  Still, you may have planted a few seeds on ground that is
not barren...

Adonis feels no need to push things too far too quickly. After all,
planting seed is what he's all about. Mmm! Come to think of it, that
might make a pretty conceit to base a sermon on some day. ;-)

But something about how they talk about the missing ranger intrigues
him. "Tell me about Robin!"

They look at you with an 'if you don't know, we sure aren't gonna be the
ones to tell you' look.

"Robin is an experienced Ranger and a Scout.  She was supposed to go ahead
of us and scout along the black road, but she didn't come back."

"She reported to your father", one Ranger offers.

"When...Kern first...appeared, there was talk of a missing ranger and this
was her, yes? From the way you all speak of her, you loved her dearly.
Describe her to me!"

They describe her as a superior woodswoman and athlete. Her physical
description matches that seen here: <http://highclearing.com/robin/>.
Daeon has the sense that there are other things the rangers are not
telling him.

Adonis chuckles, "Superior athlete indeed and a *fine* outdoorswoman if
she has been set a task that once defeated two Princes of Amber." He gives
them a 'who do you think you're fooling?' look. "Tell me, would you say
she bears a familial resemblance to, say...<apparently pulling a name from
a mental hat>...Prince Julian?" He eyes them knowingly. "From the way you
speak of her, she's no daughter of Eric's."

"Prince Eric has a daughter," one of the rangers says.

"She came out to 'review the troops' once," adds another.

"Robin doesn't look anything like her," a third says.

"She's blonde," comments a fourth. "Not dark like Prince Julian and 
yourself, sir."

"Please don't call me 'sir'; I do have a name." Though he smiles,
Adonis' tone is waspish but he quickly reverts to his usual mellow self.
"You have described Robin's appearance; now tell me about *her*!"

"Yes, Lord Daeon, sir," says one of the rangers, then looks mortified at
having repeated the forbidden word.

Adonis cocks his head to one side. "We really haven't got the time for all
the honorifics but I think you should understand this..." He steps
forward, putting one hand on the ranger's shoulder and staring deep into
his soul. "...I...am...Adonis!" His manner is deadly serious but his smile
betrays amusement; somewhow he detects his father in their perverse
refusal to use his name. "Believe - and spread the word!"

When he thinks all the rangers present have the message, he releases the
one and steps back. "You were saying - Robin?"

The woman the rangers describe over the next while is a talented, capable
leader, unassuming of prerogative but definitely first among equals.
Definitely a no-bullshit woman.

No indications of her sexual interests, more's the pity.

"Fascinating! You must introduce us one day...*soon*!" He looks round
raising his voice to include as many as possible. "Speaking of
introductions; you know my name but I've yet to hear yours. Let us
introduce ourselves - I am Adonis Adonai, tell me who you are." Reaching
out, he clasps hands and asks names, passing through the gathered rangers.

Since there are quite a few rangers, he's presumably still doing this when
the summons arrives to marshal them for movement. By then, he knows a lot
of them personally and, just as importantly, they all know who he is.

----------

"The tunnel-snake also *suggested,*" Jovian adds as they walk, 
"that we take one of my cousins along with. I don't see the need, 
except to be able to open one more Trump contact to bring others 
through. Dubious potential gain against exposure to the risks of 
shifting Shadow outside this valley. What do you think?"

"That my brother underestimates Canareth," Julian says with the ghost of a
smile.

"And me," Jovian nods. "He may or may not be too old to learn; that 
matters only a little. For now."

His brow furrows a moment as he scans the higher ground for the bronze
hillock that is his sleeping bond-mate. //Canareth,// he nudges mentally.
//Wake up, bronze boy. Time to go to work. You and I are scouting a way
out of here. J'lin is coming with us.//

//I am ready.  Let us find someplace with a sun, and perhaps some
slow-moving, fast herdbeasts.  This is not a good place, this
not-quite-between.//

//And olive trees,// J'rim adds with a smirk that is both mental and
physical, should Julian choose to notice.

Kourin, V'laren, and L'tarn meet J'rim and J'lin as they approach
Canareth.

"J'rim.  Are we moving?  What's the plan?"  V'laren seems to be speaking
for all the riders.  _How do we get Home?_ is the question you think he
wants you to answer.

The wingleader looks from one face to the next, thoughtfully, carefully.
After a pause of a few seconds he seems to remember himself: "I don't
think any of you are old enough to remember my father, *Julian,*" he
begins, with the subtle, deep emphasis of a rider reminding others how to
address a dragonless man. "Dad, this is Kourin, rider of the queen
Hoshith; V'laren of bronze Hyloth; L'tarn of bronze Maranth."

Julian acknowledges the three with a slight nod, a gesture very much
Julian, Prince of Amber, not Julian, dragonless man. The three riders eye
him speculatively.

It occurs to Jovian that Julian probably knew the parents of all three.

He considers the three riders before him again, worry marking his brow.
"The plan," he says carefully, "is to scout ahead in Shadow - the layering
of possible worlds we passed through to get here - for a place with
solidity enough to support the troops we have to debark from this valley."
He lifts his hand to still the response he knows is on Kourin's lips.
"This isn't as simple as it sounds. The substance of worlds out here, for
we who can manipulate it," and here he indicates his father and himself,
"is like pudding, easier to move through than to mold. Getting through it
is one thing, keeping anyone following us from getting lost may be
another."

His eyes shift between Kourin and Julian, clearly inviting speculation
from the latter.

Julian says, "One dragon should have no difficulty following you, son,"
and the last seems like an equivocation between Jovian and J'rim. _You
choose_. 

Jovian maintains his focus on the trio before him, not merely 
staring into the middle distance as is his wont when addressing 
Canareth. 

//Dad thinks you'll be all right, Canareth. So do I, and I don't want to
take unnecessary risks with exposing others to unpredictable environments.
But if you think it would help you to have someone along, I'll consider
it.//

//I wil be honored to carry J'lin.  How many trips do you think it will
take to carry all these soldiers?//

Outwardly, a smile threatens to invade Jovian's expression, but 
doesn't quite. //Once we get to solid ground, we can take soldiers 
*between* by the cards my family uses to talk to each other. Do 
you need another dragon along for the scouting mission?//

//Are we still prohibited from going *between*?  We can do 
anything.// His mental voice is calm - strangely calm given the 
overall mood in the valley.

"I think it's an unnecessary risk," Jovian says at last, half to his
father, half to the riders and every inch the Weyrleader he's *almost*
been for 20 years. "Once Canareth and I have broken trail and we know what
conditions to expect on the way, we'll come back for you and we'll all fly
straight, together.

"Sit tight for now," he concludes to Kourin and V'laren but 
especially to L'tarn. "Feel free to spread the word that we'll be 
headed for safer ground sooner rather than later, if it will keep 
everyone calm. Hedge on exactly how long - I'm not sure time is 
quite back to normal anyway." He nods a dismissal, then adds, 
"Kourin, stay a moment?"

(assuming she does)

"I just wanted to say you were right," Jovian admits, his head 
dropping a fraction of an inch. "I'm glad you came." His left hand 
rises to her shoulder and squeezes gently, as his eyes linger on 
hers just a little longer than necessary.

She slides easily into his arms, looks up, and kisses him, breaking out
just before it might embarrass his father,  She looks up at J'rim  and
says "for luck."

"Who, me?" Jovian grins, giving Kourin a quick little squeeze before
letting go. "You've got the hard part. I just have to fly straight
through Shadow as thick as oatmeal. You have to babysit *that* rabble
while I'm gone!"

His smile softens. "Be back soon," he adds as she turns away.

Julian watches the entire scene impassively.

Jovian turns to his father, gives an entirely insincere 'aw shucks'
sort of shrug, and continues walking toward Canareth. //Ready to fly,
bronze boy? Let's do this.//

When Canareth offers his foreleg, the dragonman gestures for his 
(slightly shorter) father to mount before him.

Julian mounts with practiced skill, Jovian follows.  Canareth launches
with a powerful leap and an irresistible downbeat of his wings.  He
quickly gains altitude and many of the troops over which he flies are
forcibly impressed with the grace and power of Canareth in flight

Canareth circles slowly upward for some time and then levels off and flies
above the moving valley.  Far below is a sea of slushy ground, which
becomes more real the longer you stare at it.  You do not want to consider
time rates or what is happening to gravity or orientation.

"We are near the edge of the created space.  Do you feel the difference in
shadow here?  We shall need to take this slowly--minor changes,
incremental, and don't lose track of the fundementals, like air to fly in.
Don't let Canareth decide to help us by going between.  We'll leave the
valley behind shortly after we veer off, but we should be able to stay
high enough that shifting shadow is manageable."

//All right, Canareth? Take it easy, glide when you can, and don't 
look down too much. Just fly straight - and fly straight as well.//

With that injunction, Jovian composes his mind and reaches - 
carefully - for the feel of the shadowstuff around him.

Going with the oatmeal analogy, he'll gradually bring the slushy 
ground around to actually looking something like oatmeal - this will make
it a relatively small step to giving it the sort of crust that oatmeal
gets when it's been left cooling too long. In distant patches at first,
then more widespread. Gradually the crust should get thicker, more solid.
Partly to keep from focusing much on time's disturbing caprices, of which
he's a little too aware, he'll meditate on the sound and feel of his own
breathing for a short while after each nudge toward his goal. In addition
to keeping him from rushing, this will keep atmosphere in the equation.

The oatmeal bobs a little below the crust, and the sky does not 
stay a constant color, but it does seem ground-ish.

Next, Jovian exerts his will toward stopping that bobbing stuff, then
toward making the crust more solid until it starts behaving like ground
should. 

This comes at length, but the sky is still shaky and the 
temperature and air pressure aren't nice. This takes one or two 
watches and is pretty tiring.

Another nudge to regulate the atmospheric pressure...there. Ears 
won't pop coming through to this place; others can worry about 
keeping warm or cool enough. "I think this is stable enough," 
Jovian shouts to his father over the wind of their passage. "And 
Canareth needs to rest soon."

----------

Once Lilly is reasonable certain that her troops are either a) calm
or b) too tired to fight, she will seek out her father. The thirst for
knowledge is beginning to drive her slightly insane. Soon she may even be
having visions of libraries...

Benedict is at the top of the hill, where he was conferring with Caine and
Jovian, among others. If Lilly goes up the hill, she will pass by Caine,
who is coming downhill right now.

As Lilly passes her Uncle she nods politely but remains silent unless she
is spoken to. Caine is on her current list of enigmas making her not
overly inclined to trust him.

As she makes her way towards the group containing her father she is near
silent. Lilly assumes Benedict noticed her approach some time ago and thus
makes no effort to call attention to herself. Once near her father's side
she waits patiently for his attention. She appears calm and looks far more
refreshed and tidy then any one should given the circumstances.

"Lilly."  He says with his usual reticence.  You suspect that he has more
to say, but is waiting to make sure that you have no urgent matters to
report.

"Good day Father." What others might hear as a passing greeting says far
more between father and daughter. By saying just that and no more, Lilly
is conveying that everything is fine. Her presence here indicates
curiosity then and not some sort of important mission. It is good to be
part of a lineage that does not waste words sometimes.

Knowing there is no crisis, Benedict deals with his concerns before asking
her of hers.  "How are your cousins taking knighthood?  Do they do their
duty after the crisis is cold or just in the heat of things?"

Lilly takes the moment to consider each of her cousins. She was unaware of
Aisling's locale. Brennan, as far as she could tell, was handling the
situation very well. Julian's duo, while seeming as different as night and
day, were also managing well.

"The gentleman all seem competent enough. I will admit though that I am
unaware of Aisling's current situation."

Admitting she does not know something, anything, is difficult on some
level for Lilly. But that was the true reason for her visit after all. She
wanted the missing peices of the puzzle.

"Aisling is responsible for this valley continuing to exist, which it
should not.  She is succeeding  admirably, but it will not be possible to
continue this task forever.  You saw the dragon depart?  Your cousin was
sent to find us a solid place to land.  Let the troops rest for two
watches, then find out if we have received word from Julian.  That would
be the ideal time to prepare to move the troops." 

Lilly was almost suprised by the twinge of jealousy that crept into her
soul when Aisling was mentioned. A defintie part of her did not like the
attention her father was giving this... geat neice? of hers. Still, on
another level she was also impressed with Aisling's actions. Impressed
enough that she was able to push the jealousy aside for the moment.

Benedict had given her the information she needed. More then that he had
given her orders. In response to that she replied simply, "Yes, general."
With a bow she turned to depart.

The bow is acknowledged and Benedict looks out over the valley, absently
running his left hand across the end of his right arm.

Lilly moved away with the same silent grace with which she had come. There
was something different now though. Something that only the most
percpetive could see. When she came she was assured, confident, eager to
garner information. Now she was someone deflated, questioning her place
among these *Amberites* once more.

Rarely was Lilly happy, not in the true sense of the word. She almost
always felt a twinge out of place, different. Her stoicism often his that
from the veiw of others. They merely saw her as cold and distant, not
lonely. It was true, she made little effort to attain friendship, lover.
She really did not know how to go about it. Instead she put her faith and
energy into her sword. At times that was a lonely exsistence.

Times like now. Lilly longed for a relationship with her father. She
wanted him to be proud of her, to love her. And yet he often left her
feeling cold and isolated. His fondness for Aisling was not helping
Lilly's preception of the distance between them either. She so much wanted
to be like her cousins, to be part of the Amber court, but she was not.
More and more she feared she never would be.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she is almost unaware of the people around
her. Brennan could easily almost walk up to her as she is leaving, almost
be right on top of her as a matter of fact, before she would be aware of
his presence. Or he could take a different route all together and their
paths would never meet. If she is not intercepted, she will head back to
her troops, give the orders, and then pull out her sword. Not for
fighting, for practice, excersice. Nothing clears her head better.

----------

Julian gives you hand signals for "yes" and "down" and you direct Canareth
in the appropriate direction.    You close in to the ground and deliberate
briefly.  You take several precautionary measures but finally you must
test the surface by ordering Canareth to land.  To your great relief the
ground feels stable beneath his claws, and eventually your feet.

The sky is an uneven thing, with no patterned progression. It shows many
colors, with occasional stripes of black from horizon to horizon.  Staring
too long at any one horizon makes you queasy, and it is a good thing the
ground feels steady because it looks as if it is waving up and down.

Julian comments first.  "We are still, it seems, very deep in Chaos.  What
is your assessment of this place?" 

"I think it's a good thing the battle was over the Fixed Place," Jovian
answers uneasily as he surveys the area. "It looked more stable from the
air. Canareth needs to rest a bit, or I'd want to press further right
away." After a moment's fixed gaze at the horizon, he drops his eyes to
stare at the earth for a moment and draws a deep breath or two.

"I think we should check in with Benedict and see how long they have
before the stability of the valley becomes a critical issue. If we have
time to go further, we should try at least to get the horizon to behave;
the troops won't make good time if they're fighting the heaves the whole
way."

"We can't get too far from them or there will be a risk that they cannot
bring the troops through.  Can Canareth walk?"

//It is much easier than flying here.  What is wrong with this place?//

//I don't really have the vocabulary to explain it, Canareth. Let's 
keep moving, maybe some of it will go away.//

Julian shifts shadow as you travel. his deft changes are more subtle than
you would have tried, but seem to rapidly bring you to a place where
things are more---normal.  It is still far afield, but it seems stable, as
if something had gone *click*.

Jovian makes careful observations every step of the way, 'feeling' 
for the changes as much as possible in addition to observing. He 
pays close attention to the order in which his father selects what 
changes to make, as well as the qualities of the changes.

Either your father is subtle, talented, and smart, or he is incredibly
lucky.  Some of the changes seem risky.

"If my inadequate understanding of theory is correct, we've reached some
kind of nodal shadow.  It is like the so-called Fixed Place but not as
strong.  I expect that our passage will be a tedious series of hops
between places such as this.  If we are lucky." 

"Is it just my perception," Jovian asks, feeling his way a bit, "or are
the disturbances out here qualitatively changed from what they were on the
way down?" He seems a little annoyed with himself, as if aware he's asking
a stupid question. "Granted," he adds, "I'm still kind of new at reading
the currents out here."

"You flew to the battle.  Flight is always different that shadow shifting
from horseback.  In some ways shifting while flying is a useful training
endeavor for shifting shadow in Chaos. Awing, you have many fewer
potentialities to affect, and those you touch have greater resonance.  It
is a fast route to use if you aren't particularly concerned about where
you end up."

Jovian pauses to digest this perspective, thinking over the differences in
perception of the *process* of shadow-shifting as well as of the shadow
itself. After a moment he simply nods, in a way that's as much agreement
as acknowledgment of the need to table further discussion for a more
convenient time.

He waits a moment, and then speaks again.  "I believe the honor should be
yours."  He hands you a trump deck with a single card cut to the top.
Facing you from the cold pasteboard is a very lifelike rendition of your
Uncle Caine. 

"How very gracious of you," the wingleader responds in a drawl that is the
very distillation of his father's, with the twist at the corner of his
mouth that's distinctly his own. He turns his full attention to the card,
awakening his perceptions of the person it depicts and willing the
connection to life.

"We've made landfall," he begins without preamble when the image 
responds. "No olive branch for Bleys, but it's stable enough. Let's get
things moving."

The image of Caine nods, and his eyes focus beyond you.  For a moment you
see the valley, as if seeing through a dragon's eyes.  He says "Benedict,
they are ready.  Please keep the valley in place until we remove the
troops.  Thank you, nephew.  If you will bide a moment, I will give the
orders to move the troops to you."  You feel a disturbing sense of motion
which you assume indicates that he is walking down the hill.

"You're welcome," Jovian responds, genuinely pleased and 
appreciative of Caine's change of attitude. While he waits, he 
hands the rest of the Trump deck back to his father. "I suggest you 
raise Corwin," he says, nodding to the deck, "and have him pass 
whichever of Bleys and Fiona can be spared first. Having three 
lines open will make the troop transfer quicker, right?"

With that, he awaits Caine's follow-up.

You find that it is not possible to speak to your father without also
speaking to Caine.  Caine answers.  "No.  We need three lines, but it
should be the youngsters.  For the bulk of the troops, you'll contact
Flora, Brennan will receive troops from Llewella, and Lilly will work with
Bleys.  We'll send your father some of the Rangers first and he can use
them for scouting.  Keep this contact in case I need to change the plans.
And my compliments to your father,"

You do not think he meant for you to hear 'and I hope he has some idea how
we can move a score of dragons via trump...'

"If they can't be gated through somehow," Jovian responds despite 
Caine's intentions, "I'll just have to come back for them and fly 
straight to catch up."

Aside to Julian he adds: "Hey Dad...did you ever try to go 
*between* while you were in Trump contact?" The offhand tone of 
the question makes it clear he less than half expects a serious 
answer.

Julian answers the unspoken thought rather than the spoken one. "I believe
that we are not yet in a realm where it is safe to attempt such.
Considering that the Trumps have only recently reactivated, I believe it
would be doubly unsafe."

Jovian nods, unsurprised. "Then it'll have to be Trumps or straight 
flight. Is there a way to open a...gateway of sorts, through a Trump, that
doesn't require actually touching?"

"I cannot answer definitively, but I am not aware of any such.  Rumors
abound, of course, in the absence of true knowledge.  Be glad you ride
dragons instead of land-beasts.  It is easier to hell-fly than hell ride."

Julian reaches up and strokes Canareth's foreleg.Jovian has seen him touch
Morgenstern in the same way before.

"True enough," Jovian nods. "Particularly with the consistency of 
the ground out there," he adds, squinting in a direction that 
approximates the way they came.

//Ready to fly again soon, Canareth? Now that we know the way 
here, we won't have to go as slowly.//

//I am ready.//

Julian looks up.  "We'll have to fly the dragons back.  We'll need
assistance, as well.  Your brother won't be any help.  Do you or Canareth
have any suggestions as to whom we should enlist?"

Jovian looks up into Canareth's whirling eye and smiles. "The 
Bloodflower," he says with voice and mind almost immediately. 

To Julian's questioning look, he adds, "that's what the dragons call
Florimel. They seem to like each other, and she was helping with the
injured, so there's a basis for trust as well."

"I'm sure she will be honored to assist."  There is certainly at least one
undertone in your father's voice.

"I'll pair her with one of the junior queen riders - Janel aboard 
Tanith, I think. You'll ride with Kourin. Two queens and Canareth 
should be able to lead the rest well enough, no?"

Julian is quiet for a moment, and then walks to something that seems to be
a cross between a coral reef and a rotting log.  He reaches into an
opening and pulls out a pair of binoculars and a pack of cigarettes.  He
lights a cigarette and looks up at his son, silently offering him one.

"Plain tobacco?" he asks, scenting the air with some small 
disappointment. "I'll pass, thanks. Maybe some of the good stuff 
when we're out of this mess."

----------

Having completed his tour and finding nothing amiss, Brennan himself
takes a little bit of a rest.  He finds himself a nice flat rock from
which he can survey the area fairly well, and perches himself on it
sitting with his legs tucked under him-- either tailor-fashion or lotus,
it's hard to tell from a distance. 

Given the circumstances, he actually looks like he achieves a measure of
peace, up there.  For a little while, at least.  He watches Jovian, et al,
taking flight, while he's sitting there in his reflective and watchful
pose.

He ponders that for a while, and if there were anyone present who knew him
well, they'd suspect that he's a bit disappointed that he's not out there,
too.  But, we can't have everything.

But his ponderings evidently lead him to a conclusion requiring
action, or to questions requiring answers, and restlessness overcomes his
restful, watchful pose.  Without much of a warning, he gracefully unfolds
his legs and pushes himself off the rock with his arms, landing neatly.

"Mind the fort," he says, to one of the LFGs, and heads off to the
knot of family cenetered on Benedict.
It's pretty likely that Brennan and Lilly take the same route.
As he passes her, he gives a friendly wave.  Twice, even, if she
doesn't see the first one.

He'll stop and chat for a moment, if she seems inclined, even
indicating that he'd like to talk at greater length... bit for the
moment he has some questions for Benedict and crew.  

As you reach Lilly, you notice that Caine has just started to walk down
the path towards you both.

Well, that makes it a little more imperative.
Now Brennan is trying more seriously to get her attention, without
doing anything so gauche as shouting.

By the second wave Lilly realizes the gentleman passing by her is indeed
related. Brennan being the single word that comes to mind. She stops
moving, looking at him, true depth apparent in her eyes. Remaining silent
she waits to see what, if anything, he has to offer.

When he succeeds, he nods up the path, both to let Lilly know there's
something worth seeing up that way (ie, Cap'n Caine) and to let Caine know
that he's been sighted.

A very gentle smile, one that only slighted turns the side of her mouth
without parting her lips. is the only thanks Brennan receives. Had he
known Lilly better, he would have realized that it was far more then most
people ever got from her. In an instant it faded once again.

With her attention turned full to her Uncle Caine, Lilly held her place
and waited. No doubt this would be important. Allowing him to speak first
seemed the appropriate action in this case.

Brennan also comes to a stop, and stands next to Lilly in his sort-of
default stance-- upright but somehow relaxed, with his hands on his
sword-belt, but not on his swords.

"What's the plan?" he calls up the slope, once Caine is close
enough that it's a call and not a shout.

"My brother has reached a place that will preserve our troops safely and
from which we can execute our return to Amber.  You will both be needed
there to move troops through.  Brennan, place your troops under Llewella's
orders for this.  Lilly, Bleys.  You'll be on the far end, since it is
easier to receive than to send."

Brennan gives Lilly a glance, at that last.
It is a neutral glance.  It is a study in the perfection of
neutrality, so perfectly tuned that probably only Lilly can appreciate it.
From profile, it just wouldn't be the same.

Lilly returns the look with one of her own. In some ways she liked to be
under estimated, which was good. She had the feeling her Aunts and Uncles,
and perhaps even cousins would be doing that often. There was also the
slightest of possibilities Caine was right and she really would have
issues on the sending end. But Lilly wasn't ready to believe that.

"Julian will provide you with the trump
you need once you arrive.  Go back and give your orders to your troops and
meet me at Aisling's position on that ridge.  I'll be conferring wih
Corwin."

"Send Julian's other son, whateverhisnameis, up as well."

On the other hand, that cheered him up a little.

After he waves acquiescence to Caine (and presumeably, Caine moves on) he
says, "So, you want to send Sir Whateverhisnameis the instructions, or can
<koff> should I?"

For the very briefest of seconds Lilly looks almost... amused?

"You seem up to the task." She responds. *Of course* he was up to the
task. No insult of any sort is meant by the words. In her own strange way,
she was joking. She liked Brennan and very much respected him. But there
was no smile, or glimmer in her eye. Nothing to prove that she was being
anything other then pretentious.

Brennan adds, "I think I'll be commandeering Julian's pavillion, if it
matters," and then heads off smirking and almost snickering into the
distance.

----------

And so saying, he heads off in that general direction.  When he
reaches it, he stops outside and flags down the nearest soldier who
looks idle but not wounded.  He introduces himself briskly, but
politely, on the assumption that he won't be recognized.

"I'm Brennan, commanding under Prince Benedict.  Please take as many
men as you need and find the following men under my command:  Ruuk,
among the troops Prince Corwin brought; Lord Sense, among the
nobility; Swift,  of Prince Random's brigade; and Finnley among the
sailors."  He names each of the men he had appointed subcommanders.

"Tell them to give the orders to have their men form up and make ready to
move, then to come here and meet me in the pavillion at all speed. Just
them, not the men.  Yet.  

"Then find the Princess Llewella and inform her that by Prince Caine's
plan, we are getting ready to leave, and that she is an integral part of
his plan.  Therefore, would she please come to the pavillion as well?"  

He makes sure that the man has the names correct, then sends him off,
hopefully to gather up a few companions and go in search of those various
people.

Then he enters the pavillion and asks anyone present where Sir Daeon
might be.

Enters Julian's pavillion? Inside IIRC is one sleeping ranger [female] and
around a dozen dogs. You'll have to ask the GMs if there's anyone else but
I think they may themselves scarce when Adonis brought back his love
interest. I've no idea how the dogs will react to the intrusion.

Oh, I'd think there'll be *someone* around, within eyeshot, at least.

As for the dogs, Brennan's part of the family, part of the army, isn't
kicking them or stepping on tails, or otherwise threatening them.  If
they're psychotic dogs, he can always use the outside of the pavillion,
but I think it'd be pretty strange if they're skittish enough to go nuts
any time someone came in and used the pavillion for what it was actually
meant for.

Besides, like Brennan told Dworkin already, he's a dog person.
Probably still has a few Scooby-snacks on him, somewhere.  If he's got a
few minutes, he'll probably stop and make friends with him.

There are rangers in the vicinity. One of them sees Brennan coming up to
the pavilion and asks his business, before Brennan gets close enough to
potentially set off the dogs.

"Brennan, commanding under Prince Benedict.  At the moment, I am
looking for Sir Daeon, on Prince Caine's instruction; followed by a
decent place to coordinate the movement of all of us off this fake
valley through Trump gates, also on Prince Caine's instruction.  And
the sooner we're shut of this place, the better, as far as I'm
concerned."

The man nods agreement, staring intently at Brennan's face.  Brennan may
suspect that Rangers have a different attitude towards high command than
might be desired, but cannot fault his words or actions.  "Sir.  Lord
Daeon is with Ranger Pistil and his men, Sir."  He nods towards a fake
clearing in the fake woods, where quite a lot of Rangers seem to be
gathered. 

Being who he is, with his father's eye, and hair, and half his
features, Brennan is going to have to get used to being stared at for a
while.  Unless the glance is a glare, or otherwise hostile, then he
obviously notices it but gives no real indication of it.

As for attitude... some groups abrogate special privledges by land
holds, or being eightteen times grandchild of someone who impressed a
liege-king whose line died out twelve generations ago, or other similarly
silly nonsense.  Others take them by right of ability.  It's been less
than a day since Julian led his cavarly charge against Chaos, and Brennan
has not forgotten it-- and the Rangers might be Julian's answer to Special
Forces.  Having worked with the type, if not the group, Brennan will wait
and see.

Having gotten the information, Brennan thanks the man, and moves on to
find Daeon at a very quick walk. 

As IIRC previously established, Adonis is getting to know rangers on a
personal basis: officers, NCOs and elnisted men, or whatever the
equivalents are in the rangers. I assume Brennan's approach is brought to
Adonis' attention by one of the rangers or his own senses. When Brennan
comes within easy reach of voice, appropriate for a formal greeting,
Adonis calls in a friendly voice so all about can hear, "Hail; Brennan,
son of Brand! You bring news?"

"Sir Adonis," he calls back.  It's not much of a call, per se,
certainly not a loud shout, but it carries nonethless.  "I bring a
summons, specifically.  We're going to be evacuating this place soon, and
Caine wants you."  He gives a casual nod to the ridge Caine had indicated
previously.

As Brennan speaks, Adonis makes his way over to him, smiling warmly. "It
is always pleasant to be wanted. Please give my compliments to Caine and
advise that I shall attend upon him and Benedict directly."

"You can tell him yourself," he drawls "I have an army to mobilize  
before anythign else.You might want to give some orders to Julian's men 
to get them ready for a Trump convoy; as for me, I have my own men to 
take care of and get ready, too."

"Assuredly!" Replies Adonis without a trace of irony or sarcasm. "I am
glad you reminded me to prepare the rangers else it may have slipped my
mind." He offers his hand to Brennan. "And for you, also, duty bares heavy
so I will not detain you further at this time but will instead look
forward to future intimacy." He fixes Brennan with that intense stare. "As
you are a creature of court and I of the wilds, it would seem to me our
talents and interests would complement rather than compete, though perhaps
you are not of the same mind; nonetheless, we should talk soon."

Brennan takes the offered hand for a moment, but declines the stare.
Time enough for that level of fol-de-rol later.  He does appear
ever-so-slightly nonplussed at being described as a creature of court,
though.  "Yeah, we'll have to do that."  Tone of voice and expression
clearly convey that there's been a misconception somewhere on the other
end that's going to have to get sorted out.

With that, he takes his hand back, waves, and heads back toward his
own men who are waiting in a thread to be retitled later tonight.

Adonis deliberately waits for Brennan to reach the edge of hearing
before lifting his voice and shouting, 'Farewell, Son of Brand', in a
voice laden with smiles, before turning to his duties among the rangers.

Once Brennan is out of sight, Adonis gives the orders to array the
rangers ready for transfer at as short a notice as reasonably possible,
using his father's conventional command structures. Having done this and
observed the beginnings of the muster, he walks quickly up the hill to
Julian's pavilion, summoning his father's attendants. He asks them to wait
until the lady within has emerged before striking the pavilion and loading
it and Julian's few belongings on the equally few pack animals and have
them ready to come with the rangers.

He then enters the pavilion, greets the dogs guarding the sleeping woman
within and gently wakes her with a kiss on her brow, running a hand
through her hair. "It is time to wake, Alice. Dress quickly; we move soon!
Rejoin your unit and spread the word!"

Finally, he moves to where two horses are tethered nearby. He whispers
into the ears of each of Epona and Morgernstern before springing onto
Epona's back and riding up to the hill with Morgernstern close behind and
the dogs all around. [Presumably Adonis will know if Morgernstern will
accept his lead in the absence of Julian; if Morgernstern won't be led
then he'll just have to stay with the pavilion packhorses until Julian can
claim him personally. Since the dogs accepted his lead throughout the
battle, I assume they will happily follow him now; ditto for them also if
I'm wrong on this.]

When he crests the hill, he looks for Benedict and Caine. Waiting for a
suitable moment and placing his menagerie where it will least
inconvenience anyone, he salutes from horseback whichever of the two first
pays him attention and presents his compliments before announcing the
rangers are mustering for transfer and will be ready anon.

He assumes instructions will be forthcoming but he keeps a weather eye on
the rangers and if he thinks they require closer supervision and no one
seems too bothered on the hill, he will ride back down to them and wait
for orders sent after. He will seek no permission to do this; if his
uncles are too ill-mannered to show courtesy after summoning him, why
should he be courteous back? However, from Julian's descriptions, he
trusts them not to be so ill-mannered, not even Caine.

Caine looks up at him as he sits a-horse.  "Ah, thank you, nephew.  Have
you used a Trump before?"

Adonis nods courteously at Caine's address, his style warm and informal
but still respectful. "Pater had me use his card, uncle, but just the
once." Adonis' gaze, as with Brennan a few minutes before, is intense, but
Caine must notice that Adonis seems particularly interested in him
personally.

"I shall send you to your father and then begin
sending the Rangers to you almost immediately.  Have them decamp and come
to me.  Once you are with Julian, you shall contact me and we will send
your father some support.  Understood?"

It is clear to you that Caine is quite used to giving orders.

----------

Brennan strides quickly off in the direction of his own
men, thinking to himself just how full his calendar is looking for the
next six or seven... centuries.

When he's back among his men, he will flag down the nearest five or so of
them that aren't immediately engaged in anything important.  He will, of
course, be recognized, even if he hasn't dealt with these five in
particular. 

"All right, men," he says, still walking as he speaks to them.
They'll have to keep up.  "Good news.  We're getting the Hell out of
here shortly.  You, go find Ruuk," he indicates a man with his finger for
each commander he is about to name, and gestures in the right direction
each time, "among the men Corwin brought; you go find Lord Sense among the
nobility; you, Swift, among Random's brigade; you, Finnley among the
sailors.

"I'm going to walk at this liesurely pace to that big white flat rock,
over there at the edge of things.  Tell them they're to have their seconds
give the orders to form up and have the men ready for movement.  THen
they, themselves, are to meet me at the lookout rock.  I expect them to be
there by the time I get there, so I'd suggest you, and they if necessary,
run."

He motions that they're to go.
Presumeably, they run.

He turns to the last man left with him.  "You, my friend, are to go
find Princess Llewella.  Tell her that by Caine's plan, she'll be
passing my men to me from here to the other side of a Trump link, and that
I'll be waiting to hand off temporary command to her at the lookout rock."

After the man takes off, presumeably at a trot, Brennan calls out as
an afterthought, "You probably don't want to tell her to run...."

Maybe he'll hear it.

Brennan continues his walk to the lookout rock on which he had
taken his rest shortly before. He arrives there to find those leaders 
he has summoned, except for Lord Sense, waiting.  He sees 
Sense, Feldane, and Llewella approaching.  They will arrive in a
few moments.

Somehow, Brennan is not surprised.

He bids the others to wait until Lord Sense and Llewella arrive,
making small talk, and generally making it clear that he is pleased
with their quickness.  If there's any informal rumors going around,
he'll ask after them.

He then greets Princess Llewella.  "Hello, Llewella.  You've heard
that Julian and Jovian made Shadowfall somewhere and that we're to be
heading out soon?  Caine's plan-- or part of it, anyway-- is for me to
follow them by Trump, and then have you pass my troops to me.  I thought
I'd introduce you to the officers and hand off temporary command before we
walk back to meet Caine."  He nods toward the ridge Caine had indicated
previously.  "You seem to have met Lord Sense already."

He'll wait for Llewella's reply, then introduce Finley, Swift and Ruuk in
that order, asking them to report briefly in turn.

Lilly seeks out Uncle Bleys first. It occurred
to her that he would need a *card* with her picture on it for this to
work. Lilly had no clue if any existed. Nor did she have any idea what it
would take to produce one. Better to take care of that first, and then
gather the troops. Or so she thought.

Bleys is back up the hill near Lilly's father.  Bleys tells her that such
cards are very difficult to make and that Dworkin is the only living
person he knows who can make one.  He suggests that you will be given
*his* trump and asks if you've ever used one.  He offers to accompany you
back to your troops so that you can give them their instructions.  He has,
you think, the brashness that comes from his utter confidence in his own
abilities. 

----------

Adonis nods once, half wheels Epona and whistles shrilly down the hill,
waving forward the first contingent mustered. When it arrives, he informs
the officer commanding of the arrangements and instructs him to use his
company to regulate the others. Adonis does not wish to break any formal
chains of command, merely using this first contingent to disseminate the
required knowledge to the others.

When Adonis is happy that the rangers will not need further direct
supervision from him, he reports back to Caine and informs him that he is
ready. He slips from Epona's back and leads both her and Morgernstern
forward, walking between them, the dogs following behind. [Presumably
Caine will mention if it's too much in one go.]

Caine sees the pack and the train and tells Adonis to bring them up slowly
and he will send them through first.  Caine seems wary of Morgenstern, but
the mighty beast seems to have a gleam of intelligence (or is it malice?)
in his eyes.

Adonis notices his uncle's reaction. "Don't worry about Morgernstern," he
says, with a half smile, rubbing the horse's muzzle with his bridle-hand,
"he's a soppy old thing really." Though Morgernstern's eyes seem to call
him a liar.

The dogs bound through the contact unexpectedly, bowling
Jovian over and breaking it.  They spend the moments that Jovian is
reestablishing contact by greeting Julian, who seems pleased to see them
in a reserved way.  After a moment of undisciplined barking, he sends
them, by some subtle signal, on watch.

Caine then passes Adonis and the two horses to Jovian, with better
results. He tells Jovian that his brother will need his trump.

"Right, then," Jovian replies before breaking contact. "Let Benedict know
I'll be contacting him next, so whoever's to hold his connection on this
end should be ready to come through."

Adonis nods to his brother as he comes through before wordlessly handing
Morgernstern to their father. As the dogs take their stations, he takes
the opportunity to survey the scenery, apparently by some delicate
sniffing of the air.

He completes his inspection and turns back to Jovian as their father
finishes saying hello to his horse. Adonis raises a single eyebrow,
expectantly, while extending a hand, palm upward. "Greetings, brother.
Your flight was not too arduous?"

"A bit long. Nothing we couldn't handle. I trust we didn't keep you 
waiting unduly?" He returns his brother's smile and hands over the 
card.

Adonis smiles as he accepts, "Oh, I kept busy, got to...know people. You
know I like to stay on the job."

Jovian merely rolls his eyes skyward, chuckling a little. "So that's what
they're calling it these days," he mutters, half under his breath.

Still smiling, he turns to Julian, "Pater, where would you have the
rangers encamped?"
Wherever Julian indicates is good, Adonis will walk or ride to the spot,
as appropriate before studying Caine's trump.

Julian gazes broadly across the horizon.  "On this utterly featureless
plain?  One spot is as good as another.  Your brother and I will be flying
back without you.  Nominally, you will lead the Rangers, but don't let
that worry you overmuch.  For the most part they will lead themselves."

"If one of your relatives gives you orders that indicate that he thinks
you're stupid or expendable, don't follow them.  Ask Ranger Vista for his
opinion, I value it.  If you have to depart from the others, take my trump
and call me. But if it doesn't come to that, stay with the others.  Understood?"

"Vista?...I have never considered myself expendable Pater; I will do as
you suggest." Adonis adds the proffered card to the one of Caine, perhaps
he will start a collection.

Adonis nods. "If the opportunity arises, I thought I might talk to your
brothers, mmm Caine and Corwin perhaps, but I shall not leave the rangers
unsupervised to do so." He turns to include Jovian, "May I ask, brother,
for a chance to fly some time when you are not so busy; I confess I am
filled with envy for both of you."

"There may be time along the way, or it may have to wait until we 
get back to Amber. But we'll find an opportunity."

Adonis wishes them both a safe flight, mounts Epona and rides a short
distance to make room for the rangers. He spends a minute in contemplation
of the scenery then peruses Caine's trump closely before using it.

On the far side, Morgenstern is staring at Canareth, unlike a horse,
Morgenstern has no fear.

As he departs, Jovian turns again to his father. "Do you want to 
open contact with Benedict, or shall I?" Anticipating the answer, he
extends his hand to receive the Trump.

"Neither.  We fly straight back.  It will take us both to bring Canareth
back to the valley and then bring your wings home.  We shall have to
travel separately from the ground forces.  This will be more difficult
that coming down here.  You shall need to make absolutely clear than no
dragon is to go between without my permission.  If you must tell the
queens that each man has the equivalent of Firehead, then so be it.  As
this is Chaos, that is not completely untrue.

"Are you ready?"

"Of course, I'm ready," Jovian answers, "but I wasn't talking about 
going through the Trump to Benedict. I was going to have him pass 
through whoever was handling his connection, to establish the second line
as soon as possible. If you'd rather let them deal with it themselves,
though, it's no sweat off my brow." He shrugs and turns toward Canareth,
who waits with extended forearm.

Jovian says nothing and mounts after his son.  Once they are mounted.  He
says "Bide.  We must make sure your bother has matters in hand."

Cousins come through to Adonis, first Lilly and then Brennan.  Rangers
follow.  Julian whistles loudly to get Adonis' attention and casually
tosses a wrapped package, no more than a few inches on a side, towards his
son.  Without looking to see if he catches it, Julian gives Jovian a
silent signal to lift off.

----------

As Adonis is disappearing in a rainbow of Juliani and Equine trumpage,
Sense, Brennan, and Lilly arrive.

Lord Sense doesn't actually get as far as Caine, or at least not far
enough to be included in Caine's address.  As Brennan and Lord Sense
were walking, they were in conversation with Brennan probably more
enthusiastic about the subject than Sense, by just a little bit.  By
the time Brennan sees Lilly and/or Caine, he closes off the
conversation with Sense, ticking his fingers as he underscores his
points one last time, then sends him back to his own body of men.

Brennan looks at Sense's retreating back for a moment, giving a very
mild shake of of his head and a slight smirk, then turns to greet
Lilly with a more genuine smile, and Caine.

"Ah, good.  Are your opposite numbers ready?"

"Yup.  Let's rock."

Lilly simply nods. Of course Uncle Bleys was ready, if he wasn't she
wouldn't be here. It was just that simple. On the other hand, Lilly was
still new to the family. To be fair she could not fault him for being
careful.

"I have sent Daeon to his father.  He should contact me shortly.  While we
wait do you have any questions?"

"How long do you figure it'll be before we can just Trump back
directly, if at all?"

"That is of course a good question, one I had wondered myself. The other
thing that immediately comes to mind is what has become of the King?"
Lilly adds in a calm voice.

Caine smiles.  "The King has returned to the Pearl of Cities, perhaps to
raise an adequate force to protect it against your various troops.
Assuming the pattern was not destroyed, in which case he is most likely
dissolved into a puddle of primal goo.  We hope he is preparing to aid our
triumphal return and parade, but it may not be that easy."

"It would be *very* bad form for him to be arranging the deaths of all the
members of his newest band of knights," Brennan murmurs, sotto voce.  It's
dead pan, but he's joking.

He turns to Brennan.  "How long is a meaningless question this far from
Amber.  Ask me again when we are in shadows that are less mad.  We may
never trump the entire Army directly back, though.  We'll be better off
marching it for some of the distance, once we can get away from the places
where that is too dangerous." 

"It's a loose enough metric in the best of circumstances," he replies, no
longer stage-muttering.  "Once we can make our way as far as the Tree,
things should be pretty well settled; probably even before.  Assuming that
still exists."

"Tree?  That's right, you've spent a great deal of time out this far.  If
you've got a good grasp of travel in these parts, we may need to use you
for scouting.  We will discuss this after we have regrouped."

He gives that about the only response he can under the circumstances-- a
cross between a shrug and a sideways incline of his head in silent assent.

Daeon looks at a man who looks like a wiry version of Corwin, a man who
looks as if he always knows the punchlines in advance.  You think he knows
many  secrets, and does not give away many of his own.

Caine is suddenly *there* in a way in which he was *not there* before, in
your mind.  He is strong, almost overwhelming in his presence.  It is only
in a quiet, analytical corner of your mind that you wonder if this is a
facade.

He speaks to you, and you can tell he is speaking to your cousins as well.

He brings his attention back to Lilly as a group of Rangers approaches. 
He reaches out for her wrist, and she feels a hand, warm and smooth, grasp
hers.  Lilly is on the featureless plain with Adonis and Julian's animals.

Brennan is next through the trump contact, and finds himself next to his
kin in a place that is hard to tell from a very large bowl of crusty
oatmeal.

Shortly after Adonis brings Lilly and Brennan through, he becomes busy
providing a gateway for Rangers. 

Adonis catches the package Julian throws to him and, having nowhere else 
to put it, drops it at his feet as rangers pour through. As they arrive, he 
directs them behind him and orders them to encamp as they can, bearing in 
mind the surface probably won't take tent poles/pegs. When Vista comes 
through, Adonis asks him to arrange things as best he can, keeping the 
rangers away from any contingents they may have antipathy for, and Adonis 
will consult with him when he's finished here.

Once all rangers are through, Adonis raises a julianic eyebrow to Caine:
anything else?

If not, he picks up the package and goes to find Vista, examining the
package on the way. [Is it a trump deck?]

[Assuming Vista knows Adonis] "Pater places considerable faith in your
advice. I am inexperienced in handling large numbers of soldiers and am
prepared to be ruled by you in most things."

Brennan spends a moment getting his bearings after the Trump transfer,
glancing around and noting what few salient features there are to note. 
Among those salient features are that pretty much everyone is busy, and
that there are few enough other salient features to warrant any chit-chat.
 He does nod or otherwise make eye-contact with those not in the midst of
a Trump contact, flying away, or otherwise not able to return it.

Brennan's plan for this phase is simple-- move far enough away from
the center area and from Adonis that their two groups of troops won't
interfere with each other on the way through.  Not too far away, of
course, just a few dozen yards, positioning himself so that his men will
fan out in a direction away from Adonis, still leaving room for Lilly and
hers to do the same.

He assumes that Lilly knows her business, too, so he doesn't bother to
outline this to her, as such.  Just a declarative nod to where he's going
to stand, and a more questioning nod to where she might stand. Then he
heads off, unless one of the assembled relatives has something to say.  He
walks a bit gingerly, testing the ground as he goes.  It'd look silly if
he disappeared into a sinkhole of wet oatmeal under the crusty stuff on
top.

When he reaches a suitable location, he'll stop, take another look
around, then shuffle out Llewella's Trump and hit it with the anvil of his
personality.  "I'm ready.  Send me Swift and about five of his men, and
then give me a chance to give a few quick instructions."

Adonis, Lilly, and Brennan undertake their mission and soon the many
troops who were encamped in the valley are pouring into the vast basin of
nowhere that Julian and Jovian selected.  The process is quite draining on
the trump users, although the men seem to be little the worse for wear. 
The walking wounded are brought through, but the seriously injured are
not.

The last to come through are the elders: Lewella, Caine, Benedict, Fiona,
Bleys.  Corwin, Flora, and Merlin are not with them.  Benedict surveys the
troops and his kinfolk.  He looks at Caine and nods.  Caine says "we
march. Bleys, if your calvary would serve as our scouts?"

Bleys bows, an unreadable expression on his face.  Benedict looks at the
triumvirate of the younger generation.  "A short shakedown march, a little
shadow shifting to get the troops used to it, followed by an early night.
Tomorrow we will begin the short haul moves.  The goal is to wander back
to the sane shadows without losing our way."

Getting the troops used to it was the least of Lilly's concerns. Getting
herself used to it was another matter all together. She was tired,
irritable and in need of a break. Using the Trump had exercised a portion
of her brain she was completely unaware exsisted.

"Anyone who can't ride or walk will need to be carried."
Of course she just nodded. How else would they be transported?

Adonis takes the news with equanimity but when he rejoins the rangers, he
breaks the news gently, assuaging dissent with the carrot of home.

Benedict and Caine move the troops on for some ways, across the odd plain
and into a range of striated hills.  The ground becomes more firm and the
air stays breathable, but you lose the regular sky, getting slowly dodging
balls of color lighting the sky.

Brennan spends most of his time (unless someone wants to chat) in the
mundanities of the march-- a few trips up and down the line to see the men
and let them see him, keeping a watchful eye on order and discipline, but
otherwise generally leaving the details to his subordinates unless
something goes wrong.

Unlike the trip through the Trump, he lets the Nobles march in
advance, as long as they keep some reasonable order.

Caine calls a halt at the end of a line of hills.  You have reached your
campground for the night.

Somehow, perhaps by sheer force of will, Lilly manages to help ensure the
relative comfort and safety of the trips before retiring herself. For the
first time since leaving Tecys she did not care about how she was being
perceived by those around her. She was tired damn it. Unless someone
specifically asked for her or came looking for her she rested alongside
her men.

Lilly finds a spot and is soon asleep.  She dreams fleeting images, some
violent and some bizarre : a snowcapped mountain peopled by giants, a man
holding a dying boy in his arms, a woman running through an empty city
fleeing a fire, a man and a woman sitting crosslegged on pillows while
drinking from tiny cups.

There is an overwhelming sense of speed and urgency and unbalance.  Lilly
cannot tell what thread connects them all, but she can tell that all is
not right with their world.

Adonis sees the troops encamped and as comfortable as they can be. He also
directs Julian's pavillion to be erected. He has spent and continues to
spend considerable time in getting to know rangers, both individually and
collectively but when he finally goes to bed, he does so with a couple of
women.

However, at some time he sits down to go through his father's cards,
studying each closely, eventually settling on Caine's. [Assuming he
makes contact and Caine is willing to talk.]

"Uncle Caine, good...<looks around at the sky and shrugs>...evening! I
hope the day's exertions have not proven too onerous for you."

"Thank you nephew, I find that I have been up to the challenge of living
through another day.  Is there aught with which I can assist you?"

"For the moment, <glances towards the two women sleeping in the bed> no,
but I hope we may both feel comfortable with assisting each other in the
future, should it prove necessary." Adonis returns his gaze to Caine who
experiences that intensity of eye contact. Perhaps he can tell this is
habitual with Adonis, or perhaps he can sense there's something special in
his regard.

"Pater has always respected you but in the last century, from his few
words, I have felt he has also grown to regard you as a friend; I believe
he was distraught to learn the 'challenge of living' had become too much
for you, as so it seemed. So you can imagine how happy I am, for my
father's sake, to find you in life."

"Your father is a good man, if not much of a sailor.  I understand there
was some effort to blame him for my death."

"So I've heard - I hope recent events have curbed your family's more
negative tendencies; though for that matter, I'm not sure mine's any
better."

Caine seems bemused by your differentiation between his family and your
family.  Or perhaps not bemused.  He says nothing either way.

"For my own part, I offer thanks for the slaying of your brother, it was
well done and needed to be done. And...I would like to know you better." A
quirky smile invades Adonis' expression of earnest gravity. "It is not
every day that the dead rise from the grave."

You can't tell if Caine is grinning or grimacing.  "We all do what we have
to do, in war.   And after, as well.  What are your plans, nephew, when we
reach Amber?"

"I have responsibilities in my home that cannot be ignored, but Pater
would like me to assume some sort of role in Amber and I think it high
time this happens. As to what this role will be, the Unicorn only knows.
And yourself?"

"I do not know.  It will depend on the needs of Amber.  I think it would
be foolish to assume that this war was the last of our troubles."

A cloud descends on Adonis, "Yes...I overheard things at the Funeral and
talked with a Lord of Chaos. He implied his people cannot control
themselves, that they are drawn to attack Amber as 'moths to a candle'; we
have not heard the last of them...and the Moonriders have caused trouble
before, haven't they?"

"They have.  They are not friends of Amber."

Adonis nods, thoughtfully. "And doubtless you are as worried over the
state of Amber in your absence as I am over Arcadia - 'The pain of war
cannot exceed the woe of aftermath...'." He sings this last as if it were
a song but stops abruptly at the end of the line, flashing an apologetic
smile at his correspondent. "One shouldn't sing in these circumstances; it
might come true."

"Well, uncle, I am tired, as doubtless you are too so I will not keep you
further from your rest but I hope we will talk again and soon. Think of
me, if you have need, and I will remember you in my prayers. May your God
go with you."

"I'll trust my fate to my skills, nephew.   Good night."

Adonis puts the trump back in the case and puts the latter under his
pillow. Then he lies back between the two sleeping women and drifts off to
sleep. [What's that about urgent dreams again...?]

Oddly, Daeon dreams fleeting images, some violent and some bizarre, and
some in his case very erotic: one woman bathing another in a tub of green
marble, which Daeon has no trouble interpreting as a seduction, sailors
ransacking a shrine, a man and a woman joined in a desperate embrace in a
dark, cavernous room throbbing with intermittent light and sound, a woman
giving birth to a child in blood and pain. 

Again, Brennan leaves the mundane details to his junior officers, with the
assumption that he'll check later.  But after giving the obvious and
high-level orders, he heads over to Caine and Bleys, addressing the
former.  

"I believe you mentioned something about scouting?"

Caine looks up from his wineglass.  You wonder briefly who brought finely
cut crystal to a battle at the end of the universe.  "We've just been
discussing that.  Bleys and Fiona could ride out as our scouts, marking
the trail and trumping us around the dangerous spots, but I'd prefer to
keep a sorcerer with the troops, in case there is trouble.  Since you have
some experience shifting this sorry shadowstuff, I would like you to be
his second.  Barring surprises that we hope you will keep us out of, the
troops will be doing no more than marching."

Bleys says "We leave in 4 hours.  Are you trained in fighting from
horseback?" 

And at this, Brennan gives Bleys a sidelong glance that expresses
eloquently the sort of thought that Lilly often keeps to herself.  "Of
course.  And if we're leaving in four hours, then unless there's anything
vital to be done right now, I'm going to get three hours and fifty seven
minutes of sleep."

And he promptly puts those words into practice, returning to his men
and stacking Zs in neat little piles next to his bedroll.

He's probably going to dream fleeting images, some violent and
bizarre, with an overwhelming sense of speed and urgency and
unbalance.  Just at a guess.

A woman falling down a staircase, a printing press inside a burning
building, a small boat sailing into a picture-perfect bay, a woman lifting
a long-dead body up from a blood stained table. 

----------

You fly back, adding madness and unreality to the universe as you return
to the place from which you so recently departed

After hours, when you felt that perhaps you were never going to reach
them, Canareth speaks.  //I hear my brothers and sisters again//  Canareth
seems pleased to say it, as if he has done something remarkable, or
perhaps has ceased to do something painful.

//Good, Canareth! I knew we could do this together. You're flying 
very well, and dealing with the changes around you admirably.// 
Jovian rubs Canareth's neck ridges with a gloved hand, sincere 
appreciation strong in their emotional link. He looks over his 
shoulder at his father as well, an arched eyebrow inquiring as to his
awareness of the situation.

Jovian lands and finds that the bulk of the troops have departed.  Flora
greets them, tells them they ar ready to depart, and leads them to Corwin
and Merlin, who stand next to Aisling and Ce'e.

"I have stopped providing Aisling the energy that she was using to
stabilize the valley.  When she comes out of it, we can depart.  If she is
well enough she can come with father and me on our filmy.  If she is not,
you can transport her with the wounded."

Flora nods.  "We have the worst of the casualties; the ones I thought
would not do well to be transferred by Trump."  She seems to already be
aware that she is to ride back with the Dragons. 

Jovian nods crisply. "How many casualties do we have? We'll need 
to rig slings for them if they can't sit astride and hold on. And if any
have back injuries, we've got real trouble."

Time lapse photography would record how Aisling very slowly ceases to look
like she is one with the the living stone of the hillside.  Towards the
end this process seems to accelerate, her eyes growing more alert, until
suddenly her nostrils flare and she inhales a great lungful of air, coming
awake with a start.  Then her knees buckle, she throws out her hand and
arm, and the vigilant Ce'e catches her wrist to help lower her to the
ground.  "No, no, 's'ok, I'm done," she reassures him in an oblivious
murmur.

Kneeling, she looks over the valley with something of the expression of a
wistfully baffled turkey staring up agape at falling rain.  "What-- no
fish?" she remarks, and then she sighs, eyes closing, and completes her
momentarily arrested collapse.

Aisling is lowered to the ground by Ce'e and is in no shape to be
awakened. She dreams fleeting  images, some violent and some bizarre: a
great tower falling, a woman smashing a mirror, a man thrashing another
man, a woman singing to Llamas.

There is an overwhelming sense of speed and urgency and unbalance. 
Aisling cannot tell what thread connects them all, but she can tell that
all is not right with their world.

"There's one for a sling," Jovian observes drily, before resuming 
head (and body) counts. //Canareth, find out from the greens 
whether we held on to the empty sacks from the firestone reserves. 
We may need the material to rig emergency harnesses.//

"Your riders have anticipated you, Oh Dragon Lord and Master.  They have
things well in hand. "  She turns to Corwin.  "Aren't the dragon riders
positively Medieval?  I keep wondering what Jacques de Molay would have
done with a squadron of them.  Poor Jacques..."

Merlin chimes in, helpfully.  "There exist less than a half-score of
damaged that could not be transmitted by Card.  The rest are no longer
with us."

Corwin adds "Aisling is no longer making this valley stay together by
force of her will.  We really don't have any more time for sightseeing. 
Merlin and I can return on our own.  You all should leave soon."

Julian listens to all of then and then looks at Jovian, waiting for his
response.

"Thank you for that very helpful assessment, Madame 
Bloodflower," Jovian responds with an overt excess of courtly 
grace. More seriously he adds, "and thank you, Merlin. If all the 
casualties are secured, we'll be leaving immediately." 

He looks over at Aisling's collapsed form. "Still riding with me, Dad, or
will it make the shadow-shifting safer to spread us out? If you want to
ride with one of the others, Canareth can carry Aisling." He scans the
wings to find the nearest unburdened dragon, in case Julian's preferences
are otherwise.

"It will be more efficient if we are separated," says Julian. "One of us
with the Queen's wing and another with your second fighting wing." He
turns to Flora.  "Sister, have you a trump of me?  We shall need them if
we become separated."

Flora smiles and says, "Of course, Julian."

"Good," the wingleader nods briskly, slipping back into the 
commander's role. "Dad, you ride with L'tarn and Maranth - he's a 
hothead, but he respects the name you made for yourself in his 
home shadow. Florimel, the other queens follow Hoshith and the 
fighting dragons follow the queens, so you ride with Kourin. And I'll need
your trump, just in case." Trumps are handed.

Corwin says, "If you have all of this resolved, I believe Merlin and I
will be on our way. Merlin?" Merlin glances at the elders and Jovian to
see if any of them have anything to say to him. If not, he steps away,
whispering in a strange, soft language, and begins making gestures with
both hands. Corwin's attention is on his son, although it wouldn't
surprise Jovian if he were keeping an ear on the conversation, too.

Jovian closes the distance between himself and Aisling's limp form 
with long, brisk strides, dropping to one knee by her side and giving her
a cursory look over. "She's safe to move?" He directs the question to
Corwin as he notes the angles of her limbs and neck and wonders what she
would call normal for skin tone. Feeling rather than seeing a presence over 
his shoulder, as things don't cast  proper shadows here, he looks up to see 
the form of Aisling's affine  hovering beside them.

"Her only physical injury is the hand," Corwin replies without 
looking away from Merlin. "But she won't be in any shape to hang 
on for a while. You'll have to strap her on somehow."

Jovian nods and starts to gather Aisling in his arms, mildly surprised 
at how light she is. But he then looks up, noting the  posture and 
guessing at the expression of the former giant. "You  are Cloudeater, 
right? Please bring your Lord to that dragon over  there. We are going 
to fly her somewhere safe." 

As Cloudeater carries her to Canareth's side, Jovian retrieves a 
firestone bag and carrying straps from one of the green riders. 
Moments later he has fashioned a serviceable if phosphine-scented 
Swiss seat and kidney belt with straps long enough to get around 
both her midsection and his.   

He climbs aboard Canareth, rigs the straps to hold Aisling before 
him and calls down to Ce'e. "Lift her up in front of me," he  instructs, 
and securely straps her to both dragon and rider. 

This close to Aisling, he notices that she's warm; warmer than 
humans generally are.  And her natural scent seems to be like if 
you were flying over a rocky outcropping covered with flowering 
lilacs far out at sea-- but it's very faint, and it'll quickly fade beneath 
the level of conscious noticing. He notes this without doing 
anything obtrusive like warming his hands over her. Those whose 
attentions are not focused elsewhere might notice a fleeting 
wistfulness in his expression, however. 

He extends a hand toward the being still on the ground. "Now, 
Cloudeater, come up behind me. Sit between these two ridges and 
hold on. It's all right to hold on to me, but don't squeeze." 

//Canareth, if Dad and the Bloodflower are mounted and ready, give  
the signal to lift.// 

----------

Three hours and seventeen minutes after Brennan departs, he awakens to a
whinny from outside his tent.  A groom has a tall and well-formed horse
and a squire is unloading armor from it and laying it out.  The device on
the shield could be described as " sable, a tower argent enflamed gules
struck by a lightning bolt arising in sinister chief and in dexter chief a
moon in full, both proper".

Brennan, by virtue of the restless nature of his dreams and his general
condition of not being a morning person, awakes with what can only be
described as a snarl.  But since Brennan has a tent, and wakes before the
groom enters his tent, there is no one there to describe it.

He emerges from the tent scrubbing at his beard, and running a quick comb
through his hair prior to binding it back again.  He gives the armor,
particularly the shield and device, a tilty, skew-headed look of mild
bemusement.

"My Lord, " says the squire, "the armorer wanted to modify the design to
reflect the Order of the Ruby, Sir Brennan, but the Prince said that was
for you to say.  Do you wish a change?  I regret that we cannot provide
one before this evening."

"Right now, I value a thermos of coffee much more than a ruby motif," he
mutters.  Then, more audibly, "Actually, I was having some thoughts on
that myself, so, not yet.  What did he have in mind?"

The page provides a leather-bound flask of a warming beverage.  It may
have had at one point some resemblance to coffee, but that really isn't an
accurate term for the beverage at this stage.
If it is heavily caffeinated, there may be a knighthood in it for him
*right now.*  He takes it and, after a tentative sniff, throws it back and
completes the wake-up process.

The style of the armor is the same as that which Bleys and Fiona and their
calvary wore in the battle at The Edge. 

He takes a few moments to examine the armor and the device in detail--
after all, it's going to be protecting his life, most likely, in very
short order.  When he finishes, he looks up and tells the squire (whom we
shall name, unless the GMs already have a name picked out or it conflicts
with some other NPC, "Dignity") that "The armorer has done well.  Very
well.  Help me on with this?"

Dignity will probably need to shave in a season or two; he is an
accomplished squire and on his way towards eligibility for knighthood.
Given that he has a mild limp, you suspect that he may have been trying to
earn his knighthood very, very recently.  He has you into the armor in no
time.

We shall likewise assume that Brennan gives some common sense 
commands to Ruuk, Finley, Sense and Swift, then proceeds to head out 
in search of Bleys, or failing that, Caine.

The squire speaks briefly to the page, to whom he bears more than a
passing resemblance, and asks if you will ride or walk.  He will take you
to Bleys. We'll walk.

And he does.  Bleys is in his armor.  "Thank you, Dignity."  The lad bows,
appropriately. Brennan nods to this as well.

"Lead on, nephew."  Bleys armor looks highly decorative, and a man who had
not seen him lead the calvary charge that swept your opponents into the
abyss might be tempted to dismiss him as a fop. 

Brennan quirks an eyebrow-- it's a strange second who leads-- but
otherwise has no notable comment.  So, he leads.

Since Brennan is the one shifting Shadow, it's Bleys' responsibility
to keep his eyes open for more pressing and immediate problems, living or
otherwise.  Brennan tells him so, at the outset.

Bleys nods, bemused.  You get the feeling he has what he thinks are other
tasks, but doesn't feel overly burdened by adding 'defense' to his
watchlist.

They start out slowly enough, moving through the Shadows of this
region, but Brennan was paying attention to the shifts that were made
during yesterday's march, so he increases the pace rather quickly. It's
the pace through Shadow which he increases, with rapid shifts being the
norm.  Since Brennan doesn't favor extreme physical speed even when making
rapdi progress through Shadow, their steeds probably don't break past a
cantering speed.

Shadow...resists shifting, Your head hurts and it reminds you of
travelling along the Black Road. Brennan will be buggered and 
butchered before admitting that he's getting a headache from all this.  
Unless he's about to fall out of his saddle, he continues on giving no 
sign of it.

Bleys says "We'll have to get more distance before we even begin laying a
temporary path.  We'll either have to lead them to a better starting point
or trump them to it."

"Yeah.  Actually, I think we could do it, given enough time, but I'm
not feeling particularly experimental about all this right now."

Bleys shrugs.  "It wouldn't do to be slower than the army we were making a
path for..."

"My point exactly."

After this, the shadow travel becomes easier and you make more progress.
It still sometimes has the feeling of 'driving on ice', but you do get
somewhere.

Once he has a feel for the region, his first priority is going to be
finding and maintaining a vector through Shadows which have firm,
clear, mostly level ground for walking with no annoyingly quick
changes in gravity.  He suspects the army is going to be a long time
in walking, and leading them through regions of exploding sulfur pits,
ash-filled sink-holes, fissures every fifty yards, or tar flats would just
demoralize them.  Not to mention, be slower than hell.

Bleys occasionally directs you all towards something else.  He says it is
to make the shadow travel easier.  You don't know any reason why, but his
shortcuts always seem good in hindsight.

Brennan occasionally tries to make sense of all this and detect the
underlying pattern to it all, but he's saving his questions for later.
Only if Bleys gives suggestions that seem to completely contradict
themselves, somehow, will Brennan ask about his methods.

Until then, he just makes mental notes and builds a mental model.

As long as all the other parameters are livaeble and aren't whipping
areound too quickly, that's fine.  Once the ground vector is firmly
established, he can start working on the rest, achieving the air, the
skies, the sun, the flora and so forth, pressing Ygward, ever Ygward.

Ygg is a fair distance, and will not be reached in a day.  Not at a pace
that troops can be led through shadow.
As expected, really.  But he'd like to keep making progress without
too many extreme detours.

Bleys says, after a long time, "We'll rest the horses over the next hill."
There is a small valley that you did not expect, with a pond.  The sky is
not Yggs, but you are down to a sun that moves through the sky.  This is
an accomplishment.

After a while, if the going is peaceful or otherwise mostly
uneventful, he'll ask, "So how many more cousins do I have, back in
Amber?"

"Close cousins?  My daughter you heard about from Merlin.  I suspect that
my sister has a child.  My brothers and sisters were a secretive lot.
Given your father's...ah...designs, I think prudence was justified.
Random's son was almost a victim of his father's failure to hide him from
Brand."  Bleys says the last in a matter-of-fact tone.

Brennan gives a nod at this.

"I had wondered which poor bastard that I'd never heard of got stuck. Too
bad about that whole secrecy thing, though.  Had I known there were
others, I'd probably have told them there was a psychopath after any
arbitrary one of them."

He thinks a bit.  "It doesn't seem Random is the type to carry a
grudge across generations, though.  I guess I'll have to see about his
kid, though."

"I was happy to hear of your resourcefulness in avoiding my brother in his
more homicidal phase.  We needed the time to prepare to oppose him."

"I'm touched.  But you could have just asked me."

"And of course, following these last few days' deeds, my motives are
obviously unvarnished and innocent."  The bow is mocking.  "I think I was
informed of your resignation from the place of precedence in his plan
before he was."

Brennan shoots Bleys an amused look at the first and considers
strongly making a crack about his daughter being held in Amber as a
hostage to his good behaviour.  Some evil spirit of common sense
holds him back, though.  This time.  But the amusement shoudl be
enough to let Bleys know that Brennan is not an idiot.

The second rates a curious look and a, "How so?"

Bleys grins, wolfishly, "Given the way your father constructed that
shadow, we were always amazed that he never wondered where all that pesky
'dissent' was coming from..."

Brennan can really only roll his eyes at that.  Bloody Bleys, bloody
Brand, bloody family plots and intrigues.

He might say more but...

Bleys suddenly cocks his head, listening.  His hand is on his hilt and he
looks as if he may leap up at any second. 

...Brennan notices this, and though he is not noticeably tense, he is
obviously at the ready.  He'd been thinking this had all been too easy,
anyway, and he hates it when the cosmos disappoints him.

----------

Lilly awakens with her hand on the hilt of her sword. It takes a few
moments before her senses allow her to ease her grip. Realizing where she
is and that the danger, while seeming very real, existed in a different
place. All she could truly do right now was to remain alert.

Rising from her resting place, she set about tidying herself. Lilly gave
little thought to her appearance while at the same time remaining
meticulous in her routines. The end result was a woman of beauty who
always looked just so with none of the presumptions. In fact Lilly never
even considered herself attractive, just different.

As she finishes putting herself together she heads out to check on the
state of the men. Before they had all dreamed together. Part of her is
wondering if that was the case once again. She never directly asks that
question of anyone however preferring to ease drop on conversations for
the moment.

Lilly steps out of her tent into what cannot be called pre-dawn in this
place with no sun, but has a kind of glistening stillness.  In the far
distance, She sees two armored men on horseback departing the camp and all
around her the men sleep.  There seems to be some movement in camp, but it
is vague, and a light early morning fog makes them indistinct.

For all that she is in the midst of an Army, Lilly is so alone that she
can hear her own heart beat.

Before her, slowly unfolding like a flower or a child's toy, one of the
mossy rocks begins to take a human-ish form.  It stands perhaps two feet
tall and it looks over the camp as Lilly has just done.

"Greetings, child of Order.  You have intruded outside your place.  Do you
come arrayed for war to take it from us or do you intend to pay the price
for your trespass?"

The voice is disconcertingly high pitched and silky, unlike the craggy
skin of the little man.

It was odd how her mind worked sometimes. Most people would be caught up
in the creatures appearance. They would have a hundred questions racing
through their minds right about now. But Lilly was different. The first
thought in her head was simply *Never underestimate your opponent*.

It was that thought that reminded her that normal things didn't simply
appear from rock formations. Although he looked harmless enough there
really was no way to determine just how much power he could wield. With
that in mind, she managed to keep her hand from her sword.

"And what price would you have us pay?" Her voice was calm and steady. It
gave no hint of fear for there was none within Lilly. Right now she was
merely curios.

"There are many traditional payments.  Service, Sacrifice, Time.  Would
you give us a century?"  The grin shows a mouth full of mossy, irregular
teeth.

I assume Adonis awakes with an overwhelming sense of speed and urgency and
unbalance but how about the women with him? If they seem to be having bad
dreams and have not already done so, he'll wake them, comfort them [and
no, that does not mean shagging - unless want to] and then sing them back
to sleep with a lullaby.

While comforting them, he'll find out what their dreams were like.

The women have both had distressing dreams, but they can't really describe
the shape and form of them any more clearly than Adonis can. Odd scenes,
with no clue where they come from.

One of the women is unfazed by the nightmares, but the other is frightened
and requires (non-shag) comfort from Adonis.

Once they're back to sleep or more immediately if they aren't dreaming,
he'll grab his knife and Julian's card deck and take a look outside - he
doesn't waste time getting dressed; if the dreams are an urgent
premonition, he's needed outside, if they're not then he'll probably be
back in bed in a couple of minutes.

He was a little drained when he turned in, how refreshed does he feel?
He's still a little tired. This war is teaching everybody Corwin's trick:
catch up on your sleep when you can.Adonis isn't used to feeling tired, 
certainly not on a chronic basis - must be the lack of sex.

Adonis feels sufficiently concerned to have a look round outside. The fog
seems to be clearer in one direction, and Adonis looks that way. He sees
in the distance Lilly, who seems to be talking to someone or something. 

Wishing he had a wineskin to hand, Adonis starts walking toward Lilly,
knife in one hand, trumps in the other, otherwise stark naked. While
walking, he sniffs the air, but this place is little better than the
Valley and his senses tell him nothing [I presume].

"Service, sacrfice, time." Lilly repeats out loud as runs the phrase
through her head. In her mind she has already concluded that a fight might
be a better option. Still she did not want to have to needlessly sacrfice
more men on a battle feild she did not quite understand.

Her pause is longer then it needs to be purely for the effect of making it
look like she is thinking far longer and far harder then she is. Taking a
deep breath she finally respinds to his question. "Would *I* give you a
century? Perhaps. But I will not commit any who travel with me to such
things. I might be more willing to commit to a service on your behalf
should you have need of one with skills."

Lilly's current plan was simple. Keep him talking. The more information
she could garner, the more she could prepare for war.

"Oh, skills." it says, as if it knew what you had offered.  "We might
consider skills.  We might want your sword."

"So long as I remain the one bearing it and it does not go against my
moral code."

The little thing looks behind Lilly.  "Your godbrother approaches.  We
will not accept him in payment.  We have no use for sentient gods tainted
by order."

That was by far the most interesting assessment of Daeon she had heard.
Deciding in an instant that it was better to trust family before unknown
creatures, she kept her eyes on the rock thing. Her hearing focused though
as she tried to ascertain her cousins position.

As Daeon gets within hearing, the creature stands taller, reaching almost
to Lilly's waist.  "What do you offer us to make amends for your
tresspass?"   His voice is louder and he seems less friendly. 

Adonis walks up until he's standing next to Lilly, where he studies the
creature closely for a minute. If Lilly glances his way, he gives her a
wink unseen by the creature. Then he slowly walks in an arc to the left
until the angle between him and Lilly through the creature reaches 90
degrees, all the time scanning the area for more potential rock creatures.
He says nothing unless Lilly or the creature address him.

When he gets to his chosen position, he squats on his haunches a few
yards from the creature, thumbs the top card from the trump deck
[Caine's, of course] and just watches the thing, tapping his teeth with
his flint knife.

Lilly finds herself watching her odd cousin in spite of her efforts 
otherwise. *What is he doing?* His strange actions, coupled with his
nakedness, made him seem nothing less then completely insane in Lilly's
mind. But maybe that was the game.

She herself had thought it earlier. One could not effectively fight what
one could not understand. With a never before seen, bu her cousins anyway,
full smile, she addresses Daeon. "Cousin. Our friend here tells me we are
trespassing upon his lands and demands payment for our unintended
intrusion. That or we prepare for war. Have you an idea as to how to solve
this dilemma?"

Adonis seems aware that Lilly bestows her smiles sparingly and is
flattered, smiling back after his initial surprise at being addressed at
all. But on hearing her question, he seems flabbergasted, making as if to
reply several times but getting no further than 'ah', 'er' and 'um'.
Finally, he produces something coherent -  as is by now familiar to Lilly,
it's by no means certain whether he's addressing her, the creature or the
rectangular package in his left hand.

"I...think...the tale of this day will be told many times in years to come
by many diverse persons. They will tell one of two tales. 'Long ago, the
innocent people of a forgotten land one day woke to find the evil armies
of Amber, fresh from their treacherous victory of the Abyss, encamped on
their land without let or a by-your-leave. Asking only for their just due,
they requested payment in fine for the trespass. But the armies of Amber
were arrogant, and they turned on the people, setting dragons upon them,
and there was great burning and destruction. When the burning was done,
the Great Gods of Amber, of which I am but the least, turned their minds
upon that place, willing for it not to be. And lo! The land is no more and
it is as if its people had never been; none now know even the name of that
place or where it might once have existed.'"

"The second tale is very different. 'The armies of Amber, returning home
from their great victory of the Abyss, wandered long, footsore and weary,
seeking only their way home. One day they came to a place, which to their
untutored eyes looked much as any other, and decided to rest but a night
from their march. The people of that place, kind and good as all know them
to be, took pity on their weariness and visited them with such food and
drink as they had, giving succour unlooked for by their guests. The mighty
armies of Amber, led by their Great Gods, of which I am but the least,
left the next day, carrying the tale of that people's generous hospitality
to the far corners of the Earth, so that all who spoke of them, spoke
well, and greatly they benefited from the goodwill of all.'"

"The tales will be something like one of these, but it is your choice as
to which will be told: that of Destruction and Death <gesturing to Lilly
with his knife hand> or that of Love and Life <knife pricking his own
chest, apparently obliviously>." Adonis cocks his head to one side. "Which
of the two do you prefer?"

This last question seems directed to the world in general but Adonis
seems uninterested in the answer. He looks around before rubbing at the
spot of blood on his chest irritably and licking it from his finger,
glancing apologetically to Lilly.

"Oh, tales!  We love tales!  Would you tell us more?  That would be just
the thing!  His majesty will be pleased, I think.  Especially if you can
best our champion.  Is it a bargain?"

Besting a champion? In Storytelling? Now this *was* interesting. And more
then likely not as easy as it sounded. They might just have to fight that
war after all.

Adonis does a good impersonation of someone doing a fair job of hiding his
disconcertion. [Yes, I know it's a convoluted form of words but we're
going for precision, here.] "Um...well...I'm better with a song, really,
but I can do stories, too." He looks to Lilly, the card deck, Benedict's
tent in the distance and Lilly again. "Errm...*is* it a deal?"

It's a pity Brennan is not here, Lilly thinks to herself. He would
probably be enjoying this. Bringing her thoughts back to the more pressing
question at hand, the woman begins to analyze. Daeon has cards, that was
good. They both could fight if neccesary. And she certainly did NOT want
to go running to the Elders to fix this. With that last thought she spoke,
"Yes, I believe that will do. My cousin shall sing a tale for your people
accompanied by myself as his second."

Adonis gives her a long unreadable stare before going back to the
creature. She returned his look with just an ever so slight shrug of her 
shoulders. Lilly wasn't sure if they were doing the right thing, not by a 
long shot, but she wasn't going to admit it.

If nothing else it would buy some time. Should Daeon win, great. But even
a loss could prove beneficial. It would give Lilly time to observe, and
hence begin to understand, their adversary.

With a large grin and a slow nod, the small creature speaks again.  "The
bargain is accepted."   The fog, pulls away from your position, getting
thicker and layering itself into a small amphitheater.   Your host reaches
down and picks up some pebbles and dust from the ground and throws them
into the air.  They fall and grow into more beings like himself, landing
in the seats and filling the auditorium.  It looks like you will have an
audience.

He looks towards a box seat and says "I shall take you to meet the King.
Come with me." 

Looking again toward Lilly, Adonis steps forward, "I would be honoured."

Lilly nods once and follows. She's trying her damndest to maintain her
stoic expression. There was no point in letting these creatures think she
might be impressed or worse - confused. Still she couldn't help but to
wonder what she had gotten them into. At least the day was sure to be
interesting she thought to herself as they made their way across the
arena.

----------

Great downstrokes in unison and prodigious leaps put the dragon wings
quickly aloft.  The ground dwindles below them.

//J'lin wants us to lead.  He does not care which direction we go.//

//All right. Spread the word, we're not trying to follow the army.
We're going straight to Amber. I want to get the casualties to better
medical care than we can handle in the field.//

At that, Jovian and Canareth guide the wings out over a surging sea of
semi-liquid land. He sinks his metaphysical fingers into the stuff of
shadow and begins to work, starting with a cloud line on the horizon ahead
- not very thick, but a solid line that could grow to the sort of low deck
that heralds light to moderate rain. He pays careful attention to the
atmosphere, maintaining breathability, temperature and pressure foremost
while working up the bit of weather on the horizon.

As they approach the cloud bank, he guides the wings upward, above the
ceiling, until the world is only clouds and swirling sky. Only then does
he set to work on the colors of the sky, taking hold of the dominant color
and spreading it, blending in colors that don't wish to politely fade
away, easing the sky into a stable monochrome. For the nonce, if the
clouds want to change in interesting ways below them, he will permit this,
as long as they don't get too close or produce any noxious emissions.

With the sky a stable color, he then works on fading that color down
to a deep, rich indigo. If the color's hesitant to shift into the 
purple-blues too quickly, he'll ease up on hue and concentrate on
value, going for fairly dark...the idea being to follow it with a
relatively normal (even if oddly colored) sunrise.

He uses the darkness to his advantage as well, its softening of texture
and color allowing him to work on the cloud cover below - first to
solidify it in much the way the being that became Cloudeater solidified
below the wings over the Fixed Place, then to bring its appearance and
behavior more in line with something that could be called land. When the
sunrise comes, a barren but solid landscape will be ready to receive it.

The darkness is near complete and the fog near the ground is deep and
clammy.  The wings set down to allow the wounded to be tended to, briefly
and a quick meal to be prepared.  The Dragons seem restive, and no one
seems ready to sleep or to stay here very long.

A watch is kept, but it is not in the air.  L'tarn is in charge.  For no
obvious reason, he seems less exhausted than the other riders.

It seems no more than 20 minutes have passed when a light appears on the
horizon.  It is accompanied by a buzzing rhythmic noise.  The light, like
a reflection from a mirror, stabs out from something moving in the sky to
the ground.  It comes towards the dragons on the ground and the beam of
light moves towards them.

It seems curious and circles back after it's first pass.  Suddendly it
erupts, spitting something at the ground.  Green Sylanth screams as she is
hit by something and all the dragons roar defiance in reply.  However it
is L'tarn who is mounted and in the air to challenge the intruder.

The airborne intruder is not as agile as Monarth, but is armored.  It is
some sort of flying machine.  The machine throws it small fire and Monarth
dodges, but not quite fast enough.  Monarth dodges *between* and no
watcher breathes for the 3 seconds it takes to see if he will come back
out.

He does and has placed himself both well and poorly.  The wing of the
machine brushes his chest.  You hear an *Ooof* from Monarth and watch as
the wing of the machine disintegrates.  The machine spirals down towards a
foggy outcropping.  No one is really sure, but several people will later
swear that the machine seemed to be trying to grow a new wing when it ran
out of air and splashed into the ground.

Monarth is wounded and may have broken some ribs, but he can fly in his
wounded state, at least for some distance.  The whole conflict took less
than 20 heartbeats.

L'tarn is coming down when Ce'e calls out and points to the horizon. You
see many, many small lights and the buzz of the first flying machine is
replaced by a rumble.

Your flyers rush to get airborne.  You know that they are in no shape to
fight. 

"//Get above the fog and form up!//" Jovian roars, audibly and 
mentally at once. "//Stay close together and do not engage! DO 
NOT ENGAGE!//" The repetition is primarily for V'laren and L'tarn's 
second M'hall, already heading for the last of the greens' firestone
supply.

Canareth is the last into the air, as Jovian ensures that no wounded are
left behind. As they vault into position at the head of the wings'
formation, he's already taking hold of the fabric of shadow. His mind has
clicked into the cool discipline of battle by the time he feels the
conditions in his grasp, and he calmly searches for just the right detail
to add that will let him subtract pursuit....

Fireflies. Larger than normal but harmless fireflies. He leads the 
formation of dragons away from the oncoming lights, and at the 
right moment when everyone is looking away from them, he wills 
the fireflies into being over the next hill. With the buzz of the flying
machines' engines lost in the wind whipping around his ears, scores of
harmless meandering lights wander before him, and he imposes upon the
landscape the certainty that any lights behind them are also glowing,
herbivorous insects.

Had Jovian looked behind before he would have noticed that one at a time
the machines (were they machines?) stopped being what they were when they
came across the dragons and had become instead no more than tiny flying
lights.

Casually, calmly, but not yet directing the dragons to slacken their pace,
he glances over his shoulder.

The universe is as Jovian has pictured it, with pursuit turned to aimless
circling   The cost of such a jarring change is dear, though.  The fog,
previously light and low to the ground, rises rapidly.  You find yourself
flying headlong into an unpenetrable wall of grey mist, with no idea of
the state of the ground beneath you.  The sheer lack of visual references
prevents you from shifting.

Shit and crackdust. This was *not* in the equation...and it's also a
measure of how far out from anywhere we still are, if such a minor change
could be this jarring.

Jovian strains his senses, not expecting to peer through the mist, 
but hoping for other sensory cues - a scent in the air, a sound, a 
change in temperature that might mean they were passing over 
water, anything.

Then it dawns on him - if shifting is a matter of adding and 
subtracting sensory input...

//Canareth, ask J'lin how well he thinks we can keep the dragons 
together if I try to shift shadow by sound and smell.// He is tempted to
impose the sound of a foghorn in the distance, but he holds back, awaiting
his father's answer.

//J'lin says 'I doubt if they would lose physical cohesiveness, if that is
what you are asking.'//

Somehow the Dragon has your father's voice, and if it wasn't so spot on,
it would be funny.  You can't quite tell if he is intentionally imitating
him or not. //He thinks we can buy some time to figure out an answer by
circling.  Hoshith is keeping anyone from going between.  She knows it is
not safe, but the greens are excitable.// 

//We do not have time to loiter - Sylanth and Maranth especially
will need rest,// Jovian reminds his dragon, and by extension his
father. //I see his point; no shadow-shifting, but we've got to do
something. I'm going to try exerting a little pressure on probability,
*without* actually leaving this shadow. Just enough to give us a
freshening breeze to thin out this fog. Let J'lin and Bloodflower know,
I'll need them to keep a careful watch so we don't get separated.//

They agree and you do so and you manage to determine that there is land
below you.  The dragons settle down but as you stop moving forward, the
fog pools back in.  The dragons form a circle and you are inside it.  You
can only see a few feet in front of you.  When you all finally find each
other, it is clear that you have bought time, but not a solution.

Flora, at least is positive.  "At least it's not toxic fog."  She smiles,
or you assume she does.  She would.

"That's a start anyway. But anything could come at us out of it, 
particularly anything hostile with echo-location. I don't think we 
should stay here long if we can avoid it." Jovian's brows knit, or 
perhaps even crochet, as he considers the situation.

"I was able to push the fog back enough to see something when I 
concentrated on it," he thinks aloud, "but trying to shift shadow 
would release my concentration on the wind and sock us in again. 
What about a team effort, with one of us pushing at the fog and 
another shifting as soon as there's enough of a visual to work with? Are
we too likely to get separated that way?" The question is addressed
primarly to his father, but Flora is certainly still included.

Julian looks over the riders and dragons and the wounded.  "It's a risk,
certainly.  I'm not sure they can go on as of yet anyway."

Flora speaks up.  "J'rim, the poor dears are exhausted.  Let them rest. Or
at least don't make them fly anymore.  It can't be good for the wounded,
either.  All this launching and landing."

The wingleader looks around him - not that he can see even vague 
silhouettes of the giant beasts surrounding them - and nods slowly,
realizing as he does how long it's been since the brief respite he 
allowed himself back in the valley-cum-vessel. His own weariness 
catches up to him, adding a few stone of extra weight to his head and
shoulders.

"You're right, it's been a long enough day. We should all rest before
trying to continue - do we have any indication there's such a thing as
morning in this place?" The question is purely rhetorical and he knows it.

//We're going to rest here, Canareth,// he advises, //much as I don't like
the place. Dragons in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, riders inside the
circle. I don't know how much good keeping a watch will do in this fog,
but I'd feel better if not all of you slept at once.//

"Meantime, if either of you know something about medical treatment of
Chaosians, I'm a bit concerned about Aisling. I don't know how far off
normal she is, but she's been unusually warm and rambling in her sleep.
And asleep this whole time, at that, which figures given her exertions
keeping the valley coherent." The fog may or may not obscure the lines in
his face hinting that he's more worried than he lets on, but his voice
remains level if a bit worn.

Julian asks Ce'e.  Ce'e replies reluctantly, as if he is passing his own
death sentence.  "Perhaps she needs nourishment..."

"Does it seem to you that we should wake her before she's ready
to see if she'll eat?" Jovian's tone is dubious, and he shakes his
head a little even as he asks.

Ce'e agrees.  You get the feeling that Ce'e will agree to anything.  He
returns to where Aisling is resting.

The rest passes uneventfully and the wounded are somewhat improved.
Shall I speculate about the sort of dreams Jovian has? And never
mind external time cues, if such there be - how long does his body
tell him he's slept?

He's tired, but twitchy.  Not a full night, but almost.  Not a good night,
either.  He is reminded of the tales of the start of the pass, and how the
dragons and riders slept fitfully in the days before the first fall after
the star was in the stone.

Kourin approaches J'rim.  "Resting was a good idea, but we can't let it go
on too long.  Nobody's saying anything yet, but riders are starting to
wonder if we're going to get home at all.  You probably need to get the
wingleaders and seconds together and tell everyone what's going on, and
when we're getting out of here."

Jovian ponders this, and realizes that every time he considers how 
long it's been since they left the Citadel, he comes up with a 
different answer. Or no answer at all and a profoundly disorienting 
sensation in his gut. For him especially, this is a very disturbing 
feeling.

"You're right," he nods slowly. "Let's get the lot together in ten, 
fifteen...." He pauses, looks a touch queasy. "I'll have Canareth 
spread the word when."

He next seeks out his father, to take up the discussion of the 
previous...arbitrary span of something like time.

"Well," Jovian sighs, "I haven't had any brainstorms over...what
passes for night. So unless you have some thoughts on the matter,
I'll either try to shift by sound and scent--" this is clearly not his
first choice, "or shift visually while you or Florimel conjure up a
breeze to thin this fog. What do you think?"

Julian thinks for a moment.  "Perhaps we should awaken your cousin.  Even
if she does need the rest, she may have other needs.  She certainly has
the best chance of knowing how to shadowwalk in a place like this."

Aisling is with Flora, Kourin and the wounded.  Ce'e is at her side,
mopping her brow.  Her affine seems perplexed, but this is apparently what
Flora told him to do. 

Jovian kneels by Aisling's side, surveying her and again wondering 
what could be considered 'normal' for a shapeshifter of her sort. 
Almost reflexively he puts a hand out to smooth her...ummm... 
hair? streamers? but hesitates and withdraws.

He leans in close and speaks, in tones low and gentle yet urgent. 
"Aisling, can you hear me? We need you, Aisling. *Your affine 
needs you.*"

She makes a quiet little noise of the "go away, I'm trying to sleep"
variety. She is looking quite a bit better...  Like she's asleep, instead of
feverishly unconscious.

He touches each cheek with the back of his hand, in a gesture 
that's mostly checking for lingering fever but partly caress as well. She's 
about as warm as she was when they started out; no longer the "good
god, how is she alive" heat. He continues in the same tone but a more 
conversational volume: "Hey, Fledgling. Are you in there? Canareth needs 
to ask you something too."

She screws up her eyes, then blinks blearily a couple times, and then the
peaceful looks of sleep leaves her and she kind of tenses back from his
hand, a flash of panic quickly smoothed into the pleasant look of
neutrality that's probably her "oh shit" expression.  "Jovian...?" she
murmurs, and her eyes flick to the sides to take in her surroundings
without moving.

He draws his hand away unhurriedly, not flinching in response. 
"Himself and none other. We're safe for now. You did a great job, 
everyone got out of the valley just fine and we're on our way home." He
gives her his very best oh-you-benificent-goddess smile.

"You're with the dragons and the casualties, the ground forces are 
traveling separately. We're still a ways from Ygg, and socked in, 
fog's too thick to shift properly. So we've gotten some rest. How are you
feeling?"

"Like I could eat a horse, raw," she admits, relaxing some and granting
Jovian a warm smile at the report.  

She scootches back up to a sitting position, looks around with interest at
the vague forms looming in the fog, takes some deep breaths, picking up
scents.  She rubs her face with her hands--  hand, with a small grimace
and a yawn.  "Was there something about to happen...?"

"Something was about to consider happening," Jovian admits 
affably. "I've just decided it's very likely that we'll find a grove of
trees with edible fruit just beyond our perimeter that-a-way. But the
dragons will need to hunt soon, and we have to find you your horse to eat
- I won't hold you to raw; some of the dragons might even volunteer to
roast it for you." There is some sincerity behind the wingleader's
mischievous smile.

She smiles and shrugs, and combs her fingers through her mostly lavender
hair to try to work out some of the tangles from the flight.

"That means traversing Shadow a bit more, which means getting 
out of this fog. A discussion was about to be had on how best to 
manage that without the risk of getting the wings separated."

"Why not just decide the fog ends at the grove of fruit trees?" Aisling
asks, trying to get a handle on the situation.

"Shadow is still a little jumpy here," Jovian explains. "What should have
been a minor change last, umm...arbitrary temporal demarcation...turned
into a fairly abrupt shift. And then there are the dragons, who have to
follow by sight to shift with us. Rather difficult when we can't see more
than a rod in any direction." He gestures toward Kourin, only a few feet
away but draped in haze. "Anyway, I tried working probability against the
fog while you were out, but as soon as I let go of it, we were socked in
again.

"We had a couple options on the table, but wanted the opinion of 
someone who travels out this way often and has a feel for the 
vagaries of Chaos-flavored Shadow. The essence of the question is 
twofold - what factors will shift dependably, and how best to keep 
everyone together in the process. I was thinking one of us could 
work probability against the fog, as you suggested, while the other 
shifts, but Dad thinks we'll have trouble staying together that way." 

Aisling faintly blushes, looks down for a moment before looking back to
Jovian to see how he takes this, "I am not one who has travelled Shadow
often, and I do not believe I have the skill to shift or 'work
probability'.  It may be that you have awoken me in vain..."  

And then before he can reply she goes on, "What I can point out that may
not have occurred to you or your father is that your nature, and to a
lesser degree that of your men, cries out and emanates Order, a powerful
ability to affect what Is here in Chaos.  And few, if any, parts of Chaos
appreciate that taint you bring.  They want you gone; perhaps you can use
that?  I suppose," she says with a somewhat guarded glance around the
area, "I could try to Deal with the mist..."

"Persuade it that it's in its own best interest to step aside and let us
through?" Jovian has a wryly speculative look around, ending with a glance
at Aisling's affine. "I suppose it's barely an appetizer for a Cloudeater
after all. And if the best you can do is hold it at bay while the rest of
us get the dragons through to a clearer shadow, we can catch you up by
trump." He straightens up, then bends down toward Aisling, extending a
hand. "Do you feel fit to stand?"

"Hmf" says Flora.

"Flora..." says Julian.

"No, no.  Nothing.  I'm sure it's not a good idea."

"You know, dear sister, that I hate it when you try to draw us into
coaxing you.  Out with it, we'll determine if it's a good idea after we
hear it."

"Well.  I was just thinking..."

"Apparently, yes.  Go on!"

"The affine.  Could Cloudeater eat the mist?"

[Pause for Jovian and Flora to share a self-congratulatory look at their
simultaneous revelations.  ;)  ]

Jovian's look is amused, actually, as he intended his observation to be
wry humor. But just before the laugh escapes him, he gets a thoughtful
look on, and indulges in a long, speculative gaze at the affine.

Aisling smiles in Flora's direction, directing her voice so it reaches her
aunt.  "Once there is order about the question, why, the answer is a mere
step away!"  She waves aside Jovian's hand, turning to Ce'e, who is still
kneeling at her back.  "How about it, my own affine?  Do you think that
you could even yet clear in this mist a hole large enough for the dragons
to fly out of, each seeing the others?"  She casts on him a look such that
she hopes he will know that she will be just as happy with him no matter
than answer.

"I suggest you whisper your answer in your Lord's ear," Jovian adds in a
low, penetrating voice. "Even if you're not sure you can do it, the threat
of it may be enough to persuade the fog to let us through." It might be
possible for the most perceptive among us to see the amusement he's
working on containing.

Ce'e looks at Aisling and says to Jovian "I don't think so, Lord.  Can
they walk?"

"Well, yes, of course they can," Jovian answers. "Are you thinking of
opening a passage in the fog they can walk through single file?"

"No, my lord, I was not thinking at all.  It was just that you asked if I
could eat enough fog to allow them to fly and that would be so much more
than if they were walking." 

"Why, if you could eat enough fog to clear a passage so that they could
walk out single file, that would be grand," Aisling states, smiling.  "Can
you?"

Ce'e says.  "I think so.  It depends on how long and how much you need me
to do." Aisling smiles at him.

Flora laughs, bell-like tones penetrating deeply into the fog.  She claps
her hands.

"Jules!  Rappelez le Cirque de Paris?  When you visited me a few centuries
ago?  The Compte de Foix was such a gentleman, letting us use his box. Do
you recall the elephants, all walking trunk to tail?  Could your dragons
do that?"

The great-granddaughter of Benedict cocks her head a bit at this, picking
out the meaning...

Jovian smiles with excessive sweetness. "Flora dear, the dragons under my
command--" a subtle emphasis there, "are more intelligent than those
elephants. Possibly more intelligent than some of our relatives. I'm
certain they can manage."

...and then it is her turn to suppress a laugh, the brightness of her eyes
and trembling of her streamers giving away her merriment.
Julian quirks the corner of his mouth, although it's not clear to anyone
whether it's his sister or his son who has amused him. He says nothing.

Flora says, "I wouldn't be surprised if your dragons" and the subtle
emphasis matches Jovian's, "are smarter than some of our family. But
that's such a low hurdle sometimes. They don't look like they were made
for walking, though, the poor dears; but if you say they can, they can."

"They are a little awkward on the ground," Jovian concedes. "I wouldn't
want to make them go any great distance on foot. But as long as we can
establish a line of sight to *some* feature of the landscape, we should be
able to move into clearer air."

"I will leave you two, then," which is, Jovian and Cloudeater, "to work
out best how to arrange our cavalcade so that Cloudeater need dispose of
the smallest amount of this fog.  Meanwhile, you mentioned that we were
shepherding the wounded?  I have some small Skill in that area..."  Aisling
stands in a single liquid motion.

"The wounded are being kept by the Queen's Wing. Ask for Markyta," Julian
says to Aisling.

Aisling bows slightly and moves off into the fog, in the direction of the
whiff of Hoshith-scent she caught earlier.  Eventually, no doubt, she
comes across the queens...  There's, what, 20-some dragons left?  Smallish
circle.

Jovian watches Aisling go for the few steps she is visible, then turns to
Cloudeater. "You've seen the size of the leading gold dragon, Hoshith," he
begins without preamble, nodding in the direction that ought to be where
the senior queen is waiting. "Can you carve a tunnel in this, big enough
for her to walk through? Say, a half pipe of fifty foot radius?"

He squints into the middle distance, which under these conditions is
really quite close. "Maybe once you've started, we can convince the fog to
part for us if we promise to leave it unmolested...." He stops, with an
expression as if he just started listening to himself, puts one hand over
his eyes and shakes his head slowly.

Ce'e gives Jovian a look that says 'I am too polite to comment on your
bizarre disfunction that makes you think *this* fog might be
*intelligent*, but I will jolly you along."  Sadly this look is one water
point higher than Jovian has, so all he notices is 'a funny look'.

"And you all will walk inside it? "  Ce'e is nodding.  He stares off into
the fog and you notice that he is changing.  Growing larger, hotter, and
sprouting wings.  The fog in his immediate area begins to burn off and he
leaps into the air and flys in circles around you, clearing a small patch.
He lands, perhaps closer than you'd like considering his temperature, and
says.  "I think so, but it closes back in very quickly." 

She locates Markyta, speaks to any of the other riders who happen to be
around as well, with a small bow.  "Hello; I'm Aisling-- I don't think
you've seen me in this form before.  I'd like to help out with the
wounded; I have a certain ability to aid healing...  What have you got?"

Presumably she'll get a rundown of the conditions of the poor army guys
stuck out here, and figure out where to best apply her voodoo.  

Marius is by far the worst case, being so unconscious that not even an act
of GM Fiat will wake him.  There are a number of other wounded, the worst
being the burned.  However, their healers are apparently experts in burns.
The next worst class is those who have been maimed in battle and those
with gut wounds who risk (or have) infections.  Your help is appreciated
and useful.  You find the work physically tiring.  The dragon riders are
all very interested in you and want to know as much as possible about
J'rim and J'lin 's "real" home...

They've come to the right place.  :)

She, in turn, is fascinated by them, and their dragons, and "J'lin" and
"J'rim".  She'll happily trade off ancedotes about the beauties of Amber,
the air currents, the economy, the people, the history, the royals,
whatever they're interested in, in return for similar information on their
homeland, and answers to questions like "Should I address your dragons
directly, and include them in conversations?  How do you talk to them?
What do they eat?  What are they like?  Does the color and size of the
dragon mean anything?  Why do you call our mutual friends J'rim and J'lin?
Tell me the story of J'lin's history with Calusa..."

She can keep up a whirlwind of information, drawing it out of people,
passing it around, for a long, long time.  In fact, she's having a blast.

Dragons may be addressed directly, but one should not expect a response or
even an acknowledgement.  They have their ways and talk to (and of) who
they please.  We just hear them in our heads and they hear us when we talk
to them.  When we first impress or when we are under stress, we may speak
out loud, but it isn't necessary.  They eat herdbeasts (which, based on
their descriptions, are Llama-like creatures), generally no more than 1 or
two a week, depending on the season and their level of activity.  They
think you are interesting and want to know how you change yourself.  They
are like children in some ways.  They are mature and responsible, but they
do not plan or lead.  Sometimes they surprise us, but for the most part
they do not have the same kind of memory that we have.  Color and size are
sex and gender linked.  Females are Green or Gold, with the Green being
small and infertile.  Blue, Brown, and Bronze are male.  A normal mating
pair of adults is Bronze and Gold.  These are the colors ridden by the
weyr leaders and wing leaders.  Only the Queens (gold dragons) lay eggs.

Not many of these riders knew J'lin other than by name.  It is known that
he had a reputation as a lucky flier and that his wings tended to inherit
his luck.  His dragon died and he retired, which is what people do, some
time ago.   Now that they know about his odd mental powers, stories of his
'oddness' (and J'rim's as well) are surfacing.

They are fascinated by your tales of Amber, and you can tell some of them
want to fly over her cliffs and heights.  They speak as if they thought it
was a great forest... 

And if any of the riders happen to have anything at all edible on them,
she's certainly put in a request for such.  While she does appreciate the
not-dying etc, she's beginning to get a wee bit annoyed that Oberon
didn't, say, pack her a lunch and a change of clothes as long as he was
transporting her across the entire universe.  Not like she expects the
king of reality to pack lunches.  But it would have been nice.  

They offer you something called Klah, which is apparently named for the
face you make when you drink it.  The fruits they offer are less
imaginatively named.

Ah, well; she's not picky.  And if this "Klah" is hot, that goes a long
way...

----------

At this moment a volley of arrows flies over the hill raining murder on
the spot where Brennan and Bleys were speaking moments ago.  Brennan and
Bleys are not where they were.  Like synchronized swimmers or well trained
acrobats, Brennan has made a diving roll to the left and Bleys the right,
escaping the deadly volley.  Brennan tumbles to a crouch and his hand has
sprouted a dagger.  The wicked throwing blade does not rest there long,
but instead is thrown at the spot where their attackers have appeared.

The first of the other side is mounted: or was.  Brennan's knife has made
the horse rear and it is not certain he will keep his seat.

By this time, Bleys has leapt astride his mount and is spurring it towards
the cluster of attackers.

Brennan gets a good look at them; wan-skinned, angular beings with more
joints than men, they are bald and gaunt and tall.  They all look
identical, but they have a wide variety of weapons, none of which are
bows. Unless this goes badly, Bleys will scatter the riders as he goes
through, but they should be able to re-form.  There are less than a dozen
of them in sight.

Since Bleys rolled in the direction of the horses, Brennan is more or less
out of luck on that account since he dove the other direction.  

"Find the archers!"  He shouts to Bleys, as he makes what will
probably have to be the last viciously quick, underhand knifet hrow
of the fight off toward the half-mounted leader.

The blade flies in a low, flat arc at the gray-skinned rider and might
have hit him if he had not parried the blade.  It does not all go his
way, however, as the thrown knife finds some flaw or impurity in the
sword and breaks the top third off.  The edge is jagged, but
serviceable.

'First the horse, then the blade.  Next time it's you, punk.'  
These are the words written across Brennan's face, and if these mere
Shadows do not understand what it is to fight the blood of Amber, they
shall soon.

Then it's a sprint into the scattered mass of angular men with
death and vengeance, and a shield with a burning tower held before
him.  Just after Bleys scatters them with his charge, and hopefully
keeps going to deal with the archers, Brennan falls upon them, taking
advantage of their confusion and disorganization and striking like a bolt
of lightning in the dark. 

He uses his speed, strength and skill to best effect, using their own
numbers against them, and his first priority is to keep them confused and
off balance, killing quickly if he can, disarming if he can.

Of course, if it goes badly, Bleys might need a little help.

The leader shouts in a language that you do not know.  Half of them head
down the hill, but a handful (four, when you take the time to count) are
still here and are all facing you.  He points his 2/3 of a sword at you
and heads towards you, speeding up as he approaches.  If he fights as
well as he rides, you're in trouble.

Brennan gathers himself and stands his ground, giving their leader a
glare like a blow torch hitting a copper blade.  He fixes his sword
and shield in his hands and paws the earth once, twice, to set his
footing.  His blade catches the rays of the sun that he had placed in the
sky as the rider approaches.  

At the last moment, he steps aside and sweeps out with his blade,
using his reach and his unbroken weapon to compensate for the height
advantage of his mounted opponent.  He strikes with as much strength
and precision as he can manage to bring him off the horse from the
shock of it.

The blow is strong and true and deep, and something must give in this
meeting and for a moment it might be Brennan, but the horse's girth gives
way and the saddle, rider, and all tumble to the earth.  Brennan takes a
moment to skewer the fallen rider before leaping onto the back of horse.
The body does not stay on the ground but drifts up into the air.

As Brennan wheels to face the other three riders, he sees that Bleys has
accounted for some half-dozen or so of the pale bowmen and is facing down
the handful of riders who came after him.

The three facing Brennan hesitate, and two of them step forward, shielding
the last.  They do not charge, but are set if you do. 

Brennan calmly notes the opposing three riders, the dead horseman
heading off in the wrong direction to his final reward, the dead archers
in the distance, Bleys facing down the other horsemen, and the horsebow
and arrows tied to the remaining shreds of the reins and saddle. Looks
pretty good quality, too, with a high draw weight, and sharp, silver
arrows.

It's a smoothe enough motion, pulling them free, aiming quickly, and
firing once, twice, as many times as they can before they realize that
they brought swords to an archery contest.  Brennan wears an expression
that would be wry, if it weren't so cold and vicious.

First the guy in the middle, who looks like he's up to some sort of
mischief over there.  Then the guy on the right; then the guy to the
left that he thinks he slashed on the first pass through, unless or
until he's forced to draw his blade again and finish them off up close and
personal.

Nothing fancy, just trying to kill them with the most likely shot,
based on whatever armor the first dead guy hopefully wasn't wearing.
In the midst is an idle thought of whether Lilly would have been
smart enough to dive *toward* her horse, instead of away, in the same
situation-- quickly banished before it can distract him.

The first shot is clean and true, but is too late to prevent the manlike
creature from sounding a horn, long and loud. You arrow stops the call and
the rider abruptly.

The second and third shots are also well placed, although in both cases
they do not kill.  The second glances off that rider's forearm and the final
shot grazes the scalp of the third, leaving a bloody crease on it.

You've done well to shoot at all, bareback as you are, but they will be
upon you too soon to fire another round.  You switch to your sword and
ride to one side, managing to meet the nearest rider first.  He closes on
you and you attack from horseback, snapping his damaged arm with your
sword. He falls to the ground, momentarily, at least, not a problem.

You turn quickly because the last one should be behind you, ready to
strike.  It looks as if he would have been, had not Bleys, who also seems
to have found a bow, not neatly perforated him in enough places that he is
now floating skyward.

"I hate these things.  It's good that they weren't really trying to kill
us."  says the Prince, who has ridden up to Brennan.  He turns to face
you. "Well done."  He says, nodding towards the skywards parade.  "Did you
hear the answer to the horn?"

"Thanks, and no, but paranoia and prudence both dictate that the horn was
heard.  How about we exit, Shadow Left, to a place where the horn didn't
sound and thus could not possibly have been replied to, while you tell me
all about them?"  Brennan is already moving, on the captured horse, back
toward his own, so that he can transfer to a mount with proper saddle and
his own gear.

If he had to drop his bow in the fight, then there is, by Kolvir, a
replacement waiting for him on his own.  Nice, sturdy, clean and
elegant, with a construction suitable for the strength of Amber in
Brennan's arms.

After a bit, Bleys halts.  It is hard to distinguish what makes this
ground more suitable than any other, unless it is a lessening of the
violence of the changes that even subtle shifts bring about.  You are on a
hilltop overlooking a cropped grassy plains.  The land has definite
*features* now, and the sky is more steady.  You suspect that you have
passed into the great empty spaces that are beyond Ygg.  While you are
unlikely to run across a choas-lord, you are also far from home.
...And Brennan looks slightly pleased with himself.

Bleys asks you to have a quick look around, and draws forth a deck of
familiar cards.This Brennan does with some speed and efficiency.
One assumes that he doesn't find anything too much, given his desire
to find a quiet place.

There's nothing exciting. Just two guys and a Trump deck.
Sounds like a bad comedy movie.
But actually, there's two decks, since Fiona never collected hers, and
somehow Brennan feels like he should be doing something, rather than
waiting for things to occur.

Maybe he should try contacting Amber, unless he knows outright
that he's going to fail.

He tries, then, but he is unable to get a connection with either Random or
Gerard.

When you get back he has only a brief report.  "We'll wait here for a bit,
then begin transferring troops through.  They can't find Lilly or Adonis."

That surprises him, though.
"They got lost?  Were they trying to go somewhere?"

It's not immediately clear whether he means Lilly and Daeon
specifically, or the Ever Victorious Army as a mass.

"They are your cousins. Who knows where they are capable of going
together?" Bleys asks, somewhat rhetorically, arching an eyebrow.

Brennan lets that insinuation crawl around on the inside of his skull for
about a half a second before rejecting it.  He's sure Lilly has better
taste, er, sense than that. Bleys smiles, as if he can read Brennan's 
train of thought.

"Speaking of cousins," he says, "I believe you mentioned I have at
least one more.  She is in Amber, I take it.  Tell me about her?"

"My daughter? Yes, she's waiting in Amber. She's a lovely young woman.
Raised in Shadow, but she's had the best training I could arrange. I
taught her what I could, and Fiona taught her more." Bleys pauses, then
continues: "She was your father's student as well, for a time." 

Whatever good mood (for Brennan) that he was in evidently passes, at
that.  "With what did you need to threaten him, to keep her
unperforated?" he asks, in a flatter voice than before.

Bleys frowns back.  "Well, instant death, of course.  I ran her off from
him as soon as I found out.  She always was...headstrong."  He pauses
briefly.  "Rather like I was at that age, really."

Something in there, though Bleys probably won't know what, appears to
mollify him.  Slightly.  Brennan should really not like Bleys, but like
Corwin, almost against his will and certainly against his better
judgement, he does.  For now, anyway.

Bleys' frown is gone and his grin is somewhat feral.  "You father had a
glass jaw you know."

"I left before I had the chance to break it.  Pity, really."

"Hmm.  Caine wants us to start moving the troops through.  It will be
harder without your cousins, but we'll try to find them after the troops
go through.  I can't imagine Benedict will leave them behind."

Brennan gives his characteristic shrug, and the same, "Let's rock,"
that he had given to Caine the day before.

-----------

The king of the rock people is no more physically imposing than his
subjects, and looks deceptively friendly.

"Greetings ordered ones.  My hobgoblin tells me that you offer a challenge
to our champion as payment for your transgression.  I suspect that he has
tricked you into accepting his bargain, for that is his way.  I shall
forbid him from killing either of you during this challenge, as your
trespass was inadvertent."

"Your majesty is gracious and we offer our greetings in turn. Might we ask
the name of our generous host?"

Lilly suddenly finds herself gaining respect for her cousin. One could
determine much from someone based simply upon how they felt about names.
She keeps her greeting to a simple bow allowing the King ample time to
respond to Daeon's question.

"The ancient rules apply.  You shall each tell a tale, during which your
opponent may try to stop you by any means physical or magical that he sees
fit.  The contest continues until one of you cannot top the tale told by
the other.  I see your second is armed and that you are as well.  Is there
aught else you need before we begin?"

Adonis raises one eyebrow, throwing a laconic glance toward Lilly before
smiling back to the king. "A few moments to prepare."

The nude young man takes Lilly by the elbow and half turns her from the
Royal box, "Pater has told me, several times, that I am too trusting," he
murmers, "but it occurs to me that our hosts may not be as true to their
word as we could wish, neither may the tale I had in mind to tell
be...appropriate. I think I may have a tactic to use against their
champion but you will have to ensure the opposing second does not
interfere." He pauses for a second. "If it looks as if I will lose, I
think we should cheat; they probably won't respect us if we don't. What do
you think?"

"I think I never cheat... first. Should they try something though, I shall
not let it go unanswered. Mind you I am not saying you shouldn't either,
follow your instincts." Adonis nods, he's good at instincts.

Also, do not worry about the appropriateness of your story, this shall buy
us time, time I need to note their weaknesses. And do not concern yourself
with the actions of the champions second, I will keep her or him... or it
for that matter... in check."

That was by far the most any of her cousins has ever heard her say. Lilly
was exuding confidence, not just in herself but in Daeon as well. Any
second guessing over this choice is done. Now was the time to act not
question.

"Please be not too quick with your sword, cousin. I would like to win
through this without bloodshed on either side, if at all possible - it
will create fewer problems in the longer view...and we have seen enough
blood."

Most unexpectantly Lilly then smiled once more. "Perhaps cousin you should
request armor. You would not want to injure the family jewels." Maybe,
just maybe, Lilly had a sense of humor buried beneath that serious
exterior after all.

Adonis smiles warmly. First radiant smiles, then long speeches and now
interest in his wedding tackle; the Ice Maiden thaws, perhaps. "I
appreciate your concern, Lilly, and promise you I shall do my best to
remain intact." He brushes back a lock of her hair with a touch she barely
feels before turning back to the King.

The look in Lilly's eye is a priceless mix of confusion, repulsion and
curiosity, the latter being the most difficult to see. The slight blush in
her cheeks though, that is obvious. *Damn I hate dealing intimately with
people* she thought to herself. Fighting wars was so much easier.

Adonis pauses, eyes shut, for a few seconds. "Where is your champion?" he
asks, then opens his eyes.

The small rock man next to you turns and faces you, bowing.  "I am that
good fellow.  You should call me 'Hob'."  He says.  He leans down next to
him and begins piling rocks on top of each other.  "This is my second." 
He says.  He speaks a word.  "Caliban!"  And the pile of rocks unfolds
like a granite flower and bows as well.

Instantly Lilly begins to size up the opponents. She could not help but
feel that they had been manipulated. This trip had been affecting her
brain, badly, it would seem. How did one defeat rock? [Damn there is never
enough paper around when you need it...]

Hob leaps lightly up Caliban until he is standing on his forehead.  "As
the challenged it is my right to choose if you or I go first.  I waive
that right due to your ignorance of our ways.  You decide if you shall
start this or if I shall."

You note that Hob seems to have picked up a spear in his climb up Caliban.
It is about two and a half feet tall, which is about how tall he is.

Adonis seems to enjoy amiling warmly at people and does not stint for
Caliban and Hob, offering his hand. "I am pleased to have such a gracious
opponent." He thinks for a second. [Mmm! Put 'em in and bowl 'em out!] "By
all means please start the contest."

In that instant all the insecurities that have been creeping up on Lilly
seem to melt from her. She appears poised, confident, ready for anything.
Her eyes watch Caliban and Hob with an intensity seldom seem in any save
her father. It was clear she was analyzing their every move, every word.
Victory would be theirs.

Caliban starts turning in place, but Hob doesn't move.  Hob says "I will,
Princess and Godling, I will.  I know a tale you will, I think,
appreciate."

Caliban is getting wider, growing into something like a stage.

"A tale, Gentlebeings and deities, of events that shaped our age, and may
yet reverberate through the history of history.  A tale of the days of
your parents' youths, a thing which no child can truly believe in."

"In days when the great Kingdom was very different than it is now, there
lived a young Prince, strong and handsome, if rash.  He had seen much
strife in his life, and been told of earlier, greater struggles by his kin
and of the implacable enemy who lived beyond the Kingdom's borders. 
Prince Arthur, for that was his name, learned much of the arts of war from
his family, and became a scholar of violence, and resolved to learn all
there was to know of it, if it took him until the end of time and cost him
all he loved.

"The enemies of his father the King knew of the Prince's resolve and vowed
to exploit it, and did all they could to find a weakness in him.  It is
said that in those days, the relationship between the kingdoms was more
cordial, with each side visiting the other and with sworn foes feasting
together on the eve of battle, but who can trust tales told of a time
before The Fall?

"It is said that they spent many years trying to build a trap for the
Prince, but that they failed again and again.

"Meanwhile in a court far from the land of the Prince's kinfolk, a mighty
Princess prepared for war.  Her elders became convinced that this least of
the Princes could not be captured and that the cause of deception would
fail.    She was sent to observe him, to learn his ways, and to become a
shield for her people if he were to attack them.

"For some months she did so, as he watched battle after battle and formed
tactics and strategies and tested them.  She grew fascinated and perhaps
more, but she did not reveal that to herself at the time.

"The Princess began testing the Prince, making his battles harder, more
unpredictable.  Using her magics, she would make the opposing troops
stronger or smarter, or the wind  turn just so at sea, always testing his
battle plans, always telling herself it was to learn his ways.

"Always Prince Arthur was victorious.  After a time, the Princess
Guinevere could stand it no longer and felt she must test herself against
the Prince in battle.  She arranged a fight so evenly matched that it
could only be decided on the basis of the skill of the commander and for
this fight, she commanded the Prince's foes.

"The battle was hard-fought and balanced on knife's edge for days, while
each contestant fought with amazing skill.  The feats accomplished by the
soldiers, the sheer audaciousness of the command, the fire that each spent
have not been matched to this day.  In the end, they say, only the Noble
combatants survived.

"Their duel, it is said, was the stuff of legend.  For a full fortnight
they fought, and it took that long for Princess Guinevere to determine two
things.  The first was that she was no long convinced of her superiority
at arms.  The second was that she did not know if she would kill him if
she could.

"She told him as much and he stepped back, still holding a defensive pose.
She told him that he must not gloat in his victory or she would hate him
forever and he told her that this must not be, for he had also realized
that he could not defeat her either, and was merely relieved that she had
not killed him.

"They each admitted that they loved the other, more than life, and more
than victory in battle, and though their Lords and families were at
eternal war, the two youths pledged in secret to each other, knowing that
they were star-crossed, but unable to be untrue to their own selves.

"And so was lain the seeds of the current conflict."

Hob grins at this last and the hob-like creatures in the sand beat their
hands against the cloud-risers, lifting up an appreciative mist.

Adonis joins in the applause, nodding appreciatively. He really liked that
one. Lilly had listened to Hob's story very attentively. He had said that it
would be of interest to them and now she wondered about it's relevance. As
the others began to applaud, she realized she should do the same.

After the applause dies down, Hob bows, Caliban shrinks to his previous
size, and the rock man looks up at you, in anticipation, perhaps, of your
tale.. 

Adonis puts his head on one side, thinking. He shakes his head as if
rejecting some inner suggestion, muttering, "Perhaps later." Then he
taps his very kissable lips gently, casting a thoughtful glance toward
Lilly.

The returned look holds little if any emmotion. Lilly was still on guard.
So far this seemed to be a bit too easy going for her comfort. As Adonis
or Daeon or whatever he was calling himself today began to speak her eyes
turned towards Hob.

Looking back towards Hob, he grins. "Here's a little tale, following on
from yours and very relevant to our current situation.

"It seems Prince Arthur had a daughter - actually, he had several but the
one I have in mind was called Mouse, a ravishingly beautiful creature who
all desired but who would never condescend to any man's advances.

"Now the tragedy of Mouse was that no one can learn to truly love
another until they love themselves, and no *woman* can ever truly love
herself unless she knows her father loves her first of all. As already
related, <a gesture of acknowledgement to Hob> Prince Arthur spent all his
time in wars and fighting, honing his swordsmanship to a fine edge, and,
though he taught Mouse similar arts, he somehow never found the time to
*tell* her that he loved her - though I'm sure he did. Many fathers are
guilty of this fault so we shouldn't judge him too harshly.

"Now Mouse worked hard to earn his love by seeking to master the arts her
father considered so important in himself, assuming her father would love
her more if she was more like the son he'd never had. That this was a
mistake is probably obvious to all of us here, for what father is going to
say 'I love you' to a son if he does not to his daughter?

"Needless to say, Prince Arthur merely complimented her riposte while
remaining silent on more important matters. So despite her efforts, Mouse
was very unhappy. Eventually, she was so unhappy she decided to end it all
and took herself down to the river thinking to drown herself. But as she
stood on the riverbank, meditating on the cold fate that awaited her and
talking to herself of her troubles, as was her wont, she heard a voice
singing in the wild wood beyond, and this is the song she heard... 

Smile your little smile - take some...tea with me awhile. 
Brush away that black cloud from your shoulder. 
Twitch your whiskers. *Feel* that you're really *real*. 
Another tea-time --- another day older. 
Puff warm breath on your tiny hands. 
You wish you were a man 
  who every day can turn another page. 
Behind your glass you sit and look 
  at my ever-open...book -
One brown mouse sitting in a cage. 
Do you wonder if I really care for you - 
Am I just the company you keep -
Which one of us exercises on the old treadmill - 
Who hides her head, pretending to sleep? 
Smile your little smile - take some tea with me awhile. 
And every day we'll turn another page. 
Behind our glass we'll sit and look 
  at our ever-open...book  
One brown mouse sitting in a cage.  ['One Brown Mouse' by Jethro Tull]

"Mouse stared into the woods, amazed, for the voice sounded so like her
father's, but as the song ended, a faun emerged from the woods and stood
there, smiling at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable - *most*
unlike her father. She found herself wanting to ask him to stop looking at
her like that, but knew she would be very disappointed if he did.

"To hide her confusion, she asked the faun who he was. 'I am the God of
Love', he replied, 'and I am here at your call.' Mouse, of course, denied
any such thing - it would be *most* improper for a young lady of station
to summon up wild creatures of the woods. 'Whenever a maiden stares into
water with a broken heart, I am called - as is the God of Death. Luckily,
today Prince Arthur is keeping Death very busy in far away places and I
have come alone. Pray, what is the cause of your sorrow?'

"Then Mouse burst into tears and confessed that her father did not love
her. 'Are you sure?' asked the God of Love, 'Did he not give you your fine
clothes, your beautiful jewellery and the keenest blade in the Kingdom?
These gifts would seem to show he does care for you. Perhaps it is not
that he does not love you but does not speak of his love *to* you?'

"At this, Mouse, drying her tears, nodded; it was as much as she had
worked out for herself. 'But nonetheless I need his confession and will
surely die if I do not hear it.'

"'But,' came the reply, 'have you ever told him of *your* love for him?'

"There are many versions of this tale," concludes Adonis, "differing
mainly in the ending but I have always preferred the happiest, where
Mouse went straight to her father and spoke of her love for him. He said
nothing at that time but he took her hand and kissed it with a tear in his
eye and perhaps for her it was enough. She lived still last I heard."

And Adonis bows to Hob.

Lilly stared at Adonis, a bit of anger flashing in her eyes. He had hit a
nerve, a nerve Lilly might not even have been aware of having. The nerve
was so raw that whatever good intentions he had in his telling seemed
lost. There would be no applause coming forth from her this day.

The crowd applauds, but it seems less enthusiastic.

Adonis rises from his bow to turn on his heel, surveying the crowd. He
looks toward Lilly, quizically, then back to the crowd. As the applause
dies away, he nods gravely.

Hob returns the bow and grins at Lilly.  "Oh, you Order people are all
alike.  You make yourselves hard and sharp by cutting at each other, so
that when an outsider attacks there is no softness at any point.  Still,
one wonders if the cost of this strength is too high..."
Adonis gazes at Hob impassively, expressionless. Perhaps he agrees with
him, perhaps not. Perhaps that was the point of his tale, perhaps not.

"I shall waive my right to have your tale adjudged to determine if it was
better than mine and will proceed with another."

At this, Hob receives a julianic raise of the eyebrow. Adonis opens his
mouth as if to object before thinking better of it.

"Remember, Orderling, you may pass your duties to your second, if you
will, and make her tell a tale at any time."

Adonis raises an inviting eyebrow toward Lilly but her slight shake of the
head is echoed when he turns back to Hob and gestures for him to continue.

Hob climbs onto Caliban again and Cal again grows, putting physical
distance and altitude between you and the storyteller.

Adonis keeps his eyes on the ground, perhaps wishing more to hear the
story than to see the storyteller. To Hob, it might look as if he's
searching for something down there but Lilly can see his eyes are shut.

"The next tale is another tale of disorder in the House of Order.  This
tale, I hope will prove illuminating as well."

"Much later, in the same kingdom there lived a Prince named Sylvanus.  The
royal family was by this time very large indeed and the Prince had no real
hope of gaining the throne and no great love of his brothers.  And yet the
Prince, perhaps alone of his brothers truly loved his father and the
kingdom he had built.

"His brothers, when they paid any attention to Prince Sylvanus, would use
him as a pawn in their games against each other and it was rumored that
Prince Sylvanus had once tried to kill Prince Argent, who had taken
particular joy in tormenting him when he was a squire.

"It happened that Sylvanus was riding one day in the Great Greenwood, a
forest so vast that no man could be said to know it all, however long he
lived.  The Prince, who loved the woods more than his father's city or the
great fleet which made the city prosper, would frequently spend weeks or
longer riding the forest and learning the ways of it.  The forest was the
domain of his cruel brother, Prince Argent, but still Prince Sylvanus
could ride far beyond the margins of Argent's Ranger patrols and be in
virgin forest and not see evidence of man.

"It was here that Prince Sylvanus retreated after his horse had almost
trampled Prince Argent.  There are those who say that Prince Sylvanus
himself was responsible for this, but they claim that he had his
best-loved horse tortured and abused to cause it and so many do not
believe that tale. The Prince rode far and aimlessly, with no destination
in mind except to be away from those who mistreated and accused him.

"After many days the Prince found himself in an unfamiliar part of the
Greenwood.  He was beginning to enjoy himself and the challenges of
existing in a true wild.  Prince Sylvanus guessed that no man had passed
this way in a generation, for the animals had no fear of him.  He was
having to work to keep himself in the True World, for his father's kingdom
extended in to Fae lands and would, if he let it do so unheeded, usher him
into a different place.

"It came as a great surprise to him, then, to cross a ridge into a great
valley and see on the far end a castle, and not just a timber castle but a
great stone edifice that might repulse even his father's mighty armies.
Prince Sylvanus, who was always a slave of Duty, felt he must investigate
this encroachment in the Great Greenwood and see who had the audacity to
raise their own standard in his father's kingdom.

"Prince Sylvanus approached the castle and found the drawbridge down and
the gatehouse empty.  The castle was well stocked for defence and had
springs and supplies enough to withstand a great siege.  Prince Sylvanus
wandered for some hours in the place, marvelling at its construction and
thinking that if he had designed his perfect castle, it would hardly be
different than this edifice.

"After he had explored the great defensive work for some hours, Prince
Sylvanus returned to the throne room, where he found a woman lounging on
the great throne.  The woman was extraordinarily beautiful and smiled at
Sylvanus.  The Prince, who by this time was beyond surprise, merely bowed
in response.

"She greeted him by name and told him that she was Luna, a spirit of this
place and that she could grant him three gifts, if he would take them from
her.

"The first gift she offered was to kill his brother Argent.  The Prince
refused this gift, saying that his father would not want him to be
responsible for his brother's death, even if his brother did not deserve
to live."

"The second gift she offered was to make him king of the forest, free from
his Brother's authority and even his father's, free from the encumbrances
of the kingdom.  The Prince refused, saying that he loved all of his
father's kingdom and would not diminish it."

"The third gift she offered was to allow him to run away with the Princess
Incarnadine and live with her far from the troubles of his father's or her
mother's courts.  The Prince refused this as well, saying that while he
loved the Princess, he could not abandon his duty to his home, and felt
that she would not love him if he were to do any less."

"At his third refusal, the woman stood and the castle vanished around her,
leaving him alone with her in the Great Greenwood.  She thanked the
Prince, saying he had freed her from a spell by his strength of character,
by being virtuous when he could have gained by not doing so when none
would know of it.

"And she departed then, saying they would meet again and that he was fit
to be Lord of the Wood and that she would enjoy his tenure.

"The Prince was left alone, in the deep forest, wondering whom he had
freed."


Hob looks down from the proscenium stage that is Caliban and bows, first
to the King in the reviewing box, then to Adonis and Lilly.

Adonis does not applaud but nods his appreciation, eyes still closed in
meditation. "Yes! Disorder in Order...illuminating indeed!" Suddenly, he
smiles, opening his eyes. "Have you ever noticed how all tales are really
one tale? A moment, if you will, while we ponder past, present and
future." He bows once before walking in a slow circle about the
amphitheatre, apparently deep in thought. As he comes close to Lilly, he
murmurs low so only she can hear, "Keep your sword to hand, Deathflower;
we will have need of it soon. But do not seek to use it until I say...and
then use it exactly as I say, and quickly, without thought." He smiles at
her, perhaps a trifle sadly. "Please!" The note of pleading in his voices
is clear even to her.

Please? Damn him for being sincere, Lilly thought to herself. Still, if
they were to get out of this, no dobt they would need to work together. If
he had a plan, so be it. When or if it did not work, she would come up
with something.

With fire still burning behind her dark eyes, she let her hand brush
across the hilt of her sword. It was a subtle acknowledgment but one she
assumed her cousin would understand.

Once she has acknowledged his words, he moves on, addressing Hob.
"Yes...all tales...one tale. But all tales have an end and if continued
long enough, that end is always a death, just as, if followed forward far
enough, the beginning is always a birth."

"There once was a man, a great man, a king, in fact. He was also a son and
in time became a father and then a grandfather and only avoided the fate
of great-grandfatherhood by dying - quite wilfully I think."

"When such a great man dies, there must be a funeral and many came to his:
sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughters, wives, rivals and
friends, both old and new."

"As ever at these events, they came together saying, 'we never see you',
'it's been too long', 'haven't you grown?' Since it had been so long, many
had, in fact, never met at all but such was the conviviality of the wake
that before long even complete strangers fell a talking."

"It so happened that two of those who met for the first time were a
grandson of the King, name of Spring, and old friend of the family, whom I
think we shall call 'Singer'. (That is not his real name, you understand,
but sometimes we have to change names that the innocent be protected,
don't you think?)"

"Now I said Singer was an *old* friend and this is precise, for friend he
was no longer, there having occurred a falling out in the past, long
before the birth of Spring. The matter of the argument between the King
and his old friend is not important to this tale and possibly never was to
any; these things so often prove to be merely petty squabbles. Suffice to
say Singer and the King had not spoken for many a year."

"I like to think Singer was stirred by seeing something of his old
friend in the grandson but then I am a romantic and we all know life
isn't really like that. Whatever his thoughts at the time, Singer saw
something in Spring that he thought he recognised, that he had not seen in
the rest of the King's progeny, and told Spring he was not like them,
perhaps overlooking the most important common trait."

"For his part, Spring, though usually very good natured, did not take to
funerals, himself vastly preferring baptisms, births and wild beginnings.
He had therefore come to the funeral angry, not enough to pick a fight but
enough to speak his mind. So he was pleasantly surprised to find Singer so
reasonable and the two discussed many things: names, politics, music and
opportunities for trade."

"As ever when two strangers talk, they discovered they had much in
common and much that was not: people are like that. Spring privately
thought Singer straight-laced and stuffy (as the young are prone to see
their elders) and for his part, Singer thought the youngster impudent and
irreverent. But then mayhap he remembered his own youth with the boy's
grandfather."

"Singer, despite his reservations, was taken with the youth and greatly
desired to meet him again, and soon. It is possible that he thought the
boy so unlike his cousins, he thought it best he be separated from them to
be educated by Singer himself; but let us hope it is not so for he would
be quite mistaken, if it were."

"Spring, also wished to do well by his father's old friend and possibly he
intended to give Singer the thing he thought he most sorely needed.
Whether he was also mistaken for the present remains a conjecture. It is a
common observation that opposites attract, and there is a school of
thought that says opposite poles meet only in mutual annihilation but yet
this is untrue for men and women generally do not compass each other's
destruction and there is such a thing as hybrid vigour."

"Despite his impudence, Spring wished Singer well on their parting,
offering his blessing, and perhaps Singer was touched by this...or then
again, perhaps he felt threatened, for is not one man's blessing another's
curse? Let us hope when next they meet, it is at a birth or a baptism, for
then they will both perhaps be more inclined to levity and joy."

Adonis pauses, casting an eye around the audience, Lilly (with a wink),
the King, Caliban and Hob, before bowing gravely. "And now the time has
come for us to depart but we will not call this an ending, nor mark it
with a death, if it can be avoided. Instead, let us call it a beginning
and mark it with a baptism." He pauses once more before addressing the
King. "You did say '*any* means', your majesty, 'magical or physical'?"
Without waiting for a reply, Adonis continues quickly, looking at the
ground at the foot of the Royal box.

"For a baptism, we need a birth. But to make a birth, a man and a woman
must first come together and there must be a penetration, so, Lilly, come
to me now and pierce my side with your blade. Quickly, now! For I am a
coward and lack your courage."

Lilly was mentally prepared for this. She had assumed he had menat for her
to strike at him, anything else would have most likely been near suicide.
Still, she didn't want to mortally wound her cousin. Somehow she believed
that would make her rather unpopular with her other cousins.

Moving with speed and grace, she aimed the blade carefully. For the
symbolic gesture Adonis intended, she would not need to peirce deeply or
so she hoped. Her goal was to create a wound that looked far worse then it
truly was. As the metal worked it's way through skin, Lilly found herself
thinking, *I hope he knows what he's doing.*

As the point goes in, Lilly feels Adonis lean into her thrust. "That's
it!" he croaks, "I need to feel you deep inside...aaagh!" He throws two
objects at her feet, a knife and a deck of cards, with one card
protruding. Then he falls to his knees and off the point of her sword,
right hand clasped to his side as blood trickles copiously through his
fingers.

Lilly is rather shocked by his reaction. She clearly wasn't expecting
anything of this sort. Regaining her composure, she falls to her knees
trying her damndest to look remorseful and spent. In truth she just wants
to make sure they don't loose the trump deck. That may be the only thing
that can get them out of her. With a qucik motion she sweeps it onto her
lap.

Gasping, he brings both hands together below the wound; they fill
quickly. He lifts his cupped hands to his face and breaths upon the warm
ichor. Lilly realises his hands are unusually large for a man of his
stature. "Where falls the blood of gods, grow flowers." he mutters,
"Blessed Unicorn, let this place be a blasted heath no more."

Grimly, he starts chanting as he forces himself to his feet, looking
balefully up at Hob...

"Man of passion rise again, we won't cross you out.
We do love you like a son - of that there's no doubt.
Tell us.is it you who're here.
.for our good cheer?
Or are we here for the glory?
For the story?
For the gory...satisfaction...
Of telling you how absolutely awful you really are?"

"Receive the blessing of the Bleeding God!" he cries, flinging his arms up
and aside. His blood flies in droplets all around while more trickles down
his side onto the bare earth. Droplets splatter the soil, Lilly, the
audience, the King and Caliban. Perhaps a droplet reaches Hob high above
the arena. [GMs' fiat or card?] Adonis concludes his chant.

"There was a rush along the Amber Road.
There was a hush in the Passion Play."

While Adonis is busy creating this scene, Lilly is cuatiously trying to
make contact with whoever's card is on the top of the deck. She does not
want to draw attention to herself by shuffling through cards right now.

-----------

[Much long, boring, tiring, whole lotta no fun transporting of troops
omitted.]

At the end of the process, what Brennan learns is that Lilly and Adonis
seem to have simply disappeared from the camp without a trace. Search
parties looked for them right up to the end of the troop transport
process, but were unable to locate them.

And what Brennan asks, probably of Benedict at least, is whether
either of them are known to be in possession of a deck of Trump, or if
either of them are known to have walked the Pattern.
Because if neither of those things are true, then they are effectively
stranded and now may require search parties of Royal blood to retrieve
them.  A point which has also occurred to Benedict.

Benedict can confirm that Lilly has not walked the Pattern, and does not
believe Daeon has, althought he'd have to confirm that with Julian.

Well, if the Elders are standing around waiting for Brennan to divide the
labor, Brennan should continue the scouting mission ahead to Yg, perhaps
with one of the Elders if they want to tag along; while Bleys, the other
experienced Chaos-Rider, goes back to hunt for Daeon and Lilly.

Pacing *is* everything.  The elders don't, as a rule, wait for you all to
decide what they'll do.

In this case, the pacing is such that you can speak up and choose to do
something or not.

So, assuming Brennan doesn't object (and possibly even if he does)
Benedict will stay behind to see about the others.

The plan is the same, once the army comes through they march for the
better part of a day, then they rest, then you and Bleys will ride out in
the pre-dawn (or whatever passes for it) to scout to the next stop.

Bleys feigns tiredness and retires to his tent early shortly after the
group stops for the evening.

Brennan connects the dots thusly:

Even if neither of them have walked the Pattern, they're almost
certainly together.  And even if neither of them have walked the
Pattern, they do have a deck of Trumps between them, more than likely.
Which reduces Brennan's level of concern from moderate to mild-- given
their general location in Shadow, he's betting that they didn't just
wander off for a stroll.  But they do have a means to get back to the main
group.

With that resolved, and with the Elders apparently agreeing on some
level (else, I'm sure, Benedict would have already been running back
along the path to find Lilly)....

You haven't seen Benedict since dinner.
Well then she'll be in good hands, if there's a rescue attempt in the
offing.

 Brennan is going to keep on with the
larger plan-- he'll get some sleep and be ready to ride in the
morning.

He does pay a short visit to Fiona before that, though.

And he sleeps and the his shield is delivered and he is ready to ride at
the appointed hour.  Dignity has the horse and the coffee ready and his
armor laid out before Brennan is awakened.

And you know what?  It doesn't matter *what* Dignity managed to scrape off
the bottom of the coffee pot, the contents this time are strong, perfectly
brewed, strong, black, and very strong.  Brennan offers the kid a slug, if
he wishes.  Did I mention that the coffee was strong?

Bleys is mounted when Brennan rides up, and the two of you once more pick
your way through the sleeping troops and ride over the hills of this far
shadow.  You can tell that Bleys is doing something and that somehow it is
tied to actual progress.

After a time, terrain seems to become a concern again, with actual stands
of trees.

It is as you are nearing a patch of wide, low tropical trees in an early
morning rainshower that you see a group of riders breaking camp a few
hundred yards from your position.

"Well, well.  Look who else is departing the funeral by the overland
route."

Moonriders?

Moonriders.

Fancy that.

"Humph," he replies, rubbing his beard and jaw at the same time.
"Brand used to scare the Hell out of me, when I was about five years
old or so, with stories about the Moonriders.  I never did figure out if
that was just part of his dementia, or if they had done something to
particularly irritate him just then."

Brennan seems fairly willing to take Bleys' lead, for the moment,
although if Bleys had been paying any attention to Brennan during the
funeral, he'd have seen Brennan looking at them, as though he might have
gone over to speak with them himself had he not other, more pressing and
familial duties at the time.

For that matter, if those are Moonriders who had been present, they
might have noticed the same thing.

"Many children were raised on tales of the terror of the moonriders.  It
was an ugly scene the last time we crossed paths.  Of course, the last
time I crossed swords with moonriders, I was with Oberon."
It's not so much a glance, under the circumstances, as body language
that says Brennan would like to hear the story, some time.

The oldest Moonrider speaks, loud and clear, without looking up.
"Greetings, son of Oberon.  Are you hear to drive us into your brother's
forces, or do you want some coffee?"

"Let us start with coffee, Marshall.  Have you met my nephew, Brennan?
Brennan, may I introduce you to the High Marshall of Ghenesh."

The rider rises, looks at Brennan, and touches his fist to his shoulder.
"Brennan Brandsson, is it?  We heard of your exploits on the battlefield.
Perhaps you should visit Ghenesh one day."  The offer does not sound
friendly, for all the niceties of word choice.

Brennan nods during Bleys' introduction, and touches his own fist to
his shoulder in response to the High Marshall's greeting.
He shrugs during what might otherwise be perceived as a compliment,
and replies, "Perhaps I shall, one day," in a neutral, though not
casual tone.

(Just out of curiosity, how many Moonriders are there, and what does
their little encampent look like?)

[Five.  Six horses.  'Horse-like riding creatures', really.  The camp is
just a semicircle around a banked fire.  The riders seem to have bedded
down with their mounts.]

Examining their camp with a tactical eye is really a matter of habit.
Brennan neither makes it obvious that he does so, nor does he really
hide it, as he figures either would be an insult.

Bleys laughs, once and dismounts.  "Perhaps you shall, Brennan.  He looks
at the Marshall and the four riders with him.  "You have coffee?"

The Marshall nods.  His body language is like Benedict's, somehow.  "We saw
the most unusual sight on our ride a few days ago.  Dead grackleflints,
stacked like cordwood.  We were surprised to see so many of them "


Brennan raises an eyebrow just a hair at the image presented of the
'Flints stacked up like cordwood, considering the manner of their
departure.  Brennan's only comment is, "They were rude."

He follows Bleys, then, off the horse and to the ground, and if Bleys
is accepting coffee, so is Brennan.

The shortest of the moonriders speaks up.  "Did you know that their horses
are carnivorous?"

Bleys says "Yes."

After the silence has stretched for some long time, the Marshall moves.  He
pours two cups of coffee and hands them to Glides to give to you.  It is
strong and has an exotic, sweet/spiced flavor to it.

[OOC: I wonder if Gerard would approve of a Ghenesh-Amber coffee
trade-route....]

["Go not to the redheads for Coffee, for the tastiest brew will be tied to
the greatest trouble."]

"We can think of few gauche enough to actually use Grackleflints, when
other means are available.  Had they been rude to us, we would have done
the same."

"I'm sure."  And actually, Brennan is, if even a quarter of the
stories Brand used to scare Brennan are true.

He sips the coffee appreciatively.  "Other than tripping over 'Flint
corpses, how fares your journey home?"

"It has been a long journey and we intend to reach home one day, no matter
the cost or who chooses to attempt to bar the way, child of Amber.  We are
past one obstacle in the journey."


Well now, that almost sounds confrontational.
Or defensive, at least.  But while there are limits to Brennan's
patience, the Moonriders haven't reached them yet.

But it also sounds like there's a piece of history or a message in
there, so Brennan asks a question that he hopes will draw them out a
little bit, even if he has to expose his own ignorance.  "How long
have been away?  How long is the journey?"

The Marshall looks at Bleys, who has his face buried in a coffee mug.
"History has never been a strong component of the royal curriculum, has it?
What is time and what are the years, child of Brand?  Rilga was Queen of
Amber then, and more of your Uncles were alive than are now.  The journey
is almost over."

Ah, well then.

If that's the way it's going to be, then that's the way it's going to
be, I guess.  Brennan's body language and the frozen pine forest tint
of his eyes match Bleys' tone, and Brennan will be damned if he's going
to explain his own family history to this particular lout.  Brennan is
seriously annoyed, but feels no embarrassment-- if the Marshall was
trying to provoke him by casting aspersions on Brand, he went well
wide of the mark.

The High Marshall has gone a long way to making sure that Brennan will
stand in their way, too.  "You have a talent for finding obstacles,
Marshall."

Bleys looks coldly over his mug, and the frost in his tone is different
than his previous tone.  "We shall see, Marshall.  Even if you think you
are close, you may find that obstacles still exist and opposition still
awaits you.  What came down does not necessarily go back up."  He places
the mug on the ground  and stands.  "Thank you for the coffee."  His tone
is still biting.

Brennan places his on the ground as well, mostly un-drunk, as tasty as
it was.  I'm going to guess that Bleys is going to head back to his
horse, as will Brennan.

And now, at the last convenient moment as they are depart, Brennan
will take an astral glance at them.

Astrally, there are six of them.  The invisible one is staring at you all.
You guess that if he could blow a smoke ring at you, he would.

If Brennan could blow a kiss back, he would.

After they leave (whether it's the Moonriders or Brennan and Bleys who
actually depart) he'll turn to Bleys and say, "If he's always that
charming, I may have found a point of agreement with dear old Dad,"
and follows it up with a muttered, "Piss-ante," under his breath.

"Do not underestimate him because he is crotchety.  He is old and bitter,
yes, but one day he commanded the only Army ever to sack Amber.  The peace
between us rested on Oberon's crown, which is no longer an obstacle."

"He reminds me too strongly of a dark version of Benedict for me to
take him lightly, but he's still a piss-ante.  There was no personal
quarrel until he tried to embarrass me.  I'll modify that to 'putz' if
it makes you feel better, though."

"He is a 'sins of the fathers' type, I'll grant you..."

"Between Grackleflints yesterday and us this morning, I suspect the
Marshall feels he is being gamed.   I will not be sorry if he becomes more
paranoid.  Let him take time to prepare."

"Or deny him the chance entirely, and strike first.  They did make an
invitation, after all."

"However, he is old and set in his ways and that can be an advantage.  He
has the predictability of anyone who has been an unchallenged master for
centuries.  One only has to have almost as much knowledge as he has to beat
him."  Bleys grins.

"Once I'm sure we're not being followed, we should call in.  This won't be
pleasant news for my brother, but he doesn't have the Marshall's
disadvantage of years of perfection..."

That gets a raised eyebrow.  "What is his complaint, anyway?  In
general.  If they're moving through Shadow on their own steam, may I
presume that they're yet another branch in the ever expanding family
vine that Brand never bothered to inform me of?"

"They probably aren't.  It's not motion, it's control that we have.  Any
sea captain in Amber and 50% of the swabbies can move between shadows,
following paths we laid down.  Things drift through shadows constantly and
don't know it.  Roads exist, and trumps, and the magic used to make
Grackleflints.   We can move through shadow prior to walking the pattern,
too,

"What we've got is control, power over shadow.  It comes from our blood and
is awakened by the pattern.  To the first approximation, the universe of
shadows is our sole playground, but there are other ways and sometimes it
doesn't take mastery to catch someone unawares.  Don't be fooled into
thinking that our only worthwhile opponents are family."

"Did he follow us?"

"Not that I can see, no.  You never answered the other question,
though-- what's his gripe?"

"He blames us for our mercy and his loss.  He wants to go to a place that
doesn't exist anymore.  If his life were a novel, he would be the alienated
everyman detached from his humanity by the dehumanizing nature of modern life."

"Plus he's a sore loser."

"I don't think I can help him with the former, but I can provide lots of
practice for him at the later-- he'll just have to get used to it if he
wants to carry that kind of an attitude around."  He sounds like he's still
cleansing the taste of lemon out of his mouth.

Bleys reins in his horse and says "Who?"  He sounds slightly suspicious.

Brennan's hand had been straying to the pack of Trumps at his side, but at
Bleys' comment, he shifts so that he's reaching for a blade.  He does not
draw, but he is ready to do so if anything comes screebling out of what he
presumes is a Trump contact.

"Jerod." he says simply.  "I'm at Ygg with others.  We're looking to bring the
army through.  What is your situation uncle?"

"Ah, Jerod, I've heard so much about you.  We are scouting, nephew, finding
trouble for the Army not to march into unaware.  We're perhaps a day's ride
from the army.  We're probably close to your position, but the army isn't.
Bring us through and we'll call Caine and get the troops moving."

"Caine has been sent on to Amber." Jerod answers.  "One named Daeon had a
grievious wound when I trumped him and we passed them both through.  We will
need another at Caine's location to bring the army forward."

Jerod offers his hand to Bleys.  "Come through if you wish uncle." as way of
notifying the others that Bleys may be arriving.

Picking up on the half of the conversation he can hear, Brennan gets ready
to make contact with Bleys as he goes through his Trump connection.  He's
relaxed, since it seems that for once, an unexpected meeting on the way back
to Amber isn't going to break down into hostilities.  His hand strays back
to the Trumps.

At least not immediately, anyway.

Bleys dismounts and gathers his horse's reins and those of Brennan's mount
as well.  He also seems to be speaking to two audiences.  "We will.  We can
work out details of moving the troops with Fiona once I'm with you.
Brennan and I have horses.  Brennan, you're about to meet the son of Eric,
late King of Amber.  Are you both ready?"

Reid watches, amused by the sheer volume of trump traffic Jerod is
handling considering his dislike for them and his lack of experience.

"Let's rock."

"Guests incoming with horses." Jerod says, notifying the others at his site
after adjusting to make sure there's room.  And assuming there are no problems
he brings Brennan through first, then Bleys.  Once they are through, Jerod puts
away the trump card...



-----------

"Yes, I noticed," Jovian nods, his brow furrowed. "We had as little 
success last night. If you could just give me a clear view to some 
feature of the landscape, I could start shifting. The problem is 
holding it long enough for all the dragons to pass through without 
getting cut off visually. How much time do you think you can give 
us?"

"Not much, but if you are thinning the fog, then perhaps we can 
speed it up.  I thought the Lord Florimel said that the dragons could lead
each other through the fog?"

The wingleader ponders this. "I hadn't taken her literally, but if they
stay in physical contact...yes, that might work. Can you give me a range
of, say, fifty yards? Without setting anything on fire?"

His eyes somewhat wide, Aisling's Affine nods.  "For nearly an 
hour my Lord, before I must rest."

"Good. That should be more than adequate. I'm afraid you'll have to 
assume that neither the lords Florimel and Julian nor I can help you with
the fog - shadow is too fragile here to trust direct manipulation through
Order. We'll be busy keeping us all together and getting us *out* of
here."

Jovian nods something between a dismissal and an instruction to 
wait. //Canareth, let the wings know were getting out of here 
shortly, on foot. Wingleaders and seconds to meet with me when 
the wounded are secured. No rush; anyone in the middle of 
something should complete their tasks at hand.//

Once the troops are assembled, he lays out the plan - walking, 
dragons maintaining physical contact until the fog thins out.

Ce'e grows wings, remarkably like Hosith's in shape and color, if 
not size.  He takes flight as the dragons are forming a queue and 
preparing to walk in a double file into the fog.

Ce'e makes a hole in the fog and Canareth and Hosith walk forward 
and the train of dragons begins to move.  As you go forward into 
the clearing he has made in the fog, we start to see shapes, areas 
of fog that are thicker or darker and there is shadow to manipulate 
at last.

Jovian reaches out for the shapes, not trying for anything too 
drastic yet. Easing them into a comfortable flavor of landscape - 
rock formations that have a more natural feel to them, here and 
there the broad, tapering column of a huge old tree - some relative 
of Calusa's skybroom, unbranching for fifty feet or more. Not 
wanting to push Ce'e's envelope, he works at the texture of the fog 
as well, thinning it, warming gently.

Effective, but not rapidly so...the road begins to rise, until the 
cavalcade is climbing a hill toward a stand of trees now visible 
through the more rapidly thinning fog. Presently the hill rises above the
mist into the dim light of pre-dawn, just as the edge of the sky in what
one can assume arguento is the east glows with a sliver of a real, honest
if slightly off-color sun.

Aisling watches her affine closely.  She's trying, for him, to look
confident and proud, but some amongst the crowd would probably be able to
detect that she's worried for him.  

After she's watched the proceedings for awhile, and Ce'e seems to be
consistent, she will fall back a bit until she comes to be walking
alongside of the Princess Florimel.  "Milady," she says tentatively, with
a bit of a moving bow.  "I did not have much warning that I would be
coming to this war, and I failed to pack accordingly."  A smile flickers
over her face, though she's still nervous.  "Yet I would very much regret
it if my introduction to Amber found me in bloodstained house-clothes.  I
have long admired your taste, and I gather that your family has the
ability to find what they desire in Shadow...  Do you think it is possible
that in the time until we reach those coral shores, you could aid me in
this?"

[Whereupon the dragonriders' contingent made Trump contact
with Ygg.]

-----------

First the good news.  Normally we don't reveal that we are drawing cards
so that you all don't count on it, don't appeal it, don't notice anything
other than an even mix of good, bad, and neutral results for actions that
are of potentially variable results.

Now the specific news: sometimes we have to tell you what we drew in order
to explain why things went the way they did.

Card: The Smith (Reversed)
Meaning: Evil Effort
Explanation: The smith's products may benefit others, but they may also be
blades destined for the hearts of the innocent.

More good news: As bad as it looks after you've asked Lilly Smith to stab
you're not gonna be dead at the end of this post!

Anyway, normally we won't explain, but we thought it would be illuminating
to do so this time.  This is the equivalent to the "we'll be just fine as
long as I don't roll '01'..."

Lilly is bloody, as is her sword.  She does not like the amount of blood
that Adonis is losing.
Caliban is growing smaller as the song continues.  He reaches the ground
just as Adonis blesses them all..
The effort overcomes Adonis and he collapses.  He is still able to
conclude his chant, but he is semi-prone and next to Lilly.

While Adonis is busy creating this scene, Lilly is cuatiously trying to
make contact with whoever's card is on the top of the deck. She does not
want to draw attention to herself by shuffling through cards right now.

Three things happen as a result of this:

First, Adonis passes out from blood loss.  Lilly is surprised.  She
expected it to happen 45 seconds earlier than it did.  She doesn't expect
him to die for an hour, unless the gut-wound gets infected.

Second: Hob says "Oh, Blood.  We will accept that as payment for your
debt. Your relatives would tell you to be more careful where you lose it. 
Fear not, it will be safe with us."

Third: "Lilly feels a mental contact.  "Who?" says the voice of Caine.

Lilly is using every ounce of her will to remain focused on this contact
and does not want to screw it up now. Doing so might mean death for her
cousin. So rather then launch into what she needed, she simply answered
the question. "Lilly." 

She says 'Lilly' and Hob nods. As if a spell had been cast, flowers begin
to sprout from the places where Daeon's blood was spilled.

<http://www.firelily.com/image/fire.lily.2.jpg>

"Where are you?"

"With strange rock creatures. There is no time right now for explanations.
Daeon is gravely injured and needs immediate care that I can not give him
here. Can you bring us through?"

Caine grasps Lilly's hand at once and pulls her through the connection. As
Caine draws her to him, Lilly hears a bell-like woman's laughter ringing
throughout the arena.  It sounds neither kind nor unkind.  It is clear
that someone, somewhere is vastly amused.

Lilly and Daeon are in the army's camp, which appears to have moved since
their departure. Caine is calling for a physician and pulling off his
shirt to staunch the bleeding. Caine was apparently among his sailors, who
are rushing to find a medic, help staunch the wound, and otherwise
flurrying about.

Caine's eyes flick from Lilly's bloodstained robes and blade to Daeon's
wound, noting the latter's naked and unarmed state.

Letting her guard down, Lilly sighs heavily, "It is a long story. Several
of them in fact. But first what can I do to be of aid?"

Mentally she was berating herself for not compensating properly when Daeon
shifted his weight onto her blade. Normal people simply didn't do that.
Damn him again.

Lilly had to give her cousin some credit though. He did show courage.
Never did he back down. Nor did he tell the easy tale. Then, when the time
came, he was willing to sacrifice himself. Perhaps she had learned
something from this experience after all.

Caine says, "Call your father."

Lilly nods. She repositions herself slightly away from the organized chaos
surrounding Daeon before shuffling through his cards to find the right
one. (Hopefully they aren't too blood covered. If so she'll try to clean
them off as best she can on a clean patch of her clothing...). Once the
card is in hand, she takes a deep breath to clear her mind. Then she
focuses her energy on the card awaiting a response from Benedict.

[Whereupon Caine and thereby the army made contact with Ygg
and Lilly Trumped to her very own thread]