Brennan lets the group continue for a good long while, watching the dynamics of the group, assessing their speed through shadow, assessing the local (if changing) conditions, etc.
When his internal clock tells him they've been travelling long enough to break for the night (whatever that currently looks like) he'll call for that to happen. As the camp is being struck, he'll motion Firumbras aside for a conversation.
Firumbras ambles over after he sets up his tent. He's staying close to the Moonriders, but old campaigner that he is, he takes care of getting camp in shape before breaking to talk.
"Your Grandmother reminds me of the Kings and Queens of old, Sir Brennan."
"Tell her that, should you ever meet her again," Brennan says, "I think she'd be quite flattered. She was the Queen of Amber, by marriage to Oberon. She was and remains a Queen of Chaos by will and deed. Before my time, of course. Well after yours, I suspect.
"Had you met many of them?" Brennan asks. "The Kings and Queens of your day?"
"Met? I've been in the presence of them. Your Random is far more a man of the people than they were, but maybe they were once as he is, and then millennia passed. They had, we were told, ruled forever. They had many names over time, and they seemed older than language, so that they let it do as it would, while they were there before it."
Firumbras frowns. "It's the stuff of legends, yes, but it was a different age, and there were giants in the earth in those days, matched by heroes of renown. And As they had their Lords and Warnings, we had ours."
He looks up at the stars, wheeling in divergent directions in exactly the way stars did not do in Xanadu, and reached backwards to his oldest memories. "I can remember something of the rulers, but it's mostly what I learned. We dealt why Barons, and Dukes, and Princes, but the Queens and Kings were legendary figures of stories. The story you were told of my conflict with Orlando was not as simple as my descendants tell it.
"Dido, or Elyssia in the language of her homeland, was queen of Tir fu Thuinn, where she founded Rebma, City of Pearls. Bill Roth told me that she might or might not have become 'Moins' when Dido became a legend to her people. They said that her tears over the war turned the seawater salty, but they also said she started the wars, so hard to say what is true.
"Maeve Lethderg ruled the Land of Youth, Tir-na nOg'th. She was the Queen of the Air and the Night and the Moon, and of all the monarchs, was most beloved by her people.
"Caroli Gloriosissimi ruled Lutetia of the Parisians, commonly just called Paris. It was known as Tir-na Portais, the land of lilting, because the voices of the people were so harmonious.
"And Auberon of Ambar, whose kingdom grew rich from trade, ruled the Margarita Urbium, as opposed to Rebma, which was the Civitas Margaritarum. They were always very close.
"They were mighty ancient warrior queens and kings, and each was worth a thousand heroes in a battle."
Brennan decides that it would be impolitic to mention that he has met the sovereigns of all of Amber, Xanadu, Rebma, Paris and Avalon, even if two of those are technicalities. He leaves it as, "I may have an advantage with King Random, being his nephew."
Firumbras concedes the point.
And also, "We have good reason to believe that Dido and Moins are one in the same. We also have good reason to believe that we lack much of that story, and some critical context is surely missing. But it's interesting that you mention 'the war' without naming it or saying which one. In my travels that's usually the hallmark of something... epochal, or defining, for lack of a better word. Something so omnipresent it needs no explanation. And yet, at this distance, I can't be sure what war you're speaking of or if I've even heard of it."
Sir Firumbras looks grim. "The Throneswar. When the Kings and Queens fell from their former grace and respect and their armies clashed. It was a kind of madness, and great princes and great houses alike fell on the field. It was ancient history when I was a boy, and not a subject to be brought up in the time of peace. But it was known they had not forgotten their grievances."
Brennan busies himself, beginning the periodic and Sorcerous maintenance of the spear of smoke he's been carrying around since the latest battle.
"I expected as much, but I didn't want to assume. Understand that right now, Oberon is recently deceased and never discussed these matters with anyone I know. Moins is gone missing, presumed dead, for centuries. The history Tir-na Nog'th is at best confusing and unreliable; at worst mutually incoherent mush. And Paris has been so long gone that of the few who even knew the name as more than myth, even fewer connected it to Amber and Rebma.
"This war you speak of has passed almost entirely out of history. But I suspect it is what destroyed Paris and Tir-na Nog'th. And I suspect the battle just fought," he nods slightly in the direction of the Moonriders, "was the opening of its newest chapter.
"We are on our back foot, here. Anything new I learn might be helpful. I have questions," Brennan smiles and it's almost self-deprecating, "but I hesitate to accidentally prompt you away from something important and unknown."
Sir Firumbras smiles. "You'd probably rather have rescued a mage or scholar from the silver chain trap. To be fair, I wish one had been there instead of me. I am a hero, if you will, but not some legendary great god of old. I did not live these thousands of years I have been gone; I was in magical stasis.
"While the things you are looking for, I would give you if I knew, they were not subjects of daily interest when I was back there. It was not a knight's role to know ancient history, but to be ready for war and to stand out to my commanders. I can tell you more of Roland and Galafrone than of Auberon and Charlemagne.
"But you are welcome to my knowledge, if we can find a way to impart it. And if I have any influence over these Moon-Riders because of my ancestry, I will council them to seek peace with you."
"I had my chance to rescue a scholar, though not from so ancient a time as yours. I screwed it up. The Moonriders, we'll discuss later." Neither topic brings any light to Brennan's expression.
"And just knowing that the origins of that war lie in your own past--" Brennan pauses and makes eye contact to make sure they understand each other; Brennan means his pre-stasis past-- "is useful. But let me ask this about Charlemagne. It requires only, as you say, having been in his presence. How does he compare to Corwin of Paris? How does the Paris of today compare to the Paris of your time?"
"I wasn't prepared for King Corwin. He also spent some time talking to me of Paris as it was in my time. If you told me he was Charlemagne's heir, I would believe you, for he is closer in bearing to the King of the Franks than his heirs of the body. If you told me he was Charlemagne reincarnate, I would not think you mad."
He sighs. "Paris seems... like a freshly painted image of Paris. Perhaps King Corwin does of King Carl, although not as freshly painted."
Firumbras looks slightly frustrated with himself. "My impressions may not be of any help to you, I apologize. I am thinking in metaphors today."
"I don't believe in reincarnation, but I believe in possession," Brennan muses. "You might not think your metaphors are helpful, but I do. So let me pose one of my own: Like a freshly painted image, and possibly at an angle or from a perspective you'd never seen before?" Brennan waits for the answer before asking the next question, so as not to have the two questions bias each other.
Firumbras considers this. "Artists sometimes make copies of the same painting. Even if they are the same, they are not the same. And these seem more like a revisitation than a direct copy."
"But back to the concrete, if Carol joined our conversation now, I probably would not recognize him. If any images have survived, I haven't seen them. What did he look like?"
"Hmm. You might not recognize him, but you could not miss him. Medium stature and height, usually wore a mustache, fair-haired, but closely cropped for campaigning, it was white by the time I saw him. Everything about him was larger than life except his physical body and it was difficult to imagine that he once beat a giant to death with a flaming tree branch, until you saw him move or ride. As someone who was often mistaken for a giant, that was a particularly vivid story."
"And Wayland, the smith?" Brennan asks. "Were he and his blades-- by any name-- part of your time? Part of this epochal war?"
"I don't know. There were too many stories to ascribe him to a real person. He made Charlemagne's sword 'Joyuese', or he had his eyes put out so he could never make anything better than Mimur. He and his son fashioned wings to escape, but his son flew too high and his wings melted. There were many such tales.
"Was he also a real person, from the mythical age?"
"Oh, he's a real person right now in this age. His son is a member of my Order. I know his daughter, too, and I came pretty close to serving a term as his apprentice. What I don't know are his origins-- there are some speculations that he's a son of Oberon, or perhaps a brother, from a period from before our time." Brennan shrugs. "But he's now on the short list of people whose memories run that far back.
"If there were legends of four special blades, each in service to one of the four Realms, he would likely figure in the legends of their forging. It is possible that Lir may have borne one such, called Belagamon."
"The stories of the making of swords is not unlike the various Volund myths. One legend I heard, in my own lifetime, was that Roland got his sword Durendal by killing *me*." Firumbras smiles at the memory. "You've met him, you said. What did he say about it?"
"Oh, he certainly made them," Brennan says. "But I've only met him the one time, and while I'd like to think my offer of apprenticeship was the first thing that surprised him in a long time, to be quite honest I didn't know enough to ask him good questions. And he's cryptic at best. It wasn't the first or most important thing I would have gotten from a term of service, but access to all that historical knowledge would have been valuable.
"What I was trying to establish here is whether he-- and his blades-- existed during that time period. I'm now sure that he himself did. Werewindle, Greyswandir, Flamberge, were the other blades, but I'm sure at least two of those names are too recent."
Brennan pauses, and adds, "And while I doubt it's true, if I find out those blades really are the result of blood sacrifice, I am going to be," he purses his lips, looking for the right word, "upset."
Firumbras smiles, "Much power is tied to sacrifice, although whose sacrifice is a good gauge of the nature of the person seeking it. And of the nature of the person judging it." He pauses. "I have trouble learning the ways of your time, Sir Brennan. In my time, we would have exaggerated our displeasure instead of wildly understating it. Orlando himself spent years driven mad with despair and grief. It seems more normal to me than being 'upset'."
Brennan looks into the fire, honing the blade of the smoke spear seemingly against his own fingertips, considering his response.
"My own father wanted to kill me in a sacrificial ritual as part of his schemes. I was, in fact, conceived for exactly that purpose. Needless to say, I escaped and I found myself, still a boy, with the first of many choices: I could display my anger, and in so doing make a target of myself. Or I could make a furnace of my anger, an engine of my fury, keeping them inside quietly to forge me and propel me. If, after five hundred years such, I harbor strong feelings on the subject of human sacrifice, so be it. If, after five hundred years such, my anger is still a buried furnace, so be it. I am who I am.
"And though I choose not to dwell on what I might do if this possibility that I deem remote becomes reality, I know this: I will not waste my hands or anger in display. I will decide what needs be done, and I will do it."
Firumbras nods, approvingly. "Ah, that clarifies matters. I apologize if I seemed to question your passion. Your father seems exactly the sort of man I was thinking of." He looks at Brennan. "I hope I have both your control and your ability to access the 'furnace of my anger' when I am half a millennium old."
"No apologies necessary, nothing to forgive," Brennan says. "It's a sore spot, but not one you could have known about. It's a bitter topic, so let's leave it to the side, if we can. Pardon my sharp left turn, here, but did Oberon have sons and daughters in your time, and did they have names? The oldest such that I know of are Osric and Finndo, long dead, and their younger brother Benedict, still living. I gather they were all three after your time. But if I have-- or had-- more aunts and uncles, and perhaps more cousins, I would be in your debt to hear of them."
"I was not a follower of court goings on, especially in the distant courts of foreign realms. I know there were Princes or perhaps Princesses, but could easily have been introduced to them and not known which realm they were part of." He looks troubled. "I feel as if I knew this better before I came here."
Brennan gives Firumbras a long, considering look after that comment. Even though Brennan can't really conceive a motive for it that makes sense in context, that sounds uncannily like something has interfered with his memory, a bit like what happened to Cledwyn.
But Brennan's also been giving half an ear to the card game playing a little distance away. He hasn't caught everything they've said, but he's caught a lot and names have a way of cutting through background noise and going right for the ears. Brennan generously-- and genially-- interprets Firumbras' name: "You've been more helpful than you know, my friend. But I believe they're talking about us over there. Shall we go join them?"
Raven, for her part, spends much of the ride until camp studying the surroundings with an absent curiosity as she simultaneously keeps an eye out for trouble and grinds her way through some thought processes that have nothing to do with where they are and everything to do with a kind of emotionally uncomfortable afternoon. After a bit, she'll transfer her attention more to their guests (escortees?) than her own issues, watching how - if at all - they interact with the men and women around them.
Once camp is called for, she takes care of what she frankly views as the bare minimum required for carrying her own weight - which is to say, getting her horse settled - and then goes in search of the Moonriders.
"Sirs?" she says when she finds them. "I said before I was lost for a while. While I was - well, it seemed like it was always a good way to make a trip pass easier to have the locals teach us a card game or two." Raven snorts. "I was pretty terrible at some of 'em, but it was always interesting to learn. We're a bit short of locals, but I'd love to learn what kind of card games your people play. If you're game, of course."
The moonrider section of the camp is slightly apart from Brennan and his knights, and they are still setting camp when she arrives. Sir Firumbras has, surprisingly, the smallest tent and Raven thinks his feet must hang out the end of it. After he sets it up, he goes over to speak to Brennan. Sir Argalia agrees to do so, and offers to share the meal the knights are preparing with her.
"We play a game called 'Fortunes', where you try to determine the card in a spread based on the previous ones, and what they mean. It requires a Fortune Deck, though. I have one and can teach you the game."
Raven accepts the offer of the meal with a thanks and a nod.
"I'd love to learn, Sir Argalia," she says. "And I promise I've got a sense of humor about losing every two minutes when I'm trying to learn it. I was hoping you had whatever cards we'd need; can't say I was planning to play cards today, but I also wasn't exactly expecting this trip when I got up this morning either."
Sir Argalia clears a board that may become their dining table when the food is prepared. "As part of our training, we are told to unlearn expectations. We do learn probabilities and statistical anomalies. This does seem to be an outlier day for you.
"So, the first card is the past, or where we were. The second card is the present, or where we are. The third is the future, or where we will be.
"Do you know the cards well enough to predict them? If not, you can describe what those might mean and I can help you guess."
He shuffles a deck of cards, waiting on her guesses to lay them out.
Raven chuckles. "Dunno why I didn't figure it'd be a game that relates to time," she says. "I know enough of 'em, I think I'll be OK. Might need help with a card or two here or there. Before I try - what are you basing your guesses on? How the game's going to go, life in general...? And how do you know who wins?"
Unsheathed smiles. "Perceptive. Yes, Time is in the game, quantized into three equal parts. But sensitivity to people and how they related to their circumstances is equally important."
Argalia shuffles coolly. "You ask a question, preferably something that can be responded to oracularly. We all judge who has the best interpretation of the answer that the cards give. It's usually the person who guessed the closest to the draw, but not always."
"So the flow is that someone guesses the cards, someone else offers a question, and then the cards are pulled and we all give a reading to see what the best read is?" Raven asks, frowning a little as she tries to make sure she's following. "I would have thought the question'd come first, but you did ask me for my guesses on the cards first."
Argalia keeps shuffling. "The lessons come first. You already know how to ask questions. Once you know how the rounds go, we can do the rest."
Unsheathed adds "It's bad luck to ask a question and not complete the round. If you believe in that sort of thing."
"Ah, I see. And I hear that 'stop trying to jump ahead.'" That's entirely good-natured, by Raven's smile. "So, then. Making a guess based on nothing in particular... Let's say Fearing Shadows, Fertility, and The Priestess. All upright." Because as tempting as it is to suggest the same three cards from the draw before she and Brennan left Xanadu... that might be better served later in the game.
Argalia says "A layout without a question," as if he's ritually intoning a mantra.
He deals three cards in quick succession.
The Unicorn
Knowledge
Law, Reversed.
Unsheathed whistles. "I'm glad there's no question for which this is the setting," he says.
"Ready for the second round?", asks Argalia.
"I think I'm on the same page, Sir Unsheathed," Raven says, making a face. "Ain't much pretty about the story that's telling. So this is where we'd make our guesses? Or are the guesses round two?"
"The unicorn in the past is purity, but it also stands for Amber, and is mythically the founding of Amber. This is a telling of the oldest of legends. The founding of the Four Ancient Realms, with their Kings and Queens, followed by a revelation, some great and terrible fact that made one of the Kings betray his brother and sisters."
"That's a good telling, Sir Argalia," says Unsheathed, "but now how I read it. This is a tale of love lost. The past is a story of innocent love, pure between two souls who know only the joy and terror of the newly enraptured. The present, the knife-edge of the story, is a mystery, we await the next two cards. They will show us what knowledge it was that led to the lovers' betrayal."
"Very fanciful," replies Argalia. "Do you see, Raven, how it is played now? Would you vote for Unsheathed's reading or mine?"
"Aye, I do." Raven considers for a moment. "I think I lean towards your telling, Sir Argalia," she says at last. "But maybe because I ain't so sure about innocent love leading to a surprise betrayal."
Unsheathed doesn't choose to argue.
Argalia deals the next two cards.
The Hermit
Death, Reversed
He looks to Raven again for her interpretation.
"Wisdom and knowledge, against being trapped in your own old patterns." Raven shrugs a little. "Virtue in wisdom, fault in being stuck. I see in those first three somebody that innocently went into learning something, and they have... but that knowledge was dangerous and it's led 'em right into betrayals." She snorts. "Know of someone that would almost fit that, if you wanted to be kind about it. They're trying to better themselves through learning something secret, but they're expecting the fruits of that to come to them instead of putting in the hard work of making it happen."
"Not bad, not bad. I think you have the gist of it. We'll see in a moment if the fate card reflects that." Unsheathed turns his head at the cards. "In honor of our guests, I think this is relevant to Amber. Are you familiar with the phrase 'encased in Amber?' Stasis is a form of death, for insects, perfectly preserved in ancient resin. Order, even perfect order, can be a perfect trap. Isolation as the virtue fighting against it, thinking deeply on what chaos should be allowed to break the order to prevent rigidity."
Argalia nods. "We'd award that one to you, I suspect. Let's see how the last card resolves the conflict."
"If there are no objections, the final card..."
Overlooking the Diamond.
Argalia grunts and looks at Unsheathed. "You're up first, this time, Sir."
Unsheathed looks at the card as if he can make it mean more than it does. "Sometimes the fate that hangs in the balance doesn't tell us much, but sometimes it tells us about the cards below it more than the situation or the question. Hidden wisdom, or hidden betrayals, what was overlooked, and how does overlooking explain the virtue and fault? It continues and amplifies the tale told of the lovers, the wisdom to leave or the stasis of staying when betrayed. Will the wronged one overlook the fault to gain the prize or will she isolate herself because of her betrayal. I wonder if this reading is about Sir Firumbras..."
"Just what I was wondering."
He raises an eyebrow towards Raven.
"Not sure I know enough of Sir Firumbras' story to make that call," Raven says, "but I agree that it's telling us more about what's below than the question. If anything, I'd call it a warning against that future card. I've seen a clearer 'it's not too late to change course, but you'd better do it now,' but that involved a chunk of rock bigger than the ship I was on at the time, burning with green fire and bobbing along in the center of a whirlpool."
Unsheathed replies. "He was captured by a sorceress and imprisoned in a timeless prison from whence he was eventually freed by your relatives. We are taking him back to his family to see about how he can return to his own time, or at least live well amongst his descendants. Which is a significant paradox, since he had not yet sired children when he was imprisoned."
"It is a sad and moving tale, and we are working to help it resolve well," adds Argalia.
Argalia gathers and shuffles the cards again. "This round, let's start with a question. What would you like us to consider as we draw the cards?"
Raven considers for a moment, and then nods. "I know of a story," she says, "and like Sir Firumbras', it's one that's still being learned and told, with some hard questions all around. Maybe the cards have a thought or two. So -- what drives the spirit of a woman to share the body of another?"
Argalia nods. It could apply to Vialle or to the Queen of Air and Darkness, but he's keeping his counsel.
The cards are laid out once again in three rounds:
Bottom row:
The Creator -- Reversed
Overlooking the Diamond -- Reversed
Law -- Reversed
Middle row:
Drowning in Armor
Fearing Shadows
Top row:
The Lion (sideways)
The first round is the past present and future, and the Moonriders are split on The Creator: is it abandonment by a husband, a lover, a friend, or is it literally the creator, reversed, related to the loss of a child?
It's clearly a personal motive of the woman in question.
The second round is the stakes; the risk of failure seemingly magnified unnecessarily, versus the opposite of true prudence, or safeguards that that harm. It is a tale, in those cards, of preemptive treachery.
Perhaps the woman did her fell magics to prevent something she thought was going to be done to her.
The fate, they suggest, tells us that the contest is undecided, and will be a matter of strength. They disagree as to whose strength can decide the dilemma.
The knights want to know what Raven sees and how she read the cards.
"I had meant the one doing the possessing," is Raven's considered opinion, "but these cards look to be more about the one with the body to share. Though I'm saying that and knowing that I know little enough about the bodiless one, save a name and that she's powerful enough to demand respect. So... what I know of the one who shared - you may both be right, about that Creator there. It's a kinder story the cards are telling here than some might be saying now, but I've seen stranger things than a woman who felt her man was leaving her and mourned a child she'd never be having. And it's led - well, it's only a fool that trusts the barman to spot 'em stakes in the house card game. You let someone powerful in, and things ain't always going to go your way anymore, no matter what you'd planned or how kindly they seemed on the way in - and it damned sure makes what should have been nothing into a whole lot more. Could be it was in service of getting a little of her own back that she chose fell magics, but it ain't going well for her. That fate... I have a feeling that card's all about the fate of the body itself and who's going to come out with it in the end, given all the betrayal on the table."
Sir Argalia nods. "The cards don't always answer directly, and if you have another question in mind when you are asked, it may answer that one, or both." The knights seem to think she has the best interpretation.
The questions going forward are a mix of personal and vague.
"Last round," says Sir Argalia. "Unsheathed, do you have a good final question?"
The knight nods, and picks up the cards and shuffles them. "Will our attempt to return Sir Firumbras to his own time ultimately lead to weal or woe?"
He lays out the cards:
Bottom Row:
Knowledge -- Reversed
The Fish -- Reversed
The Eagle
Middle Row:
The Defender
The Creator -- Reversed
Top Row:
The Cockatrice (sideways)
They look to Raven. "Do you want to read it or pass?"
Raven considers the cards for a moment, and then nods. "I'll give it a try. Not the best start - assuming that all the answers stay the same, and that things are as they are on the surface. I think..." she says, frowning. "Looking at the middle there, defense against someone leaving too soon, and the top pointing to corruption or healing, that makes me think there's something greater that wants solving to bring his tale around full-circle. And solving it'll take some serious thought, not brute force, if that future card's on the spot."
Argalia nods. "Not bad. I am concerned about the Fish in the Present. Is that us? the Knight? Our understanding of the situation? But the eagle moves things to our advantage.
"Since we are to send Sir Firmumbras to his own time, the past, present, and future may be a circle. Knowledge Reversed versus the Eagle. When he returns, will he fruitlessly chase the princess, or will he work to build the legacy we know?
"And will his going back clean his timeline or corrupt it? It is a reading that leads, as you point out, to serious thought." Sir Unsheathed nods. "I am going to have to forfeit the round, as I do not know the ending of this story."
Raven nods. "Aye, well, I suppose that's what we get for asking about a thing we don't know the end of anyway. I think, Sir Argalia, that your reading and mine ain't so different; you went closer to the problem, and I took a step back, maybe. Thing is, I couldn't help but think about a bigger picture. I get the idea from my kin that there are a lot of things moving in the universe right now, and it don't seem likely that they're all accidental. So here we have Sir Firumbras, lost from time, and we have your people on the move for the first time in many years - long enough that you're one of a few different boogiemen we used to do battle with and against when I was a kid - and we have a cousin who died in the city in the sky, maybe at the prompting of a queen long gone. I ain't so sure they're all three separate things."
Argalia nods. He seems somber, or more somber than usual. He's clearly not the Moonrider with the sense of humor. "I think we're all convinced that Firumbras is tied up with what happened to your cousin and the queen. Firumbras told us some of those stories, where they were tied to him. It's part of why we've invited you all to Ghenesh.
"But tell us more of the connections you see."
Unsheathed is likewise paying close attention to Raven's words.
Brennan and Firumbras amble over at this point, to join the conversation.
"Private game, or open to all comers?" Brennan asks.
"Sir Brennan, Honored Ancestor. We were just packing but, but we could probably play a round."
Raven gives them both a quick nod of greeting.
Sir Firumbras looks at the game. "Not for me, but I'll watch. I've never been much of a gamer."
They quickly explain the rules and it's just like an Altamarean game that Bleys and Fiona play, except they've somehow added gambling rules to it.
"Would you like to lay out the cards, Sir Brennan, or would you rather ask the question?"
"And I'm saving anything else for after this hand," Raven says easily. "Besides, can't say I'm not curious if we're still all seeing the same kinds of stories in the cards as we've been seeing."
Brennan indicates by nod that Argalia should shuffle the cards. When he does, Brennan asks: "What is the price of rebirth?"
Sir Argalia shuffles, as Brennan suggested, and passes the cards to Sir Unsheathed, who lays out the pyramid.
Bottom row:
The Phoenix, Reversed
The Creator, Reversed
The Priestess
Middle row:
Winter
The Lion
Top card:
The Usurper
Raven frowns at the cards for a long moment. "I think," she says, and then pauses. "Well, destruction into a parting of the ways ain't entirely a surprise, I suppose; nobody gets to wanting a rebirth without some sort of ending happening. And that Priestess makes sense to me, because I can't see how you'd be reborn without turning into something else - but who you were before ain't gone, either. And then there's this top half. Virtue in keeping at it, with experience - which leaves me with some questions, when we're talking about rebirth." She snorts and shakes her head. "Starting with 'what are you doing that you've gotta be reborn often enough to get good at it?' And then the Lion against it as a fault, which I'm wondering if that ain't less about strength and more about being too locked on getting a new body. That Usurper, though. That's a card for mutinies and new gods, and I can't say as how I like seeing it here. The price is high, very high."
Brennan's eyes never leave the cards from the time Argalia shuffles to the end of Raven's interpretation. They just reflect the shifting colors of the sky above them all, now green, now gold, now amber.
Brennan taps the Past: "Agreed, that destruction is required before rebirth. This is a necessary precondition." Then he skips ahead to the Future: "But the Priestess symbolizes the revelation of divine mysteries, so a critical question is this: Are those revelations the result of a future rebirth? Or are they another necessary condition to the process, as yet unfulfilled? I often look at Past and Future as paired oppositions, much as the Virtue and Fault cards," he explains, before returning to the Present card. "The Present, though, doesn't seem to be of the same type. It fits a narrative, but I don't think it can be forced into the slot of a third necessary precondition, I think it's just a description of what is happening now. And it's interesting that the astrological correspondence of the Creator is the Moon," he says.
"So a plausible read of the bottom row, owing to the lunar connection, applies to your Queen and City both: Destroyed, or at least damaged unto destruction and destroying the ancient harmony of the four realms, in the distant past; the City isolated from the physical realm, and the Queen isolated by deprivation of her physical body as is my understanding; but not yet having understood the mystery necessary to fully return.
"The top card is easy to interpret broadly, but difficult to pin down exactly. The usurper is always some deadly force opposing the natural order, often context sensitive. In the rarefied context I just specified, this almost has to be Chaos itself. But is this warning that Chaos will benefit from the Queen's rebirth? From a botched attempt? From failing to attempt it?" Brennan shrugs.
"It's this middle row I find most puzzling, though. Maturity is a reasonable stand-in for the Queen herself, who by all reckoning is one of the oldest beings in Creation." Third or fourth oldest, by Brennan's reckoning, depending on whether and how one counts the Dragon of Arcadia, although he's politick enough not to say it out loud. "But the Lion... I might almost have expected to see War, Reversed or even the Soldier, Reversed. But the Lion is puzzling-- a strong and healthy body. If it were reversed, I would speculate that her lack of such is her greatest adversity. But perhaps gaining one will not be as favorable to her as she thinks."
He looks at the Moonriders for their interpretation.
Sir Argalia has been studying the cards. "The first question is 'How do we interpret the question?' The cards sometimes answer a question literally, or figuratively, or sometimes a different question that might also have been on your mind. Is this about a renaissance for Tir, Amber, Rebma, or Paris? King Corwin, back from the dead? Our Queen? Your King's Father? Sir Firumbras, who returns to us after ages of time and who is reborn to us now and to his time next. Our late visitors of the Bronze Legion die and are reborn constantly. As, in a more metaphorical sense, the conflict of our rulers."
Sir Firumbras looks startled to be mentioned, but doesnâ**t say anything.
Argalia looks at Unsheathed. "I take it that our Queen's actions are the most likely rebirth with a price.
"The phoenix reversed is literally a card of a failed rebirth, one that led to destruction instead of a new being from the ashes of the old. What rebirth has failed?
"The present is a card of the parting of a mother and child, is neutral. It could be happy or it could be sad. I take it as a sign that we are at a moment of great change, a passage worthy of a rite."
"The future is a card of duality. A priestess intercedes between the sacred and the profane, the world of the greater powers and the mundane reality of people, places, and things. It's a card that knows of the differences and claims there is a bridge. I tend to see that as a positive outcome possible. And the lunar aspect is upright in the future.
"And the middle row is interesting, Winter is a card of the dying of the year, which is literally the last stage before a rebirth. Tying this back to the question, is the price one that has been paid already by aging to maturity? Who is paying the price? Winter is a card of harshness as part of a natural cycle, and Spring is inevitably to follow, with new growth that is like unto a phoenix. But contrast that with the lion. Was the price not paid because the price of rebirth is death and strength precludes it?
"And the last card is the usurper, balanced as the fate card. Who is the usurper in the question? The natural order is a progression of the seasons, but if someone uses their strength and the mysteries they have uncovered to be born again, the price is whatever cannot grow in place of the reborn power.
"It seems a warning, but whose fate is it warning against overturning? Of all the ones I listed, I cannot imagine that we are all in agreement with listening to this warning."
"There's another meaning for that Present card," Raven says. "If we all take it as read that we're talking about your Queen's attempt to be reborn, that is. Pretty straightforward one. Seems like when Queen Vialle went up to Tir, she brought down a passenger. Ain't real clear on exactly what that means - could be a child, could be they're just sharing one body. What's clear is, it seems like it's to do with your Queen somehow."
Brennan didn't see that coming, either as an interpretation of the cards or as Raven's statement, but he is an Amberite and reflexively tries to maintain an impassive face. He makes no immediate reply, and wants to see what the Moonriders make of that.
Sir Unsheathed looks grim. "We are knights, and sworn to the Queen, as you to your King. But the obligations go both ways and if she did wrong, there will be a reckoning. It's a thing we have been discussing in detail since the first night we spent talking with our honored ancestor," he says, nodding to Sir Firumbras, who nods back.
Sir Argalia looks at him, "It is as disturbing to us as the possibility of a betrayal of justice by your King would be to you. We have not discussed it in detail with you, but I assumed you suspected as much by your invitation to our home."
"Have you indeed," Brennan says. "I think at some point, I would welcome a discussion of justice and its necessary priors, but this is probably not that point." Brennan is mostly looking at Unsheathed, the most scholarly-seeming of the bunch, but he does not go out of his way to exclude anyone.
"But perhaps the time to discuss this situation is at hand, here at what is plausibly neutral ground-- not Avalon, nor Ghenesh, nor even my Aunt's Tower under my grandmother's eye."
"And without playing at talking around it through cards," Raven agrees. "Not to speak for you lot, of course, but I also ain't going to pretend you don't know where I was aiming now."
Unsheathed concedes the point. "We're soldiers, not diplomats, but even direct men such as ourselves tend to introduce some subjects obliquely. 'Have we been betrayed?' is a hard question to ask of your hereditary enemies, even if you may approve of them personally.
"However, we are knights, and that means we are have rights and responsibilities and judgements we can make. Even our liege lords are not free to tread across certain lines."
Argalia agrees. "Historically, there have been knights who have rebelled when their lord was forsworn. Some of them are still considered paragons of knightly virtue.
"But it is hard to oppose the Queen, and we have not yet decided to do so. Our hope is that you bring your truth to our wisest scholars, and they can tell us the rights and wrongs of it."
"Not all who have opposed the Queen out of principle have fared well," Unsheathed adds. "I don't worry about the risk, but about the momentousness of the cause. We would need to be able to lay out the reasons for our opposition in terms so plain that no rider or person of honor would think of them as anything except the demands of justice."
"If you do not wish to discuss the details here and now," Brennan says, "I will respect that. But I would ask instead that you tell us of these people you would have us present our case to-- Mystics? Lawgivers and judges? Scholars in an academic sense? A standing group with rules, or a collection assembled to this purpose?"
Brennan brings to mind the glyph that Ambrose sketched earlier in the day, the one they couldn't decipher but that Ambrose thought was a group or person that Brand had been communicating with.
"The same folks you were saying would like to talk to Queen Clarissa?" Raven adds to the questions. "The Doorkeepers of the Gates of Knowledge, I think you said?"
"I did so say. They are a holy priesthood, and are the voice of the community of the followers of the Queen of Clouds and Moonlight. It is not a warrior's calling but we rely on them for the protection afforded by knowledge as they rely upon us for the protection afforded by strength." Unsheathed looks as if he would have been happy as a Doorkeeper.
"In other words," Sir Argalia adds, "they are the asses in our collective seat of reason."
Firumbras smiles as the crude joke. It breaks whatever mood he was in and he seems more relaxed.
"Priesthood? How so?" Brennan asks. Brennan, having travelled widely in shadow for a long time, has seen a lot of models of priesthood and a lot of notions of divinity, and doesn't want to guide the question too much. But given Amber's decided lack of organized religion due to Oberon's anti-Klybesian edicts, that does get his attention.
Raven doesn't have a whole lot of opinion about priesthoods, but she holds her own question to hear the answer.
Unsheathed ponders for a second. "I don’t know how to answer that. They are a class apart, dedicated to their calling and not bound by feudal duties nor granted feudal rights. They are the first of the three estates of our society."
Sir Argalia nods. "Their role, originally, was to act as judges and arbiters to keep the knights from endless warring. They have a number of privileges from the Queen, but they are also circumscribed, by her grace as well. They are advisors and scholars."
"Can't say I know a whole lot about priesthoods," Raven says, frowning a little. "But I've been around folks that knew some. Kinda got the impression that if you've got a priest, they're worshipping somebody. But that ain't exactly what you just described."
Brennan is very interested in the actual answer to Raven's implied question.
But since he hasn't even bothered to ask Ambrose about the status of his own cult-- he fervently hopes it died out-- he may not be the best person to really press the point. He seetles for paying close attention.
Unsheathed thinks about it. "They haven't spread the word if they have. We've seen a lot of the other kind in shadow. Most of them either start as or end up as Klybesians. Would calling ours 'Philosopher Monks' help?"
Brennan nods in the affirmative, although his face sours at the mention of the Klybesians and he does not try to hide it.
Raven nods as well, with a bit of a frown that's either thinking or an equal lack of enthusiasm about the Klybesians.
Sir Argalia expands on the thought. "It's hard to have a religion based on the ineffable belief in a supernatural creator of everything when you're ruled by an immortal Queen who might have been witness to the creation, and has opinions about it."
Unsheathed looks at Brennan. "Amber might've had the right approach. Let people believe in anything they want, give them space to do it, but don't encourage it."
"I don't know that Amber was as tolerant as you suggest," Brennan says. "For instance, there was no tolerance of any organized religion. Not that there was compulsory adherence to a state religion, but organized worship was actively discouraged. Believe what you want, quietly, in private, but space is not given-- rather, it was mandated. That, however, may have been a later development." Brennan glances at Firumbras to see if he has an opinion on that.
"And my understanding is that King Oberon actively discouraged any discussion of Amber's origins. But the stories of creation as told in Tir-na Nog'th, now that would be something to hear," Brennan says.
"Aye," Raven agrees.
Unsheathed smiles. "It’s told amongst our people that your King liked firm lines. That some things were tolerated until they were not. Argalia is young, like I am, and we didn't really interact with Amber before the interdiction, so we don't know much for sure.
"As to tales of the creation, we can speak of it. Our Monks, perhaps, would do a better job. But one of the difficulties of traveling the way we do is that it is easy to find yourself chasing daylight, and spending time traveling far in excess of the normal diurnal cycle of the shadows you are moving through.
"This would be a good topic to discuss in the morning, as we ride out towards Ghenesh."
Argalia looks at the road ahead. "We might arrive tomorrow, or something that feels like tomorrow. Late in the day."
Raven snorts in amusement. "Sir Unsheathed, I'm starting to think all ways of traveling through Shadow eventually turn into 'the day starts when you wake up and ends when you're about to fall over' if you ain't careful. Late in the day for us, or late in the day there?"
"Yes, and maybe," replies Argalia. "We won't know what time it is there until we arrive. Or what day."
Unsheathed acknowledges the lesson she's picked up with a twist of his head. "How did you handle that on your ship, Captain? Certainly it's easier to sail when the sun is up..."
"If you only sail when it's easier, you ain't getting anywhere fast," Raven answers. "We've got hourglasses on board, and somebody to tend 'em. And we kept to watches, to keep the ship going. And those worked just fine where we were and where I've been since, but after taking a ride the wrong direction on that beastie, I'm thinking that ain't always going to be as reliable as I always thought it was."
Argalia is ready to argue the point. "Not to belabor the point, but I can ride or sail faster in daylight, when I can see where I'm going. At night, when it's harder, I'm inclined to go more slowly, for safety."
Unsheathed doesn't seem interested in that argument. "I don't think sandglasses work well on horses, but I take your point. And if you sailed into a shadow where gravity was notional, you might have a long watch in front of you, but you would likely have other distractions than who had worked for how long."
Firumbras jumps in. "Regardless, it's always been the case that travel between places was more of an art than a feat of engineering, and as such was not subject to timetables. If you can make it so that we arrive at a precise time, you've got a gift."
Raven nods to Firumbras. "And seeing as how these Sirs have a knack with time that I ain't going to pretend I understand," she says, "I figured it was worth asking if we were talking time for us or time for where we're going. Make sure we're on the same page and all." She shrugs. "Sir Argalia, you're calling something that's different harder, and I ain't so sure that's warranted. Aye, there's less light at night, which makes it harder to see what's in front of you -- but there's more points for navigation, too, assuming the place you're in's got something that pases for stars. And more ways you can go through a place unnoticed, which sometimes is what you want. And maybe the weather ain't so punishing, or maybe the bloody giant birds around those parts ain't out at night, or there's less noise and you can hear what's around you better than when the sun's up, given that sight ain't the only way to know when you're safe. And if the first bosun I ever served under was here right now, he'd be asking you why you're only traveling safely at night." She smiles. "But he ain't. So I'll just say I'd rather sail at night and at speed than try to sail another ship through a sandstorm, because those three days were the worst days of sailing I've ever had.
"I'll also say that I'm pretty sure I heard a nicely worded 'we're tired after leading the trip all day' a couple of minutes ago, so maybe that's an argument for another time?"
Argalia just smiles a tight little smile. "We can pick up again at your convenience. I think the additional conditions you added make it clear that it's neither always the case that easier is slower nor is it inherently faster, but we'll consider it on the whole when we're rested from our travels."
Last modified: 16 July 2022