The Prodigal Returns


It has been some time since Silhouette sent her best customer away with armaments against his own grand design. He had been prepared for conquest, but there was one weapon that Silhouette could not secure for him. He would have to master it on his own.

Since his departure, she had had other clients, but none so likely to serve her needs as he had been. There had been no word for weeks of his quest. Now, at last, he had returned, alone, bruised, burned, beaten, and bleeding. His army was lost, and he had not achieved his goal, or hers.

Huon of Amber had returned to Vanderyahr, and was waiting for Silhouette.

Silhouette receives the news while testing the windlass mechanism of a new polybolos design. Normally, an injured or dying client would not garner her interest -- certainly not when she's deeply involved in her workshop. Such loses are simply elements of the Grand Design.

But Huon is no ordinary client.

She sets her tools aside and instructs the foreman to continue the firing trials. After paying the messenger boy and forwarding her acknowledgement, she retires to her personal chambers above the foundry.

A twinge of worry bothers her while she showers away the morning's grease and sweat. The emotion intrigues her. Frustration should dominate her thoughts. Yet concern remains more prevalent, almost pressing in its intensity. It guides her choice of dress -- cream silk, unassuming -- to express comfort and protection. Finally, she chooses a light perfume of mandarin, lemongrass, ylang ylang, and clove for its armoatherapeutic qualities. She wants to provide Huon with an unmistakable sense of sanctuary.

With her chiurgeon's bag in hand, Silhouette leaves her home and then hails a rickshaw. The trip through Rethora is suitably expedient, most of the Yahren population currently at midday market rather than crowding the narrow streets. The driver weaves its way down to the shoreline, where the city's main infirmary had been built to take advantage of the healing salt air.

The white, two-story structure comes into view, located on an outcropping of volcanic rock. The Yahern concept of healing involved a deep connection to nature, so many of the patients and their nurses are outside, enjoying the crystal blue waters and soft sands. Silhouette hopes Huon has been able to take advantage of these therapeutic benefits in her absence.

The rickshaw lets Silhouette off in front. After a brief discussion with the staff, she follows their directions to Huon's private room. She knocks lightly on the door and enters. The room is dark, a few rays of sunlight bleeding through the shuttered windows. A bed with mosquito netting sits at the other end of the room, covered in shadow.

"Milord?" she says softly, closing the door behind her.

A physician is seeing to his wounds, but none look life-threatening. "You may leave," he says to the man, and both he and the physician understand it to be an order. The man packs his things quickly and heads out the door, bowing to Silhouette as he passes.

"Two brothers, a sister, a brace of assorted nieces and nephews, and an ex girlfriend all screaming for my blood. They beat my army and denied me my prize, but they couldn't hold me.

He looks up. "The bad news is that I was briefly their prisoner, but I escaped. The good news is that I briefly had the sword in my hands. It's not a legend, as I feared it was. The bad news is that I only had it briefly.

"They'll come after me. I need to go someplace they can't easily find."

Silhouette pulls a chair over to his bedside. She sets her bag down on the nightstand and opens it, removing several reagents and salves from within. "The transient nature of this Shadow should suffice for the time being. The Badjao -- our seafarers -- have said our stars are changing. The Traveling shall occur within days. You shall be safe from pursuit."

She touches his hand and smiles. "During that time, you shall remain in my care, Lord Huon. Now -- with your permission -- I wish to treat your wounds."

Huon smiles. "Always welcome. No mirrors, since I have made enemies of the Mirror-witches of Rebma, and the room either needs to be very dark or blindingly light at all times." Huon pauses and breathes in several times. "I have determined that it is likely that the Traveling will occur sooner rather than later."

Silhouette raises a brow at these revelations, answering with a silent nod.

He turns towards her. "All scrapes and bruises, except where the dragon clawed me while I was tied up. Where do the Badjao think we will end up this time?"

Silhouette carefully unbinds Huon's wrappings and examines the wounds with a clinical eye. She pays special attention to the dragon's beautiful work -- fascinated by the wound tracking in the tissue. She makes a mental note of the wound ballistics for later analysis and experimentation. "Regrettably, our foreknowledge on where Vanderyahr reappears is speculation at best. However, this may work to your advantage, milord. The enemy cannot predict where you new sanctuary will be and all trace of your passing shall be erased.

"Usually, the Traveling takes us to shadows with Mediterranean climes, which I am certain will help speed your recovery," she adds.

Silhouette combines some boiled troll fat, ironwood nut, and aloe vera leaves into a thick paste. "This may sting," she warns and then gingerly applies the salve to the claw marks.

"Good, I'll know it's working that way. " His wounds are serious, but don't seem to be inflamed. Someone has taken care of them in the past. "Ah, it's a good sting, yes. When I'm well enough, I need to do something dangerous, and it's something I can't do alone. How would you like to help me visit a ghost-city?"

Silhouette sighs as she works on her patient's injuries. Amberite physiology rarely allowed for an easy procedure. Finally, satisfied that the wounds will not turn septic or worsen, she applies fresh bandages and cleans her hands.

"Is that wise, milord?" she says. "I will assist you to the fullest of my capabilities, but I worry for your safety." She smiles and strokes his hand.

Huon smiles back at her. "If I cared about my safety, I wouldn't have tried to go after my damnable brother. That smirk of his is still the same, after all these years.

"Nothing else is, though. The City of Youth now floats above a much younger city, and they say the King of Amber is no more, which I could not credit, but seems to be true.

"If I were smart, I'd just wait for them to quarrel, and then fall on the wounded victors. But I've no patience."

He stretches his side carefully, pulling but not overly stressing the dressing on his wounds. "It will be an adventure, and when I am well, I will look forward to it." He raises an eyebrow. "Have you been to Amber before?"

Silhouette's hazel eyes flash and her back stiffens. She busies herself with returning the items to their right and proper place within her bag. "No," she says flatly. He hand pauses, clenches, and then relaxes once more.

She turns her head to meet Huon's gaze. "When I was a child of five, my mother promised that I would see the fabled Amber. She told me that its splendors were my birthright. She told me how I would serve the Family and the King. She told me a great many things of Amber.

"But when I turned six, she abandoned me. And when the soldiers came, I watched my father and sisters burned alive. I was taken as a slave and used in crude ways. But I survived. I survived without my mother. Without Amber. So, I have had little interest in seeking that place."

She snaps her doctor's bag closed. "It represents nothing but falsehoods and empty promises to me."

He looks into the flickering candlelight and extinguishes it. "It is all things, including those, and it is not what it once was. I didn't realize your mother came from Amber, but in this place I should not be surprised. Who was she?"

As the candle dies, Silhouette silently welcomes the shadows. Her face remains like cold-iron as she speaks. "My father called her Khloris. I believe the Thari translation of her name is Florimel. Princess Florimel."

Her dark brow rises in his direction, "Do you know of her, my Prince?"

"Of course. There are only a handful of members of the royal family. A dozen Princes, even fewer Princesses. All at one degree or another of war against each other. Your mother wasn't the youngest or the strongest of Oberon's children. Technically I'm at war with all of them. You're by birth a Lady of the court in your own right."

Silhouette raises her head at this, prideful.

He turns and notices the dim light, and extinguishes it, leaving the two of them in the darkness except for starlight and streetlight from outside. "What would you do if I could get you to them, Lady Silhouette?"

In the blackness, her hand seeks Huon's, lacing their fingers together. "I have not considered that question at length," she says. "However, I would not ask you to risk yourself for me. If you are at war with these people, then so am I. You are an agent of the Grand Design and my loyalty is to you, milord."

He squeezes her fingers. "Your mother lives, and has a son with her at court. Your brother. She fought, or tried to, and was on the wrong side of a civil war between the eldest champions for Father's throne."

Silhouette's eyes flash in the faint moonlight. "A brother?" she whispers. She allows her companion to continue without further interruption.

"They've offered me amnesty. And with Father dead, I should consider taking it. I would exempt your vendetta against her from any agreement we reached, of course." She hears the change in his voice. "Ideally, I would exempt mine with Bleys, but that may be the price of peace."

She gives an amused chuckle, friendly, not discourteous. "Fear not, milord. On a personal level, I do not employ the laws of vendetta or the teachings of Samuel. Although useful if exploited correctly, they are counterproductive to the Grand Design." She pauses. "I have allowed my personal feelings regarding my mother to cloud my judgment on too many occasions. Should I encounter Florimel, I shall endure this test as the Grand Design commands me."

Her thumb brushes against his hand. "Will the Youths honor their Elders offer of amnesty? Is it not dangerous to test their honor in this way?" Another pause. "Perhaps I might relay the offer of peace for you, rather than risk your possible confinement. Or worse."

Huon shrugs. "They should. The King of Amber, though young, will not look kindly on a kinslayer. But if they choose to be suicidal, I do not fear their wrath."

Silhouette is glad for the murkiness. It hides the sardonic expression that peeks through the cracks of her genteel mask. Wordless, her hand retreats from his and settles in her lap.

He pauses, in the dark. "You shall be my emissary to them."

She smiles to herself -- a small victory gained. "Of course, milord," she says, bowing her head. "With the Traveling at hand, I see no need to acquire new patrons at this time. The Grand Design is better served as your liaise.

"I do possess some skills with negotiation. If you would simply write a list of your demands to be relayed, I shall convey them. Also, a list of concessions you are willing to agree to will be helpful."

Huon shrugs; she can hear the bandages shift against each other. "Ideally, I'd like the keys to the castle and Bleys' head on a plate, but I'll settle for my freedom in exchange for not pursuing my well-deserved vengeance against my brother."

Silhouette offers a thin smile, "Barring permissible fratricide, I am certain I can acquire a suitable convention from our family. I shall leave when you permit."

She tilts her head and looks up at him. "Now, tell me of this ghost city. Do you intend to liberate or destroy it?"

"I intend to studiously not give a Tinker's Dam about it, honestly. Caring about it doomed one of my brothers, and I don't want his mark of doom to rub off on me."

He looks at her in the near-darkness, his eyes reflecting oddly, like a cat's. "It is yet another sign of how changed the world is. The champions of that place are implacable enemies of Amber, and even I would not be so unwise as to attempt to use them. It would either backfire or worse, succeed. Their goals and queen are ... not right."

Silhouette raises a delicate brow at this, hazel suspicion in her eyes. Twice Huon has mentioned this ghost city. Twice he has been dismissive. After her brief study of the man, she knows Huon is somewhat of a blunt instrument, his subtlety reserved solely for the battlefield. So, has he now stepped outside of his Construct in order to utilize the Third and Eighth Laws of Power? Or does the Programme remain sound and these statements were nothing more than aberrations of gears and tongue?

She files this away for later analysis.

Silhouette offers a bemused smile. "You must forgive me, milord," she apologizes. "My inadequate knowledge of Amber and its environs prevents comment. I am certain you will illuminate me over the coming days."

Her hand seeks his cheek, brushing fingertips over his cheekbone. "Shall I remain? Or do you wish to rest?"

Huon chuckles. "Exertion reinvigorates me, Silhouette." He does not dismiss her.

Silhouette leans forward with a coy languidness. Her lips hover a breath from Huon's, as if in promise. "Milord," she whispers in the darkness. "In your current state, the exertions I could offer would most certainly finish what the dragon started. And I could not have your demise rest upon my conscience. No matter the temptation."

She lingers for an exquisite moment before retreating from him.

In the darkness, Silhouette feels Huon move toward her; a hand seeking hers. She kindly brushes it away and whispers, "No." Softly spoken, the word is as unyielding as granite.

She brushes back his hair, hazel eyes brimming with regret. "Milord, I would not offend you in such a crude manner," she says. "For if I were to offer myself to you so brazenly tonight, it would do you a great disservice. And that affront I could not bare. You are a Prince of Amber. A First Son of Amber. Such nobility deserves a Prince's consort, not a lowly concubine.

"And a Prince's consort is earned, not freely given."

She offers a modest - yet determined - smile. "So, you must fight for me, milord. You must be a warrior and your battlefield shall be my heart. Your weapons shall be tender words and strong actions. You shall chase and I shall take flight, as if we are Poseidon and Demeter of Antiquity reborn. You must seduce me. Possess me.

"And when I finally I surrender myself to you, milord, you will have won a victory worthy of a First Son. A woman worthy of True Prince."

She raises his hand to her lips, blessing each knuckle with a kiss. "For like honey, will my nectar not taste all the sweeter once it has properly ripened?"

Silhouette allows his hand to fall away and stands, "Good night, milord. Rest well."

Huon lets his hand fall to his side in the darkness. "Our business arrangement does not change, Lady Silhouette."

He lets her leave, and waits as he hears her footsteps retreat in the corridor. After all is silent, he begins to slowly chuckle. "Why do I always find the crazy ones?"


As Silhouette emerges from the hospice, she immediately realizes the recent Traveling has brought Vanderyahr to an intemperate clime. The streets were already lined with people taking advantage of the cool sea air, a welcome relief from the sweltering humidity of the pervious Cycle. But for her, the chill bites into her flesh as she heads inland. Rather than retreat to her forge, she briefly stops to buy some spicy iguana meat and bitter tea from a street vendor. The meal warms her cheeks long enough to follow the siren's call of Purpose farther into Rethora.

Thirty minutes later, she reaches the gardened courtyard of the Great Library. Overlooking the city, the extensive structure had been carved out of basalt, its endless halls descending into dark stone. After untold years of moving through shadow, Vanderyahr had amassed a vast collection of tomes and scrolls penned by thousands of cultures. Yahrens -- hoarders by nature -- were eager to archive any and all knowledge that could utilized in their quest for profit. It is here that Silhouette hopes she can find answers to unasked questions.

The imposing bronze doors swing open with little more than a touch -- the weight and pulley mechanism one of Silhouette's many contributions to the library's construction. This "philanthropic" gift has provided her with access to the more private collections. The doors' movement creates a scintillating music that echoes through the foyer, alerting the night clerk of her presence.

She crosses the foyer and smiles at the elderly man. "May the Waters of Knowledge forever sustain you, Elder," she says, bowing her head. "Forgive my late visit, but I seek information regarding the great city of Amber; in particular, the Ghost City and its people. Would the records provide me with Illumination?"

"May the Rains of Wisdom fall upon you, my Child," he responds, almost by rote. "The records are unclear on the matter, though many have tried to determine the truth to be found in them. Elder Vidya once studied these matters for a year and a day, and knows the most of all of us of the doomed City of Youth, and the Elder City which Eats Its Young."

"Then I would speak with Elder Vidya," Silhouette says. "Please inform the Elder that she will find Profit in responding to this request.

"Profit that may be shared." She smiles faintly before adding, "I shall wait here."

She turns away and becomes as unmoving as the polished stone surrounding her.

Before long a young man appears. He offers to lead her to Elder Vidya. Vidya is in an inner courtyard, surrounded by trees and with an artificial stream through the space. It is tranquil here. The young man stands in front of the door and holds his hand out, palm up.

Silhouette places a few silver coins in the young man's hand. "May Dhana Lakshmi bless your palm forevermore," she says. She walks through the open door into the courtyard, glancing about. Although more comfortable amongst iron and ash, she cannot deny her appreciation of these manifestations of Draig-talamh. She pauses to sample a night-blooming rose before turning to the woman.

With both hands turned inward, Silhouette touches her brow, eyes, mouth, and then heart - the Sign of the Four Vedas. "Blessings Elder. Thank you for allowing me this honor tonight."

The elder is extremely old, even for a Yahren. "Blessings upon you. You may speak to me of your need and of our mutual profit."

Silhouette sits down across from the woman, smoothing her dress over her knees. "I require information regarding the Ghost City of Amber," she explains. "In particular, the history of its Queen and her goals in relation to Amber and Oberon's Get. Any and all documentation on this subject will be of importance to me as well."

She knits her hands together and smiles respectfully. "I shall repay you for this information in gold now and in knowledge upon my return from the Ghost City. On this, you have my solemn promise, Elder."

The smile fades, "In return I ask only for the truth and absolute discretion, yes?"

She nods. "Mmmmh. Risky. You might fail to return, and I would be left without my knowledge. Yet gain comes from risk. I would agree to this if you took an apprentice with you."

Silhouette touches her chin thoughtfully. She considers the various permutations of this request and calculates an acceptable level of risk. "Agreed," she says. "However, I will require an adept upon whose knowledge I may draw. And they must possess some physical prowess, as I cannot guarantee their safety on this expedition. Finally, although I shall endeavor to protect this individual, I will not compensate the Library for their loss or injury."

She smiles faintly, "As you stated, 'gain comes from risk.'"

"As long as you endeavor to return him, or his notes, it will suffice." Vidya claps her hands and a very young man appears, certainly no older than a dozen summers. He is sent to fetch the materials for the contractual bindings.

Silhouette nods in apparent agreement. Her eyes follow the new arrival with mute interest. She offers a silent prayer to Draig-talamh that her new ward will be older than this pup. Her neck could not bear the weight of an additional albatross; Huon being more than enough of a burden.

No one knows if the binding is mystically enforceable or if that's just a legend. The Yahren take care of oath breakers long before the dragons of the earth can come to their assistance.

The terms Vidya states were as she had proposed, and she binds herself to them in the name of Sri Devi, contingent upon the identical binding of Silhouette.

Silhouette binds herself in Inanna's name "May we forever prosper in each other's light."

With a nod to her new bond-mate, "Now. Tell me of the Ghost Queen and her kingdom. Why does she instill trepidation in the Amberites?"

Vidya takes a deep breath, returning to a calm state of repose. Just when Silhouette thinks she may not answer she clears her throat and answers.

"Amber is ancient, and she only remembers a score of centuries. She was ancient before them, and perhaps before the score they remembered.

"The Land of Youth was a mirror image of Amber, a city floating in the clouds as the sea kingdom mirrored Amber beneath the sea. The Queen, whose name none know in these times, desired eternal youth and bargained with evil powers for the power, betrayed her husband and bore a son by his chief knight, who was also her kinsman. Her wish was granted, but the city was severed from the lands of mortal men. It became the Ghost City, the city of moonlight, and all those who could not change with it fell from the city into the Great Bay. It is said that the bodies were thick enough that day that a man could walk across the harbor on their backs.

"That was the first doom of Tir-Na N'ogth, and none in Amber remember it that will say aught of it.

"Those who remained, the Youth, grew strange, almost non-human. They worshipped their Queen, making her into a Goddess. They came to blame Amber for their downfall and swore to destroy her. It was ill-fated, and they were driven out and captured, but not until they had burned and looted much of the city. Those who were captured were exiled, and have been wanderers for centuries, separated from their Goddess-Queen and knowing only the burning desire to attack those who so hurt them.

"That was the second doom of Tir-Na N'ogth, and Amber remembers the Riders of Ganesha as the worst foes who ever menaced them. Chlidren in Amber are still threatened with them.

"They, and Amber, await the third doom of Tir-Na N'ogth with equal trepidation and anticipation."

As the story progresses, a reptilian smile emerges on Silhouette's dark lips. "Simply delicious," she whispers. She is quick to add, "That is if this pleasing terror possesses more than the pretense of truth."

She remains silent as the gears turn in her mind, pressing ever forward until conjugate thoughts gain velocity. A crude plan emerges from the aether like a mass of clay waiting to be shaped by a divine hand. "The Third Doom," she finally says. "Are there Prophecies surrounding it eventual coming? Are there stories of a harbinger that will bring this Doom into creation and reunite the Youth with their Goddess-Queen? And what Wardings were cast to forever separate the Youth from their spectral homeland? There must be some reason they haven't returned from their exile."

"A Doom for the city of Amber, which was the anchor of the sky-bound city, A Doom for the city of Ur, first-home, which many say is not just a myth but a heresy, and A Doom for the city of Rebma, mirror of Ghosts and People alike. Entire religions have grown, warred, and been eliminated by men fighting over the proper interpretation of the Three Dooms. The Broken Road runs into it, and out as well, and those who walk that path come out again, but it not where they expect to be.

"The Riders were bound until the end of the world. Both they and Amber expect them to return after that."

Silhouette chuckles inwardly, pleased. She'd ended more than a few worlds during her lifetime. Amber notwithstanding -- one more 'ending' would not trouble her. Stagnation -- in any incarnation -- could not be tolerated and she would witness Tir-Na N'ogth's returned to Progress.

"And the Prince? The bastard child of the Queen. Do you know his name? His story?" Silhouette leans forward with a hungry grin. She senses the youth could be a main-spring in her developing construct. Numerous dynasties were established through a bastard child. And to what limits would he follow her in order to obtain his birthright?

"Prince Medrawt? It is said that he sleeps like unto death, dreaming in an eternal city, and will awaken to fight at the end of the world, but it is unclear who he will fight for or against."

"Medrawt. Root meaning: To hit," Silhouette says, touching her chin. "How banally apropos. But vaguely helpful nonetheless." Her hand slashes the air, a deep sigh escaping her lips. Until she knew the particular threads to weave around this Prince, he remained an unreliable tool.

"Two last questions. And do answer them as succinctly as possible," she adds. "The Broken Road and the city of Ur. Where might I find them? Has our land ever encountered them during the Traveling?"

"Ur is the ideal of a city, the unattainable image of the perfect city. It is the aggregation of the thought and image of 'city' in the mind of the God of the Nemiatic Heretics of the land of Glond. Because it is ideal, it does not exist and thus embodies Utopia."

"For the gods have abandoned us. Like migrating birds they have gone. Ur is destroyed, bitter is its lament," Silhouette whispers to herself. A slight smile plays on her lips, "But I truly wonder if you speak of eutopos or utopos. We shall see soon enough."

[Vidya] nods, creakily, to the acolyte and he departs. "Ettorio", she says. The lad waves, and sprints away.

"I've no idea what 'The Broken Road' is. It connects the cities, or so the tomes say. It may refer to the fact that without appropriate wizardcraft, one cannot walk the road between the cities, so it appears to be broken to the unilluminated."

Silhouette nods. "He is altogether good, but he is clothed with darkness. I understand."

A young man, much sturdier than the acolyte, appears in the doorway. He waits politely to be acknowledged.

Silhouette senses the impending dismissal and stands up. "This is the chick that shall roost beneath my wing, I assume. Come forward boy. Let us get a look at you." She beckons him forward as a mother might her child.

He steps forward, somewhat impudently returning her gaze. Vidya waits to see how Silhouette handles him.

"Ettorio is not of the people, but has a quick mind," she says by way of introduction.

Silhouette critically accesses the youth and then nods with approval. At least he has some steel in his spine and fire in his heart, she thinks. "Better a quick mind than a quick tongue," she says. "He will suit my purpose."

She tilts her head slightly toward Vidya, "I shall remain in Vanderyahr for another Traveling. Ettorio will remain with me during that time and provided free access to your archives in order to copy any and all passages referencing Tir-Na N'ogth that I deem of interest.

"This is not negotiable. But any notations will remain in my care and not shared with Outsiders. Ont his, you have my Word."

"Agreed," [Vidya] says. "Ettorio, you know the price of your tuition."

The lad nods.

Excellent, Silhouette thinks. The boy has Purpose and is thus more easily directed.

She gestures to Ettorio, "Come, boy. Soon we tread upon moonlight and razors. I wish to see how sure your footing is."

Ettorio bows, hands steepled before him. "As the Lady wishes." He seems prepared to follow immediately.

Silhouette bows to Vidya, "Om ri Maha Lakshmyai Namah." With this, she retraces her steps to the library's foyer and out into the blue night. She does not acknowledge her companion until they are some distance from the library.

As the lights and sounds of the city reach them, she turns her head in Ettorio's direction. "Do you have family, Ettorio?" The previous edge in her voice has softened.

"I may, Lady, or I may not. We left my homelands long ago and have not shifted back towards them. I have none here," he says. "The air smells of change," he mentions, as if he is speaking of the weather.

"The universe is transformation; our life is what our thoughts make it,'" Silhouette replies. "We may not tread these hallowed streets again, Ettorio. Cities may rise and fall from the ashes of this one whilst we tread the paths of silver and dream. Know this now."

She turns her head slightly, allowing the moonlight to frame her angular features. A frown touches her dark lips. "I ask but one thing. Obedience. Question not my commands. Follow the letter of my word, no matter how you may rile against them. Do this and you shall live. Do not and you shall be naught but dust.

"For soon, we walk amongst gods. And their choleric nature knows no bounds. I understand this well, for I am of their kin."

She resumes her walk, hands folded in from of her. "In return, I shall show you Mysteries that no dusty tome may offer."

He nods. "While I would wish to have more knowledge of the Yahrhan, one cannot wait until one is entirely prepared to embrace fate. I warn you I will make a poor prophet for you, Goddess. I ask one boon, though. Tell me your objective in going to Land of Youth, and I will chose if shall swear to you."

"I seek no prophet, Ettorio," Silhouette chuckles. "Their honeyed words are naught but diaphanous nourishment for starving souls. I deal in substance, not shadow. Nor do I request blind faith. What I require is your trust in me."

She turns down an empty street, heading toward the brutish shape of her foundry. "In answer to your question, my objective's stratagem remains embryonic. Nonetheless, its underpinnings focus upon the revival of the Ghost City and its Goddess. Stagnation -- which now grips the Land of Youth -- is an anathema and must be undone. Progress must be encouraged."

A sigh escapes her, "This goal may be contradictive to the goals of my current associate -- the High Prince Huon. As such, I rely upon your discretion when associating with him."

He nods. "I can agree to this goal. One learns the most about a thing by putting it in motion, rather than seeing it frozen in place. While Progress may lead to destruction, so does life, eventually.

"Is Huon a Prince of Tirna n'Ogth?"

"Hah," Silhouette snorts. "No. He is of a more terrestrial origin -- Amber to be precise. He would more likely destroy the Ghost City outright. Be wary when dealing with him.

"Whilst in Amber, I shall travel to Amber under the guise of Huon's envoy, in order to settle a previous dispute. However, once those negotiations are complete, you and I shall utilize the opportunity to gain access to Tirna n'Ogth. As such, we must speak not of our true purpose to him or those we shall deal with. Is that understood?"

He nods. "Understood, Lady. If I am questioned as to my origin or purpose, shall I be your clerk? Is there aught you need before we depart that I may assist with?"

"We shall refer to you by your appropriate title, Ettorio. Apprentice."

The street leads them to a wooden bridge, which spans a fast moving stream. The rhythmic song of a waterwheel beckons them in the distance. They are close to Silhouette's foundry now, almost home.

As they enter the expansive property, Silhouette smiles at her companion. "There are several matters that will require your attention. Firstly, each morning, I shall require you to return to the library and transcribe passages you deem of importance to our venture to Ghost City. At high-sun, you shall return to the foundry where you shall be trained in the Grand Design. You appear to have the mind for it.

"Your training will include sword-work. The rapier and main-gauche, specifically. I shall fashion weapons for you tonight. You are free to observe."

He nods. "My thanks, Lady. I shall watch and learn, whenever I may."

The foundry soon looms over them, a red bricked toad of a building. Cool mist drifts off the massive waterwheel that powers its iron heart. Silhouette shivers as it touches her skin.

"This shall be your new home for the time being. There are guest rooms away from the furnaces, so you should be comfortable. Please avoid the production floor, if at all possible. I would rather you not come to harm through misfortune. My quarters are accessible to you whenever you require. It is doubtful I shall rest before our departure, so you may summon me day or night.

"Are there any other amenities you require?"

He bows. "Lady, I have no needs for myself. To accomplish your objectives in the library most effectively in the time we have would require a small advance of no more than 30 mohar for payment to the archivists."

Silhouette opens the door to the foundry, releasing a hot, ferrous breath. The discordant pounding of steel surrounds them. For the first time this evening, the woman feels comfortable. She gestures for him to follow her into the strident interior.

"I will provide you access to my accounts," she says, ascending the metal stairs to the quieter upper floor. "Use them to pay or bribe the archivists as you see fit. Also, while you're in the city tomorrow, buy us some clothing of Amberite stylings."

She leads them into her near-silent office and closes the door on the riotous work floor. "I must change before I begin my work. Feel free to sample my library or make yourself some tea in the meantime." She smiles genuinely. "I'm glad to have you with me, Ettorio."

"It seems an opportunity unequaled in my short life, Lady. I hope to learn much." He turns to the tomes of books and, assuming she allows it or departs, he begins to browse over titles both familiar and not.


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Last modified: 5 November 2009