With Jerod's breakfast concluded, he bids a farewell to Merlin and departs in search of Khela and her advisors, the latter being more to his liking though he believes it more likely that he will find them in her proximity.
To reach Huon, Jerod must know the deployment of the forces of the Horn, something that Khela's advisors had indicated they had been monitoring closely. That will tell him what he needs to know in order to approach his wayward uncle.
She's not available, but Khela has apparently given her senior advisors free rein to discuss approaches and options for exit.
They have several options: Jerod could make a frontal approach, either from the camp or from Rebma. It is assumed that Huon would not kill a lone ambassador, especially since he has issued ultimata. He is likely to accept a messenger.
Jerod could also attempt to enter from the rear, which is not as well-guarded, from above, which the advisors do not want Jerod to do, or by magic.
Their advice is that Jerod should approach from the southern foothills rather than Port Ostia, and he should approach openly.
They have detailed maps of the area and of Huon's known positions.
Jerod is clearly not interested in a surreptious approach, as this would defeat the purpose of his plans, though he questions Khela's advisors methodically on Huon's forces that are in the area of the rear, the relative lay of the land, current variances and the like with an eye for a possible exit should it become necessary.
He looks to make a frontal approach that would appear to be neutral, from neither the camp nor Rebma if at all possible. He makes sure he He knows the timing of Khela's patrols that may be near to ensure he can make contact without having to worry about accidental encounters between the two sides, and he is clearly uninterested with the patrol schedule after he figures he will make contact, knowing her commanders will adjust the patrol timing in case they think he may provide such details to Huon.
Jerod needs a spot that will be visible to Huon's forces, in a position that requires them to approach him in order to investigate. He will thus set the tone of the encounter, with the Horn's troops coming to him instead of the other way around. Jerod's clothing is meant to ensure he has a surfacer look that one would expect from a member of court and an ambassador, one that Huon would be more familiar with though they are adjusted to ensure they have none of the deficiencies that come with such garb such as water drag and excessive weight should force become necessary.
After some discussion, an approach vector will be approved and Jerod will wait for Khela's advisors to make the necessary arrangements to ensure Jerod has passage through her lines. While waiting, he puts together a note, addressed to General Connor and hands it the advisors. It will be sealed though it would not be difficult to open it should they put their minds to it. Should they wish to read it, they will make of his comments, and his statement, what they will.
Connor,Huon awaits. Assuming all goes well, I will make arrangements to march his army out of Rebman territory after he has been forwarded to one of our uncles. Once that is done, I will be returning forthwith. There are matters of family to be resolved that are of interest to me.
If luck does not hold, be it known that while the aforementioned uncles have made it clear they do not agree with familial violence, they understand that such things regrettably can become inevitable in extreme cases.
Things are not as they should be and Huon has made too many moves that do not make sense. Do not allow him to approach the location of the blade under any circumstances. Should he acquire it, seek out Benedict. He has indicated that it would have been better that it remain buried and provided me some small information on how to neutralize it. He may have more incentive to pass this to you should it fall into Huon's hands.
Jerod.
Arrangements are made, the note is given to a runner to deliver to Conner, and all is prepared.
They have recommended a line of hills on the west of Ostia for the approach. It has good cover and is not that far from the caves that lead to Corwin's Realm Above.
Jerod knows the area from his previous travels and consider his options based on memory. He will approve.
Jerod walks and swims for miles, going around the two armies and the defending city to come at Ostia from the West. The approach is north of the path to Corwin's realm and leads across a series of valleys.
At the point at which Jerod is sure Huon must have scouts, he finds scouts. The next ridge overlooks the place the army should be and it is watched, as it would be, to protect the flank. The scouts on the ridge don't seem to have noticed Jerod.
Jerod takes a short while to pause and gather in his surroundings. He takes the effort to watch the scouts to determine their behaviour, and to check to see if the scouts are also under observation by a reserve of some kind.
They are, although it seems light. They may be magically monitored.
He has time and can afford to be patient. He neither makes an effort to be seen, nor does he attempt to conceal himself.
Once he is satisfied concerning the layout, Jerod finds an outcropping that is certain to be in the field of vision of the scouts and sets himself onto it, making himself comfortable. The outcropping if available, must be such that one approaching from a rear flank toward's Jerod's position, will have a more difficult time to approach. One doesn't want an uninvited guest sneaking up on the ambassador as it were.
And with that, he waits patiently, to see if his new uncle and his pet army are smart enough to recognize the statement being made. If not, Jerod thinks General Conner will be getting a chance for some spear work soon enough.
Before very long, a group of three of them are swimming towards Jerod, very openly. There's another new group at the site the first group started from.
[They see you, you see them, it's all very open. How do you want to handle the approach, oh higer-fire-than-the-mooks-guy?]
Jerod makes a slight adjustment to his attire, picking away what would be considered only the barest hint of dirt or disarray. Once the three are reasonably close, he rises smoothly to his feet and waits patiently for them to close the remaining distance, using the remaining time to wrap himself in his Court manner.
Jerod remains silent as well, watching the scouts carefully to determine their reactions in order to time his opening comments most carefully. It is most probable that they will demand his identity and he will immediately pre-empt their question with his own, cutting them off before they can set the tone of the encounter. First impressions are after all, quite important.
Instead, he adjusts the initiative of the conversation, taking charge of it and forcing them to reply to him. In this way, he hopes to retain control of the circumstances and enable a meeting as needed.
"You are of the Horn." Jerod says. It is both a question and a statement and it is directed to the one that began to speak first. Jerod's mannerisms are sufficiently clear to them that he does not consider them to be a threat.
The man's exotic red skin is hard to see in the dimness of the water. "I am Three Talons of the Ponca. I fight for the Horn, yes. Who are you and what brings you to this hilltop?"
He has a knife and some sort of odd spear with him, but he doesn't point either at Jerod.
Jerod takes a snapshot of the spear, reflexively analyzing it's capabilities based on its shape and length as well as the way Three Talons holds it, gauging to see how well Jerod thinks he has adapted to underwater combat. The other two receive tertiary examinations as well. Since Three Talons was good enough to offer a name for his face, Jerod will adjust his next offering slightly.
If it has a magical means of projection, then it's a speargun. Otherwise it's a liability.
"I am Jerod, ambassador to the kingdoms of Paris and Xanadu, and emissary of Benedict. Huon brings me to this hilltop and I would speak with him." Jerod replies, tossing out the next bit. He needs to see the reaction to various places amongst the scouts, as well as to the idea of seeing Huon. Jerod doubts they would have heard of the places or people so he does not expect much there. He is more interested with their emotional reaction to how they perceive Huon, which will give clues as to how Huon has projected himself to them.
Jerod's expectation regarding the other places is accurate. They seem respectful of Huon, but Jerod wouldn't guess they think he is divine.
"Of course, Ambassador. Will you swim back to our base with us, or would you prefer to walk?"
"One is always flexible in these matters, Three Talons." Jerod says. "We will proceed by the means you deem most suitable."
"We'll swim back, then. It's not far."
Regardless of the means by which Three Talons chooses however, Jerod endeavours to set the pace of the travel, to continue the testing. It is unlikely they are far enough away from their base to be able to test them with a forced march approach. Instead, there will be inevitable moments where Jerod's pace is maintained over uneven terrain if walking, or in strong currents if swimming, and Jerod uses his attributes to best advantage. This will require his escort to keep pace as Jerod does not slow down should they fall behind, except and wherein the conditions of their passage are so detrimental that it becomes obvious that the scouts are incapable of catching up.
The scouts set a course that's straight back to the encampment and just far enough off the sea-floor to be widely visible as they approach. Jerod, who knows the region well, can take the lead as he desires, setting the pace. The scouts are good, strong swimmers, for surface dwellers, and they struggle to keep up.
Shortly, they are forced to ask Jerod to slow down. "We wouldn't want the guards thinking we were chasing you, Sir."
Jerod notes that they are starting to angle down outside the encampment's perimeter.
Jerod makes note of their behaviour, and their polite request, and adjusts accordingly. During the approach he now takes opportunity to get a look at what they are coming up on.
It's an army performing a siege. The goal is to isolate and starve out the city. They're pretty far from the walls, so they're not trying to immediately sap their way in, but they control the paths in and out. The posture is that of an army that expects their very presence will cause the enemy to surrender.
They still look very dangerous, and have scouts and are alert, but they're not prepared to attack on short notice.
At the perimeter, the scouts are relieved and send to a command tent. A young-ish officer (who does not have the red complexion of the scouts) asks Jerod to wait while he sends word to headquarters. He offers Jerod hospitality. He is not used to being underwater, and not as adaptable as the red-skinned men. Jerod would guess he was a merchant rather than an officer.
Jerod will accept the hospitality offered, careful to do just enough to make the young man feel that he is accomplishing his task successfully. Jerod knows quite enough about the interaction of surfacers to know when they are about to make potential errors and when they do not recognize other issues. To some of these, he ignores them, others if possible can be carefully deflected to prevent them from occurring (ie: not accepting certain foods or drink that are improperly offered, etc).
He wants to make the officer feel comfortable and calm, sufficient to allow Jerod a chance to look and watch and listen. He is polite, courteous and well-mannered, the epitomy of an individual who was raised in a Court of protocol, position and appearance. He walks occasionally, but never very far and always in circular manners. He listens carefully, knowing the way the currents flow and how lower sounds travel better. He makes innocuous conversation, asking after the officer's name, rank and family, giving him the options to speak and extol his own virtues should the desire take him. And he waits to see what Huon does next.
Captain Carper seems to be an amateur soldier, or perhaps a recent recruit to the field. He seems nimble and smart, but not overly strong and not necessarily at home with a sword by his side. There are other soldiers who seem more at home with their roles. He seems very calm.
He does not seem to be intent on trying to trick Jerod into any protocol mistakes and it seems quite clear that he's waiting for further orders.
After some time, a man comes to the pavilion where Jerod is waiting and bows to him. "Ambassador, I am Declan Miller, the Protector's Aide. I am afraid he is not available to meet with you at the moment. Can we offer you a place to stay and clean up from your swim? He may not be available before morning."
"No." Jerod says, selecting a piece of urchin wrapped in kelp. His mannerism is polite and without threat, but the shift in mannerism is unmistakeable. Before, he was a diplomat. Now, he is a Prince of Amber.
"The message I bear will not wait for morning. You will inform the Protector Huon that Prince Jerod, son of Eric of Amber, bids him greeting and the bond of kinship. The message he is to hear comes from the monarch of Amber and the Princes Corwin and Benedict."
Once that is said, Jerod turns back to the food before him, his conversation concluded.
For a moment, the Aide wavers on the verge of arguing, but he eventually chooses not to do so. Miller bows. "Very well, Your Grace, I will inform him as soon as I am able." He turns to leave.
Captain Carter smiles nervously.
"Declan Miller." Jerod says, with just enough force in his voice to emphasize the name. "Aides must make choices they frequently do not like. Allowing one's ego to get in the way of your duty to your lord, is a poor choice. I would expect better than that from my uncle's aide."
Miller turns and bows to Jerod. "It is my hope to live up to your expectations, Ambassador Jerod."
Beyond that, Jerod does nothing more and will not stop Miller from departing, chewing on another morsel as he watches the aide vanish. Assuming Miller does depart, Jerod looks over at Captain Carper. "Now we find out how well your lord is served by his men, or if he also chose poorly."
Captain Carper smiles thinly. "It is a near certainty that he follows orders, Ambassador Jerod."
Some minutes later Miller arrives back with anther soldier. This one looks remarkably like Carper. They're from the same shadow and may be from the same family.
"Ambassador Jerod, I apologize that the Protector is not here to greet you. I assure you that we will be delivering your message to him as soon as we are able."
It's reasonably clear to Jerod that he's trying not to tell him something.
"As soon as you are able?" Jerod muses, looking at the soldier with Miller, then Carper. "Is there some reason that prevents the message from being delivered sooner? Is the Protector ill? Or perhaps he is simply...not here?"
It's clear from the body language of all three men that he is indeed not there.
"Prince Jerod, you must understand that you arrive at a busy time, when our forces are widespread and there is much to be done. The Protector has a wide array or responsibilities, and some of them are quite intensive. He will, I am sure, be available to meet with you quite soon."
Jerod's gaze remains firmly fixed on Miller as he deftly tosses the morsel in his fingers onto the plate. It is not a look that one could consider hostile. Instead, it is more the look of one who has had years of opportunity to perfect, the look of royalty bearing upon those beneath him who are not providing all the information that is expected, servants trying to conceal something...perhaps uncomfortable, perhaps unintended, but something that will most certainly be revealed.
"Miller..." Jerod begins. "My uncle returns to this place at an inopportune time. An opportunity presents itself to him in my presence that may bring about good fortune to him, should he be able to avail himself of it. Should that opportunity pass, then he may very well set himself upon a path that will bring ruin to him and all that would follow him.
"He is not here. Where did he go?"
Miller swallows, in the way of one unfamiliar with being in Rebma's airy water. "If it were true, Prince Jerod? What would you want your aide to do in such a circumstance, assuming I even know the answer to your question? I can assure you that we do not delay you from any attempt to gain diplomatic advantage or impress on you anything about our position.
"If you would wait, I will make sure the Protector gets your message as soon as I can deliver it to him. If you would not, you are free to depart. In my home, that would be the limit of what a diplomat could reasonably do without attempting espionage. We would not wish to detain you, but the Protector would need to decide what to do in such a case."
Jerod is convinced that Miller does know something of where Huon went. The rest of it seems to be sincere.
Jerod smiles, the way his father would smile when confronted by one who had impressed him or otherwise garnered his attention.
"I would expect my men to obey my orders, to the limit that my orders could be obeyed given the information that I had provided them, for they may learn of something of which I am unaware." he says. "Drones are plentiful, though honest and intelligent loyalty are worth their weight in gold." and he rises. "Should you come through the remainder of your service to the Protector unscathed, seek me out if you are so inclined. I'd have a place for such as you."
Jerod turns and paces for a moment. He idly puts a hand on his trump deck, weighing the benefits of a warning to Rebma in case Huon might have gone there, but deciding for the moment there is too little to prove he might be there. "Is there a way that you might point me in the same direction as the Protector, so that I might come across him sooner than if I were simply to wait? Or perhaps, I might be able to aid you in the delivery of my message, without jeopardizing your oath?"
Miller seems pleased, but tries not to let it show.
"I am afraid that that would not be within my scope to tell. It is my hope that he is out attempting to avert the need for battle, for even the heroic dead are dead. Can you provide a way for The Protector to contact you when he returns? Where should we send his reply to your message, Prince Jerod?"
"Let us hold your thought a moment." Jerod says, drawing out the trump deck and sifting out Llewella's card as he paces, and in doing so adjusts himself such that all the other individuals are in his frontal vision range, so should they decide to intervene, even with his attention distracted, he will have an option.
The army was only to get Huon close enough to the city, though the reason for his approach still remains unknown, Jerod thinks, before concentrating.
Jerod probes the card, visualizing his aunt, seeing her, willing her to be and not just to be represented by the card.
After a period, it's clear that she is not answering.
Jerod frowns, looking at the card momentarily. Llewella's mental trump trick makes him guess she is more attuned than normal and probably could figure out it was him on the other end. His dislike of the trumps means he would not use them frivolously, so Llewella not answering would mean either she is busy, or she is busy.
If Huon is gone temporarily to set up the next step of his plan, then he would logically return to something familiar, in this case his army, to find Jerod waiting for him.
But if Huon is away permanently either due to success in his plans or failure due to combat or capture, then Huon's army remains to be neutralized. In either event, Jerod will remain for a time.
"I think it best if I remain for awhile." Jerod says, flipping the card down and away into his trump pack. "The future is not yet clear enough to see, so my uncle's path remains questionnable. It would be wise not to wander in the desperate hope of finding him by accident."
Miller nods. "As you wish, Excellency. We are not well-prepared for visitors of station, but I can have a tent assigned for your use, and Captain Carper can act as your liaison. Is there anything else we can provide you?"
Carper is smiling. He seems glad that things are back on a more even keel.
"A training area." Jerod says. "It has been some time since I have had any exercise. The opportunity presents itself."
Carper nods. "Of course, Excellency. Do you require equipment or a sparring partner? I am afraid I am rather out of shape."
Jerod receives the familiar internal mental feeling that indicates that someone is calling him via trump.
"Both." Jerod says absently. "I will let you take care of the arrangements. I will wait here until they are concluded."
Gambling that is sufficient to send the good captain on his way, Jerod takes a seat and focusses his thoughts, isolating his environment from his conscious perception with a trick that Venesch taught him in his early martial training, to keep the focus solely upon himself and not his surroundings before he picks up.
The captain bows and departs, leaving a few words of instruction with the guards as he leaves.
He uses the trick that his dear Aunt Llewella has provided to him, the speech without speech, giving voice to his thoughts in the trump as he opens up just enough to send. Where it is insufficient, he will whisper to augment it, picking at the edges of the contact, sifting for a feeling, any fragment of contact that gives recognicition.
"Who? And where?"
Solange heads away from Random's office with great alacrity. Father didn't call her back, didn't introduce her to his wife, and for that she was profoundly grateful. She would have to deal with her feelings eventually... But later. Not now.
She stuffed them instead and went to go find Kyril.
Kyril is in the infirmary. He looks up from the desk as she walks in. "That bad?" he asks.
Solange scowls--she really thought she'd been doing a better job at hiding her feelings, but apparently not.
[Either she wasn't, or she was and he took a stab in the dark because he could tell she was hiding them. Or he guessed.]
"Vere's mother has come to Xanadu. I already don't like her not because of anything she's done--for she hasn't had time to interact with me at all--but because she's Father's wife, which cuts severely into exclusive Father/daughter time. It's classic PSYCH 101 crap. Amazing. I fear I made a really bad first impression."
She snorts and he can feel some of her tension release.
Kyril stands up from the desk and walks over to Solange. He puts his hands on her shoulders. "I slept through most of Psych 101. I had Kilkenny, and he was useless. OK, here's a question that won't help unless you let it. Is she going to live forever?"
Solange looks out the window. "Well, no... I know. It's not rational. I just... Well. I'll deal with it. Anyway..."
She steps away from Kyril and crosses her arms. "I just stopped by to see how you were doing and to let you know Hannah said to send her a page if you want help with the autopsy."
"After Oceania, I can do an impact trauma autopsy in my sleep, even without real tools." Kyril waves at the infirmary. "By the way, I vaguely remember something from Psych 101 about crossing your arms like that. Next question: Do I get in the way of father-daughter time?"
She gives him a small smile. "No, certainly not on my end. I don't know about Father's." She shrugs one shoulder. "He's never talked to me about it."
Solange pauses, then abruptly changes the subject. "I need to go attend to Cambina arrangements. Come find me when you're done and tell me what you've found, okay?"
She reaches up and touches Kyril's mouth with her fingers, then turns to leave.
Kyril sucks her finger into his lips, kissing it gently.
"If she wants to observe, that's fine. If she doesn't want to, that's fine too."
"She's busy making arrangements to go to Tir tonight, so I would go ahead," Solange replies over her shoulder. "Talk to you later."
After leaving Kyril, Solange starts the ball rolling.
She makes a formal announcement about Cambina's death to the senior castle staff, trusting they will disseminate it to those under them. The current story is that Cambina fell from Tir. Solange avoids suggesting it was anything but an accident.
They begin draping the castle in mourning colors.
She then talks to the appropriate person (a castellan sort of person, or a bishop sort of person) about royal funerals and sets said person to researching the traditions therein and reporting back to her.
Apparently this will be the first one in Xanadu. There's a royal librarian in Amber, who Solange will remember was very fond of Cambina. Xanadu has no clergy and Amber only has those who are allowed at the sufferance of the King, and it's an uneasy relationship, so no bishops are easily available.
Ash or Soren are the best bets for castellan-types.
Gilt Winter, Random's secretary is another viable option.
Solange asks the royal librarian to research the funeral traditions, develop a service, and bring it to her to approve. Once she's approved something, she'll give it to Soren to implement.
He nods, his face ashen.
In the meantime, it's back to the trump booth. She'll try Brennan's trump again.
The trump booth is slightly over warm, but otherwise as she left it. Solange looks at the image of Brennan and attempts to make contact.
The Trump image resolves into Brennan's face, wearing a variation on its almost perpetual frown. "Are you who almost got me killed about a watch ago?" he asks. The tone is wry, but the question is serious.
"I did try to contact you earlier," Solange acknowledges, her expression uncharacteristically somber. "Brennan, something terrible has happened in Xanadu. Cambina is dead."
Brennan exhales sharply, as though struck, hard, in the stomach. The blood drains from his face, turning his normally fair complexion to a pale white. He reaches out, almost as though he's going to come through the Trump without warning, but he's just reaching out to bring someone else into the conversation.
"What!? What happened?"
Garrett's brow furrows with concern and he steps closer to Brennan to join the conversation.
Garrett sees his cousin Solange in the trump booth in Xanadu. Her eyes widen in surprise at Garrett's unexpected presence, but then he can watch the expression on her face change as the pieces fall together with an almost audible click.
"There is news from Xanadu. Cambina is dead," she repeats for Garrett's benefit. Her eyes flick back to Brennan, concern in them. "She was found this morning, washed ashore north of the bay. It was...apparent...she'd suffered some high impact trauma.
"Cambina was last seen the previous evening on her way to Tir with Queen Vialle. Now she's dead, and Vialle is missing. The King has left to search for Vialle, leaving Father as regent."
Garrett doesn't need to glance up at Brennan to gauge his reaction. He can feel it in the tension of the knight's grip on his arm.
"Which means she was pushed, held there until Tir disappeared, or really...." Brennan shakes his head, and lets the sentence trail off. "What the hell was she doing there with Vialle, of all people?"
Garrett frowns, listening for Solange's response.
Solange sighs. "We don't know. The king doesn't know. Hopefully we'll have more answers when Tir comes up again tonight.
"Do you both want to come through, or would you like me to contact you with the funeral arrangements?"
Brennan lets out another breath, longer, trying to think.
"Garrett can go through. There are a few things here I need to see through before I depart. I'll be making my way back the long way around, but reachable by Trump if time plays games."
She nods and turns her attention to Garrett.
Garrett appears about to protest, but reconsiders. He assents with a single nod. "You need me to take care of anything for you on the other end?" he asks Brennan.
After a pause, Brennan says, "Messages, mostly. You'll meet our new cousin Signy, probably; tell her anything you want, but tell her I'll bring Red Fox Claws along, assuming he wants to come. Tell Robin I need to talk to her. Tell Jerod...." he shakes his head, again, and with an effort gets back to prosaic details.
Garrett nods in somber understanding.
"Solange, I think Paige still has a sketch of me that might work, and vice-versa. My intent is to be there on my own steam in time, but I might be on the road if you call. If I don't answer the next few calls, worry."
Solange nods grimly. "Take care, and we'll see you in a few days." She holds her hand out to Garrett.
Garrett takes her hand and prepares to depart.
As Garrett leaves, Brennan speaks one last time: "Garrett, I know she's not your mother, but... if your father is going off to Tir, he'll need a spotter, and a friend. And Garrett. Tir-na Nog'th is dangerous. Go. Good luck." He hands Garrett to Solange.
Garrett's jaw sets, but this time not in stubbornness. This time it's determination, and pride in being treated like an adult. At least for the moment. "Take care," he says, nodding once as he steps forward and away.
[Solange] draws him to her, and drops the contact.
Solange gives Garrett a big hug. "Congratulations on successfully walking the Pattern," she smiles. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to see you do it."
Garrett returns her hug, unable to hold back his grin despite the dire circumstances. "Thank you. No one saw it, far as I know. I was alone when I started, but by the end, I wasn't paying any attention to who might have walked in." His smile implies that he is sure she understands the feeling.
"You helped though," he continues. "After talking with you, I was determined to do it, no matter how long it took to find the cursed thing." He picks at the hair above his eyes, trying to stretch it out so he can see it. "Am I still purple?" he asks. If Solange looks, there does seem to be a slightly purplish tinge to some of the strands of hair above his forehead.
Solange takes a lock of Garrett's hair between thumb and forefinger and holds it up to the light. "Um...yeah. I do see some purple. What happened?"
"Some kind of a trap," Garrett replies, brushing the hair back into his unruly mane when Solange releases it. "When I found the door and turned the key, I got sprayed with some kind of purple dye. I'll have to ask Folly if she had a hand in that. Didn't hurt, but it sure made a mess. There's still a purple-stained shirt down there next to the Pattern for the next walker to wonder over," he smiles ruefully.
She laughs.
"Have you talked to your father since? I'm sure he knows, but I'm curious how he took it."
Garrett frowns. "No. This is the first I've been back. At the end of the Pattern, it sent me there." He jerks his thumb back over his shoulder, apparently meaning where she trumped him from. "Wherever 'there' was. I passed out in a field and when I woke up, I... kinda got distracted."
Solange cocks her head. "Sounds like there's a story there. I'll have to buy you a beer and get it from you sometime, but now I need to get back to funeral arrangements and notifying people."
Garrett smiles in acceptance of the offer, but grows serious as she continues. He starts walking, anticipating her to follow and firing questions at her. "Who have you told so far? Does Martin know yet?"
Solange walks a few steps, then stops. She gestures back at the booth. "I still need to contact Jerod. He didn't answer last time I tried. I've told Caine and Brennan and you. Martin doesn't know, unless your father has already told him.
"Hannah knows and was going to tell Corwin--hopefully he'll relay to Celina, Merlin, Flora, and Lucas. My father knows."
She pauses. "I'm not completely sure who knows and who doesn't. There are so many... I wanted to tell Brennan and Jerod personally, but for the rest I was planning to contact the elders and let them contact their own families, assuming they have the means.
"Would you like to help? You have a trump deck, don't you? We can split the elders that are left: Bleys or Fiona--I think we'd only need to contact one or the other--Julian, Llewella, and Benedict. Oh, and Reid too."
"My deck only has elders," Garrett says as he pulls it out of the leather case at his belt. "I can try Bleys first and we can work our way along." He shuffles out the card for his uncle and concentrates on it.
Solange smiles her thanks. She steps away a couple of paces and concentrates on her trump for Benedict.
Bleys answers at once. He's somewhere in Shadow, Garrett guesses from the costume, which is flame-colored robes, or perhaps a tunic. He's in a pavilion of some sort. But the most surprising thing is that he's holding a dark-haired woman who's handcuffed, and she is in the contact with them for a moment before Bleys drops her.
"Julian, what now---Your Highness, I'm sorry. I was expecting someone else. How may I be of service?"
"Uncle, I don't know if you've heard yet, but I have bad news from Xanadu," Garrett says, sparing barely a glance for the handcuffed woman. "Cambina is dead, apparently from a fall from Tir'na Nogth. And the Queen, who was reported to be with her, is missing."
Bleys nods. "We've spoken with your father--and I've passed the news to Julian, who is with Folly in Texorami. I've a few things to finish up here, and then my guest and I will be returning to Xanadu on Gerard's trump. Fiona will be returning there or to Amber. I expect Julian and Folly to follow in short order. Is there anything else?"
"No, that's it. You've shortened my call list considerably. I'll see you when you come in. Thank you, Uncle," Garrett says, and closes the connection.
The connection closes, and Garrett is left with a deck of trumps. Who does he call next?
Garrett waits a moment for Solange. Realizing she may be on her call a little longer though, he heads back to the trump booth to look for a trump he knows he does not have in his own deck. Martin.
Garrett finds a sketch of Martin in the Trump booth. He attempts to make contact through the sketch, but there's no answer. The trump sketch survives intact.
Solange stares at the cold card of Prince Benedict, willing the image of the tall, gaunt man to become real and speak to her. After a few moments, it's clear that he's either hell-riding, or not taking trumps. He's there, but not answering.
In case he's able to catch some of her intent--and who knows what elders can do and what they can't?--she thinks very hard and urgently at him to call home before dropping the contact.
She fishes out Llewella's trump (OOC: get it? fishes out?;-) ) and tries her trump next.
Llewella answers promptly, her hair arrayed behind her like a green starburst. "Who calls?" she asks.
"Solange. I have bad news from Xanadu. Cambina is dead and Queen Vialle is missing."
Llewella pauses and her hair fails slowly to her shoulders. "We face imminent invasion by your Uncle Huon, and many of your cousins are here or are nearby. Pass the condolences of the Queen of Rebma on to King Random on the loss of his beloved niece and if there is anything Rebma can do to help him find my missing kinswoman, we shall do so."
She exhales heavily, but somehow it seems like air when it reaches Solange.
"I'd heard rumors about Huon heading to Rebma," Solange replies gravely. "I will pass your condolences on to the king. I know there probably isn't anything I can do to help you in regard to Huon that isn't already being done by someone else, but the offer stands regardless."
Llewella looks pleased. "Thank you, Niece. We have made what preparations we can and must trust that, by Lir, they are adequate." She pauses. "Tell my brother that we will need to talk when both of our crises are resolved. There will be news to pass."
"Of course. Be safe."
Solange cuts the contact and follows Garrett into the trump booth.
"Did you reach Bleys?" she asks.
"Uh-huh. He already knew," Garrett answers as he sets the sketch of Martin aside. "And he's also told Julian, Folly and Fiona, so we don't need to call them."
Solange nods, mentally checking them off her list.
"I just tried Martin, but there was no answer. Not that I expected one really, but obligations are obligations, eh?" he smiles wryly.
"Who did you reach?" he asks.
"Llewella. Benedict didn't answer." She sighs. "I came back to try Jerod's trump again. Would you try your father's trump and check in with him? I'd like to know how he's doing and I'd bet he like to hear from you."
"Yeah. I'll bet," Garrett grimaces. With a heavy sigh, he shuffles his father's trump out of his deck. Before he begins concentrating though, he breathes in deeply and blows it out and shakes out his shoulders, making an effort not to look tense or... guilty. When he appears as relaxed as he's going to get, he begins to concentrate on the trump.
Solange squeezes his shoulder sympathetically as she slips by him into the booth. She tries Jerod's trump again.
Solange concentrates on Jerod's features on the card, perfecting her mental image of him.
"Who? And where?" whispers Jerod. He's indoors, in some nondescript room.
"It's Solange. I have ill news from Xanadu, Jerod. Cambina is dead."
He is silent for a moment, a fragment of the time that can seem to stretch without end, before his attention focuses sharply on her.
"How?"
"Impact trauma. Circumstantial evidence points to a fall from Tir. It's day here now and investigations will resume this evening when Tir returns. I'm very sorry for your loss."
Solange pauses briefly before continuing. "There's more. Queen Vialle was last seen in Cambina's company and she is now missing. The King is searching for her and left Father as regent."
There is the barest of nods to the news of Vialle's absence. "Who conducts the investigation."
"Random asked Hannah to contact Corwin. Do you wish to come through?"
He hesitates for a moment, looking to one side before shaking his head. "No. Circumstances do not permit it. I am in Huon's camp now. The option to bring him in may present itself and I must be ready. Advise your father of the situation. The King has given his approval for my attempt and will need to be kept aware of progress. I may be bringing him to Xanadu if I am successful." Jerod says, scowling slightly.
"I am not familiar with this Hannah. Who are they?"
Solange blushes. She seems to struggle internally for a moment, but then exhales sharply as she comes to a decision. "A new family member, brought into the fold by Dworkin. She's Ysabeau's daughter and...my older sister. Gerard is my adoptive parent."
She gazes at Jerod levelly, her color still high.
Jerod notices the internal struggle but declines to make any remarks on it. It is her's to deal with and he knows her well enough from their travels that she will deal with it.
"Tell your sister that I will be expected to be apprised of her progress when I return. I may take part if there are avenues to be explored at that time. I will decide then." he says, thinking of Cambina's thoughts, her words on her own death and his own role in vengeance.
Solange nods.
He puts aside the thoughts for the moment. Vengeance is best decided with evidence and his focus cannot be clouded by the madness he knows he will soon need to face. He wonders for a moment as to the effects of fate and his sister's faith in such. Did he know the trump was coming when he sought the need for sparring? Did something guide him?
No matter. It will come and he will face it. And then he will look for answers as to the face of vengeance, should it be needed.
"I would congratulate you on the finding of a sister, assuming you get along of course. As for your father..." Jerod says, using the term deliberately, "...that you are not his blood changes nothing."
"Thank you, Jerod. I needed to hear that." She gives him a small, brief smile. "Be safe."
Jerod returns the nod. "And you. Before I go, one more thing. Who else knows?"
She pauses again. "The knowledge of my relationship with Hannah is a very recent thing. The knowledge that I am Ysabeau's daughter is less recent, and more people know of it." She shrugs. "You don't need to keep it a state secret, if that's what you're asking."
"Actually, I was wondering more about who else had been notified about my sister." Jerod replies. "But I was also interested in who else knew about your sister. A secret sibling can be of value in some circumstances. I think it would be best if you decided when that is to be revealed."
Solange spreads her hands in a noncommittal gesture. "I suppose--in the end, I don't think it much matters. But back to your question. As Cambina's brother, you were one of the first people I tried to contact. You didn't answer, so I went on down the line, as it were. By now I expect most everyone knows."
Jerod nods. "Advise Hannah that my sister had been impersonated by Dara during the coronation. Since Dara is a Lord of Chaos, she can create these affines as they are called, perhaps with great precision. We must verify this is not a doppleganger. If there are concerns about certainty, I would recommend Caine be involved. He's had experience in body duplication after all."
"Good point. I'd forgotten about that," Solange replies thoughtfully. "The king ordered an autopsy. One is being performed right now."
"Then we'll definitely want Caine there if possible." Jerod says. "If not him, one of the redheads as an alternative. I'd suggest Merlin but I doubt you can reach him."
He looks off to one side, then returns his attention to the trump. "I must leave you to this task. I will contact your father if there is news on this front. Until later then."
"Very good. Until later then. Goodbye." Solange drops the contact.
She takes out her trump of Caine, considers it briefly, then concentrates on it and tries for the contact.
Solange tries to make contact but doesn't succeed. She doesn't even get the glimmer that normally accompanies someone who just isn't answering. Either he's far into shadow, he's in another trump call, or he's dead.
Hunh. He's probably in the middle of a call. She stops concentrating on the trump and looks up as Garrett disappears in a curtain of rainbow light.
Solange switches gears and consults her mental checklist of who's been contacted and who hasn't. All the elders aside from Benedict know, and she assumes they'll pass it along to their children. She pauses on Vere though, wondering if Father has had time to contact him.
Not really wanting to get into a face-to-face conversation with Gerard because of the weirdness earlier, Solange tries his trump instead.
Gerard answers at once. "Aye, who's there?"
"It's Solange. I was wondering if you'd had time to contact Vere yet, and if not, would you like me to take care of it? I'm already here in the trump booth."
Gerard frowns. "You should call Vere, and give him my best. The King may call on me any time now, and I'm the only one in Xanadu he's got a Trump of. If there's anything Vere needs, let me know after."
"Will do." Solange cuts the contact and concentrates on the available trump sketch of Vere.
Last modified: 26 December 2008