When Ossian breaks off the Trump contact, Brennan takes a moment-- a very long moment-- to gather himself. To master himself, really.
Regenleif? Yes. Yes, that's more than possible. Despite never having even had the thought, it feels right. With Ossian turning up first in an orphanage and then as a ward of Brand, he'd simply assumed that Ossian's mother was long dead, and to the extent that he had thought about Regenleif, he'd simply assumed she was alive and hale, even decades later. She is, after all, a Valkyrie. Blind spots. Stupid blind spots.
And the Klybesians. The only thing keeping him from bellowing in rage is pride. Pure hard pride. He is not going to yell like a fool. He is not going to throw a tantrum in the armory and break their practice dummies. He is not going to give Balen any reasons-- well, any more reasons than she already has-- to think Brennan is other than who he says he is. And he is not going to completely break the cover he's clung to steadfastly for the past several months. Too much is riding on this, for Benedict, but especially for Celina and for himself.
Luckily, there is violence on the horizon, and more than enough for Brennan to rein in his rage now, the better to direct it properly soon.
And the first part of that is dealing with that stupid Bobbitt worm. Preferably in a way that advances his own aims. Brennan finds-- conjures if need be-- a good pair of protective gauntlets and puts them on. He might or might not need them shortly and doesn't want to need to conjure something in the middle of Sorcery. Then, although he doesn't perform a full astral projection, he does open his third eye and repeat the clairvoyance performance from a few nights ago, this time getting a good close look at the worm and its container. He inspects the handiwork of the spell keeping the thing in its present form, and any ancillary spells that might be on the container.
During the inspection, he is primarily looking for triggers that would cause the spell or spells to be broken prematurely.
He is also curious if this looks like the work of the same person who doomed Cameleopardis, or not. (If not, Brennan will assume the obvious-- that it is Cameleopardis' own work.)
Finally, he wants to understand how the spells work so that he can reinforce them.
Brennan gets a good look at the thing. It's shadow magic. Whatever is in it is miniaturized. Water, air, worm, etc. If you reached in for the worm, you'd find your hand miniaturized and probably too small to make a good Bobbitt snack. There are tides across the top of the water.
There look to be two ways to activate it. Either the jar could be poured out, or it could be smashed. It’s perfectly serviceable shadow magic. It looks like something Camelopardis, if he really was a sorcerer of a tribe of sorcerers, would be able to do. Things that Brennan could do to stop it include making the jar shatterproof and putting a lid on it. Of course, neither of those would help if the magic was undone and a vast amount of water appeared in a tiny jar...
Oh, that's clever, Brennan thinks-- the magic is on the container, not the worm itself. That's almost elegant.
It is still a tradeoff of weaknesses, though. True, any object placed in the tank will also shrink and face the same challenge. But Brennan is a Sorcerer of an entirely different octave, and not limited to physical objects... no matter how satisfying it would have been to twist the thing's head off. In fact, since Cameleopardis has gone to the trouble of shrinking everything in the container, he's really just made it easier for Brennan to affect the whole thing. Or the water in it. Or the air dissolved in the water which the worm needs for respiration.
So, Brennan decides on a subtle touch-- he simply causes the dissolved air and oxygen in the water to turn solid, precipitating gently to the bottom of the tank, and in any case completely unbreatheable. The worm might recognize, in some remote part of the nervous system that passes for a brain, that it is suffocating, but by then it will be too late. Suffocation is followed rapidly by slumber and then death.
Brennan watches to see how this turns out, ready to tweak the worm's metabolism up to hasten the suffocation if necessary.
Brennan is glad he set the duration to a watch, because the creature is a natural burrower, and can likely last for some time without air. However, his spell blocks the breathing holes on it with the solid air.
The creature becomes increasingly frantic and struggles inside the vessel, eventually knocking it off the table where it was resting.
The glass container plummets to the ground and shatters, releasing an immense quantity of water and a thrashing, suffocating giant worm-creature.
The water and a significant portion of the camp are washed away, as is the bobbitt worm. It may have ended up in some deep ravine off the side of the mountain.
If it didn’t die before it got out of Brennan’s spell, it might’ve burrowed into the ground or swam downstream to the sea.
The besiegers lost perhaps a quarter of their troops, half their supplies and tents, and their primary weapon. They seem angry, like a nest of ants that has been disturbed.
Brennan doesn't need to feign surprise, here, since that is not at all his intended result.
He throws one Hail Mary spell at the worm as it disappears, a quick working of Space on the solid air particles blocking the creature's respiratory system, expanding them a bit so that they don't dislodge as it's washed away. Even a five or ten percent increase should be enough to wedge those things in so tightly the worm would need a hammer and chisel-- and hands-- to get them out. And, hey, if he's really lucky, he'll give the thing an embolism. Given the situation, though, Brennan can't even think about waiting to see the effect of that.
The spell is cast. Brennan is not aware if it succeeds or fails, or merely annoys the creature. It probably depends on how long a mud-burrowing giant worm can go without breathing.
Just long enough to be annoying, is what Brennan figures. But in the ultimate scheme of things, he reasons, every moment it is staying active, it is burning oxygen. And if it had tremendous reserves, it probably wouldn't have panicked so quickly.
Walker charges into the courtyard, near the gates. He doesn't wait to see where Balen is, much less what she's doing, before bellowing orders. He intends to capitalize on this as quickly as humanly possible. The basic gist of the orders goes like this:
Infantry are to form into two very uneven groups, one to stay and man the defenses, and a larger one to carry the attack. Cavalry are to support infantry. And a very small group-- a dozen or so-- are told to get long hunting spears, climbing gear, commandeer some oil or pitch if possible, and remain ready. Walker adds his considerable force of personality to the mix to get things done as soon as possible. He wants the attack launched before the Corsairs can recover. Walker keeps local equivalent of sergeants in line, as they get the men formed up.
Burl can stay with the defenders, since his position as town guardsman should give him some insight. Radish is with Walker in the main group, whose goal is to overrun the Corsairs entirely, slaughtering as many as possible and driving as many more possible off the cliffs after the elephants.
Kim and Chiu can go with the horsemen, whose job is to support the infantry. One quick rush against the Corsairs to start the panic, and then they are left to the discretion of their commanders-- either help herding the Corsairs off the cliffs, or, if necessary and prudent, keep them from dispersing past the tree line.
Unless Brennan stops him, Trippel plans to lead the cavalry. It's unclear if this is militarily or medically wise. On the up side, he looks healthier.
The squad with the hunting spears stays put, to be ready when Walker gets back or if the worm shows up.
It's not a complicated plan, really-- hit hard, hit fast, use the confusion, run them off the cliff, and keep them from running away.
Unless there is some obvious defect in this plan (including resistance from the Montparnassians) Walker sets it into motion. Walker is with the main force on foot, crashing into the wet, bedraggled Corsairs.
And, while Brennan has been extremely reluctant to have Walker display any knowledge of or talent at Sorcery, he is more than willing to show Walker's martial skills, as both a field commander and a warrior.
There's remarkably little fighting. Some of the enemy run before Walker’s troops even reach them, others seem content to surrender after token resistance. No one actually flees towards Elephant's Leap.
The Montparnassians seem perfectly willing to break the siege and let the rabbits run away. They are convinced they won't be a threat again and that they are already broken. Walker may have to give a speech to convince them to slaughter surrendering corsairs.
Brennan is mad enough at recent events-- the revelation that his son did not just "end up" in an orphanage but was kidnapped by the Klybesians, and the strong implication that if he successfully kills all the Klybesians he may end up killing other kin in the process-- to be looking forward to some good, honest slaughter and bloodshed. It's not as though the Corsairs don't deserve it.
But he's sufficiently in control of himself to take critical stock of the situation: The Corsairs have lost their mage. They've lost their biological battering rams. They've lost their biological sapper... as far as they know, anyway. They've lost a quarter of their forces before any major engagement. They've lost at least half of their supplies before the siege is even three days old. The Montparnasse forces, by comparison, have lost relatively little.
By any definition, it's been a military debacle for the corsairs.
If they want to surrender, and Trippel and Balen want to accept it, that's their call. And it sounds like they've made it.
Walker directs his battlefield energies to making it stick: Walker can tolerate small to middlin' numbers of Corsairs running away, but he does direct the cavalry to cut off escape into the woods if it looks like large numbers of them, especially officers. He wants Trippel to accept surrender from Jellicoe personally. The remaining supplies are also either confiscated or destroyed on the spot, as soon as is practicable. Scouts are sent into the woods to make sure they're not gathering for a counter-attack. Trippel should know if they have any larger supply caches out in the woods, as well-- that knowledge is sent along with the scouts.
Walker does put the word out (including to Trippel) that Jellicoe or his highest surviving subordinate should be taken alive.
Jellicoe and a small band surrounding him surrender last. It's Walker's estimation that they're not fighting to win, but to delay Trippel's forces from following those who fled. Some do, but Walker and company catch a number of the remaining force.
That is what the cavalry are supposed to be doing, with or without Trippel.
Jellicoe himself comes forward to negotiate the surrender. He wants to withdraw from the mountain with his men and swear to never return.
Trippel and Balen call Walker into conference. "Here's what I propose, brother," says Balen. "They are given until nightfall tomorrow to gather their dead and leave the mountain, on pain of death. They pay us weregild for everyone they killed. They pay ransom for their own release at a pound of gold a head, or suffer my curse if they do not deliver it to our agents in Port Methryn by the Feast of the Harrowing of Lir."
Trippel nods. "Your thoughts, Captain?" he says to Walker.
Walker leaves himself out of any wrangling on prices.
"Any reason we ain't keep Jellicoe and a few of his boys as surety?" Walker asks. "Gives us a chance to talk, all neighborlike." If his smile is neighborly, Jellicoe shouldn't be eager to meet Walker's neighbors in a dark alley at night.
That is Walker's opening position. What he actually wants-- and he will whisper in Balen's ear to make it clear to her-- is to question him for at least the period that they are gathering their dead. He especially wants information about Cledwin, and will remind Balen about the Moire angle if she needs reminding. He doesn't think she does.
Between magic and the tradition of honoring parole, neither Trip nor Balen seems inclined to keep Jellicoe, but as an officer, he can be invited to the state dinner. Balen suggests that Mayness and Crisp should be invited as well.
Trippel smiles at the thought, and asks if that would suit Walker's needs.
It's not exactly what Walker had in mind, but he senses that he's not going to much better than the offer on the table. Although, if the state dinner can be postponed until tomorrow, so much the better. Walker suspects no one will argue since it fits with the timeline given for the removal or burial of the dead.
And, significantly, it gives Walker time to go make sure that worm is dead.
Walker borrows a horse from Montparnasse’s stables and rides in search of the beast. He tracks the worm down the ravine, which is easy enough to do, even with the damage of the accompanying flooding. It takes several hours, and Brennan expects he’ll either find a corpse or a very angry worm at the end of the route.
The borrowed horse is a nervous mountain animal, and not at home in the riverbeds downstream from the castle. It balks at dodgy footings, and possibly at some completely safe footings.
If the horse is that skittish, Brennan will leave it roped to a tree somewhere along the way. Being thrown while hunting a giant, castle-destroying worm is not in the cards today, and he judges that it is extremely improbable that anything will wander along and bother it.
He's also cagey enough that he looks to make sure he's not being followed. If the worm is alive, he doesn't plan a conventional battle. He might want to call Fiona by Trump when he's done, as well, and is not interested in anyone seeing him do that.
Brennan comes around a bend and finds the Bobbit Worm. It had been eating something... furry, like an elk or a deer. Its facial mandibles are covered with blood. When Brennan rides into sight, the worm rears up. It is approximately the height of the castles walls of Montparnasse. It roars out a challenge or a warning.
It might be able to strike Brennan from here. It's mostly neck, after all.
For the first time in weeks or months, Brennan is unconstrained by observers and he is in no mood to mess around with this thing. He scans the mountain face above him, and selects a nice head-sized stone or something a little larger, moves it with the principle of Gravity until it is over the worm, then drops it. As it drops, he uses the principle of Space and (again) Gravity to make the rock massive and heavy enough to crush the thing's spine as it hits, and to guide it so it hits true.
The worm pays no attention to the rock moving like a cloud above his head. Brennan sends it hurling down, faster than gravity and growing exponentially larger.
It strikes at Brennan, who dives upslope. The rock hits the creature in the spine, just at the juncture where the body is on the ground, severing the spine and breaking the chitinous armored beast clean in half. The head and neck, with all the momentum from the strike at Brennan, continue on, unfettered by the body. Brennan keeps rolling to avoid the corpse.
He rolls to a stop and scrambles up, coated in the ichor and internal parts of the worm. They don’t seem to be toxic or even caustic, but they are nasty.
From the ridge above a voice calls out. “Brennan?” The owner seems surprised to find him here, or at least in these circumstances.
Benedict is atop the ridge on his striped horse, his scythe-like weapon strapped to his back.
Brennan is just considering the very minor dilemma of how best to remove ichor stains from his outfit when he hears Benedict's call. He is, initially, as surprised to hear his real name used as the voice is to be using it these circumstances. He turns, scans the ridge, identifies Benedict and steps back from the worm-corpse. If he is discomfited by his appearance, it doesn't show.
"Uncle," he confirms, in much the same tone of mild surprise. "I have much to report, but if you don't mind I'd like to get one of these mandibles as proof that this thing is dead, before I clean up."
If Benedict permits it, Brennan will remove one of the mandibles as though he were removing a drumstick from a particularly vile turkey dinner, using a knife so long it might properly be called a machete. If it's too large to transport, he'll settle for breaking off a tip the length of his arm.
Regardless, this is the report that Brennan gives, when he gives it:
"I've passed two reports to Folly by Trump since I've been here, but time is strange-- you may not have gotten the second one. I'll start at the beginning and add more detail after the time of the first report. My scouting method is simple: pose as an itinerant, backwoods mercenary, get hired on in the region of interest-- here, on Methryn's Isle-- and follow what looks interesting from a strategic point of view."
He goes on to describe his major encounters and activities up until the time of the first conversation with Folly and Martin: Taking the name Walker, hiring on as a guard with Cledwin and Crisp as the later made his way to Montparnasse, watching Crisp dealing in arms and eventually ending up wedded to Mayness. Brennan gives a sketch of the route they took so that Benedict has a clear idea which areas are flooded with new weapons, and makes it clear that he can give a very detailed accounting of the Who's, the Where's, the How Many's and the What Type's if Benedict requires it... but he knows better than to drown someone in details while giving a report.
He also describes the encounter with Balen and her aura reading in some greater detail: "Her first guess was too close to the mark to be random chance-- she made me for your agent immediately, but she kept it to herself until we were alone. From there, she leapt to the conclusion that you sent me there, directly, for the express purpose of supporting Montparnasse. I chose not to acknowledge any of it-- I can't be effective as a scout or a spy if half the countryside knows your redheaded nephew, or even your agent, is tearing around the area. Besides, she spent so much time poisoning her sister Mayness' well that I had to wonder about her, too."
"This," he adds, "is about when I spoke first to Folly. And this is where things get complicated."
He takes a breath and pushes forward with part two, the siege. "Reconstructing it after it happened, and allowing for how it was disrupted, the Corsair plan was this: First, Cledwin let a small group of assassins into the keep to kill Prince Maibock. Curiously, his son Trippel had somehow embedded with that group. If his plan was to disrupt their attempt, the best that can be said is that it didn't work-- we disrupted each other. Maibock is dead, Trippel is wounded but alive and running the defenses. Balen is alive and healthy. Crisp and Mayness were taken into custody. Cledwin escaped.
"Second, the main force arrived shortly afterward. Very shortly." Brennan gives a brief description of the quality and quantity of men in the besieging army, then adds, "and along with that, they had a force of elephants, a hedge wizard, and," he gestures to the dead worm, "a bobbitt worm. That's in retrospect. The worm was magically shrunk in a container and the elephants were behind the tree line so it took some time and effort to sort the situation out. It happens that there's a passage under and out of the castle known only to the royal family, and, now, to me as they let me use it to scout the opposing force. In the course of that scouting, there was a good opportunity to disturb and stampede those elephants, so I took it. They did some structural damage to the keep, but mostly they ended up running off a cliff before they could be used. In the confusion, there was a chance to take the wizard captive so I did that, too. It was a disaster for the corsairs, but nothing that couldn't be explained by plain bad luck. That almost ended the affair right there, with the Corsairs agreeing to pay a ransom for their wizard and simply be gone from the theater.
"Then I started questioning the wizard. He died during questioning, and it's not," Brennan emphasizes, "what it sounds like. There's a separate story there that I'll get back to. But what we learned for the battle was that they had that," he gestures to the worm, "magically shrunk in a small container for use as a siege weapon. The full plan was apparently to prepare the field for it with earth works during the siege, let it loose to undermine the keep walls, and follow it with the elephants to batter the rest into rubble.
Brennan exhales sharply. "As I said, though, the wizard died, and with him the truce and ransom arrangement was going to collapse. Balen and I discussed the matter, and I left to see to the defenses and come up with a plan. I contrived to be alone briefly, because I had a Trump call from my son, which you'll want to hear of as well. When the call was over, and since I knew what the worm was and how it worked, more or less, from the Maghee wizard, I worked a small Sorcery of my own, which resulted in a lake's worth of water washing the worm and portions of the besieging camp off of the mountain. We capitalized on the confusion, rode forth from the keep, broke their will and took their surrender. There will be a state dinner tomorrow with the surrendered Corsair captain Jellicoe, as well as Crisp, and the three children of Maibock. Which brought Walker to this place, making sure that," another gesture to the worm, "is really dead."
Brennan lets out a long breath, having summarized the military situation. Then he takes another and continues:
"But this wizard is where things get very interesting, and probably more important than anything I've said so far. The wizard named himself Cameleopardis Findanus, of the Maghees, a tribe which by their telling descends from Lir's castellan after he raised up the Silver Towers and then departed to fight in foreign wars. Be that as it may, they say their ancestral home, the city Maghdeburg, is on a sunken island along with the ruined Silver Towers. This Cameleopardis the wizard was exploring that place, looking for knowledge and history, by his telling. He described some of the things he saw-- a forest of kelp, a throne room with a throne of solid sapphire-- before describing a vision. He didn't use the words, but what he described could only be interpreted as a man walking a Pattern while fighting another man. You, who he named only as the Protector. And the Witch-King, who he properly named as Karol Le Magne, Corwin."
Brennan spreads his hands: No, wait, there's more.
"After that vision, he passed out. When he awoke, the Pattern was gone from the floor, but a woman was on the throne, the Protector at her side, and rune-carved blade hovering handless at her throat, although she addressed the unseen wielder as Corwin. The Protector and the unseen figure fought, the Protector lost and subsequently regrew his arm, and the rune-blade sank below the floor, apparently with the unseen Corwin. The vision of the Protector vanished also, but the woman remained, turned to Cameleopardis and identified herself as Dara who sought to bring down the new kingdom of the Sorceror-King. Given the Sorcerer-King's reputation, he readily agreed, so she put him to sleep and bade him wait for Lir's priestess.
"Now, part of Walker's cover story," Brennan explains, "not that anyone has yet bothered to ask, is that he is a soldier displaced from his home by the Black Road War, giving him some motive to pay heed to rumors of fey and eldritch things that might be able to return him home. I also had some mundane images of Dara, Moire and Moins from Folly and a cover story for those as well. I showed him the images. Dara, he identified immediately. Moins he recognized as a legendary figure. Moire... he hesitated. He seemed to recognize Moire, but could not say how or when, and we both came also to believe that he hd been bewitched. We asked Balen if she could undo this, and she did, but at a cost. I believe that Cameleopardis was far older than he realized and had been kept alive by Sorcery. When his memory was returned, the other Sorcery collapsed and he began aging rapidly. But he lived long enough to identify Moire as this priestess of Lir, the one who bade him to take her ships and attack Methryn's Isle, which apparently led him to here. Long enough to repent and repudiate Moire, as well. He did not live long enough to explain the obvious involvement with Cledwin, though. It was very quick."
Brennan pauses, with the sense that he is leaving something important out. Then he has it. "I should add, Folly was with me by Trump for most, but not all, of that interrogation, should you require another perspective.
"Which again brings me to here. Cameleopardis did repudiate Moire at the end. Before I broke the worm's container, I dropped a few hints to the effect that he had done something to the worm that would help us. And since there is no possible way someone like Walker could defeat something like that worm... as far as I'm concerned, it was like that when I got here, or worse. Cameleopardis did it before he died. So. Nothing has happened here that could not be explained by bad luck, betrayal, and treachery." Which sounds like a normal day in Avalon, to Brennan. "It is possible to guess, but nothing screams out that a scion of Amber was here guiding the defeat... except for Balen and her uncanny ability to read auras. I don't know exactly what she thinks right now," probably that Brennan is an idiot, he doesn't say, "but everything I did broke in her direction so there hasn't been any reason to question it, so far."
An astute listener may note that Brennan's lengthy report was long on facts and events, with an overlay of his motives and goals, but short on analysis, interpretation, or speculation.
He waits for Benedict's inevitable raft of questions.
Benedict and his striped mount come down the slope during Brennan's report. "I'll ride with you back to Montparnasse. I need to greet Trippel. What do you think Moire's rationale for having Corsairs attack this castle might be? Did she know of your involvement?"
Benedict pauses. "You may want to clean up before retrieving your horse. She won’t like the smell of that creature on you."
Brennan nods agreement. "I crossed a stream not far back," he says, "where we'll find some clothes that match these." He eyes flick down at himself. "And some soap," he mutters.
"To the best of my knowledge, no, Moire knows nothing of my involvement under my own name. I took pains to avoid it. We can't rule it out, of course, but even if she got lucky and saw me through a mirror or had a description from Cledwin, I'm not sure she'd recognize me.
"As to motives... with my current understanding of geography, if I were in her position and trying to retake Rebma by force, I would open operations in the kelp forests that Cameleopardis mentioned in his tale. What he told me led me to believe that it is Nedra, and lies roughly between the fallen towers and Rebma. If the Maghees have other wizards of comparable skill and all follow her, they may have the strength to support an army, or at least strike teams, long enough to reach breathable waters.
"At the same time, I would want a force to approach along the Faiella-Bionin proper, as we discussed before. If Montparnasse falls or is pinned, it cannot support the low-lying coastal areas. If the coastal areas and port towns fail, they cannot protect the sea lanes or project force toward the veil to Rebma. The balance of power in the region shifts in such a way as to leave that entire region exposed. If she thinks you are distracted, she at least increases the chances of a force reaching that region unmolested. Otherwise, she presents you with a strategic dilemma: Defend the Isle of Apples and other key allies, or protect the Great Road.
"If forced to give an opinion which of those attacks is the feint," Brennan hesitates, considering it again, "I would opt for Nedra. That would be my feint, because I do not fully understand the dangers that it presents or its relationship to the Dragon of Rebma. But then, I don't understand Moire's relationship to it, either, so that conclusion's not worth much."
"I will point out, though, that those fronts would be best if coordinated. The arrival of the Corsairs, the arrival of Crisp's wedding party, and the assassination attempt were all too tightly coordinated to be chance. I find it very likely that Cledwin or Jellicoe have some ability to communicate with someone, whether Moire personally or not. This attack may also have served as a test of their ability to coordinate. If so, then despite the overall failure of the mission, I'd call the test itself a success.
"What I do not understand at all," Brennan says, "is Dara's role in all this... if any. And finally, I came here-- to Avalon, not to Montparnasse-- with the idea that Moire would use it as a staging ground for an invasion. Despite the evidence, I'm aware that everything I've said merely confirms a pre-existing notion, and that bothers me. But, for the moment, it is my best analysis. It fits the facts I have."
The Protector dismounts and walks his horse, who doesn't seem to be bothered by Brennan's ichor-soaked clothing. He accompanies Brennan as he cleans up and recovers his own horse, and sets out for Montparnasse with him.
"I am working to neutralize Moire, because it is more important to me to prevent the wars of Avalon from spilling into Rebma. Moire has several options here. She can gather an army of competent soldiers here, which would be helpful in a straight fight. She might be able to bring them in inside the walls, if she could get them to the Faiella-Bionin. Or she could go the other way, work with the tritons, and attack from outside.
"Or, she could hope to emulate Corwin. She could set up a threat and arrive with an army of her own to relieve Rebma, just as Celina is shown to not be up to the job. She might well be restored by acclamation, and convince everyone that she had to leave the city to her daughter to save it now."
Brennan nods-- either of his two basic scenarios fit Benedict's observations if combined properly.
"The difficulty for Celina is that she has to guard against all these assaults, while pleasing her subjects and keeping those who lost in the battle from being disgruntled enough to go to war.
"It’s an exhilarating prospect. I envy her."
"Let's not forget hold Huon in custody," Brennan says.
Benedict nods casually, as if he’s not particularly concerned about that angle.
The uphill ride through rough country is difficult, but Benedict's striped mount seems to have a penchant for finding a good path.
"Did you get any sense of when Dara was here, or how long ago Camelopardis went to the towers? His name is legendary in the lineage of the Magees."
Brennan seemed about to make a comment on Benedict's other observations, but answers the direct questions instead.
"Yes," Brennan says slowly, "but not with great precision. Much about that story bothers me, so I've been giving it much thought.
"Cameleopardis referred several times to the fall of the Towers as something achieved by his ancestors. It was an historical event, not part anyone's living memory. On the other hand, when the spell preserving him unraveled, all the effects came undone, hence the rapid aging. That didn't end when he died. We can look at the remains or ask Balen about them, if there are any. An educated guess... centuries ago. But at least a century after the Towers fell.
"Dara, though," Brennan continues, "made references to Corwin's new kingdom. Now, Cameleopardis could only interpret that as a kingdom here in Avalon, but it must have been a reference to Paris." He walks that back a moment later: "If you want to stretch, it could refer to his time in Amber, but that's an odd turn of phrase for it. It sounds post-Amber to me.
"At the risk of adding unnecessary complications," he adds, "I can conceive of a scenario where Dara actually has not been here yet." The last five words are enunciated carefully, to show that they are considered carefully as well.
"Dara has been here once, at least. And long enough that she was able to trick Corwin. She's also been in that throne-room vignette, but I have no idea if it was anywhere or if it was reflected into multiple throne rooms."
Benedict pauses and nods to the west. Brennan can see a trail that looks to have been made by a man or men running down the mountain towards the coastal plains. It might be corsairs.
Brennan angles his horse to get nearer to that trail, because he wants a better look. His instinct is that this could be the route Cledwin fled, and he is looking for evidence to confirm or deny it. Numbers, mainly, and if possible, time: If the trail is made by one man or only a small number, that's a good indicator; if it was made by many, it might just be part of the general route. Likewise timing: If it's a weathered trail that's been here some time, well, Cledwin might have used it, but he might not. If it's only days old, that indicates Cledwin.
It's probably hours old. Fresh breaks in the plantlife and signs that it was a small number of people fleeing down-mountain. It's too new to be Cledwin, but of course the new trail could cover an old one.
On foot or on horse? It doesn't matter too much, because there is no doubt that Brennan can move faster than they can. It matters a little though, in terms of how long it will take them to get where they're going.
Foot. They ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles and they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go.
But Brennan can outrun or outride them.
To Benedict, he says, "Is there any reason to think that it wasn't reflected to every throne room?" That must have made fascinating viewing for Moire, if so. "But in this context.... other than these visions, or vignettes as you say, is there reason to believe that throne room is or was associated with a Pattern?"
Benedict shakes his head. "It was a unique event, so there is not reason to think it was or was not reflected in other throne rooms. However, there is no throne room for a pattern throne at the bottom of the western sea, so the point should be moot. There can't be a pattern this close to mine. It would move.
"One might wish to question Dara on the matter, though. If indeed it was not a reflection of her as well."
Even unique events follow principles, Brennan thinks. But he does agree, so he nods when Benedict speaks of moving Patterns: "To a place along the Faiella-Bionin, if nothing else," he agrees.... and frowns. "That was my understanding, but given what happened, I had to ask."
He glances at the trail and then back at Benedict. "This was made about the same time as we broke the siege. They left during or just after, I'd say, probably trying to get a message back to their beachhead. If they're not using magic or Mirrors to coordinate, it won't be long before they know the siege is broken beyond recovery. If they are..." He shrugs. Then they already know. And they will sooner or later anyway, if all communications go dark.
Benedict doesn't seem too interested in the trail down the mountain, even though he says he is. "I am somewhat curious about who is captaining the ship or ships, but if they regroup, gather reinforcements, and come back, then you and I will both be waiting. That could be interesting."
He turns to ride up the hill. "Unless you wish to pursue? We could split up."
Brennan turns that over in his mind, but ultimately decides, "No. If I have their strategy right, they wouldn't have left any reserves nearby. This is the lynch pin of the plan, they'd have brought everything they have. They might lead me to Cledwin, but he has days of lead on me. And we have at least one captain captive at Montparnasse-- Jellicoe of the Gazellicorn. I've spoken with him briefly but haven't had the opportunity to question him at length. Also, we have Crisp, the merchant captain. That alone should make for interesting dinner conversation."
Brennan follows Benedict.
Bendict's path leads them back to the main mountain road to the castle. Benedict stops, and pulls a banner from his saddlebag. He attaches it to a long, complicated bladed weapon he is carrying strapped to his back, giving the effect of a flag. He intends to approach the castle flying his personal colors. He offers to find one for Brennan as well, but understands if "Walker" is not so equipped.
Walker is not so equipped, in fact.
Before they make their final approach, there is one more item on Brennan's agenda. "There is more news, though. I mentioned my son Trumped me earlier today-- Reid is dead." Brennan waits a moment before proceeding, out of respect for Reid.
"Jerod and Ossian recovered his body from a Klybesian monastery. Apparently, at least some of their bases are built on Shadow paths."
Brennan cannot read Benedict's body language, which is probably intentional. "The monks overreach. Or else someone else is manipulating them to make them appear to be incautious. Were I to wish to distract us as a group, I would want us to find an old enemy suddenly intolerable. Have the Klybesians offered explanations?"
"Unknown, but I don't think there is one we would accept," Brennan says. "Reid's body was not intact. They took tissue samples. And when Ossian followed a Shadow path starting under that location, he ended up in a place called Greenwood. Apparently this is a facility that held Corwin for a time before his return."
"I mislike the Greenwood connection more than the monks, who may have been playing at being a known quantity. Corwin was there and unconscious, if his tales are to be relied upon. Did Flora buy their services or did Brand? I don't believe that it can be a mere coincidence, nor do I believe that they are still there because of luck. They could be doing many things, including buying more guns from Corwin's supplier."
Brennan narrows his eyes in skepticism-- would that powder be useful anywhere but Amber proper?
"I suspect they have spent a very long time convincing us to underestimate them. Or else someone else wants us to think so."
Brennan shakes his head, slightly. "Or a moderating influence has been removed," he says quietly.
Benedict looks over at Brennan and nods, absently. "What do you and your son propose to do?"
The answer, surprisingly, is a long time coming from a man who is rarely without a plan or a theory or an opinion.
"My first instinct is to go to the place called Abford, gather the stuff of it to my heart, and burn a hole through the tissue of Shadow down to the fundament of Creation. Let it serve as warning through Eternity that Family is inviolate, for they have also taken something of mine. But I am a Lord of Amber, and I move by my will and the words of the Kings and Queens of Order only," he says.
"And my will in this matter is to act decisively.
"As the situation is, we cannot," Brennan says. "They are too dispersed, too mobile. They must be made to commit to a decisive engagement or we will be centuries hunting them down, or more. We don't know how to draw them out, yet."
Brennan pauses to reflect, then adds, "I share your mistrust of coincidence, but my son said something more trenchant than he may have known. In addition to having some command of Sorcery and motion through Shadow even if only along pre-existing paths... they tend to show up too often, he said. They tend to show up too often around us," he enunciates carefully. Then, looking back directly at Benedict, he asks, "What does that sound like to you?"
He's not quite sure if that's a a rhetorical question when he asks it or not. But if Benedict doesn't answer it, Brennan will: "To me, it sounds like a description of how Family keep meeting each other in infinite Shadow." Brennan hasn't directly answered the question, yet, but that's necessary context for it.
Benedict nods again, encouraging this line of thought. "You know that Caine sends away most of the blood from Amber, I assume? He is acting on my advice. The more of us congregate somewhere, the more of us are drawn there. And not just us. Those who are more real are more capable of putting a strain on a place, deforming it by their mere presence. You could study Corwin’s Shadow Earth in depth, if you wished to see what we did to a shadow without even using our powers.
"If this did not happen, it would never be possible to search for someone in shadow, and it is also the basis for following someone through shadow, even if we cannot express what it means to cause a deformation in a dimension that we cannot see."
Brennan nods, but not impatiently. He knows all this, but it is necessary to the question he anticipates from Benedict.
"So what does your conjecture imply about who the Klybesians are?"
"Us," Brennan says simply. "In some number, to some degree, the simplest answer by far is... they are us. Limited command of Sorcery and the too-often nature of our encounters are the hallmarks, and the frequent use of Shadow paths is highly suspect. And the obsession with tissue samples, blood, and orphanages speaks to an intent to maintain or increase that degree, at great risk. There are other answers-- despite our own self-obsession, there are other things that are real besides Family-- but it's the simplest and the best one.
"But if true, that's something that must have had a beginning, a time before which it was not true. Was that before or after Oberon banished them from Amber?" Brennan asks.
"Nothing is what it was 2,000 years ago, no matter the name or supposed continuity. Even I am not as I was two millennia ago, and I at least have the advantage of being a single person. Organizations, made up of shorter-lived people, are likely to change. Sometimes they change more than once in a person's life-time. They are organic life-forms, of a sort.
"Reid's mother, Pastoral, was a supporter of the monasteries of her homeland. She imported them to Amber and the support was mutual, for a time. They made themselves useful to the court, as scribes and scholars. It became tricky during Faiella's time, but they survived, and even began attempting to regain influence at court."
Benedict frowns. "They went too far, and paid for it. It was inevitable, of course, but nonetheless tragic."
He looks at the castle they are approaching, appraising the damage, as well as one can from the distance. "I did not grant them asylum in Avalon, if you were wondering. And I haven't rescinded their ban with Father gone, either."
Brennan gives Benedict a sidelong Message Received glance at that last comment. "I hadn't thought you did," he says. Among other things, that would have been a breach in relations with Amber that Benedict already claims to have striven to avoid. "I've seen no evidence of them in my time here, but that means little since I wasn't looking for them in particular, and wouldn't know what to look for if I had been. Other than a few names and locations from Ossian, I have no way of seeking or recognizing them."
Benedict rides on. "They tend to stick to shadows where they can follow a monastic rule. That's all I can offer. I haven't studied them."
"If my conjecture is correct, that some of them are our own descendants," and Brennan obviously thinks that it is, "then that complicates things tremendously. But if it's not, it needs to be discarded, as quickly as possible. Although it would be hard to prove a negative across the organization." He frowns, hesitates, then decides to press on even if he may be treading sensitive ground. "My understanding is that you have the ability to tell if someone is able to survive a Pattern walk. If I may ask, is that understanding correct?"
Benedict sighs. "I am not your best source of family arcana. I cannot say if someone will, because some factors are beyond my foreknowledge. I could say you can, but then if you don’t, was I wrong or did you mis-step? Or were you too young or flighty to have the discipline to complete the task?
"In some cases, we can tell when someone cannot walk our particular pattern. I would have said it of Dara, but I was wrong."
He shakes his head. "It is a grim topic; we love life too much to give it up easily. You may want to see if Brita can detect their scents. She has unusual powers."
That both is and is not the answer Brennan expected-- he'd expected that whatever the Scribes' ability was, though, it wouldn't run deep enough to help directly with the dilemma of the Klybesians. "Even so, you have my gratitude for the answer. In this, practical experience trumps theory, I think. And when spoke with Ossian, I passed word that Rebma should Trump me as soon as they might. Not only because Celina needs to hear the news of Moire that I reported, but because I believe Brita is still is Rebma. As you say, her abilities may be useful. And she has another advantage over me. I know that-- somehow-- I am already known to them, as of course is Ossian. It is at least possible that Brita is not.
"And granted," he says, "that two thousand years is a long time, even for an organization, but organizations are made of people and people often make decisions based on sentiment and tradition. Do you recall where Reid's mother Pastoral called home before she came to Amber? If the place still exists, it may be worth examining for any number of reasons. In our copious collective free time."
Benedict gets a distant look in his eye. “That was a long time ago, and was a scandal at the time. Pastoral was from Amber. There were … questionable circumstances. If there were more details, they are in Amber. The librarians should know."
Brennan nods. "Noted. There may be nothing worth finding there, but... it's a hunch."
He lets out a long exhalation and says, "And, while we're on the topic of Family history-- it may be important later, and I may not have the chance to ask. I've inferred that he was one of us, but... who was Lir?"
Benedict smiles. "You're convinced he lived? Who he was depends on who you ask, I suppose. An ancient ancestor, from Weyland's generation, perhaps. Moins' firstborn, some say. A child of a long-forgotten golden age. A relic of the past, in all accounts.
"There's a tomb, legendarily lost. I didn't believe in it, until Khela found it. It might be lost again, with her dead."
Brennan is mildly surprised for a moment, and doesn't bother to hide it. Then he thinks it over in the light of what Benedict just said, and answers, "Yes. Subject to later review, but yes, I am convinced he lived. When shown a picture of Moins, Cameleopardis described her as Lir's lover. His holy book described Lir as having departed to fight with his kin against a horde of fish-demons. Dara claimed to be of his house and lineage. All of those, especially that last, can be explained away. But they also fit very well with Lir having been a real kinsman who fought with Rebma in the Triton Wars.
"On that basis, I'd considered perhaps a son of Osric or Finndo, perhaps even a pseudonym of Cneve. But Weyland's generation..." he trails off for a moment. "Oberon's siblings? Or just children pre-dating Finndo and Osric?"
Benedict looks distracted. "The children of the golden age are not historical figures, very much. They were. Now they are myths and legends of long ago, and it's not even clear which legends were real and which just attached. Did Orolando Furioso die at a massacre at Roncevilles, protecting the rear-guard of Paris so that they might escape? I cannot say. I have made a study of battles and I do not know if that one even happened. Some things are unknowable."
Wisdom is knowing when to say 'I don't know'. It is also knowing when not to parrot someone's words back at them, so Brennan absorbs that in silence.
"The Princes of the Golden Age are no more. They are all dead, save for Weyland, and he has hidden himself from most of us for many years."
"Perhaps," Brennan says. "Or perhaps the next time I find myself near a Pattern, I'll find myself conversing with a vision of Lir or Moins or Orolando." He smiles faintly at the thought. "I don't like the idea of all that history being lost... but I don't think I'll spend my life waiting for that to happen.
"Weyland, though... we're not finished with him, or vice-versa. Signy and Marius notwithstanding, my business with him is not yet concluded, and-- " Brennan's thought virtually screeches to a halt, as he plays part way through a conversation from long ago which drives his previous thought completely out of his mind.
"Has Weyland," he asks Benedict, "ever tried to create an Avalonian Pattern Blade?" The question is out of his mouth before he can stop to think of a politer way to ask it.
Benedict looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Excalibur? I'd kill him if he tried."
Brennan frowns in thought, more deeply than normal. He's sufficiently caught in his own thoughts that if he recognizes the name of Excalibur, it doesn't matter much. "He didn't give it a name," Brennan says. "He just made reference to the three blades we all know about, a fourth one that failed in the forging, and a fifth that he would never attempt. Judging by your reaction, I'd guess that makes yours the fifth."
Benedict nods. “I hope the message has been clear and consistent. I will not ask family to take up the duty and doom of my Realm."
"Understood, but that wasn't my point," Brennan says, somewhat distractedly. A beat later he seems to realize what Benedict may have meant. "My point was, if yours is the fifth, whose was the fourth? Dworkin's?" Brennan's expression is skeptical of that, at best. It may or may not be metaphysically possible, but it's hard to imagine Dworkin wanting or even permitting such a thing, either.
Brennan and Benedict reach the last turn of the switchback leading to the castle, and Brennan assumes that the flurry of activity is in response to his Uncle’s unexpected arrival.
As they are unhorsing in the courtyard, Trippel and Balen come out to greet Benedict. There are smiles and handshakes all around.
It's hard for Walker to engage in handshakes while he's still manuvering the worm's mandible on horseback. After he dismounts, he props the big disgusting thing up like an awkward spear and says, "It's dead." He gestures behind him to acknowledge the carrion birds gathering in the far distance. "Dead when I got there. I reckon it was something the Maghee did."
[It was like that when I got there. I didn't do it, nobody saw me, you can't prove anything.]
The nobles and soldiers (and assorted castle servants and whatever is left of the caravan guards Brennan accompanied here) of Montparnasse are less impressed with Brennan after the second sentence than they were after the first.
Walker doesn't notice, Brennan doesn't care.
He brightens, somewhat, adding, "Where's that Jellicoe fellow? I got a present for him."
Brennan is directed to guest quarters They are rather near his own. Apparently captives get decent treatment, possibly better than caravan guards.