Current Log

Note: Previous logs can be found here.

Months Of The Year:
Horseman (Winter Solstice 1 Horseman)
Cat
Soothsayer
Knight (Vernal Equinox 8 Knight)
Archer
Coins
Tower (Summer Solstice 15 Tower)
Scales
Harp
Boatman (Autumnal Equinox 22 Boatman)
Huntress
Dragon
Warrior

And because I keep losing track of it, the Fortune Deck: http://www.whiterose.org/houseofcards/rules/fortune.html http://whiterose.org/hoc/amberway/fortune.html

Gerard has been available to offer Harsh some advice for what to do with himself in both the short term and the long term, the latter clearly meaning after he's walked the Pattern and come into his powers. While nobody is leaning on Harsh to take up a naval commission, much less to take Gerard's former place as Admiral, it's clear that Gerard has some hope that Harsh will be interested in the Navy.

He suggests that Harsh take his Trump of Castle Amber and visit the old castle to meet Prince Caine, who serves as Regent, at least for now, and also as Admiral of the surviving fleet of Amber. If nothing else, Gerard thinks it will set Harsh up well to place his remaining crew in the Amber navy. Caine's always looking for good officers.

Gerard also takes a moment to explain a detail of court that wouldn't have been obvious without an explanation to someone new to the court: Random's secretary or chief of staff or whatever you want to call him, Gilt Winter, is the disobedient son of the head of Naval intelligence, who is a close friend of Caine's. So there's that to navigate as well.

When Harsh is ready to visit Amber, the card will be ready. Gerard has a reason for sending Harsh with the castle Trump instead of on Caine's Trump: he wants Harsh to get a look at the old castle and see how different it is, and the damage from the Sundering, when the tower fell and broke Gerard's back.

Harsh is more than willing to take Gerard's advice, and having read now on the history of Amber, he wants to see the place for himself. So after setting things in order in Xanadu, he takes up the Trump, and prepares to go.

The concept of travel by card, he thinks, will take some getting used to.

The card is a flimsy thing; paper and ink and a design on the back that is somehow strangely compelling. The front of it is a painting, with an amazing level of detail.

Harsh looks at it, and follows his father's instructions, and focuses on the detail of the castle. Large stones, set so closely that mortar was not necessary, only the smallest of gaps between. A portcullis large enough to ride 3 columns of elephants abreast through it.

It was fascinating and it felt as if he could just step through and be there. Was he imagining the sounds and smells of the distant place? How distant was it?

Harsh takes a step forward, and he isn't so much looking at the card as stepping through it, although it is still in his hand.

"Who goes there? Friend or foe?" A voice rings out from the clearly-well-defended gatehouse of the castle that he's standing before.

It seems that they expect an answer, and quickly.

Harsh snaps to attention immediately and gives his most formal salute.

"Harsh Majumdar, Commander in the Golcondan Navy and first officer of the GNS Mahtala." That, he knows, may mean little enough in Amber, but he can no more avoid saying it than he could breathing. "I have the great honour to be a newly acknowledged son of His Royal Highness Prince Gerard, who sends me here to meet with Prince Caine."

A man steps out of the gatehouse, leaving it open. Harsh suspects there's more men in there. And he sees the kind of movements that would be consistent with a crossbow being aimed through a murder hole.

The man looks the part of a young, political naval officer, down to a uniform. "Well, Commander, with that story, you're going to get to meet the Admiral, so let's hope your story pans out."

The man walks like a sailor, Harsh observes. He approaches. "Strictly a formality, but I'll need to take charge of any weapons you have on your person. The Admiral is Regent of Amber, and it wouldn't do for him to be met by armed sailors, even if you're an officer."

Golcondan men have been known to get into arguments on foreign soil over their khanjar daggers, which are considered part of full uniform regalia as much as they are weapons -- and Harsh has not been immune to such contretemps before. This time, however, he decides that discretion is the better part of valour, and he unfastens the dagger from his belt before handing it over, cradled in both hands, with a bow at the waist. It's followed by the smaller straight knife that generally gets more use as a small utility blade than in a fight. He's careful to make sure his hands stay in view at all times.

"I surrender my arms freely, sir," he says.

"Thank you, Commander," he says, collecting the weapons. "Please see the Castellan when you are ready to retrieve them.

"If you would come with me, please," he says, leading the way in through what is clearly a watchroom configured after a naval ready-room. Like the Albionese, most of the young officers look as if they have shaved their facial hair off with diamond-sharp blades. It makes them look even younger than they probably are.

The castle Harsh is about to enter is built to impress. Nestled in the arms of a lone mountain overlooking a sprawling city, Harsh is reminded of the Reman empire's eastern capital at Asitane. There might be a city of a million people below, although the harbor and the traffic and movement seem lessened. Did they say something in Xanadu about moving from Amber to the new city?

The castle seems old, like a temple of a forgotten age -- an age that has existed for a hundred generations and snarled defiance at the passage of time. Yet there is no decay and the stones show few signs of the tread of millennia of feet, the doors show few signs of the millennia of hands.

The priesthood here is again the young political officer corps he met at the gate. Earnest, young, trying to prove themselves to get that first command. If there is a naval academy, these are their highest ranked graduates. They are mostly, but not exclusively, male.

The walls are covered with tapestries and paintings, although there are a few notable empty spots where favorites might have once hung and been removed.

The officer he's following enters a room that seems more like a clark's office than a palace's receiving room. Harsh thinks this crew does not pay much attention to the more palatial parts of the castle. Inside is another officer, who nods, and the man who led him here sweeps to the door.

He opens it and announces Harsh. "Commander Harsh Majumdar of the GNS Mahtala, son of Admiral Gerard." He waves Harsh in to the comfortable looking study.

A man rises to meet him. Dark in countenance, enough so to pass unnoticed in Golconda's markets. He wore practical clothes for court; a doublet, a satin shirt in green peeking through the slashes, but high boots ready to ride or stand a watch on deck. The dagger at his belt is jeweled with deep green emeralds, and looks both practical and princely. He did not look much like his brothers, or at least the ones Harsh has met.

"My brother told me you were coming here. This is Amber, the castle above the pearl of cities, Amber, in the realm of Amber that our family has ruled for longer than you can imagine."

He looks at Harsh. "I'm sure you have many questions. I hope to learn more about you and about your naval experience. Would you like a drink?"

Harsh, formal as ever, bows as he's introduced. "Your Royal Highness, thank you for your time. I'm afraid I haven't run out of questions since my men and I were plucked out of our world."

And he would rather like something to drink, but his nerves are such that he automatically demurs, Golcondan-fashion. "I'd not want to impose too greatly upon your hospitality."

Caine shrugs. "You are my brother's son, he tells me, and thus family rules apply. Did he explain them? First, address is informal when we are alone. It can be important to remind people that I am Admiral Caine or Prince Caine or The Prince Regent, but family only needs to know the relationships between you and your kin. Uncle is a more powerful title from you to describe me than 'Your Royal Highness'. It tells anyone listening something important about you and about me. If we're at sea or in a courtly reception with foreigners, by all means.

"Second, you will at some point run into cousins or uncles when traveling. The rules are clear: the elder asks questions first, then the junior may ask. Now that there is a second generation, it's more complex and based on your parent's precedence. Your father can fill you in, but assume that the King's family is foremost, the sons of the former king are next, and their children follow them in precedence; "

"Which is my way of saying 'I am reserving my right to question you extensively, until you've asked me your questions.' If you change your mind, the drinks are on the side-board."

Caine walks over to the bar, giving Harsh time to change his mind or to come up with questions to ask the Prince Regent.

Harsh reddens, though the plainly-spoken rules are something of a reassurance. Still, he's misstepped, and he's not happy about it. Something he can dissect in his mind later in his own time, and at some length.

"My apologies, Uncle. The habits of Golconda are exceedingly formal by -- by the family standards, and I find them difficult to break. And... yes, I would very much like a drink, thank you."

He's still very much standing at attention, hands behind his back now in a sort of parade rest posture.

Caine shrugs. "No apologies necessary. If I didn't tell you, how would you know?" He reaches into the bar and pours two drinks. He hands one to Harsh. "Be grateful you're not getting a drink poured by your father. His tastes run to very sweet and very alcoholic concoctions."

The drink smells sharply of alcohol, with notes of other flavors.

"You ought to see the amount of sugar that goes into Golcondan festival dishes," Harsh says, with a wry smile. "I haven't asked him yet, but it sounds like they'd have been to his taste."

Caine gestures to the chairs. "Have a seat. If you don't have any pressing questions, I'd love to hear how you ended up so far from Golcondan waters.

Harsh sits and raises his glass in salute before taking a small, polite sip.

"I suppose that's as good a place to start as any," he says, and goes on to relate the adventures of the last... few months? It seems like an age. The derelict afloat in the southern ocean; Tortuga; the arrival of Martin, and the voyage to Amber. He pauses from time to time to allow Caine to ask any clarifying questions, eventually bringing matters up to the discovery of his paternity.

Caine does have questions. A fair number, across an extensive set of issues, from Harsh's experience as a Golcondan officer and the naval technology he's acquainted with, through Harsh's observations of the crew of the Queen Vialle, to his arrival at Xanadu.

(Does he mention Martin's plans, and does he mention anything about Lark's apparent foreknowledge that Harsh was a relative?)

Harsh does not mention either of these things, although he does say a lot of very nice things about how he liked Martin quite a bit, and found Lark charming.

"I've talked a bit to your father; how do you think he's handling having a new son? Gerard's generally been circumspect in his dealings, unlike some of our brothers," Caine says, not so much sniffy about it as stating a plain fact.

"He has been nothing but kindness to me," Harsh says, "and has offered to bring my--my mother here if she wishes, once I've been able to return to Golconda. Her mind is very much her own and always has been, so I couldn't say what she might choose. But as to my--" as always, the faintest pause before the word comes out, "father, he appears to have taken the news well." He smiles, self-deprecating. "Possibly even better than I have done, myself. My brother Vere has also been exceptionally welcoming -- I like him enormously."

Caine nods. "He's a good man, but very young yet. Also not a sailor, at least not primarily." Caine shifts in his seat. "We all are sailors, at least a bit, or else we will be. Amber and now Xanadu are cities built on trade and that means ports, docks, and shipbuilding.

"Members of the family who want a shipboard life can have one, and can make have a tremendous impact on the well-being of Amber."

"Truth be told, I don't know what I’d do with myself on land," Harsh says. "As much as I have enjoyed my time in Xanadu, not least in meeting the family that I did not know I have -- it discomfits me, to be too long from the sea. And there are affairs in Golconda that I must settle, including returning home those of my men who wish to return. But once that is done..."

He pauses, considering his words.

"I am a son of Golconda and always shall be. But I am also restless and curious -- even before we reached the icy seas of the south, I had begun to wonder what it is I'd do next, once we had explored the Southern continent. The possibilities presented by Amber and Xanadu -- it is, truly, impossible for me to resist."

Caine nods, as if this is not unexpected. "I'm sure Prince Martin either showed you or informed you of the family abilities that make it interesting to be an explorer. He may not have had an opportunity to explain to you how you'll be able to exercise control over shadows. With practice you'll be able to make new shadow paths that others can follow. That is one of the reasons we're in such demand. Try to only make them for your purposes or the King's purposes, or else you'll end up as everyone's road construction crew.

"Your father wants us to give you a command, something small to get used to sailing from here to Xanadu. What would you need to be able to take a ship from here to there?"

"I understand that there is a... trial that must be undertaken before one can move between Shadows, one I wish to undertake soon," Harsh says. Though in his heart he worries about it, lately he feels more like he might be able to face it. "As far as a command goes -- something on the order of a ghanjah or brigantine with a suitable crew would suit. I would like to include those of my own men who wish to join me as well."

Caine nods. "Your crew is in Xanadu, aren't they? What I had In mind is essentially commanding a ship on the trip back to Xanadu from here. There's a rutter already made for traversing shadow and I want to put you with a crew of my experienced sailors who can make sure you know how to handle our ships and who can, to be frank, get to Xanadu without a captain."

Old prideful instincts stir; Harsh's spine stiffens and he flushes slightly, but he controls himself. Caine is right, after all; this business of shadows is new to him, and he'd do well to keep his mouth shut and learn from those that know better. He tries not to be too obvious about taking a deep breath, and he relaxes.

"Once you get there, you can take the Pattern, take on new crew, and get outfitted for the journey to Golconda.

"Ship I have in mind is called 'The Swan'. It should meet your requirements."

Harsh bows. "It would be my honour and pleasure," he says.

Caine smiles, as if Harsh has passed a test. Perhaps he has. "Crew is usually 24 but you can sail the Swan with watches of 4, if you don't mind if they go watch-and-watch. So, 8 minimum. Amber tends to send larger crews to have more people to fight and to unload. We are a trading power as much as a naval power."

Caine pulls on a bell-pull and the door opens. "Mister Feldspar, please escort my nephew Captain Harsh to the Marquis and tell him I've given him command of the Swan, to take to Xanadu and then points onward."

The young ensign who has answered the bell-pull nods. "Very good. Captain, if you would accompany me?" The man seems to have taken no notice and Harsh's promotion. Possibly royalty just worked that way.

Harsh is momentarily stopped in his tracks by his abrupt change in rank, but no one else seems to be particularly fazed by it. Right. When in Reme and all that, as they supposedly say in Albion.

He bows to Caine, to the degree appropriate for an older relative. "Thank you, Uncle. I look forward to speaking with you again."

"I look forward to that, or reading your logs," replies Caine.

Then to Feldspar, a nod and brief salute. "Carry on." And he'll follow where he's led.

Feldspar returns the salute and leads his way out of the office. "Do you need any personal supplies aboard the Swan? I can have the staff round up anything you need." They walk out of the castle and Harsh finds that he's on the side of an extremely large mountain that he may have heard is called Kohl-veer. Down the mountain is a city, as large as any Harsh has seen, but somehow, diminished.

Harsh feels as if he's watching one of the famous lost cities in the process of becoming lost.

"We need to go down to the port," says Commander Feldspar, pointing at the lean forest of masts by the waterside. "Would you like a carriage or would you prefer to ride?"

They arrive at the outskirts of the port, and Harsh notices the familiar signs of sea-trafficking. All the shops serve sailors and traders' needs, from pawnshops to taverns to coopers and blacksmiths. It's by far the most active part of the town.

Their destination is at the edge of what Harsh would describe as "officer's country". It is a richly carpeted and lavishly decorated club. Membership seems to be automatically granted to naval officers, which now includes himself. Feldspar says to the doorman "Captain Harsh to see the Marquis Maritime, on the Admiral's business."

Harsh is quickly escorted to a table in a side room of the club, away from the bar and the reading room, which seems to be the office of the Admiralty's top man, or top man who isn't a Prince.

The very old man looks up at Harsh. "Captain Harsh, is it? What're you here for?"

Feldspar lets Harsh handle that question.

Harsh bows. “Good afternoon, sir. I am Captain Harsh, son of Prince Gerald.” The phrase comes a little easier now. He continues, "By order of Admiral Caine, I’m to take command of the Swan and sail her to Xanadu."

"Are you now?" The Marquis says, and holds out his hand, which Feldspar fills with an order that was apparently already in his possession when Harsh went in to meet Prince Caine. "All right, well, she's outfitted. Do ye' want Captain Grail aboard or no? He might be of use to you." The Marquis sounds ... not uncertain, but as if there is a right answer to this question.

"Yes sir," Harsh says. "As the vessels of Amber are new to me, I'd appreciate his experience."

The old man nods. "As you wish, Captain." He turns to his companion. "Mr. Feldspar, I'm sure the Admiral has other duties for you."

While Feldspar takes the hint and leaves, the Marquis is writing an order. He finds his own runner and tells him to escort the Captain to his ship. Ensign Glower seems to be the opposite of Mr. Feldspar.

"You can consult with the hydrographers for weather and charts, but you may want to leave on the tide this evening."

"Very good. Thank you, sir. I should have this well in hand, but if anything comes up, I'll send a message."

Harsh bows, and asks the ensign to lead on to his new command. Once there, he introduces himself to the officers and crew, consults with them on the best course of action, and prepares to leave for Xanadu.

Ensign Glower leads Harsh down a pier to the actual harbor. They find a small ship's gig used by the Admiralty to ferry orders and officers to and from ships and the sailors row the two out to The Swan.

She's taut and looks well-trimmed, and not quite after the Mode Anglais, but similar. The familiar sight of men aloft and decks being swabbed remind Harsh of the better ships of the Golcondan navy.

The Ensign follows Harsh up the rope ladder to the deck, where they are met by the Officer of the watch, First Mate Drogue.

"The Marquis' complements and Orders for Captain Grail."

That officer arrives shortly. He is older with a trim white beard and his features are someone marred by beady eyes.

He takes the note from Glower and reads it. Grail looks like a man who is trying not to react badly to unwelcome news.

"Captain, I hereby relinquish command of The Swan. We are half a watch (4 hour watches, just like on the Queen Vialle) before the tide if you intend to sail. Would you like a tour of the ship?"

Drogue's nostrils flare, but he otherwise does not express surprise.

Harsh notes Grail and Drogue's expressions, and for just a moment there's a part of him that quails at the sheer dread of being disliked.

Stop that, he tells himself firmly. You are an experienced officer and you are the son of a prince, however newly-discovered. You are in charge.

He salutes and says, "Thank you, Captain Grail. We shall sail with the tide, as you suggest. In the meantime, I would very much like to see the ship, and learn her ways from you."

Grail nods. "We'll leave Mr. Drogue to it, then."

"Shall I prepare the ship and crew for departure, Captain?", says Mr. Drogue. He's clearly addressing Harsh.

"Do so," Harsh says. "We'll sail with the tide. Carry on, Mr. Drogue."

Mr. Drogue gets on with giving orders to ready the ship for departure, including raising the Recall pennant and sending the Courier on his way with a handful of marines.

Grail leads the way to the stern while pointing out the features of the ship and describing the ship's complement. The after cabin is divided into four rooms. One for the officers, one for the master, a wardroom for eating and an office. It's not luxurious, but it is reasonable. Captain Grail will have his things moved shortly.

The tour of the ship continues, with the belowdecks being the next place. Harsh learns of the weapons aboard, including how they deal with gunpowder when it doesn't work in some places and spontaneously combusts in others. ("We don't go there with these ships.")

The ship has more stores than cargo space, although Harsh gets the feeling the ship has been refitted for duty in the Navy and had other roles in the past.

The crew seems respectful of rank without the crisp formality of some navies. Captain Grail mentions that some crews are nearly entirely made up of convicts, but that the Swan was not amongst those.

As the tour of the ship progresses, some of the starch goes out of Harsh, a little at a time. Being on a ship at last and not surrounded by a bevy of new, noble relatives is much more to his liking, and as he goes he asks intelligent questions of Grail -- the vagaries of the ship, some of the places they've sailed, and the particulars of what it means to sail between Shadows.

They exit through the fore hatch and stand near the foremast. The crew is busily making preparations for departure. "Well, you've been on deck and below. Do you fancy a climb, Captain?", asks Grail.

"I thought you'd never ask," Harsh says, by now feeling comfortable -- if not actually relaxed -- enough to joke for a bit. "Lead on."

Grail swings himself over the windward rail and starts moving up the shrouds, stepping briskly on the ratbars and then on to the ratlines. He pauses when he gets to the futtock shrouds and watches Harsh approach.

Grail reaches out and pulls himself up the shrouds, hooking his feet around them to compensate for the inverted angle of the shrouds below the top, and hauls himself onto the platform. It's a testament to his wiry strength and perhaps a demonstration to the new captain that he is not old and fragile. If Harsh wants it, he'll offer an hand up. There are further shrouds up to the next top, which will have a better view of the ship from above and the harbor.

There are sailors on the yards, but they aren't near the platform.

The rigging on a ship like this is different to that of a Golcondan baghlah, but the principles are more or less the same, and Harsh makes it up to the platform with ease. He takes the offered hand out of politeness more than actual need -- it's clear that he's more than capable of hanging on even in the direst circumstances, and takes a moment there to appreciate the view.

"How long until we reach our destination?" he asks.

Grail looks out from the platform. "If we take the shadow paths, five days, more or less. The wind is not always favorable. If you use Royal magics, it could be much sooner. It's 600 leagues.

"I'm to disembark with any crew you don't need after we reach Xanadu, per the Admiralty."

He lets that hang in the air, in case Harsh wants to question him about it.

Royal magics. Not something Harsh can help with yet, and he feels oddly embarrassed about that. No reason for it, and he manages to not let it show on his face.

"Until I grow more familiar with these waters and these ways, I'd like to alter things aboard as little as possible," Harsh says.

Grail nods. "If we went much faster you wouldn't be acclimated when we arrived."

He looks down at the ship, a busy hive of directed chaos as the crew prepare to get underway. The officers seem convinced that it's better to be ready to sail and then wait on the tide than to get ready in a timely fashion. Harsh has known officers who were like this in the Navy of Golconda. Most of the officer corps, actually.

Grail stares out over the yard at the ship below, letting the silence last as long as Harsh allows.

"Tell me of your service, if you would?" Harsh asks after a moment. "I have been learning as much as I can about the history of my family and their world -- the Shadows -- and I have reached a point where I think I must do less reading and more listening."

Grail nods. He seems inclined to think before speaking, most of the time. "It's always about family, in the Navy. I've been at sea for Amber 90 years, man and boy. I signed on at 13 because I didn't want to follow a horse's arse for the rest of my life sharecropping in the valley.

"There's four ways to get ahead in Naval Service. You can be born in, you can buy in, you can be close friends with an Admiral, or you can distinguish yourself in battle. I've got none of those going for me, particularly. I'm a reliable captain and I don't expect there's a place for me in the Admiralty."

He squints down at the deck, where a sailor is coiling a line. Before he says anything, a junior officer comes over and starts talking to the sailor. Or yelling. It's hard to tell from up here.

"Might change if there was a war. Lots of officers got promoted if they didn't get dead when your uncles fought during the invasion. That's when I made Captain."

"Do you anticipate another war?" Harsh wonders. "For now it seems that there is an uneasy sort of peace, at least from my admittedly limited perspective. It's a bit like that right now in my home -- home Shadow, I suppose it is. Golconda and Albion have signed a pile of treaties as tall as this mast. We stay out of one another's way -- for now."

"It's the job of the navy to anticipate another war," Grail replies. "The nature of the Admiralty is to reward anticipation. We have many enemies. People who feel that they should control trade, pirates, invaders. Amber is a sea power, but the double-dozen seas are vast and there is always trouble somewhere. And there are those who think that Amber's weakness is a sign that they should improve their circumstances.

"There is no war, currently, but there is plenty for the the navy to do. Most of it involves fighting, or the threat thereof."

The two captains stay aloft as long as they need, continuing to discuss the nature of naval service and the role of the navy in enforcing royal power by means of sea-power.

The crew turns to and the ship sails at the appropriate time. The sail is a combination of both the familiar and the unique. So much of life aboard a ship follows parameters that are the same in Golcondan seas as in Xanadu's, but the details of how the sailors work together to get the tasks done are novel.

Harsh learns quickly and has no problem leading the crew on this run. They don't seem to notice that he wears an odd outfit. In fact they seem a little in awe of him. "You father is a renowned admiral and a true Prince of the fleet. You are a mystery to them," Grail explains.

Harsh should not expect the same from the Golcondan sailors when he picks them up in a few days.

The Swan comes into Xanadu's port on a brilliant late winter's morning, where the sun is warming the port and breeze tells of a tropical winter's day.

The crew secures the Swan and are ready to disembark at the port.

Harsh thanks Grail and the other officers for their introduction to the ways of Xanadhavian sailing in classically formal Golcondan fashion before making his way to the Admiralty office. He plans to check in there to see if there's anything he needs to know before proceeding to the castle.

Admiralty Office is perfectly happy to pass him on the castle, take any reports, find out if The Swan is in need of any repairs beyond what the crew can handle in port, and receive his logbook if he is ready to have it copied for the records.

Sounds like normal paperwork. They are interested in how soon he is departing, but it seems mostly for reasons of bureaucracy.

It is a good hour's walk up to the castle, or he can find his old crewmates at one of the sailors' boardinghouses along the docksides. Assuming they haven't pawned all their clothes for gifts to new sweethearts.

Harsh does stop to look in on his crewmates; several of them are out, but he finds Lt. Singh and Sgt. Hira, whom he updates with all that's passed since they last spoke. Singh appears to have started going native; he's relaxed enough from the formalities of Golconda to chaff Harsh a little about his newfound familial connections -- much to Hira's dismay. Harsh manages to not be too shocked by this.

Singh agrees to pass on the news to the others, and awaits word for when they might sail for Golconda.

That finished, Harsh does take that walk to the castle, and he ambles a bit en route. Observing the people around him, the mood of the port, the customs, the dress, and so on. Adding that to the growing mental store in his mind of information about Xanadu.

The people of Xanadu are engaged in their various commercial pursuits, both at the large and small levels. People are buying everything from food to clothes to ships' cargos. Harsh feels as if he is at the center of vast hive of activity.

This is perhaps one of the most 'alive' cities Harsh has ever seen, and might both be as new as people say and as old as the universe.

Not that far from the docks, he finds opportunities to drink, gamble, hear (and make) music, and otherwise be a part of the city.

Harsh could explore for days and still not have a grasp on it all, but he can see how to get to the castle, which is at the far end of the main road out of the west end of town and up the switchback path laying across the cliff face. He spots taverns and stables and at one point a large building with a sign that says "free medical clinic" on it.

People are friendly and offer to sell him warm drinks or cool beer and he's convinced at least one person might have been interested in keeping company with him.

Everywhere he goes he can hear water flowing from the falls above into the bay.

Harsh continues to conduct himself with a slightly greater degree of formality than is usual here, but not so much as to be standoffish - he hopes. He pauses to listen to a musician play in a style that reminds him vaguely of the songs one hears in the Albic quarter of Kolkata, and that consumes his attention for rather longer than he'd meant. When he realises how much time has passed, he takes off for the castle in a hurry, notwithstanding that he's not technically on the clock for anything.

The path goes up the side of the cliff, through switchbacks that would allow two carts to pass each other with ease. There's also a well-beaten path for climbers who want to take shortcuts.

The castle from the trailhead is a dazzling view, sitting beside an ever-moving lake fed from its own waterfall, and built into the very rock of the cliffside, it's like something out of a storybook.

Like an admiral's ship, the castle is flying flags indicating who is in residence. Harsh doesn't know the heraldry (or vexillology) of his family well enough to read it, yet. The entrance is opened.

It's a slightly breathless Harsh who presents himself there, and he asks that word of his return be sent to Prince Gerard. He's not sure just yet what his next steps will be, but he hopes those steps will bring him a little closer to the Pattern - and then in turn Golconda, and then ...

Well. That remains to be seen.

Once everything has been settled in the stables, and questions of what to do with Milena and Iris have been settled for the moment, there is a brief reprieve while Robin is offered a bath and a fresh dress after her exertions. Once her toilette is settled, a call goes out so the Amazons can return to the theater and see Robin receive her prize.From Queen Thalaestris, Robin receives a laurel wreath, as is the right of a victor, made by the Queen's own hand. There are public reassurances of alliance and sisterhood, and the announcement of troops going to fight against the Green is made. The Amazons are pleased and excited: they haven't had a good fight of late, and this one promises to bring honor to Pontus, and perhaps sisters and, from what they saw of Vista, perhaps daughters sired by valiant warriors in their own right.

After the public ceremony, Queen Thalaestris invites Pen and Robin to walk back to the palace with her for refreshments. She is fascinated by the fair and especially their interest in Pen.

Once the Queen and Pen and Robin (and the fair) have arrived, food and drink is brought for them all. The Queen waits until Robin and Pen have had a chance to enjoy the wine and some of the meal before saying, "I have heard of your discovery of a plot against you, Robin, and how you and Penthelisea have found the hand through which it was enacted. Have you learned whose mind might be behind that hand?"

Pen looks to Robin for her response and discreetly withdraws the moria branch from her belt and keeps it out of sight if she can. She doesn't expect any kind of pull from the divine instrument, like before, but she hopes it may still provide some answers. Pen distracts from her behavior by making a show of sharing grapes from the meal with Ooot.

Ooot is very interested in the grapes. He makes a show of offering one to Peep before he eats himself.

"Not yet, your Majesty." Robin responds respectfully. "We know that the mind behind the plot was that of a woman of Pontus. And that she paid in Soloi coins. We also have a description though the lady in question was vailed and gloved." Here Robin will relate the description that Milenia gave them.

As Robin speaks, the queen's expression grows grave, particularly at the mention of the Soloi coins. "I don't know who it is from the description, but there are few enough Amazons that you should be able to find the culprit. Especially knowing that she had access to the Soloi coins."

"Athena has been with us so far." Robin has twigged to Pen's behavior and doesn't get any more specific than that. "And we hope that she is not done with us yet."

"Do you know of anyone who might want to see me fail the test?" Robin asks of the Queen, knowing that she will be much more savvy to the politics of Pontus than Robin is.

"I am sure there are those who would rather we not ally with Amber, if only on the grounds that any realm where men rule is no fit ally with Pontus," Thalaestris says. "But that shouldn't have driven this attack on you. You could have been gravely injured or worse. In your experience, Robin, would it be possible for our joint enemy of the forest to influence someone to attack you?"

"Oh, yes." Robin replies sadly. "A good friend of mine was injured fighting the Green. And unbeknownst to us, it infected him entirely. We would have never know that he had become a creature of the Green until he attacked the Warden. And then the Green was revealed. At the time, neither I nor the Warden knew what to look for. Now we do.

"Have any of your people who match the description been injured fighting the Green?"

Pen listens to Robin and the Queen, and begins to silently recite the prayer to Athena that earlier yielded a response by the moria branch. She focuses her will and hopes for a sign.

"Yes," Thalaestris says, "One woman who might fit the description was sent to the house of healing." Concern spreads across her face. " What does your experience say is the best way to proceed, and are the women who have tended to her at risk? Is the traveller girl?"

There is no sign yet that Pen can detect.

"I don't believe so." Robin says, "We have not had a great deal of sample cases to go on. The one case we know of, the infection was passed through injury. I don't think that casual contact should pass the infection.

"I know that Milenia did not have the Green in her. I would have noticed. I can check your women who tended the lady in question. But mostly I would like to speak to her. To see if she is carrying the taint of the Green."

"Shall I send for her to come here, or shall we go to her together? Penthelisea, what do you think?" the Queen asks.

Pen tries to consider all the different ways this could go wrong. "If it pleases you, My Queen, we would welcome the walk with you to meet her." Pen discreetly gestures a quick note to Robin in Cadence: "Be ready for anything, I fear that there may be much more to this than we know."

Thalaestris and the two Amberites and the fair walk to the House of Healing, greeting and being greeted, and congratulated in Robin's case. Though these women are unknown to Robin, it's easy for Robin to understand that the Amazons are a somewhat smaller community than the Rangers were before the war. Everyone is known to Pen and Pen knows all of them.

In the House of Healing, Robin sees a number of women injured in the battle against the Green. One woman has lost part of her forearm to corruption; amputation saved her life. Another woman will have terrible scars where the Green was burned off her.

The Amazon who is under suspicion is named Derinoe; she has vicious bloody scratches that look like she was whipped. They came from a battle with a vine creature, and it would make sense if she hid her injuries before dealing with Milena. Despite her injuries and the care the healers have taken of Derinoe, she is able to get up and move about.

It would be reasonable and possible for Derinoe to have obtained the clothing Milena would have seen her in, though Pen cannot think of any reasonable way for her to have obtained the Soloi coins.

Robin scents Green on Derinoe.

Robin is on instant alert though she tries not to show it in her manner. She looks around the room for possible hostage situations before gesturing to Pen that this is the woman she is interested in and if there is any way to get her off to somewhere private.

Pen catches Robin's Cadence gesture and quickly signs back an acknowledgment.

Pen knows Derinoe to be a loyal and true Amazon, devout in her sacrifices to the goddesses and faithful to the safety of her sisters, but Pen has grown to trust Robin implicitly, and her Ranger instincts are unparalleled. Pen approaches Derinoe smiling, as a friend, which is not ingenuous, but she also's aware of the most vulnerable potential targets in the environment and measures her distance, stepping carefully to effectively flank the Amazon and block the way of those who might be injured further.

"It's good to see you up and well, Derinoe," she says, thinking it surprising how quickly the injured Amazon is up and around. "We could use your help. Perhaps we could speak somewhere privately?"

Pen points to Robin, "This is Ser Robin of Arden, a trusted friend and newly Proven with great distinction."

Pen carefully watches Derinoe for any sign of strange behavior as they lock eyes. These are instincts employed by Amazons in hunting and are as old as the betrayal of men who would make slaves of free women. "What say you, Derinoe?"

"Of course, Captain," Derinoe says. To Pen's eyes, other than her abnormally easily healed wounds, she seems much herself. She rises to join Pen and Robin in another room, or outside, as they wish. Either will take her away from the healers and the injured.

Robin gestures to a small room off to one side of the main infirmary. Padded benches line the brightly colored walls with a few small tables scattered throughout the room. This is probably a place for tired healers to rest in during long shifts. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dernioe," Robin says in response to Pen's introduction.

Other than that, Robin lets Pen lead the questioning of her friend

Derinoe settles on one of the benches. Neither of the Amberites have any problem getting between her and the door where the other patients are.

Robin notices that the fair is collectively not pleased about Derinoe; they keep themselves between her and Robin, and the two males interpose between their queen and Derinoe to boot.

"We're hoping you can help us," begins Pen. "Ser Robin was taking the Trial by mounted archery when we discovered that someone had hidden painful burrs in her horse's saddle. By Athena's grace, we discovered a girl among the wagonfolk who claims to have been paid in Soloi coins by a veiled woman who matches your description. I have known you to be faithful and true to our people all my life, but you seem quickly recovered from your injuries with the Green. What say you?"

Pen tenses and readies herself, hoping that this is all a mistake, but fearing that it isn't.

Robin is surprised that Derinoe seated herself, but she's still ready for an attack. And much like her unhappy fair, she is keeping aware of where the Queen of the Amazons is.

The Queen has remained outside, leaving Robin and Pen to do the questioning. She is in earshot, unless the group speaks very quietly, and could easily call for reinforcements.

Derinoe's expression shifts, through pain and fear to sadness. "I did this," she said, and looks at Ser Robin. "I regret the injury to your horse, and to you, but--there was a prophecy. And I thought if you failed the test, it would be averted. I hope there will be another way to avert it, for if the prophecy is true, having a daughter of Amber among the Amazons will destroy us." Her voice is firm and clear.

Pen strains to contain her anger. It would've been easier if these actions came from malice or conspiracy, thinks Pen, but as she looks Derinoe square in the eye, she's certain this Amazon believes what she did was necessary and just to protect the health and culture of her sisters.

Pen chooses her words carefully, "I know you understand the significance of admitting to these deeds. I've never heard of this prophecy."

As Pen begins to speak again, understanding creeps upon her and her words soften with each syllable, as if in answer to her own question, and her anger is met with fear as she remembers Chirope's unjust exile and the dangerous and deceitful Amazon responsible: "Who taught this prophecy to you?"

Robin just barely avoids hissing at Derinoe's words. And all of the little brain birds that she has been so carefully herding while wearing her 'diplomatic' face burst free.

One bird is the grim memory of another prophecy; the old witch in Danu, saying that she would either save Danu or destroy it. And Robin remembers how her (and Jovian's) actions and her subsequent inaction drowned that Shadow. One bird is the fond memory of leaving that meeting with her Beloved Vere gently and gallantly showing her how her childish actions might be perceived. One bird is her current exhaustion at playing the diplomat for the Amazons, being thoughtful and calm, not childish or reckless. But it's wearing on her. Two years ago, she was the youngest sister to two older brothers. Now she's the oldest with two (and with Pen, three) sisters. One brain bird definitely doesn't want to be the older responsible one. One brain bird is chilled by Derinoe's words, given the changes that Robin wants to make to the very weave of Pontus. Will anchoring it against the Green destroy it? Robin doesn't think so, but she's been wrong before. Besides, as one brain bird points out, Robin wouldn't be 'among the Amazons', she's got her own work to do in the shadows around Arden.

And then Pen asks the question that Robin definitely needs to pay attention to. So with an effort, she brings all of her little brain birds back under control and waits for the answer.

Derinoe looks up at Pen. "The Prophetess," she says.

Pen nods, and a wild look crosses her face, probably like nothing Robin has seen on her face before. It seems a mixture of terrible anger and fear, like a cornered and injured animal.

The old Pen would have let this dreadful rage, what the Amazons call 'thumos', consume her like kindling in a bonfire and act on it. She has done it before. Instead, she recognizes this outrage, and like a wave she lets it pass over her.

She is not a cornered and injured animal.

She is the Captain of the Glorious Cataphract; she is the Amazon who strung the Bow of Dodonna unaided; she is the daughter of Myrina; the Emissary of Queen Thalestris; and the proud adopted sister of Robin, Solange, and Hannah of Amber.

She will not allow her emotions to master her. A good tactician knows the dangers of this.

Pen turns to Robin, and her demeanor returns to what it was. "The person who orchestrated all of this, unfortunately, is an ally of the Queen. She's not from Pontus, but Thalestris granted her a cave in exchange for the occasional prophecy when requested. Many of them came true. We must tread carefully."

Robin nods at Pen's words, her brain birds under control and her diplomatic face restored. Now she wants to make sure she understands the trail she is on.

Looking sternly to Derinoe, she asks, "Did the Prophetess tell you to harm me? Or put the burr under my saddle?"

Derinoe meets Robin's gaze. She has the look of a hero who has met her tragedy: doing what she must do by her nature and faith in the gods has forced her to commit a crime against the gods. "Not in those words," Derinoe admits.

"She did not command me to do it, nor to any specific harm. But she said that if you achieved the prize, it would go ill for the Amazons and the favor of the gods would turn from us. And she implied that someone must stop it, and since I was the one who knew the risk, the task fell to me. But how it was done is my crime alone. And I will answer for it."

Pen takes Robin aside, "There is a venomous adder native to Pontus that we call the Ohia. They're often solitary predators, eating birds, lizards, and small animals, and we learn at a young age how to spot and avoid them. However, from time to time they have been known to seek out larger prey that they have no hope of digesting. No one knows exactly why, but when such beasts are discovered it's usually after a young Amazon has been poisoned, and the bravest of us gather to hunt the deadly serpent back to its nest and wipe out every trace of it." Pen takes a breath. "We need to confront The Prophetess in her cave, and we need undeniable proof for the Queen. The Prophetess poisoned Derinoe with her lies, but I think we may yet compel her to reveal this viper's nest to us. What say you?"

Robin nods at Pen's words. "That... person," she bobs her head toward Derinoe, "is completely possessed by the Green. I can sense it and so can the firelizards. But I don't know if my word is good enough proof for the Queen. And if the Prophetess is a channel for the Green, she must be stopped. But again, I have no proof other than my own senses."

Pen sends a runner with a note from the House of Healing to Aristomache. It explains that Derinoe has confessed to being the agent behind the treachery. She needs to be escorted, confined, and watched because she is possessed by the Green.

"'Risto has been summoned and will secure Derinoe until our return. We need to deal with the Prophetess before things get worse. I have a feeling that you were only a part of what she still has planned."

Pen points to the well-worn supplicant's path, "That track will lead us to her cave."

"Do we need to take formal leave to the Queen? Or should we wait until Risto gets here?" Robin asks, sighing mentally at the diplomacy. She wants to run and chase prey too, but she's has to have her diplomacy face on.

Pen weighs Robin's words carefully. "If we take our formal leave from the Queen and she asks what we’re going to do," Pen says with a sigh, "I will feel duty-bound to tell her the truth and that will prevent us from either spying on or confronting the Prophetess. As to waiting for 'Risto, I don't think we need to fear that Derinoe will run. She's admitted guilt and had ample opportunity to escape already. She's accepted her fate."

Pen puts her hand on Robin's shoulder, "I defer to your experience. I'm a better soldier than a diplomat."

Robin pats Pen's hand where it rests. "Oh, I am no kind of diplomat myself. And I am as eager to get to the Prophetess as you are. But I think we must talk to the Queen.

"How about this -- let me talk to her. I think I have something that might distract her from our next steps."

Pen nods and agrees, "I'll be here."

Robin nods her understanding and exits the room to meet with the queen.

When Robin emerges into the courtyard in the center of the House of Healing, she sees Queen Thalaestris seated with Creusa, mistress of the House of Healing. They both rise from the bench where they were seated. Thalaestris has a blade now, which Robin doesn't think she had when they set out to the House of Healing.

Creusa lets the Queen take the lead; she follows behind Thalaestris. "Robin," the Queen says, "what do you and Penthelisea make of Derinoe?"

Robin sighs, "She has confessed to paying Milena to place the burr under my saddle. But she feels she was acting in the best interests of the Amazons. Captain Penthelisea has sent for Aristomache to take Derinoe into custody until we decide what to do with her.

"But more concerning, your Majesty," Robin lowers her voice so that only the Queen and maybe Creusa can hear, "Derinoe is completely infected with the Green. Both myself and my faire can sense it on her. I am concerned that the Green reaches so deep into Pontus and would like to attempt to harden Pontus against it. Would you be agreeable to my attempting this?"

"In theory, yes," Thalaestris says. "As a practical matter, I must ask what you have in mind, and what could go awry. I am responsible for all our sisters, so I must take our collective welfare into consideration. But the Green is a terrible threat, so I am willing to consider great risks to halt its advance."

"I will be using my Family gifts to weave the threads of Pontus itself to firm it up against the Green. I cannot explain it further as it would require knowledge of the Family Heritage to explain and it is not my place to speak of it freely." Robin isn't trying to duck the subject. She just really doesn't know how to explain.

"As to the effects should my attempts go awry – those I also cannot say. I have done this a couple of time without failure, so I don't know what a failure would look like. If do fail, I should just fail and nothing would come of it. But there is always the chance that it could go horribly wrong and I would damage the land of Pontus itself..."

"Your honesty and care for your sisters does you credit, Robin," Thalasestris tells her. "I know the legend of the heroes of Amber is that no magic can match theirs. I can hardly be surprised to learn that you have gifts you cannot explain. But if it's something that will protect us against the Green," she pauses and thinks about it. "That's an ugly way to die. Not just for the sisters and daughters under my care. I give you leave to try."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Robin bows formally. "If I might take my leave of you, I need to prepare."

"I grant you leave and," Thalaestris raises one arm and removes one of the golden armlets around it, which she hands to Robin, "I give you this token of my permission to use your gifts for Pontus, and to show to any of your sisters who question you."

"Thank you," Robin says as she accepts the armlet from Thalaestris. She tucks it away for now.

With that Robin is dismissed.

Robin turns on her heels to re-enter the courtyard and rejoin Pen.

Robin departs, leaving Pen and Derinoe alone, with Risto soon to come. Derinoe has been conspicuously not listening to the conversation between Pen and Robin. But once Robin has departed to speak to the Queen, she rises and comes to Pen.

"I'm sorry I harmed your chosen sister," Derinoe says. "I believe in the Prophetess' gifts, but I'm still sorry. She is an honorable sister, and were it not for the prophecy, I would be pleased to have her at my side in battle. Though I do not deserve the honor of fighting alongside her."

Pen's guarded body language opens as she looks warmly at Derinoe, "Your words do you credit, and you've been fiercely defending this island since I was no taller than your waist. Your sisters still need you."

"I will strive to do what is right," Derinoe says. "I hope and pray to all the goddesses that the prophecy doesn't come to pass. Whatever is asked of me, I will do it. But how can I make amends separately to your sister?"

Whatever the answer to that question may be, Pen doesn't have an answer for her before Robin returns, Risto close behind her.

Robin nods to Pen, "All done." She fully has her diplomat face on.

Pen smiles and nods, "Whatever you did should probably count as another Amazon trial that you completed." She looks to Derinoe and back to Robin, "Derinoe and I have spoken, and just as she believes in this prophecy, she wants to do what is right and asks how she might make amends to you. That's not for me to say."

Derinoe bows her head and says, "I accept your judgement, Sister Robin."

Risto looks uncertainly between Robin and Derinoe and Pen. "I got your message," she tells Pen.

Robin looks skeptically at Derinoe. "I haven't given much thought as to my judgment yet. In the meantime, Aristomache can you please take Derinoe into custody while I decide what her punishment shall be?"

Then Robin leans toward Pen and murmurs, "And after that, we hunt."

Aristomache says, "Indeed, sister. Come, Derinoe, let's go and let Robin think of how you can make amends to her for your acts." She's careful not to touch Derinoe as they walk away.

Pen clasps 'Risto's forearm and pulls her close, "Robin and I are bound for the Prophetess' cave. One way or another we will see this business finished. If we are undone, you know what to do." They meet each other's eyes for assent, clap shoulders, and nod farewells.

Pen turns to Robin and indicates the path they'll be taking to reach the cave and begins walking. "My Mother once carefully explained that the value of fear is recognizing it for what it is, refusing to give it power, and then doing the necessary thing. This serpent has caused enough harm to our people," says Pen, emphasizing "our". "We will do the necessary thing." As Pen's pace quickens, she expects Robin to overtake her as the ranger is faster and the worn path is clear.

Pen and Robin move along the way to the Prophetess' Cave.

Robin does not outpace Pen on the path, preferring to keep together when entering a strange place. But she has a fierce grin on her face. The Ranger has had enough of careful thinking and careful speaking. She's up for a good tussle.

Pen and Robin and the fair fly, metaphorically in the case of the women and literally in the case of the firelizards, toward the Prophetess' cave. The fair has been well-behaved around Queen Thalaestris, but now, perhaps sensing Robin's mood, they are moving quickly, in hunting mode.

The cave itself has a narrow entryway. Delphine, an Amazon known to Pen, is standing guard with her spear at the mouth of the cave. "Hail, sister," Delphine says to Pen, "and hail, friend of my sister. Would you speak with the Prophetess?"

Robin mentally sighs; more careful talking and thinking seems to be required.

Pen steps forward, her hand raised in greeting, "Hail Delphine, daughter of Xanthe, first Kontos of the Agema." Pen turns to Robin, "Delphine is one of the finest spearfighters I know," and with a smile that bears no small amount of pride, "I taught her myself when she was eleven summers old."

"We would speak to the Prophetess," says Pen.

When Delphine turns to enter the cave, Pen moves as fast as she physically can and quickly slips her arms around Delphine's throat and under her left arm then Pen joins her hands together in a tight knot behind Delphine's neck. Palaestra, as the Amazons call this style of wrestling, often involves bringing any enemy to the ground and demonstrating control, however, this particular hold is martial in design and used to quiet an opponent and neutralize them without actually injuring them. Pen focuses her terrible strength, but she is very careful as she whispers a gentle apology and words of admiration in Pontian.

Pen's heroic strength and quickness mean she disables Delphine with no difficulty. Catching the spear, she moves Delphine away from the entrance.

It occurs to Robin that one or more of the fair could guard Delphine while the Amberite Amazons deal with the Prophetess.

Robin regains her grin. Nope, no careful talking or thinking is needed. While Pen sees to Delpine, Robin guards the mouth of the Prophetess' cave making sure no one or nothing escapes out of it.

The fair is ready to fly in and deal with whatever has Robin so outraged.

Once Pen has laid Delphine in a shaded, comfortable spot off the path, Pen quietly approaches the mouth of the cave where Robin is guarding and carefully looks inside. "Delphine will be very angry with me when she awakens," whispers Pen, "but I'll make it up to her and show her a counter to that hold."

The Prophetess' cave has a long entry, so Pen doesn't hear anything in particular.

Robin grins to Pen, "I'll leave Chirrup to watch her." 'Cause Robin doesn't want to break up the Ooot-Pen love fest. With a wave of her hand and a fond croon, she does that. Then she quietly enters the cave, senses on alert.

Chirrup is sulky about his assignment, but Peep fusses at him, so he accepts it. The two remaining firelizards fly quietly behind Robin and Pen as they enter. They make their way down into the cave, smelling the fumes that are characteristic of such places more strongly as they approach. Whatever is in the fumes doesn't affect Pen or Robin significantly, though the firelizards clearly don't like it when Robin looks back at them.

There are two people talking when they come closer to the chamber where the fumes of the earth come through. One of them is a woman's voice. Pen recognizes it. That's the Prophetess. The other voice belongs to a man.

Pen raises a hand to Robin to stop their advance upon hearing the two voices. The soldier in Pen desperately wants to charge in, gladius drawn, both wrathful and righteous. One hand fumbles at her belt in the stillness, and she reaches behind to feel the sacred moria branch tucked away. Better to listen first, she thinks, and hear what treason may be born from indiscretion.

The moria branch is trembling when Pen touches it.

The man says in clear Thari, "I know you said that you were finished with the argument, but you're the only one all parties, including myself, trust to broker a truce."

Robin has halted beside Pen and is listening quietly as well. She asks Peep and Ooot to keep clear of the fumes. The Ranger rests her hand on the hilt of her sword of variable sharpness, ready for anything.

The firelizards are fine with that suggestion; they don't like the stink.

Robin does not recognize the man's voice. He speaks what she thinks of as relatively unaccented Thari.

The woman answers him, and because Pen has heard the Prophetess' voice before, Pen can confirm it the Prophetess. She says, "I retired here so none of you would bother me until I was ready. I haven't changed my mind about this. Your desire for a clear chain of command does not outweigh my desire for solitude." She sounds exasperated.

"I had to ask. Besides, circumstances have changed," the man tells her. "Our operations in several Shadows have been compromised. Chew is missing. I think he's not only overstepped his bounds, but aroused the ire of Amber."

The Prophetess snorts. "If they have him, leave him to them. My business here is more important."

"And that is?" he asks.

"Among other things, I am watching the daughter of Myrina, who has made contact with Amber and brought their agents here. And now, one of the younger generation. But also I have forced one of the Moonrider get to flee, which is to all our benefit."

Pen files away two things quickly: first, Chew, whomever that is, sounds like an enemy of Amber, and an enemy of Amber is an enemy of Pen. Second, remember to ask Robin what a Moonrider is. The term is new to Pen, but it sounds important, and it may be further mischief done in Pontus. Perhaps it's a daughter of Artemis?

That accounted for, Pen looks to Robin and makes a hand gesture she learned from the Rangers that indicates she intends to advance and potentially attack.

As Pen pushes into the cave, she leads with her gladius drawn in her right hand, just as she pulls the trembling moriae branch from behind her belt and extends it aloft with her left hand, not unlike a torch. Her emotions are getting the better of her and she knows it.

"Pankataratos! (OOC: 'thrice-cursed', a significant insult and threat in Pontian) Traitor! How DARE YOU utter my Mother's name! We know what you've done. Surrender now!"

Robin follows Pen into the room but does not draw her sword of variable sharpness. She's wary that someone might try to Trump out of the cave, so she is prepared to grapple if she sees a card being drawn. She is also listening carefully for any sound of the Green on the Prophetess or her guest.

The two people were seated around the far edge of the room, away from the pit in the center, which even Pen in her enraged state knows will be a peril if and when they all go to fighting. It's going to be a tight fit to go two abreast without risking falling into the source of those fumes. The pit is perhaps an Amazon's height across, and there is twice that or less along the edges, not counting the seats carved out of the rock. Above where the two were seated all along those walls are reliefs of Pontian art. It's hard to tell but whatever's in those fumes also might be making the rock slippery.

The woman has pale skin and dark hair, and wears dark robes. Her gaze is piercing, which is the most frightening thing about her, as she's armed with nothing more significant than a dagger and very slight. This is the Prophetess; Pen recognizes her, though Pen has not sought her counsel. She looks surprised and displeased, but not enraged by the insult.

The man is armed and armored, and has drawn his own blade to put himself between Pen and the Prophetess. Robin can imagine how this must look to him; Pen has burst in, accusing his companion of crimes without proof, and demanding her surrender. He's not wearing a helm, just chain, and he has swarthy skin and dark hair and a beard.

Robin doesn't smell the Green on either of them.

"And that," the Prophetess says, "is Myrina's daughter, and the other is from Amber." She is, in fact, drawing a card out of her sleeve.

The man has an expression on her face that Robin reads as I really would rather not do this but he's ready for combat, though not making the first move.

Pen makes a few tactical calculations before proceeding. First, she's feeling for any kind of activity in the Moria branch as divine guidance in such situations should never be ignored. Next, she takes a few slow steps forward to gauge the slipperiness of the ground from the fumes. It would not do for her to lose her footing by running and end up in the pit. Since the Prophetess isn't moving for the cave entrance, Pen assumes that she believes the armored soldier will succeed in holding us off, probably long enough for her to either escape or bring in reinforcements. Pen curses herself for not bringing the Bow of Dodonna with her or even Delphine's spear. Pen advances in careful, measured steps along the right side of the pit.

She wants to taunt the Prophetess, to call her paliokóritso (OOC: a term of GREAT disrespect in Pontian) for hiding behind the protection of a man, like a deilós (OOC: coward), but she realizes this will have no effect, and she needs to master her temper. The swarthy soldier wasn't counting on this fight and without a helm, he's potentially vulnerable to strikes that might end this quickly. Pen is certain that everything is going to turn on the card that the Prophetess is drawing from her sleeve. She's seen the magic of Trumps firsthand.

Robin finds it very probable that there will be a palm sized stone nearby on the floor of the cavern. When she sees the stone, Robin will stoop and snatch it up into a side-arm throw, hard and fast, at the card in the Prophetess' hand. Her intent is to damage either the card or the hand. Or, if nothing else, to break the Prophtess' concentration.

Robin's throw knocks the card from the Prophetess' hand. Robin cannot tell whether it's damaged or not, though Robin's experience with Trumps suggests that it would take more deliberate damage than a tossed rock to damage a completed Trump. The Prophetess curses and moves to draw another.

"What do you think she did?" the man asks, still not picking that fight.

Encouraged by Robin's expert throw and the discarded Trump, Pen quickens her pace to close the distance with the armored soldier. As soon as she gets within reach of his blade with her gladius she pushes into a powerful high-outside thrust to draw him into a parry. By doing so she's directing where she wants his sword to go. The logical thing, the thing that she's counting on, is that he will anticipate a quick exchange of cuts and thrusts, with blocks and parries. Instead, the moment his blade is where she wants it, she drops her gladius and the Moriae branch and thrusts her hands forward, grabbing his sword arm with both of her hands and all of her might. [OOC: Assuming he's fighting one-handed with a blade, however, two-handed is more difficult, but still manageable]. Pen is changing the contest from a sword fight to grappling for control of his wrist. If she manages to get her hands on his wrist, she aims to disarm him, and potentially do serious harm to his wrist and forearm. Alternately, if a rock wall is close enough to guide his hand towards it, she is more than happy to brutally bash his wrist and hand against the unyielding rock until he's forced to let go of it. If she can disarm him, depending on his strength, she will either grapple him if he possesses comparable strength or pick him up and throw him AT the Prophetess. She is not holding back at all.

Either way, she has no intention of engaging him in verbal discourse. He is an outsider unwelcome to these shores.

The man is fighting one handed, as Pen expects, but he's fast, and she can barely catch his hand, never mind get a good grip on him. He wrenches his sword hand away with a strength close to her own, a thing she's hardly encountered in other women, never mind a man. Having seen her go for his wrist, he's being careful not to let her get close. Since she dropped her blade, he could skewer her, but he's not doing that. He could also make an effort to throw her into the pit, but he's not doing that either.

Part of the wall in the rear of the cave must have been an illusion. The Prophetess steps through it. The man steps back toward the passageway, perhaps to cover her exit.

Pen is taken aback and has to adjust her tactics. The Amazons of Pontus are fierce, proud warriors, but attacking a foe who has demonstrated superior strength or prowess and has also demonstrated patience and mercy in battle is unacceptable, even if that opponent is male. Pen crosses her bracers in a symbol of respect and peace, holding the gaze of the soldier even as she lowers herself to pick up the dropped gladius and the moriae branch. Once she has hold of her blade, she will sheathe it.

Pen responds solemnly to his question, "She arranged for an attempt on the life of Ser Robin of Arden, my good sister, and she's caused harm to innocents in the process."

Robin carefully picks her way around the pit to join her sister on the other side. She also calls all three of the firelizards to join her with the intent that they follow the Prophetess into the disguised passageway. If they can prevent the Prophetess from using a Trump while there, that's all to the good. Otherwise, she doesn't interrupt Pen's conversation.

The man courteously steps back to allow Pen to recover her blade. He doesn't sheathe his sword, but he does keep it low, clearly not planning to use it unless he has to defend himself. He sees the three firelizards follow the Prophetess but makes no move to stop them.

On hearing the news that the Prophetess has arranged for an attack on Robin, his mouth tightens. "We were supposed to be in truce with Amber, even if it wasn't formalized, at least for the duration of the emergency--not that we're at war with Amber, just in the middle of a theological disagreement with Grandfather. I suppose everyone else has decided the emergency is over, even if that's not absolutely certain." He sounds irritated. "I am Abel, I came here to visit my kinswoman the Matriarch, and I did not mean to involve myself in her local dispute. I apologize for the misunderstanding, kinswomen."

"I appreciate your explanation, Abel, though I don't know where you're from. You need to be aware that your friend, The Matriarch, has brought you to Pontus, home of the Amazons. Your presence here without express permission from the Queen could be taken as a diplomatic incident at least, and a matter of violence at most. You seem like someone who understands customs and regulations. Do not put yourself in a position where you're seen, and you should be safe. I suggest you return the same way you came, and we will leave you in peace," and Pen turns to her sister, "won't we Robin?"

Robin nods, "I have no quarrel with you, Abel. Though at some other time and place I would be interested in getting to know you and your people better." Robin smiles a little, though she is still on the hunt.

"I hope that can happen. I hear that our Grandfather died in the war and that one of his sons has taken the throne; I spoke with some of our other cousins recently, for the first time since the Black Road." Abel tilts his head in the direction the Matriarch went. "She has Trumps and may already be gone. But if you catch her, be warned: she's an initiate, with all the family gifts, and curses."

Robin nods her understanding and her thanks for the warning.

He turns back to Pen. "I will leave by Trump. No one save the two of you should know I was here. Thank you for the warning. If I send here to leave a message, I will send a woman warrior." He reaches for what Robin suspects is a Trump deck that's attached to part of his armament. (Think: a bandolier.)

Pen nods to Abel and moves towards where the Matriarch/Prophetess went. She suspects that their quarry has either left by Trump or set a trap, or both. If she's being honest, she's probably most concerned about the status of the three firelizards at this point. If Abel's estimation is correct, the Prophetess is much more dangerous than Pen had originally anticipated.

Robin speaks up. "Is there any way to reach you, Abel, once our current duties are complete?"

Abel intrigues her but she is on another hunt and worried about the fire lizards herself. But maybe, just maybe Abel has a Trump of himself that he'd be willing to part with.

"You can leave a message for me in Tyrell. Our kinswoman Brita will know how to reach me. Unfortunately I'm on the move right now. The Order I'm part of fractured during the late war, and I spent most of it dealing with the Chaos incursion. Now I'm trying to pick up the pieces and it seems they've all gone mad. I don't have a card of my own or I'd give it to you," he says.

Pen is able to follow the firelizards, who are yelling, probably for her and Robin, through the series of chambers that Pen understands to be the home of the Prophetess. A kitchen with a cooking fire and some ventilation, some kind of meditation chamber or shrine, a library of scrolls and the like, and of course a sleeping chamber, and beyond all that, another chamber with paints and papers and parchments and wax and other substances, clearly where she performs art of some sort. And a cabinet to contain them.

The Prophetess herself is gone.

The impetuous Pen, who could be reckless, single-minded, and sometimes even petty, might've wanted to destroy all of this: knock things over, tear things up, shatter glass and ceramic, empty inkwells, and burn bedding. Just to demonstrate that this space was now off-limits and no longer a safe refuge. Those would be the actions of a person easily ruled by their emotions. Angry, spiteful, and needlessly, foolishly, destructive. Instead, Pen gathers as many of the scrolls as she can and turns to Robin, "There's too much here for us to sift through now, but there may be answers in these writings that could help both Pontus and Amber. What do you think we should do?"

While Pen is gathering scrolls, Robin will comfort her yelling firelizards. They were so brave and did so good, even if they weren't able to stop the Prophetess from leaving. It was a big ask on Robin's part and, though she is disappointed at missing her quarry, she is still proud of the firelizards.

After that, Robin will return to the room with the pit to see if she can find the Trump that she knocked out of the Prophetess' hands.

Robin looks up at Pen's question. "I like to examine the art cabinet. Then, I don't know. The Prophetess will probably return once we leave Pontus. She's not of the Green like I had feared, so what I'm planning won't affect her."

Robin looks where the trump should be and she sees a card back on the ground.

Given the fair's yelling, Robin will pick up the card and pocket it for further examination after she's seen to the firelizards.

The fair is agitated, and Ooot and Chirrup seem to be hovering over Peep. Peep's eyes are whirling red; anger and hurt. One of her legs seems injured. She has a bit of red around her mouth, which on close examination might be blood: not her own.

Robin gathers Peep to herself, crooning with concern and calmness. She carefully examines Peep's leg to get an idea of the nature of the injury. Robin also finds it very probable that there will be a first aid kit in the kitchen area. She gently carries in wounded Peep that way.

Robin finds what she is looking for, although it is the native Pontian version of a first aid kit. Robin finds wine, honey, bandages, and clean water. There's also some sort of salve, which looks green, has the texture of paint, and smells of copper.

Pen is concerned after Peep, but Robin is handling the situation. If she needs any assistance, Pen will drop everything to help. She puts down the large armful of scrolls and grabs one at random to see if it's written in a language that she understands, and if so, if it makes any sense or has any tactical value regarding the threat from Arcadia. Since Robin didn't sense any trace of the Green on the Prophetess, Matriarch, or whatever her actual name is, her importance as an immediate threat to Pontus and Arden has to be minimized, at least for now.

They're mostly sketches and paintings, made with a variety of implements and colors. Some in inks, some in watercolors, and some in oils. Some of them are people, most unknown to Pen, and others are of landscapes, places not in Pontus and also unknown to her. They are not signed.

Pen grabs a few of the paintings on scrolls of people and landscapes and shows them to Robin as she's tending to Peep. "This Prophetess, 'Matriarch', whomever she actually is, is definitely our enemy, but I have to admit that she has a fair hand with a brush and paint. Is any of this familiar?"

Robin glances quickly at the scrolls to see if she recognizes the style or the images. Most of her attention is on her angry Queen and her injured leg. She holds up the salve to Pen. "What is this?" she asks.

"The healers call it The Graces, and it's very effective at soothing burns and injuries, promoting healing, and fighting infection. The key ingredient is a plant called Silphium. I learned how to make it when I was twelve seasons tall."

None of the images have significance to Robin, on first glance but she might be able to tell more if she looks at them more closely.

Pen drops the scrolls to help pick through the first aid supplies and assist Robin in mending Peep, specifically dampening some of the bandages with a mixture of wine and, if she can find it in the kitchen, olive oil. She offers the treated bandages to Robin when she's ready for them and attempts to distract Peep if Robin applies the salve, which can be tingly and a little uncomfortable.

Robin nods her thanks to Pen, but she is mainly concentrating on her brave little queen. She croons comfortingly to Peep while she spreads the salve on the firelizard's leg.

Robin suspects that the valiant Queen bit the Matriarch and the Matriarch either flung her off so hard she hit a wall and damaged her wing or the Matriarch slammed her into the wall. The blood in Peep's mouth was not her own. Her wing bones are fractured and she probably shouldn't be flying on them. It's not quite like a hawk with a broken wing but similar in terms of bone structure. The hide of the wings has a bit of road rash, which would suggest she was dragged along the rock a bit.

The Matriarch must be quite strong to have injured Peep in that way.

Inwardly Robin is torn – she knows that with her lifestyle and the firelizards' bravery that injuries were likely. But that doesn't assuage the guilt Robin feels for sending her little ones into danger. So she focuses on doing what she can for Peep and reassuring Chirrup and Ooot that all will be well.

The other two firelizards are crooning to their Queen and to Robin, as if to soothe both of their distress.

Peep cries a little when the salve is put on her road rash but doesn't struggle. She lets Robin and Pen and her fairmates help her and reassure her.

"Perhaps," Pen considers aloud, "we could take her to the House of Healing. Firelizards are not native to Pontus, of course, but Creusa is the wisest healer that I know next to sister Hannah, and she spent time traveling in other lands to learn different medicines and procedures. She may be able to help."

Pen collects all the scrolls as best she can, but she casts her glance around the room as she does so. "I tell you true, I do not like this place, and though I think we've expelled The Prophetess, I would dislike facing her return, both healed and reinforced. We will not move until you're sure that brave Peep is ready to be moved."

"Thank you, Pen," Robin murmurs as she finishes up her first aid on Peep. "We can go. But you have a sword-sister outside that will take some explaining to."

Robin carefully gathers up Peep with all of her skill with the storm-hawks of Arden in play. Crooning near constantly to her brave queen, Robin heads for the opening at the front of the caves. Robin's never been a big fan of the underground, but it seems that her terror of it has worn off. What with the vision of the Unicorn and all. Or maybe it was walking the Primal Pattern that 'curred' her. Or maybe she's just distracted by the injured Peep. So though she agrees with Pen that she doesn't like this place, she isn't panicking at being here.

Peep is no longer crying in pain but her movements are careful and she's not trying to take off and fly under her own steam as her fairmates are doing.

Pen looks for a piece of fabric to use as a makeshift sack for the many scrolls, and follows Robin, guarding her back, and as they exit the cave, she looks for Delphine. If she sees her, Pen will make apologies for her deception, and as she promised, she will offer to show the counter to the move she used on her. Pen will make amends and point to Robin's leave given by the Queen to deal with the Prophetess.

Pen has no trouble finding such a sack. It's uncanny. (Robin does not think it's uncanny. It's perfectly normal.)

Delphine is coming to when Pen and Robin emerge from the cave with the fair. She wants to know what happened and where the Prophetess is, since clearly she failed to protect the Prophetess from an attack. And it looks to her like Pen and Robin were in a fight as well, especially the pretty lizards. What do Pen and Robin tell her?

Pen expresses her respect for Delphine, and apologizes for the necessity of her actions. She explains that they had discovered terrible wrongdoing that injured a young amazon and nearly got Robin killed during her trials, and that it had been engineered by the Prophetess using sister Derinoe as a tool, but also that Derinoe herself had been infected by the Green. Further, Pen explains that Robin comes from a place of powerful magic that can protect against the Green, and Queen Thalestris has authorized her actions.

Pen looks to Robin to see if she has the token that Queen Thalestris gave her as a sign of her trust.

Robin nods, "I have such a token," she says but does not produce it. "When we came, we thought that there might be a threat from the Green." Hinting that that might have been the time to show the token, but oh well. "But while there was threat to myself and Pen, there was no trace of the Green. Which is what the token is for."

Perhaps Robin is a little testy due to the emotional backlash of Peep's injury. Maybe her own eyes would be red and swirling if they could do such a thing.

Pen explains that Delphine was following orders and that the Prophetess was not the person that she claimed to be. She was also hosting a relative, a foreign man of her acquaintance. There was a struggle and both the Prophetess and the man left using unknown magic. Pen promises to teach Delphine the counter to the hold that she used on her and reiterates that Delphine behaved honorably, but she didn't have all the information.

Delphine accepts the apology, but she is clearly hurt and doesn't want to talk to either Robin or Pen further, but is willing to walk with them to the House of Healing.

Together they all walk to the House of Healing to get care for Peep and to deal with the matter of Derinoe.

Perhaps Robin's heart is heavier for the knowledge that without some direct intervention, and quite possibly even if Robin does intervene, Derinoe is a dead woman walking, after the fashion of her friend Girth, whom the Green compelled to attack Julian.

Robin is quiet while walking toward the House of Healing, concentrating on calming herself down so she can calm the firelizards down.

With another part of her brain, she is thinking about what punishment she will ask for for Derinoe. Exile is what occurs to her, but that is just sending Derinoe to the Green, maybe to be turned into a soldier against the Amazons. But isn't that better than being a spy amongst the Amazons? Robin is undecided.

The awful memory of Grith's attack and death -- second death? -- is with her still. But Robin strives to remember her friend as he was in life. Instead of what the Green made him into.

And maybe, just maybe, when Robin renders Pontus resistant to the Green, it might affect Derinoe in some way as well. Whether that will be a good way or a bad way is hard to tell.

In spite of all of those thoughts, Robin's first concern is Peep.

As they approach the House of Healing, Robin will call out, "Healer! We need an animal Healer here!"

One of the Healers comes out, and they also send to the stables because Robin said she needed an animal healer, and the Healers who are available look at Peep. They bring the Amazons into a room where Peep can lie on a table for examination. There aren't really any bird specialists among the Healers, nor is the Healer from the stables really well suited, but among the group of them, between their own knowledge and an examination of Chirrup and Ooot, whose wings are intact, they are able to come to some conclusions.

The answer is not really what anyone wanted, but it's not a surprise either: immobilize the wing and wait it out. Keep it clean, apply salves, avoid infection.

Robin knows she could take the firelizards to a fast-time shadow but there would still be some time lost in her work in Pontus and Arden.

Delphine has remained in the House of Healing and a Healer not involved in Peep's case has seen to her. If Pen asks, she will learn Delphine was not injured.

Pen asks the healers if Creusa is about, and if so, could we please see her.

Creusa comes to tend to the queen, though her expertise is in women, not tiny dragons.

Pen did inquire after Delphine and is grateful there are no physical injuries. She failed to correctly estimate the extent of the injury to her relationship with Delphine, which hopefully will heal over time, and maybe she'll learn something from that.

Robin thanks the healers for their aid with Peep. She also thanks Peep for being brave during the healing.

Peep wants to nestle with Robin.

Once all that can be done is done, Robin turns to Pen. "Okay, I'm thinking I'd like a big meal. A few hours of sleep and then I'll see about firming up Pontus against the Green. I'll need someplace safe and quiet and probably a few hours to do it. Any ideas?"

Pen is eager to help. "Not far from here there's a glade with a brook sacred to Artemis. It's secluded and quiet. We could set a guard to guarantee your privacy. The only residents are sacred deer, and we do not hunt them, but they're won't bother you. Legend says that a unicorn once visited the glade long ago and blessed it, but I think that was made up by our ancestors so they could safeguard that spot from someone building a temple on it."

Pen's stomach grumbles a little. "I think we both could do with a proper meal. 'Risto always has the best food so we might visit with her, and while you get some rest I'll check to make sure our troops are supplied for the ride to Arden. Sound good?"

Pen has no trouble getting a meal together, even a very large one. It's probably not as much as Robin thinks a really large meal would be, but the kitchens of Pontus, while they feed many warrior princesses, do not actually feed princesses of Amber very often. There is enough for the two sisters and for the fair, and there is rest to be had and arrangements to be made.

It's been a long day. Do Robin and Pen want to wait overnight and rest before Robin does the thing?

After they eat but before Robin turns in for the night, she will inspect the Trump she got from the cave of the Prophetess and the scrolls that Pen liberated. But yeah, she's planning on getting a good night's sleep and a large breakfast. Robin knows that she needs to be at her best to attempt to free Pontus from the Green.

Pen enjoys what is probably going to be the last big meal for a while, and before turning in will check in with five or six trusted amazons to arrange for them to secure the entrances to Artemis' glade tomorrow. She explains that Robin will need privacy and mustn't be disturbed. After that Pen turns in for the night, appreciating all the familiar comforts of home. She expects it may be some time before she comes this way again.

The guard is prepared, the night is slept away, a hearty breakfast is had, and the road to the glade is taken, with Pen leading the way. The chosen guardians, including 'Risto, take their places. The sun has risen. All is prepared. It's time for Robin to perform her ritual, with any aid from Pen.

In a land often defined by its disciplined soldiers, The Glade of Artemis is probably the most peaceful spot in all of Pontus. The glade could be more aptly compared to a small forest in size, composed of many sturdy, beautiful trees: the Oak, and Stone Pine, the Cypress, and Ash, the Bay Laurel, and Chestnut. The oldest trees have been here much longer than the Amazons themselves, but at the center of the glade, near the running brook is the oldest tree with the strongest wood. It's an Ironwood Oak, sacred to both Artemis and Zeus, called the Dodonna tree, and legend claims that Artemis borrowed a sapling from Olympus and planted it here to bless the glade. The Dodonna tree offers shade, comfort, and sometimes glimpses of fleeting wisdom in the brook to the worthy. It's said that Queen Hippolyta, the predecessor to Queen Thalestris, received permission from the tree in a desperate hour and carved a Spartan Palintos bow from two branches. Artemis provided the bowstring with the tendon of the Ceryneian Hind. The bow was passed down to valiant Queen Thalestris and later passed on to another Amazon for her courage and leadership during a deadly invasion when Thalestris was wounded.

The wind in the glade whispers through the trees. There are six entrances, but only three main paths, and the trees are homes to many gentle, curious birds, a few hungry owls, and several squirrels. From time to time, sacred deer are spotted wandering through, usually stopping by the brook to drink and stare at the colorful fish and eat the tastiest plants. They move at their own pace because they know that no one here would dare harm them. They're usually adorned by a single piece of silver jewelry (of Amazon design) in the shape of a moon, and no one seems to remember which way they came in from and which way they left.

Robin, once more in her comfortable Ranger trail gear, gazes around the sacred and serene glade. Peep is in her arms and the bracelet of Thalestris is around her wrist. Chirrup and Ooot flutter around her shoulders.

For a moment, Robin just breathes it in, letting the air of the forest flow through her. Her blonde head cocks to the side; Listening, letting the music of the trees' whispers and the burble of the brook dance at her mind's edge.

Robin looks over to Pen, her eyes glimmering green, and nods, "Yes, this will do nicely." A quick smile ticks her lips. She should probably be more respectful, but she's slowly focusing on her task.

Even though there is really only one obvious choice, Robin looks over the glade carefully, before making her way to the Dodonna tree. Shedding her pack and sword, Robin sets Peep down in a comfortable knot of grass.

"I'm going to be calling on the power of our Family's heritage, Pen. And while I won't be helpless, the work is delicate enough that I'd rather not be disturbed. I'm also not sure how long it will take. The best help you can give me would be to look after the firelizards. They're young and might get bored." Robin says it casually, but asking someone else to care for Peep, Chirrup and Ooot is kind of a big deal.

Pen realizes the trust demonstrated in Robin asking her to look after the Fair. "I promise you that I will guard them with my life. I think I can find a board of local meats, fruits, and flowers and see what they have a taste for. I'll try not to spoil them." Pen puts her hand on Robin's shoulder, "I'm very grateful for this ritual to help save Pontus. It's nothing I could ever do, but it will surely save many lives. It is a worthy thing. Thank you!" She looks at the Dodonna tree wistfully, "I should visit this glade more often. This is where I first met Chirope, many years ago." Pen, with permission, kneels down to pick up Peep, Chirrup, and Ooot, and adds, "All the entrances and exits to the glade are being guarded. No one will disturb you."

Only Peep, with her injured wing, needs to be carried; the other two lizards are willing to fly with Pen while she's caring for the queen. The fire lizards all chitter farewells to Robin, and go easily enough.

Pen makes sure that Robin has the space and freedom to do her working, and finds herself with a week or so of downtime in Pontus.

The dragonlet is healing and seems eager to fly again, although she accepts restrictions from the healer.

Pen hears a rumor that The Prophetess had discovered a strain of insects that attack the firelillies, and that she was murdered to prevent her from destroying the menace. Some say that her disciples are hoping to use the creatures anyway.

Robin chitters her farewell back to them. She nods her understanding of Pen's wistfulness. "I feel the same way about the gardens of Amber. They are where I truly met Vere for the first time." Of course, the mention of Vere brings a glimmer to Robin's eye and a smile to her lips. "Perhaps you will meet Chirope again. The universe can be a small place for our Family." She smiles her hope for Pen.

Then Robin turns to her task and circles the Dodonna tree a few times, Listening to the Song of Pontus. What she Hears back, the swelling orchestra of lyre and percussion, slows her steps a little. She didn't think Pontus would be that... big and with that depth.

She turns to Pen. "I may have bitten off more than I can chew." Robin admits reluctantly, "This is going to take several days. And may not cover all of Pontus. Still. I will do what I can." She finishes with determination.

Carefully choosing her spot, Robin sits down under the Dodonna tree with her back resting against the ancient trunk, her feet stretched out toward the running brook. For a task of this size, Robin wriggles around a little to make herself comfortable. Very comfortable. Just a Ranger resting in the woods.

Robin opens herself fully to the Song of Pontus, taking several hours just Listening to it until she knows it well and hopefully pick out the discord of the Green.

Once Robin has the Song of Pontus in her grasp, she calls to mind the Family Heritage, the Pattern, with its own music of Lightning, Lyre and Blood. She fixes the Pattern very firmly in her mind and then slowly, ever so slowly, she borrows notes from the Pattern to strengthen the Song of Pontus and drive out the notes of Green.

Robin takes her time shaping the shadow energies of Pontus. The web of life here is strained, under pressure from the Green. It reminds Robin of Vere's Isles, with their brokenness. And Danu.

Robin grasps the strands of probability and possibility weighing options, seeing paths forward. She loses track of time, and is focused only on the goal.

In the end, Robin, her body and spirit as exhausted as if she had spent days in battle, come to the inescapable conclusion that she needs to decide if the cost of the working will be worth it.

She's convinced she can affect the green, but that it will affect the whole of the land as well. It may be inevitable, as the rot is creeping in to the core, but it will likely lead to famine and want if she continues.

She is at the cusp and can either force it through with consequences or retreat, knowing it might not get any easier later.

Robin is torn. She really wants to preserve Pontus from the Green, even if only temporarily. But she doesn't want to face the Queen to tell her that she has caused a famine. She wants to follow the mission her Father set her on and bolster the Shadows around Arden against the Green. But she doesn't want to sacrifice Pen's sisters to do it. She's really concerned about the level of Green in Pontus. But she's not sure she can take on a Goddess right now. In the end, she thinks to herself which would the Amazons prefer; to die fighting the Green or to starve. That makes the decision for her.

Carefully Robin restores the Song of Pontus to what it was before she started meddling. Robin hopes she'll get another chance at this. But right now, the Rangers need the assistance of the Amazons reinforcements more than Robin can spend more time at this.

Pen has been busy making sure the horses for Pontus' contingent are well-fed, groomed, and in good shape for a long ride and battle. She works with 'Risto to arrange a series of combat drills, both mounted and on foot, and makes sure each Amazon is armored and well-provisioned. She does this whilst keeping the fair with her. She's mindful of their curiosity, but doesn't let them roam too far. She keeps a small arrangement of treats they like that are native to Pontus at hand to encourage compliance. The stalwart guard around the Glade changes daily and they've been advised to send word the moment Robin exits. Pen has taken one shift herself protecting one of the entrances. If nothing else, she's come to understand why Robin enjoys the company of Peep, Chirrup, and Ooot. The false rumors about the Prophetess' death circulate among her sisters, and Pen's not surprised how some figures are lionized in myth. She's curious about this rumor of the insects that might eat the firelillies, similar to the way that the fair does. She keeps an ear to the ground to see if there's any truth to that one.

By the time Robin emerges, looking tired and wrung out, Pen and Risto have made sure the Amazons who are joining the Rangers are properly provisioned and trained for the kind of work they'll be doing.

The firelizards have cried a little about not seeing Robin, though Pen is pretty sure Root and Chirrup have sneaked into the glade quietly here and there to keep an eye on her. Peep is healing nicely and should be ready to fly again in a day or two. She talks to Pen quite a bit and is very emphatic and sometimes a bit frustrated that Pen doesn't know what she's saying. She does understand that the salve is for healing and lets Pen and the healer treat her.

Risto teases Pen a little about the lizards but it's all in good fun.

The week passes and Robin has completed her work, for good or ill.

Robin looks like someone who has just caught their breath after running a marathon. She greets the firelizards with joy, chittering and chirruping to them as Ooot and Chirrup fly about her in excited circles. The Ranger gestures for Pen to hand her the recovering Peep, seeming to need the comfort of her little ones.

She looks at Pen and shakes her head sadly. "I couldn't do it. The Life in the Green was too... entangled with the Life of Pontus. If I tried to disengage them, it would have resulted in a lessening of the Life of Pontus. And I only could've kept the Green at bay for a little while. Maybe if I had more time..."

Robin shakes her head again.

The firelizards are delighted to see Robin again. Peep demands that Robin hold her at once.

Despite her weariness, Robin is happy to hold Peep once more and delicately takes her from Pen. Robin croons a little to the Queen and scritches her eye ridges in welcome.

It's obvious to Pen that Robin held nothing back in her efforts. "You set yourself a monumental task to achieve, and we are a strong and willful people. I shouldn't be surprised how entangled we are with the Green. You chose the merciful path, and I commend you for that. From what I gleaned from the Library, our Amber kin have been less kind with natives in other places." Pen makes it clear with her body language that hugs are available, even welcome, but not required.

Robin does indeed step forward into a hug. She's a little whiffy from prolonged effort and her hug back is not as strong as usual. But still heart felt. "Thank you for your kind words, Pen."

"Come, we will see you properly fed and rested. We still have much work ahead of us." Pen delights at the firelizards excitement to be properly re-united with Robin. "They were very well behaved, but they may have developed a taste for certain honeyed meat that we cure. I'll make sure we are well supplied before we leave."

Robin smiles and chirps and croons back to the firelizards, telling them what good friends they have been. "I'm glad they were with you, Pen. And I'm not surprised that the greedy gullets have developed a taste. They are quite the gourmands." She adds teasingly.

Robin pulls herself away from the fair. "Pen, I need to report to Queen Thalestris," she says as she removes the bracelet from the wrist. "But then, yes. Food and rest would be welcome."

The Amazon who was last assigned to watch the grove has already gone to announce that Robin has come out of the grove to the Queen and to ensure food and a place to sleep are ready for Robin. A gourd of water was left for Robin; it was the guard's own.

Pen escorts Robin to the Overlook, a beautiful octagonal sheltered marble pavilion with eight Greek pillars. A telescope mounted on a metal tripod dominates the side facing the cliff. There are four carved wooden chairs here, covered in fox and wolf pelts, a box of supplies, as well as a small, ornate polished oak table with statues of Artemis and Athena, and incense burners. A carved ram's horn hangs from a leather cord draped on a black iron hook on one of the pillars. Pen gestures to the view. "This particular spot provides the best perspective of the sea and our shores. A sentry is posted here each day to watch and report on any ships or threats approaching the island."

The ceiling of the pavilion is decorated with a circular fresco that tells the story of the previous attempts to overtake Pontus by foreign invaders and their eventual annihilation and expulsion. Pen gestures to one of the seats, "The Queen will meet you here soon while I check in with 'Risto to make sure our troops are ready for travel. If you need anything at all, just let someone know and they'll help you or they'll find me."

Robin flumps down into the indicated chair, though she's careful not to jostle Peep. "Thanks, Pen. Listen, we need to take the flower pots with the firelillies from your house with us. Though we don't want a repeat of that merchant's caravan catching on fire..." Robin trails off as she lifts the guard's gourd to her lips and drinks steadily.

Pen nods her acknowledgement, "I'll deal with that directly and make sure they're packed and ready for the road."

In due time, Robin and Pen can see Queen Thalaestris approaching on horseback with one of her guards.

Robin rises respectfully to her feet, setting aside the drinking gourd.

Pen wishes Robin good luck and then heads south to check in with 'Risto. She conscripts an Amazon to help her at her Mother's House to collect and store safely for travel the firelillies flower pots.

Thalaestris waves a greeting to Pen as Pen heads off to Myrina's old home to deal with the firelillies.

A few minutes later, the Queen arrives in the pavilion. "Robin," she says, offering a sisterly embrace, "tell me how you fare, and how Pontus fares." The Queen's guard has not come in with her.

Robin embraces Thalaestris warmly. Then stands back and removes the Queen's bracelet and holds it out to return it. "I am well. Tired but well. Pontus though..." Robin sighs and then searches for words.

"I tried to isolate the Life of the Green from the Life of Pontus but... they were too intertwined. The spread of the Green is deep and approaching Pontus' heart. I could not separate them without doing great harm to Pontus. And I did not wish to do that harm. If I had more time... or maybe the help of a kinsman, I may have been able to do more. But as it stands... I was unsuccessful."

Thalaestris nods slowly. "Obviously that is not the news we wished for, but the worlds go as they will, not as you and I might have them. This is why we send our sisters with you, to weaken our mutual foes so that both our homelands may be free of the Green plague." If she had to talk herself into feeling better about Robin's failure, she's done it by the end of that last sentence.

"I saw Penthelisea on her way back to her home as I approached. Are you two ready to lead your sisters to the fray?"

"Yes," Robin nods, "though I'd like to rest a little, maybe eat, before I take our sisters across the Shadow-ways."

"Of course. We'll make sure you're provided for, and have a chance to sleep. Is there aught else we should speak on?" Thalaestris clearly expects this to be a nominal question and is ready to let Robin have her nap."

"No, nothing else." Robin replies. "If you will excuse me, I'll see to getting myself ready for the trip ahead."

Pen is inspired to make haste with her errand as she remembers that Robin has yet to have a proper meal and rest. When she swings by the camp of the Amazons that were chosen for the journey, she's quick to find a volunteer to help her collect and pack the pottery with the firelillies at her Mother's house. 'Risto has been cooking for the company and has set aside a proper feast for Robin when she's ready.

Pen uses the shortcuts that she knows to reach her Mother's house, which is probably her house now as far as anyone's concerned.

Assuming the Queen dismisses her, Robin will head towards Pen's house looking forward to some nap time.

About the time Robin arrives at Myrina's/Pen's house, Robin feels the touch of a Trump contact.

Assuming she accepts, Julian says, "Robin. It's your father."

Robin smiles with love as she accepts the contact from her beloved father. She is dressed in standard Ranger trail-gear: brown suede trousers tucked into function soft soled boots, a matching brown leather vest over a pine green tunic, belt with many pouches on it, battered scabbard holding the sword of variable sharpness, a bow peeking out over her shoulder. And her hair with its feathers, beads, shells and one small mouse skull.

She is standing in what appears to be the outskirts of a Pontan city, olive trees and cypress surrounding the front gates of a weathered two story domicile.

"Yes, father?" Robin is happy to hear from her father. But she is exhausted, and it shows in her face and her mental voice.

"Captain Raven has arrived here with an Amazon called Chirope. Apparently there's a rebel family member in Pontus; I'm sending Raven and Trixie, Daeon's daughter, through with her to help you. Raven and Trixie are both initiates and should be able to aid should it come to a fight. I cannot come myself or I would. Is there aught I can do for you?" Julian asks. Concern leaks through in the contact.

"I'm fine." Robin chuckles, "Just tuckered. I was planning on a nap and a meal and then we'd be ready to bring a troop of Amazons back to Arden to aid in the war. But I can deal with this. And I know someone who will be very happy to see Chirope." A bright grin dances across Robin's face. Her sister will be more than ecstatic to see her Love.

"Wait.. did you say Captain Raven? He won't be allowed here.."

"We have discussed the problem, and Captain Raven informs me that she is in fact a woman. So she should be welcomed in Pontus," Julian says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. "Shall I pass them through?"

"Oh, in that case, of course." Robin does her best to be as nonplussed as her father. Of more concern is the passing through the trump thing. But Robin figures that if Julian thinks she can do it then she can. Robin holds her hand out towards her father.

Pen smiles and waves to Robin, pleased to see that she survived her discussion with the Queen. Now that the fire lilies pottery is secured, she thanks the Amazon that she recruited into helping, and requests one more favor of her: run back to the camp, enlist the help of another sister or two, and please bring back the feast for Robin. She hugs the runner, and thanks her for her assistance.

Robin brings Raven, Chirope, and Tricksey through with Julian's help.

As Pen releases the runner, she sees three people arrive in Robin's hand: two strangers, one of whom might be a man, and someone ... is that Chirope?

24.28

Over the next while, Delta immerses herself in the lore of Rebma. Some of the archivists attend on her at her request and begin to teach her the history of Rebma as they know it. Under the water there are no books, so there are songs and chants Delta can learn. She is pretty sure these are the earliest stages of learning for the beginners; they're simple to learn.

The teaching is accompanied by visual aids, which are the statuary and other arts around the palace. With an archivist and Halimedes the Triton for company, Delta starts to learn her way around the palace. As she does so, others who spend time in the palace and at court introduce themselves. Everyone seems to have a long title--the archivists know them, of course--and they are eager to learn about Delta and Coral and their association with the new Queen and Princess Llewella. But they're only interested in her mother's line. Her siring seems to be something of an afterthought.

If Delta wants for male company, she will have no trouble finding it, although it's apparent that a lot of the older women would be happy to have her as a daughter-in-law.

What else is she interested in learning about as the weeks start to pass?

It's a long, restorative period that Delta perhaps had no idea she needed. Looking back later in life, she'll wonder at how still she was able to be - listening to chants and songs, learning titles and lineages, enduring hours of polite chit-chat with mothers praising their eligible sons. It's all instructive.

Given the sudden interest by so many people, she chooses discretion for once; Aeneas the guard-lieutenant offered his private company before, and now she takes it whenever either of them have the whim. She jokes with her grandmother about cutting a swath through the barracks, but in the end, doesn't bother. Aeneas is affable and good. Everything else is complicated.

Halimedes endures a lot of chatter, probably with aplomb.

Restlessness creeps back so slowly that Delta doesn't recognize it, not until it begins pounding at the back of her thoughts like a drum. The world was hers, Celina said. Go anywhere, do anything, then come home to Rebma. Home? The home where Coral is, where the silvery-green light feels like a glorious dream. Go anywhere, do anything.

One night she finds herself in the dry chamber, where she can look at her cards without fear of them being damaged. The feel of "dry" seems strange to her now, to her vast amusement. She fans the cards out before her with all their portraits and scenes. "Ahoy there," she says aloud to no card in particular. Perhaps someone will answer.

Delta's fingers skim across the cards as she fans them out. When she speaks, her finger has stopped on the portrait of a redheaded woman.

The contact opens immediately. "Hello," the woman says. "I don't think we've met yet, niece. I'm Fiona. Do you know which one of my brothers claims you?"

Delta grabs up the rest of the cards -- so as not to make multiple contacts at once -- as she answers. "I've no idea," she says. "My mother knows only a name she was given, not the man entire. Tall, dark-haired, went by the name of Corby. Merlin says that's the sort of name your brothers might use, if they're seafaring folk. A stand-in for their true name." She gives the red-haired woman a wry smile. "They only spent time together for one night. I don't suppose any of that brings a particular kinsman to mind?"

Fiona laughs. "My son, but he's not the only one to use that name. Will you come through? I sense your restlessness. Or, since I am free, would you rather I came to you?"

"I'll come to you," Delta says, her grin spreading wide. One moment, ...Aunt." She darts away to slip out into the watery world once again. "Oi, Halimedes!" she calls up to her regular blue minder once she's made it through the transfer point between the water and the dry. "Going to see a kinswoman. Watch over Coral, eh? Please?"

Halimedes nods slowly. He does not speak but he has not yet spoken to her. For that matter, though she's seen other tritons around, Delta has never heard any of them speak to her or anyone else. They seem to communicate through gestures even though they obviously understand when spoken to.

The Trump contact remains firm and clear, because Fiona is holding it open.

And so Delta goes happily through, once she's returned to the dry room. As she touches hands with Fiona, she laughs. "Someone new, somewhere new. Fair winds and greetings, Aunt!" Delta's looking well these days, full of good Rebman food, without the pinch of worry about Coral and the family situation. She has not adopted the Rebman style of dress, but is as usual in her linens and jerkin, rapier at her side, cards and regalia in her pocket.

She looks around eagerly at wherever she finds herself now.

Fiona is in a mostly-dark room, but there is lighting from somewhere, perhaps magical since there's no fire, starting to brighten the place. Delta's first guess is that this is some kind of magician's lair, not just because of the strange devices and substances she can see about her. It smells a bit musty, as if it's been closed up for a while.

"Welcome to my tower, or well, one of them, niece," Fiona says. "I've been recovering from an unpleasant injury and have just now returned home. I'm afraid things have not had a chance to air out."

All lighting that isn't from lit flames is magical to Delta, whether or not electricity is involved. She looks around with open curiosity, and to Fiona's comment responds, "Eh, this is nothing compared to belowdecks after a fortnight of storms and hard sweat. Almost pleasant, this is." She gives Fiona a salute of hand-over-heart. "Sorry to hear tell of your hurts -- are you well now?"

Fiona returns the salute. "Better than I would have expected after the fight I was in. Lesson learned: don't fight with a being of cosmic power without sufficient allies." She smiles, impishly, as if she had spoken of getting caught in some minor misdemeanor by her captain. "And I've learned a new skill, so my time with my grandfather wasn't wasted on that front, either. You were looking for something interesting to do, and I hope I can provide that.

"I have a son and a daughter whom I haven't seen for a while, and I thought to look in on them after I'd had a chance to eat and rest. Would you like to join me?"

Delta offers an immediate "Aye," in response to the offer. And then, after an almost-too-long pause, "Being of cosmic power?"

"The Queen of Air and Darkness, who rules, or perhaps ruled, Tir. She had possessed Random's wife, Vialle, and I was trying to pry them apart without knowing what was wrong with Vialle. It was unpleasant, she hurt me, but ultimately I was freed. And then I spent some time with my grandfather, who is my favorite teacher, and he nursed me back to health," Fiona explains. She starts puttering around the lab, looking at various devices and objects, which clearly make some kind of sense to her even though Delta's never seen the like.

"Food here will be rudimentary, I'm afraid. I haven't restocked in a while. You don't mind frozen food, do you?" Fiona asks.

"Not that I'd know of," says Delta. "But if it fills my belly, I rarely have complaints. Your grandfather -- is that Dworkin? I've had the honor of meeting him, by the Unicorn fountain. When we were first rescued to Xanadu from the monks' prison." As she speaks, she slowly walks around the room, taking it all in. Her hands are clasped behind her back where they absolutely can't sweep out, knock over a vial of magic, and kill them both. She keeps a respectful distance from Fiona's potions and processes.

Fiona fetches some boxes of some kind of paper from a cold box. There are pictures of food on the boxes. There are some kind of containers inside the boxes, which must be where the food is. She does some kind of ritual involving piercing the container and puts the food in a magical box, where she turns a wheel of some sort and pushes some sort of colored pressure point. The box starts making a humming noise. "It'll be ready in about five minutes," she tells Delta.

"Yes, that's my grandfather, probably your great-grandfather. You were with the group Huon found?" Fiona asks, bright with interest.

Delta moves to stand in front of the magic box, and though she keeps her hands behind her back, she leans close to see what happens within. If there's a turntable, she's thrilled. Still, she answers, "That I was, Aunt. Kidnapped first from the very berth of the ship on which I served, eh? Then liberated by strangers who were odd, one and all. And here I am now, by the Pattern's mercy."

There's a turntable and two little packets on it, slowly rotating inside the box.

Some thought obviously occurs to her then; she straightens and regards Fiona curiously. "Where are we? What land, what...shadow?"

"I don't have a name for it; none of the locals communicated with me to give me their name for it, and to me it's just one of my towers. A number of your cousins have been here: my children, and Brennan and Signy and Ambrose, and a few others over time, I think," Fiona says. She's paying no attention to the device, instead going through various objects. "This place has an unusual combination of technology, which usually works best in highly ordered places like Xanadu, and magic, which usually works best close to Chaos. So I use it for magical and technological experiments. There's an ongoing project that needs exactly these conditions to protect it, and your cousins are working on it here when they can. It's translating my brother Brand's papers."

"Translating?" Delta asks, head tilting. "From what to what?" There's another pause. "How the seven depths can we all understand each other, given where we've all come from?"

"I think it's part of our natural gifts, and sharpened when we take the Pattern. But there are languages that are difficult even for us. Mabrahoring, the language, if you will, of Chaos and Sorcery, and Uxmali, the language that Brand evolved or created in his Shadow of Uxmal. The written language requires these spheres to untangle it. They're called code wheels." Fiona takes up a piece of parchment with angular characters written in giant whorls and spirals to show to . "This is the sort of thing you need a code wheel to untangle the meanings of. They're poetic, full of allusions, and the placement of the glyphs makes a difference to the meaning. You can imagine why they're so difficult to translate."

The little spinning box makes a loud ringing noise, like a small bell. "Oh, that's dinner."

Fiona starts to do whatever other preparations are needed for the food, but then says, "Bide a moment. Someone is calling." Then: "Hello, Brennan. I am in my tower where I keep the code wheels, and your new cousin Delta is with me. What news?"

Fiona nods and then says "I'll talk to Brennan while you and I eat, Delta, I may seem a bit distracted."

She pulls the plate of steaming food from the spinning box and moves one of the pastries to a second plate. The spinning box doesn't seem to have gotten warm at all. "That one is spicy", she says putting two plates down. Delta may have her choice. "Careful, the filling is hot."

Delta takes up the small box and unwraps it curiously - the pastry within is warm, but not hot on the outside. Still, one cannot trust a magic box. Mindful of Fiona's warning, she carefully tears into the pastry. The steam makes her yelp.

Fiona smiles briefly when she yelps. She mouths "I told you..."

As Brennan and Fiona talk, Delta discovers the joys of microwaved food cheese pull. She wipes hot strings of cheese off her chin before devouring the pastry with great delight. Fiona is distracted with her own business; Delta is poking the box with a finger, as if that might summon more delightful surprises.

Fiona waits a moment before eating her pastry, but she's clearly enjoying watching Delta's first Hot Pocket.

The box lights up on the inside when it's opened, and it plays little off-key sounds if Delta pokes the buttons beside the door.

Fiona manages to signal that Delta could have another if she wanted to. She's aware of Amberite appetites.

After a moment, Fiona leans back and pokes her second pastry. "Brennan is about to do some magic and needed advice and perhaps encouragement. Hopefully I was helpful in one of those endeavors."

Amberite appetites war against be-nice-to-the-sorceress, and not taking Fiona's food wins. Delta waves the offer away and instead sits on a nearby surface that isn't covered in magical or scientific items. "Which are you better at?" she asks, curiously. "The advice or the encouragement?"

"Usually the advice. My mother wasn't entirely human as you, I imagine, know humans. It took me a long time to learn to relate properly to other people, especially with the sort of expectations placed on girls in Amber when I was young. There was a lot of people-learning to go with the book-learning. Brennan is a special case, though: he knows my mother, his grandmother, and he doesn't require a lot of pretense," Fiona explains.

"There are more of these in the freezer," she adds.

"Are you like Misao, then? Have you two met? Another cousin of mine, rescued alongside me from the Klybesian prison. Misao changes shape. There's a name for it -- blast, sorry, can't remember it. But Misao isn't human as I think of it either." She pauses, then tilts her head. "Am I, even? Now that I've Walked?" The capital W in the word is audible.

"You are Real. I think of us as the exemplars of humanity, but not the norm," Fiona says. "And I don't know Misao nor how they shapeshift, but if they were of the Chaosian branch of the family, I probably would already. Or at least their parentage."

"As for Brennan -- I'm not a fan of pretense myself." Delta snorts a sudden laugh. "Except at the gaming table. Or to save my own skin. What sort of magic does he attempt?"

Fiona makes a face. "He's trying to communicate with a dangerous prisoner in an extraplanar space without releasing the prisoner."

Changing the subject, she says, "When we're done eating, let's call Conner."

"I'm done," Delta says promptly. "And a meal awaits you in Rebma whenever you might wish it." It's said formally, this exchange of gift for gift. After that, her tone turns casual again. "And ...Conner? Not Brennan? Or is his muck all of his own making, and of his own fixing as well?"

She doesn't even touch 'extraplanar space' for the moment.

"The muck that Brennan is trying to solve is of a longer making than my lifetime," Fiona says. "Another of your cousins put the prisoner in the extraplanar space, but I'm not sure whether anyone will have better luck or skill at dealing with the problem than Brennan. Edan is skilled and knowledgeable but he doesn't have the experience Brennan does yet. Brennan will contact Edan if he wants Edan's assistance or just more details of what Edan did. Brennan is proud, but not that proud.

"And he might call Conner, who is also a sorcerer, but beyond that wields the Pattern-Blade of Rebma. I haven't spoken to either him or my daughter Brita since I returned from Grandfather Dworkin's care. Usually they're together, so I hope that by contacting him I'll find them both."

Fiona, having finished her own meal, cleans her fingers and draws out her card deck and finds the card she wants. "Conner," she says, concentrating on the card, and reaches out a hand to Delta.

Delta takes Fiona's hand without hesitation, though as she does so, she asks, "Pattern blade? What in the ten depths is a Pattern blade?"

"It's a blade created with the collaboration of a Pattermaster made for a champion to defend the Pattern," Fiona says, and then the connection opens up.

Conner is in a medieval-looking hall sitting at a table. He has a winning smile which he turns on Fiona and Delta.

"Mother! I am pleased to see you looking well." Conner greets Fiona. "I was just regaling Lilly about my duel with First."

Whoever Lilly is, she is not in the contact. Fiona says, "I'm pleased to see you too, Conner, and to know that Lilly is with you. I have your new cousin Delta with me and we all have much to talk about. Would you be able to come through?"

Conner looks over to someone outside the contact, presumably Lilly. "Please convey my thanks to your Father for his hospitality and my apologies for leaving so abruptly." He then returns his attention to the contact and stretches out his hand to be pulled through.

Fiona brings him through. She's in one of her towers, one of the ones where electronic technology works, and the remnants of microwaved food are on a nearby table in what looks like a kitchenette. Fiona looks healthier than he recalls her being when he last saw her. She's wearing a simple dress that could pass in Xanadu but is a little underwhelming for Amber and definitely for Paris, and probably a little fragile for Avalon.

And Delta, lean and sharp, with shaggy, short dark hair over an angular face, wears a thigh-length leather jerkin over blousy linen trousers and tunic. When Fiona no longer needs her hand, she sets it over her heart in a salute of welcome. "Kinsman," she says to Conner. "An honor."

For the formality of the few words, there's a barely-hidden amusement tucked away in her tone. Another cousin, another meeting.

Conner is wearing clothing fit for nobility of Avalon which is to say of fine enough materials and cut that you are clearly of a higher class yet sturdy enough to qualify as light armor. The green fabric of his outfit sets off his auburn hair and Conner is never fully dressed without a smile which is currently beaming at Delta. Conner places his hand over his heart and returns the salute. "The honor is mine, Delta. I have heard through Merlin of some of your adventures." Conner leaves the statement there.

"Come, sit down, and if you want to have a Hot Pocket, I'll warm one up." The two women have clearly broken their fast. "Dworkin has released me from hospital rest for the nonce. What have you been up to, Conner? When you're done, Delta has a story to tell you. Or vice versa, if the two of you please."

"I do recommend the Pocket," Delta says. "The magic box works wonders." She smirks, then. "I know 'magic' to me is likely the every-day for you two. I'll learn. As for a story..."

She waves them toward chairs, since formal greetings with Conner have ended.

Conner shakes his head to decline the Hot Pocket and takes a seat opposite Delta.

"Right. Monks captured me from a long voyage, and then kin helped release me - and Alex, and Misao - from their jails. Since then it's been all new and strange -- sticks that shoot people. Cousins who change shape. Light without fire." She waves toward the microwave again. "Heat without fire. I've learned that I'm at least half from a Rebman line, through my grandmother. I carry part of that land's treasure. I walked its Pattern. My father -- no idea, still. My mother described a man who looks like most of our uncles, eh? Could be anyone. But I am kin from two separate directions, for whatever that means. I've vowed loyalty to Rebma and mean to help Celina and keep that vow."

She casts Fiona a raised-eyebrow look, as if to ask if her words will 'do.' But then shakes her head quickly and says, "I seek knowledge about the worlds you all live in, that have sailed far past mine in their magics and wonders. I seek..." She spreads her arms wide. "All knowledge, eh? Might as well just say it. I want to see it all. Do it all. Know it all." Her laugh is bright. "And that's the short version of a tale that would be far longer over drink."

She waves a hand toward Conner, as if to say 'your turn.'

"Well, if you are looking for lovers of knowledge you've found your way to the right hair color." Conner chuckles. "The full recital of my life will have to wait for that drink but let me start where you did. I was one of the kin that helped release you and the others though I was mostly focused on the rescue of the Rebman archivists and Brother Tomat at the time. After hearing the story of how Huon's ship was attacked, I travelled to Paris and with Aunt Flora we travelled by ship to investigate how his attackers appeared and disappeared so swiftly." Conner pauses. "Incidentally, I left that ship in Uncle Benedict's realm of Avalon. I must remember to fetch them or have another ferry them home." Conner shrugs.

"I discovered a shadowpath near Le Havre and followed it to a place called Shadow Tortuga. As so often happens I found Uncle Bleys had beaten me there and I helped him fend off some pirate vessels. He was tracing a system of shadowpaths the monks were using and I offered to help. He traced the path back towards Shadow Earth and the asylum we recently assaulted. I took the path heading towards Avalon and ended up in an industrial shadow called Tyrell." Conner turns to Fiona. "You should have seen the state of it Mother. The fabric of the place was so thin and fragile. It was the nexus of many, many shadowpaths and whoever altered the place was not gentle. I feared to touch it for fear it would tear asunder. The Monks had a stronghold there. I called in Brita and we attempted to blend in at a charity event they were holding. Clearly we failed as we were politely ushered into the office of Brother Abel, the monk's military commander and our cousin." Conner aims that last part at Delta. "He claimed all the attacks on us from the monk's were due to one rogue faction and that he withdrew his protection from them. He bid us leave him in peace. He had us ushered out while he answered an alarm. Turns out Fletcher was also investigating the monks along with a new cousin, Tricksey Crow-Girl. We compared notes and we decided that Brita would take Tricksey to Xanadu and ask the King how he wanted us to proceed with the monks. I cooled my heels in Shadow Tyrell long enough to acquire a taste for the local noodles and to receive a Trump call from Merlin about your adventures in the Pearl Islands." Conner smiles. "So I know exactly what legacy you carry and would very much like to see it."

"And she is curious about your legacy, Conner," Fiona says, gesturing to his blade. "If she has to show you hers, you have to show her yours."

Delta is Delta; she lets out an adolescent snort of a laugh at Fiona's phrasing. Still smiling, she raises an eyebrow as she regards Conner. Him first.

Her eyebrow raise is mirrored on Conner's face though it is clearly directed at Fiona and non-verbally says, 'Really, Mother?'.

"I was once told it was rude to draw weapons at dinner but as you are done eating..." Conner rises and draws the sword on his hip. He places it gently on the table close enough so Delta can see the fine tracery inscribed on the blade. "This is Halosydne, formerly Belagamon, still the Paxblade, the Pattern Sword of Rebma. We are bound to each other and to Rebma's Pattern and as Her Knight, I am sworn to Her defense." He pauses there for Delta's reaction and likely questions.

Before Delta can ask those questions, though, Fiona adds, more seriously, "About which you two will have much to discuss. But first, Conner, have you ever sailed to the Pearl Islands? Because Delta's sire called himself Corby."

Conner goes still and then very carefully sits back down. "Well that use name narrows it down to everyone in the Navy, of course," Conner points out. "But, yes, the Pearl Islands was a regular stop on one of the trade route patrols." Conner starts examining Delta closely. "Tell me about your mother, Delta."

Delta has her hand in her jerkin pocket to draw forth the Rebman regalia when this snippet of conversation occurs. Before she speaks, she lays out the cloth-wrapped necklace beside the Patternblade and unwraps it for all to see. The pendant is gold, the sapphire is a brilliant dark blue, and the chain frames it all like a picture. She sits back and says, "Isla. Account-keeper for a great warlord. I look more like her than whoever sired me." She indicates her hair color, her eyes, her skin, with a series of efficient gestures. "She has more flesh to spare, but in a way that well pleases both her and the man who married her. I know not if she was as lean as me in her youth."

And again she raises her eyebrow at the man opposite.

Conner's smile becomes rueful tinged with pleasant memory. "She wasn't." He informs her. Conner chuckles and turns to his mother. "It would seem your instructions to blend in with my fellow sailors has led to unexpected consequences once more." He turns back to Delta. "Still not definitive but the odds are in your favor. I believe Mother has a way to confirm it if you wish."

Delta snorts again, in obvious amusement. "Consider yourself well and truly blended then, if that's the case. And...aye, let's do the formalities. Thank you, Au--" Her brows rise as she corrects herself. "Probable Grandmother. It would be grand to have the mystery solved."

She shows no sign of nervousness or consternation.

"You may still call me Aunt if you wish," Fiona says, not unkindly. "What I will need from you is a vial of blood--I have equipment here to do sterile draws--and some hair. It won't take very long." She is already moving to clean up and prepare her equipment.

Fiona draws blood with very precise medical equipment the like of which Delta has never seen: strange materials as well as glass and metal and then the gauze against the pinprick in the crook of her arm. She takes a half-dozen hairs a couple of inches long as well.

She does the same to Conner before shooing the two of them away.

Conner has been here before. This is one of the laboratories where Fiona mixes technological and magical effects, hence the microwave, the Hot Pockets, and the glass vials in the plastic stand. Accordingly it has machined items as well as hand-made goods, some of which are enchanted and others of which are not. Also, of course, there are strange raw materials from places throughout Shadow, not all of which are immediately identifiable to Conner.

Delta has never seen anything like this place before and has much to explore.

Long before Delta is finished, Fiona calls Delta and Conner. "The results are positive," she says with a smile. "Welcome to the redheaded cabal."

"We're thinking of downgrading to a coven but need to keep our options open." Conner quips. "So, daughter," Conner pauses on that word as though tasting it, "what else would you like to know? 'Everything' is a pretty broad topic."

Delta lets herself be prodded and plucked for Fiona's magic, and is well content to explore the laboratory while results await. When the announcement comes, her expression barely shifts.

When Conner opens himself for questions, she lifts a hand, palm out, to forestall more converaton for a moment. "Let me get a look at you," she says instead. Her regard is thorough and silent, until at the last her brow furrows. "I am no red-head," she says. "And I do not see any of you in my own face. I wonder how my mother's line managed to claim me so thoroughly, even after your contribution."

Her voice drops to a murmur. "Though I don't look Rebman either."

If Conner has any insight on the vagaries of family genetics, he does not share them.

These aren't questions, though, so she brightens her voice and asks, "...how large is this coven?"

"Well the red hair comes courtesy of your great grandmother, Clarissa, once Queen of Amber, then and now master of her own domain in the realms of Chaos." Conner already has a hand up to forestall questions until the end of the lecture. "Incidentally, Grandmother is less a member of the cabal and more a force of nature. More on that later." Conner assures Delta. "She had three children with Oberon, then King of Amber: Fiona, Bleys and Brand." The pause before Brand's name was so slight that Delta probably imagined it. "Mother has two children: me and my sister Brita. I now have two children that I know of, you and Raven. Uncle Bleys is father to Paige and Edan. Paige has twin children Leif and Brooke and Edan has a child so new I don't know if they have named him yet." Conner glances at Fiona as if she might have more recent information but he continues anyway. "Brand had two sons, Brennan and Ambrose, and Ossian is Brennan's son. Unless I've missed any new family on the latest ships to make port, that should be the full recital."

"I have heard of none, but I have been out of touch. You two are the first members of the family I have spoken to since I left Grandfather's care," Fiona says with a bit of a smile.

Delta of course listens carefully to the recital of kinfolk, but as usual in these conversations, her eyes glaze over by the end. "I will meet them all in time, I imagine." She returns to looking her newly discovered father over with open curiosity. "I suppose...tell me of you? I begin to know webs of kinship, but not the people within. I wish to know of you.

"Both of you," she adds, with a quick grin toward Fiona. "Grandmother. And your many many magic toys."

"I am considered unknowable," Fiona says, "but I think it merely takes time to learn me. My mother, Clarissa, is of Chaos, and does not have all the marks of humanity. She's a shapechanger, and her most human default form has six fingers instead of five. She also thought in ways that are strange to Amber, and indeed to most of Shadow. But that was normal to me, because what will be normal to each of us is how we're raised and live.

"I do have something new to show Conner, though, and I will gladly show you as well, Delta. While I spent time with Dworkin recovering from my injuries, he taught me a new skill." Fiona opens a pocket in her dress and draws out her Trump deck again, shuffling out a card.

It's a new card, of Fiona, in a different hand to any that Conner has seen before. "I made it," she tells Conner and Delta proudly.

"Mother!" Conner's face breaks out in a delighted smile and he impulsively moves to her side and gives her a one armed hug. "That is marvelous. I knew you'd wear the Old Man down eventually." He chuckles then takes a long moment to inspect the card. "I can see the naturalist's sketching techniques you taught me in parts of this." Conner smiles. "Well done, Mother." Conner looks over to Delta. "I don't know if anyone has mentioned to you how long we live or the varied experiences we can accumulate over decades in Shadow." Conner returns his attention to the trump. "It makes something New all the more precious." Conner looks back at Fiona. "Brita is going to be elated." His smile somehow becomes wider at that thought.

Delta nears the two and peers at the card as well. "It's beautiful," she says. "And don't let me mar your celebration with questions, eh? I always have dozens. But...what is the New? The portrait, the power? I want to understand your joy."

"Though far more common now, the ability to make Trumps is a rare one in our family." Conner replies. "So while both are new, I am celebrating my Mother acquiring a new skill as much as the artistry itself."

"My brother Brand, who went mad and was killed to save the universe, was the first of my generation to learn the art of Trump. I think Grandfather thought it was more difficult to learn as the student aged. Brand taught Paige and Lucas, and Grandfather also taught Osric's son Reid, whom I suspect he hoped to make his successor as Court Wizard," Fiona explains. "All of them have taken on their own students, including Brita, my daughter, Conner's sister, and thus your aunt, Delta."

Fiona adds, for Conner's benefit, "We'll want to call Brita. And Raven. Sooner rather than later."

Conner nods. "We may need your new skills to do so."

"But back to the question of learning: I needed something to distract me while I was recovering, and I have long wished to make Trumps, so that is how I passed my time with Grandfather. And," she finishes, "when I arrived here to prepare myself to return to Xanadu, Delta called me with her own card of me, Conner. The rest you know."

"Congratulations, then," Delta says to Fiona with a quick half-smile. "Not much better than doing well at something, eh? I've only seen Merlin do his drawing, not anyone else. Amazing to see how you take this --". She waves her hands, expansively, "-- and make it look on parchment as if it's there, instead. Real as life."

Fiona nods her thanks with a smile.

Conner nods once more. "As for my history, I was raised with the expected goal of having a pivotal role in the ruling of Amber," Conner explains. "Mother and Uncle Bleys saw to my education in my early years and I was trained in a wide variety of subjects and, more importantly, how to train myself in a new skill when needed. Eventually, I enlisted in the Amber Navy and rose up the ranks to a captaincy. I moved on from the Navy and joined Amber's Diplomatic Corps and was eventually posted to the embassy in Rebma," Conner explains. "Since revealing myself as a member of the family, I largely fell back on those two skill sets to keep Amber afloat during the regency and to aid all Pattern realms now. I am also trained in Sorcery and thanks to my bonding with Halosydne, I am expanding my understanding of Patterns."

"...how many are there?" Delta asks, to that. "Patterns, I mean." There's a curious glint in her eye at the notion. "What happens if you walk more than one?"

No doubt she'll ask more about Conner's life, but the question of Patterns rears its head immediately.

"Nothing immediately, so far as we can tell, but you're not the only one considering the question," Fiona says. "And to our knowledge--" Fiona begins ticking them off on her fingers: "Amber, which is dead now; the Primal; Rebma, which should be dead but isn't; Tir, which is strange and we don't know why; Paris, made by Corwin; Avalon, made by Benedict; and Xanadu, made by Random. Not necessarily in that order."

"Having walked two Patterns, the main result of walking the second one is wondering why I put myself through that ordeal again." Conner smiles thinly.

Delta nods along with that sentiment. "Aye. It wasn't pleasant. Which ones did you walk...and what the seven depths do you want me to call you? Father? Conner?" She rakes the fingers of one hand back through her spiky dark hair.

"Conner will do." He replies. "Should a day come when you decide I've earned another title, feel free to use it." Conner smiles kindly. "As for Patterns, I have walked the one in Tir and Rebma. So I've walked both the mystery ones."

"I've walked Amber and the Primal now," Fiona says. "Grandfather thought it would cure what ailed me. He was right. It's still a wretched business even when you need to do it."

Conner nods thoughtfully at that. "Some wounds are deep enough that it is the only thing that set us back to being ourselves." He murmurs. "There are times I wish there was one wheelchair accessible for Gerard."

Delta visibly shudders at the very recent memories of her own heavy trudge through Rebma's maze. At the mention of Gerard's dilemma, her brow furrows. A question naturally follows.

"Could he be pushed? Carried? By us, I mean. People who can - who have - survived it? I don't mean It'd be easy, eh? Just - can it be done? Two or three of us walking together?"

"No!" Conner snaps harshly. His smile is gone replaced with a haunted look and pale skin. With an effort, Conner takes a deep breath and controls himself. "No, the walking of a Pattern is a personal trial. I witnessed an attempt of two people walking the Pattern at the same time. It did not end well." Conner walks over to the fridge and rummages around for something to drink.

Fiona lays a hand on Conner's arm briefly as he passes before turning back to Delta. "You could not have known," she tells Delta quietly. Raising her voice to a normal level, Fiona continues, "As I understand things, Gerard will have to be able to walk the Pattern himself, and whatever method is used to render him able to walk would have to survive the Patternwalk. This rules out most sorcery.

"I did ask Grandfather and he said we might be able to do it with Time if enough of us put our heads together. Otherwise, he said we should put it on the horn of the Unicorn."

Delta barely flinches at Conner's outburst, though as he moves toward the refrigerator, she ambles in the other direction to lean against a table full of Fiona's research equipment.

She acknowledges Fiona's soft words with a nod, but stays quiet as the conversation goes on. Her stance is neither guarded nor cowed - she simply listens in silence, taking it all in.

By the time Conner turns back from the fridge, he has regained his usual skin tone and demeanor. He places a cardboard carrier holding six bottles of "Steve's Boozy Limeade" on the table and wastes no time twisting the caps off of one for himself and anyone else that would like one.

Conner takes a long pull from his bottle then asks, "What does he mean by putting it on the horn of the unicorn?" Conner asks. "I've only ever heard that phrase in reference to Oberon's succession and there it sounded like a literal description rather than an aphorism."

"I would have said he meant to take a chance on whatever we could do. Grandfather used it in what I thought was that way a few times. Usually around Mother. I think he did it to annoy her," Fiona explains.

Not being either ill or desperately injured, Delta is happy to take a new and interesting drink. The carbonation trips her up for a second, but her sputter of laughter is at least quiet.

She sobers as she ventures into the conversation once again, adding, "If there's a way. To help Gerard, without doing what is -- uh. Harmful. Then I'd help, though my knowledge is - obviously - scant." She snorts. "I expect it'll be a lifetime or three before I understand a bloody thing."

Fiona shakes her head, not unkindly,"I've lived several of your mortal lifetimes and I'm still struggling to make sense of the universe. Did you know that my grandmother, your great-great grandmother, Delta, is a literal unicorn? When we talk about the horn of the Unicorn, we don't mean the family's patron beast. We mean our ancestor."

Conner nods. "I had the privilege to see Her once." Conner smiles wide at the memory. Granted She arrived to stop me from continuing a duel I was in the middle of and make it clear I should never face that blade in battle again. It was incredible none the less." Conner chuckles.

"A duel?" Delta says after draining the first limeade. She goes for another. "Maybe I am your daughter. Love to hear that story sometime."

She smirks after another long drink and says, "I met him, Dworkin. Not for long, eh? But he showed us the fountain - her fountain. Can't imagine seeing her in the flesh."

"It is a rare and precious event. One of the few where awe is the only proper response. Even our opponents that night reacted that way." Conner finishes his own drink and opens another pair. "As for the duel, it is the very story I was telling my cousin Lilly when I was Trumped. The short version is that a small force of a hereditary enemy known as the Moonriders appeared in Xanadu trying to gain access to Tir, once their homeland. I challenged them to single combat hoping that my Pattern blade would give me the edge. My challenge was answered by First to the Fray, daughter of the Moonrider's Marshall, and she bore a Pattern blade as well. Our seconds chose the nature of the contest. We were to sever a lock of hair from the opponent without drawing blood. That decision quite frankly is one of the reasons I am still standing here. I acquitted myself well but she was the better fighter. I could see her strategies plainly but not move swiftly enough to capitalize on it." Conner pauses to take a sip. "Then She appeared. She pressed our crossed swords into the ground and somehow I knew that these two blades would never cross in battle again." Conner pauses again this time remembering. "Once the Unicorn left and we came out of our stupor, First cut off a lock of her hair, presented it to me, and proclaimed me the victor. She says she wants peace between our peoples and was willing to give herself over as a bargaining chip to make that happen." [Continue 24.11]

After his Trump call with Random, Ossian walks to the orphanage, probably accompanied by a guardsman. When he gets there he will go directly for the cellars, looking for strange doors, hidden or otherwise.

The orphanage is not quite empty, but it's not the swirl of activity that Ossian recalls from his youth. Much of it is shuttered, and there aren't as many children around as there were before.

Either it's falling into disuse, or else Ossian's memory is coloring what he expected to be there.

The guardsman follows him, hulking as unobtrusively as possible.

Ossian is allowed in, but does not recognize any of the sisters. The cellars have a recognizable smell at least. It's familiar but not pleasant. They seem to be used for storage. Storm shutters, broken furniture that might be repairable, spare chairs, and older cookware.

It's depressingly normal. By the time he has finished going through the place, Ossian is certain there are no Klybesian tunnels to the orphanage and that Mother Humility was telling the truth.

Ossian curses. He asks the guard to take him on a quick tour around the city. Are there places where Ossian would place tunnels? Considering geological circumstances etc.

The most likely place in town is the church, which is not on the orphanage grounds, and Ossian quickly establishes that its basement has no tunnels. But thinking carefully about Mother Humility's words, and working with maps of Abford as it is now plus his own tour of the city, Ossian realizes that there are a couple of towns within a day or two of Abford proper that have churches that could be the Klybesian entrance into this shadow.

It would make sense that way, too; the actual arrival of the monks would be in another town. Since Ossian and Meg were secrets rather than prisoners, the Klybesians wouldn't necessarily want them living in whatever facility they had in this shadow. If someone from Amber did note the Klybesian presence, they could destroy the Klybesian facility, leaving Meg and Ossian in place to be retrieved by some member of the Order later.

Ossian ponders this for a few moments. He goes back to the palace, and tells Meg his findings. "Who would know which way the monks came? I would prefer if we could move quickly here."

Meg thinks for a moment. "It makes sense. I can have them arrested at the gates, but they aren't coming through any more. The guards might remember, but it's been a while. And if they're hiding amongst regular travelers, they wouldn't necessarily be obvious. You may need to question Mother Humility."

Ossian frowns. "I wonder if she has anything more to give here, but I'll try.

"Can I talk to her alone in a room? I think that would elicit more and better answers?"

"Of course. You're wilier than I am at this kind of thing." Meg says it like it's a compliment.

Soon enough Meg has arranged for a small private room for Ossian and Mother Humility to speak. It's lavishly decorated and has several chairs. Mother Humility arrives in about the same shape she was in last time. She probably is short food and water as well.

When they shut the door behind her, Mother Humility says, "I will tell you whatever you want, truthfully. I hope you will believe me."

Ossian smiles mildly "I see that you have been treated roughly. I do not approve.

"However, I really need to know where the monks came from. Do you have any idea what other town they came from?"

"I don't really know," Mother Humility says. "They told us they were from the capital, but after your uncle Huon took over all the cities of the League, we tried to find them and no one there had heard of them. We think they have a hidden monastery, perhaps in the mountains, that they use. There are ruins atop many of the mountains, from the days when these lands were tiny kingdoms."

Ossian remembers a few of those from his school days, lessons from Sisters much like Mother Humilty. Mount Security, Mount Independence, Mount Haven. There are a number of them. They were bandit castles in their day.

Ossian nods. "Makes sense, they are a paranoid lot. Thank you for your help, it is valuable."

"You're welcome," Mother Humility says. "I hope the Queen remembers my freely-given aid." Her tone is resigned, though; she clearly doesn't expect Meg to.

"I will try to make her remember. My advice is: stay clear of the monks, if they return. Their end will not be pretty."

Does the rutter give any hint of this?

Between what Mother Humility remembers, what Ossian recalls, and the shadow rutter, Ossian is able to pinpoint a likely candidate for the local outlet of the tunnel network: one of the former bandit castles.

Ossian will go back to Meg and Regenlief. "Mother Humility was most helpful. I think we have a place to investigate. Should we leave, like immedeately?

Regenlief seems eager to go.

Meg thinks it over. "You may go, but I do expect word sent to me on what you find. They are invaders and no friend of this land, this court, or me. I will assign a patrol to accompany you so that you can send messengers when you resolve the matter."

Ossian thinks she may want the matter resolved in a very permanent way.

"And I would appreciate an in-person report, if you do not have to urgently leave."

"You can come with us if you like. I'll take you to Random if you wish.

"Most likely we will have to leave urgently if we find what I think we will find. We cannot give them time to close down at the other end."

"I'll come with you, then. Give me a few minutes to make some arrangements here and we'll head out. I don't want to lose this chance," Meg says.

Meg instructs her people that Ossian and Regenlief are to have anything they ask for in terms of supplies, and anything from the royal armory, except for the special arms, which Meg will ready herself, and she goes off to arrange for whatever she needs to arrange.

Ossian gears up with a sturdy bow and some throwing knives, and provisions.

Regenlief gets a shield, a set of javelins, and keeps her magnificent spear. She seems very happy to be choosing arms.

She also arranges for food and minor traveling gear, enough to make a trip through the wilderness comfortable. Even if she isn't sure they'll be camping, she doesn't want to be caught out without sleeping rolls and tarps.

Meg arrives. "Things will be stable here, so we can depart when you are ready." If Meg is carrying a special weapon, it's not obvious. Her main line of defense seems to be a very sharp kitchen knife.

The way out of town that Meg leads them to deliberately passes by her former shop. She tells a child outside that she'll return when she can, but makes no effort to slow the progress away from Abford.

Ossian remembers these hills as far from the orphanage, although they seem less distant now. They're past the green of summer and the vegetation has taken on a decidedly autumnal wilt.

Meg seems cheerful and seems almost as if she's shed the cares of her position.

Ahead, overlooking the overgrown trail, the first of the abandoned hill forts acts as sentinel for the bandits who once plagued this region.

Meg looks at the fort they are below. "There are five primary forts. Four near the cardinal points and a larger one in the center. The path leads up, steep enough to deter visitors when it was manned. Not steep enough to hold back my forces."

Ossian grins. "So, let's sneak up. I'd say we start with the larger one. I guess it will be hard to get there without being noticed from someone in the fort, if it is manned?"

Meg touches her knife. "If anyone has been foolish enough to occupy this again, they're going to deserve whatever we do to them. Huon let them fester, and it was one more thing I had to clean up when I came back." She squints up at the keep. "If there's anyone up there, they're probably looking for an army, and they're probably not supposed to engage us, so look out for someone running."

Regenlief shifts her spear. Ossian doesn't think the chances of a lone scout are very good, if they get found.

"Are we climbing or going around the front?" Regenlief asks.

"Hm." Ossian says. "I think speed is our strength. Let's rush them."

Meg shrugs. "It's supposed to be deserted. Are you thinking we'll find a coven of Monks here?"

Regenlief grins. "If we're lucky." She straps her spear to her back and leaps up to get a grip on the sheer slope. She's remarkably good at climbing, and she's got a good start on the others.

Meg ties her skirt and begins to make her own ascent.

"Nah. But it is a possibility." Ossian says as he also starts climbing. He climbs fast and keeps watching his surroundings for sign of monkish activity.

Regenlief may be a child of Freyja, but Ossian and Meg descend from Oberon and have amazing reserves of strength and stamina.

Still it is Ossian whose head crests first over the no-longer maintained parapet to look over into the ruined keep. The central keep is a long-burned-out shell. Near the door to it, he sees the remains of a firepit. It's not currently burning, but it looks like it might've recently.

Meg looks in and shrugs, and Regenlief reaches the top as well. She uses the height to scan for dangers, and seems disappointed not to find any.

Ossian examines the firepit and tries to determine how long ago it burned.

It hasn't been snowed upon, which means at the most a few weeks, given the time of year and the mountain's altitude.

Then he says "We are looking for cellars or dungeons or whatever they might have below ground."

Carefully he enters the keep.

"I had it burned," Meg says, looking around with satisfaction. "It just would've attracted more bandits."

It has been burned, which makes it hard to find much that's useful. "If there's a trap door, it'll be under one of these these mounds of ashes," says Regenlief. She starts pounding on the ground every few feet with the butt of her spear.

Ossian nods. "If the fireplace there was used by monks going through there should be traces." He looks around. Does the ashes seem to have been moved around somewhere?

Not in a way that suggests to Ossian that someone has been down in the cellars. There are a lot of ashes, but they're old and they are wet with the snowmelt.

After an exhaustive but exhausting search, Ossian concludes that there may have been an underground chamber but it's as likely to be a cold storage room as a passage to Tyrell. It's hard to tell a collapsed passage from hard-packed dirt.

"We could dig that out..." says Regenlief.

"Or we could head to the main keep in the center. That's a more likely place for a secret passage," says Meg.

They both look to Ossian to decide.

"We'll take the main keep. We can always go back." Ossian says.

The path to the keep would be overgrown in summer, but the winter climate has made it very passable. Walking through the snow, they see few signs of animal life, although birds occasionally pass overhead. This keep has a broken gate, and is still burned, but not as thorougly as the outer fortifications they have just left. Meg seems disappointed.

There are some upper floors here that haven't collapsed, but the main entry is breached as well. Near the gate is what may well be the graves of the last defenders. It seems likely that there could be cellars under this keep.

The kitchens don't seem to have been as completely destroyed. And there are also what look like storerooms, which have been ransacked, but not destroyed completely.

"We search for signs of relatively recent travellers, obviously" Ossian says looking around, trying not to disturb any tracks.

"And for stairs and trap doors leading down."

They both set to work. Regenlief finds several places where she thinks people have camped, but nothing like a permanent base and nothing in the past few weeks, or perhaps since last winter.

Meg looks at the more intact portions of the building. She keeps her butcher's knife in her hand. "There'll be storage near the kitchens. Always is."

[OOC: What does Ossian do? Just supervlse? :) ]

There is a root cellar, or a cold room, as Meg suggested. It's been smashed in and the entrance is full of debris held together by ice.

No-one came through this stairway in a long time.

Ossian frowns. "I will try something. Let me concentrate for a minute."

He brings the Pattern to mind, almost unconciously drawing a copy in the dust on the floor with his rapier. He starts to feel for anything resembling a Shadow path.

Meg watches what Ossian is doing with fascination. Regenlief watches what Meg is doing with some concern.

Ossian can see all that out of the corner of his eye, as it were, but the bulk of his concentration is on the Pattern and the sense he has of it, or from it. It's somewhat like his sense of smell: something deep and essential and, unfortunately, not really sufficiently exercised. He feels that he needs to practice more to get good at doing this ...

... but still, it's enough. He can feel behind one of the walls where a change comes on the nature of reality. Ossian feels that that must be where the Klybesians hid their tunnel.

Ossian releases the Pattern with a sigh and a smile. He points at the wall. "Somewhere over there. Behind the wall. Let us look for a hidden door. And if we don't find it, we break the wall."

Between Regenlief's cleverness and Ossian's sense of where the door should be, and possibly Meg's own sense of reality even without the benefit of Pattern initiation to focus her, the trio manages to find the hidden door. It has a higher-tech number pad lock that Ossian tries to puzzle out, but Regenlief runs out of patience before Ossian can find a solution. She breaks the door, leaving the lock intact, and the way into the tunnel is opened, just as Ossian's rutter suggests.

What is Ossian's next step? Does he have a particular place he wants to go based on the map/rutter? And does he take Meg with him, or try to prevent her from leaving Abford?

Ossian will definitely take Meg with him. Better than leaving her in Dara's grasp. What place does the tunnel lead to? Basically he wants to see which Klybesian place is most in contact with Abford first.

Meg is eager to go, and has her sharp knife at the ready. Regenlief takes the rear post, her spear ready to go over Ossian's head as needed. The path below soon reminds Ossian of the tunnels the Klybesians had that led to Master Reid's corpse, but more hewn and less cut. After some distance walking in the dimly lit underground, the walls turn from stone to baked clay tablets held together by mortar. The tunnels get warmer and the air grows drier. Ossian thinks they are a long way from the coast.

There are occasional bits of sand on the floor as if someone tracked it down here and then didn't clean up. It doesn't look recent, though. After an uneventful walk, Ossian and Meg come to a door with a label on it in Thari.

"Heerat", it says.

The tunnel continues on into the dimness, but doesn’t seem to be a shadow path beyond it.

"Let's investigate. I have heard just a little of this place, from cousins who have been there. Just remember: We do not know the colors of this place. It the Klybesians are still here, how much technology is present. Let us sneak, and not resort to violence unless we have no choice. We do not know the strengths and weaknesses here yet."

He opens the door.

Ossian opens the door to the cellar of what was, at least at some point, a Klybesian waystation in Heerat. The floor of the cellar is dirt-packed, or perhaps sand-packed. One of the walls, which Ossian suspects is possibly the actual outside wall, as it were, is the same material. The others are mud bricks. When Regenlief carefully opens the door to the rest of the cellar, the group finds a stone stairway leading upwards. The air is dry and dusty.

There's no evidence in the cellar that the building is occupied, but there are some stores of dried food in barrels and a few weapons: knives and the like. Some of them are of higher-tech manufacture than Ossian and Meg would have expected from Abford. Regenlief confirms she's seen the like in other Klybesian outposts. Ossian, who has also travelled in higher-tech shadows, doesn't recognize the manufacturer name but can tell these are quality goods.

Meg takes one of the knives and adds it to her personal armory.

If Ossian was expecting another cross-shadow computer network, he is disappointed. It's not present in the group's search of the cellar, nor is there any sign of electricity or anything related to computers at all. Regenlief doesn't seem to find anything either. Similarly there is no electric light. What light there is comes from covered vents/windows in the top of the cellar. Outside it must be daylight, but perhaps early morning or late afternoon.

[Ossian would expect things like wires along the walls, probably in some kind of protective wrapping, for electricity. Since the walls are stone/brick, it would be hard to retrofit electrical wiring into the wall.]

Meg would like to get a look out into the streets and figure out what's going on, assuming that the building itself is vacant. This seems a reasonable assumption to Ossian, since nobody has come down to investigate the noises in the cellar. Regenlief is fine with that but wants to be sure they won't be immediately caught and thrown in jail.

Ossian looks a bit disappointed that there isn't more traces of the Klybesians. "We should indeed investigate. Let's make sure we fit in." He opens a chest in a corner, finding a few sets of clothes that would match Heerat. (Probablility manipulation). He chooses clothes for himself and his companions. "This will be interesting".

When they are dressed they carefully sneak up the stair.

There are kaftans with sashes and burnouses to cover the kaftans. The decoration of the clothes that Ossian, Meg, and Regenlief are wearing has shifted at some point so it more closely aligns with the kinds of embroidery and other detailing found on the local garments.

[Think: they are going from styles like 17th century Dutch clothing to early medieval Silk Road/Arabian peninsula styles. Roughly.]

As they go up the stairs they start to hear noises from outside the building. People, animals, some music, talking, shouting, in a variety of languages.

When Ossian opens the door, he finds that they are on a side alley a block or two from a main thoroughfare, which is where all the outside noises are coming from. This house might be a residence but the main road is where all the people are. It will be easy to get into the crowd and find out what's going on, and whether Amber has an embassy here, and if so, whether it's been in contact.

[Heerat was a Shadow at the junction of trade routes. Paige lived here for a time. It's like a junction of the Silk Road, with all kinds of trade goods. With Pattern, Ossian can blend in and have all the money he needs to bribe people or purchase anything he wants. This is the kind of place that he would expect the Klybesians to have an outpost, if not a full on establishment. Ossian can do a number of things here and if you want to lay them out in a summary list, we can handle the exploration before we drill down to whatever interests Ossian.]

Ossian wants to investigate a number of things:

*What is going on in Heerat currently? Any big news?

*Is there an active Amber embassy? Xanadu embassy?

*What religious groups are there? Are there any groups that might actually be Klybesians?

*Has Huon marched though here?

*How did the Black Road manifest here, and how have the trade changed since then?

*What is the market price for Regenlief and Meg on the slave market? [Erm. Strike that]

Ossian and Meg and Regenlief all go about asking questions. Regenlief easily passes as a man with her face hidden and in the burnous. It's a little harder for Meg, at least to Ossian's eyes, but other people accept her in a way that suggests the Shadows are lying a little bit for her.

There is an embassy for Amber, but from what Regenlief says and what Ossian himself learns, Ossian suspects they've been out of contact with Amber since the beginning of the war. So his news will be more recent than any in Heerat. It's probably incumbent on him to make some contact before he leaves and help the locals figure out what to do, or even ask Random what he wants done.

The Black Road manifested on one of the trade routes in the culturally expected kinds of ways: monsters and demons fought off by heroes. A lot of the male population of Heerat was wounded or killed. Many of the survivors are missing parts of limbs where amputation saved the injured from some kind of shadowy infection.

The routes have all changed since the war, and although trade is still ongoing, it's not what it was. Still, explorers have traveled the new paths and have opened negotiations with the people they've found.

Meg reports no sign of Huon, and that makes sense given what Ossian understands of the Shadow routes involved. Meg has less of a sense of the Shadow paths, but she doesn't remember any people like this in Huon's army when she was searching for her sons.

One of the new routes that has opened is apparently connected to the Land of Peace, Edan's home, directly or indirectly. From there, there are religious warriors that remind Ossian of the Knights of the Lamp. There are other religious types in ones and twos and half-dozens; any of them could be Klybesians in disguise. Whatever their previous presence was, especially in the house with the cellar tunnel, they left and have been gone for a while, probably since sometime during the war.

As for older groups, there are many different faiths and magical belief systems, but none of them seem quite right for the Klybesians, as many of them are more animist. Possibly the Amber embassy will have someone with better ideas about that.

Most of the big news is about trade and caravans. Nothing that stands out as relevant or interesting beyond the economics and the potential for further trade to Ossian. Meg is of course fascinated and will probably be able to make a great report to someone in her grandfather's household.

[And Regenlief would probably make a lot of money as a Varangian Guard type, and Meg as an accounting clerk. Their worth on the market isn't so much because of the constrained economic activity here.]

That's a lot of interesting information. Ossian decides to visit the embassy. When he comes there he asks for a meeting with the ambassador. He will present himself as Ossian from Xanadu, not wanting to spread rumors about him being from Amber, at least not from the start.

The Heerat ambassador is a woman called Winecup. Her secretary offers the three travellers the dark, bitter coffee that seems to be the drink of Heerat while they wait for the ambassador to be available. It doesn't take that long.

Meg seems like she'd probably like to say something, but Regenlief, with a mother's eye for an undisciplined child, or perhaps a commander's eye for an undisciplined recruit, quells her and lets Winecup speak once the introductions are made. Winecup doesn't seem to know Xanadu or Asgard or Abford, but none of those places would have been on near trading routes before Patternfall. Certainly Xanadu wouldn't have been.

"So how can I help you?" Winecup asks. She has seated the group at a table with elaborate carvings. Tapestries help keep the sand and dust to a minimum and probably provide warmth during the desert nights, but there are glass windows to let in the light during the day. "I'm not familar with your homeland, and I don't have a direct line to Amber right now, so there's a limit to what I can do."

"Well", Ossian says. "I can help you with that. Sort of. I do not wish rumors to spread, which is why I choose to say Ossian from Xanadu and not Ossian of Amber. I do have tidings, but you should know that I did arrive here by chance and not purpose.

"Who was king in Amber last you heard from them. Eric?"

Winecup's expression shifts from fear to hope to some mixture of the two. "It has been some years. Eric," and Ossian notes that like him, she did not give him a title, "confirmed me in my office, but we have had no communication since the Black Road was beaten back a decade a go. May I ask who reigns in Amber now?"

Ossian nods "Random is king of Amber. That might however be the smaller surprise. The capital has moved to a new place, Xanadu. Amber was severely hurt by the Black Road, and is in decline.

"I will try to set up some kind of contact with King Random for you."

"I would like that very much," says Winecup. Ossian can sense that she's wary of the whole thing, but the prospect of contact with home, such as it is, means she has to take her chance here.

Perhaps Regenlief also senses Winecup's reluctance, because she adds, "I have seen Xanadu, and met King Random. The Black Road passed through many places, but the forces of Amber defeated it in the end, and now they are rebuilding their trading network."

Ossian has the feeling Meg has something to say, too, but he can beat her to the punch.

"Of course you are suspicious of us. What proof do you need that I am indeed from Amber?"

"With all due respect, your lordship, any man can say he's from Amber, but few possess the royal gifts. Many are such that you can't demonstrate them, but if you carry the cards, then I can know with certainty that you are from Amber." Ossian doesn't think that it will quite convince her he's on the up-and-up, but at least anyone with Trumps is the real deal.

Meg starts to say something and it turns out to be "ow" because Regenlief has politely kicked her to shut her up.

Ossian frowns but his smile returns quickly. "I carry the cards, indeed," he says "although they are something of a state secret, and our enemies covet them."

He pulls out his deck, but is more wary than before. He quickly selects Random's Trump and shows it to the ambassador.

"It does indeed look like the card of Prince Random that I have seen. I do not wish to use it, but to touch only, to be certain. You will understand why: the appearance can be reproduced, but not the feel." Winecup reaches out to touch the card, waiting for Ossian's agreement to lay the tips of her fingers on it.

Ossian will allow her, but he is very watchful of any kind of shenanigans. "Watch us". he tells his mother and Meg, and then allows Winecup to touch the card.

All Winecup seems to want is to touch it, because she withdraws her hand quickly. "It is real. I'm sorry I doubted you, but you're not the first person claiming to be from Amber who has come here. But his cards were not cold, so I sent him away. Now, how can we help each other? I need to be in contact with the King and the Royal Service, and I'm sure there's something I can help you with."

"I can set you in contact with the King. And you can help me investigate Heerat. First though, when did that person with the cards pass here, and could you describe him?"

"It was a youth with dark skin and dark hair, about average height for a man, though perhaps a little short for a Prince of Amber. He intimated that he was a child of one of the Princes, perhaps Bleys, though I didn't note a pronounced resemblance. I was at court before I took on this embassy, so I have some acquaintance with the Princes and their appearance," Winecup adds. "It's been a year and more since we saw him as we count time."

"Did he give you a name? And just for fun" Ossian says "do I resemble anyone?"

"He called himself Inigo, but I know your family often travels under use names," Winecup explains.

Regenlief smiles tightly at this. Meg looks thoughtful. She's been keeping her mouth shut, probably because Regenlief has been keeping a close eye on her while Ossian talks to Winecup to keep her from messing things up with her big mouth.

Winecup is now looking closely at Ossian. "I am not so familiar with your family as to say who you look like, Prince Ossian, but I see a touch of auburn in your hair."

Ossian smiles and nods. "Grandson of Prince Brand. But Random is the king I serve."

Winecup nods as well, slowly, as if she's picking out Brand's features in his.

"I will contact him soon, telling him of your situation. What trade routes are open from here after all disruption? We'll need to establish that to give you a more stable contact with the court.

"Also, which is why I came here: are you familiar with the Klybesian order?"

"Not under that name. What are they, and how do I distinguish them, and what do I do when I find them?" Winecup asks.

"They are an order of monks and nuns too. They often do charity work, which is fine enough, but at the same time they hav cross-shadow connections and gather all kinds of information. Especially concerning our family.

"So if they are here or come here, they will seem nice enough, but you might be able to find that they have strange connections to other places. If you find them, keep a low profile and contact us if possible."

There's another round of Regenlief putting the boot on Meg, Ossian senses.

"Cousin Meg" Ossian says "it seems you want to say something?"

Meg looks at Ossian and Winecup and then at Regenlief, who is smiling the serene smile of a woman who would gladly slice you into bits for saying the wrong thing. What Meg settles on is: "It'll wait until after you've talked to Grandfather."

Ossian nods. "Just one thing, then I can contact the King. What routes are established from this place? "

The ambassador describes several routes, none of which are familiar to Ossian unless he learned pre-Sundering trade routes by land from his grandfather. She also talks about one route which changed, leading to new trade with a previously-unknown shadow but the loss of some people and caravans that were away from the city on the old route before the war.

Ossian nods and makes sure they are alone in the room before bringing up his cards. "I will contact the King." He nods to his mother trusting she will watch his back.

Then he picks out Random's card.

After a moment, Random replies. At a moment there is no background, but he's leaning on something. Perhaps a table or the throne. "Who calls?"

"Ossian, on the hunt. In Heerat " Ossian wastes no time on pleasantries "I have cousin Meg here, and have found a lost embassy of Amber. I guess both would be of interest."

Random's eyebrows furrow. "Wasn't that where Martin found Paige? Or did I misremember my origin stories? Well, does the ambassador need relief or just fresh orders? You can tell him anything that suits your purpose, of course."

He breathes out. "What's your plan for Meg, or Meg's plan for Meg, if you know it?"

"I think this is where Martin found Paige, yes. The ambassador needs orders and if possible more regular contact with us.

"As for Meg, I think she needs to talk with your highness." "Hmm," Random hmms. "Tell the Ambassador to plaster my picture over everything important, and scratch out Amber and pencil in Xanadu and to write up a long list of what he needs. It sounds like you're sorta busy so unless you want to babysit the ambassador, I'll probably send Paige or maybe Garrett that way in a couple of weeks."

He rolls his shoulders forward. "Yeah, let me talk to Meg. I may just pull her through and talk in person. Is there anything else you need from her or me, if we go off and start talking?"

Ossian nods. "I'd only like to know if you have heard anything from Jerod. He branched off from Paris a while back on another part of the trail I'm following."

Random thinks for a moment. "I just saw him here. He and Edan were going off for either shenanigans or tomfoolery. They were messing with a Firelilly. Had it in a bottle, actually, which seemed like a good compromise.

"He didn't say anything about following a trail, so either it led through Edan or it's on hold." Random pauses. "If it has to do with a monk named Chew, he's sitting in the infirmary waiting for us to decide what to do with him. Misao's mother would like to execute him personally, and is annoyed that I haven't agreed to that."

Ossian whistles quietly. "Finding Chew would be a very nice result of Jerod's expedition indeed. Execution is not a bad option you know. A slow one at that. There are many who could want to perform that. Sadly I can't call dibs on it unless mother knows things I don't."

Random shrugs, apparently uninterested in the fate of Hannibal Chew.

He motions for Meg to come to him. "Meg, the King wants to talk with you. In Xanadu."

Meg looks grimly pleased. "If you get back to Abford, tell my boys I'm fine and to stay away from politics. And Dara."

Meg puts her hand on Ossian's arm and is suddenly in the trump contact. Random smiles at her and reaches out. "Hello, Meg, take my hand and we can talk here in Xanadu."

She thanks him, or perhaps she thanks Ossian, and she takes the king's hand and is transposed to Random's throne room. She blinks in the light and when she drops Random's hand, exits the contact.

"Call if you find anything else on your hunt," Random says, and closes the contact.

Ossian will give the ambassador some instructions (mainly replacing the names of Amber and Eric with Xanadu and Random), adding that another cousin will drop by soon.

The ambassador promises to get right on that.

Other than that he will check the city for traces of the Klybesians - did Heerat use to be a base? (He will ask around about disbanded religious orders and such).

Few things that aren't maintained survive the oppressive desert that surrounds Heerat. The river is lush, but the waters move and the rot along it is pervasive and green.

Still, there are stories of hidden temples in the deepest parts of the desert, where Fire-Worshippers consort with the Fire Gods and plot to destroy the river because of some ancient grudge against the goddess of the river. The most fanciful call out the existence of a City made entirely of Brass that smokes and burns and no one could live there but the Fire Gods.

Everyone hates the Fire-Worshippers, but they are known to be clever and always pop up when they can take advantage of weaknesses.

Does the rutter suggest any other place to go? (Since the path in the tunnel seems broken).

The rutter suggests that the reader may return by the path he took or that he get another rutter in this chapel. There may be other paths or turnings from the places Ossian went that lead to other bases.

The rutter is old, and things shifted after Patternfall, so who knows what was supposed to be here and where it ended up. Even if he did find a lead, it's hard to say if it would be current.

Ossian sits in a small room with his mother, pondering on how ro proceed.

"So this seems like a dead end. Patternfall seems to have moved things, probably destroying much of the monk's network.

"We could try to investigate those 'Fire worshippers', but that does not sound very Klybesian to me. Still, those monks from Abford must have come from somewhere. What is your take on this?"

"We've already done good for the King by finding the missing grandchild of his. She would be easy pickings for the Klybesians. If we, or more likely the ambassador have that tunnel dug out it may connect to Klybesian places that don't expect us to show up. That's always a good strategy.

"But it depends on if you have met your objective. We've found and mapped a number of places that the Klybesians use and broken up a number of their hideouts."

She leans into her spear. "I think the fire worshipers are a distraction. Perhaps Edan could investigate them. Or Brita can drown them. Water Goddesses are good at countering fire worshippers."

"I agree regarding the fire worshippers. And having the ambassador dig out the tunnel is another nice idea.

"But I'm not finished with the Klybesians just yet. I'd really like to get into their computer network. I need an expert however. And a network. I wonder if they closed down the site at Edan's home. Since they know we found it they might have. Or Edan might have.

"There are computer experts in Xanadu, not many though. But I guess we should go there to gather news before proceeding."

A sketch of yourself is the fastest kind to make, because you know yourself the best (note, this may not be true for all people, but it's true in a trump sense for trump artists. We are not worrying about lowering your self-knowledge because of self-delusion...).

[Ossian can make a sketch of himself that will last for decades and it will take a watch, which is the minimum time to make a trump sketch. If he wants to make a sketch that would last for longer, he'd have to invest more time. It would still be subject to failure when it gets used (which is stressful on the material). ]

"They seem to retreat and abandon their outposts when your family finds them. Like rodents."

His mother looks at the plaza in Heerat. "I could stay here to supervise, if you wanted. I can't help you with computers, unless you want to poke them with a spear."

Ossian nods. " That is a good idea. I will provide you with a Trump sketch of me, so you can reach me in an emergency or if you find anything in the tunnel. "

He will the spend a watch to make a sketch if himself for his mother, and instruct her in its use. Then he leaves for Xanadu.

She takes it and says she will have a report ready when King Random sends someone.

Ossian suspects that the Ambassador is going to find himself with an unofficial superior.

Ossian will look for signs of Klybesians here and there on his way.

Ossian doesn't find anything current, or even as recent as the black road war that he can directly tie to the Klybesians. It looks like religions come and go in Heerat; it's a crossroads of shadows, or at least it was. There seems to be plenty of evidence that the sect had been here in the past, both openly and covertly.

This is one of the places they would trade information with people. That temple shut down more than a decade ago, local time.

Shadow walking is not unlike drawing a trump, but with himself as the brush and reality as the canvas. What goes on the branch over the next hill, what element needs to be erased. Ossian suspects this is why so many of his cousins draw trump. They already have an innate power to draw reality.

After days of walking (or riding), Ossian finds himself coming up the beach and viewing Xanadu from the southern coastal peninsula. He has a grand vista of all of it. The circular bay, the ships at anchor, the docks, the city rising up the gentle slopes to the cliff, the upper and lower falls, and the castle next to the lake beside the upper falls.

It looks like a painting.

A good painting.

Ossian nods to himself. "Nice one." he murmurs. He sits down on a rock, picks up his sketch book, and draws a quick (non-Trump) sketch of the view. The picture looks almost the same as reality, were it not for two of the windows of the castle. On a closer look these are gaping mouths full of nasty teeth.

He smiles, closes his sketch book, and proceeds to the castle. Upon arrival he sends a note to the king, just announcing his presence. He also asks around to see who is in Xanadu at the moment.

The first page takes the note and heads into the depths of the castle. Another gives him the recitation of who in currently in residence.

Also, Prince Gerard's new son, Harsh has just arrived, and is speaking to the Steward in the receiving room.

Ossian grins to himself and takes a stroll to the receiving room

It's getting early in the morning when he arrives back at the compound.

Fletcher has a feeling that someone has been here.

Fletcher checks the cave area to verify that whoever has been there is there no longer and that no ugly surprises have been left behind. Satisfied, he begins the process of assessing the time of the shadow path's movements, finally selecting the safest and stablest destination that seems to be available. He watches for any variations from his last visit. The existence of the shadowpath is not the problem. Its movements seem to be causing the most damage to the fabric of the worlds. He readies himself to anchor the path in place. The fixed end in the cave is probably the strongest point, and although the transition through the path can be quick, he knows that he will be moving through shadows rather than teleporting from one world to the next. He envisions the existing shadow path as a hose, which one end free to move. With a real hose he would be tempted to grab for the loose end and force it into the place he has chosen. These things have their own version of moment though, and the shadow stuff in the vicinity has been damaged. He works out a plan to reinforce the solidity of the cave by moving around the cave while drawing the power of the Pattern through himself, slightly altering the shape of things toward a stabler configuration. With the 'strong end' reinforced, he then moves slowly through the passage, continuing and repeating the process, solidifying the shadow path in position, and calming the whiplash effect as he goes until finally he can anchor the connection to the destination point he chose. This will take time and a strong but delicate touch.

After that, the rough plan is to rest and then spend time working on stabilizing the old destination points. Depending on the situation we may have to reconnect them as branches along the path if he can't just seal them off. An alternative he keeps as a fall back to fix the destination point of the path and then extend it through each of the effect shadows, creating a suture that helps hold things in place.

The path needed the solidifying action to make it work and Fletcher feels the path becoming more real, like the cave was. Reinforcement closes off possibilities, and Fletcher feels the path is shedding options and becoming more real as he works his way through the cave. A stalagtite there, a pool reflecting upwards there, the dripping sound of water, and all the while his will making it so that the place is connected to that place.

Fletcher re-writes the shadow path, making it a single thing.

When he is finished, he knows it, because the path no longer seems to have an element of probability; it is simply a path between a cave and a different cave.

The air is much cleaner here. It will probably eventually become more tainted like Tyrell was.

This cave is shallow, and the atmosphere is thinner, but there is also a path here. It leads into a shallow cave with a stone propped against the opening, like a door.

Eyeing the cave entrance, Fletchers figures that having a door is a useful thing to have if you want to limit the spread of air pollution. He needs to rest, but presented with a door, how can he resist opening it? Fletcher approaches it and goes about trying to move the stone to see what's on the other side at least. He hopes there aren't funeral mourners on the other side because this is how religions and legends get started.

With effort worthy of a Prince of Amber, Fletcher moves the stone aside. He sees no potential mourners or future members of his putative mysteree cult.

There is a path from the cave entrance down a mountain to a seaport. Near the entrance is a cairn of stones.

Based on what he sees on the ground, Fletcher believes someone has been here since the last time it rained, but not since the dew last fell.

Looking around at the cairn and other mountainous surroundings, Fletcher is happy to find himself bereft of cultists, and somewhat less enthusiastic about the walk to the seaport. He sighs and applies himself to pushing the stone back into its place. He then sets out on the path to the seaport, and starts thinking Positive Pattern Throughs(TM) about the probability of finding a restaurant or inn. He wants to at least know what this shadow is called and get an idea of how well they might interact with in addition to a good meal and at least a nap before he sets out through shadows to inspect the areas that had previously been connected to the whiplashing shadow path to see what other corrective measures, if any, need to be taken. After that, he supposes, he should go back to Tyrell and call Conner or Tricksey or Brita if they’re still there. He passes the time pondering the idea of looking up Joanna, the helpful nurse from the pyramid.

The stone rocks into place and seems well-set. Looking at it, Fletcher thinks that it was chosen to be difficult if not impossible to move from the inside when sealed. Somebody didn't want just anyone coming through.

It's a long, boring walk down the mountain, but it does look like there's enough ship traffic at the end of the route that he'll have a good chance at a meal and some conversation. The forest is reasonably rugged and, as far as Fletcher can tell, the cave is the only destination.

A few times Fletcher thinks he may have been spotted, but finds nothing but animals when he looks more closely.

There is an inn near the docks, and people seem surprised to see anyone coming down from the forest trail, but otherwise take no special notice of Fletcher. The people of this shadow are varied, but mostly look human. Some few might be mistaken for giant raccoon dogs in hats and coats, but they could also be hairy people who just happen to look like animals.

The Innkeeper seems human enough. He bows and directs him to the common room and offers food and drink. Fletcher finds out the shadow is named Hikariguni and the village is named Biei-cho.

As expected, the food is mostly fish, and it seems very fresh, although plainly prepared.

There's a man also having the fish stew, in the common room. "Hello, stranger. Did your ship just arrive?"

Fletcher smiles. "No, I was hiking cross-country. It's good to find a comfortable place to stay the night. Do you get many ships here?"

"A fair number. Biei-cho is the last year round port before the ice is too dangerous for ships. Most people are a little wary of walking through the forest, because some of the yokai have bad tempers.

"Are you looking for a ship to leave here, then? I can help you. I'm a cargo-broker, but most of the captains will let me place a passenger as well.

"My name is Chi-Lin."

Fletcher shrugs. "I don't know yet if I need to take a ship or not. I was planning on walking back the way I came, or maybe along the coast. I didn't see anything in the forest. What sort of yokai are there usually? I wonder if I was just lucky or they were all asleep or something. Are there towns north of here then?"

The man nods in acknowledgement, even though he doesn't seem to agree per se. "There aren't any of what we'd call towns. Trapper's stations, fishing villages. This is the Northernmost port that gets any serious traffic.

"The yokai of the forest are skilled in being unseen, but rest assured that they saw you. When they do not wish to be seen, they will not be seen. You probably seem like a man who is too assured and dangerous to interfere with." He picks up the tea pot and offers to top off Fletcher's mug.

Fletcher accepts the tea and extends his hand to shake Chi-Lin's hand. "I'm Fletcher. Do people ever interact with these yokai? How much of the land do they consider their own?" Fletcher wonders if there is some yokai he should be warning about the shadow path.

Chi-Lin looks at the hand for a second, as if he is remembering a custom that he has not used in many years. He reaches out and confidently shakes Fletcher's hand once he figures that out.

"The yokai are respected citizens and subjects of their liege lady," he says, "and it is foreigners like myself and you who are unusual. This is the yokai's realm, sir. Even so, there are many humans here. Most drifted in from other places. Some could not leave, some chose not to."

Fletcher's eyebrows raise in enlightenment. "Ah, I see. Is their leige lady a recognized person of importance in the town as well as the lands around it? Does she hold court for her subjects and such? I must admit I'm not familiar with these yokai and their ways. I'd like to learn more before I accidentally give offense." Fletcher says, realizing he should probably give the yokai at least a heads-up about the shadow path.

"The Lady Kimiko is the serene immortal queen of these lands and rules from her palace far to the south." He coughs. "I am a foreigner here, and I know it has a name, but most just call it the Capital or the Palace. I call it a place to stay away from if you don't want to pay taxes.

"Or if you don't trust that immortality and serenity can exist without friction."

Fletcher gets the impression that Chi-Lin is generally somewhat wary of authority figures.

Fletcher asserts, “You make it sound far enough away that I wouldn’t stumble across it by accident.” He pauses a moment and then asks, “How big is the land that this capital controls?” Fletcher is trying get a feel for the size of this place and determine how far out of his planned way the capital might take him. He knows people are waiting to hear from him in Tyrell, but this could be something people in Tyrell need to know about.

"It is far by the ways of these isles, but no more than 3 days sail. The yokai and the archipelagic nature of the land make it a longer walk. It is a fine city, but there are places..."

He stops. "The seas near this land are wilder and lead to places both mundane and fantastical." He waves at the walls, painted with gentle forest scenes. "There are places where the simple yokai of the forest are considered mythical and dangerous spirits.

"Where are you from, Fletcher?"

Fletcher looks away into the distance for a moment. He turns back to face Chi-Lin once more. "I was born in a place called Amber, far away from here and it was probably as fantastic to you as the lands of the yokai are to me. Ships from Amber may even have visited here once upon a time, when the merchants of Amber and the Knights of the Compass sailed a double-dozen seas. I found myself traveling here as part of an effort to save a doomed world, and I may have succeeded. But the result is now a cave in the hills that leads to a new place, and now I would warn whoever I can not to tamper with it."

"The Shamaness Queen Kimiko rules from her Palace in the south and is sovereign of all these lands. Her sometime consort is a Prince of Amber, or so they say. She is the only power of note in these islands, and she works hard to keep it that way. They say she came here fleeing the Great Rebellion of Wa, but that was before I came here."

He looks at Fletcher, appeasingly. "I wondered if you were from Amber, Fletcher, since this is a hard place to find and a harder place to leave. I have been to your great city. I have seen the inside of her prisons, and I hope never to return, or to involve myself further in Amber's affairs."

Fletcher sighs. "I can't blame you for wanting to lead a quiet life. But tell me... Amber has many famous princes. What do they say about the Shamaness Queen's consort? Does he have a name you’d heard of in Amber? Is he likely to be there if I feel obliged to go and tell the the Shamans Queen about the cave?"

Chi-Lin shakes his head. "They give him a name in their debased version of Thari. It means something like Bringer of Enlightenment.

"She may already know of the cave, but not your recent visit to it. There were rumors that she was on this island last month."

He sits back. "They could be no more than rumors, of course, but she knows her lands well."

Fletcher leans back in his chair. 'Bleys?' he thinks. Aloud he continues, "So I suppose she will quickly become aware of the change in the cave. Perhaps I should try to tell her about it before she discovers it on her own." Fletcher does not not look enthusiastic, but does seem willing. He awaits a response from Chi-Lin while idly pondering why the impressions Bleys must leave in Shadow would help him find the queen in question.

Chi-Lin nods slowly, neither seemingly agreeing or disagreeing. "As a foreigner, you could appear at her court and bring the matter to her attention, of course. If you wish to leave quickly and discreetly, you may choose to send a letter. I could see that it was delivered."

Fletcher thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. "No, I think I should tell her myself. I feel responsible and she may have questions. Besides, I think I should look her in the eye and give her a chance to do the same. From what you said it'll be faster going by sea. I'll need to find a ship. Any suggestions?"

"Two, both ships I know with skilled captains. The Lion of The Merciful One is a packet ship that will leave on the tide before midnight. However more suitable accommodations could be had on The Island of Apples, which sails a day from now."

He looks at the harbor. "Shall I arrange passage? Do you have funds for your journey?"

"I can raise the funds before sailing if you can tell me about how much I should expect to need." Fletcher thinks for a moment. "I suppose I should get this done. If there's room on the packet ship, I'll take it."

"If you don't have money, I can arrange it. I am a merchant factor for this region. It would be about 10 ounces of gold. 20 Kobun, in local coinage.

"The captain of The Asad is Odamamar and you can give her my token for passage." Chi-Lin puts a disk of silver on the table next to his own beverage. The token has a square hole in the middle of it, and writing in a language that is not Thari, but isn't the local writing either.

Fletcher thinks he's waiting for payment.

Fletcher stands and starts pacing back and forth a bit for a minute or two while he fishes through his coat pockets for his coin wallet. He's always accumulating coins wherever he goes and some of them are probably gold. He pulls out the coin pouch and fishes through it for the right amount. He comes up with a number of coins, turns, and offers it to Chi-Lin. "Will this do?" he asks.

Chi-Lin looks briefly at the coins, and smiles. He summons a waiter, using a local dialect that isn't thari, and a boy comes out with a shallow dish on a tray. Chi-Lin places the coins into the bath and watches them. "Strictly a formality, you understand."

After a moment, "That will do nicely." He passes the token to Fletcher.

Fletcher thanks him and buys him another drink before heading out to acquire a few traveling necessities before taking ship.

Chi-Lin enjoys his drink and thanks Fletcher in return and watches as he heads into the port's small trading area. A few merchants, alerted to the presence of a potential customer, look hopefully out from their stalls and shops.

Fletcher finds a reasonable assortment of exotic but serviceable travel necessities. Soap, a razor, native style clothing are all available.

The captain of the Asad, Odamamar, welcomes him, and has a sailor show him to what can only be described as a stateroom by virtue of having a curtain between it and the galley. The top bunk is taken, by a man with a beard. He is snoring lightly.

The ship sails on the tide, and the trip is mostly uneventful. The ship goes on alert at the sight of some sort of monstrous creature, but the Captain insists that they have paid their protection and will be allowed to pass.

Still, it keeps the crew on alert most of the night. Some of them are keeping weapons close at hand. As if they'd be able to fight such a giant creature.

Fletcher ponders what exactly fighting a creature of the magnitude in its native environment would be like, and is glad that it is not strictly necessary. He does inquire of the captain about the nature of 'paying protection', as Fletcher is a new to these parts and isn't up to speed on the local customs.

The captain shrugs. She says, "There are temples and shrines which take donations to pray for the safety of sailors at sea. They are run by the lowest of the Ayakashi, who claim to be able to pray away the Ikuchi who might be inclined to attack a ship at night.

"Personally, I think these heathens are in league with the monsters and running a protection racket, but I'd rather be alive than proven right."

"That's very practical," Fletcher remarks. "If I'd known before the trip I'd have looked for a shrine myself. Are they easy to find?"

"They're in the ports. In the Sailor's Shrines, if the port is big enough. In the town shrine otherwise." She shrugs. "I haven't met a place where there's not some graft, and this is at least honest. They do keep the Ikuchi away."

"Are Ayakashi always so business-like? I'd heard there could be difficulties and was told I was lucky."

The captain snorts. "It depends on where you meet them. In an alleyway or on a country road, they can be. In town, they don't like to be run out of town. They're good judges of just how far they can press matters. Try not to allow them deniability, they feed upon it."

"I can just imagine. Are they really motivated by money though?" Fletcher asks. Reflecting a moment he quickly adds, "For all of their differences I don't know whether to be saddened or reassured that money always makes the world move."

"Money is a way of keeping score, but only to the Ayakashi. I don't know why the Ikuchi do what the Ayakashi tell them to do. To be honest, I don't know that the Ikuchi do what the Ayakashi tell them to do. It could all be an elaborate scam."

She looks at the deck and at the distant creatures. "It's like insurance, except possibly more like blackmail. I'd rather pay than risk the consequences."

The Captain gives a few quick orders and then returns to talking to Fletcher. "It's a lot like paying Amber for passage except the excisemen are both the Ayakashi and the Ikuchi.

Fletcher looks surprised. "I didn't know Amber was charging for passage this far out. Have you seen an excise man lately?" Fletcher really is surprised and wonders if this is old information or some remnant of Amber's trade empire remains in Shadow.

The captain shakes her head. "I'm out here because I don't want to see an Amber excise cutter coming at my ship, full of smiling men with lists of duties to be paid. So far, it's been working. It's been a long time since I sailed from the Land of Peace towards the Pearl of Cities.

"We trade in these hinterlands, with the occasional trip towards more well known ports, looking for something to make our fortunes on. If we don't find it soon, we'll move on. We know of old paths."

Fletcher looks doubtful. "Are the old paths still open these days? I'd noticed some differences of late." Fletcher finds himself unsure how to approach the topic of shadow paths with someone who seems like a good captain but who is looking to avoid 'Amber.' "I've heard stories of war and disaster on old paths."

She shrugs. "I guess I won't know until I have the need to try them. Either from desperation or an excess of riches." She turns her head to survey her ship. "To date, neither of those extremes has come to pass."

She doesn't seem overly worried about not getting back. From the looks of things, most of her crew isn't from the same place as each other, much less the shadow she mentioned as her home.

Some people don't want to stop roving.

Fletcher makes a note to check on other shadow paths in the area later, content himself with taking in the sight and sounds of the sea as they voyage on toward his destination.

The voyage is not eventful, but the pleasure of sailing on a fast ship in decent weather is one Fletcher hasn't had an opportunity to indulge in for some time. They pass several smaller towns and increasing ship traffic as they come to the main towns of the region. Fletcher has sailed on a courier vessel, so they do not call at any of the ports before they arrive at the Capital, called by most just 'Capital'.

The captain manouevers the ship against a long wooden wharf. They are not by any means alone in the port, but no other ships are arriving or departing at the moment. Some are loading and unloading, and the docks are a busy place.

The captain introduces Fletcher to the postmaster. He wants to know Fletcher's business in Hikariguni.

Fletcher stands a little straighter and announces, "I actually have news that I need to bring up bring before the Queen's court. Could you please direct me?"

The postmaster nods. "The main avenue leads to a central square with a fountain, from the square to the northwest the Royal Way goes to the palace." He pauses, slightly. "You may wish to stop at any of the marketplace shops and purchase suitable clothing. The servants of Her Sublime Majesty would be more receptive."

The port-pilot smiles. "I have a cousin, a barber in town. He will get you shaved and looking less rough. Would you like me to introduce you?"

The postmaster frowns a bit, but doesn't speak up.

Fletcher looks down at his outfit, as if he's just noticed that he's been in the wilderness and aboard a sailing ship for days. "I suppose the old suit does at least need a good steam-pressing. I'll look into those shops you mentioned. I think I'll find a place to get some food and a bath first though." To the port-pilot, "If you give me the name of your cousin I'll look him up afterward." Fletcher thanks the pair of them and offers a gratuity if one seems contextually appropriate. Then he heads off to see about getting presentable for court.

"Zhang the Barber, ask for him in the market." The pilot smiles.

"Begone," says the port official, and the pilot bows and disembarks. "Zhang the barber. Remember!"

"I apologize for his mercenary behavior. It is not necessary to encourage such men, they encourage themselves. The clerks in my office can give you more unbiased recommendations, or you can simply discover things in the market yourself, if you're so inclined."

The official will give directions to the port office and any other destination Fletcher has in mind.

Fletcher's plan is a quick stroll through the market, replacing various sundries and getting a feel for the area, and definitely a bathhouse and laundry though he supposes some of his clothes might not be all that dirty or at least will probably come clean without too much effort. He's still conscious of the need to get back to Tyrell but wants to get do this side-trip properly.

Judicious application of the pattern does repair the flaws in Fletcher's outfit and even finds a pocket which almost certainly contains adequate local currency.

Fletcher wanders the square, which seems typical. Stalls of merchants with goods that suit sailors and travelers and people who are in the business of transporting goods long distances for profits. He has any number of chances to buy small toiletries or souvenirs or even entire ships and crews.

There are shrines, including one that might be to the sea monsters he saw at a distance.

The palace is obvious; it dominates the city even more than Amber dominates the city below her.

Following his walk and cleanup efforts (with or without a trip to a barber, a tailor, or a haberdasher), Fletcher is ready to approach to palace.

There are obvious ceremonial guards at the obvious ceremonial gate.

Fletcher stops a respectful distance from the guards, draws himself up to his full height and makes himself know to them. "Greetings guardians. I am Sir Fletcher of Amber. I brings news for your sovereign."

He awaits their response.

They nod. "Come with me, Sir Fletcher of Amber."

Not far inside the door they meet a being that looks like a four-foot tall version of the sea monsters Fletcher saw at a distance. They are wearing a robe and seem to be responsible for the temple/palace/castle.

"Her Serenity has returned from a long trip and is not to be disturbed. What news do you bring, Sir Fletcher of Amber?"

Fletcher decides insisting on seeing the queen is probably the wrong tack to take, and decides to go for the 'OK, this is definitely over my pay grade," reaction. "There was until very recently an instability in the fabric of worlds near this one that might have resulted in the collapse of one or more worlds. I have prevented this probability from coming to pass and the result is a new connection between this world and another one through a cave in a remote area. This step was necessary to save many thousands of lives and prevent a possible chain reaction. If the cave comes to her attention she should know it is not an attempt at invasion and that it was not created by the people of the world at the end of the connection. Please inform her Serenity of this when she is recovered from her travels."

"A... cave, you say?" They seem concerned. "Sir Fletcher of Amber, will you wait here? I will inform her Serenity."

The sea monster squishes off into the palace at what seems to be a high rate of speed for a creature who by all rights should either be in the water or more likely shouldn't exist.

The guards near the door do their best to become more presentable.

Within ten minutes the functionary squelches back in. "Her Serenity will see you. Please follow me."

They lead Fletcher to a throne room. It is mostly empty, with decorations along the walls and some small tables near the back.

The functionary bows. "Sir Fletcher of Amber," they say loudly, announcing him to her Serenity.

She is beautiful and doesn't look like she has just returned from a tiring journey. She is immaculately made up and dressed in a robe and her hair is tucked into her crown. She seems to be waiting for Fletcher to say something.

Fletcher bows deeply. "Your Serenity, thank you for choosing to see me. I sailed here from Biei-cho to brings news of a change in how this world is connected to worlds beyond this one." He pauses, awaiting acknowledgement, trying to gauge how much background he is going to need to explain.

She nods back, in the ways that royals have of acknowledging a bow without actually returning it. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, or perhaps just to see if Fletcher was going to add more to his statement.

"Sir Fletcher. Amber is not a friend of Hikariguni. Biei-cho, you say? Did you encounter a cave there, by any chance?" Her eyes narrow, and Fletcher does not think she is friend to Amber or Amber's knights. Or to put it more finely, she doesn't seem to be inclined to be a friend to Fletcher.

Fletcher continues formally. "Your Serenity. I was not aware that Amber and Hikariguni had been in contact until after I arrived here. In fact I wasn't sure where stablizing the region between worlds would take me. The instability would have continued to spread and involve more worlds had I not intervened. I regret any offense my presence may have caused. It seemed the responsible thing to do to let someone in authority here know of the change. There is indeed a cave as you said. Has it been a cause for concern in the past?"

She nods, reluctantly. "We were recently infiltrated by spies and kidnappers through that cave, who have done us great harm. I am intending to seal the cave shortly. In the meantime, I am waiting to hear your King Random's response to my request to be given custody of the man who kidnapped Misao, my child. Please remind him that he owes me the debt of the prisoner he has taken from me."

Like other monarchs, she doesn't seem to consider that she might not be obeyed. It's not so much a polite request as a politely worded demand.

Fletcher nods enthusiastically and agrees. "Of course your Serenity I will remind His Majesty immediately upon my return to Xanadu. I do remember that Misao was one of the people we rescued from captivity. You may have communicated with his Majesty more recently than I. My further investigations have taken me through an indeterminate number of worlds. I was unaware of your request prior to this moment." He would like to ask about prisoners, but presses on with his mission. "The cave now connects to a world that was recently liberated from the same group who were holding Misao and others. Your two worlds are very different and I do not anticipate any eagerness of anyone from that world to explore the cave. If you've already been infiltrated via the cave, am I right in thinking that you've already placed a watch up on it?"

She looks nonplussed at his plans for notifying Random. "That was how I followed my daughter's kidnappers. The place on the other end reminded me of my people's vision of about half of the 136 hells. It is watched, yes. Is this what you came to ask me?"

Fletcher is legitimately shocked at the idea and it shows. "No your Serenity. The thought that it might already be watched just occurred to me. It seemed only the responsible thing to notify someone in authority here of the change I had needed to make, to make them aware of the open door, to see if this created a problem for them and if so to offer assistance. The place currently on the other end is indeed a dismal environment compared to your domain. Part, but only part of that quality was due to the damage being caused by the instability in the tunnel. I do not know if it will recover but at least now it will not fall apart and leave a gaping maelstrom of destruction impacting all of the worlds nearby. I was not familiar with this world, and I did not know if you had even heard of Amber here. I was only barely introduced to Misao at the time of the rescue. I am glad to hear that her mother at least knows that she was liberated from the kidnappers."

"I was there. Falling apart might have been a mercy." She frowns. "Thank you for your report. My home is my own, and it is mine to run as I will. I do not want the agents of Amber to interfere, even if they have good intentions," she adds begrudgingly. "Perhaps especially not when they have good intentions. This was promised to me by Prince Benedict.

"I will presume that you did not intentionally trespass. You would be welcome back if you had my prisoner, whom your King Random should send to me quickly."

Fletcher tries and fails to hide his shock. "Prince Benedict has been here?" Fletcher expression briefly shifts from shock to frustrated anger before settling on resignation. "I was not aware that... Prince Benedict had been here, or that he had made promises, which of course must be kept. I will depart without further interference in you realm." He pauses. "You mentioned that Misao is your daughter? When last I saw her she was in Xanadu. Upon my return to Xanadu I will make sure she is well. Is there any message I might deliver to her from you?" He pauses to allow her to answer, but then changes his mind deciding full disclosure is the best policy. "I should inform you that if Misao is also the daughter of Prince Benedict, then she is also my sister and I would feel certain obligations if that were the case."

"Misao's father was Lucas St. Cyr, of Paris and Amber. My daughter by Prince Benedict calls herself Lilly. We have met, but are not close."

She lets that thought settle and adds more. "Misao is not in Xanadu. I have been there and she had left. She seems to be picking up your family habit of not staying put."

Fletcher nods once. "Thank you for sharing that information. I will convey your regards to Misao if I do encounter her." Fletcher will pause for her to acknowledge he may go; if she does so, then he will back out of the room and go about his business in the town before heading back to Tyrell.

"It would be a kindness if you were to do so." She dismisses him formally and has left the room before he does.

Fletcher finds himself the subject of intense scrutiny from the courtiers, some of whom are human-shaped and some of whom are not. They do not speak to him unless addressed, but no one seems inclined to get in his way.

The town lies below the palace and seems to be more cosmopolitan and bustling than the much smaller trading outpost that Fletcher sailed from. However, it still looks as if any of Fletcher's cousins or uncles could take it over with a pen knife and three Rebman archivists.

Fletcher considers his mission here a success. He wonders how much more poorly things would have gone long-term if he hadn't at least demonstrated courtesy-after-the-fact of his changing of the tunnel. He does wonder if perhaps her Serenity had caused the damage originally without realizing how much it could spread. He has mixed emotions about meeting one of Dad's paramours, but reminds himself that his mother was probably long-dead by the time Dad and her Serenity had become an item. He distracts himself pondering whether it was rude of him to not have gotten to know Lilly and her history better back when they first met. He's pondering the notion of regretting being too formal and distant with Lilly when he realizes he's allowing himself to be distracted yet again. He needs to get to Tyrrell fast. Who knows how much time has passed there? Maybe Conner isn't waiting around to hear from him, but he should at least check. He plans to gather a few necessities and travel back to Tyrell as quickly and directly as he can. If he needs to acquire a small sailboat and pay some tribute to the sea monsters, so be it. Traveling over the sea he can be less disruptive while shifting shadow and modifying his craft as he goes.

The ship is named Yao Bikuni and would do better with a crew of four, but can be handled by one--assuming the weather doesn't become uncooperative. The sales price seems high, but money is no particular concern of Fletcher's.

With good luck and disciplined pattern use, Fletcher is sure it will reach Tyrell quickly. Assuming he can deal with the monsters.

Fletcher's small boat would probably not have made it from Hikariguni to Tyrell if Fletcher wasn't at the helm, but smooth sailing and fair winds were a benefit of having walked a pattern, and the perils of a small craft were not perils Fletcher had to deal with.

The easiest thing to recreate was the smell of the place. Pollutants in heated salt water and the hot winds from the distrupted weather patterns were depressingly common in shadow, but each had a specific scent. Once he had that, it was easy to find just the bit of shoreline and come into the harbor where the Lorraine was last anchored. It seems to have left the port.

What hasn't left the port are patrol boats. They are approaching Fletcher's craft. A sailor on one of the boats pulls out some sort of amplifying device.

"Ahoy! Stand to and prepare for inspection!"

Fletcher complies with the request. As his boat slows he sees to his craft and manages to find the relevant documents that a harbor patrol will probably request. Fletcher had taken only passing interest in the harbor traffic on his previous visit. He takes this opportunity to size up the approaching patrol boat and to check out what he can spot of the available docking facilities. He wonders if the weather patterns have started to show any improvement yet, but there will be time to look into that once he's ashore. He checks to see if his Tyrell phone is getting a signal yet.

Ships are low to the water line, don't have a lot of superstructure, and are screw-based. No smokestacks, so they're not burning wood, coal, or oil, at least not the big ones.

Little boats like the patrol craft are high speed, highly maneuverable, and not deep-water safe. But something much bigger could come after Fletcher if he fled.

The harbor patrol check his papers, radio them in to the shore, and seem generally not to know what to do with a sailing ship. They do inspect the vessel and don't find any contraband, whatever that might be.

Fletcher is told to tie up at the dock nearby, and advised to see the harbormaster if he has any questions and before he leaves. The want him to tie up, and not cause trouble.

Fletcher ties up at the dock and checks in with the harbormaster, just to be sure the harbormaster doesn't have any questions about boats with sails. He answers any questions about the care of the ship. As he's leaving the harbormaster's office, he pulls his Tyrell cell phone out of his pocket and turns it on. He thinks it's probably still in working order and waits to receive signal before trying to call Connor.

He does learn that Conner's ship sailed a few days ago, otherwise he'd've needed to dock further down.

Fletcher gets 5 bars, and learns that Conner's voicemail box is full, but the system can transcribe your message as text to him. Continue Y/N?

Regardless, Fletcher is on the warm, wet streets of Tyrell, near the harbor, with the Government Pyramid and Hospital rising in the distance. It is loud and bright, and there are many opportunities to buy things.

Fletcher mutters something about how ridiculous it is for an electronic mailbox to be full, and then chooses the option to transcribe the message to text. "Hi, This is Fletcher, I'm back in Tyrell and have news to share. Call me." Fletcher does some window shopping as he ponders his options. If Conner's mailbox is full he's either very popular or gone. He can try any of the relatively few other local numbers he has, but first maybe finding a noodle shop and figuring how much time has passed since he left Conner here.

Fletcher finds noodle shops on every block and noodle counters on every corner. They are more dense in the less nice parts of town.

It's a typical run-down downtown; the empty buildings provide expansive living space to anyone willing to put up with the lack of services, power, heat, and light. Or to provide their own.

Conner is a recent lottery winner, and likely very popular as well as gone definitely gone. Fletcher has a message from a nurse and one of Tricksey's friends.

It's been about a ten-day since Fletcher left and half that since the Lorrainne left port.

Fletcher wasn't sure how many people actually had his number, so he decides to listen to his messages while slurping noodles. If the monks have indeed left Tyrrell, he wonders if any more of his relatives might remain. The Turcopilier didn't even say goodbye, but then maybe he'll be back again someday. Fletcher idly ponders how much better this world might be now with the creeping doom of shadow collapse stabilized. He wonders if any more cousins are still here, weighing heavily on the thin fabric of this reality. He presses the button to play his messages.

Fletcher's nurse friend left a message on the first day, asking if he wanted to go for drinks after work. She called again two days later and left no message.

Tricksey's friend is looking for Trixie, or did you all end up in jail somewhere? She says this isn't her mobile, but leaves the name of a noodle counter where he could leave a message. The noodle counter is halfway across town, but that's not crazy far if Fletcher finds a ride.

The noodles here are heavy and greasy and Fletcher doesn't recognize the fish. It may be vat-grown. It is surprisingly tasty.

As the suddenly appearing diplomatic council just as suddenly starts to break up and clear out, Signy falls into step beside The Shield and walks with him for a few steps to get some distance from the rest of the group before her pace slows.

"How long has it been for you since we met that morning? Time moves differently for us all through Shadow, and it hasn't been that long for me."

She gives a wry grin at the last.

The Shield nods back. "It's good that you came. It's hard for us to tell, subjectively when we are traveling through shadow-places. In addition to the shadow path changing the time ratio of every shadow you travel through, our personal talents affect time.

"So if I had travelled directly here at a steady pace and the time differential had shifted in a smooth pattern and we hadn't done any shifting of our own, and the length of a day in shadow is constant, then I might be able to integrate a formula to tell me how much time was under the curve."

He pauses again. "In the end, the math is not hard, just large.

"Have you make any attempts to investigate my token?"

Signy smiles. "I've looked at it some, it's truly a marvel. I couldn't figure out much of how it was crafted with the time I had, but one thing I was hoping was that there were some craftspeople that were capable of crafting something like this that were here."

She pauses, looking again at the token that she took out of her pouch and slowly rotating the coin around, marvelling at the work that went into such a thing.

"Please tell me that this is not something that your craftsfolk consider a toy or trinket to be made by any novice apprentice."

"I know of only a handful of smiths who could craft such a thing, and a handful more who could if they were taught. It is a token of the attention, care, and skill of the craftsperson.

"While we have our loyalties, the craft is a different bond altogether. Colleagues are few and far between.

"These take some time to make, and have no value or utility. Do you know why we make them?"

This sounds like something Signy's father might've said.

Signy's lips quirk briefly in a smile.

"Because if you are not capable of crafting something like this just for the joy of the making, then you are not a craftsman you are a laborer. Or so I've been told....."

She gives him a penetrating look. "Does that mean that you were involved in the making of this?"

"You sound like your father. I don't want to worry about labor versus craft versus art, but I appreciate the joy of doing complex work with a difficult to master craft.

"If you've devoted enough of your life to master the skill, then it should be a joy to exercise that skill. It shows in the work. It shows in the love of the challenge.

"Even this one is not all I would wish it, of course. Knowing what the materials and skills you bring to a project can and can't achieve and working to surpass yourself is key to growing."

He picks up the trinket and spins it between his finger and thumb.

"The next one will have a more subtle magic upon it."

He smiles. "Tell me of your craft."

If the knowledge that The Shield knows of her relationship to Wayland, or has enough familiarity with him to draw that comparison, surprises Signy she doesn't give any outward sign.

"My craft," she says with a hint of regret in her voice, "has not had much chance to grow since leaving. I have had a chance to see things that had been barely hinted at at his forge, but so far I seem to be more caught up in all of the events and not had time to do more than set up a smithy of my own."

She gives him an appraising gaze. "Who were you apprenticed to, that helped teach you craft capable of making that."

"In the traditional cycle of appentice, journeyman, and master, it's necessary for growth to go out on your own before you know enough to be a master of the craft. It's a phase of applying what you've learned without the master to correct your errors.

"I envy you your tutelage. I learned from many smiths, but it was long after your father stopped accepting apprentices. My first real master was Tubal, and after him the sons of Ivaldi the dwarf."

Those are names of smiths her father feuded with. In some ways, fame in smithing circles could be measrured by how much Weyland wanted to pick fights with a competitor.

The trinket spins in his fingers, a soft blue glow coming from somewhere inside it.

Signy manages to avoid the temptation to drop the conversation in favor of just watching the spinning coin and trying to puzzle out just how it was put together.

"Ah. My father would no doubt be very impressed that you would have been able to learn anything at all with them for your teachers," she notes, the bone-dry tone and twitch of a smile showing exactly how much stock she placed in her father's assessment of their skill. "Though he didn't seem to have any concerns about the skills of Caric or Levon when they came calling.

"Did you ever get to meet my father?" she asks, turning her gaze away from the coin and to the Shield directly.

He shakes his head. "Not yet, although I have heard legends and lessons from my teachers. One of the outcomes of a peace would be my ability to freely travel to learn more of my profession."

"Do you mix magics with metal when you craft?"

The trinket spins to a stop. It's got a residual glow that Signy can't quite find the source of.

Signy sighs ruefully and rubs briefly at the back of her head.

"The crafting was good work," she says, quiet pride in that piece evident in her voice, "but the use of magics wasn't a success. I have some thoughts about what I should try next, and think maybe part of the problem was that my intent in that space was not as focused as it needed to be."

She sighs again.

"Perhaps after I'm finished here, I can get back to my forge for some time, to try and put into practice the lessons that I've hopefully learned."

She looks again at the coin. "Have you been able to craft other things? Even if you haven't had a chance to find additional masters to work under the coin itself is an amazing testament to what you can already do."

The Shield nods, "Thank you. If we have time to get away from this place, I can show you some of my techniques. I have crafted a few major pieces, but mostly using small, practical magics. I am not the maker of swords of legend."

He takes a deep breath. "You may keep the coin, if you wish. To study. Perhaps someday you will give me your coin."

Signy gives a genuine smile as she accepts the coin back. "I think that would be an excellent exchange, and hopefully you'll be able to come visit the forge in Rebma where I'll make it to accept."

Her face shifts as she focuses a more serious look at The Shield. "We've moved from a the coin as a token of returning to a token of a more equal exchange between the two of us. How would we go from exchanging tokens between Xanadu and the Moonriders to something in a more similar vein?"

He sighs. "I'd rather talk about Rebma, and how you smith with water to steal the currents of heat. But here's my take. The biggest sticking point is our Queen. We have sworn oaths to obey, protect, and serve her. Everything in our conflict derives from that.

"But she's not herself, and hasn't been for a long time. But it's a fine needle to thread between those who want to follow the letter of her orders and those who want to interpret their oath as being to work for the good of the kingdom, not the Queen. There are many of us who are troubled by the reports of her actions against your King.

"She doesn't have a history of being forgiving of what she sees as betrayal."

Signy gives a sympathetic smile, but doesn't immediately jump to change the topic.

"What happened to the Queen," she asks, tentatively.

"I remember my first trip to Rebma. We were descending the stairs, and it was a long trek. My companions and I found a cave that seemed like a good place to spend the night, and it had a rocky outcropping that looked vaguely like a person sitting on a throne or chair."

Her voice becomes somewhat dreamy as she goes back to that time.

"We took watches, and when it was my turn to sleep I feel like I woke, but must have been dreaming. The rock outcropping had turned into a woman with red hair floating around her head, and she was looking elsewhere and seemed to take no notice of me. I tried to get her attention, when it started to feel like the cave was going to collapse all around mSigny gives a sympathetic smile, but doesn't immediately jump to change the topic.

"What happened to the Queen," she asks, tentatively.

"I remember my first trip to Rebma. We were descending the stairs, and it was a long trek. My companions and I found a cave that seemed like a good place to spend the night, and it had a rocky outcropping that looked vaguely like a person sitting on a throne or chair."

Her voice becomes somewhat dreamy as she goes back to that time.

"We took watches, and when it was my turn to sleep I feel like I woke, but must have been dreaming. When I woke, I couldn't see my two travelling companions, and the rock outcropping had turned into a woman with red hair floating around her head, and she was looking elsewhere and seemed to take no notice of me. I tried to get her attention, when it started to feel like the cave was going to collapse all around me, and I suddenly awoke to the real cave and my companions."

She shakes her head briefly to clear the reverie.

"Was that your Queen?"

"Mayhap. Or a projection of hers into your your dream. But the Land Beneath the Waves has its own dark history and the magics and reflections of magic in that part of the great circle are not to be underestimated. What you saw could have nothing to do with my Queen.

"She tried to keep The Fall from happening, and it broke something in her instead."

Signy gives an interested look. "I know something of the stories of Tir and of Rebma, but not as much about the rest of the Circle. Amber is there, but what other kingdoms made up the circle?"

"Long ago, Paris was there, but it was utterly destroyed. Or so they say. Maybe it's a myth." He shrugs.

"It's all shifted, since the Black Road War. I really don't know what's along it, although I've travelled on it."

"There is air, and fire, water, earth. Plus, maybe, spirit or soul." Somehow, Signy's voice manages to take on an air of a booming baritone. "As with so many things, this is both Truth and a gross oversimplification."

She sighs.

"I never even knew of Amber, much less all the rest, but I wonder. Rebma is clearly water, and Tir is of the air. Amber seems to be of earth, with Mount Kolvir, so was Paris fire? King Corwin's remake definitely seems much more of a spirit. Does this mean that there was another city on the Faiella-Bionin that we lost over time?"

The Shield thinks about it for a moment. "There must be. I recall learning that there would be one, then five, then fourteen and if there were too few or too many, it was unstable. I don't know why, if that's your next question."

Signy shrugs and gives a wry grimace. "As my father is fond of saying, there's truth right up until there isn't. And I'm sure that some of my Aunts and Uncles would be happy to tell me about the maths that lead to that sequence being not just inevitable but blindingly obvious, really."

She gives a sideways look at The Shield. "I think my father would like meeting you, actually. He favored teaching people that could grasp the theoretical and apply it to the practical."

The Shield snorts at the description of her Aunts and Uncles. "Your father cultivates a fearsome image which is not unearned. I would be fascinated to meet him, perhaps when this matter is settled. You Aunts and Uncles seem well suited to talk to our Priests."

Signy gives a quick laugh, her eyes lighting up briefly with mirth. "Did your Queen ever have any descendants? Given how many sons and daughters Oberon had, and the number of children they had....."

He sighs. "There aren't even legends of such a time, but many believe it must be true. Rumors of legends of myths, lost to the generations. My cousin writes fiction, and all from her head, of the 'Lost Generation'. They're not very popular amongst the Riders, because we travel very light, but they're pretty well known amongst the women and servants.

"The two kings had two children with each of the two queens, and mystic numberology was maintained in the perfect generation of eight. She's writing one from the perspective of each of the Princesses and Princes, and she's about halfway done."

Some time after the grand and inconclusive meeting with the Marshal, Brennan retreats to his quarters. Being a suspicious type, he does take a glance with the Third Eye and then Astral Vision. He doesn't really expect to find anything, but his impression so far is that while the Moonriders are a culture of honor, the Marshal-- like Brennan-- likes to win.

When he satisfies himself that he's alone, he shuffles out Paige's card from the deck he got from Bleys and concentrates on it.

Paige answers, perhaps waking from sleep to do so. Her hair is prettily untidy. "Who calls?", she asks, although Brennan suspects that she has the knack of knowing before she answers.

Paige is one of the cousins Brennan has known the longest and likes best even if-- as is often said of Bleys-- there are reasons he shouldn't. He decides to humor her.

"It's Brennan, late of Ghenesh, on a mission of diplomacy that snowballed a little bit out of a simpler mission to escort some trespassers back home from Avalon. Have time to talk?"

She yawns. "I'll make some coffee. Want a cup?"

She gets up and shrugs into a robe, then heads elsewhere.

Brennan was going to conure some for them both, but if she wants to make some fresh he's not going to argue.

He follows that up with the stunningly clever conversational opener of, "How go things in Broceliande?"

She shrugs, and begins preparing her morning beverage. "It's a tightrope. On the one hand we have to balance the responsibility of getting to know a new forest, which will take generations, probably. On the other hand, we have to protect Xanadu from threats and also provide back line support for the Arden Rangers, and on the other hand, we've got Adonis' people still migrating around the edges of the forests. And Edan bringing in Moonriders, but that wasn't his fault. Much."

Brennan makes a politely negative noise, then says, "Your brother already puts a lot on his shoulders that isn't necessarily his fault. Let's not add that, too."

She smiles. She doesn't say she'll stop teasing her brother, but Brennan doesn't think she will.

Whether it's real or not, Brennan gets the impression of the smell of the coffee. The moon riders don't make anything like it.

"What's Ghenesh like?"

"Occupied," Brennan says, after looking for the right one-word description.

"It's far from the center, closer to the Tree than any of the Realms. Closer to the Tree than our Aunt's home away from home, too, but not by much. Far enough from the center that things get strange, but not so far that politics isn't politics. And these people are occupied. I don't have the full timeline, and might never, but it seems there was some affiliation or presence here already at the time of Jones Falls. That may have made it a convenient place to exile the ones who attacked, or the only place, I'm not sure. But the Moonriders and the native population aren't very integrated, and it's pretty clear who is in charge and who is not. You can see it just by looking down on the place from above, the building plans, the districts, the thoroughfares and obstructions."

She pours a cup of coffee and offers to pass it to Brennan. "Huh. I really should find out from the Altamarean Knights what they know about it. Occupied territory is just such an unstable political posture. Father mentioned that you'd spoken to our Grandmother."

"News travels fast. More like Grandmother came and spoke to us," Brennan says. "I was escorting our three wayward--" Brennan was about to say troublemakers before changing it to "--Moonriders, along with Raven and a growing entourage. She very ostentatiously intersected our path around Fiona's Tower, and there was nothing for it but to entertain her. I am sure she had multiple purposes in meeting us, but the stated one to inform us that, and I quote: 'Things are unsettled on the frontier'. Meaning, she was letting us know in her own way that the Moonriders are indeed on the move enough for it to be noticeable to all out in that-- this, I suppose-- region.

"How is Fiona, by the way, any word? I tried calling her a while back, but no answer."

"Troublemaker didn't say what Grandmother wanted to tell him by bringing it up, but undoubtably it was something. It always is." She sips her coffee.

"Our dear aunt is resting following her exertions on behalf of the King. I suspect that she is not resting at all, but making an attempt to convince her grandfather to tell her something useful about the Queen of Tir.

"Like all of us, Grandmother has multiple purposes to her actions. She wants an introduction to her newest great grandchild. No one can say I didn't pass the information on. If it so happens that by passing it through the King, it gets slow-walked and buys Edan a little time..." Brennan shrugs to communicate both that it isn't his fault but is also exactly as he intended. "Glad to hear that Fiona is recovering, though. Good luck to her efforts, but I have serious doubts that Dworkin is going to pick sides in this fight."

Paige doesn't look like she has serious doubts, but she doesn't contradict Brennan.

Brennan is by nature a pessimist, but he'll be absolutely thrilled to be wrong.

"Funny you should mention the Altamareans, though. Are you still in touch with them?"

She laughs, a deep throaty laugh that sounds remarkably intimate. "Van's been with me for some time, but it's been a while since I visited Altamar." Van, as Brennan may remember, is Paige's bodyguard and right-hand man.

"Ah, yes, I remember Van," Brennan says. "And it's been a while since I visited Altamar as well-- a connection I've neglected." He shrugs again as if to say, too many fires to tend. "Do you think he might be willing to share the Altamareans' perspective on their conflict, and on Ghenesh? And on the legend of Sir Firumbras, perhaps?"

"They're supposed to be very similar, culturally. Or they were. I wonder if they've changed in the aftermath of losing at Jones Falls. You're probably in the best position to judge that, having been a guest in each, of course."

"Maybe," Brennan says. "There are some things they can't hide, like the underlying tensions between the two groups. But I'm not sure we're getting the full picture, either. There's a quasi-religious monastic group, for instance. They're mentioned a whole lot, they seem to be important, and they're a group I really want to talk to, but I'm beginning to get the impression that the more military types are keeping me away from them."

She nods. "I haven't found the Altamareans to be particularly religious. It's hard to have faith in an ineffable power when most people would think you are one yourself."

"Tell it to the boy who grew up in the Shadow with human sacrifices dedicated to his family," Brennan says. "It'll sour you on the whole concept. And then, yes, knowing what we know about the descent of the Kings and Queens. I'm rather curious to know if this religion-- whatever it actually is-- is something the Queen condones, controls, condemns, or what.

"We can ask," she says.

"I can bring Van in, if you'd like. He may be out chasing after the twins, but if he's here, I'm sure he'd love the opportunity to talk to you."

"Ah, the Twins!" Brennan says, with a smile. "How are they?"

She smiles, not bothering disguise to her fondness for her wild boy and girl. "Making trouble, just like I'd expect from my father's grandchildren. They met Lark at Edan's demonstration and they're already plotting how to get her to join them in woodland misadventures."

Brennan smiles, but lets that pass, because the last Brennan heard Lark is going to be touring Shadow by sea with Martin.

Paige suddenly starts speaking to someone at her camp.

"Van! It's like you read my mind. Don't do that, you'll be shocked by what's in there!" She beckons to someone. "Come here, my cousin has some questions about Altamar, if you'd help us. Hold my hand and we can speak to him."

A moment later, a confused looking Altamarean knight joins the contact. "Your highness," he says. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Well met once again, Van," he says. "I don't know how much of this news you know, but I am in Ghenesh, escorting several of its residents home after the recent battle. It has turned into something of a mission of diplomacy." For some definitions of diplomacy, anyway. "Some of these negotiations might end up depending on historical developments, which leaves us at something of a disadvantage." Brennan's irritation at that disadvantage leaks through the connection.

"That's where I'm hoping you might be able to help, if you're willing to talk about your peoples' connection to theirs."

"Of course. I don't know much."

"I guess we can start with the basics-- how exactly are the two peoples related? I've gathered there was some sort of schism, a long time ago, but I don't know when or over what issue. Seems to have been before Jones Falls, though."

Van starts speaking in the connection. There's not much physical movement to his face as he speaks. "Yeah, we were a long time before that. It was near the start of the war. We were before the schism that led to Weirmonken being settled. Shortly after the colonization of Ghenesh, my ancestors were having a crisis of colonialism. They were too close to the natives, and too far from the Queen. War broke out, and we fought against the troops from Tir na n*Oacute;g, the soldiers who would become the core of the Moonriders.

"You could say it was a crisis of what a colony should be, and our side of the argument was that it was about exploiting the resources of the land and the Queen's side considered people as resources.

"Our hope, and I mean the ancestors' hope, was that we would be too far and too unimportant to be a concern of Tir. We had a whole shadow, and we knew it, and it was far from the Golden Circle.

"They underestimated the Queen's reaction to treason. We retreated and retreated and retreated, and eventually were led from Ghenesh to Altamar by Prince Bleys. We believe he was working as an agent of Oberon, but he would not say. Perhaps Oberon needed to keep such things from his fellow monarchs.

"And that's how we ended up owing Prince Bleys a three-fold debt."

Brennan stirs with curiosity at several points during Van's answer, but restrains himself from interrupting. He does shoot a glance to Paige at the mention of the Weir, to see if she understands the significance of the reference. An occasional frown, too, which would be more easily hidden were this not a Trump conversation.

Possibly not from Paige, though. She doesn't interrupt, but she has always had a deep understanding of people. All trump artists do, even Brennan's father, somehow.

He thinks a bit after the answer is complete, prioritizing questions, before asking: "Which war was this near the start of? The ancient conflict when the four realms went to war with each other? My understanding is that war happened before any of the now-living children of Oberon were born, including Bleys." If it helps, Brennan will mention a few names he's collected from times before Benedict, to see if he can contextualize it further-- Osric, Finndo, Carol of Paris, Laudine, Morgne, Roland and Firumbras. Firumbras is an intentional name drop and he's watching for Van's reaction to it.

"Those are legendary names, or were until Sir Firumbras returned, anyway. Our history has so many legends, and no reason to trust any of them to be true. The cities and the families survive, while individuals live and die. There was a long time when the cities held an uneasy truce, and that there had been cycles of war, peace, and conquest and rebellion in proxy wars. The legends were the stories of a people who invented their own histories, I always thought."

He thinks about this for a moment. "Of course we're skeptical of the claims of the Queen and her supporters, since we necessarily reject their claim that we deserved to be destroyed. It's hard to be sympathetic to that ideology when it's aimed at you.

"And it's hard to say when any of this happened. Time flows between places are difficult enough before the Moonriders started borrowing their own future. But Prince Bleys was around, so if you know his chronology with respect to Amber, it wss in his lifetime."

Brennan thinks that means sometime between Amber's last 600 years and Jones Falls, which might be a few hundred years behind the present.

"Ah, much more recent than I was thinking," Brennan says. "Before the Battle of Jones Falls, but after the Tir became as it is, and people fell to sea?"

"Older than that. Tir-na nOgth locked to the moon had not happened. I may not have a good handle on when. I am not a historian. But we were a colony of a real and non-shadowy Tir. They warred on us incessantly until we were led to Altamar.

"I see," Brennan says. "It would appear that I'm not as familiar with Bleys' history as I thought I was. Or more likely that my timeline of Tir-na Nog'th is off. I'll have to rectify that the next time I talk to him. You mention the Weir, though. I've only recently learned that there is a connection between your peoples. If I tell you that I know virtually nothing beyond that fact, wan you add more details?"

Van looks sheepish. "I didn't pay a lot of attention to history class. They rebelled against the Queen of Air and Darkness and were cursed for it. Don't they turn into beasts? Or aren't some of them beast-headed creatures? I don't remember the details. We didn't have contact with them."

"Fair enough," Brennan says. "But that's a good transition to another topic. The Moonriders seem to have a..." Brennan still isn't quite sure what collective noun to use, "... quasi-religous group, or order, or caste that functions as a repository of lore. I don't think they're exclusively historians, but that seems to be a function they serve. If you know anything about them, I'd be delighted, but what I'm wondering if there is a similar group among your people. And whether I might ask you for an introduction to them at some point. Not right now, unless one is close at hand-- I think it would be unwise for me to leave Ghenesh."

Van nods at that last. "And unwise for me to go there, most likely." He breathes in. "We had priests, many years ago, but ours died out, more or less. Or at least they're not prominent in politics or culture. In Tir, they were supported by royal patronage. I don't know how they've changed since they were separated from the Queen. You can probably ask them."

"One last question," Brennan says, "or maybe one last topic, that may speak more directly to your interests: These powers they have over time and space. How recent a development are those?" And then the part that Brennan thinks Van might have some opinions on: "Have you faced them in the field?" Brennan leaves the status of 'you' ambiguous-- he'd be interested in either Van's personal experience or what he's heard from others.

"We rejected service to the Queen over the research leading to that development. They are hard to beat in a war, at least if they have sufficient Moonriders. If they can make a choice that leads to their victory, then they have the ability to have made it. We do not seek them out, and our shadows are far enough apart that the first time I laid eyes on one was when they marched past us on their way to the funeral of your King in Chaos.

"We chose to stay outside with the other troops in order to avoid them. I think our Marshall was correct to hold us back."

"They can be beaten," Brennan says. "This is not the time for it, but I am more than willing to discuss the recent battle with you and your Marshal. Why was that technique the cause of the rupture between your peoples, though?"

Van shrugs. "It was long before my time. The way it gets explained to us was 'the cost was too high, and they were willing to split with the Queen rather than condemn themselves to whatever fate they thought it would bind them to.'"

"Hmm. If you should ever discover the answer to that, contact me, if Paige is willing. That cost, and that fate, may turn out to be important. Call it a hunch." Brennan has nothing more for Van, so he thanks him for his time. Unless Paige objects, Brennan politely dismisses him, and returns to the private conversation he was having with his cousin.

"So," he asks her. "We missed you at the recent gathering of cousins. How much have you heard?"

Paige laughs. "I'm glad I was missed. Things needed my attention here. I've heard a bit, but I'd rather have your version. Did I hear there was almost a fight?"

Brennan just closes his eyes and shakes his head in residual frustration, which is to say, yes.

By force of habit he makes a quick Astral scan before answering, too.

He sees nothing untoward.

"Probably two. It was an ugly situation and complicated. Marius had been struck down from behind just a short while before, so he had good reason to be angry. But the way to handle it was a formal challenge to duel, so the seconds could deal with it later and with cooler heads, and I said as much. It didn't work, at least not for long. It just bled over into the larger discussion of the Queen's degree of culpability in the whole situation, evidence for, evidence against, all that. Marius seemed to take it as a guilty verdict in absentia-- which I promise you is not what I was saying or hearing.

"That's when it got ugly. Accusations were made that I don't think can be taken back very easily, against Edan and Folly and Martin. He left by Trump shortly after that. We're not sure where to."

Brennan shakes his head again. "It was a complete s**t-show, that end of things."

Brennan will run down the pro and con evidence and basically describe that part of the conclave blow by blow if Paige wants, but that's Brennan's basic spin on things.

"Oh, yes. That's what I'd heard. I didn't think it had gotten that bad, but I have been somewhat self-exiled for a bit. I don't think Vialle liked me very much, but I didn't think she was up to actual treason. It seems bigger than her capabilities.

"But what I think Marius may be thinking is that if Random and Folly and Martin think it's true, than it really doesn't matter what the truth is. I think he's conflating politics with justice, and upset that the one may preclude the other."

Brennan's eyebrow twitches when she mentions justice.

"That may be part of it, but even given circumstances and emotions, he was out of line at the end. And I'm saying that as a brother in arms, veteran of the same war." Brennan shakes his head again. Even aside from the Trump contact, it would probably be clear to Paige that the whole thing bothers him considerably.

"Does anyone know what Uncle Random wants?"

"About the Queen? He was clear that he hasn't rendered a final judgment. I have the distinct impression that's at least partly because we don't have all the facts, yet, but I'm inclined to agree so maybe I was reading in what I wanted to read in. Either way, my mission here isn't necessarily to bring her home-- to paraphrase, that would require some option other than 'She's a traitor' or 'She's a dangerous tool.' I intend to look for that third options, but I can't say I know what it would even look like or how we would establish its truth. And it's complicated by the child," Brennan says, quietly.

Paige nods along with his words. "Which one?", she replies, equally quietly, and then continues as if she's not expecting an answer.

Probably because in context, Brennan must certainly have meant the one they were almost all knelt down to swear fealty to. He is comfortable leaving that unsaid because it also means he doesn't have to fill Paige in on Folly's new child, either.

"Vialle was always insecure, and she did things that make it hard for her to come back even if she's as innocent as I am." Paige blinks slowly. "She wanted people to think she was indespensible to the King's newly noticeable maturity. I didn't respect this myth adequately, so I was not a court favorite." She smiles. "No matter how much people wanted me to be in the anti-Martin camp."

"The motive is classic, in either variant," Brennan says. "What really worries me, though, is that we might never have enough certainty aside from the motive to arrive at justice."

"Where I was born, if you were a poor woman who screwed up, you were sent to a prison. If you were a comfortable woman who screwed up, you were sent to a nunnery. And if you were a rich enough woman, you were sent to an isolated castle to live out your days in exile.

"Justice could be a lot of things, not all of which will seem fair, especially for a woman in the way of what a powerful man wants. Queens seldom get justice, and when they do, it's usually final. What would justice look like for the Queen if the King was already tired of her before she was a threat to the kingdom?"

Paige's face looks like she's moving closer to a candle or a fireplace, getting brighter and redder as she approaches it. If she's not moving, it's either an impressive display of trump control or an unconscious reaction to her thoughts on justice and queens.

"I think it depends on quite a bit more than whether and when the King got tired of her. And that phrase, 'threat to the kingdom' is doing a lot of complicated work, for just four words. But if you mean it in the passive sense, that she became a threat by happenstance or genuine accident rather than by design or by acts whose consequences she could have reasonably foreseen... I don't know, yet. I would not wish to see her executed. I suppose she would have to be made proof-- or at least reasonably so-- against threat again, somehow. Someone would have to at least consider the risk and the effort spent doing it against..." he waves his hand to indicate the universe, "... every other threat and lost opportunity.

"It applies to the whole mission, in some degree. I'm not in any doubt that my mission is to play for Xanadu and the King's side. But it bothers me a great deal that I haven't been able to pin down why that ancient war started, much less who might have been in the right or the wrong of it.

Paige nods, looking sympathetic. Brennan can't tell whether that's a trick of the trumps or her actual expression. "Can the King afford to be just, if there's an ongoing risk? Can he afford not to, if it convinces people he won't treat them fairly? I'm not sure this matter will be settled by anyone's ideals, but by pragmatic considerations.

"I'm not even sure that's wrong."

"We're not the first and probably won't be the last to ask those questions," Brennan says. "Or this one: What's the point of Order if it can only be maintained by injustice? Same as your question, just from more of an overhead angle. I'm still holding out hope, though."

"Oh," she adds after a moment, "for what it's worth, every woman in the castle who was paying any attention knew that the King wasn't happy with Vialle before Cambina was murdered. Ask around if you don't believe me."

Brennan shrugs. "I'm aware, and I believe you. Not sure if that alone is an excuse for an active, complicit betrayal, though. Certainly not one as far reaching as that."

Paige shrugs back. "It might not have started that way. Lots of treason doesn't.' She doesn't say like our parents, or my personal treason, but it's clear that not all treason should lead to justice.

"But she's not very sympathetic even if you just count what happened with Cambina. And that seems like it had to be active and complicit."

She thinks for a second. "If I were the King, I'd put her or trial for that. Probably never mention the whole take-over-the-kingdom treason."

"I especially count what happened to Cambina," Brennan says, and the temperature of his voice seems to drop by a hundred and eighty degrees. "I suspect that not all the culpability lies with her, though."

Paige nods sympathetically. "We all miss her, and justice for her would be at least something." She takes a deep breath. "Do you think she'd already made whatever bargain it was before she convinced Cambina to take her to Tir? I am not so sure. She might've been compromised when she was captured, but that's the Rubicon, that's when she acted."

Paige looks around the room she's in, and then back at Brennan. "How does that silver chain fit into all of this? What does your friend who was on the other end of it have to say about her?"

"I don't think we have any way of knowing when she made that deal, and we have precious few witnesses, none of them reliable. File that in the fat folder of reasons I despair of getting to anything like justice, here," Brennan says. "And I have absolutely no idea what to make of the Chain. It has the feel of some millenia-long convoluted plot, but if it is, I can't make heads or tails of it. As for Firumbras, he's from so far before our time, I think it's hard for him to have a reasonable opinion. He still remembers not only an intact Tir-na Nog'th, but an intact Par-Ys." As always, Brennan manages to add the pronunciation twist that distinguishes Carol's city from Corwin's.

"But the three Moonriders we took off the board in Avalon... I think there are some doubts, there, maybe exploitable, maybe not. They didn't indicate where they stand personally on the issue, but there are apparently incidents where some elements of their society-- Tiren in general or Moonriders specifically, I'm not sure-- have decided to oppose the Queen on matters of honor and principle. Van's story sounded like one of those writ large, and it probably indicates just how well those incidents were received by the Queen. In that respect, I think Firumbras' final opinion, if he has one, will be extremely important".

Paige doesn't seem to have an opinion on the last. "You've seen how he interacts with the Moonriders, and I haven't, so I'll defer to you. The impression I had from the Altamareans, and not just from Van, was that rebellion, betrayal, and banishment were a rare but recurring theme amongst the people of Tir, and that each group that left moved the others that much closer to the Queen. Van is a nice boy, and pretty, but he's young and doesn't have any kind of long-term understanding of his people, like asking a fish to explain water. Which Troublemaker tells me he has done."

"That's an interesting dynamic to think about," Brennan says, "The idea that the cycle of division and rebellion just acts to purify-- or harden, or radicalize, choose your level of cynicism-- the core in-group. Not sure what to do with that insight, immediately, but that definitely gets tucked in my back pocket."

"It's got the potential to work in two ways. Removing a portion of the population changes the spectrum and moves the median both towards the other extreme and decreases the standard deviation from the norm. And by creating an expelled group, the remaining group has a focus for out-group discrimination and are likely to reinforce behaviors that show that they are not deviants."

Brennan hadn't needed the explanation, but he politely lets Paige finish.

Paige seems to realize that she's gotten more academic than she likes to admit she can be. She laughs, "Or at least that's what I remember from a college professor I once slept with. I thought he was going to teach me something very different about standard deviations." She tugs down on her shirt, brushing away imaginary lint from her décolletage.

"Mm-hm," Brennan agrees. It's obvious by inflection that he noticed that pre-emptive deflection-- perish the thought someone should realize she's smart-- and chooses not to call her out on it. At least not at this time.

"It's a pity Firumbras intends to leave. He'd be a powerful voice against the Queen, if you could convince him to lead the opposition."

"Oh, you think?" Brennan says, with a lazy grin. "I will try to convince him to stay, and not just for the morale advantage. He's a friend and a peer, and you know how rare that is for us. I will miss him. But I know something of what he left behind, so my heart may not be in it. It would be a hard thing to convince me to stay if Cambina were just at the end of a long trip into the past. I am sufficiently conflicted that I've offered to help him return, if that's what he decides in the end."

She nods. "Sometimes it's a pity the redheads aren't the utter amoral jerks that Jerod thinks we are. It would be simpler if we didn't have standards."

"I thought we'd made some progress there," Brennan admits. "Regardless, I can't make a big show about caring about justice for the queen, and then treat a friend like a lifeless piece on a chessboard."

"Regardless of the Queen, I don't think you'd do that to a friend. I think your sense of Justice is too well developed for that at all." Whether by intuition or experience, she doesn't suggest that this is a reaction to the injustice of the circumstance of his father, instead she changes the subject.

She tosses her hair, and brushes it back from her forehead. "I think if the queen has friends, they would be petitioning for mercy, not justice. I don't expect Marius will come around to that anytime soon."

"Given current circumstances, I can't exactly hie off and go hunting him down, and I'm not sure I'm high on his list of people to reach out to. But if he does, yeah, that would be a better approach than throwing a fit and assuming the best about her while assuming the worst about everyone else," Brennan agrees. So, message received, not that it can necessarily go anywhere directly.

"Any other topics from the gathering stand out?"

"I think you're in the middle of the big 'time to do something about the pesky Moonriders' topic, and a growing number of our cousins are involved in the 'time to do something about the pesky Klybesians' topic."

Paige goes into family gossip mode. "Did you catch up on all the newcomers? We've had another wave. Vere got a brother, Jerod got a sister. Oh, and a daughter. He's getting her quarters in the castle. Real family man, our Jerod. Depths I didn't imagine. Oh, and Lilly gets two sisters, but they're on her mother's side.

"Any newcomers to the family out in your part of the 'verse?"

"Only the ones that we rescued from the Klybesians, lately: Misao, a child of Lucas; Delta probably from somewhere on the Rebman end of things; and Alex, who looks like he might be Gerard's, but I have an outside bet on Corwin. There wasn't a lot of time for more than first-name introductions, though. Get in, get 'em out, get ourselves out before the rubble stopped bouncing. Had to bring Huon back, too, but I guess we can't win them all."

That last might be Brennan's dry humor. But it probably isn't.

"Haven't heard of those others. What's this about Jerod having a sister?"

Paige nods. "I thought someone would have told you. Cambina had a sister and half-brother back in Weirmonken. I haven't met her, but the thought is that she's also Eric's and her mother didn't tell Eric. My ... friends at the Castle tell me that she looks a lot like her mother, in a way that Cambina didn't. I've seen sketches. They all have the same prominent cheekbones and the eyes."

"She was raised by wolves, though. Unlike Cambina who was raised by Eric."

Paige thinks for a second. "Rowen is her name. I've no idea if she's a full shifting Weir."

"I see," Brennan says.

It's in that tone of voice he uses when he is postponing a conclusion about something, but isn't optimistic about liking it once it arrives.

The silence stretches out long enough that it seems that might be all Brennan has to say on the subject, but at length he adds: "Did they know each other? Of each other? More to the point, someone has told her what happened to Camina?" Brennan understands Paige might not know. But he has to ask.

"Martin brought her in. Even he's not that oblivious; he must've. I hear he ended up talking to Jerod to let him know and then ended up going with Jerod to capture Chew and didn't come back. He ... is personally motivated to be anywhere but Xanadu at the moment. Sadly, he's not going to talk to me about it." She sighs. That bridge was burned.

"He knows he's not alone unless by choice," Brennan says. "We don't intend to let him forget it."

She pauses. "Oh, did anyone tell you they hauled Chew back? If not, I suppose I just did."

Brennan smiles, all teeth, all ice. "Tell them to leave a piece for me.

"Anything come up about Amber's Pattern?"

Paige smiles, and her teeth are like diamonds in the red glow of the candle flame. "Did anyone talk about you, do you mean? Yes, and I wanted to hear about it from you, directly. My ... sources might've been slightly confused. But it was definitely about you."

"No, I asked it how I meant it," Brennan says, without returning her smile.

"So, yes, I want to reforge the Pattern of Amber, but I consider the Pattern, and Amber, to be more important than I am."

Paige is unfazed by his correction and answers his second point instead. "Have you consulted father or Aunt Fiona? I'm not the mathemagician either of them is, but I did ask Troublemaker why re-writing the pattern killled Grandfather. So he's got opinions.

"I always thought the primal was the important one, and the second order patterns were less important than Dworkin's pattern, except in that they reinforce and support it. And that if you had more than four, one of the others would merge, or maybe move to a different valence shell, or something like that."

She sighs. "I suppose that asking Corwin if he re-wrote the Paris pattern or if it's unrelated wouldn't be helpful, but I wish I knew the answer to that. I suspect it would help you on your quest."

"No, I haven't," Brennan says. "There are more immediate concerns, such as..." he waves his hand to indicate Ghenesh, and by extension the Moonrider problem up to and including the Queen of Air and Darkness problem. "And I figured I'd work my way up the chain, if somewhat selectively, when the time was right. I suspect you're right about Corwin, and I suspect he did re-write Paris' pattern to at least some extent. I've got my own opinions on why he survived and Oberon didn't. What made you think four Secondaries was a limit? And on the topic of numbers, did Ambrose's theory about the number of Patterns corresponding to the number of Trump suits come up?"

If not, Brennan briefly outlines the idea, while admitting that he didn't-- and doesn't-- quite understand it. But Paige knows more about Trumps than Brennan does.

Paige listens, but it seems like she doesn't think it's that's simple. "Hmmm. Rebma, Amber, Tir, and Paris, plus the primal. Hannah has some theory about why there have to be six, but maybe six is really five, or something. Cross out Amber and add Xanadu and Corwin's Paris and we're back to four or five. But Benedict is supposed to have one in Avalon. It's not like there is a fifth suit to make a correspondence with. Does Benedict's pattern affect the number of veils? I know I walked a pattern with 3, and I've heard the story of four veils on Xanadu's pattern often enough not to discount it. Why isn't it five?"

She shakes her head. "There's so much we don't know and not enough sources of truth."

"I've been to Avalon," Brennan says. "Didn't view its Pattern, but there's one there, and a path to Tir. Continue to Xanadu, then Paris, then Rebma, and back to Avalon. The Faiella-Bionin surrounds the Primal. I haven't had time to sit down and prove this one way or the other, but if each secondary resonates with the others, but not the Primal, that gets you four veils. I don't find that satisfying, but that's the theory I've heard that makes the most sense. Maybe if I prove it, it will sit better."

Paige says, "Hmm, so they're reflections of the other secondaries? I'm not a math wizard, but I can set up the basic equations. I guess we'd know something if you succeed and there's suddenly a 5th veil. Or would at some point the patterns set up a further shell of layers outside the Faiella-Bionin?

"I wish I knew how long Benedict has had a pattern. Is it ... recent?"

"Depends on your definition. My definition says: Kinda. I get the impression that when Corwin went missing, one of the places Benedict started looking was either Corwin's Avalon, or the shadows near to it. He liked what he saw and decided to make it permanent, so it's in that time frame. The place and the people do grow on you, but the place is definitely Real," he says, even though he dislikes the Family terminology for that sort of thing. "Scratch the surface and you'll find it's not a place you name your child 'Corwin' because they remember either him or a Shadow of him. Dig deeper, and you'll start hearing about Lir. Its history extends quite a ways back.

"And my best hunch is that, yes, another veil would appear. I don't think it would be as immediately noticeable and destructive as what Obern did to the Primal, though," Brennan says. "Maybe locally. It's not like we have a vast case history to draw on."

"It's vexing, isn't it?," she replies. "I can reach into my pouch and call up three Uncles who've written one, and yet not a one of them can tell me mathematically what they did. Sometimes I feel like the infamous deaf composer, who can write the music that they can't perform.

"If you do re-write the pattern, I'll write up the case study of that, dearest cousin."

Paige smiles. She probably would, although the audience would be limited.

"I'll try to prove the validity of what I'm doing while I'm doing it, then," Brennan says. It's partly in jest, but partly not, because he follows up with, "I would prefer never to have a situation ever again where this is needed, but it sure would be nice to have that knowledge if we ever need it again.

"And Paige? Thank you for not lecturing me and telling me not to do it. But promise me if you ever think that lecture becomes... necessary... you'll deliver it."

"Ideally more quickly than my father delivered the same lecture to your father, and perhaps before a cell is needed, but thank you for your trust in my judgement."

Raven has had some time to explore the town while Signy and Brennan conduct their negotiations and other business. She's been in and out of the shops and gotten a good look at both the natives of Ghenesh, who seem to be subject to the Moonriders, and here and there of the families that the Moonriders left behind them.

She's moving through the shopping district when she catches sight of a young woman, pale and slim, gesturing to her from an alleyway between buildings. If she had to guess, Raven would figure the woman was of the same kindred as the Moonriders, although she doesn't seem to have the same terrible blessing that they do: the one that takes them out of time.

Her expression, to Raven, looks terrible and determined. She's afraid of something.

Well, it's not the first time Raven's been beckoned into an alley by a woman, but the terrified part is new. Still, this could be along the lines of what she's been fishing for, so after a surreptitious glance around the shopping area to make sure she's not immediately under watch by anyone else, she heads towards the alley.

"Miss?" she says when she's close enough that her voice will be lower than the sounds of the market. "You all right?"

"Not really," she says at the same low volume, half-smiling all sharp and feral, "but that's not why I need your help. You're with the Amber party, aren't you?"

Raven snorts in amusement as she comes to a stop and regards the woman. "All right, I asked for that. Aye, I'm with them. Why?"

The woman looks as if she is a warrior, but one on hard times. She takes a moment to breathe deeply and steady herself. "I'm not from here, but I've heard of you all. I am from a place much nearer to your Amber, and I need to try to send a message home. My people are in danger because they have been infiltrated by agents of these Moonriders." Her voice is conspiratorially low, but Raven thinks she's much more of a straightforward fighter than anyone who is used to sneaking or deception.

Raven considers her for a moment. "Right. So first of all, I ain't agreeing to anything without a little more detail, or at least not anything more than unless you give me a good reason not to, I can keep my mouth shut. Who're your people? What place are they from? And what name d'you want to give me?"

"I'm Chirope," the woman says. "I was raised in Pontus, as an Amazon, but my mother is descended from the old Moonriders. That's why we were brought back here. I'd rather go back to Pontus; there are people I miss there." Her face tightens with some emotion. "But the thing is, there's a Prophetess in Pontus. That's why my mother dragged me away. And now I know why, which is that the Prophetess is dangerous to Pontus. And I need to tell someone so they can get that message back to Pontus."

Chirope continues, "I'd go myself, but I can't travel by myself without the straight tracks and I can't find them the way my grandmother--she's further back than that, but that's what she wants me to call her--can. So I'm looking for someone--a woman, ideally, but you'll do if you're careful--to carry a message to Pontus for me."

"All right," Raven says, frowning as she turns all that over in her head. "A message like that, I can do. I got more questions, but let me start with a couple of easy ones to ask - why a message and not asking to be brought back? Why's this prophetess dangerous?"

"Do you know who the Klybesians are?" Chirope asks, watching Raven closely for a reaction.

Raven scowls, clearly not thrilled to hear that particular name. "Aye, I know a bit about 'em. Whole pack of monks that've got a bit too much interest in Amber and those that come from her, who turn up too bloody often with their fingers in pies they ain't supposed to have fingers in. Seem to have taken a shine to kidnapping, too. They mixed up with this prophetess, or they mixed up in why you ain't of a mind to pass more than a message?"

Chirope laughs. "The former. I'd go if I thought I could get away, but it would take a Prince of Amber to get me out of here. And a lot of trouble. The Prophetess is from one of their orders of women. They claim to worship our goddesses, but they really worship the Unicorn. Not that there's anything wrong with the Unicorn, but she's not what they claim to worship, and that's the crime. And where the barest Klybesian fingertip is found, they soon mean to wrap their whole hands around the place," she finishes.

Raven snorts. "Oh, aye, just a Prince of Amber. Be sure to drop a word in one's ear next time I see 'em. Or maybe I could ask a couple of their kin that happen to be along for this mission, if you've a mind to get outta here anyway and it's a problem less of needing a son of the old king and more of needing someone that can do at least some of what they can, but that's the kind of offer that might have to wait for us to finish the diplomacy that's going on and the folk in question would have to agree with me that bringing someone who's lost back home is worth our time. Who's your message to? Anyone in particular?"

Chirope watches Raven carefully through her lashes as Raven talks about the differences between Princes and other Amber kin. She considers the question, turning it round in her head, visibly. "To the Queen, ultimately, but you'd have to find someone the Queen trusts to deliver it. Aristomache. Aiella." A sigh, and she adds, "Penthelisea. Those are three women who would believe you if you told them it was from me. I have a token, which you could take, and they'd know it was mine."

There's a long pause and she adds, "Do you mean that about the other kin of Amber? I only heard there were princes. and maybe a few princesses, but they didn't let the princesses do much. That they were considered unfit." Which Chirope says like that's the dumbest thing she ever heard.

"There were just princes and a few princesses for a long time, so far's anyone knew," Raven agrees, with a faint smile. "But turns out, you make friends with enough locals in enough ports of call, eventually you come back and some of 'em have 'a baby on each knee,' like the song says. And some of those have got kids, too. Can't promise anything, because most of those princes and princesses have got an awful lot more experience under their belts than the kids do, but an honest look to see if it's doable or not, that's a thing I can ask for. If you want it. And if you don't want, or it ain't possible, I can take a token and find those three, if you'll tell me a bit more about your Pontus."

"Pontus is the land of women," Chirope says. "Only women can live there, and men can only visit with permission, or for certain festivals. We worship the goddesses, serve our Queen, and generally live our lives happily. Some women, like my mother and I, come as refugees from other realms. Thalaestris is our Queen. We have heroines among us, women of legend, like Aiella and Asteria and Penthelisea. But our number is small, thirty score and less."

Raven nods. "Aye, all right. I think I can work with that, but I gotta think about it a little to be sure. Now - what's happened that you're scared? Ain't the fact that there's a party from Amber in town; that's just convenient for passing the message. So what else is it?"

"I don't want to stay here, and I don't want to be a Moonrider and take their oaths, if that's even possible," though clearly Chirope thinks it might be, "and I don't want to be--whatever you want to say about what the people here who aren't Moonriders are. I want to go home to Pontus, and I want Pontus to be safe," Chirope says.

Raven nods. "Aye. But that ain't quite the answer I was looking for. In a place like this, where the only conflict I'm seeing is invaders and folks who were invaded, and aye, that's probably going to boil over at some point but it ain't there yet - well, it's not the nicest place you could be stuck, but unless you're of a mind to feed the fire and make that boil-over happen, it ain't the worst either. It's the kind of place I had a hard time talking my crew into leaving sometimes, at least until I reminded 'em that we were trying to go home, and we sure weren't scared while we were there. Desperate to get home, aye, but not scared." She pauses, pointedly, before finishing with, "And you looked like you'd seen a ghost or something when you flagged me down. Why, Chirope?"

She looks for a second as if she was going to flee, but takes a deep breath. She laughs, but it's more of an escape of emotions than because anything is remotely funny to her. "I'm not ... It sounds so melodramatic. I think the sisterhood will do something to me if they know I'm exposing their plans for Pontus."

Raven snorts. "If that sisterhood's connected to the monks, that ain't melodrama; that's good sense. You think they're watching you here?"

She looks relieved that Raven is taking her seriously. "Physical conflict, I'd have no problem with, even amongst the knights, and they don't fight cleanly, not as far as Pontus would see it, anyway. They can do things to your mind, and if they break you, it's not something you can undo.

"They haven't been impatient with me yet, but I've crossed a line. They suspect I'm not loyal."

Raven holds up a hand. "Wait, hold up - which they? We're talking about a lot of theys here. We back to the they that's the Moonriders you were saying you don't want to join? I thought you mentioned that as a 'there's only so many options here' and not a pressing thing."

Chirope takes a breath, clearly to slow down. "There are lots of theys, yes. And it's complicated and I can't always tell what the relationships are. But I'm technically beholden to my materfamilias, who is a member of the council and who would find it inconvenient if I were to come to the attention of the Diaconate of the Hisbah. Or the council might decide to act to either check her or to prevent an embarrassment before the Knights."

She sighs, but doesn't seem to be less worried. "It's complicated."

"And full of things you ain't mentioned yet," Raven observes. "Look, I'm gonna ask stupid questions again. It ain't because I don't believe you; it's because I've gotta take this back and make a case for maybe taking you with us when we go, and I'm pretty sure that won't be as easy as 'look, I found her; can I keep her?' So I'm trying to get as much of the picture as I can of what's going on, because I'm getting the idea you ain't gonna be all that easy to find later and I'm not playing messenger for the next week trying to get questions answered anyway. Who's this Diac - " She pauses, frowning. "Diaconate? That the sisterhood you were talking about? And what've they got to do with the Knights?"

Chirope looks like she's got something to say about the first part of Raven's response, but instead answers the direct question.

"Deacons of the Hisbah is the group that maintains order amongst the lower castes. Diaconate is their title. It's an archaic word for the college of Deacons. Both the sisterhood and the Knights are separate from it and their members are usually not subject to the diaconate, but I'm not a sister, so I might get singled out. You can probably find books about them in the library at the temple, but take them with a grain of salt.

"They are feared rather than respected."

"With what I've seen here, that ain't a surprise." Raven nods. "Ok - sisterhood? All I know I've seen so far has been the knights and the priests."

She nods. "Here, it's not a secret organization, but it's not public. Like a religion, but not worshiping proper gods and goddesses. They were originally a part of a some pagan animal-worshiping cult, but they only kept the forms from that. Now they're sort of a support organization for women who want to be neither priests nor knights.

"I know I've made them sound like they're selling baked goods to sponsor native education and betterment, but they're much more more ruthless than that. Their missionary work is probably only second to the Klybesians. And if they've become influenced by those bastards, we've got worse problems."

"Starting to think there's a lot more religion going on around here than anybody wants to let on." Raven shakes her head. "Right. So we've got knights and priests, the Diaconate and the sisters - all Moonrider-kin? And the sisters are wanting you to join them?"

She shrugs. "It's not like Pontus, where I know the gods are with us. Here, it's like a way to control the natives. They're all children of the moonlight."

"The sisters... do not care if I join them. My family cares that I do not embarrass them and the sisterhood is the equivalent of being sent to the army to become a warrior-woman." She smiles, grimly. "They see me as a child."

Raven chuckles. "I ran away to join the navy to get away from the only family I thought I had," she says. "Ain't a thing that works for everybody, and from what I saw of the folks that got shoved there by their family instead, it ain't a good way to make anybody happy except the one doing the pushing. What else do I need to know? Or that you want me to know? I ain't picky, but like I said - cover what you got."

"This is all still new to me; I wasn't raised here. I don't know the ins and outs the way a Moonrider's child would. And I don't want to. I want to go home to Pontus and I want Pontus to be safe," Chirope explains. "I was caught snooping on the Prophetess in Pontus and my mother decided to flee after that. And my Grandmother found us after we left. Or maybe she knew where we were all along and it was fine as long as we stayed there." She shrugs.

Raven pauses, frowning a little, and then says carefully, "This might be rude, but I'm starting to figure out that there's a lot more that can ride on family ties than I ever knew as a kid. Who's your Grandmother?"

Chirope nods once. "It's a good question. In Pontus, we'd call her O Stratigós, But The Strategist is how she's known here. They have a strange aversion to names here, but they give everyone a title as soon as they can.

"I hadn't met her until she grabbed us when we left Pontus."

"Aye, I'd noticed the name thing," Raven agrees. "Don't think the Strategist is one we've run into. She doesn't work with the Marshall at all, does she?"

Chirope looks uncertain. "She's coming up with strategy for someone. It's not like there's very clear demarcation of who's doing what. Before you asked, I'd've said that of course she's working with the Marshall, but I think the answer may be that she's working in parallel to the Marshall and towards the same ends.

"Besides, what good is a strategist to someone who can go back in time and fix his own mistakes?" Chirope doesn't laugh, exactly, but she shrugs and smiles and makes a noise that Raven can only interpret as one.

Raven snorts at that. "Aye, well. Maybe it's too much work to go back all the time to fix your mistakes? Who knows. You hear anything about their queen and the Strategist, by any chance?"

The Pontan shakes her head., slowly. "Not specifically her, but the Queen is in everyone's thoughts and on everyone's tongues. There are rumors that she is dead, that she has returned, that she committed horrific crimes, that the Marshall intends to depose her and set himself up as King.

"One of the reasons I want out of here is that I don't know that it's going to end peacefully." She looks grim. "And I don't know what side to be on except my own."

"I know the Amber party ain't here to start a fight," Raven says, with a shrug. "But there's also some things that've happened that nobody's real happy about that need answering for, and they seem to point back to the Mooonrider Queen. No reason to pick a fight with everyone, unless they want to pick a fight with us - and that, I can't say I have a good read on yet. You wanting out of here just for you, or your ma want out too?"

Chirope opens her mouth to speak and then shuts it. She takes a deep breath and continues. "I have to think on that a moment. I want her safe, but she may be safer here than I would be. And I'm not sure we'd be safe in Pontus if we both went back together."

She pauses. "I need to get my message to the Queen's forces before I worry about my safety, or hers."

"And not knowing if or when we'd be back here, if you want out, you're leaving with the message," Raven says bluntly. "Don't mean you have to go back to Pontus, right away or ever. Don't mean that if you both go, you both have to end up in the same place. But any way these talks go, I can't promise anyone'd be willing or able to come back and get you once we leave."

Chirope nods. "She is a free woman. When next we meet, I shall bring her, and let her choose. She may not choose Pontus, but I should not deny her the choice. Unless you can send me immediately and then I would take you to her now."

"Like I said, I need to talk this over with some folks," Raven says. "We got a little space to do that, it sounds like - not much, but a little. Things change and time runs out, come find me and we can talk about faster options, aye? And speaking of when we meet next - what's the plan for that? Gonna waylay me in the market again, or we got another way to talk if and when we need it?"

"Waylaying you in the market was just happenstance. I saw you and took the risk. For our next meeting, just tell me where to be and I'll be there," she says. "I'm resourceful."

After Brennan ends his conversation with Paige, he puts her card back in his pack, and makes sure his emergency evacuation card (which is currently the mountain of the Grackleflints) is on top. Never hurts to be prepared.

And then, he sets out to find a page or whatever the local equivalent is in Ghenesh. Or two pages, actually.

They are called "acolythi". They are not as omnipresent as Random's (or Eric's or Oberon's) pages, but they are quite readily available for small errands.

One to set up a meeting with the quasi-religious monks that Brand may or may not have had dealings with. Whether it helps or not, Brennan makes sure to give the full "...son of Brand" version of his title, and then applies the full force of his personality, refusing to even conceive of a rejection.

The other is to show Brennan to someplace he can wait for that meeting to be arranged, and then is sent to find and invite Raven to the meeting.

Brennan is shown to a small chamber near the outside of the temple, a few floors up a wide tower. This is some sort of odd combination of musical study and armory. One wall has cabinets with crossbows, the other has musical instruments of many kinds. The instruments seem more recently used, but the weapons are well cared for. The walls have shelves of books and scrolls, apparently on musical topics. Someone has been using this room for composing.

The town is visible through the crossbow slits in the tower wall.

Raven arrives on the heels of the acolythi with a promptness that suggests that the invite was treated rather more as a summons than a suggestion. She gives her guide a quick word of thanks, clearly a dismissal, and shuts the door before turning to Brennan. "Town's something," she says by way of greeting, nodding towards the crossbow slit. "Probably ain't the kind of place I'd stay for long, but there's a few bits that stick out. One of 'em, I'm pretty sure messing with it is gonna be like kicking at least two hornets' nests."

"Your morning sounds more interesting than mine," Brennan says. "I spoke with Paige and her right hand man, Van, but he's no more an historian than most people. How did you find two hornets' nests for the price of one?"

"She found me," Raven answers, with a snort of amusement. Her amusement doesn't last more than a moment, though. "She wanted to have us pass a message back to a place called Pontus, where I guess the Klybesians are setting up shop through a gal she called the Prophetess. Or to have us take her and maybe her ma back to Pontus, and it sounds like they fled because of that Prophetess and then got picked up by the Moonriders, who want her to join them. And she said the Moonriders have a sisterhood and a - " She pauses and then says carefully, "Diaconate? Something about deacons, whatever those are? Another group that's part of this lot. Seems like they keep the lower folks in check.

"So, one hornet's nest - bloody monks again. Got a place, got a name - probably just need someone to go drop a comet on the right place, but that might could be taken care of with a bit less of a show," she says dryly. "And two... That girl's scared of someone here finding out she knows about that Prophetess and is trying to warn folks there, and she don't seem like one that gets scared easy. Didn't promise we'd take her outta here, but we could and maybe should - and I would lay money on if we do, it's gonna cause the kind of stir that ain't gonna help our other work here if they have even a hint that we're the ones that did it."

"Pontus... Never heard of it," Brennan says. "Definitely worth passing back home to see if anyone else has, when we get the chance. Is it too much to hope this Prophetess has a name? The way things run, it wouldn't surprise me if she's someone we know. Or are related to.

"Comets are Jerod's department, gas explosions are mine," Brennan says. "And if you say we should take this girl with us-- does she have a name, by the way? Might make her easier to find-- I'll back your play."

Raven shakes her head. "Didn't get more of a name - just that she's pretending to worship someone in Pontus but it's really the Unicorn. And some names of other folks - Penthelisea was one, and a couple of ladies whose names start with an A - that have the ear of the queen there. Girl's name is Chirope. She offered a token to prove to whoever we talk to that she's sent the message, and I told her we could take that."

She pauses there, shaking her head. "Got a plan to be able to meet up with her again, but the question of getting her out of here? I think I gotta think about that, and I think I might need to know more than I do - and maybe not from her. She was pretty clear that she thought it'd take a Prince of Amber and a lot of trouble to get her out, but she also didn't know there was anything but Princes and Princesses of Amber. And she said her distant grandma is here too, and called the Strategist."

"Well, we're going to have to meet this Strategist, or at least find out who she is-- name like that practically demands it. And maybe figure out why she's here while Chirope seems to be from Pontus. I don't think I followed that family history," Brennan says.

"For my part, I got a few details out of Van, but I'm not sure how helpful they'll be. If there's any equivalent Altamaran priestly caste, they've either died out, or are so atrophied that they may as well have. But in the original Tir-na Nog'th, they survived on Royal patronage. Also, the reason for the Altamaran rebellion seems to be at least two-fold-- one was over the issue of the current Moonriders' abilities over time and space, but that's as far as I was able to get on that track. A lot of 'price too high to pay' rhetoric, but nothing of what the price was. The other fold explains much: This place," Brennan lightly stamps a foot against the floor for emphasis, "was a colony of Tir-na Nog'th. And the dispute was a disagreement over, how did he put it... the exploitation of the land as resources, vs the exploitation of people as resources."

He pauses to let that sink in. "Yeah, that explains the architecture, doesn't it. And sets some expectations about how the lands farther out are arranged, too. But in part, it explains why Oberon led the remnants here-- it already existed, and had probably been diverging away from the original culture for quite some time."

Raven nods. "Aye, that makes sense - but makes me wonder. If this was somewhere that was moving away from the original folks of Tir, who's actually the other side here? Or to put it another way... who's actually making up the natives that they're defending against these days, the actual natives or the folks from Tir before... or both?"

"That is an excellent question, that I don't know the answer to," Brennan says, matter-of-factly. "That middle group, the Tir stock who remained after the city became as it is, is an awful big linchpin. At least potentially."

Raven nods. "Aye, and like everything else I'm finding - something that's going to take a little time to unravel unless we find a key." She snorts. "Or get a straight answer."

Brennan curiously, but respectfully, peruses the collections of books and scrolls before the meeting.

The books and scrolls are in Thari, and many have multiple copies. There are shadow histories -- Bellum and Asir are there, and a history of some place called Pontus. There are also books on the arts and products of various shadows, which would make this place a great source of knowledge for those looking to trade. Most of the shadows of the Golden Circle are listed. There seems to be an elaborate classification scheme around shadows.

Since Raven just mentioned Pontus, Brennan flags that one mnemonically, for later inquiry. And if there's time, points it out to Raven.

If there is time, Raven will definitely take a moment to at least glance at it, though she'll follow Brennan's lead in being respectfully curious.

Many of the scrolls seem to be firsthand reports of various places and events.

"I see you've had a chance peruse some of our works here, Lord Brennan." The man who is speaking looks more like a middle school administrator than a priest. Perhaps he is a librarian. "I understand you wish to discuss matters with me? I am the Chancellor of the college."

"Yes, Chancellor, thank you for taking the time to meet with us." He introduces himself and Raven, and does not shy away from the 'Brandson' part of the name.

Raven, for her part, greets the priest with a polite, "Chancellor," when she's introduced.

He bows.

"We have a number of topics we'd like to discuss, and since one of them is history, I think we've come to the right place. Are these all histories of places you've had contact with?" It's technically a question, but it's delivery is more of an admiring compliment. While he answers, Brennan sizes him up, but not overtly-- does he seem to be a 'true' Moonrider, with their traditional command over Time?

That's hard to tell. He definitely doesn't look like a knight, or at least not the kind that can vault onto his horse from behind while wearing full armor. Maybe he's retired.

"Or maybe travel diaries?" Raven suggests. "Knew a sailor that kept that kind of thing - a bit of history and a bit of what was there, that kind of thing."

"We're not Klybesians, but we do value the accumulation of knowledge. We add either type to the library, when we can obtain them. The insights of an author from the shadow are often useful for building context for the observations of traders or explorers.

"To me, the most interesting items are the annotated topic bibliographies. There's one on the next shelf over on the land of Bellum, and it's not very long, but it gives what context we have on the different codices and folios from that particular shadow. Amber traded with them extensively, as I recall.

"Do you know if anyone has recorded their observations of Xanadu yet? We would be quite interested in obtaining those works."

"I know of at least one that was in preparation," Brennan says, "But that project was never completed. Do you have anything on Uxmal?"

Brennan keeps his eyes out for any signs that the Chancellor is engaging in Moonrider tricks, including passive Pattern awareness, but is not overt about it. Just a background vigilance, born of curiosity.

Nothing immediately. On the other hand, this may not be a place where such tricks would be used.

The priest considers. "Uxmal.... Name on a rutter to me, I'm afraid. Nothing recent that I recall. It wasn't a popular destination, for some reason. I can have a librarian bring you anything we have."

"Unpopular? Can't imagine why," Brennan says, in a tone that clearly indicates otherwise. "Yes, I would be grateful to see any material you have concerning the place. It may be helpful to look for materials from emissaries of the place, as well as materials you've been able to bring back."

He nods. "I'll have the library send what we find."

Raven shakes her head. "I don't know of anybody writing down what they think of Xanadu," she says. "Not that's fit for a library or studying, anyway."

He smiles. "The ones that aren't fit for studying are the ones that tell us the most, I find."

"If you can get 'em to write it down," Raven says, "and are willing to deal with the half that's lies, I suppose so. This all stuff you get from emissaries and travelers, or is it your people that're doing the traveling and the writing?"

"There are very few people who travel strictly to write travel guides for us. Some have been commissioned, but most were not even written for us. Many come from the libraries of distant shadows, or from trade of one sort or another. Have you been to Gateway? They magically copied several volumes for us that we could not acquire from our regular trading partners.

"We try to preserve what we can. You never know when something that someone thought was a lie or myth will turn out to be useful. And it keeps the scriveners busy making clean copies of histories. And even the lies are useful by telling us what someone is interested in lying about."

"You collect that kind of stuff about your own people?" Raven asks, out of curiosity.

"We collect anything we can get our hands on. I find that people want to write down their story almost as soon as their peoples learn to write, and my people learned to write a long, long time ago. Our role is... unusual in our relationship with the Moonriders, who consider themselves nomadic and our library is a special place for them. Nomads and collections of written lore that cannot be easily moved are not an obvious pairing."

It's the first time he has spoken of the Moonriders and it's clear he sees them as distinct from the priesthood.

"We are by no means the only librarians in shadow."

Brennan definitely notes that distinction from the Moonriders.

As does Raven.

"The Academies of Summerless," Brennan agrees. And, more somberly, "The Library of al-Ys Ksandria. Do you also collect your own history here?"

"And keep it with the Moonriders', or separate?" Raven asks.

He starts speaking, more quickly this time. "Books are memories, Lord. A library is the memory of a people, of a place. To be without a record of who we are, of what we thought, knew, and did, that would make us fragile. With only living memory to guide us, and only the knowledge, analysis, and skills of the living, we would be subject to the whims of the moment. No culture can be rich and deep without history."

He seems very excitable on the subject of libraries. "A book is a tool for extending your mind like a sword is a tool for extending your arm, and the library is an arsenal. I collect anything, and consider the cultures I exist within to be a very worthy subject to remember."

"I couldn't agree more, actually," Brennan says, "Although duty rarely allows me the time to collect, or to enjoy a collection for any length of time. How far back do your archives go?"

Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, "Cultures?" As opposed to the singular.

"Hard to keep a library at sea," Raven observes. "Are there more than two cultures here? Yours and the Moonriders, aye?"

"Some people consider a place and a culture to be synonymous, and sometimes they overlap in a way that makes them seem identical, but that's not what I see. Even in your Amber, there are merchant cultures, forest cultures, navy cultures, artisan communities. Communities may be a better word, but it just seems too tightly connected to the material and not to the interpersonal.

"And yes, there are cultures here at many layers, all interacting, changing over time, and bringing new and vibrant facets to life. The culture that produces the festival of Ghenesh is very different from the culture of the temple or the culture of the moon riders. How could it be any other way?"

"I would have considered those Amber examples to be sub-cultures," Brennan says. "And while, yes, I freely admit that is a fine semantic point to slice, it's probably not completely without merit. Otherwise, you reach the point where every individual family or every individual person constitutes a culture, and eventually the term becomes meaningless. But despite having observed it in Shadow for hundreds of years, I doubt there's anything I have to say that hasn't already been said."

"And here I was thinking just about the people that say they're one people as a culture," Raven says, and there's a certain wry amusement to her voice.

"I confess, I have seen evidence of interesting cultural overlap here in Ghenesh, but I am also interested in how the cultures of Amber and Tir-na Nog'th interacted, from the Tir perspective," he finishes.

"Aye," Raven says. "I came here not knowing a whole lot about all of this," and she makes a little encompassing gesture, "except a bit from Amber histories, and it didn't take much looking around to figure out that what's in the histories ain't telling even part of the whole story, and it's got precious little about what the people are like on top of that."

The Chancellor nods. "I think you might find a book on applied sociomathematics of interest. We have one here, but it's rather old-fashioned. Not up to speed with the latest praxis in the field. While they do not have your depth of time, they are specialists, and might have interesting perspectives.

"And I think you'll find, Lord Raven, that what you're asking for is exactly what the libraries were made for. You'll need to come to your own conclusions based on what has been presented, but that's why we preserve as much as we can. 'Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis', as the philosopher said."

A junior librarian comes up. "Our guests are invited to dine with the Marshal and Sir Firumbras, if they are not otherwise engaged."

"As much as we are enjoying this conversation, Chancellor, I think it would rude not to accept this invitation. But perhaps we might continue afterword? Perhaps by then, the material from Uxmal will be available."

"Aye," Raven agrees. "I think there might be quite a bit we can learn from each other here, but we should go to this first."

He nods. "I have duties this evening, but perhaps we can meet for breakfast to discuss plans for the day? Here will be fine."

By the standard of Xanadu or Amber, the Marshal's dining room is small, with a few slit windows high along the wall. It is well lit by candles and a fireplace, and has walls lined with prisms and other glass reflectors.

It looks as if it might be well-designed to keep prying mirror magicians from eavesdropping. Or that may just be a coincidence.

The fare matches the spartan tastes of the Marshal; some sort of wild game and roasted root vegetables.

Sir Firumbras nods to Brennan and Raven as they enter. "Thank you for joining us. I'd like to further explore our mutual concerns and see if I can help resolve any of them before I return to my time."

The Marshal replies. "We can talk about those matters after the meal."

The Shield and Firumbras are lively conversationalists and seem genuinely interested in what impressions Brennan and Raven have of Ghenesh and the city.

The Marshal is most interested in their impressions of the priest and the library.

If their hosts are intent on keeping things light until everyone's digesting, Raven is not going to try and drag the conversation into serious topics. Her thoughts on Ghenesh and the city are paired, though, with questions about whether what she's noticed is expected - and there's absolutely no mention of having been politely waylaid by anyone in the market, of course.

Brennan answers part of the Marshal's question directly: That he recognizes in the Chancellor something of a kindred spirit. At least potentially, because they did not have much time to talk. And at least in part, because as Brennan will reluctantly admit, he is able to indulge the more scholarly part of his own personality less often than he would like. Of the library, of course, he cannot speak because he has not properly visited it.

Firumbras nods. "A warrior needs to have something else. Warrior-poets are men of legends. Warrior-smiths, explorers, scholars, diplomats, even sorcerers have the potential to be deep and interesting. Not all achieve greatness, of course."

The Marshal nods. "Of course. The inner conflict of multiple disciplines is difficult to master, but mastering two all-encompassing identities can make one remarkably formidable."

"Life is long," is all Brennan says to that. And for a scion of Oberon, that's certainly true.

He does mention the Chancellor's remark about separate cultures within this one place as interesting, in a way that invites further comment from the others at the table.

The Shield nods. "I've heard that from him in the past. But I can't help but notice that the cultures he sees here came from different places and where he sees differences, I see thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. I'm more likely to say that cultures have layers and those layers blend together."

The Marshal puts down his fork. "You're more right than he is, My Shield. But the Chancellor hasn't travelled in Shadow and hasn't seen what it looks like when you can inspect a people across different facets of themselves."

"I'm not sure he properly considers the idea of subcultures, either," Brennan says to the Marshal, "but this may be unfair given the brevity of our conversation."

Raven, who had much the same impression, nods her agreement to that.

He turns to the Shield, and asks, "If this place, here and now, is the synthesis, what do you see as the thesis and antithesis?"

"Be curious how many layers you see here, too," Raven comments.

[The Shield] considers. "One thing the Chancellor is right about is that depending on how you set your boundaries, you'll see different things. I deliberately avoided a metallurgic metaphor, because it's not an alloy and different elements aren't imperfections to be burnt out by heat and hammer.

"I wasn't thinking of a single synthesis, but rather each of the cultures that The Chancellor observes. It's not as simple as 'the moonriders plus the librarians equals the Church' and 'the church and the merchants equal the town'."

The Marshal nods and speaks. "Even something like a family unit is a thing in motion across time. My daughter and myself make up a unit in some ways, but that unit is a compromise between her choices and my own."

Dinner being over, it seems the Marshal is ready to move into more serious discussions.

"If we're discussing family units," Brennan says, "Let's discuss the other important one: King Random and Queen Vialle. WIthout examining and speaking with the Queen, I don't see how we move forward."

"Aye," Raven agrees. "She's ended up the lynchpin to a couple of points of concern. Maybe on both sides of this?"

The Marshal looks at him. "She's in a Suleiman bottle of your cousin's making. If we open it enough for you to talk to her, they would be out. We agreed to hold off on that. Do you want us to agree to open the seal?"

"Not necessarily," Brennan says. "There may be techniques that allow communication without egress. And if you would like to consult with your priests, I believe we can wait, although we would like to be part of that consultation. I'm just putting the obvious fact on the table. What is your understanding of how they came to be sealed in the same bottle together?"

"And how many and who are you thinking are in there?" Raven adds. "Queen Vialle and...? We've got our ideas on that."

"I can only honestly say that I was unaware that the Queen of Xanadu was also present until after I had left with the bottle. As far as I knew it held the Queen of the Night Sky and no other. We were informed otherwise by Count Madoc, who had the intelligence from his sister. There was something about a tower. The Count has never been good with the concept of 'place'."

Raven nods slowly. "Right. And we know for sure that Queen Vialle is in there, because of how the lady got in the bottle in the first place. If it ain't too forward to ask - how'd you know your Queen was in there?"

Brennan thinks that is an excellent question, and awaits the answer with polite attention.

He is also playing polite attention to the environment. He is using passive techniques only, but he is alert to the possibility that the Marshal and the Shield might be pulling information from the future, or temporally hiding a conversation, etc.

The Marshal takes a breath and explains as best he can. "It's not a thing I can explain without resorting to metaphor. It was as if the sun went out. We knew where the sun was last seen, and that led us to your relations. Once in the proximity, the spells upon it made it clear that it was the vessel."

The Shield looks over. "A way to speak to her majesty without opening the container would be useful, if you think you have a spell that would work thusly."

"Success will be a credit to my teachers; failure, an opportunity for personal growth," Brennan says.

Assuming it's not fatal, anyway.

"But I also think you should call one of your priests-- a Sorcerer, if possible-- to hear both understandings of what's happened, and then to witness the attempt."

"Not a sorcerer myself," Raven says. "But getting all the sides of the story's going to be in all of our favors."

"I shall summon one personally," says The Marshal. "If you'll excuse me." He abruptly rises and heads for the door.

The Shield holds his hand out and down, asking his guests to stay seated. When he speaks, it is in hushed tones. "The Marshal is bound by the strongest oaths to The Queen of the Sky. And she to him and through him the entire order. It would be unfortunate if he were to receive communication from someone purporting to be the Queen who wanted him to act against the best wishes of the all of us."

The Shield does not ever suggest that the Marshal does not desire the orders of the Queen or that he would resist them, merely that he does not want his good friend and commander to be put in a bad position by an uncertainly identified being who might be an imposter.

No one could accuse him of anything except concern for possible mischief.

Brennan watches the Marshal depart, impassively, trying to decide if that abrupt departure constitutes "a reaction." He hadn't been trying for one.

Raven does likewise, with a similar train of thought and an expression more curious than impassive.

He considers the Shield's words before responding. "I would like to put your mind at ease, but I cannot. We believe that your Queen and ours are both in that bottle. We believe we understand somewhat how that came to be. But belief is not knowledge, or certainty, or even complete. Certainly, we do not know what will be said, if the spell is successful. This is why, unless you can think of a better neutral party, I suggested one of your priests to witness or assist. Have I erred?"

That is mostly to the Shield, but the latter part about neutral parties, is to Firumbras as well-- his unique perspective might give him better ideas for such a neutral party.

"There's a lot of uncertainty in that bottle," Raven adds matter-of-factly. "There's no one that can promise any answers that come out of there will be pretty, but we ain't here to make the process difficult if it doesn't have to be. If there's someone better, we'd be happy to talk about it."

The Shield doesn't seem upset at all. Or as if he thinks Brennan made any kind of error. "No, it's an excellent solution. You didn't suggest your demon horse, at least. Do you want to discuss what we will do with the priest or do you want to just go to the place with the Sulimann bottle?"

"I think Lorides would be the first to point out, he is no one's demon horse but his own," Brennan says. "Although speaking of that, Firumbras, he has expressed some reservations about your plan. This is not the time to discuss it, but I promised to mention it."

"As for the plan, I favor simple ones. I was thinking that when the Marshal returns with a sorcerer-priest, we will explain our intent, which is to communicate with but not free whoever is in the bottle, then both present our understandings of the situation, then discuss the situation. If eventually we proceed to the working, I will need at least a day for the effort."

Raven nods. "And if for some reason we can't do that without freeing them, that's a thing that'll need some discussing as well."

The priest arrives. He is quickly brought up to speed. His name is Talinn and he is the leading expert on cross-shadow magic in the priesthood.

After The Shield explains the situation, he ponders for a moment. "It's not ideal. It may require risk. Sir Brennan, could you encapsulate the current container in another one and place yourself inside the first with the queens?

Sir Firumbras objects. "That puts you at risk of being attacked where you cannot defend or retreat. I should go in."

Talinn doesn't disagree. "If one of you had an affine that could go in, that would be ideal."

After greeting Talinn, Brennan lets them get their objections all out of the way, before responding. Also, Brennan is reading that name as not being a true Moonrider-- do observations during the conversation bear that out?

He doesn't seem to have the flexibility in his joints that Brennan associates with the Moonriders. He doesn't move with the same smoothness that they all seem to have. It's not that he is not graceful, it's that his joints are more like Brennan's.

"Yes, it is definitely risky," Brennan agrees. "I don't think I can properly estimate how risky. But substantially so. I find the idea of creating a bottle-around-the-bottle interesting, but I won't know if I can duplicate it or approximate it until I make some initial examinations. I was not there when Edan performed his working, and we were not trained entirely in the same way. His work is very different than mine in some respects." Brennan does not rule out Talinn helping in that initial survey.

Brennan proceeds to explain his approach to communicating through the bottle. He has had a long time to think about it and to prepare his summary of it. His delivery is precise but unhurried.

It is a working that relies primarily on the principles of Space, Astral Projection, and Entropy. The gist of it is that the Astral principle will be used on his voice, and the voice of whoever is in the bottle. The principle of Space will allow the effect to carry from the space outside the bottle to the space inside the bottle, without needing to worry about the intervening barrier of the bottle. And the Entropic principle draws on the deep connection between entropy and information, and aims to create a true Sorcerous paradox: The bottle will remain intact, with nothing entering or leaving, with nothing on the inside interacting with anything on the outside and vice-versa. But Brennan and whoever is in the bottle will still be able to exchange information, that is, to communicate.

Brennan does not harp on this, but a feature of this somewhat complicated set-up is that at no point will Brennan be casting a spell directly on any resident of the bottle. The spell is cast on voices, not mouths or ears. This is important because Brennan doesn't think he can successfully cast a spell on Maeve herself. And because if Maeve is there only in spirit, she might not have a mouth or ears... but she almost certainly has at least an Astral voice.

Then, when Firumbras volunteers, he adds, "I have no affine at the moment." He chooses not to go into details about the one which ate a war elephant. "But rather than go in my place, Sir Firumbras, I think you should come with or be a party to the spell as a witness. I trust you to bear true witness to events even if they do not favor me." He looks to the assembled Moonriders, waiting for their opinion on that, as well as Firumbras'.

Raven, non-sorcerous as she is, just listens to the whole discussion with curiosity. She shakes her head at the question about an affine, and just adds, "With attack being a concern, not going into this alone ain't a bad idea."

Sir Firumbras nods. "Aye, I'll join. I'm not a sorcerer, but if anything needs hitting with a weapon, I'm your man."

Talinn seems willing to go along with Brennan's plan. "How much preparation do you need, Sir Brennan? The vessel is in my laboratory, nearby."

"Days," Brennan says. "Multiple, perhaps as much as a week. That will include investigating the bottle, and trying to replicate it, if warranted.

"But there's something else I suggested to the Shield before those preparations begin: I think each of the two groups here should tell you their current understanding and expectation of who or what is in that bottle, and the circumstances leading to this point. Only then do I think you will be in a position to give an opinion."

Brennan engages in a brief internal debate, then: "Some salient facts: Queen Vialle is blind. Queen Vialle is pregnant. Now to beliefs: We believe that your Queen has either possessed Queen Vialle, or the unborn child, or done something akin to it which has allowed the one to dominate, geas, or ensorcell the other. We are uncertain as to whether this was the result of a bargain struck-- there is motive, at least-- or was simply an attack. This explains a great many things we have seen in Xanadu, including: The death of my cousin Cambina, who we believe guided Queen Vialle to Tir-na Nog'th, and then fell to her death. A magical attack on King Random by-- or more likely, through-- Queen Vialle. Increasingly strange behavior from the King including a near-obsession with having the entire Family swear allegiance to the unborn child." He pauses a beat to that one sink in. "I have it directly from Edan that, just prior to sealing her in the bottle, he examined Vialle and saw unmistakable evidence of your Queen's presence. This would, of course, explain what you described earlier."

Raven nods and picks up with, "The attack on the King seemed real focused towards that child, for what it's worth. We don't know how long the two Queens have been connected. Since cousin Cambina's death, aye, but before? We don't know yet. And how happy our Queen was to partner with yours, at first or the whole time? Don't know that either." She spreads her hands a little, not quite a shrug. "So far as I understand, from what our kin have told us of what they've seen and done, that bottle's got two Queens in it, and one of 'em ain't real friendly towards us and the other is maybe a traitor and maybe a victim and maybe a bit of both."

Brennan watches their reactions carefully, including his best attempt at passively paying attention to whether they are trying to have a private conversation right in front of them with their Moonrider abilities.

Sir Firumbras shifts. "It's a dilemma, isn't it? If it's true that the Queen is there, she is there because she was attempting something harmful to your king, kingdom, and possibly your queen. If she is not, then the Knights have no claim to the vessel."

The priest nods at this logic, and Firmubras continues.

"The case of Vialle is likewise a dilemma. If she is alone, then she alone is responsible for the attacks on the King, or perhaps she has been abandoned by her ally, or perhaps abandoned by the one who previously attacked her. Those are the options, if I understand what you said."

Talinn speaks up. "You wish to know if she was complicit in the actions that led to the murder of your cousin, and also if she planned harm to your King, or to usurp his throne.

"Why would a blind person want to go to Tir-na Nog'th?" he asks. "Why would your cousin bring a blind woman there?"

Firumbras looks to The Shield. "Have you heard of the rescue of Queen Vialle from somewhere near the Ghost City? She was tied up with the chain that eventually was used to retrieve me from wherever I was being held. I do not understand it, but perhaps it was related to your Queen."

The Shield looks at Raven and Brennan. "It seems as if most of the information sharing is coming from your side of the table. I can answer questions, but I cannot think of anything to add."

When Firumbras mentions the chain, Brennan shoots him a look as if to say, yes, we will be getting back to that.

But he has ready answers, or at least firm conjectures, for Talinn's questions, so he provides those: "Tir-na Nog'th is the seat of your Queen's power, no? Mystical as well as temporal? If Queen Vialle were already possessed, she would be at the height of her power there. If not, it would be the best location to strike a bargain. Why would Princess Cambina bring her there? Presumably because Queen Vialle asked her to. What reason she would have given, I have not enough information to speculate. There is another possibility, though. Princess Cambina was known to have visions of the future. She may have foreseen taking the Queen to Tir-na Nog'th, but not her own death."

"Pretty sure I haven't heard about that rescue. But let's come back to that, aye? Hate to speculate about it," Raven says, with an apologetic grimace, "but if there were bargains to be made, it wouldn't have been the first sealed with someone's life. Not a pretty thought, but not a reason we can just throw out."

"Ah, I see that Talinn has already arrived," says the Marshal, as he comes in the door.

"It would also," adds the Marshal, "be a way to commit someone to stick with your conspiracy. I can imagine a scenario where the Queen of Amber did not intend to commit all the acts she took, but felt compelled at every step to do so, in order not to expose her prior acts. "

He pauses. "It is the stuff of ballads, but ballad-writers are inspired by life."

Sir Firumbras asks, "Have you determined if your method can detect the truth or falsehood of what she says?"

Talinn nods at this. "Or even what you wish to ask? How long will your spell support contact?"

Brennan frowns in thought as he considers Firumbras' question. "I had not intended it, but... there might be a way to bootstrap entropy into a measure of truth or falshood. Perhaps. But I want to be clear: I believe there are two entities in that bottle-- indeed, in the physical person of Queen Vialle. But I have not witnessed this myself, and you have only my word of what I heard from my cousin Edan. My first goal in this undertaking is to prove this both to myself and to you. If we can see and/or talk to both entities, that should suffice, and I will consider it a small victory."

Raven nods, agreeing with that.

"From there, if I am not blinded, deafened, or killed in the attempt, I would ask your Queen how this situation came to be. I have seen her in a dream, but do not know her: Do you think she will answer?"

The Marshal is the most knowledgeable of the Moonriders on the Queen. "If it suits her. She is canny, and if she feels threatened or at risk will be looking for a way to gain advantage. If she feels that doubt about her presence suits her purposes best, you may have no response.

"But we have not had direct communication from her since we came out of Tir. She may not have a voice other than borrowing your Queen's.

"Assuming it is the Queen and not some Daemon or Djinn attempting mischief."

Sir Firumbras looks at Brennan. "What does your King intend, if it is possible to return the Queen of Xanadu to him? And if she is with child, what is the status of that child? Are they in the bottle as well?"

"I think the presence of your Queen will be apparent, if the spell works. The presence of Order has visual effects in the Astral, and very few would be brighter than your Queen. I was not exaggerating when I mentioned I might be blinded-- some of the spell will be trying to protect myself from that intensity. What is to be done with Queen Vialle depends on what we learn," and here, Brennan does not sound optimistic: "It is unlikely she will return to Xanadu." Brennan doesn't have to like it. He will do his best to see justice done. But he understands the logic.

"Aye," Raven agrees somberly.

"And the child, of course. You come to the heart of the matter. I believe, but do not know, that the child is also in the bottle. I believe, less strongly, but do not know that your Queen possesses the child. There are other possibilities, near to that and far. I understand your desire for answers, my friend. I do not dispute your right to ask them. But I do not like piling speculation on speculation. Shall we try to negotiate every eventuality, or shall we try to prune the tree of decisions first?"

"My understanding of the whole 'is there a child' question was much the same," Raven agrees.

"It is not the intent of Ghenesh to be the prison of a former Queen of Amber, if that is a thing your King is considering. If she, on her own, were to seek asylum, we might consider, but we would need to consider your King's desires as well."

The Shield nods. "Were you of our people, we would absolutely agree to make a beginning and restart if needed. As it is, we can try to save you if things go badly, but it would be more difficult."

Sir Firumbras seems slightly uncomfortable about that direction. "It will take you days to prepare, you said. And we are agreed you should do it. What needs to be decided still?"

"Nothing before this attempt," Brennan says.

Raven defers to Brennan's answer with a nod. "In case no one in there wants to play nice," she adds, "probably ain't any harm in all of us planning for this to be brief and to the point, aye? Pretty sure we're all going to need to regroup after and see what we've learned."

"Now that is a conversation we cannot plan out in advance," says Talinn.

The Shield nods. "Given my name and role, I think our job is to make it as safe as possible for this risky task to be."

Sir Firumbras says "I will be there. I am no wizard, though. I will do what I can to protect you from non-magical threats, if we find ourselves captured."