Down To Business

What started out as a period of nominal directed studies under Fiona, and then transformed into an extended effort to help coordinate the exodus, the army and veterans, and the army and veterans during the exodus eventually becomes several disappointingly cloudy nights in Xanadu with Cambina waiting for a Tir-na Nog'th that never appears.

A day of discussion and preparation later sees them in a nook of Xanadu with Cambina's Trump of Corwin. If Corwin answers with the traditional "Who?" the answers comes back, "Brennan and Cambina. May we come through?" And of course they will, if they're able.

As [Jerod] collects his gear, admittedly what little he has with him, a nagging bit comes to the fore and he looks at Corwin. "Uncle Random is sure to start moving people to Xanadu soon. But unless he's got something big in mind, he can't move them all so it's going to be a few at a time.

"After I talk to Random, I'm heading back to Amber to see how things are going there before departing on the leg to Rebma. One of the things to do in Amber will be to get some of dad's people settled for those that want to leave and try something new. But some might not want to go to Xanadu. I suspect it won't be anything like Amber or Paris. So, in that case, and subject to the usual requirements of allegiance on their part, can I bring any that express the interest to Paris?"

"Of course. Paris welcomes any man who's willing to work to make something of himself--" Corwin says, and breaks off as a distant look comes into his eyes. "Bide," he says to Jerod, and then, "Who?"

A moment later, he says, "Yes," and Cambina steps through, followed immediately by Brennan.

Seeing her brother, Cambina steps forward and offers him a delighted hug. "Jerod! I didn't expect to see you here."

[Brennan: They're in a drawing room in Castle Paris, not that Brennan will appreciate it. It's about 1900-era France and the time of day is late afternoon. Jerod and Corwin have been imbibing a fine scotch.]

Jerod smiles when his sister steps through the rainbow and picks her up with a brotherly hug, the bear hug kind reserved for close family relatives and significant others. "Ah, Cambina, what fortuitous moments do occur when we least expect them. I was going to be heading back shortly and here you go and save me the trouble. I have a small something for you from Gateway."

Seeing Brennan in tow does not appear to surprise Jerod, or if it does he shows nothing. "Brennan." he says in an agreeable tone.

Jerod is dressed in his colours and his outfit is similar to the Court uniform when he had departed some time before, though with a few minor changes. A rather ornate spear can be seen leaning in a corner to one side beside a satchel bag.

When Brennan steps through, he glances around the room and takes the details in quickly, probably deducing the time of day from the beverages and mode of dress. While Jerod and Cambina are greeting each other, he turns the Trump-grip he had on Corwin's hand to a more personal handshake. "Majesty," he says, with a hint of formality. "I bring greetings from King Random and the Court of Xanadu."

Corwin's return clasp is warm and friendly.

He also doesn't appear surprised to see Jerod in Paris, but he's wise enough not to make that comment in front of Cambina. "Jerod," he says, offering a hand in greeting. "It's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

"Indeed...almost a lifetime ago." Jerod says, accepting the greeting. "One hopes that others have not encountered the same travails. What brings you here?"

"Business followed by pleasure," Brennan says. Looking back over to Corwin, he continues, "The business is to seek counsel on threats to the realm with which Your Majesty has had some prior experience." If Corwin is wearing Greyswandir, which he probably is, Brennan purposefully lets his eyes flick over it.

"The pleasure..." he gestures a hand to take in the room and, by extension, all of Paris. "We were hoping to stay at least briefly before sailing back to Amber or Xanadu."

"*I* came to see *you*, of course," Cambina says smugly. "Now what was this about something from Gateway?"

Brennan heroically does not point out that this cannot possibly be true if she did not expect to see Jerod here. He does give the half grin that only comes up in Cambina's presence, and tosses it to Jerod behind her back.

Corwin finds the flask of whiskey and holds it up, catching Brennan's eye and raising his eyebrow in an inquiring way.

Brennan nods in thanks. On the assumption that Corwin serves only the best, Brennan savors it with an appreciative noise.

Corwin does indeed keep a fine whiskey cellar. It can't possibly have aged that much in Paris, but perhaps it was imported.

Jerod retrieves a small leather pouch from a side pocket of the satchel bag and hands it to Cambina.

Assuming she opens it she finds a flat piece of crystal, 12cm long by 6cm high. The crystal is a series of etched layers portraying a fountain with a misted crystal spray in the right foreground set in a grove with trees and rock formations in evidence. A low domed tower occupies the left side of the background and a statue of a woman is visible in front of it though her features are not clear.

"It is called Quiet Contemplation." Jerod says.

Cambina opens the bag and draws out the crystal. "Oh," she breathes, "it's lovely. Thank you, Jerod." She sets the crystal aside on the table again for a moment and hugs her brother again.

Corwin doesn't say anything, but he catches Brennan's eye and raises his own glass slightly before taking a long slow drink.

Brennan raises his glass in return. "Happy reunions," he murmurs, more for Corwin's ears than Jerod's or Cambina's, before drinking.

"You are quite welcome." Jerod says, returning the hug. "Alas I am not always there, so I try to make up as best one can. Which means, we must have lunch. I am staying a day or two before contacting Random to discuss a matter of some import. After that, I'm off to Amber, then here, then Rebma. There is a little cafe I ran across the last time I was here. I vaguely remembering munching on a loaf of bread at the time, if I recall correctly." and he looks over at Corwin.

"A little side cafe near a park with a spring. It should be quite nice."

"I'd like that," Cambina says.

Corwin moves to the door and pulls a bell-pull to summon a servant. He quickly arranges for rooms for Cambina and Brennan--separate, but not so far apart that they can't sneak across the hallway if they need to--and then, barring other business, lets the group break up.

Once the meeting betwen Corwin and Brennan begins in earnest [whether that's at the same audience, after Jerod and Cambina leave, or a separate one, later] Brennan settles in with, "Majesty, it's good to see you again, under better circumstances than a funeral. I come on behalf of King Random, but it's fair to say I bear questions and seek advice from some of my cousins as well. I'll try to make it clear which is which as we speak."

Brennan is going to take his cue from Corwin as to the initial direction-- small talk and pleasantries, interrogation over the latest developments in Amber, the various business items, or something else entirely.

Corwin will engage Brennan in small talk and pleasantries over business in Amber and Xanadu. over another He'll let Brennan pick his topic, it being the duty of the guest to fill his host in on the news by family etiquette.

Brennan begins the small talk and verges into the serious business of news by putting it against the backdrop of the growing movement from Amber to Xanadu, finshing up with the Family summary of, "At the moment, I believe that King Random is there, of course, with both Princes and Folly. Paige is there, and her two children. Bleys and his newly arrived son, Edan, were going that direction and the last I had heard, both Hannah and Gerard were there."

"Ah, Edan." Corwin nods knowingly. "Bleys mentioned that the boy had made contact with him when we spoke last. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet. From the Land of Peace, I understand. Interesting place. I picked up some ships there for Bleys, once."

"I hadn't heard of him until he walked up to Prince Garrett and I in the training yards. He walks like he knows how to use his sword, which is nothing less than I'd expect from Bleys' son. In fact, I'd expect him to be able to fight with one hand while composing a sonnet with the other," Brennan says. "Seems like a serious young man, as well. I've never been to his home-- perhaps it's been a stabilizing influence on him." Brennan leaves the comparison to Paige unspoken.

"There are more new Cousins, as well. One of them, Meg, from the same Shadow as my son," Brennan, being habitually unfond of surprises and coincidence, frowns slightly at that, because he has no explanation for it. "Ossian and Marius found her and brought her back to Xanadu just as the place fell under siege. Now Ossian, Brita and Ambrose are returning with her." Brennan lets him digest that information before adding the next piece, and watches carefully. "We believe it's Huon who is besieging the place."

Corwin pauses and looks incredulously at Brennan, then rises and moves to the sideboard, returning with the decanter. He refreshes his own drink and then Brennan's, if the younger man doesn't indicate not to. "That's not good news. We thought he was dead, and with more certainty than I was believed to be. What makes you think it's him?"

Brennan accepts the refresher and takes a sip, but probably not with the urgency that Corwin does. "Meg brought back coins with his Horn symbol on them," he says. "Caine was convinced by that alone. From what little I know of this Abford place-- which is very little-- he brought disruptive technology with him as well." An unpleasant thought strikes him, but he keeps it to himself.

Uncharacteristically, Brennan leans forward in frustration as he asks his next questions: "Bleys has told us a little-- a damn little-- about him. He's got a low opinion of him. Cambina pieced together a very little bit more from her knowledge of history. Evidently, Grandfather banished him in memory as well as name, but... Majesty, please tell me about him. My brother and my son are haring off back to Abford and putting themselves directly in his path. Ambrose even discovered a Trump of him among Brand's effects... and he has an inflated notion of his ability to deal with members of your generation."

Corwin frowns. "They're in deep water if they trifle with him. He's dangerous. His mother was one of the many mistresses Dad took between Dybele's death and his marriage to Rilga. I didn't know her, but I did meet him and his brother. You know about the brother, the one on his mother's side? The one he put on the Pattern, and it killed him? The no-fratricide rule had always been a jest until we had one our hands." Corwin looks into a distance that Brennan suspects is more temporal than physical. "Dad had someone deal with him. I always thought it was Caine and that Caine had finalized him, and that might be one more reason Caine was out of the succession."

Brennan nods at the appropriate points as Corwin speaks, frowning into his glass. He turns something over in his mind, decides that he's not giving away a confidence. "Bleys," he says curtly. Corwin can draw inferences from there, and ask questions of his own if he wishes.

Corwin absorbs that, looking not particularly surprised, but not particularly happy either. It takes a moment for him to consider his next words. "My impression of Huon was that he was competent as a youngster but resentful and proud. He was good with a blade, but not in the class that Eric or I were in, much less Benedict's. Bleys bested him regularly. His small-group tactics and strategy were good, and with enough time I thought he'd make a competent general. As far as I know, he has no sorcery or other magics. What else would you like to know?"

"Both good and bad," Brennan mutters. "My brother and my son were both trained by Brand in their way, and have considerable talents." He manages to say that without grinding his teeth. "But Ambrose in particular is prone to overestimating himself, especially around those without those talents." He forces a half grin, as if to wonder how long it will take to have that beaten out of him.

"What will he want?" is a question Brennan settles on. "Other than a likely revenge against either Bleys or Grandfather-- could he still be playing the game of thrones? What could possibly have possessed him to put a mortal brother on the Pattern?"

"He didn't believe that the Pattern was restricted to those of the blood, or so I'm told," Corwin says. "And he never forgave Dad for being right about it."

Brennan looks momentarily nauseous, thinking about the likely results of an improper step onto the Pattern. He puts his glass down. "He gambled on that, lost, and he thought he was in a position to forgive?" It looks like Brennan might have been gearing up to say quite a bit more than that, but he catches himself, shuts his eyes, and rubs his temples with his fingertips.

"Lovely. And now he's had several hundred years to nurse that grudge. I wonder if he even realizes that Grandfather is dead? It's not impossible someone has contacted him. Ambrose and I discovered a Trump of him that we believed to be functional among Brand's effects. We didn't use it; I've been juggling enough knives that I didn't need to add a chainsaw to the act."

Corwin scowls at that last bit of news. "Where is it now? We need to find him and deal with him, one way or another."

Brennan looks across at Corwin, wondering if he just heard what he thought he heard. "My brother has it, although I don't know if he's carrying it with him." He chooses his next words carefully. "Despite his involvement with the Coronation Attack, I believe you will find my brother to be more reasonable in his dealings with us. I make no attempt to speak for King Random, now, only to state the situation as I see it: I believe that King Random is extending trust to the boy in an attempt to bind him to us. And I know that I'm working to bring him into the Family fold as well. He repents his past actions."

Corwin takes a moment to consider this, but doesn't add anything.

After a long inhale/exhalation, Brennan continues. "I said I would try to make clear when I'm asking something for King Random's benefit, and when not. The questions about Huon have been mostly for my sake, and Ambrose and Ossian. Thank you. When you say, 'deal with him...'" He lets the question frame itself, unspoken.

"Let's start by assuming he's not Brand," Corwin says. "We need to find out what Huon wants, what he plans to do. He's been away a long time. Maybe he's changed. If he hasn't, then we consider our options. Random and I will have to take counsel on this. But neither one of us will be willing to declare it open season on Bleys."

"I would hope not," Brennan murmurs. Then, louder, for the official memoirs version of the conversation, he adds, "I'm sure he will be pleased to hear that. What I can do to assist with Huon, of course I will, even if that's limited to passing information when and where I can."

Corwin nods by way of thanks.

Here, he pauses to make direct eye contact with King Corwin. "Thank you for your candor, Majesty. Finding information about Huon has been..." he spreds his hands in frustration.

"And Huon, despite my personal interest in him and the situation he's bound to create, isn't my official reason for being here. This is: You were present at Daeon's funeral. You know the manner and the agent of his death. By some metrics, you may have been the most successful of the Wardens of Arden. Maybe all metrics, for all I know. King Random has requested that of all the threats arrayed against Amber right now, I ask especially for advice on fighting the Dragon of Arcadia.

"I will not condescend to Julian to ask on his behalf, but I ask also on behalf of Jovian, who lost a brother; and of Paige, who lost the father of her children; and of myself, who lost a Knight in the defense of his children."

Corwin pauses to consider Brennan's words. "Julian's been tasked with more of a job than any man, even Dad, could have reasonably asked of him. I taught him what I could of the powers of Arden, of Arcadia, and he thought he could master them by dividing and conquering.

"He bred and bred for a steed he could take against it. Morgenstern wasn't his first or his last creation, Brennan, but it's his greatest. He's going to ride that horse to war against the dragon, and he's going to die, most likely. And I'm not sure you or I can do a damned thing about it."

"We might cause him to understand that he need not ride alone," Brennan says.

"Do you think he'll hear that from me? Now?" The question seems rhetorical, because Corwin continues immediately, his eyes narrowing and his brows drawing together. "I was younger and I didn't have the strength to kill it with Greyswandir. I might have that now. Or Bleys might with his blade. But it'll take a blade of that caliber to end the threat from Arcadia, and even then all the shadows around it will be unmoored, and Arden damanged."

Brennan looks past Corwin for a moment at some internal landscape of mathematics or metaphysics or both, before saying, "It is a Lord of Chaos, then, isn't it? One great, massive fly caught in the paper of the old Pattern's influence, so massive it deforms everything around it. Trapped for so long, since Finndo's time or before, that it's part of the geography. It would like removing Kolvir, wouldn't it? Is that why it's been left there for so long-- that the victory would be almost pointless?"

"Not exactly, but close enough," Corwin replies. He doesn't elaborate.

Apparently, not even Brennan's inquiring eyebrow is sufficient to drag it out of him.

Somewhere in there, a potentially dangerous concept is born and Brennan's eyes narrow at the thought of it. He does not share it.

"That does bring us to another question, though. Greyswandir. Why only Greyswandir or Werewindle-- is it nothing more than the antipathy of Pattern to Chaos, or is it something deeper? How can we help Julian if we have no blade to give him?"

Corwin looks at Brennan for a long time, perhaps twenty or thirty seconds. "For the right man, willing to pay the price, there might be a blade. But it wouldn't come cheap."

Brennan's response is also slow in coming-- whatever answer he was expecting, that wasn't quite it. His eyes are asking what the price is, but the words attached to that, surprising Brennan once they come out, are, "Does Julian know that?"

"I don't know," Corwin says. "Probably not. But he doesn't have the price it would demand. Or, more accurately, I imagine he considers himself honor-bound to invest it elsewhere." He smiles, a bit thinly. "And this is something he can't ask of anyone but himself."

Brennan doesn't even pretend to understand the brother to brother byplay involved in all that.

He reaches over and pats his own blade, which is hanging in its scabbard over the back of a nearby chair.

Brennan considers again, swiftly but deeply. "What is the price?"

"To be bound to the purpose of the sword," Corwin says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He looks fondly at Grayswandir as he pats it again.

"Majesty," Brennan says around a mouthful of scotch, "Assume that the very few conversations Brand and I ever had about the nature of the Pattern included very little about the theory or the practice of Pattern Blades. Much less their actual history."

He scowls out the admission: "I know almost nothing beyond that they exist, and that more can be made."

"That's because Brand didn't know very much about them. Does Macy's tell Gimbel's?" Corwin waves his hand before Brennan can respond to that.

That's good, because Brennan can only effectively blink, and assume that's some bizarre Shadow reference.

"Weyland Smith forged them. They each have their own doom. I only know the doom of this one. It's not something I can talk about." He adds, "You could ask Bleys about Werewindle, or Caine if you have no care for your life. I would have thought you'd already milked Bleys dry on the subject."

Brennan blinks again when Corwin mentions Caine, but when it's his turn to speak again, he's wearing his best conspiratorial grin: "It's better to approach Bleys with most of a puzzle solved and let him give the last piece. It's a little extra effort, sometimes, but it gives him such joy. It's best to show him the solved puzzle, though.

"Weyland," he continues. "Another forgotten uncle?"

"If he is, Dad never mentioned it to me, and neither did he." Corwin's tone is easy. "But real enough to cast shadows of his own, no doubt. He's forged many a legendary weapon. His blades have slain dragons in the past. That's where Julian needs to look--or anyone who'd try to help him." He looks speculatively at Brennan.

Brennan looks back at Corwin, speculatively. It's obvious he hasn't considered in depth the possibility of something other than a Family member casting Shadows. He communicates this by saying, "I had thought Shadow casting was unique to the Family. Not to mention any purposeful manipulation of the Pattern-- and this seems one step down from rolling your own." He frowns his skepticism, and continues, "Even relaxing that somewhat doesn't leave a very wide field of candidates, does it? Why would such a being, when I find him, be motivated to create a blade designed to slay a Dragon of Chaos, if he's not a Family member?"

"I don't know, exactly," Corwin replies. "That's not the purpose my blade was forged for. But legend has it that Weyland forged a dragonslaying blade called Balmung. He might make one for you, or he might be able to give you a lead on finding Balmung."

After a moment he adds, "Weyland is real, which suggests he's a blood relation or a being of equal power. I know Dragons are real in their own way, and I assume there are other such beings that date from before the creation of the Pattern. You'd need to ask Weyland about his origins to know for sure."

"I'm not yet convinced that 'before' is a well-defined term without a Pattern providing a reference for it," Brennan says. But he shrugs it away for the moment-- metaphysical underpinnings aside, he knows what Corwin means. "Received wisdom would have it," he continues, "that anything both real and not a family member would be a Lord of Chaos. Admittedly, much of this wisdom is received through Brand."

Corwin shrugs. "Semantics."

This mode of thought does not best please Brennan, but he does not make an issue out of it.

He casts his memory back for a moment, then adds, "I don't know if you saw them, but there were Dragons at Grandfather's Funeral. Even aside from that which bore his casket away. I wonder, could Weyland have been there as well, and I just didn't recognize him? What does he look like?"

Corwin speaks slowly, dredging up memories from some ancient time. "He's a reasonably tall fellow, swarthy, dark-haired, generally wears a mustache and a beard. I've seen him with his hair cropped short and his head shaven. Broad-shouldered. Carries himself like a warrior. There's a--depth, a solidity about him. He reminded me of--of Dad, a bit, in that respect. Strangely enough." He falls silent.

[On the assumption that Brennan does not recall anyone of that description-- otherwise, roll me back, please?]

[A person by that description does not come to mind.]

Oh, really, reminds you of Grandfather? You don't say, Brennan doesn't say. What he does do, is slowly shake his head, "No, not that I recall. Dragons, yes, but a man of that description, no. But then, I wasn't looking for someone like that. Now I am, though, since our threats seem to be multiplying, even aside from the Dragon. Where does one seeking Weyland go?"

Corwin shakes his head. "I'd cast the cards to start, to see where I might find him. Or, if I were Bleys, I'd divine using Werewindle. If you have access to a diviner, I'll let you try with Greyswandir, as long as you don't mean to use it as a dowsing rod. I need to remain in Paris for the time being."

"Ah, understood," Brennan says. "I have no great love for the cards and posibly even less skill with them, but Cambina is quite talented. Before we leave, may we cast them in Greyswandir's presence?"

"Of course," Corwin says easily.

Brennan takes a sip of his drink, then says, "Unless there's more advice you have to give on the topic of wars against the Dragon, I think that covers that. On behalf of Paige, and King Random, and myself, I thank you. Not necessarily in that order. That leaves at least two other issues of interest to both Paris and Xanadu: Dara, and the Moonriders, take your pick."

Brennan frowns, faintly, remembering. "Three, I suppose. His Majesty, King Random, requests you not think of pink elephants."

Corwin cracks a grin. "He would, wouldn't he?" Then, more seriously, "What about the Moonriders?"

"Specifically? Not much. The Moonriders aren't a puzzle to be solved and brought back to Bleys. I've already pressed him for as much information as I can get. I know you and Benedict were involved in those campaigns, and if memory serves it was before King Random's time."

Corwin nods.

"I haven't heard a peep out of them or seen a sign of them since Grandfather's funeral, and meeting the High Marshall on the way back." Brennan exhales like he wants a cigarette for emphasis, even though he doesn't normally smoke. He struggles with the admission: "Scared the hell out of me. I don't think he was even trying to." Beat. "They'll come back. It's a hunch, but they'll come back. And I don't want to have to run around trying to educate myself in the middle of a hypothetical crisis. Just once, I'd like to be ahead of the curve."

"With Dad gone? They'll be back." Corwin frowns. "If you want my advice, guard the stair to Tir. That's where he'll strike. The Marshal, that is."

Brennan nods, not entirely surprised by this answer. "We believe Tir-na will appear above Xanadu when the conditions are right. That leaves me with three immediate questions: Why there; why at all; and how-- I've never heard anything that makes me believe he's a Family member, except that waging a campaign against Amber without the ability to Walk would be... challenging."

"The Moonriders have other magics. There are always natural paths. The question is figuring out how to get where you're going along them," Corwin says. "The Marshal has that trick down somehow. I don't understand exactly what drives him. I can just tell you what he seems to want, and that's something to do with Tir."

Brennan doesn't know whether to nod or shake his head. "Something drives him, and I don't know what. He invited me to Ghenesh, after a fashion, when we met. I should have mentioned that to the Altamareans, to see their reaction." He smiles when he says it, but there's no humor in the expression.

Corwin nods.

He exhales slowly, then says, "At any rate, I'll tell King Random. That leaves the tough one-- Dara." He lets her name hang in the air for a moment, then asks, "Do your guns work here? In Xanadu?"

Corwin frowns. "There are guns that work here--it's part of the mindset of the place I was thinking of when I scribed the Pattern--but not the ones I used in Amber. I have no idea what works in Xanadu. That'll depend on Random. Why? What does that have to do with Dara? Does she have some of my old guns?"

"Yes, Majesty, she does," Brennan says. "At least one. At some point prior to Grandfather discovering and turning her, Dame Aisling penetrated your army and took at least one gun. Dara discovered and stole it."

"They may not work in Amber, now," Corwin says, but his fingers tighten on the arm of the chair slightly. "I assume someone's mentioned this to Random? He and I were both a bit preoccupied by other questions the last time we saw each other, and we've both been busy since. Or maybe he did and it's slipped my mind in all the trouble since." He scowls.

"I have, Majesty. He knows. It is the final matter on which he sent me to seek your counsel. I believe, but have not tested the theory, that although the individual guns may have degraded over the years, the principles of their operation remain intact. Since Dara also stole a copious amount of Dame Aisling's notes, observation, and correspondance with her forebear, Madoc...." Brennan doesn't really need to state the obvious, but he does anyway. "I believe she can get them to work, one way or another."

"The last thing either of us needs is Dara trying to pick people off with rifles, whether or not they work."

Brennan gives a tight, joyless smile. "So what we have is a shapeshifter skilled enough to walk unnoticed through the very Coronation Masque, disguising herself as at least one member of the Royal Family," he grinds his teeth quite audibly, "To declare war after she found out that there was no Pattern in the basement to destroy, anymore. And now she has a gun. This does not gladden any heart but hers."

Corwin regards Brennan impassively. When he speaks, Brennan remembers that he was the king of Avalon of the legends. "And what do you believe should be done about this, Brennan Brandson?"

Brennan gives a long exhalation; the question he had suspected he would get. Nothing for it but to go forward. Each point is marked by a finger.

"I see five broad options," he says. "We can give her what she wants." He scowls as deeply as he ever has. "Not a real option, considering she wants your son, and that I do not believe it would result in peace.

"We can wait and see," he continues. "Paris and Xanadu provide more protection than Amber, now. Against a powerful Sorceress who has also walked a Pattern, is it enough?

"We can try to bind her," Brennan says. "We've just spent a long afternoon discussing the failures of that strategy in the long term.

"We can try to arrange a peace," he says, but sounds dubious.

Then a deep breath, finishing on his thumb: "Or we can carry the fight to her," he concludes. "With all that implies."

Brennan lets those options hang in the air for a moment, before closing his hand into a fist. "I don't see any but the final two of those as a realistic solution. Acquiescing to a demand seems bad statescraft as well as unconscionable. Ignoring a problem does not solve it. Bottling it up, as we are seeing, does not solve it. That leaves a peace that I do not understand how to arrange or enforce... or a final solution." He lets the hand open, and fall flat on the arm of his chair.

"You know her better than I, Majesty," Brennan says. "What could be the foundation for a lasting peace, that's more than just a pause while all concerned parties lick their wounds and hatch more plots?"

Corwin listens, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he says, "There was a proposed alliance, before I killed Borel. That solutions no longer seems viable. I'll have to think on what other inducements we might offer. But let me be clear: I will not give her my son and I will not see her killed in cold blood. We would have spared your father at the end, but he would not have our mercy. Dara's not that far gone, not yet."

The muscles at Brennan's jaw and cheek pulse, pulse, and a third time when Corwin says that Brand would have been spared. His beard might hide that, but either way, he says nothing.

If Corwin sees that, he chooses not to comment on it. After a moment, he adds, "Don't become another Caine, Brennan. Dad had his reasons about Caine. Think about that before you marry yourself to a plan to destroy Dara."

Brennan nods, relaxing his jaw. His voice is smooth. "I will bring your words back to King Random before I continue with the rest of my tasks. Is there anything else you would have me say?"

"Tell him there are these little cards, which he might remember, that he can use if he really needs to talk to me about important things like guns going missing, or long-thought-dead brothers returning, or dragons that may need slaying," Corwin says, not without a hint of humor. "Although I see the value of sending the messenger in this case."

Brennan chooses to take this as a positive comment and, despite some lingering irritation over his difference of opinion with Corwin, ends the conversation on that positive tone. "Very well, then, Majesty."

In summary mode for the rest, if Corwin seems to be in a talkative mood, Brennan will stay and ask after the development of Paris, or perhaps exchange their various perspectives and war stories about the Patternfall Battle.

Corwin is willing to talk about the development of Paris over drinks. He's interested in Brennan's story of Patternfall, but he was busy elsewhere at the time and missed most of the fighting.

Regardless, Brennan obeys the proper protocols for departure, waiting for Corwin's permission to leave, etc. And he reminds Corwin that, at His Majesty's liesure, he hopes that he and Cambina will return to cast the cards in Greyswandir's presence, regarding Weyland.