The Hotel Paris is a handsome establishment: the best Le Havre has to offer, bien sur, but where else would Jerod's Aunt Florimel stay? The lobby is all beautiful old furniture, well-waxed and showing the patina of age, and the staff is unfailingly helpful.
La Princess Florimel has given instructions for the concierge to send le Prince Jerod up to her suite on the top floor for luncheon.
Jerod nods approvingly at the surroundings chosen when he arrives, dressed in his colours of black and silver with the black dominant, a short cloak in the style of the musketeers of old added to the ensemble, the opposite of Corwin's colours though with their strange symmetry nonetheless. There were times when visiting Auntie Florimel could be a pain, but most often the times were quite enjoyable...especially when she decided to enjoy the status and privilege that goes with being a Princess. That and Jerod was not her son so he could always decline to accept her advice whenever she offered it, though he was always careful to study the bits and pieces she might toss out to see if there was anything useful. Dad might have make some less than charitable comments about her, but he wasn't stupid. If Auntie Florimel had not been useful, Dad never would have had anything to do with her, apart from keeping an eye on her to ensure the red-heads didn't approach her.
His arrival in the hotel lobby is heralded by the deliberate tap- pause-tap-pause of his spear's base-cap upon polished marble floors and he stops after taking several steps inside, letting the spear fall into the cradle leaning that one would expect from one carrying a large walking staff. To some, he might be seen as gauging the quality of the furnishings, a critical eye noting the intricate carvings that adorn the wood columns of the room.
To others, he is here to be seen and with good reason. Auntie Florimel never goes anywhere that cannot be somewhere to be seen. There was power in politics and the was power in social circles and not always did they go together. Social power was an area Jerod knew he was not always comfortable with, but one which harboured great benefits for those wise enough to dig...and to avoid the sinkholes that would open without warning.
So he is leisurely as he finishes his perusal, a small nod to himself that is visible to those who watch that this place passes inspection...a place suitable for the King's nephew to abide for a time. He steps forward again, his pace slow as the concierge moves forward to intercept him with a suitably polite and formal greeting. Jerod's response is equally polite and formal and thusly done makes his way to Florimel's suites.
She is on the balcony, waiting at the table for him, dressed in an exquisite day suit of sea-green that brings out the color of her eyes. When he arrives, she rises from her seat and comes to greet him, arms extended for a familial hug. "Jerod," she says, "you're looking well. Travel favors you."
Jerod smiles when she rises, moving to one side in the room to place the spear into a standing position before completing the hug, using just enough strength so that it is more than just a formality.
"My thanks Auntie...as always you look radiant. It would appear that Karime has done you no harm either. Indeed for the better I would say." he says, letting her out of his grip. "I trust all is well. Your message mentioned that you had Solace and the children with you?"
Florimel steps back slightly toward her chair, giving Jerod room to move and take his own seat. "She is. Lucas sent her to me after the business with Julian's son. Tragic, that." She bows her head slightly. "I was in transit and unable to attend the memorial in person, although I did listen on a Trump. I'll set a stone on the cairn the next time I go back to Amber."
She doesn't call it "home" any more.
Jerod makes a note of that, filing it for future reference, as well as wondering whose trump she was listening in on. Corwin is the most obvious guess, but it's only a guess. However, he does not immediately take his seat but instead seats Florimel first before taking his own.
"Uncle Corwin provided a bit more detail. I will also set a stone when the time permits, though I have sent a message ahead to Uncle Julian for condolescences. I'm not sure when I'll get back though there are a few things that require attention there, now that the kingdoms are open for business. I'm curious as to where some of dad's people will want to go, and there are a few that I would like to get out early."
Florimel nods. "People are already starting to leave. Felicity Hardwind has come across with me, and Corwin mentioned he'd sent Lord Rein with you. They won't be the last. There are some people I'd love to see come across: Leonardo Kaliq for one. I'm sure the merchant houses will start sending sons to Paris, too, as soon as a permanent path is available."
A waiter comes in with their lunches: fish, prepared delicately in a lemon sauce with capers. It's a nod to his Rebman origins, perhaps, but the style of the cuisine is like neither Amber nor Rebma. There is also white wine--exquisite, of course--in handsome crystal.
As with all things food related, Jerod makes note of possible origins but focuses primarily on whether it tastes good...followed shortly thereafter by consuming everything set before him.
After the balcony is cleared again, Florimel asks, "Was there anyone in specific you had in mind?"
"My man-servant." Jerod says, swirling a glass of wine to study its legs in the sunshine. "My secretary...Barenthkov, a few others. Plus some of a dad's people and his supporting allies. Uncle Random will no doubt be trying to figure out a way to boost his own population base and Amber is far too convenient to pass up, but I wonder how many might want to go there. Despite trying to kill each other, Dad and Uncle Corwin were closer in personality than either would care to admit...certainly more than Uncle Random. They may find it more acceptable under Corwin...the devil you know as it were.
"What about you, Auntie? And will Solace and Lucas be residing in Paris or making their way to Xanadu?"
"Lucas asked me about finding a place here for the next few years. He'd like the children exposed to civilized virtues while they're still of an age to benefit most from them. He's off travelling right now, with, I am told, two of your cousins, and since Solace's health is a bit fragile, I've taken her in charge." She smiles, a bit thinly.
"Let us hope her health improves." Jerod says.
"Let us hope," Florimel agrees. "I plan to remain in Paris, or at least plant the flag there, as it were, for the nonce. I always thought Corwin would make a fine king--as you say, he has much in common with your father--and I know he appreciates my support."
Florimel takes a delicate sip of her wine. "What about you, Jerod? You have so many opportunities before you: Corwin would value your aid, Random could find his own uses for you, and of course, Moire could always use the assistance of another Pattern initiate. It must be so difficult to depend only on dear Llewella."
"Indeed, three substantial opportunities present themselves." he says, nodding. "And with those opportunities come unfortunate obligations that I will decline to accept, at least on their terms." and he smiles. "As you've said, all three would no doubt have a use for me, and thus would be willing in some way to offer some kind of support. Even grandmother, who I suspect is not going to depend on Auntie Llewella as much as I might have once thought given who her daughter is.
"Unfortunately if I followed the old rules, I'd have to choose one of them and put the others on the sidelines and I find that things have changed enough that I do not want to do that. So I think it's time for new rules." and he finishes his wine, putting the glass down. "Who amongst us has a connection in all three kingdoms, that all three rulers would be even slightly willing to risk trusting? Certainly none of their peers and the old habits will die hard. It would have to be one of the children and out of all them I'm the only with a strong enough connection to all three kingdoms."
"Corwin's guilt, Moire's blood, and the friendship of Random's elder son and right-hand man, who's also the--best friend--of Corwin's son," Florimel says, nodding. "A unique combination. You're well-positioned for such a role. If I liked Random a little better, I'd consider the same." She smiles at Jerod. "I know what I'd do with that position, that leverage. Have you thought about what you'll do with it?"
Jerod finishes pouring another glass of the wine as Florimel asks her question but does not immediately reply. He swirls the glass a moment, a distracted look on his face.
"Did Dad ever tell you about his vision for Amber?" Jerod asks absently, waiting to hear her reply before continuing.
"He described it to me once. A brief fragment one time after dinner...a lifetime ago it seems." he says, taking a sip. "He described how the Golden Circle could be expanded, new shadows and paths laid. New commerce and trade, and with an emphasis on exchanges of culture and knowledge to tie the shadows together more securely. Each of them a part of the others, instead of just being...there. Little nodules of reality to be harvested. He saw them as more than that.
"It was a mighty task to set for oneself, the kind that you dream about and if you ever get the chance to set yourself to it, you seize it. It doesn't matter whether you actually succeed or not, just that you set forth to do it. Even if you fail, you know you failed daring the impossible, knowing that around you everyone else was sitting and watching, and doing nothing.
"That dream...if I'm right, is soon to become a necessity. The three kingdoms must work together if they are to survive what will come. Oberon's foes, those he could not destroy, are going to rise and coming looking for him. And they're not going to care that he's dead. They're going to see two new kingdoms, young and vibrant but weak militarily and lacking in support. They'll see a third kingdom, much older and with more support but with the taint of rot and old age within. They will pick them off one at a time, if the realms don't work together." and he finishes his drink.
"And before anyone steps forth to question my quite sincere altruim, let me point out that there will no doubt be considerable rewards to be had as part of the job description." Jerod says with a slight smile.
"Of course," Florimel agrees. She raises her glass. "To the rewards of altruism," she says, and takes a sip.
Jerod follows suit.
As she replaces the glass on the table, she adds, "It's not quite as I'd analyze things, but I'm not a military man, and as we all know, I'm uninterested in and unfit for politics." A dazzling smile lets Jerod in on the joke.
"Amber's broken. Paris and Xanadu, from what I've heard, seem sound enough. Corwin and Random at least get along. Rebma, if what I've heard about Conner's escapades and Corwin's intimations about his daughter are true, is almost in worse shape than Amber. Plus there's that little problem between your grandmother and Xanadu's new king." Florimel's smile is razor-sharp.
Jerod nods at her assessment. Random and Moire's differences are as evident as the wine in front of him. Add Llewella, Khela, and Tritons to the mixture and it gets unpleasant.
"Dara's escapade at the coronation not only injured my son and your sister, it struck at the heart of the appearance of power in Amber. Random has more to worry about than external enemies, unless he's planning to let Amber go utterly. Which, based on his behavior so far, seems increasingly likely."
"I'd guess that Amber is a resource to be harvested for its people." Jerod says. "Unless Corwin or Random have a way to rebuild Amber, I don't foresee it lasting too long. Amber was Grandfather, pure and simple. So unless he's doing his now famous Ganelon act all over again, I would presume Amber will stay dead.
"Assuming the people of Amber are to be recruited, those who are threats internally can be isolated during the movement of people. I'm sure your knowledge of social dynamics, which so vastly outstrips my limited knowledge, would let you know how easily it would be to break apart the various social groups that currently exist once they are moved out of their established places of power." he says with a smile.
"There are always risks that a new group could coalesce that we would be unaware of until much later, but any identified groups that are too dangerous or that can't be broken up...well, I'm sure that some of the vines will be left to wither. The remainder can be monitored and suitable members brought around to that particular monarch's way of thinking."
Florimel listens to Jerod's assessment, nodding in places.
He takes a moment to sip his wine before he continues. "Auntie...what can you tell me about Llewella and Moire?"
"I lived in Rebma for a time, while the Moonriders were attacking Amber. Your grandfather sent me there for safety--I was the youngest, and there was some question of what use I'd be in the war." Florimel smiles, a bit thinly, and continues, "Deirdre was a great favorite there, and I--wasn't. But I have resources to this day, some of whom I reconnected with before I sailed to Karime. In short, I might be able to answer your questions, but some of my knowledge may be a bit out of date. What do you want to know, nephew?"
"All the secrets of reality, Auntie. Golden nuggets of wisdom that will render unto me fame and prestige, fortune beyond imagination and power beyond our wildest imaginations." Jerod says with a smile and a tip of his glass.
Florimel laughs and tips hers in return. Then she takes a sip of her wine and looks at Jerod over the edge of her glass as he continues.
"Of course, I'd be a bit overdrawn in the credit department after that, so I think I'll keep my ambitions a bit more modest, and certainly more pertinent to general survival. Like the relationships between Moire, Llewella and her daughter Khela. I'm trying to see as well if anyone knows about Morganthe and is willing to talk about it but I suspect I'm going to be digging deeper for that."
"Morganthe and Khela were both born after my time in Rebma." Recalling his history lessons, Jerod recollects that the war with the Moonriders preceded Moins' death, and that Morganthe was born after Moire ascended the throne. "I knew them both, but Morganthe far better than Khela. Khela was a very difficult young woman; Llewella had a hard time with her. Morganthe was also--headstrong. But in a different way.
"I think sometimes she saw Random as a way out of her own troubles." Long, elegant fingers tighten around the stem of Florimel's wineglass. "I don't know why she killed herself, if that's what you want to ask."
"I would not expect anyone of the immediate family to have that intimate a knowledge of Morganthe's demise." Jerod says, setting his glass down. "Moire guards that pearl jealously, as if the revealing of it to others would somehow take away from her power in some way."
Florimel's grasp on her goblet loosens slightly. Then she releases it, nodding curtly.
Her adjustment does not go unnoticed.
"It is something that I must wheedle out of the Queen, or Martin perhaps, in the future, but for right now it is not important as to how she died but rather how she lived.
"What little I know says that Khela, and others, had an involvement in that little republican incident down below. I did not put things together until after the understanding came about that she was Llewella's daughter - another of Moire's tentacles came into view with that little tidbit.
"Tell me more about Morganthe." Jerod asks, leaning forward a little. "You say she was headstrong but different. Can you describe how? And why Random?"
Florimel shakes her head. "I can't answer that last question. Who knows what drives any woman in love? The woman herself can't always tell you. Apparently Random has some quality that Rebman women find irresistible." She shrugs and rolls her eyes a little.
Jerod smiles. Though not as specific as to include Random, it is the kind of general question that Jerod has often asked.
"I knew Morganthe before she courted Random. She was never--aggressive the way some Rebman women are. What an Amber man would describe as 'mannish'." A moue and another slight eyeroll convey Florimel's opinion of that position. "But she had very decided opinions of how things should be done. She used to argue with Moire about all sorts of things. Random may have started out as an act of defiance, but I think she loved him in the end. She wouldn't have given him a son instead of a daughter if she hadn't wanted it that way."
"Morganthe could decide at that level what type of child to produce?" Jerod asks curiously.
Florimel tilts her head forward and nods to Jerod's question. "It's a Rebman magic."
"What kind of things did she argue about?"
"Oh, the usual. Moire's interference in her life. Who and what she would marry. Her putative children, how many and what kinds, and how they would be raised. Her role in politics, and Rilsa's. I suspect that she had republican sentiments, or at least sympathies. Or whatever Khela had later. I can't prove that, though." Florimel takes her wineglass back up and swirls it lazily.
"Did Khela know Morganthe?" Jerod asks, making another mental note, studying another piece to a puzzle, and vaguely hoping it does not go where he thinks it might.
Florimel gives Jerod a penetrating look. "She was a young woman when Morganthe ran off with Random and came back pregnant with Martin. I would be terribly surprised if they didn't know each other."
"As would I." Jerod replies. "Which leads me to my next question. Can you describe Khela for me? Enough that I would recognize her should I ever see her?"
"I can try. It's been years since I saw her, of course, and she may have had additional tattoos done or otherwise changed her appearance." Florimel describes a dark-green-skinned, green-haired woman with a large tattoo around her left eye, extending up over the eyebrow and toward her temple. Phenotypically, she seems to resemble Celina, as best as Jerod can tell from the description.
Jerod nods, storing the information for future reference. Martin and others can fill in additional details. "I knew I should have done that police artist course when I had the chance." he says.
"Now for the big question. Did she ever walk the Pattern?" Jerod asks. "I'd be curious if Moire ever let her near it, especially given that she was Llewella's kid."
"My information may be incomplete, but as far as I know, she didn't. Everyone says Martin was the first to walk it successfully, that everyone else who tried perished. If Khela walked it, no one knew, or Llewella and Moire have been lying all this time." Florimel's expression is neutral as to which of these two options she thinks it might be.
Jerod scowls. "Moire wouldn't have let her do it willingly, unless it gave her a significant advantage. And we both know that giving one of us that ability grants the advantage only to the wielder."
"She certainly never let Martin do it," Florimel muses, but gestures to Jerod to continue.
"That leaves walking in Amber or Tir. It's not impossible but I'd doubt it." he says. "Even without it however, she is not likely to be without power. Do you know if she was trained in sorcery, as in real sorcery?"
Florimel shakes her head slightly. The sun catches her blonde hair and lights it like molten gold for a second. Then the moment passes and she is only her normally beautiful self. "I can't say. But I would assume in your shoes that she was. And I would be surprised if she didn't know the secrets of mirrors."
"Something not taught to us mortal males." Jerod says with a smile. "But like you, I would also be surprised if that were not the case."
Florimel smiles. "What do you propose to do with Khela? Or are you merely gathering information against an uncertain future, Jerod?"
"There is too little data to come to a course of action concerning Khela at this time." Jerod replies. "Her intentions, current and future, are not revealed. Until a more reasonable assessment can be made...I'm just gathering information." and he smiles as he picks up his glass.
"Enough that is...to be able to survive the process of gathering more information."
"It would be a shame if you didn't survive, Jerod. I've grown used to having you around. Besides, there may be a thing or two you could do for me sometime." Florimel looks at Jerod speculatively, then lifts her own glass again and takes the last sip.
"I certainly wouldn't consider death the best way to end my day." Jerod says with a grin. "Recognizing of course that I'm likely to be doing a lot of running around in the near future, what do you think I could do for my favourite auntie?"
"Nothing right now, thank you." For a moment, Florimel looks uncharacteristically serious, but then her flirtatious mask slides back into place. "But there may come a time when the strong arm of a handsome man would be an immense help. If I were to need such gentlemanly assistance, Jerod, how might I best find you?"
"To my knowledge there are no trumps of me, though Merlin is working to rectify that situation. However, they are likely to remain a rare commodity...a circumstance that I would be happy to see unchanged." Jerod says.
Florimel nods.
"Assuming all goes well, I would be certain to be in contact with the various monarchs on a regular basis. I cannot see you lacking for trustworthy..." and he pauses with a slight grin. "individuals. These would be available to act as intermediaries on your behalf when you are unavailable." and he pauses for her reply before he continues.
She nods again. "In Paris, Lady Hardwind is my confidante. In Rebma, speak to Lady Vibia. You remember Lady Storm in Amber, of course. I don't yet have a close friend in Xanadu, of course, but I'll let you know when someone I know does decide to brave the new frontier."
There's a great deal of trust implicit in handing Vibia's name to Jerod.
A trust that a good ambassador knows to guard jealously...
"So long as we both recognize that anything that might be requested of me needs to pass what I laughingly call my moral test. There are individuals who are sacrosanct to each of us and we would not appreciate being involved in messing them over. Beyond that..." and Jerod lifts his glass. "As the good man said, everything is worth what the purchaser will pay for it."
Something about Jerod's words makes Florimel smile. A noise that might be called a quiet, smothered chuckle escapes her. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything if I were certain you wouldn't do it, dear nephew. Trust me when I say that if the favor I'm thinking of comes to pass, it will meet your exacting ethical standards. I'm sure of it."
"Then here's to exacting ethical standards." Jerod says with a sip from his glass.
"Indeed," his aunt says, and raises her glass in return.
Upon concluding the luncheon with Florimel, Jerod will determine from her whether she is departing immediately for Paris or waiting for a time.
If she is remaining, then Jerod will bid her adieu and move onward. If however, she is departing, then Jerod is willing to accompany her (and he assumes the other assorted members of the entourage) for the trip there.
She is indeed en route to Paris. Jerod is able to pass some pleasant time with her and Solace and the children on the way. Her conveyance of choice is a luxury barge, which allows for civilized but constant travel.
Solace appears to be a bit pale and drawn, but she is not so ill that she can't keep Hope company as she plays on deck.
Jerod makes both polite and interested small talk with Solace, having always had a liking for her even if her choice in husbands is on the questionnable side. He can only assume that Moire must have looked upon his father and mother the same way, though perhaps with a somewhat more venomous outlook for the future.
Once in Paris however, Jerod bids a goodbye in order to make his way to the Rebman embassy, there to drop off the messaging parcels received from the ambassador in Gateway with an order to ensure that these are forwarded to the Queen immediately. He does not provide them with the message from the Chancellor to the Queen, however. He keeps that so he can deliver it himself.
Assuming that goes off without any hitches, he heads to the palace to see Corwin and report on the Gateway endeavour.
He has to wait briefly while Corwin finishes his current appointment, but soon enough Jerod is in a sitting room with a glass of fine whiskey in his hand and the King of Paris for company. Corwin lets Jerod make small talk about weather and the like for as long as he likes, leaving it to the younger man to broach topics of interest.
Having finally dumped the first set of offending documents, Jerod enjoys the scotch and the chance to put up his feet for a short bit covering the usual nattering that begins any family gossip-fest before inevitably getting to the good parts, which happens once Jerod polishes off the first drink and gets up to refresh his glass.
"Do you remember our conversation we had a while ago, uncle?" Jerod asks as he pours himself a large dose of the scotch, then frowns and tops it a bit. "The one about trust?"
Jerod heads back to his chair during any response that Corwin provides before continuing.
"I've been thinking about something while I was away on this little trip and now that I've been able to formulate it I want to put it you first before I carry it forward."
"The situation that arose with Daeon is just one sign of what may be the future to come. Regardless of the specific threat, I believe that whatever comes is going to be dangerous enough to be a threat to not just one of the remaining kingdoms but all three potentially. I think we can both agree that none of the three current monarchs of reality are in Grandfather's class, even given all this." and he motions around himself, meaning Paris and all.
Corwin gives Jerod a slight smile, but doesn't seem offended by the comparison.
"Grandfather had dangerous enemies and I don't doubt that some of them must still be around. That would tend to hint at the necessity of cooperation between the realms. I don't delude myself into believing that it would be the kind of enlightened cooperation that comes about amongst friends, but certainly that of enlightened self- interest is better than mutual paranoia and suspicion.
"At some point in the future, it's going to be needed. I foresee a need for someone who can be trusted between the realms to act as go- between. Someone like me." and he smiles. "Someone who can be trusted to want the best for all concerned, but not quite dangerous enough, like a brother might be, to pose a real threat."
A slow nod signals Corwin's agreement. "Someone needs to take on the role of coordinating actions between Rebma and Xanadu. There are some things I can smooth over, but the more people trying to keep them working toward a common good instead of at each other's throats, the better. What, specifically, do you want from me to help you achieve this goal?"
"At the moment, just that you agree to it. Logistical development will come later." Jerod replies. "After here, I talk to Random next. I've got a hankering to see Xanadu and I've got some messages to dump off for him. If you've agreed, then I think he'll agree.
"If both of you agree, then I go to Moire reasonably sure to get her involvement. Even in my most pessimistic scenario, she'd agree simply to keep in the loop on things. I doubt it will go that bad. And even if it does, a few judicious comments about what cousin Daeon ran into will help to nudge the mood a bit."
Jerod leans back now. "Once things are in place, then we've got a channel to talk through. Even if official channels get cluttered with Court and ego, there's still a way to get stuff done."
"Very well," Corwin says. "You have my agreement. If you need something official, I'll write it up and seal it. Random doesn't need fancy paperwork, but it might be helpful when you return to Rebma."
"The requirements of an old Court." Jerod says. "The official docs would definitely be a good idea. I'd also like one more thing. I'd like you to pick out a weapon for me, made or marked in such a way that you feel uniquely identifies Paris." and he smiles for he's certain Corwin's going to wonder why the request.
(and no he's not looking for power items...other family members can go chasing those...he doesn't need them and he doesn't want them..:)
"That..." he says, pointing to the spear off to one side, "...is a symbol of Rebma. I'm going to make the same request to Random if he agrees. One can never discount the value of symbology."
"A weapon. Uniquely Parisian," Corwin muses. "Do you have a choice as to style or technique? I lean toward a sword-cane, myself. I can only imagine what Random will have up his sleeve for you." He frowns. "There was a time when I would have known where to send to have such a treasure made, but that time is no more."
"If it can be something that tends to complement my existing style that would be good." Jerod says. "If not, then I'll adapt. I figure Uncle Random will either have a hold-out derringer, or something along the lines of a comedy schtick force-lance."
A smile breaks through Corwin's usually-serious demeanor. Something about the expression reminds Jerod of his father.
More alike than different - brothers too close alike to be anything other than rivals. Jerod takes another drink and buries what he is thinking. It has only been five years.
"What time is it that is no more?"
Corwin's smile fades. "I used to know someone who could make a weapon of the sort you're asking for. But he is no longer ... accessible."
Jerod frowns. "Who is this individual? And why is he no longer accessible? I would guess that he displeased someone in the family?"
"His name was Weyland Smith. He forged this," and Corwin pats the blade at his side. "He might still be out there somewhere, but I have no idea of how to find him after everything that's happened. I'll find something, but I don't know that it will be--unique--in the way that even the least of Weyland's blades is."
Jerod frowns as he thinks, sifting through his memories, the product of a well refined and highly ambitious education by parents determined to cover every possible subject imaginable, and coming damn near to succeeding.
"Weyland Smith?" he says. "There's a series of mythological references to someone with that name. Always an individual who is masterful with a forge, and not just making weapons.
"There's a couple of Nordic references I remember reading about, someone named Volundr, probably a variation of Weyland. He's said to have married a maiden and the result of his love was a ring. He had his fair share of betrayal inflicted on him and in return inflicted greater suffering on those who hurt him. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Brita hadn't known a shadow of him in her home."
He sits back for a moment, sifting his memories further. "He forged the armor that Beowulf used to the defeat the Grendel. And he forged a sword called Balmung, also known as Gram. It was used to kill a dragon." and then he points at Grayswandir.
"That fit into these stories anywhere?"
Corwin nods. "The details of the dragonslaying differ from shadow to shadow, but yes, that's the man. Primarily a weaponsmith, but a master of all sorts of forging. The name he gave when I met him was Weyland, so that's the one I've always used."
"Then I'm not sure I'd want to acquire a weapon from him." Jerod says evenly. "One of the stories about Weyland that I read said that he had a particular idiosyncracy. It was said if he was offered the payment that he demanded, he would be unable to refuse the commission and would be forced to complete it.
"While I'm sure some might see that as a flaw on his part, I would wonder what kind of price is paid for his wares." and he motions to Grayswandir. "That doesn't come cheap. Would it be impolite to inquire what you paid? And where he was when you met him?"
"In a place that no longer exists," Corwin says, frowning. He opens the drawer of a nearby table and draws out a battered box of cigarettes, offering one to Jerod. He lights himself up.
Jerod politely declines. Unlike some of his cousins, Jerod never acquired the taste for addictive or narcotic diversions.
"Grayswandir wasn't my price to pay. At least not in that way. And if I had Weyland Smith make a weapon for you, you wouldn't pay either. Not that what I had in mind would cost nearly what this one did." Corwin pats the handle of his blade like it's a living creature.
"Perhaps one day I will find out." Jerod says. "But not today. More pressing matters attend, like Auntie Llewella's daughter Khela. Do you know of her?"
Corwin frowns. "I didn't remember that Llewella had a daughter. Was she born after I left Amber?"
"I gather she's been around for awhile though on the quiet side. Flora told me a bit about her. I've been wondering if she might have walked the Pattern. If not, you might want to watch yours."
Corwin nods in a way that suggests he's doing that anyway.
"According to the reports, this Khela was around when Morganthe was alive, though there was a difference of age between the two." Jerod says. "Based on comments made, I'm to gather that Moire is not too pleased with her. Apparently she's been involved in some questionnable activities in the past. It would certainly explain some of Auntie's behaviour towards the Queen.
"I have some vague suspicions that she might have been behind that little incident of mine with the Triton, though I could be wrong about that. Given that Llewella decided to threaten me if I chose to defend myself against her daughter in the future however, that would tell me that Khela has a less than pristine set of character references."
"Rebman women are a law unto themselves. Llewella always was, even if she wasn't as--feisty--as you make her daughter out to be." Corwin's smile wry. "She comes by it through her grandmother, I imagine. Moire got more of that than Llewella. I sometimes wonder whether Moins and Dad cancelled each other out that way or whether they simply overwhelmed Llew." He shakes his head and focuses his attention back on Jerod's problem. "Will Khela's possible enmity--or whatever drove the Triton incident--and the run-in with Llew make it a bit difficult for you to visit Rebma?"
"It was difficult to return even before this happened." Jerod replies. "But I can't walk away now. If Khela's involved with any of the Triton rumblings, then that puts a lot of people at risk regardless of whether they choose to be involved. It also de- stabilizes Rebma and that can put Paris and Xanadu at risk."
Corwin nods.
"As for Auntie, if she doesn't recognize what my message was, then I won't be able to spell it out any clearer. If Llewella has been running interference for Khela, even without meaning to, then Khela may decide she has a shield to protect herself and use it to further her own objectives. If anyone who opposes her backs down, they invite attack because she may believe she can operate with impunity. I had no backup, no one to fall back on. So I had to be bold. I drew a line in the sand." and he motions with a finger. "This far...and no further.
"Since I can't get to Khela to...give her a message...Llewella will have to do." Jerod pauses, looking at his glass. "And if that doesn't work, with luck Llewella will believe that I'm just a traditional chest-beating male. Then she won't bother looking beyond that while I go around collecting allies and warning them about her daughter." and he smiles.
Corwin nods again. "And it'll do no good to take it to Moire at this point. Either she's aware of the threat or she won't hear it. Which do you think, Jerod?"
"Moire already knows about Khela. She would only acknowledge a message I have if it involved someway to neutralize Khela without creating a rift with Llewella. I think it is Llewella that prevents action from Moire, otherwise the Queen would have dealt with the...annoyance...a long time ago." Jerod says.
Corwin nods. Jerod suspects Corwin's thoughts march with his own there.
"Moire did not reveal to me that Khela was Llewella's daughter however. Instead, she indicated that Khela was a member of a Shell that was not terribly welcome in Court. My mother had a similarly...venomous response. My understanding is that Khela had an unacceptably close relationship and thus an unacceptable influence upon the Queen's daughter...Celina."
Corwin's eyebrows, moving in tandem, rise just slightly.
Jerod pauses to see what if any reaction there is.
Corwin motions to Jerod to continue.
"I doubt that Moire told you that Celina received instruction at Khrop, or who provided it. Celina herself provided a few details after I met her. A few other pieces then fell into place." he says matter-of-factly. "If Khela has instruction in the mirrors, and I doubt she would lack that aspect, she would be able to track Celina if she wanted to."
Jerod does not add, nor does he need to, of what other people Khela might be able to monitor with that talent.
"Khela could keep an eye on a lot of people, yes. There are ways to block that, especially for a Pattern initiate, but it's easier to do it by keeping away from mirrors. Requires a lot less effort," Corwin says with a slight smile. "I'll be more careful, and I'll definitely ask my daughter about Khela when next I speak with her. I appreciate the warning, Jerod. And while we speak of magic, tell me about your trip to Gateway, why don't you? How did you find the experience of forging the path back?"
"It was certainly easier than my previous attempt. No headaches this time." Jerod says. "It will hold for a time, perhaps a year. It will need to be stabilized before then. I think in a few months I will return and bring back another set of ships so I can do that."
Corwin nods. "That's to be expected. Permanent paths aren't easy to lay. You'll be able to do it more easily the next time."
"As for Gateway, it was interesting. The Chancellor made an oblique offer that I'm still considering. I was curious to Conner's friend Thalia. She had made an offer of magical training and I wanted to speak to her and see if I could pin her down on some more of her dealings with Hargar'el and her underwater mayhem. She had gone north however and was unavailable. The Chancellor was wondering if I might be going to look for her."
He points over to the spear. "She also told me a bit about that too."
"I'd be careful of an offer of training from a Gatwegian witch. It might cost you more than you're willing to pay. As for the spear, tell me about it, if only so I'll know what sort of impressive weapon I have to match."
"I'm sure that Thalia thought that another Prince would make a suitable prize." Jerod says. "I'm more curious as to why she believes the study of shadow magics would be of any interest to me. If I was going to study anything, it would be real Sorcery. And my desire for the company of redheads has not yet begun to assert itself."
Something in Jerod's tone suggests that particular condition is not likely to happen anytime...ever.
Corwin shrugs. "If I were going to pick up another shadow magic, the sort they use in Gateway would be the first I'd consider. They have something that lets their magic work in enough different shadows that I wonder about it."
[Jerod] points over to the spear. "The carvings on that were done in Rebma. I've had a chance to study it in more detail and if I'm right, it was done by one of the best around, an exceptional graver by the name of Gaaue. One of the few who could fuse both coral and bone without causing them to blow up in his face. I'll need to take it back there to confirm it though.
"The Chancellor made mention that the spear was from a great beast of the northern wastes of Gateway. She said some would refer to it as a dragon's bone, though she claimed it was not. Now, how my grandfather came by it is unknown. He might have brought the basic core with him, or it was acquired later somehow."
"A dragon's bone?" Corwin asks. "May I?" And he rises, as if to examine the spear at once.
Jerod motions his permssion, rising as well to freshen his drink, and Corwin's if it so requires it.
Corwin nods, and hands his drink to Jerod as he moves to examine the spear. He picks it up, examining the haft and the tip. "I can't tell anything without a more detailed look, but it could be, or it might not. I'd say have a sorcerer examine it. Normally I'd tell you to avoid the redheads and deal with the Rebmans, but this time, no. Maybe you should talk to Merlin instead."
"Redheads and Royal Rebmans are pretty much in the same boat about now." Jerod says. "Too willing to keep secrets and then not willing to account for keeping them." He places the refreshed drink on a side table for Corwin to collect.
"Last I saw Merlin was working a trump of me. Is he around?"
Corwin says, "No. He's with his sister. They're travelling. He contacts me occasionally, but he isn't much on details. At least none I think of as useful. She said at the funeral she was going back to Rebma, but if she is, it's by a circuitous route."
"Crap." Jerod says flatly, pausing to down the remainder of his drink and setting the glass down. "In that case, I'd better get ahold of dear Uncle Random and get the next part of this act into gear. Before Celina gets back home and runs into her mom before I do."
Last modified: 15 March 2006