[Conner's] note to Random produces a response in Gilt Winters' hand. His Majesty has departed the kingdom for Xanadu again and did not discuss when he planned to return, so unfortunately Gilt can't arrange an appointment. Reading between the lines, Conner gets the feeling that he'll need to visit his uncle's new castle to talk with him.
Bleys' return note arrives after Brita departs:
My dear nephew:
I shall be delighted to expound on whatever area of expertise your mother referred you to me over at lunch. I'm taking the liberty of bringing my son Edan, who arrived last night, with me, so please have a third place set. Looking forward to it!
Signed Bleys
Conner has chosen a large stone balcony with a fine view of the harbor as the venue for today's lunch. He thought Edan might appreciate an overview of Amber and quite franky, dining in the open air and sun still held novelty value for Conner even all this time after Rebma.
Thanks to his Munniwalite allies, Conner was able to have a selection of foods from the Land of Peace present at the meal as well as the more traditional Amber fare including the finest roast beef Conner could get the cooking staff to lay their hands on.
Conner simply enjoys the feel of the sun on his face as he idly sips from a glass of red wine and waits for his lunch guests to arrive.
Bleys arrives, stepping out onto the balcony. "Quite a scene you've set for us, Conner, quite a scene. My son should be here shortly." He heads for the red wine.
Edan arrives a few minutes later. "Forgive me," he says. "The castle has a strange layout... fortunately, I had the smells of lamb and spices to guide me." He bows, hand pressed to his chest. "You are my cousin, Conner? I am honored."
Conner presses his hand to his chest and returns the bow. "The honor is mine, cousin Edan. Please be seated and enjoy." Conner began filling his plate with slices of the roast beef and some roasted potatos. "The little I have seen of the Land of Peace fascinates me. I've never seen such a tangled web of loyalties and rivalries. I would love to hear of the place from your perspective at some point."
"Assalmu Alaykum, Edan. Pray do tell us about the Land of Peace. My own recent visit demonstrated that affairs in Amber have had a strong effect on it. I'm curious to hear your perspective on events." Bleys' lazy smile is, unusually, not mocking.
The prince fills his plate with delicacies from both localities, and lets the younger men discourse.
Edan loads up his own plate, mostly with foods from the Land of Peace. "Sahik halal," he says quietly as he adds several things, including part of the roast. He seems inordinately interested in the pitcher of water and ice, and of course the view of the city and harbor below them. Amongst the saffron rice and figs and other fruits are added several peppers that would melt the stomach linings of most mortals.
Edan gives Bleys a graceful nod, eyes downcast, before turning to Conner. "The Dar-es Salaam was blessed by your presence," he says. "If you saw it again, you would recognize it. The land is bountiful with trade, and all manner of ships and caravans come to the cities on the coast. It is kissed with the heat of the sun, and there are many resources that are found in the mountains and the desert."
He pauses, as if to say more along that thread, but then says, "Is is as you have said. Relationships are complex. Between rivals, amongst family, between cities. Magic, and creatures of the arcane, are not uncommon- they trade with the people and follow their own agendas. The cities are learning to cope with new discoveries and technology, fed by the import of oil from the desert." He pauses again, for a few bites of food, then adds, "I have spent recent years in the deeper deserts, beyond the mountains. Life is different in the desert... there was conflict."
Bleys nods, encouraging the younger man. "You're in a unique position, Edan. Most of us were in Amber or Chaos for the black storm, and while a few of us weren't, we didn't get to experience one of the ripple-effect wars first hand, either. Do you think your presence changed the focus of it? Given that you didn't know what was happening, what did you think was going on?"
"I very much affected things," Edan says quickly. "I know that I did. At first, I thought that the men of the cities had found very troublesome allies... and then I thought the ifriti had done the same. Then I decided that I did not know, truly, what was taking place... the situation was complex. I could tell the tale of the war, as it unfolded, that would explain things." He looks at Conner. "But I would not wish to bore my cousin with a long-winded tale..."
"On the contrary, I am fascinated." Conner assures him with a smile. "Please, tell your tale."
Edan nods, and looks down at their table; he pushes a few plates around in a rough approximation of a map. "The Western coast, here," he says. "Then mountains... then the Border Desert..." He points. "Then the Deep Desert... the Bright Desert here, the great Salt Flats to the south. Far to the east, the Great Central Sea." He hesitates, then waves his hand over the table. "It is important to talk of the djinn, for they have a part in this. They live in close shadows, where the borders are weak and those who have knowledge and power can bring them across. They work to their own ends; the djinni of the air, whose wants change from moment to moment. The marids, who seek knowledge. The djao, who prize their solitude. The ifriti, who desire only power." Edan looks as if he were about to say something else, but changes direction.
"I went... here, over the mountains. I crossed from the Border Desert, with its refineries, into the Bright Desert." He pauses. "I contacted the Firqa al Atish, one of the seven tribes. Their plight was just as I had heard. My heart was filled with the desire to help them. I found that they are numerous... far more numerous than the men of the cities would believe. But the tribes are nomadic, incredibly scattered. They could not fight what the men of the cities brought against them."
"Moved by their plight against such an enemy, you then sought to unite them against the men of the cities and free them from there oppresssion." Conner smiles at him. It was an old story after all, the kind of story that wraps itself around a scion of Amber. "If I have guessed correctly, what about these men of the desert touched your heart so that you took their side?" Conner asked.
"They are more... honest," Edan says. "When a man of the desert speaks, you do not have to check with everyone he has ever known to determine his true intentions. They are a simpler people, yes, but strong in word and deed... strong in their faith. I was also overcome by the disparity in the technology. The men of the cities brought zepplins... artillery... rifles. A constant stream of reinforcements by rail, over the mountains. The tribes had swords and crude pistols, knives of a plant..." he pauses. "You would call it 'petrified wood', I believe. There was little they could do. And I could not bear to see such a proud people so ruthlessly used for other men's profit."
Conner chews thoughtfully as he digests both his lunch and the story. This Edan was clearly a man of high principles. Hardly the sort of things that tended to last long in Amber's royal family. Conner smiles at his new cousin. Watching him change or resisting change should prove most interesting.
"The deserts have vast resources, you understand... there is the oil that drives the economy of the cities... a high fraction of 'light, sweet crude'... there is also iron in the Bright Desert, where the crystalline sands yield pattern-steel of the highest quality. The men of the cities have ever used the tribes to obtain these raw materials..." He glances at Bleys, then back to Conner.
"My father came and asked for ships. That is no crime. But the merchant princes of the Western Cities decided to use this as an excuse to see how far they could push things. An exceptionally greedy and powerful lieutenant took it upon himself to oversee the production and import of oil. They obtained what they wanted... all that they saw was profit. They did not see the pain and the blood that stained the sands.
"I had brought two of the tribes together at that point, but it was slow going. There were not enough men, and the tribes themselves distrusted one another. The raids we made were having little effect, and I knew that the war would break the tribes. I sought... other help."
Conner nodded thoughtfully. "This would be where the djinn enter the story?" Conner asked. "Or did you bring help from outside the Land of Peace?"
"Your cousin has had some dealings with the Djinn, Edan," Bleys tells his son, "Remind him to tell you of his contacts with the Marid Dey of the Longtides who apparently maintains a garden villa in the Land of Peace."
"Ahh," Edan says. "I have heard of that one. You move in more rarefied strata than I, my cousin."
He smiles slightly. "You are correct, of course... I sought help from the djinn. There are... ifriti in my heritage." Conner can tell that this was hard for Edan to say easily.
Conner slides his eyes over to his Uncle at that admission. His raised eyebrow and curious smile clearly indicate interest in that story too, but Conner is a seasoned enough diplomat not to ask and to accept that he will probably never hear the tale.
Bleys just smiles, waiting to see what, if anything, Conner asks him.
Conner returns his attention to Edan.
Bleys looks almost disappointed.
"I sought them. And when I had learned what I needed from them, I found that my summoning circle had become a gate between their world, and the Land of Peace. It was not what I had intended."
"I am becoming more and more familiar with unexpected outcomes from sorcery." Conner drains his glass to drown the memory of a poor ranger screaming. Conner sets his glass back down and with only a slight tremble of his hand, refills it. "What was the result of this now unrestrained access?"
"At first, nothing. The ifriti were hesitant to explore this gateway. In the meantime, what I had learned was... helpful. The people of the desert rallied behind my banner. The raids became more organized, and oil production and refining suffered."
He sits back and fills his own glass with ice water. "Then things began to appear. Beings of darkness and fire. The ifriti were beginning to explore the gate, true... but something else was also using the door. Something that was not djinn. The gateway widened, strengthened. They took areas in the deep desert."
"Your gate must have formed a weak point in the shadow that was exploited." Conner muses. "Darkness and fire. A potent combination. So they took the deep deserts but surely were not content with them. What happened next?" Conner asked preferring the tale to the meal.
Bleys is either less interested or hungrier. He's eating his fill.
"Suddenly, everyone was fighting on two fronts," Edan replies. "The Western Cities were no longer dealing with some desert rebel with a taste for destroying refineries and drilling rigs. They had a new, implacable enemy." Edan points to a spot he had designated as 'mountains'. "The hamaaj... that is what they called themselves... wiped out a city here. They killed the inhabitants to a man, drained them of life. All that were left were dried-out husks of flesh." He looks away for a second, as people do when revisiting a troublesome memory.
"The ifriti were as fractious and confused as men were, at that time. Some worked with the hamaaj. Some served them. Some fought them.
"The Western Cities sued for peace, begged for our help against this new enemy. I agreed, with the backing of the seven tribes- after all, these new demons were attacking our people, too... and I felt responsible for giving them a way into our world, even if they might have found another path. We resolved our differences, and agreed to talk." He smiles slightly.
"I resolved to close the gateway I had made, to deny the hamaaj entrance to our world. That is when it truly became a war."
"From a fire gate to a black gate." Conner murmurs. "From what I have seen of the Land of Peace I presume you were successful. What was the cost?"
"Many lives of men were lost," Edan says. "The demons had changed things to their liking. What was once a great erg of rock and shifting crystalline sand had become a plain of cracked glass. My summoning circle had become burned into the earth, and a pillar of flame rose into the sky. The air was dark and foul, by some unknown means.
"The cities sent men and weapons... the men of the desert had weapons, too, as many as I could have made or provide for them. We had the service of several djinni... but in the end, it was the djao. I had found one more willing to talk than its bretheren, and convinced him to aid us. While men fought and died to push back the hamaaj, the djao broke the gate."
"And yet, " Bleys adds, "it wasn't all that encompassing a war for the cities. They were mostly untouched. Conner, I assume you understand the significance and timing of this Black Gate?"
Conner nods. "I am presuming this is the manifestation of the Black Road in the Land of Peace." He elaborates. "Have you noticed that the manifestations tend to conform to local idioms of foul loathsome beasts out of legend? One would think the forces of Chaos would break convention." Conner muses idly. "Still I suppose the shadow itself must impose some constraints and tapping into local fears is certainly effective."
Conner begins to load his plate once more, this time from the lamb and couscous side of the table. "Pardon my musings. Do go on." It is unclear if he hopes to prompt Edan or Bleys.
Edan spreads his hands in the equivalent of a shrug. "I stayed there, for a time, in the Bright Desert," he says. "I wanted to ensure that all the hamaaj were gone. I hated to do so, for as Father said, the cities were hardly touched... I knew that our alliance was a tenuous thing. And would fade as quickly as their memories would.
"But after a time, storms came from the deeper parts of the desert. Black sand storms... I heard that a similar tempest came from the sea. Everything was covered in blackness." Edan pauses. "I must admit that the full memory of the event left me. The next that I remember, the storm was over and everything was as it was before. I did not know, then, that the storm crossed Shadow... I thought it a last effort of the hamaaj, or a consequence of my own sorcery..."
Edan hesitates again, looking very much conflicted as to how he wants to continue. "How familar are you, my cousin, with the use of sorcery?"
"Well I am hardly an expert but I have had the benefit of training under my mother and your father." Conner smiles a reassurance. "Plus I've a had a relationship with a sorceress of shadow Gateway for quite some time. Feel free to speak of magic, cousin. I shall follow along as I can and ask questions when needed."
"Gatwegans are no sorcerers, merely shadow magicians," interjects Bleys. "Take away their home shadow, or a shadow like it, and they're remarkably mundane. There's a difference. Sorcery, what your Grandmother practices, is universal, or so close to it as to make no difference. Magic is local, although it can be powerful."
He turns to his son again. "Continue."
Edan nods, suddenly serious. "You will remember, Father, that I did not excel in the practice of sorcery." He turns to Conner. "That is not to say that Father did not inundate me with the principles. I wanted to learn, as much as he wanted to teach me. I am as much a theoretical mathematician as a swordsman... I know the equations of Pattern, of probability, of sorcery. In short, I know the rules; I know how to bend them. I know how they can be broken. But in practice, I was mediocre at best."
He pauses to drink from his water glass.
Bleys replies. "With family, especially with our larger family, it's wisest to allow them to underestimate your strengths and overestimate your weaknesses. Always remember to let them make lazy assumptions." He waves his glass at Edan. "Continue."
"I learned the theory of sorcery well enough. My problem was in the doing. Something always seemed wrong, something that I could not fully explain."
His golden eyes fix on Conner, then Bleys. "When I journeyed to the ifriti, I found the missing piece of the puzzle. I was taught of a reservoir of power, existing within myself. A source of fire, of energy. Through movement, through dance, I found I could shape that power into what I wanted. It responds to the laws of sorcery, yes... but it also obeys its own rules, rules that you cannot understand until you give of yourself and actually become the fire, experience it as yourself..." He pauses. "It is hard to describe. But I learned of this new power. I paid a terrible price. I have not yet fully meshed this new thing with what I know of sorcery. I feared, at the time, that I had created something malevolent through my ignorance."
"True sorcery is lawless. What we do focuses on a law or principle of existence and breaks it. It's easy to fly a hundred ways with a hundred different principles of sorcery. The antithesis are the powers of order, which focus on a law or principle of existence and work through it to achieve ends. They are the warp and weft of power and anything that is neither cannot be universal.
"What happens when you raise the pattern while using your gift?"
"They are antithetical," Edan agrees. "This sorcery will not work where Pattern is strong. It does not obey the mathematical tenets of Pattern. It does work almost everywhere else, and obeys the strictures of sorcery that I was taught, though not... precisely. What free time I have had has been spent discovering its limits, its nature. It worries me, as one would fear a thing that one does not understand. It drives me harder to seek the answer. It is... frustrating."
Conner has simply been digesting through this discourse, both his lunch and the subject matter at hand. "You also speak of this as a piece to the puzzle. Do you still feel you are not whole?" Conner inquires.
Edan drops his gaze, clearly troubled. "I am not whole," he says softly. "That is accurate. You, who have spent time in my homeland, would understand. It is not only that my assimilation of this sorcery is not complete. It is the price I paid for such power."
Bleys stabs a grapefruit with a particularly sharp spoon, sending a splash of juice towards the city below. "We shall see, son. Prices for our kind are often transient. Your Uncle Eric attempted to make Corwin pay a price for losing and he couldn't make it stick with red hot pokers."
"We do have the advantage of trying to outlast anything." Conner agrees. "Even the immortal. What price did you pay Edan?" Conner inquires while pouring a glass of water. "I ask only because you seem to be struggling to determine if it was a fair bargain."
"Humanity, Cousin." Edan meets Conner's gaze. "For the sake of power, I embraced a heritage I had denied all my life... that of an afrit, the most wicked of the djinn. I sought this power to save my people. But when I had gained it, I found that I had driven away my family, my betrothed, my inner peace... even the people I had fought to save."
He sits back a little, glances at Bleys, then down at his plate. "Perhaps a few centuries will deaden the sense of loss that I have felt. That sense of defilement."
"Omnia mutantur, nihil interit, Cousin." Conner murmurs quietly. "Everything changes and nothing is truly lost." He translates. "In a sense I envy you Cousin. I've reinvented myself too often to have the deep roots that you made in one place. I was taken from my place of birth and didn't even know of it until well into adulthood. I was student then left books behind to be a sailor and then left ships behind to be a diplomat. Then I left all that behind to be a regent and a member of the family. And all that doesn't even begin to touch the changes wrought by Pattern and by Sorcery. I do not envy you the pain of a life ripped away. I envy the memories you have of a former life well lived."
Bleys nods. "We keep psychic scars longer than physical ones, in general, but we're larger than they are, and generally meaner. When you realize you can live without it, you will find it gone. It's just a part of being inhuman." He sips his coffee and looks at a ship pulling out from the fishing quay far below.
"Perhaps it will be easier here, Father, in this new place, with new family," Edan says. He turns to Conner. "But I have been dominating the conversation here, being a poor guest. Your experiences sound fascinating. Were you here when the storms moved across Shadow?"
"On the contrary, Edan the poor guest is one that brings no story to tell." Conner smiled at both his guests. "No, I was not here. I was in Rebma, the city under the sea. We tend to think of it as Amber's reflection but we don't voice that in front of the Rebmans unless we wish to annoy and anger them. I've thus had occasion to mention it often." Conner chuckles and pours more wine.
That brings a raised eyebrow and a slight smile from Edan in response.
"Based on what we learned from Corwin and Random's little essays in large-scale floor-based art, I think it's safe to assume that someone drew the Rebma pattern." Bleys sips his coffee.
"Rebma fared quite well actually. Even better than Amber did." Conner settles back in his chair and focuses a moment. "There was a seaquake but only those structures weak and liable to break in strong currents anyway were strongly damaged. Trade with the oceanic shadows connected to Rebma was cut off and the Faiella-Bionin was broken, so Rebma had to survive on its own resources. Meals were a little lean but widespread starvation was not a factor provided one liked fish."
"To live underneath the ocean... for any length of time... that is not something I have experienced," Edan says. He looks as if the prospect is as frightening as it is exciting.
Conner suddenly grins in amusement. "Sorry, it just struck me that spending so long underwater might have endeared me to the Marids. I shall have to explore that at some point." Conner waves that away as a thought for another day. "Have you been told about the Sundering, Cousin, and what it cost us metaphysically?" He asks.
"The breaking of the Pattern, yes?" Edan looks between Conner and his father. "Your mother mentioned it to me, when I came to Amber. This place is no longer anchored to Reality... it is most disturbing to me to manipulate shadow here. And with so many of us gathered together..." He glances at Bleys. "I was told that this is not a good thing."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. It's not. However, I think that the effects will be negligible for a while until the loss of the pattern here really shows. When Amber is a little Llama-herders' outpost on the side of a mountain, then we'll be a serious risk to it. Not this week."
"How do we know many of us in one spot is bad?" Conner inquires. "Has it happened before?"
Edan's hand twitches as if he wished he had a pen. "I do not think so," he says. "Though I do not know how long Amber has been without a stable anchor of reality. The effects can be extrapolated mathematically."
"Exactly!" Bleys seems more animated than he was a few moments ago. Then he frowns suddenly. "You should consider a few months with me, Conner. Studying higher maths. It builds character."
"The last time I considered a proposal of yours I was to 'spend a few months in Rebma, a year at the outside'" Conner smiles in good humor.
Bleys shrugs, and since he is a gentleman mentions neither Thalia nor that Conner was able to sit out the war in safety.
Conner reaches behind the stack of spare napkins and finds the pen he was sure somebody had left behind, He hands it to Edan. "I know the feeling when one has to start writing and has nothing to hand."
"Ahh, thank you," Edan says. He begins scribbling on one of the napkins, several sets of matrices and then differential equations that define relationships between them. One of the sets is labeled 'Conner-Bleys-Edan'. Another is labeled 'Amber', and on first glance the equations make sense; if each person were a ship, and the wake they generated moving through the water was followed all the way to the shoreline, each person would be responsible for a tiny amount of erosion on the rock by the water.
Then Edan starts adding in factors like the rocks decaying internally in a geometric (ooc: pun not intended) progression and the water gaining the density of something approximating lead and a complex interpersonal strengthening effect of one person to another depending on the distance between them, and the equations suddenly look impossibly complex.
Conner then turns back to Bleys. "Of course if you are so eager to educate me there is the question I wished to ask you." Conner segues smoothly. "Not surprisingly the conversation after the funeral led to the topic of dragons and from there to pattern blades." Conner knows Bleys must know where this is going and so does not disappoint. "I asked if your blade and Corwin's were unique or if there was the possibility of other such items being found or created. Mother had to defer to your greater knowledge." Conner shakes his head once more in amusement. "As I said, a singular occurance in my experience. She challenged me to ask you of Weyland the Smith. So," Conner theatricly clears his throat. "Who is Weyland the Smith and how does he relate to the creation of Pattern Blades?"
The scratching stops, a silence that lasts for two heartbeats; then Edan starts scribbling again. He does not look up.
Bleys looks across the table. "In answer to the second part, he is none other than the author of them. In answer to the first part, he is a man I would very much like to punch in the nose."
"And yet you have not fulfilled this desire?" Conner grins at his Uncle. "Then Weyland must be an exceptional person indeed." Conner leans in a little. "Uncle, I am trying to work out the feasibility of creating another Pattern blade or similar item. I know this must be difficult or costly else everyone in the family would have a matched set for everyday and special set just for court. If your desire is to dissaude me, you know you have a better chance with information than with evasion. I've been trained by Mother and yourself too well to leave a gap in my knowledge.
"So what is involved in the creation of such a blade, and what are the costs involved in creation and wielding them?"
Edan slows his writing, then stops, his concentration broken; he stares at Bleys with golden eyes, his expression thoughtful.
"I've been thinking it was a desire that would have to remain a regret, but where there's life, there's hope. If Weyland the Smith is not dead, then both of us might achieve our goals.
"Very well, on Pattern blades. Edan, if you look at the 2nd order differential of the fourth equation on that page, you'll see an anomaly as it approaches the asymptote. Now, add one over aleph to the exponent here and you see that that sets the differential in phase with the Pattern's base harmonic. So, there can be only one per Pattern, it must be created after the Pattern, and it reinforces the Pattern. Oh, yes, it doesn't work for the zeroth order of the equation or even the first order.
"Weyland knows how to make and tune a Pattern blade, which no one else has ever managed, or even determined how to start. Note how the transformation is bidirectional, Edan. That means I am attuned to Werewindle, and am the Knight of Amber. I'm not convinced it can be undone even with the Jewel without the reference pattern to reverse the effect.
"Your grandfather considered it an honor to be doled out carefully, and only changed it in extremis. I was given the sword of Amber to defend the Kingdom and the Pattern from Huon, may his name be forgotten.
"The trouble with the maths is that it's unclear--entirely unclear-- what could happen if the pattern was destroyed and the Knight was not. No one was as surprised as I was to have survived the late war."
Bleys takes an orange and begins to peel it.
Stubbornly, Edan follows the maths anyway, isolating the equations that define Werewyndle and balancing them with what Bleys would recognize as his own personal signature. There are pauses as he paws back through his own memory to remember something his father might have told him years ago; then he continues. Off to the side, he writes:
:: Amber- Bleys/Werewindle
Tir- Corwin/Greyswandir?
Rebma- ??
Oberon's sword on Trump- Primal? ::
Bleys takes a pen from a pouch at his waist. He crosses out the fourth line and adds two more lines:
Xanadu
Paris ::
"It still doesn't balance. There's some factor that I can express mathematically, but can't determine, that distorts things."
Conner could only blink for a moment as he took in what Bleys revealed so calmly. Conner takes a slow, long drink of wine and then sets the glass down. "Well the empirical data point of your own survival should help collapse the waveforms some, should you desire more theoretical underpinnings of your existence."
"Yes, but I consider myself exceptional. Good breeding, you know."
Conner falls back into silence for a moment, still processing what he has learned. "Were you able to sense the Pattern's Sundering? Has the pitch of Werewindle altered without the base harmonic of the Pattern to stabilize it? And if you don't mind a more personal question, what was involved in attuning you to the blade?"
Bleys bites into the orange. "The pleasure of the King."
"I think," Edan says, calmly, "that Werewindle relies now on my father. I worry that the opposite is also true."
So that is what he meant when he was suprised that he survived, he thinks. How would I prove it, one way or the other?
Bleys shrugs. "Worry not! I intend to beat the odds, my son, and continue my enjoyment of borrowed time indefinitely." He turns to Conner. "I'm not 100% certain that Werewindle is unbreakable without Amber."
"What odds do the mathmatics give you?" Conner asks out of morbid curiosity. "And Werewindle?" Conner now has an even greater reason to seek out this Weyland. "Have you considered seeking out Weyland to see if can help with this situation? If he can, you have no risks to your survival and if he can't you can get in that punch you've been wanting. Seems a win-win situation to me."
Edan had stopped eating, and is looking at Bleys with the same bird-bright intensity his father enjoys fixing on others.
"The Smith and I are not on good terms. He was not forthcoming with me when last I saw him. If you find out that he is not dead, then I might feel the need to do something about him." He looks grim. "The maths are unstable; there's a missing factor. You see the fifth equation? If that was right, it would mean that Oberon couldn't die, and yet he's dead and the seventh equation only makes sense if he can. When I really get deep into those two, I think that I should've been a plumber."
"Because the cosmos is going down the drain?" Conner quips. "Hardly an endorsement for learning the higher maths though I have never desired to live in any sort of ignorance." Mathematics always seemed like an esotoric diversion past a certain number of variables. If only he knew then what he needs to know now. "Since I find it more likely that I will find the smith before I find a missing factor, I think I shall start there. Where would you suggest I start looking for Weyland?"
"Is it like that of the legends in Shadow?" Edan asks. "An island, surrounded by a misty sea, and Weyland himself hamstrung at his forge?" He hesitates. "There is, of course, another person who might know how to resolve these equations with one another."
"I thought he'd come to a bad end in my dear sister's favorite viking-flavored shadows. That's where she went looking for him. You may want to check with Brita. And I'm not taking new math help from him. He omits details. On purpose." Bleys stands and walks to the edge of the terrace, where he looks out over the mountainside.
Conner has the grace to leave Bleys be for a moment since all of this has struck a nerve. Instead he turns to Edan. "What math tutor do you speak off, Cousin? I find it wise to at least know all the players in the game as it were."
Edan spreads his hands. "Merely a guess, and I have never met him." He smiles. "I have not met anyone, actually. But if my father and your mother do not know, and Grandfather is truly dead, there is always the one who taught them. If he still lives."
From the edge of the terrace, Bleys turns back toward his son and his nephew. "Didn't you hear? He was at your grandfather's funeral. He's stopped wearing that ridiculous hunchback shape, too."
"More recently, he appeared in Xanadu after Random's first court." Conner informs them. "In typical fashion he was about to spill the secrets of the universe and then got distracted by a shiny object, namely Folly." Conner sniffs. "They wandered off so that he could test her aptitude for Trumps."
He nods in his father's direction. "There is obviously a burden associated with a Pattern blade. I do not know your reasons for wanting to seek one, my cousin, but you should ask if the price is truly worth the advantage."
"The reason is to protect a pair of children from a Dragon." Conner replies simply. "I investigate it because it is the only effective method known to fight one of these beings. Of course, there may be other ways. I simply start down the more definite path first."
Bleys nods. "It's a good tactic, doubly so against a creature as unordered as that Dragon. The trick is that the sword never really lets go. If we'd really wanted Corwin back all those years ago, we'd've looked for Greyswandir and then he'd've popped up like a jackdaw five minutes later."
"Always saw him as more a raven myself." Conner comments absently. "Well at least I know something of the pros and cons." He falls silent for a moment. "To be honest, I don't think I believe in Xanadu or Parys enough to bind myself to them that tightly. Not yet anyway."
"I like Xanadu," Edan says. "I will be leading ships there from Amber, for uncle Random. It has a fresh, clean feel to it... I would not make such a bargain based on that, of course. But I will enjoy seeing the place grow and develop."
"The place certainly has potential if the seedling is allowed to take root and grow." Conner agrees. "I shall even do my part to help tend it. I would consider doing the same for Corwin's Parys but his close ties to Rebma make it unwise for me to do so at this juncture." Conner smiles at Edan. "Long story involving me being framed for smuggling and the murder of two people. Of course those last charges were dropped when they were both found alive here but still some bad blood remains." Conner shrugs.
Bleys returns to his seat.
Edan's eyebrows climb skyward. "And Father told me you were a diplomat," he says, too deadpan to be anything but humor.
"Oh I am." Conner smiles serenely back. "But sometimes you get better results with a crossbow and a kind word than just a kind word."
"Practical diplomacy can be very useful, if you're careful. It's hard to go back to the other kind." [Bleys] turns to Edan. "Do you know when you're to leave yet?"
Edan shakes his head. "I had started a letter this morning, before coming here," he says. "An introduction from me, and I hope that something similar will come from Xanadu. I am no sailor, but I did see preparations being made... I plan to go as soon as they are ready to sail."
"They shouldn't hold you up long." Conner observes. "His Majesty seems eager to start the migration. I think I shall consult with my sister before deciding on a final destination. Likely I shall stop back in Xanadu before continuing on though I plan on the direct route."
Edan inclines his head in response. "I might see you there, then, if your journey allows such luxury of time. I met your sister, when I arrived at Amber. A fascinating woman... it is not often I have the opportunity to meet goddesses."
"Most gods are ill-tempered, petty, and arrogant. Like us, really. But it's a dead end. Your late cousin couldn't break free of it and become something larger. It's something we'll have to look out for in your niece and nephew."
Conner nods grimly at that.
Conner turns to look at Bleys. "What are your plans Uncle?" Conner reaches out for his wine glass and takes a sip. "Will you be heading off as well?"
Bleys looks at Edan. "They don't need a sailor, the harbor's full of those. Amber won't become a ghost town overnight, but it will happen sooner than we expect, I expect. You've heard about Corwin's pattern, I assume? Inscribed on a desolate plain notable only for its lack of notable features, he came back after a few years at war and there was an ancient city on a great river, built in layers upon layers, with a millennia-old sewer system underneath it. Fitting, that last, but disturbing nonetheless." Bleys leans back in his chair, looking up at the sky.
"I think almost no one has considered how that applies to Xanadu." He turns to his nephew. "I shall. I need to test the practical applications of some new theories that I have regarding mathematical formulae in light of the non-unique nature of first-order patterns. I want to know what's causing me to think there's more of them than I know of."
Edan leans forward at this, and glances at the paper that had his list of Patterns and Blades. "I wonder," he says, "how much of it was the will of the Pattern's creator. Or the design of the Pattern, as it was being inscribed. Or the nature of the shadows around the primary Pattern. Or all of them." He looks at his father. "Does that mean you will be close to Xanadu for a while?"
Bleys shrugs. "If the old wizard had been in the form of a squamous tentacled monstrosity, would we be here talking about how odd it was that most people have scales? With the failure of his greatest and stupidest ambitions by my late brother, we're not likely to learn what is inherent and what is a side effect of starting on a tabula rasa. I have to admit that seeing him succeed would have been marginally better than seeing Dworkin succeed in erasing it all, but only by the smallest margin."
"Just as well. What would you mathmatical theorists debate if we had all the answers." Conner's smile only reaches halfway across his face. He coughs to clear his throat and takes a swallow of wine. "I really must take you up on that offer of higher maths one of these days Uncle. I am starting to feel behind the times."
Bleys grins. "During your studies at Bleys Academy I promise that I will not have you framed for murder, although that seems to have been an education in and of itself."
"An education yes, but it remains to be seen what the lessons actually were." Conner comments idly.
"I must warn you, I have found more confusion after learning the higher Pattern maths than before," Edan says with a smile. He turns to Bleys. "You think there are more... formulae? Properties? Or do you mean more... first-order Patterns?"
"More Second Order patterns. Zero for the Jewel of Judgement, First for Dworkin's Primal, Second Order for all reflections of it. Third Order, which we used to call Second Order, doesn't seem to exist. Tir na NOg'th distorts things. It can't be a Second Order pattern, but it can't not be a Second Order pattern. So the math is wrong or the Universe is."
"I don't think those are mutually exclusive options." Conner chuckles. "What is it about Tir that differs from a mathematically proper second order pattern?" He asks looking over at Edan's writings once more. "What isn't predicted?"
Edan frowns. "You think there is something else that is affecting the other?" he adds.
"Phase is a constant, not a variable. If it were a variable it would be set once for each pattern. If it were a variable it couldn't follow a predictable periodicity." He smiles ruefully. "This is what your Uncle considered our greatest failure--that we didn't understand Tir Na nOg'th.
"So while I think there must be another pattern, I don't know. In part I don't know because I can't explain why Tir is and isn't at the same time. It throws everything we know into doubt, but for the most part what we have is reasonably predictive, so it's still useful, even if we know it's wrong."
Bleys looks at the two of them. "What I need to do next is go looking for another second order pattern."
"All roads lead to them, so they say." Conner comments. "I don't suppose it would be as simple as shifting where it seems easier to do so until you don't end up at Xanadu or Parys?" He asks his Uncle.
Bleys chuckles, low and amused. "If it is, I'll let you know."
Edan quirks a little smile. "I hope you will let me know a little sooner than you normally do. Perhaps something scrawled on the back of... what do you call them... a postcard? Something I can read the same year you send it." The smile has the understanding of their situations and duties behind it; it is purely an attempt at humor. I wonder if Paige picks at him the same way I do, he thinks.
Bleys smiles. "We're in the wrong universe to underestimate the communicative power of cards, my son."
"And you, my cousin," he says to Conner, "it was a wonderful repast, and an honor to meet you. I hope we have the opportunity to talk again soon."
"Indeed, it was good to have this talk. If you wish to take me up on my offer, you have my card." [Bleys] stands and goes towards the door.
Last modified: 11 January 2006