'Le Soleil', his father had called it.
Edan arrives early at the dockside quay, and takes a moment to admire the boat tied there. He is dressed in loose pants of white linen, white slipper-like deck shoes, a dark red sash which holds his two curved swords, and a vest of red and gold. His chest is otherwise bare, as is his head; Edan's skin is the color of rich cinnamon, and his hair is dark. If there was an ounce of fat on him, it was long burned away by the harsh sun of the Land of Peace. Each movement shows the ripple and play of muscle under his dark skin. His eyes are golden, glinting in the light.
He stands quietly, looking over the exotic sloop his father had suggested, pawing through his memory for names to place with the parts of the boat he is seeing.
The sloop is small, but looks fast. A gangplank is attached to her, and a sailor aboard is definitely aware of his presence, although he doesn't disturb him.
Moments later a carriage arrives from the shore and his father steps down with two men. The older of them is very old. He seems more deliberate than decrepit. His eyes are the most alive part of him, and he seems to take in Edan in a moment.
The other man is of indeterminate age, with no signs of age and a full set of hair. His first glance is for The Sun, assuring himself that all is in place.
"Ah, Edan, you've prompt, my boy, very good. Marquis, Captain, this is Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon. Edan, the Marquess Maritime, and Captain Fearnaught."
The two men bow. The Marquess slightly but adequately, and the Captain in the style of the Land of Peace.
Bleys continues. "The Marquess is in charge of the harbormaster, and almost everyone else. If you have urgent needs for your voyage that can't be resolved through channels, go to the Naval Club and tell the Marquess. Oh, you're an honorary member, now that they know of you, so if you need a place to stay in town, stop there.
"And Captain Fearnaught is master of my sloop. He'll be taking us out for sailing practice."
Edan's return bow is low and respectful. "May fair winds guide you, and good fortune follow," he says, rising. "I have just been admiring _Le Soleil_. I can see why my father chose this vessel... she looks very versatile." There is the slightest of pauses before "she", for ships built in the Land of Peace are given male honorifics.
"Those ties on the bowsprit, those are for a... spinnaker, yes? I take it that we will be sailing downwind as well as upwind?"
Captain Fearnaught grins broadly. "Yes, that's one of our tricks. Not necessary for basic tasks, but glorious for speed with the wind in the right quarter. Although not so good if you're going to be fired upon or want to sneak."
Fearnaught seems ready to launch into full-scale lecture mode, but Bleys interrupts. "Thank you for joining us Marquess. The crown is, as usual, in your debt."
The Marquess almost manages not to react. Almost. He bows, and says "I serve at the pleasure of the King."
"Oh, we all do, M, we all do." Bleys turns to Fearnaught. "All aboard, then? I think a fair wind is coming up..." And indeed it is. And Edan can tell his father made it probable that one would.
"Of course, my father," Edan says, taking in the complex byplay between the three men.
(OOC: is the Marquess showing the body language that he's going aboard, too? If he's not, Edan will say his goodbyes here, along with a mention of his task, and meet him later)
[He's making to get back in the carriage.]
[Edan will arrange a later meeting, then, with the appropriate eloquence. He'll mention, as Bleys likely has on the way over, that Random wanted him to help move ships to Xanadu.]
[Done. Start or gloss it in due time.]
He looks up at the wind filling the sails, smiles slightly, and falls into step with the others. "I am grateful for this opportunity," he says. "Considering the task his Majesty has given me, I need the practice. It is difficult to sail in the Deep Desert."
"Indeed. Although there are places where the glass-like volcanic or salt flats makes it quite possible. Small craft. Step lightly," he says, boarding the Sun.
Captain Fearnaught doesn't give any orders, but a nod is all it takes. The crew, four men of uncertain shadow origin, quickly and efficiently pull the lines aboard and let the sloop start gliding towards the entrance of the harbor.
Bleys looks up at the mast and the tell-tales. "The sun can be crewed by two, but Fearnaught likes to run with a larger contingent than that. Do you want to take over the wind? The sailors will sail, you just need to have your sea legs, be able to bring wind from any quarter, and shift shadow while you're doing that. Oh, and be Princely. Mustn't forget that."
Edan returns a rueful smile. "It is difficult to be Princely whilst vomiting over the rail, my father. But I will do my utmost."
Bleys smiles. "Your skill, like your gorge, must rise to the occasion, my boy."
Edan winces.
Bleys smiles just a fraction wider.
"Just as a dance," [Edan] mumbles, feeling the sway of the ship under his feet. "A dance of constant motion..." He inclines his head, half-closes his eyes to enjoy the play of wind and spray upon his face, and decides that it is probable the headwind would shift... just... there.
"I could violate the principles of Space," he says, working with the stuff of Shadow, "make it so the wind would follow us wherever we went. Simple... fire is strong with motion, with change. But it would be hard, would it not, to shift while doing so?"
"You're less of an applied sorcerer than a theoretical one, as I recall," Bleys says. He turns into the wind, letting it blow his auburn locks out of his face. He cuts quite a dashing figure, and he knows it. "It would take a supremely skilled master of both disciplines to work with Sorcery and the Pattern at the same time."
"In other words, yes," Edan says, and smiles a little into the wind. He finds it probable that there will be a shift to starboard as the sloop tacks around. "But a devastating and unexpected tactic, should I master it."
"It's a tactic of leverage and subtlety, not force. You have two major strikes against you when you try that: you are bringing up opposed powers and the mere presence of each impedes the workings of the other. When you, yourself are the conduit for the power, you funnel the interference into a smaller channel. We could each work at a lower efficiency in the presence of active powers of Chaos and Order, but you, personally, would be at a much greater disadvantage if you worked with both.
"It's usually best to keep to one or the other, but knowing what and how to use them together is an arrow worth having in your quiver."
Bleys leaps to the rail, hanging onto a line. "Mundane tasks, you should be able to conduct unimpeded while bringing the ship to Xanadu. So, the lesson is simple. Bring the boat through shadow, while telling me your impressions of your newmet kinfolk."
Edan nods, and begins to concentrate.
"I have had the opportunity to talk with a few," he says after a moment. "They are all of them complex, and not described easily in a few words, no? But I did make a few impressions.
"The first would be the easiest to describe: Paige. She is everything that you told me, and more. What I did not expect was for her to be a mother... and her children are perilous. Yes, that is the word. Perlious. There is a tension about my sister that I did not expect. It does not sit well on her."
As _Le Soleil_ takes another tack, the color of the sea lightens a bit from its deep azure blue. The wind falters, but only for a moment; it picks up its previous strength, at the cost of a pair of dolphins who appear off of starboard and begin to playfully race the sloop. Edan automatically glances to the bow, to make sure a dolphin striker is not in place on the bowsprit.
"Untempered steel is brittle. Paige has taken a difficult course to strength, but not one we can shield her from. At this point all you or I can do is stop her from being fish or fowl."
A strong rain comes blowing up on the wind from the stern quarter, and Edan feels resistance to his shaping. His father grins at him.
"Who else?"
Still looking at Bleys, Edan says, "Captain Fearnaught... more speed, please. Tighter tacking should be enough." He turns his head, then, to regard the captain of the sloop, and Fearnaught is the only one to see the ghost of a wink at Edan's right eye and the glance to starboard.
"Two more points into the wind, lads! Look sharp!" The Sun isn't quite being overtaken by the storm, but it isn't losing it. Bleys smiles, and jumps to the rail.
"The old game of shadow-play," Edan continues, turning back to his father. "But this time on the water. It is... interesting." And as Le Soleil begins to run along the leading edge of the storm, he says, "Prince Garrett... I only met him for a moment. He is young. I applaud cousin Brennan as a mentor." He smiles as the rain advances steadily on them; no one can say he does not have his father's flair for drama. "I have not told anyone just how young I am, my father. It would cloud their perceptions, I am sure. But Garrett... my guess is that he is still feeling around, still not sure of his limits."
"Random won't allow it. Brennan wants to go commit either suicide or Dara-cide, and if boyo is with him, it bloodies Random's otherwise clean hands."
There's a sudden clap of thunder and a blinding flash of white light, almost simultaneously, and the storm has reached the Sun.
"Who else?"
The water is cold, as is the feeling of sudden cold humidity on his face. It is exhilirating, to say the least. As the edge of the storm reaches them, he pushes the complex working of probability and shadow-play he had been concentrating on.
Zero-order thinkers, he knows, react to circumstances. With such a lack of initiative, they would all be very wet. First order thinking... that would push a plan and make changes according to circumstance. But there was resistance to his manipulation of shadow, and things would not change in time. They would all be very wet. He had to use second-order thinking... anticipate the plans his father would make to his own plans to stop his father's plans... plans within plans within plans. Bleys is much better at this. But Edan does know one thing...
His father is concerned with appearances to a fault. Not only that, he has to make everything look natural and easy.
The pair of dolphins leap from the water in a perfect, playful splash, trumpeting their presence and the arrival of the storm in their unique, whistling bleat. Edan even has time to reach out and touch the side of one as they pass him.
To avoid an ignominious soaking, Edan knows, Bleys has to swing there... or turn there... or jump there. Naturally, as if he meant to do it all along. It does not matter. While his attention is thus distracted, the clouds break just slightly off to the right, just where Edan had glanced earlier... and the winds aid the new tack to push them back out and ahead of the rain.
Edan hears a hearty laugh from Bleys, and the same dampening effect on Pattern that arose when Bleys used Sorcery before. Nonetheless, it acts as the distraction he wants. There is another flash, and a boom just afterwards.
Edan cannot afford to look back at Bleys; his eyes are on the sails, and his mind is full of mathematics and aerodynamics and guesses about the strength of canvas and the differential calculus of three constantly shifting parabolic areas in three dimensions and the effect of force and direction vectors upon them.
"Brennan himself," he says. "We could almost be brothers. We seem very, very similar." He pauses. "Though I would not trade my past for his. He strikes me as someone who has had misfortune in his life... so much so that he is closed, closed to everyone." Edan risks a quick glance back at Bleys. "He seeks to war against Dara?"
"Yes, as if she were a person and not a Duchess of Chaos. He did not learn the lesson of Duke Borel's 'death'."
Bleys puts his hand on his son's shoulder. "Who else?" The seas are getting rougher, and the ship is travelling very quickly.
Edan leaves the sailing, for the moment, with the captain and crew; he finally recognizes that it is the presence of sorcery, rather than just an attempt to counter his own workings of shadow, that was his father's goal. It was the plan all along. Plans within plans, indeed.
Carefully, he tests the limits of the spell. Already, he has felt the drag of sorcery on his use of Pattern; obviously, to make the two work together, he has to concentrate more on making the end results work.
"Conner," he says. "Conner is... subtle. I do not yet know his limits. But he is genial enough, and from talking to him, I know that he is capable. I think he will not stop until he finds an answer to his questions on Pattern blades."
"My goal was to provide him with enough tantalization that he would go forward and enough information that he would do so with his eyes open. Blades are formed by pounding steel with a hammer. So are warriors. If he's to be on the anvil, I want it to be his choice."
Bleys swings around a guy line out over the open sea and lands in front of his son. He's dry, drier than he should be on a ship as if by magic. "Sorcery is a power of Chaos, and as such functions by telling the universe that the rules can be ignored, that they are different, they don't apply. It is a challenge of intellect with the universe, engaged by expert knowledge of where to apply pressure to convince the universe that one is merely whistling past the graveyard. Pattern is a power of Order and as such functions by sheer power of will to convince the universe that it is easier to agree with you than to leave things as they are. It requires the concentration of the power of the universe.
"As such, the two poles are mutually repulsive. Sorcery is weakest when pattern is evoked and vice versa. Rather like juggling cats and dogs. Neither is happy about it when it's just themselves and worse when it's both."
The seas are getting rougher, despite The Sun's ability to outrun the storm's leading edge.
"Who else?"
"Brita," Edan says. His eyes become unreadable again, his expression guarded, and the reaction suprises him as much as anyone. "Fascinating, really. A goddess of... Asgard? Who controls an aspect of water. Very different, of course. Everything about her seems almost an opposite to myself. It suprised me to learn that she is a child of Aunt Fiona. And a sister to Conner... they do not seem much alike, either."
"When she was a child, she was blonde. She's growing into a fine redhead. She talked Mother into teaching her the rudiments of sorcery and didn't end up arguing with the furniture."
He sighs. "Gods, of course, are available by the bucketful in shadow. It's like being a sailor, except doesn't require as much skill or knowledge. Try it sometime, but don't expect to make a career of it."
Juggling is an apt term. Edan frowns. Lose the momentum built up with Pattern, in order to pursue Sorcery? No wonder
Looking out at the choppy sea, he tries to smooth the waves to larger, calmer swells through concentration and Pattern; and when he is satisfied with the results, he opens his Third Eye to mark the changes his father has made, and see what he himself can do with them.
It's subtle. Bleys must have some sort of mathematical interaction in whatever principle he's using to cause occasional monster waves, but it shouldn't be anything Edan can't handle.
Dropping the pattern is easy, as if there was a sudden drop of air pressure. Bleys' waves start multiplying much more quickly. And something's happening with pattern as well. It's not very easy on Edan's stomach, but he seems to be able to control it. For now.
"If you find yourself with this much trouble when I'm not around, then someone is actively opposing you and you should find out who, and why. But you knew that. Who else?"
"My niece and nephew. I will have more time with them, of course, on this journey. They seem... wild." Edan pauses. "Other than Aunt Fiona, Uncle Random, and Uncle Gerard, those are all that I have met so far."
Edan gives the waves a moment, studying their frequency, then begins a spell of his own to interfere with that of his father.
Bleys nods when Edan starts, clearly pleased. "We'll need to introduce you to the rest of the Castle Amber Rugged Individualist Collective in due course, including those elements that have migrated to Paris or Xanadu."
The spell is complicated, but the fascinating part is that the formula for the cancelling application of his fire magic would need to match one of the first derivatives of the pattern's third equation. It's hard to even think about casting that as a spell.
Bleys grins at Edan. "If the sun ever gets over the yardarm, we can break for lunch."
Edan finds that it is his turn to laugh. "I should never have told you of the nature of my sorcery," he says, fists placed on hips. "Not to give you enough time to think up this tangle, at least."
He pauses a moment. There is the puzzle; There are the rules. Too close to shift away, too intricate to untangle quickly, and Edan assumes, immolating his father to break the spell is likely not an option. "I've not seen something like this since you tested me on the theoretical knowledge of sor..." he says, and then breaks off.
Bleys had left a clue about that, as well. More a theoretical sorceror than a practical one, he had said. Try a practical solution to get out of this. But what? The most practical thing would be to leave the spell as it was. But he couldn't... or could he?
Edan begins his own spell, hands weaving, his body beginning a new dance. His movements are the matrix of winds and storm and waves. The original intent was to calm the sea itself... but Edan already knows the effect would not last, and there is not enough time to make the kind of intricate spell he wants. Instead, the forms the matrix as a 'bubble' around the sloop, an area of calm seas and fair weather powered by the very instability Bleys had created. Eventually he nods, satisfied; the spell should last at least an hour or two. Only then does he realize that tiny flames are calming and disappearing around his body, and that he has scorched a High Cthonic Sigil upon the deck of _Le_Soleil_ with his dance.
"I am sorry," he says, horrified, to both his father and to the captain. "I thought I had more control than that..."
"I think it's rather fetching. Captain Fearnaught, I think we should have the deck waxed here, so that the sigil is on permanent display. Think of it as a good luck totem: an earth sign burned by fire on a ship of air and water."
Edan follows that with an apologetic look in the direction of the captain.
Bleys looks at his son. "Now, this is useful." He reaches out with his sorcereous power and the ship pitches slightly forward as the aft is lifted by a wave. The wave continues, and the entire bubble of calm is moving rather quickly through the storm. "Be in Xanadu in no time at this rate."
He looks somewhat concerned. "The only thing to worry about now, is 'can we stop it, or are we taking the ship into the harbor at a hundred knots'? I leave that as an exercise for the student."
Edan crosses his arms to cover his sudden suprise. "Of course," he says, to buy a few seconds. "I think I know how that is to be done. But a short lunch first, yes? My matrix should hold for a little while, and I would ask Captain Fearnaught a few questions about the tolerances of his ship. Sails, masts, stopping distances..."
Bleys looks slightly doubtful. "Technically, the sun isn't over the yardarm. It's on the far side of the raging storm outside this bubble of placidity. However, I'll not hold up lunch on legalisms. Lunch is in the basket to your left." Bleys follows his own example and opens it up. He pulls out a skin of wine and loaf of bread. He breaks the bread and offers half to Edan.
"Now, what do you need to know about our vessel? Either the captain or I can answer."
"Here is my plan," Edan says. Taking a small stick of charcoal from his boot, he draws geometric equations on a napkin.
"Applying Pattern will reduce the wave, and the shift of wind will slow the boat. But shifting Shadow is often an exercise in what one is willing to accept, and I do not wish to damage the sloop with winds or waves that are too strong. How strong of a wind can the sails take? How rough a sea is too rough? If this route is this..." he says, sketching, "and the winds come from here, at this speed, to reduce the inertia of the boat..."
Captain Fearnaught looks at the equations, and does a quick conversion in his head. He names a speed. "At that wind speed, the shrouds holding the masts up go, and we're stopped, but not in a way I'd like. If we get much past that in gusts, we could lose sailcloth, but if it's steady it's the tackle that'll go.
"I can't tell you what's too rough, with the seas, since rough seas go with rough winds, usually. The problem with gale-strength waves is either when they break or when the storm breaks you.
"Waves'll wash men overboard, if we're not careful, though. How bad do you think it will get?" He looks up at his crew, who are busy doing something to the scorch-mark on the deck.
Edan frowns at the equation. "I will not find it acceptable," he says, and picks up a fresh napkin. "This is not war... this is not a choice of losing one man to save all. If even one man drowns here because of my inexperience with the sea, my heart would be wounded." He shows another set of equations, with the wind speed reduced and the stopping distance increased considerably. "With better planning and the grace of the Merciful One, we can avoid that, hmm? This is better, here. A stronger influence in Pattern. More onus on myself to reduce the wave relative to the wind. Simple calculus."
Edan pauses to take a drink. "The only problem is that the speed of the boat and the influence of traveling in Shadow will approach the difficulty of a hellride. We will go away before we come back... we will sail in thicker, more viscous water to reduce some speed. My concentration will be completely taken, and I will rely on you and your crew to sail us safely through the changes." He looks up. "This is acceptable?"
"Yes, My Prince it is."
Bleys speaks up. "Don't forget that as we approach the nexus point of the pattern locus, sorcery will be less powerful and pattern moreso. Until you cross the inflection point of the 2nd order differential, where the pattern influence becomes so strong that you won't be able to manipulate it at all. Like Kolvir i...used to be. Don't let that eat all of your safety margin."
Edan nods in response, realizing that his back had straightened and his shoulders squared in response to Captain Fearnaught's address. 'My Prince'... it did not have to be said that way, in those tones, in that manner of respect. Clearly, his own feelings toward casualties in this plan had had an effect.
"I shall be careful," he says, and looks out in the general direction of their destination. "Let us do this thing."
The captain rises from the table, nodding. Bleys looks over the ship. "I shall be in my customary roost, " he says, pointing to a long, low chair on the deck. "Wake me if you need me."
The captain orders his men to follow Edan's plan and the ship moves through the stuff of shadow as expected. The sorcery reacts to the presence of the pattern by breaking down along the expected lines. The water that Edan finds is as viscous as desired, with the added benefit of returning them to sunlight. After some time, Edan finds he can work neither fire nor pattern with ease. The ship is coming into Xanadu. She is coming in fast, but under control. It looks like Le Soliel's crew will be able to manage the arrival.
At the last possible moment, Edan spots a raft in the harbor's mouth. There are two youngsters on it. The Sun is likely to miss it, but she's also likely to swamp the small craft. The lookout shouts a warning to the Captain, who looks to Edan.
Edan meets this with an emphatic shake of his head. "Too close!" he says to Fearnaught, indicating how near they are to Xanadu for shadow-play... Edan can swim, and under the circumstances would be willing to trade a little pride (i.e. get wet) for the admiration of the youngsters and all onlookers, but the options seem limited.
A rope tossed out with a float would likely... what is the term? Keel-haul the both of them. That is not acceptable. Edan does shout out a warning to his father, as a back-up in this situation is hardly a loss of face, and concentrates on three remaining possibilities. One is that his porpoises actually rode with them all this way on the wave, and that is far too unlikely this close to Xanadu. The second is to use the rail and the boom to snatch the youngsters or hook the craft alongside, which might cause them to fall overboard anyway... or himself fall, trying... also very risky.
The third is the best. Edan concentrates hard, using their speed, and murmurs an entreaty to the Merciful One as he tries to make the raft ride the sloop's wake rather than be swamped by it...
[Your GMs are GMs of little brain, and thus do not entirely understand *how* Edan was going to try to make the raft ride where he wanted it to. We blame ourselves, but press on with our explanation of how we decided what happened next... Other than rejected option 1 or rejected option 2, Edan has a limited set of tools to use to solve this problem: his pattern, his sorcery, and the ship are most of those tools. Edan could try Sorcery, Sorcery is weakened by a Pattern but not stopped. However, his fire-sorcery aspect is good at blowin' thangs up!, but not so much at raft-saving. Edan could try to sail the ship in some fancy fashion, but he didn't talk to the sailors or grab the wheel, so that probably wasn't what he was doing. Edan could move Le Soleil through shadow, but that's explicitly not gonna work this near to Xanadu, with that Picturesque waterfall and castle at the other end of the harbor the Sun is sailing into. So the only guess we have is that Edan is trying to manipulate probability. That's not supposed to work, but we don't have to say if something was a result of it or not, so Edan can try and we don't have to set a precedent... OK, so now we have an idea, and we're going with it.
"One attempt at pattern-based probability manipulation in a pattern-saturated dead zone later..."]
Edan looks over the side as he concentrates on reducing the likelihood that the raft will be swamped. The resistances is massive; it gives him an immense headache, but he can sense some slight ability to affect outcomes, even here. It's not much, but it may be enough. He keeps it up, the pain in his head threatening to make him black out. He looks out to see how it's working and the raft is moving towards the Sun, but also in towards the lagoon. Edan can't tell if it's an artifact of his efforts, but he's convinced that the boys on the raft are the two boys who first met him in Xanadu. They're paddling the raft.
The two come closer and closer and The Sun misses them. The raft is behind them now and Captain Fearnaught rushes to the stern to see if they're still afloat.
Edan looks back through the haze in his mind and sees them, afloat.
"Well done," says Bleys, who has come up behind him. "Tell Fearnaught to bring us in. It wouldn't do to crash on the rocks after such an eventful entry."
Edan pulls the palms of his hands away from his temples and nods. "Whatever you did, thank you," he says, though it's hard to focus through the splitting headache and the bloodshot eyes. "I did not expect to succeed. I do believe I have discovered what that hangover you used to describe, feels like."
He moves, as best he can, to the sloop's Captain and says, "Bring us in, please, Captain." His voice is but a shadow of its earlier strength.
The Captain is straining the ship to slow her, but seems to be well in control.
"I didn't do anything. Either what you did worked, or you were lucky. In the end, either is a victory. I think you learned something, so I count it as one, in any case. Or you will have once your head stops pounding. I suggest an easier trip back, perhaps via trump. Also, have some willowbark extract and a cool drink, one of Gerard's with the ice and the umbrellas."
The men drop the anchor and the Sun comes to a halt. Edan can see, through the haze that may or may not be in his mind, the gleaming sunlight on the harbor and the pounding downpour from the falls.
"I shall do so," Edan says. "A most interesting lesson, my Father... though many things have changed in the years since I have seen you..." He presses a hand against his forehead and slowly smiles. "...some things do not change."
"My lessons still give you a headache? I try, I really do."
When Brennan tracks Fiona down, his intent is to schedule out some reasonable amount of time under her direction. Brennan's conception of "reasonable" here includes more than just pestering her with a list of questions he'd like to get answered. Although there is, in fact, such a list, Brennan considers himself at least an advanced student-- if that weren't the case, he reasons, she wouldn't have entrusted him with Brita's own supervision. So, while there are questions, Brennan tries to pitch them in such a way that he gets guidance to work out some of the matters himself.
But before that, he gives Fiona his estimates of Brita's own technique and ability, noting that she seems to have had training from both Clarissa and perhaps Ambrose already. Brennan does not sugar coat: he considers her a strong native talent, but is less grounded in the fundamentals and the finesse of achieving large results from small actions than he himself would like to see. If Fiona is interested (he expects she will insist) he will explain his own philosophies of Sorcery and teaching, but beyond his broad estimate of Brita's talent and strength, will not get into specifics of her performance. Brennan's approach, of course, emphasizes complete mastery of fundamental principles-- his first tutor was Clarissa, who struck him as an insufferable pedant, but whose training has served him well. He tries to deliver the same mastery but in a more interesting fashion, integrating Sorcery into a broader philosophy of games, rules, cheating, and innovation. And at appropriate moments, he will add formalisms and mathematics in a fashion that would please Bleys to no end.
When this is completed to her satisfaction, Brennan will submit to any tests or demonstrations of his abilities that she would care to set before him.
And finally, he wants to set something of a training agenda between the two of them. He already has strong ideas of what he'd like to learn, of lore as well as outright Sorcery. But he acknowledges that he is a student himself and that there may be areas that he does not even know that he needs to know. He goes out of his way to mention that and to ask her counsel in that matter. Things Brennan would like to know (knowing that there might not be time to cover all of them-- Brennan doesn't suggest that there might be things FIona doesn't know) include:
-- What was the Great Road that Dworkin mentioned?
Dworkin always did want his metaphors to be expressed in concrete terms. It's how he describes the path starting at any one Pattern and visiting each one until you've returned to the start. In a metaphysical way, it surrounds the Primal pattern the way the Golden Circle surrounds Amber. That's probably not even an accident. The old components of it near Amber were the stairs to Tir and the stairs to Rebma. If he's right about it, there would have to be a connection between Tir and Rebma.
Of course it all got scrambled.
-- Is it possible for Sorcery and Pattern to be used together, by an advanced student, or are they automatically opposed to each other?
No, they're automatically opposed to each other, in that one relies on working through increased order and the other relies on lowering order. A powerful practitioner can use both, but should be prepared for each to be dramatically less effective. It's usually best to come up with a different answer.
-- Are there powers outside of Order and Chaos? He mentions this as a pracical issue, citing the Dragon, Ambrose's mention of a "sign of fire" and a general sense that since Patternfall there are hints of powers beyond those he had considered fundamental to the universe
No, Dragons are chaotic. Ambrose's power is either sorcery or shadow magic. The equations are clear. Not that you can't be killed just as dead by shadow magic, or even a shadow flint-tipped spear.
-- What does he need to know that he doesn't even know he needs to know?
That's a good question. When he's figured out the answer, Fiona will tell him.
[Note: This entry is supplemental to the big summary mode Fiona/Brennan training thread. It covers the activities from approximately when Brennan met with Meg and Bleys forward to wherever the GMs pick up Brennan's non-summary threads (presumeably, Brennan and Cambina in Paris) and focusses on Amber stuff. Since the GMs indicated that the effort to shuttle people from Amber to Xanadu will be beginning, it mentions that, too.
[It's not expected to get a reply from the GMs, but to inform and give flavor.]
Brennan is constitutionally unable to keep himself unoccupied for very long, even when he is theoretically at his leisure. Once the various groups of his cousins that are departing have departed Amber, which seems to include most of them, his restless tendencies take over. It's easy to understand how Brennan managed to spend five centuries roaming through Shadow without getting bored: his interests are diverse, and his will to keep himself occupied are phenomenal.
On the personal side, of course, there is Cambina. Although neither are the sort to cling, Brennan takes the opportunity of at least a few slow days up front to spend quality time with her... publicly, and not. And on the professional side, as it were, there is training with Fiona. [See other summary thread.] But Fiona comes and goes at her own schedule.
Of major hobbies, Brennan seems to have two, right now. One is stone carving. When seen relaxing in public, he's often seen with an oblong chunk of stone, about the size of three fists stacked on top of each other. Those who have reason to know such things will see that it's a piece of Pattern chamber rubble. He is slow and painstaking in the work that he does, and it's doubtful that he gets far enough in his work for it to be identifiable other than the figure of a man or a woman... nor will Brennan identify the intended subject. There is a crack or a flaw running through the stone, though, and if anyone points it out, the response is, "Yes. Yes, there is."
The other is linguistics, and the continued pursuit of Brand's neo-Uxmali. This is a private hobby, and much more meditative in nature. He decodes what more of Brand's papers he can, occasionally with Sorcerous aid, since there is a deep connection between entropy and information. But the hobby part of his efforts is in truly understanding how neo-Uxmali works, and that can only be done by writing something in it. Still, the prospect of using Brand's language to write down something sorcerous or religious in nature, which is what it was probably designed for, still makes Brennan's gorge rise. Instead, it pleases him to turn the language to something he believed Brand disdained-- military strategy and tactics.
The first part of his effort is contemplative, almost meditative. If Cambina walks in on him while he's in the planning stage, he's likely either staring into space with a hand on his chin, or staring at the neo-Uxmali writing ball he has in his chambers, or maybe-- just maybe-- drawing a finger across it. Nothing involves anything as rash as actually marking it with a grease pencil. Latter stages will involve some paper diagrams in a way that formalizes the differences between flat paper and the spherical surface. If anyone of a mathematical bent were to read through the papers, Brennan would be defining the geometry of a lattice across the surface of the sphere. It's likely that only Ambrose... and perhaps Bleys and Fiona... would be able to intuit that these will be the locations of major glyphs across the surface: forty that will actually be present, and two more at opposing ends of the sphere that will make their presence known only by their absence. The subtlety lies in finding the intersection between linguistics, geometry, and aesthetics. The lattice points must be as regular as the sphere allows, must be flexible enough to make the connections he needs along with secondary and even tertiary glyphs, and above all must be visually appealing.
It's deadly dry work, and mostly incomprehensible, unless you love mathematics. It's also difficult work. It's unlikely Brennan has time to proceed much farther than this when things start to get interesting. But the very preliminaries of the next step are the planar glyph representations of some of Brennan's observations on the nature and stratagems of war: "Kill with a broken sword," "Deceive the sky to cross the ocean," "Remove the ladder after the climb," "Repair the highway to use the footpath," and others. If he gets that far, the planar drafts are crude, primary and secondary glyphs only, and with no thought of their interconnectedness as a whole.
But those are hobbies only. Some time during this period, the first solid movements to Xanadu will begin. And when the time comes, Brennan will be there lending assistance. His ties to the Order of the Ruby, especially as the only Knight Commander in residence, should come in particularly handy, as will his ties to the military. The Knights and Officers are a ready source of lower level organizational skill. The regular soldiers are a ready source of organized labor. The retired veterans who are not yet occupied are secondary sources of both.
It's not clear what will need to be done, and by whom, nor who will be on hand in any given location. But Brennan intends to stick on the Amber end of things and apply the forces of his logistical skills and his personality to the problem. Nothing comes free, however, for Brennan or from the men he's effectively drafting into service. Through whatever means work best, Brennan continually pushes the idea that the veterans who served in the war have some good lands or other appropriate resources in Xanadu set aside for them. The details are not of great concern to Brennan, except that the King's Army get a good deal in recognition for his service. He's not trying to set up a separate self-sustaining society of Army vs the rest of Xanadu. To the contrary, he wants them to remain integrated into and happy with the rest of the population they've defended.
At the same time Brennan is inspiring them to service again, he's also reminding them that there are rewards for service at the other end.
[Editor's note: Tiling a sphere is a non-trivial exercise of mathematics if you have actual erquirements you want to meet.]
At long last the time and tide are right. The ship and then the ships to follow pull away from the Quayside of Amber's harbor, heading for Xanadu.
As the ship sails out of the harbor, Garrett looks back wistfully, seeing Amber for the first time from the sea - its green and gold spires, decks adorned with flowers, the towering cliffs of Kolvir holding the castle like a babe in arms. He looks back at the docks and quays of the harbor, the worn shops and battered homes of the Docksides where he spent so much of his youth, then up toward the merchant houses and townhomes of the wealthy. All of these stand as testament to the strength and persistence of Amberites rich and poor, royal and common, who rebuilt a fallen city after catastrophe - only to have it fade away gradually to nothingness as its magic ebbs away like the outgoing tide. Garrett swallows hard to clear the lump in his throat and tries to look away, but can't - not until the ship has rounded the northern point and Amber can be seen no more.
Paige takes the shifts slow and careful, similar to when she had led trade ships during the Interregum. Once they've found the open sea she doesn't shift toward a heavily wooded shoreline until she's another few of Xanadu's elements locked in. On the first day out she'll also try to Trump her Father just to keep in touch.
During the voyage, if Garrett's willing to sit for some preliminary sketches, Paige will get some work done and show Brooke and Leif the basics of drawing and set them about drawing whatever strikes their fancy. Paige will devote most of her time to the children, but is always willing to talk with the captains of the fleet, ferrying herself if the need be, or to speak with Garrett. She'll also spar with him if he likes.
After the initial acquiring of the sea legs, Garrett finds he enjoys life on the sea. He watches the sailors with fascination, wondering at their knowledge of wind and sea even as he realizes that it's probably not that much different from his own knowledge of horses. Everyone's different, Donovan always said. He plays the proper prince, remembering Brennan's lessons about getting too familiar with people. Garrett spends some time sitting for Paige's sketches, asking all kinds of questions about her art and the Trumps. He also spends some time getting to know - and being baffled by - her children. And, yes, he's always willing to spar with another cousin.
Paige arranges a seat in the bow where she'll be out of the way of the hands and Garrett can sit near her. "Sit comfortably, well... as comfortably as a horseman can on the open sea."
Garrett looks around them and spies a coil of rope large enough to sit on. He sits with his hands resting in his lap, then moves them to his side. After a moment, he crosses them and quickly uncrosses them, only to place them back in his lap. He has obviously never sat for a portrait before.
"So, have you heard from Lilly since she left?" Paige asks as she flips open her sketchbook, charcoal already in hand.
Garrett's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Lilly?" he says, his voice squeaking a little guiltily. "Uh, no. Why do you ask?" He regards her warily, wondering how much she knows.
"Because I know that the two of you had been spending some time," Paige admits. "I hadn't had any news either, so I thought perhaps you had."
Garrett relaxes a little as Paige continues. He seems relieved that it's out in the open.
"I was suprised that she left so suddenly. I didn't have a chance to speak to her before she left."
"No, I didn't either," Garrett answers flatly. "Back in Xanadu, she said she was going to leave, but I didn't think it would be so soon." Garrett looks down at the deck. What he is not saying speaks volumes.
A few quick lines shape his jaw before she starts on his eyes, remembering the relaxed look before he shifted his gaze.
"Have you told her?" she asks.
"Told her what?" he asks, his brow furrowed as he looks back up at her.
Paige smiles as the wind tosses her hair behind her. "That's better," she whispers as her thumb smudges a line of shadow under the newly drawn hair.
"How you feel about her, of course," Paige finally answers. "She's fairly inexperienced in affairs of the heart and you might need to be bold."
"I was bold." He snorts ruefully. "A lot of good it did me. I reckon all it did was scare her off."
Paige shakes her head. "She's too strong to get scared like that, Garrett. You know that. It's part of what makes her beautiful.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Garrett chuckles wryly. He probably shouldn't be discussing this with Paige, but despite his father's warnings, he feels comfortable with her. In some ways, it's a little like talking with Folly. Or Sparrow.
"Yeah, she's strong. She's one of the strongest people I've ever met - in ways of the sword." He sighs, looking vaguely at some far off point past the ship's bow. "But in other ways... " he shakes his head and chews his lip, struggling over how much to reveal. "In other ways, it's like she's still a little girl frightened of shadows."
A small smile plays on his lips as he looks down at the deck. "I wanted to keep those shadows away," he says softly, almost to himself.
"And that's admirable," Paige answers with a motherly sort of grin. That one that suggests she's hearing so much more behind his words than he thinks he's saying. "But it's hard for strong people to admit their own failings, especially when it's a true vulnerability, even more so for our family."
She shifts her head and looks at him from a slightly changed point of view. "Where are yours?"
"Vulnerabilities?" he clarifies, then shrugs. "If you ask Martin, I'm one great big vulnerability." Despite the wry chuckle that accompanies that statement, there's a bit of bristle in his voice. Paige can tell his brother's opinion means more to him than he wants to let on.
Garrett thinks about it, then says, "I reckon ignorance is a big one. There's so much I don't know that I don't even know what to ask about most of the time."
Paige flips a page in her sketchbook and this time starts with his smile. "OK, then ask whatever you like, whatever comes to mind," she suggests. "If I'm offended or can't tell you, I'll be honest. Other than that, I'm a fairly open book."
Garrett chuckles. "All right," he says as he gazes out over the rail, thinking. He thinks for quite a while, occasionally squinting in deeper thought. With the opportunity to ask anything, he wants to at least have a worthy question.
Suddenly, he grins mischievously. Sparrow would be proud. "There's prob'ly a hundred more important things I should ask," he ventures, "but there's something I've always wanted to know. How did your father live through the fall off the mountain when he went against King Eric?"
"That one's kinda easy," Paige admits. "I saved him." She continues focusing on her sketch waiting for him to demand more of an explanation, her smirk readily apparent.
He bows his head to peek at her. "And...?" he prompts.
"I was in the city when the attack happened and from the roof of the Prince's Retreat could watch the progress up the stairs through a spyglass I still have packed in a trunk someplace on this vessel," he eventually relents. "Fear of him falling already prompted me to Trump him, but I didn't want to distract his swordplay, either.
"As soon as he began to fall I Trumped him and before Corwin had made it to the top we had both lit out of Amber for Shadow, me for Heerat and father for someplace near Altamar, one supposes."
Garrett grins. "Well, that settles the bet, then." He goes on to explain. "Some of me mates, when I was a lad, had a bet about whether or not Prince Bleys escaped somehow. Sparrow was sure he did, using some kind of magic. Weed and Grub insisted he died and his body washed out to sea. I should've known Sparrow had the right of it. She never missed a trick, that one."
"Who's Sparrow?" Paige asks as the wind tugs a few red strands loose.
The question brings a wistful smile to Garrett's lips. "She was a good friend of mine, back in the Quarters. I've known her since I was little. She was one of the group of us that always played together." He raises his head and the sea breeze blows a loose lock of hair into his eyes. He doesn't bother brushing it away.
"She was different than the others, though. We talked together a lot, climbing trees or up on the mountain. We could talk about anything. And she was the most observant person I ever met," he mused into the wind. "She loved puzzles, and mysteries. She could speculate and plot 'til Kolvir fell to the sea and still never tire of it."
He chews his lip and sighs. "She knew about me, I think," he says more softly. "At least she knew I was different somehow. I don't think she knew exactly what." He pauses, then adds, "But it never mattered to her."
Garrett looks back up at Paige, his eyes sad with an unexpected realization. "She was my friend. It wouldn't have mattered," he says regretfully.
"What happened to her?" Paige asks, looking up from her sketch, searching the hints of change that age such young eyes so quickly. "The Sundering?"
"Oh, no," Garrett says dismissively. "She was fine the last time I saw her.
"No. It was me," he continues sadly. "After I found out who I was, I... well, I was kind of in shock, so I probably did a lot of stupid things but... I drove her off. I was pretty mean to her. I figured it was better to end things now, so she wouldn't turn out bitter like my mother down the road." He shrugs wearily. "Like I said, it was stupid, but... done is done."
"What? You had already planned to knock her up and ignore the child until some suitable family emergency forced you to notice?" she chuckles.
"Huh?! No!" Garrett stammers, his voice cracking in surprise, then chuckles along with her when he realizes she's teasing.
"Martin's one to plan ahead in the proper circumstances, but that's a little much for someone of your age," Paige quips. "You've got to understand. Done isn't always done. You're effectively immortal, Garrett. I've two centuries under my belt and I still don't have even Martin's point of view on things, let alone your father's.
"Friends are a blessing, royal or not. Don't push them away for fear of what might happen," she suggests, perhaps not only speaking of Sparrow, or even only to him.
"I wish I'd known that before," he says. "I thought about going over to see her while I was home but...," his mouth twists in embarrassment and he shrugs. "I never got up the nerve." For a moment, Amberite prince or not, Garrett just looks like a bashful teenager.
"Well, we'll just have to make sure that she makes it to Xanadu, won't we?" The redhead makes it sound more like a promise than a question.
Garrett snorts with a grin. "Knowing Sparrow, she'd stow away if anyone told her she couldn't go to the magical new kingdom."
He peeks over at her sketch, then settles back and asks, "Is it hard? Being immortal? I mean, have you... outlived... anyone you cared about?" he asks delicately.
Paige crinkles her brow a little. "Garrett, you've outlived people I've cared about. Love... friendship... there are no time constraints on how long it takes to develop or how long you'll carry such feelings."
"I knew Alick for a decade and mourned him just as long. There's a man in Amber city that I expect to outlive, unless Merlin's mother or the twins' grandmother have something to say about it," she offers him a wry grin over the top of her sketchpad. "And Adonis..."
Garrett winces slightly at his own insensitivity. Of course. He should've remembered Adonis.
Her eyes focus on the sea beyond him for a moment. "Is it hard? Any living is hard, but we of Amber? We're for extremes. We love fiercely and hate just as much so. If the agonies of lost love ones are bitter, they're balanced just as much by the love we shared when they were with us."
"Dad... I mean, Donovan... talked to me a little about that, back when I first found out," Garrett remembered. "That it was good that I knew now, 'cause someday he and Mum, and even me little sisters, would be gone and I'd still be a relatively young man with a long life ahead of me. He told me Fetlock, the old groom who works nights, was a child at the same time as King Random, and look at the difference now." He sighs and shakes his head. "I just can't imagine it," he says in wonder.
"Well, it looks like your Father will be keeping us busy enough that we won't really notice," Paige assures him. "From what I've heard, Xanadu's a DIY Kingdom-in-a-Box."
Garrett looks puzzled by her reference, but doesn't ask.
"I haven't been there since he named it," she mentions. "I'm kinda excited to see exactly what it's becoming and what sort of a hand I can have in it."
"I know what you mean," Garrett says enthusiastically. "There's this feeling of..." he searches for the word, "...industry there. Like all the people want to do is build it and make it better. Me included."
Her gaze wanders from her character study and character to where the twins are keeping themselves occupied. "I hope they learn to like it."
Garrett follows her gaze. In a moment, he turns back to her. "Paige, you said I could ask anything," he ventures, with a rise of his eyebrows to see if that's still true. "How did the twins grow so quickly?"
"To be honest, I'm not totally sure myself. They're tied closely to their father's Shadow of..." She hesitates before speaking its name, as if worried to call its attention, "To his home and his role there as a god."
Garrett's eyebrows arch at the implication that he has gods as relatives.
Her voice is pitched to account for the nearby crewmen and ensure that her children aren't any more idle gossip than is already apparent.
Garrett leans toward her, his elbows on his knees, to make it easier for her to speak quietly.
"His divinity was tied directly to the seasons, and as I traveled through Shadow toward Clarissa, the seasons changed, at her whim I suspect, but..." Paige looks up from the page and back to the kids again. "So the pregnancy progressed rapidly and so have they since. This last jump into adolescence was directly under possession of Adonis's Grandmother. Apparently she thought that she would gains something from them being old enough to begin making decisions for themselves."
"Whoa...," Garrett breathes. He doesn't know what to say for a moment, then adds lamely, "and I thought my mother was obsessive."
He glances toward the children again, then asks, "Do you reckon they're gonna keep on like that?"
"Goddess, I hope not," she says with a smile. "Not sure I could take it."
With the meeting with the Maritime and the discovery that there are even more ships to move back and forth, not to mention veterans from Amber to Xanadu, Edan understandably gets a slow start out of the gate.
If he can follow Paige's trail through shadow and catch up with her and Garrett, he will try to do so. If not, he'll use Paige's Trump and give her his regrets, as well as an explanation.
He follows, but never quite catches up. [Unless Paige 'runs slow enough to be caught'. Kris?]
In his free time, Edan will work on the question Brennan put to him about the Black Road's manifestations in the vicinity of Pattern initiates. He'll only have his own experiences, of course, as experimental data, but he'll try to use those observations as a basis for a larger equation.
[Card Draw: The Usurper, Reversed -- Good for someone against TBR]
The Black Road would have appeared in some form in all shadows, since all shadows have the entire pattern as their basis, at least on this side of the inflection point. Therefore a change in the pattern would have to have an external manifestation as the world reacted to the fundamental change underneath it. An initiate could block this, or could change the damage once located, but the main effect would be similar to the effect on pattern and observed reality of extended shadow presence.
It looks from the equations that every manifestation would follow the weakest path in the current locale, which explains stories of blacken fairy rings or evil tides or black roads.
And, of course, all black roads lead to the real Amber.
Sometime after Edan's run between Amber and Xanadu, a note is left at Paige's rooms in Xanadu. The note has the same appearance as before, white vellum with a crimson red wax seal, containing the image of a pouncing sand-tiger. There is also a small bundle wrapped in white cloth and tied with red ribbon.
::My Sister,
Again, I regret that I was not able to catch up with you on your trip to Xanadu. The Maritime asked that extra ships be led to our destination, and at the last minute we brought aboard war veterans from the army under cousin Brennan. The trip was slow going, and I hope that my absence did not bring you undue difficulty in your own journey.
My time sailing through Shadow was not wasted, however. I brought a gift which I hope will amuse you. Hopefully, we can meet soon in Xanadu.
Yours,
Edan::
The bundle, once unwrapped, is a glass sculpture about a foot in diameter. It is solid, not blown glass, as if it were shaped directly out of a glass block. It is a remarkable likeness of Paige, looking out of a window with her hand on the windowsill, the same pose she had when she and Edan talked before they sailed.
Another note, addressed to Brennan, is left at his KCOR offices.
::Cousin Brennan-
I have conducted a mathematical analysis on the question you posed to me when we met; though I can see evidence of our effects upon the phenomena, those effects appear to be after-the-fact. The primary manifestation appears to be shadow- specific, ranging from the weak points in response to fundamental changes in underlying reality.
I will try the analysis again if new information comes to light. I hope to see you again soon in Xanadu.
-Edan::
Paige's [reply] letter is the darkest black ink on a light green paper, sealed with golden wax and a unicorn's head seal that matches the necklace charm she's often seen wearing...
::Brother,
My thanks for the gorgeous sculpture. I'll be sure to find it a home where little hands and fingers will do it no harm. I too regret that we weren't able to travel together and begin to discover the friendship that I'm sure is waiting for us. I'm glad that your passage was as uneventful as mine and look forward to seeing you in our new home.
Love,
P::
Last modified: 13 April 2006