Edan will be at the _White Countess_ early, as he usually rises with the sun. He'll have two bags packed for travel, as well as a sitar slung on his back (which he hopes won't cause a terrible stir, as it was the only one he could find- not that it had "Hail to the Chief" written on it anywhere).
He'll be looking to have a refresher course on naval navigation (which should be right up his alley) on top of shifting shadow, if the Captain or Mates are willing to show him. He's also considering trying a spell once they get out into shadow (but I'll get into that in much more detail later). He'll eventually ask for some ashes and charcoal from the ship's camboose, which he expects are usually dumped overboard each day anyway...
All is as Edan wishes. The officers are very keen to teach a young Prince the navigational arts and he's provided with whatever he asks for, including ashes and charcoal.
Edan eats up the mathematics of navigation. It's not long before he starts working on ropes and sails and the physics of sailing. Strangely enough, he stands on the starboard taking readings one night, this fourth sailing trip, and for the first time wonders why he never liked the water; he finds himself actually comfortable, His attitude (and his sea-legs) improve swiftly after that.
Somewhere between Xanadu and Amber, he begs off a day of shifting. Part of that day is spent in deep, dreamless sleep. When he wakes, he sits on the floor of his cabin and meditates.
The meditation lasts two full hours. In the first hour, he ponders the amount of effort and power he will have to spend; too weak a spell, of course, will fail. Too strong a spell might be mistaken for an attack, and invite retribution. He thinks hard on what should be the proper balance.
The second hour is devoted to memory. He thinks of her face, her smile, the redness of her hair, the length of her neck, the shape of her face. He sets the picture he will make in his mind as well as he is able.
When Edan opens his eyes. he selects an ashy-looking piece of charcoal, and begins to draw a large circle on the floor. The diameter is just larger than his own height. He murmurs, he chants, he makes passes with his arms and hands and fingers. He dances as he moves within the circumference of his circle. It is a simple ward, but a powerful one; no fire will leave this circle to threaten the ship. It is not his intention to make fire in the first place, but the dance on _Le Soliel_ has made him wary.
He traces a second, smaller circle within the first. This one provides security; it will not be perfect, as it is not worth all the energy he would have to invest for that. But if a sorceror somehow taps into Edan's spell, he should see random flashes of light and fire. Not the true message.
It is a complex working; even with Edan's flair for long rituals, it strains him. He sits within the second circle, and makes a third. This smallest circle sits at the center of the other two. Perhaps two feet across, it looks much like a summoning circle, but is not. It is a conduit, a gateway.
Edan takes the remaining ash and crushed charcoal, arranges it in a pile on the central circle. He hangs a small set of chimes from the ceiling, the metal strips of the chimes hand-made by himself. "This is the voice," he says in the sing-song chant of his spell.
Seawater, and a series of colorful powders, are added to the ash; Edan kneads and stirs together the mix, over and over and over again, until he has something grey and clay-like. He then begins to sculpt with his hands. For a full hour he sculpts, following exactly the plan he had made in his meditations. The small face, the chin, the cheekbones. The length of her neck. Her hair was this length, and it hung just...so. Upturned face, the small smile that conveyed knowledge or confidence or both... the chin jutted out just a little... her ears, half hidden in the red hair. He touched the neck of his creation at the end, leaving a delicate notch, then sat straight, questions forming behind his smile.
He is satisfied. This is the focus. The message will be heard in her ears. If she responds, the mouth will move, and the chimes will make words. Edan sniffs the air, feeling the matrix of power he has created, then speaks the final guide words to open the gate to his Sending.
Despite his efforts, fearing someone might still be able to listen, alliteration must be used. Edan grimaces; Trumps are so much easier than this labor-intensive working. But, then, he was the one who had decided to flex his abilities and test the mesh of fire and sorcery...
"Aunt," he says, and his words are echoed faintly by the chimes. "It is the nephew-who-wields-fire. I am near the place where I first saw you. If you are still there, I would meet you on my arrival. This would then be a productive exercise... a test."
He swallows, says, "If you are not, I would ask you about my father. He bears a blade to a Place he hopes he has not yet seen. Would you speak to me of this?"
Edan sways. "I think my Circle will last another hour. Perhaps a little more. I will wait for your answer, if you hear me." And with that, he pulls himself to a cross-legged sitting position and hums the song of his matrix while he waits.
Edan thinks the message got through. Towards the end of the watch, a bird flies onto the ship, an osprey, light and lithe and green as the sea. Edan notices that it has a tube attached to its ankle. It approaches him, calling out in the language of birds.
Edan will pause to wrap a scarf or some handy burlap or even doubled-up shirt material around his arm to make a perch. He smiles as he shakes his head, for the response is not exactly how he envisioned... but that is fine all the same. He does pause to wonder if fish hawks eat only fish... after all, there was a tub of pickled eggs opened the night before, and it is entirely possible that one might have fallen off in his boot, or dropped last night to roll around on the deck and be caught... right there... which he will offer if he does find one.
[assuming the osprey does hop onto his arm, he'll examine the tube for messages and open it]
The osprey hops onto his arm, and the tube has, as expected, a message. The bird eats the tidbit while Edan takes and reads the message.
Nephew,
When you arrive, I will teach you to make bird of your desire. They are significantly more secure than a sending.
Your Aunt.
"But not a challenge for sorcery," Edan murmurs. Still... when the bird finishes, Edan will send it back on its way with a smile. Fiona is in Amber, and they will talk.
[OOC: that's about all I needed for the trip over, other than that he'll be shifting shadow and cleaning charcoal marks off his floor :)]
As Edan cleans up the ashes, he notices that they are in the shape of an unfamiliar face. It reminds him vaguely of the trump picture of his Aunt Flora. A cool breeze scatters the remnants and chills the back of his neck.
After seeing Cambina off at the docks of Xanadu, Brennan takes one of the maps he had brought with him from the collection in his office and inspects once more the route he had chosen to a secluded-looking place up the coast, down the coast, or off the coast of Amber.
Brennan is hardly a sailing enthusiast to the degree of Conner or Marius, but his life has been long and he's more than picked up the skills to plan a route and pilot a small craft to a nearby location. His destination is anywhere in a twenty mile or so radius of Amber that looks secluded, peaceful, out of the way of any prying eyes... any place that looks like it would make a good vacation spot for those wishing to drop anchor for a few days of peace and quiet on a fishing trip by the stars.
Except that Brennan is fishing deeper waters than those he presently sails.
Assuming he arrives safely, he performs a bit of due diligence on his selected spot: physically, he looks around for signs of recent disturbance or activities. Astrally, he leaves his body behind and ranges over a much wider territory than he otherwise might be able to. Temporally, he widens his search backward and even a bit forward in time if he is able, to ensure he will not be disturbed. He does not taint the process with the manipulation of the Pattern. None of his Sorcerous investigations and precautions take much more than a watch. If he sees signs of disturbances, he leaves and finds a more suitable location.
That evening and the rest of the following day, he rests well, sleeps well, meditates well, and puts his mind to the first part of his task.
He brings out a small, unmarked Uxmali writing ball, frosted as is typical to prevent curious Rebman eyes from noticing and observing-- that, he does not presently need. The ball is placed on a small pedestal to keep it in place and, as Amber's sun goes down over the western mountains, he begins to concentrate, working the astral nature of the stars above to the surface of the writing ball, supercharging the entropy of the surface. Between the period when the sun touches the mountains to the first moment of full dark, the stars of Amber's night sky burn themselves in to the surface of the Uxmali globe, creating a negative image of dark starpoints on the frosted white surface, exquisite, detailed, static and unchanging. Although static, the globe now represents the sky of Brennan's present, perfectly.
The second part of his task is more difficult, and more intricate. Brennan himself has no doubt whatsoever that he will find Weyland at some point. The question is not if, but when. Knowing this to core of his soul, Brennan considers Amber's sky as a starting point, and the sky under which Brennan meets Weyland as a point of his own future, and he reaches out almost blindly into his own future and forces the ball to reflect not the present sky under which it rests, but that future sky under which Brennan and Weyland meet.
When he finishes, a watch later, Brennan will take a break to survey his work. It is impossible at this point for Brennan to truly gauge the level of his success, but he can hopefully intuit some level of confidence. He spends some time examining the sphere of his imperectly represented future skies, looking for strange features that might catch the eye, easily visualized constellations, etc. He memorizes the globe's surface to the best of his considerable mental abilities and projects his astral form into the sphere, the better to visualize the starscapes looking outward, rather than looking inward.
Finally, the last and most difficult part of the ritual. It should be nearing midnight when Brennan completes the first two phases of his preparations. He meditates silently until it is true midnight, on the nature of time, the streams and ripples and whorls in its flow. The unaccountable loops.
At midnight, he reaches out and tweaks the starry globe in front of him-- a push here, a pull there, with very selective edges of force affecting only selected bits of the globe. In a few moments, the globe is spinning wildly, chaotically, in ways that Brennan couldn't predict if he wanted to. It will continue to do so unil Brennan wills it to stop.
That accomplished, he closes his eyes. They will remain closed until next midnight. He gathers the stuff of time to himself, until he can almost see the flow of time around him. Seeing backwards in time is always easy-- it's as easy to see backwards in time as it is to see forward in space. But seeing forward in time, that's as difficult as seeing behind you.
Even for Sorcerers.
Unless you cheat.
When Brennan has gathered so much of the substance of time around him that he can feel it dragging his fingertips forward into the future, he reaches out and sculpts it, building a conduit to a point halfway into the future, a conduit fit only for information. As he finishes this, he holds his left hand out over the crazily spinning globe, under the conduit he has begun to build, and slashes it, letting the blood pool in his hand.
In Thari, the language under the stars of his Working, he asks: "Where lies the fastest road to Weyland?"
In High Moksha, the language of the Summerless Cetics where he learned to scry the stars, he asks: "Where lies the fastest road to Weyland?"
In Uxmali, the language of his home, where he learned the power of blood and sacrifices under the stars, he asks: "Where lies the fastest road to Weyland?"
He lets the information slide out of the conduit into his blood-filled palm, mingling with it. He turns his hand and makes a fist, squeezing a measure of blood in wet, fat droplets, onto the globe.
Brennan reaches out with force and pushes the globe again, setting it to spin faster. For another watch, he continues to shape the conduit forward into the darkness of the future, through which the information will flow back to him. A bridge across which the knowledge he needs will ride. Three more times, he asks his question in three languages. Again, he lets the information pour backwards from the future, catching in the blood-filled palm before squeezing it out onto the star-globe before him.
And eight more times, through eight more watches, until the next midnight, Brennan repeats that larger process-- force-kicking the globe into a new and more chaotic rotation, sculpting time into the first half of a bridge into darkness, demanding information of the other end, gathering it, and spilling it.
Only after the full day's ritual is complete does Brennan open his eyes, and unfold himself from the lotus position of meditation. Looking down, he hopes to see that the blood has streaked the globe with Uxmali ideoglyphs after the fashion that Brand devised to sit on the surface of a globe, using the stars of Weyland's sky as anchor points.
There is an unfamiliar starscape in Brennan's globe. The bloody Uxmali ideoglyphs form words, sentences, perhaps even poetry, but he is too tired to decipher them just yet.
Exhausted, he resolves to build the other half of the conduit-- that which moves backwards in time-- later. The least dangerous time will be after Brennan has used the information, if he can. As he drifts off to sleep, we wonders if the wound on his palm will heal before that time.
[Technical stuff: The GMs (and anyone paying attention) know what Brennan's prowess score is (big!), and any relevant bonusses are up to the GMs.]
[Proposed details of the astral etching: Performance - one watch (2); Duration - instant, once the spell is over, the changes are intrinsic to the ball (0); Target - the Uxmali writing globe (1); Duration - ought to be pretty strong. This should be easy.]
[Proposed details of the starscape change: Performance - one watch (2); Duration - instant, as above (0); Target - physically, the target is the ball, but really, the actual target is probably the whole Shadow of the Tower of Plains (9)]
[Proposed details of the bloodwriting: Performance - one day (3); Duration - instant, as above (0); Target - physically, the target is the ball, but really the target is at least the whole Shadow of the Plain of Towers, possibly the group of Shadows along the path between Amber and there. Since cross-Shadow divinations are supposed to be *hard* let's call it (10)]
When he awakens, it is day, and Brennan is able to read the glyphs streaked on the night sky of the future, one he still does not recognize.
The words are these: "The silver towers were fallen, into a sea of blood. How many miles to Avalon? None, I say, and all. The silver towers are fallen."
Brennan stares at that for a long time.
A very long time, turning the globe this way and that, almost succumbing to the temptation to shake it and rearrange the glyphs until they made more sense. Then he gets serious, and takes out another globe.
He takes the index finger of his right hand and smears the blood from his palm on the tip of it, and stops to consider, briefly, what it is he wants to do-- transcribe the trump casting that Cambina had done onto the new globe. He's never done it before, and mapping a pyramid to a sphere isn't trivial, but after a moment, the scheme falls into place. Past and future need to oppose each other, and go on opposite sides of the globe. They need to be bridged by the present, of course. Fault and virtue likewise need to oppose, and if the symbols were impressed on a cube that would force fate to oppose the present, which feels right to Brennan as soon as he thinks it.
Without overthinking it any more than that, Brennan looks again at the bloodstreaked starscape and picks out six opposing constellations almost at random and marks their locations as anchor points and a cluster grammatic attachment points on the clean globe, with his own blood. A burst of entropy turns that blood into something that etches frosted glass and probably doesn't do wonderful things for his index finger either, until he toughens his finger up as well.
Each of the cards has its own unique symbol in Uxmali, even the face Trump cards-- that much, Brand even taught Brennan, although much of it was received wisdom from the temple priests which Brand only clarified later. So in the Past slot, Brennan puts the spidery, cruel-looking glyph of Fearing Shadows. On the opposite side, he places the despondant Drowning in Armor, giving it the melancholy bittersweet modifications that reverse it. Offset from those, he draws the opposing pair of Autumn and the Smith, reversed in death, which now all form a ring around the only two slots left. In the present, he places Deirdre's name, which he reverses by adding the grammar for her death, and opposing Deirdre's death is fate, the Fish.
It's not poetry, per se. It's almost shamanistic in its crudeness, the elegance of high Uxmali grammar sacrificed not in haste but the desire not to overthink, to let the connections make themselves.
Now he can look at his own scrying next to Cambina's, in the same context.
"Fearing Shadows," he says to himself, "Opposite Drowning in Armor, reversed. All of us are convinced that Fearing Shadows is a literal interpretation, fearing something out of Shadow..." he looks over at the poetry of last night's ritual. "Avalon. Fallen into a sea of blood. I also fear the effects of the Beast on Shadow itself. What the hell happened to Avalon, anyway? Nothing, I say, and everything. If Shadow Avalon is truly destroyed, was it destroyed in a way similar to what I fear will happen to Arcadia? Then my letter to Random was justified.
"Virtue and Fault, Autumn and the Smith, reversed. If Weyland is dead, then everything here is pointless. But Virtues and Faults are... or can be... potentials. Does Weyland threaten death? Is that his price? Or is he threatened with death himself? Or does that which I seek-- the death of the Beast through Weyland's craft-- represent the fault itself? This, also, Cambina warned against." Then it hits him: the Smith, reversed, can symbolize destruction, and the destruction of Shadow is one of his fears. He muses for a moment, repeating himself: "'It is going to be a war, and all roads lead to destruction in Shadow,'" then sighs. "Just like Avalon? Just like Avalon. I need to change the rules."
Then, finally, he turns his attention to the base and the capstone, and he taps Deirdre's death with his fingernail. "Deirdre, dead now. That much is certainly true. What role did Deirdre play in the fall of Avalon? For all the mystery of Corwin and Deirdre, I cannot believe the answer to be 'none' nor can I now believe it to be unrelated. Did she pay a price for Corwin's sake to gain her axe for use in Avalon? Was it a Pattern Blade itself? Or something more, or less? It did not help her against Brand, in the end. And the Fish of Fate. I know why you hate it, Love, but I know what it means here."
He sighs, deeply.
"Had I known this before, I would have pressed Corwin for details of Avalon, for it seems all roads lead through it, and none. He won't tell me, now, though. But I do have a standing invitation to speak with Benedict, there, and business of the Crown to complete with him..."
Then, abruptly, "Sweet Unicorn, listen to the Sorcerer, talking to himself bent over scribbles in his own blood. A man could get a reputation as a mad hunchback, this way."
He looks up, resolved to his course.
After his enlightening ritual down the coast of Amber's shoreline, Brennan sets about methodically removing any evidence of his presence.
Any physical disturbances he made are undone with the simple expedient of turning their local time back and then not having been there. Brennan has memorized the placement of stars and runes on the two globes he used, and in a real pinch he can simply view his own past. There's no need to keep those around, so he works entropy until the blood is erased and the globes are as fragile as snow. He shatters them, pulverizes them, casts the glass dust out to sea and casts them faster into the future. And the metaphysical traces... there, Brennan has fewer options, but a working of entropy and time should take the hard edge off any traces, soften them and dull them down. Entropy does relate to information, signal strength, and the basic notion of noticeability-- the effect is subtle and indirect, but so is Brennan, and it is an effect he may have need of in the future. And he did see Fiona cleaning up the residues of the Dragon.
This takes as long as it takes for Brennan's satisfaction, but not more than a day.
All goes as he expects.
He returns quietly to Amber, with little or no fanfare.
As Brennan is leaving the harbor, a sailor comes up to him. "Message for you, sir."
The folded note says "Wecome back, I am in the castle. Please see me. --Caine."
That bodes unwell. Brennan glaces at the sailor, wondering idly if he might be persuaded to overlook Brennan's presence, then decides definitely against even probing in that direction, for obvious reasons too numerous to mention.
He merely resolves to use a better route into the city in the future. Trump artists of Brennan's acquaintance either owe or may shortly owe him favors.
After reading the note and folding it back up, Brennan frowns to himself, then looks up and sends the sailor to inform Caine that he will attend him as required.
He leaves quickly, heading towards a harborside stables.
Edan will continue shifting the rest of the way to Amber, taking care to focus on the correct details (instead of, say, ending up back in Xanadu :). A little self-conscious, he will avoid singing or sitar practice except when alone in his cabin.
Once they arrive, he'll meet with the captain and officers and thank them, handle whatever final details need to be addressed, and make his way towards the castle. He'll walk this time, in order to take in the details of the city.
Edan takes care of his business and heads towards Amber Castle, a good hour's walk up the mountain. The city is abuzz with rumor and excitement. A Rebman diplomat has been found floating in the harbor. His neck is broken. Sir Archer isn't ready to make any statements, but suggests that he may have fallen off a dock. The broadside papers are printing this in very large type and doing a very brisk trade.
Edan shakes his head a little. A broken neck from falling off a dock? Into the water? A Rebman? Unlikely. Edan buys one, knowing that he had to have some Xandhavian coin on himself, somewhere... he will pick up the story from there, or whatever is on the broadsheet, anyway.
The facts, as they exist in the broadsheet, are that someone named Sir Montage was found dead in the harbor, a victim of foul play. Sir Archer Half-hand, who seems to be a person of authority is downplaying the suggestion of foul play, but there is a Rebman noblewoman in residence at the Embassy, who is making a stink. "If Sir Archer were half as inventive in his investigations as he is at making up unlikely stories, perhaps Sir Montage wouldn't be dead today. Personally, I suspect that he met up with the murderous Captain Conner. Captain Conner certainly had motive and opportunity, as Montage has been investigating Conner's role in murdering Demond Harga'rel."
The various papers are spiritedly debating the question.
Having had his share (and more!) of bad press, Edan is highly amused by this. He keeps the broadsheet to show Conner later, but does resolve to ask about this Demond Harga'rel. Montage and Archer, too, though it is clear that Archer helps represent The Law here.
When he reaches the castle, he'll ask for directions then make his way first to Fiona's rooms.
As he arrives to ask directions at the inner gate, the functionary speaks first. "Ah, Lord Edan. Prince Caine wishes to see you." The young functionary looks to be a member of the Amber navy.
Edan blinks, looks at the man, glances up at the castle around him as if he had any idea of where anyone was, then back to the man. "Then I shall see him," he says. "I do need to leave word with Princess Fiona, that I have arrived in Amber and would like to speak with her. At her convenience, of course. Can this be arranged?"
"I will send a page with whatever message you have for her highness," replies the midshipman, "unless it needs to be personally delivered, in which case I will go myself." He waits for Edan's reply.
"A page would be sufficient," Edan says. "I will need you to show me where Prince Caine is located. Just a moment..."
And he writes a note to that effect, that he has reached Amber, has gone to speak with Caine, and would like to see Fiona at her earliest convenience.
While he writes, it does occur to him that Caine being here means that Edan might have been wrong about who was on the _White Countess_; he was at the top of the list of uncles who might have traveled that way. Edan follows that with a mental shrug. It was not as if Caine could not Trump back to meet with Edan here... but if he had been trying to catch up, and had to wait in Amber, it was possible that he was not all that pleased. Another mental shrug. That is as it would be, he thinks.
"Thank you," he says to the midshipman, handing him the note. "I am ready."
The young man says "This way, My Lord." He takes a more or less direct route through the castle, which seems to be built on a principle of haphazardness. It is a patchwork of styles and purposes and rooms are decorated at the whim of who-knows-whom. Rooms tend to be large and high-ceilinged, except where they've been crammed under stairwells because there was a space. It looks to be very, very old.
In the Land of Peace, few things that are not natural can last this long. The elements are less harsh here perhaps. Or the elementals.
Finally, the midshipman reaches a door, no different from any other, and opens it. Inside is another man who dresses like the young officer. "Take this to the Princess," says your guide. The other takes it and leaves, without ceremony.
Opening an inner door, he says "Sir, he's here."
A moment later, Caine ushers him in to a small office, dominated by a map of the city with much writing on it.
"Ah Edan, welcome home. What brings you to Amber, other than Captain Quadrant?" He smiles, disconcertingly.
And he succeeds, because Edan is quite disconcerted. He does manage a smile, however, and a bow, and an "As-salaam alaykum, my uncle."
Caine smiles back. "Peace to you, too."
He gathers his thoughts a moment, and says, "I follow a complicated path, but for now I merely wish to find a ship headed back to Xanadu. And contact cousin Brennan, if his Trump is in this 'Trump Booth' I have heard described. I want to try and lay a path to Xanadu on the way back... uncle Random encouraged me to try." He tilts his head, and gestures to the map. "This is not something I would find decorative in a living space... does this mean you have taken on some official capacity in the city, rather than the fleet?"
"Princes of Amber always have an official capacity in the city. You won't have any problems finding a ship ready to go to Xanadu, or willing to be ready to go to Xanadu. You may get to lead a flotilla. I see you have one of the broadsheets. What's your take on what happened?"
"Having spoken with cousin Conner at length," Edan says, "I would not have said, 'here is a man who enjoys the murder of Rebman diplomats'. I shall hold my opinion on that particular dance. As for the rest... it seems to me that this man heard something he should not have... or was trying to hear something he should not have."
Having been, presumeably, shown in to the room, Brennan greets both Caine and Edan.
"Did I hear my name taken in vain?"
Edan smiles. "I had not thought my powers of summoning quite so advanced, my cousin. I had hoped to speak with you before I left for Xanadu."
"Hello, Brennan, welcome home. I presume you've seen the trouble that's stirring in the City? Valeria is making serious charges against Captain Conner." Caine gets up and walks to a side table and pours himself a drink. "Please, join me." He stays by the bar. "We're better off with Montage dead, but not much. Neither of you happened to kill him, did you?"
This is one of the few cases where Brennan's tendency to stoneface serves him badly-- he doesn't register well the surprise that this statement brings.
As he fixes his drink, he glances at Edan, making eye contact if possible, then back at Caine. "No one happened to ask me to."
Edan's eyes are nearly unreadable, but the raised eyebrows in his answering glance to Brennan tell the story. "I have not yet killed anyone in the city, no," he says, walking over. He starts looking for the small bottle of mineral water he knows should be there.
"That's good to hear. I'd prefer this matter to starve from lack of news, so please contribute to that lack. Oh, and I usually take my meals with the officers in the watchroom, so if you need to throw formal dinners, arrange them with Vent. Let him know of anything you need at all, I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige." Caine smiles thinly.
[Player may be missing the point here, but Brennan's got nothing to say.]
Edan smiles slightly. "No fears of a formal dinner from me- I shall be travelling shortly." He motions to Brennan. "Finding you here was fortunate, indeed."
"No formal dinners, check," Brennan says to Caine.
He turns his attention-- with the look of a man thinking other things over in the back of his mind-- to Edan, waiting for him to continue.
Caine moves back towards the table that serves as his impromptu desk. "Well, I'm glad we had this little chat. You all almost certainly have other affairs to tend to, as do I. Do keep me informed of any issues affecting the security of Amber that you come across, won't you?"
"That, I can certainly do," Edan says, and bows. "Peace to you, my uncle. Cousin, I need to have a word with Aunt Fiona... do you have a few moments first?"
To Caine, Brennan says, "Only for the better. I come from Paris, convassing Corwin on the topics of Dara and defenses against the Dragon, at Random's command. I depart shortly for Avalon to do the same with Benedict."
As they're leaving Caine's office, Brennan turns to Edan and says, "Of course. What's on your mind?"
Edan glances at Brennan, then away, as they walk. "Ghenesh," he says. "Father made it a point to mention it to me, when I came to Amber. Much as his letter was meant to draw me here, a casual mention is his way of letting me know of his concern. I intend to do some reconaissance... something I did often, in my homeland. But uncle Random suggested I ask you about it."
Whatever Brennan was thinking about recedes rapidly-- quite rapidly-- into the background by the time Edan has his second syllable out in the open.
Brennan scowls for the period of one inhale- and exhalation. "Interesting. On both counts. We met them, Bleys and I, as we were doing our trailblazing for the Army, riding in front of them and determining a path from the Abyss back to the Amberside of the Tree. They were at Grandfather's funeral, as well, but I didn't speak to them there, only afterward."
Edan nods. "Father said something about your meeting being less than... cordial." He smiles slightly. "Have you ever met them before?"
"Before that? No," Brennan says, his eyes going colder as he speaks. "But they-- or I should say, the High Marshall, at least-- were rude without call. I never did understand the gist of their complaint, and when I asked about it, their High Marshall took the opportunity to insult my education for it. As though all through Shadow and Amber should be so terribly concerned about his angst. I will not stretch forth my hand again without a blade in it."
"Ahh." Edan nods. "I understand. I do not remember what event caused them to break from their bretheren, or to walk the path that they have taken. It does concern me, that little is known of their movements- at least, not anything that has been revealed to me. I want to see if they are acting on that antipathy."
They walk a little farther before he adds, "I do not plan on being seen. However, if the opportunity presents itself, I may try for more than a simple check of their numbers. Do you have any advice on what should be done?"
"Don't get killed," Brennan says. "Then, in order, don't get seen by them and don't fail to bring back information. Pretty simple when you say it like that, isn't it?"
Edan's smile widens. "Alas, it precludes my stealing the High Marshall's badge of office, the manacles of the Seven Northern Djann, and the immolation of their path to Amber while I am about it."
"If by 'steal,' you mean something like 'remove from his fresh-bleeding corpse,' that's okay. But don't come blame it on me if you get killed in the attempt," Brennan drawls. "Otherwise, subtlety and stealth should be the rule, here."
"Moreover, be alert for the possibility of some sort of eldritch activity-- when we met on the road, their footprints didn't match up well with the number of representatives I saw at the funeral. That could be explained by one of them hiding in the background or being off scouting. But their footprints didn't match up well with their positions at their camp, either. I suspect one or more were playing games.
"I didn't give away that I noticed anything, but be very aware of the possibility. Whether it's Sorcery proper or just some local trick, I couldn't tell you. In fact, if you can bring back that information alone, it would be useful." After another scowly minute, Brennan curses. "Dammit. I wish we still had the Aisling. This was going to be her job."
Edan frowns. "The Aisling?"
"Dame Aisling," Brennan says, "Another of the Knights Commander. Madoc's daughter." He pauses, to see how much of that side of the Family Edan understands.
"I do not know of her," Edan says. "But Madoc, I seem to remember Father mentioning that name... it was in relation to..." he looks up suddenly, "Ah, yes, Grandmother."
Brennan gives a-- very-- thin smile. "Indeed. Lintra bore of Benedict Dara, now called Dara the Elder. Dara begat Clarissa, Madoc, and Borel in some undetermined and perhaps indeterminate order. Madoc begat the Aisling, whom he sent to spy on Amber and whom Grandfather turned to our side. She died for a combination of Grandmother's and her own carelessness leaving behind only-- we hope-- the Saeth.
"She was a shapeshifter of some reasonable talent. It was the Aisling that I would have sent to spy out the Moonriders. She had the talents, the skills, and the experience necessary." Brennan looks sidelong at Edan, then asks, "Given what you know of them, what's your plan?"
"It depends upon opportunity," Edan replies. "If it is simple reconnaissance, then the plan is merely to stay invisible, quiet, and out of the way. Now that I know they have magical abilities, I will factor that into the logistics of moving about. If I find that there is an opportunity to mingle with them... or if other creatures co-exist with or serve them..." He shrugs. "The afriti of my heritage are tricksters. I can appear as other things for a time. If nothing else, I can appear as a magical creature on a pilgrimage. The plan has to be in flux; there is little information to work with, here. I shall have to, ah, 'think on my feet'."
Brennan turns to look fully at Edan with a scalpel-sharp look, and does something rare. He smiles. Maliciously. Enough to show teeth. "Edan, you sly, sly man, you may be my new best friend. A very useful talent, although one whose utility goes down with the number of people who know about it. You must tell me more about these afriti of yours, sometime. And when you say 'invisible', is that a metaphor?"
"Yes, a metaphor." He inclines his head. "I have never become truly invisible, though I have used sorcery to avoid notice; using the shadows to lie for us is much easier.
"Now is the time to tell you of all the drawbacks. Learning of magical ability is not good news, my cousin. It is easier to fool two eyes; trying to fool the third is difficult- and traceable."
This prompts a grunt from Brennan, followed by, "Most unfortunate, especially since I suspect they have their own resources to draw upon. How did you plan on finding them?"
"I had hoped there would be clues to find in Amber," Edan says. "Tir-na Nog'th is not an option now, and I rarely place my faith on a casting of the Trumps. I may have to strike off in different directions in Shadow, ask questions, then triangulate. It may take some time."
It may seem that Brennan digresses, for a moment. "Did Bleys tell you about the Altamarean Knights? More specifically, did he tell you that they come from the same stock as the Moonriders? You might," he allows, "ask them."
Edan nods and smiles. "Ah, yes, I know of them. I know of the split, but not the why or the how...of course, if I want to ask them, I may need to bring a healthy supply of caffeine."
"Indeed," Brennan says. "Much as I hate to admit it, the Moonriders make a good coffee, too. I'd never say that to an Altamarean, though. They and their Gheneshi cousins... don't really get along well. Something about obscene mystical practices, which they did not seem inclined to explain to me.
"Under other circumstances, I'd come with you. I'm more than tempted, since I'm on decent terms with the Knights myself, and the High Marshall did invite me to see Ghenesh, after a fashion." Brennan gives a razor-thin smile. "Unfortunately, there are more pressing concerns. The finding of Weyland, for starters."
Edan looks ready to ask a question, but the last makes him blink. "A popular man," he says. "That is the third time I have heard his name in recent days."
Breenan arches the eloquent red eyebrow. "Do tell," he says.
"Father mentioned him, when cousin Conner spoke of Pattern blades," Edan says. "My sister mentioned something similar. It seems the interest in the work of the smith is waxing." He shakes his head.
"No doubt," Brennan says. "We have, as you may have heard, something of a Dragon problem in the local woods. I'm sure I will not be the only one to have thought of Weyland in that context. No doubt Conner will be too busy dodging Rebman assassins to make use of anything he learned, though."
"I see enough intrigue brewing in Amber and Xanadu without Rebman assassins targeting our cousin," Edan says. "I hope that this woman does not have that kind of power." He frowns.
"Prepare for the worst, and you'll rarely be disappointed," Brennan says. "Either the Rebman woman is stupid to the point of being dangerous in her volatility, or she has her own personal reasons for targetting Conner. Either way, Conner needs to step carefully, and be informed of recent development." He glances back in the direction they came, wondering if Caine's often-hyperbolized spy network wrote that one down, or if he needs to say it louder.
"It brings up a larger question of strategy, however. Forgive me, for I am a relative from a strange land, and strange customs. But Grandfather is gone, and his realm will slowly decay with the eons. Uncle Random's realm is new and strong. An old enemy tastes its freedom at the doorstep of Arden forest, and another one may be massing to get the victory denied it from times past. The people of Amber will eventually move- it is only a question of how soon they will do so. How much effort... how much blood... would you spend defending the gates of an old empire?"
"Is that a personal question? Or a question of statescraft? In either case, it depends on your hidden assumptions that those enemies will not simply transfer their belligerencies to Xanadu and Paris," Brennan says. "And without knowing more about the motives of each, it is wise again to prepare for the worst."
Edan nods. "The question was a little of both, you see... I need to know your resolve in defending Amber... and, of course, since you are a Knight-Commander of the King, it also reflects his policy. I agree completely... it is far better to fight a battle down the road than at Xanadu's doorstep.
"I... have not formally sworn myself to Amber or Xanadu," he says. "It may be that such a thing would compromise my efforts to establish trade for my people, though I seriously doubt that to be true. My loyalty is to family, my father and sister..." He pauses. "The Pattern blades are tied to the Patterns. It sounds obvious, of course... the math provides for their existence. Each Pattern has, or can have, one of these blades. Father's is tied to the Pattern of Amber, which is now broken." Another pause. "Father may well decide that he will defend Amber, as long as he has the ability to do so. Thus, I find it in my best interest to help him in this way... work against the interest of the Moonriders."
There is some evidence of internal conflict as Brennan chooses his next words, but eventually what comes out is, "Don't read too much into my opinion against King Random's. We have had our disagreements in discussions of policy before, and we will no doubt disagree in the future. But he is the King. That said, I do not intend to lightly allow what Grandfather built go gently just because of Brand's actions. If I can defend Xanadu by defending Amber, so be it. If the threats bypass Amber in favor of Xanadu or Paris, my defense will not be necessary.
"Now," he says, "about the Pattern Blades, what you say is something I've long suspected. What's puzzled me is that Werewindle, now that I know where it's tied, still exists. What intrigues me is that now with Paris and Xanadu, there is the potential for two more. Along with the Primal, of course, and," Brennan blinks, "...Rebma."
"It is my belief," Edan says slowly, "that Father and Werewyndle have made a stronger bond with one another. Which makes his fate all the more imperative if the sword starts to decay as Amber surely will." He frowns. "Father mentioned that Grandfather might not have been completely forthcoming about all the implications when he encouraged Father to seek such a weapon." His head moves fractionally. "Is there something about Rebma's Pattern? Have you heard of such a blade? I have not, though its existence is probable."
"I have not," Brennan says, "but I agree, it's existence seems likely. Very likely. Grandfather no doubt had a complete inventory of such devices, trinkets, and objects written down and stored one drawer below his contingency plans for getting the High Marshall to eliminate an unruly Dragon."
Edan smiles.
"We, on the other hand, have very little. Another question I'll have for Weyland, when I find him. You think this bond between Bleys and Werewindle is unbreakable, then?"
"Father thinks so," Edan replies. "Else he would not look nearly as frustrated. If you do find Weyland, and by chance have the opportunity to ask him..."
Brennan's eyes light with faint amusement. "Is Bleys asking me to do him a favor?"
The corner of Edan's mouth moves upward. "I would not burden him so," he says. "It would be doing me a favor."
"Good answer," Brennan says, still amused, as they reach Fiona's suite. Brennan will knock, if Edan doesn't.
Fiona does not answer and is apparently not present.
Last modified: 5 September 2006