Swords And Sweat


Some time early in the afternoon of the day of Ambrose's Walk, Brennan returns to Amber on the wings of a Trump, and makes his way back to his quarters to check his letters. He's arrived earlier than he expected, and consequently expects little in the way of traffic. But he does find....

Sir Brennan:

Before you left Xanadu, you said we had to talk soon. I agree. I should be in Amber for the next day or so, unless my father sends me elsewhere. I look forward to speaking with you.

Garrett

Yeah, that's about right, isn't it?

Garrett is a Prince, and as such should get used to being called upon by more than just idle pages, and by the same token, Dignity should get as full a complement of Princely exposure as is reasonably possible before he's completed his service... which is going to be pretty soon, actually.

So Brennan sends Dignity to Garrett, asking him to meet him in the exercise yards at a given time that afternoon. He also sends Dignity with the personal knowledge that Brennan is very aware that Dignity is reaching the point when squiring for Brennan won't be enough for him, nor a reasonable use of his skills.

Assuming Garrett arrives, he'll find Brennan leaning up against a handy vertical structure, watching anyone present exercise with a critical, but not unkind eye. Depending on who is there, he may occasionally call out at a particularly well- or badly-executed manuever. He has two blades with him, both sheathed, but neither are strapped to his waist, and neither look to be his personal weapons.

Garrett grins when he sees the blades Brennan has brought with him. "Afternoon, Sir Brennan. I see you came prepared." He appears eager for a lesson, but when he gets close enough, the smudges on his shirt indicate to Brennan that this might not be his first lesson of the day.

Brennan eyes the smudges, but does not otherwise comment on them. "Highness," he greets him. "Put that away, for now," and he gestures at the blade Garrett is bearing.

Garrett nods once and begins unbuckling his sword belt. "It's Garrett," he corrects with an unassuming smile. "I'll let you drop my 'Highness' if I can drop your 'Sir.'" He lays his sword on the ground close to a fence so it's out of the way.

"Of course, Prince Garrett," comes Brennan's smooth reply.

Garrett looks pained, but doesn't comment further because he thinks he gets the point. It is what it is. Get used to it.

[Brennan] picks up the blades he's brought with him and holds them out so that Garrett can see them. Both are elegant, but plain.

One is a long, strong-looking affair. It has an elegant but not excessive curve to it. It is the wider blade of the two, by a reasonable margin, and clearly the heavier of the two. It looks sharp enough to slashing silk from the air trick, but Brennan doesn't seem inclined to go about throwing ladies'-- or Lucas'-- handerchiefs in the air.

The other is narrower and straighter, with what is obviously a very sharp tip. Its lines may make it look a bit longer than its brother, but that's probably illusory, the difference between straight and curved. Because it's narrower, it's almost certainly lighter.

"Which of these appeals to you? And why?"

Brennan, it seems, is in a businesslike mood, this afternoon, but he's not unfriendly in his bearing.

Garrett gets right to business as well. With narrowed eyes, he examines the two blades carefully. If Brennan allows, he holds each in turn, striking an en garde and making a few common attack moves, away from Brennan, of course.

Brennan does so allow, and stands back a pace or so to watch Garrett's form, stance, and balance.

After several minutes, he decides. "This one," Garrett answers as he points to the second sword. "It's lighter. Faster. More maneuverable."

"Yes, it is," Brennan agrees. "This one," and he holds up the one that Garrett did not choose, "is designed to be an extension of your body." He holds it carefully in a guard position and moves slowly through a sequence of exercise movements. He doesn't bother to explain them, per se, he's simply demonstrating an appropriate form-- fluid but somehow solid at the same time, strong arcs amplifying the power of his muscles. There is footwork involved, and from Brennan's posture and concentration, Garrett can see that it's not trivial, but it's not flashy, concentrating on static balance so that the power of the strokes doesn't work against him. Because he's moving in slow motion, Garrett can see which muscles are working, and how hard. The routine ends in a double-handed downslash, slightly to the side, that speaks of inevitability.

Garrett watches every move, studiously and silently.

Then he moves a few paces to where he's set up a trimmed back sapling, about an inch and a half wide, held firmly across two sawhorses. He repeats the routine, this time at full speed, and the final downstroke slices through the sapling. Brennan inspects the edge of the blade. Garrett may inspect the neat, clean edges of the sapling, if he wants.

Garrett's eyes widen at the final chop. Green wood sliced cleanly cross-grain. He's chopped enough wood in his day to appreciate how difficult that should have been and he does indeed examine the cut.

Having it firmly anchored at both ends no doubt helped with that stunt quite a bit. "Don't do that, by the way," Brennan says, looking up from the edge of the sword. "Unless you have a pretty good reason.

"That one," and he takes back the blade Garrett selected, "is designed to be an extension of your mind." He runs through a rather different exercise routine, though he performs it in the same fashion-- first in exacting slow motion, then a full speed. Oddly, the slow motion version looks more difficult, because the footwork is much more noticeable, and the forms are fluid, yet somehow almost vaporous, and it seems much more dance-like than the one before. The routine ends with cuts and thrusts that seem surgically precise, and when he performs at full speed, he uses the severed sapling as a target with each motion moving exactly into the narrow gap that his previous heavy stroke had made.

"Still happy with your choice?"

Garrett narrows his eyes and strokes his chin in thought. "Generally, yes," he answers, "but wouldn't it depend on the circumstances? I mean, that first blade looks like it would be more useful in a battlefield situation, where you need a lot of power. The second one would work better, say, indoors where you couldn't get the wide arc and had to be more precise." His raised eyebrows accentuate the question.

Brennan raises an eyebrow himself. "The footwork on the straight blade takes more room than it looks like. You're not wrong, in general-- different situations require different tools. And you can begin to play an endless game of rock/paper/scissors with this-- the straight blade is more manueveable, but it's harder to parry the power strokes, but it's easier not to be in the way...."

He dismesses the various arguments with his hand.

"But the point is that a blade that belongs properly to you, and no other, will be designed around your personal style of fencing. Part of that style will need to be based on your body-- your weight, your reach, your wrists. Can you imagine Gerard and your father fighting in the same style?"

The thought prompts an amused smile from Garrett.

"I thought not," Brennan says. "But part of that style is based on who you are," Brennan reaches out and taps each word of the last part of the onto Garrett's breastbone with two fingers, for emphasis, "and how you use your mind and your body."

He smirks a little, "But much of that will emerge naturally, because to truly master fencing and find your style, you're going to master both of these, anyway. Let's start with the one you've chosen," he says, leading Garrett to one of the training posts. "Show me what you've learned so far."

Garrett nods, eager to get to work. After some preliminary stretches, he starts working his way around the training post. His postures and movements are a combination of different styles. Most prominently, Brennan recognizes the style of training common among the Royal Guard of Amber. Layered on top of that are some moves that Brennan is certain Garrett learned from his brother, based on his own recent bout with Martin. Overall, Garrett is grounded, almost like a street fighter. His movements are quick; lateral or forward and back, and while Brennan is sure he could leap to avoid an attack, acrobatics do not seem to be Garrett's favored style.

In looking for strengths and weaknesses, Brennan sees many of both. The young prince seems to have an uncanny sense of rhythm, which helps him maintain his balance. His footwork is pretty good for a novice and he has the speed, agility and most of all, endurance that one might expect of the line of Random. However, that speed is also the source of his biggest weakness. He relies on it too much. It appears that he might have been working on defensive tactics today, because some of his moves are a little awkward, as if he'd just learned them. Also, he has a tendency to cut corners. His postures are not crisp, but a little sloppy.

After working for a bit, Garrett asks between breaths, "So Sir Brennan, is this what you wanted to talk about in Xanadu?" He does not slow his workout as he speaks.

All that, Brennan watches with a very critical eye. At times he nods, at times he frowns or even shakes his head, for a good length of time, he simply watches and absorbs. At the end of his survey of Garrett's style, he nods once to himself, and holds up a hand, gesturing for Garrett to slow down, or better to stop.

"All right, all right. Yeah, this is part of what it. You have some talent, and you even have some training," Brennan says. "This is good. You also have some very, very bad habits underneath that you really need to unlearn. Quickly. Problem is, you're strong enough and fast enough that you can bull your way through a lot of sparring matches with the guards, bad habits and all. Am I right?"

Garrett concedes that point with a cocked-headed nod and slightly guilty smile. "Yeah, you're right." He waits for Brennan to continue.

Brennan gives a wry smirk. "Thought so," he says. "It shows in your footwork. Also, your posture. And your thrusts. Your parries, the beginnings of your ripostes... you get the idea. You can brute force your way through a lot of the situations you'll face. You can continue to do nominally what you've been doing, just with more force and power behind it. It'll work, in many situations."

He looks Garrett dead in the eyes. "Do you think that's a good idea?" The question invites not just an answer, but an elaboration.

Garrett stares back at his instructor and shakes his head, just slightly. "Not anymore," he answers solemnly. He looks at the ground, then back up at Brennan. "Dad... I mean, Donovan, used to warn me that someday I'd cross someone I couldn't beat. I know now he was talkin' 'bout family. This family.

"He was the one that started me on lessons, back during the war. Said it was in case I was called to battle," Garrett explains. "But he told me later, once I found out, that it was so I could defend meself if I had to."

Garrett studies the practicing guards as he continues, "It was a good start, but if I had to defend meself against a cousin, an uncle, ...or a sibling, I couldn't do it." He turns back to Brennan and adds with determination, "Least not yet. That's why I can't go on like before."

"At least not most of them, Highness," Brennan amends. "It'll be a while before you can seriously challenge your brother. Maybe not so long before you can at least make him work for it, though. And our uncles would hand you your backside on a platter before you knew it was missing. You recall Bleys, of course."

Garrett seems surprised that Brennan thinks he could give Martin a good run anytime in the next century. And he snorts agreeably and nods at the description of his uncles' prowess.

"All of what you say is true," Brennan continues. "But there's more. If you insist on going on as you have before, it's very possible you'll hurt someone even if you intend to." He glances back at the chopped-through sapling, the demonstration of what Family strength can do. "You might not shatter someone's blade-- but then, you might. But just amplifying what you've always done, as you come more and more into your strength, can end up breaking an arm, or turn what you meant as a light scratch into something that'll keep the surgeons busy, my Prince."

Garrett has lots of questions about all that and starts to ask, but Brennan stops him.

He holds up a hand to forestall the obvious complaint: "Sometimes, that's what you want, yes, especially in the middle of a war. Often, it's not. Not in sparring, for instance, which is why we're not sparring with sharp metal. Not even in most arrangements under the duelling code, or even... less formal arrangements. But these are all reasons, Prince Garrett, why you cannot continue with the habits you've already learned. And they're all because you are not the same as everyone else, and your old habits are no longer appropriate.

"Do you understand?"

Garrett cocks his head thoughtfully. "I think so. It's because I'm a prince, isn't it? That makes me more visible. And if I hurt someone, even by accident, it has more meaning. It becomes a major incident."

Brennan says nothing, but he wears a definite "A-ha!" expression as he regards Prince Garret, nodding for him to continue that line of thought.

"Sooo... given that," Garrett continues, "I prob'ly should learn to fight like a prince damn quick, and be careful who I spar with in the meantime. That begs a question, though."

Mild disappointment registers on Brennan's face, but he lets Garrett plough on with the question, anyway. Close, but no cigar.

Garrett examines the sword as he speaks. "Martin says it's not likely the king will let you squire me. He thinks that..." he hesitates uncomfortably, then shoves through it, "um, because of something that happened to Martin a while back, that my father is gonna want to keep me close and have Martin do the squiring himself. Problem is, Martin's gone off to look for Folly and Unicorn knows when he'll be back."

Brennan snorts at Garrett's delicacy, but lets Garrett keep going.

Garrett looks back up at Brennan. "Sir, I've got too much catching up to do to sit around waiting for my brother's return. And even though it should be some big honor to train a prince, the fact is it's gonna be a bloody pain in the ass for whichever knight gets stuck with me. I had hoped to spread the pain by asking several people for short spurts of their time, but would you recommend a diff'rent course?" he asks.

By the time Garrett's finished asking the question, Brennan has already framed his response around a lopsided grin. "You still think I'm talking about skill at arms," he says. "And I am, and you're right. But that's not all I'm talking about when I ask you about forcing old habits into a new situation. Do you understand, yet, why I won't just call you 'Garrett,' and let it drop, Prince Garrett?"

Garrett nods emphatically. "Yes, sir. What I said about being more visible applies to everything, not just arms. You have to command respect in everything you do and titles and such are part of that." The words sound foreign in Garrett's mouth, as if he's learned them by rote.

Garrett begins to look troubled. "That's been the hard part, Sir Brennan. I thought I could manage by just doing what I've seen the royals do all me life," he admits. "But it's tougher than I thought. I'm beginning to think that might not be enough." He stops and chews his lip, appearing to have a question but unsure if he should ask it.

"Exactly," Brennan says, nodding his approval. "Not the words I would have chosen, and I'm betting they're not the ones you would have chosen, either. You need to learn how to use your authority like an extension of your mind and your body. Just like your blade, it needs to be something you are, instead of something you have. Customs, titles, words, language... they're all part of that."

Garrett soaks this all in like a sponge, listening thoughtfully as Brennan continues.

"And just like continuing to play at swords like you've been doing, continuing your old habits and customs could end up getting someone hurt. Maybe not physically, but hurt nevertheless. The last thing you need to do is encourage more familiarity in public." Brennan gestures around them, noting that even though no one is standing close enough to be listening in, there are still other men practicing in the yard. Occasionally, one or more will glance over at Brennan and Garrett, and statistically speaking, it's likely they're the topic of at least one conversation in the yard. "And because very few of your cousins are princes or Princesses of Amber, Prince Martin makes a very good model."

He catches the questioning look on Garrett's face and nods for him to ask.

Garrett involuntarily grimaces slightly at that last bit. He scans the yard, watching the fighting men practice as he forms his question. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful to his brother, but...there has to be another way. Finally, he ventures, "The King is not like any of his brothers. In fact, they're all so different. I understand what you're saying and I agree. I do have a long way to go and I've been working on it where I can."

He hesitates and chews his lip before the difficult part. "There's a lot I can learn from Prince Martin. But I _don't_ want to become a smaller version of him. Is it possible to learn to use my authority without being so...cold?" Brennan will notice the care he took to say "my" and not "me". He'll probably also notice the slight look of distaste on that last word.

Brennan chews on his response a little bit before offering it. "Yes," he says at last, "but how you do that as is much a matter of style as anything else. No one can teach you any of that. You're not Prince Martin, and if you're lucky, you won't have the same formative experiences he did. You haven't so far-- the Prince had the benefit of growing up knowing who and what he was, after all, and you haven't.

"I imagine the hardest part is going to be reconciling all this new position to all your old friends. There's one in every crowd, who will manage to take offense at it all."

"You mean like my mother did?" Garrett smirks wryly. "I saw her last night. That was rough."

Garrett looks down and scuffs the dirt with his boot and Brennan can see he's hit a nerve. "I've been avoiding the rest," he continues sadly, staring at the dirt. "I haven't gone near the stables yet, and as for me mates in the Quarters..." he shrugs, "there's one I'd really like to talk to, but... I suspect she's still fuming at me," he sighs.

Brennan blinks a bit of surprise at that. "Your mother? How interesting." He grunts. "And by interesting, I mean, difficult for you."

"Difficult, but not unexpected," Garrett says with a resigned shrug. "She can't say the King's name without a curse in front of it. I knew she wouldn't take kindly to me actually wanting to do my princely duty."

"She understands, I hope, that those are habits she's going to need to break," Brennan says. His tone leaves no doubt that if Anna were his problem, those habits would already have been broken.

"What about this Donovan of yours-- is he the same way?"

A fond smile warms Garrett's face and he shakes his head. "I doubt it. After all, he was the one who did all he could to have me trained. He had foalwatch last night, though, so he wasn't there. I do hope I can talk to him before I have to leave again.

"Oh, and the answer to your question is this: Prince Martin, Jerod or I are fine to spar with, at least, but we're thin on the ground, lately. If I have it right, Captain Venesch was Prince Jerod's instructor at arms, which makes him an excellent choice. And Lord Nickel is tough enough to do you justice and comes from an old, sufficiently established family that he'll understand the protocols of training a young Prince." Garrett may recall that Lord Nickel left Amber for the war under Deirdre's command, and came back one of Brennan's Ruby Knights. "I can introduce you to either of them, if you need. You should probably pick one as your primary instructor, and let the others know that situation going in."

Garrett thinks about it. "Captain Venesch or Lord Nickel could prob'ly give me more time," he concludes. "Which one do you think would be better able to travel to Xanadu?"

Brennan considers. "I don't know Venesch very well, so I don't know his plans at all. Lord Nickel... might be considering a move to Xanadu. From his perspective and his family's it would be quite a risk, leaving their established and steadily rising position in Amber for a gamble on Xanadu. But the payoffs will be considerable. You and I both know more about the reality than others, but having a Prince to train might decide him, if he hasn't already."

"I reckon it wouldn't hurt his position to be one of the first Ruby Knights in Xanadu," Garrett speculates. "And training me would put him in good stead with the King. It'd also help with Martin's worry about having both of us associated with Card. I'll ask my father about it next time I speak with him."

"No, let me handle it. It's better for all concerned if the nobles, including Lord Nickel, volunteer to move to Xanadu. Even with enticement, let it be their idea. The King can convert that to a Royal directive later if he so desires, but that doesn't work in reverse. If Lord Nickel goes to Xanadu of his own initiative, that preserves the King's options in the long run, and doesn't bog him down in details."

"Oh. All right," Garrett responds with a shrug. It's a reminder of how little he knows about protocol.

Garrett backs up a few steps and works the blade again. It appears he's going to ask to be shown the moves again, but Brennan's mention of "reality" sends him completely off the subject of swords. "Sir Brennan, what's it like to walk the Pattern?" he asks while concentrating on the tip of his blade.

Brennan sets Garret to performing an easier routine with the straight blade. It's easier in several ways: First, it's less complex and easier to remember the movements of. Second, the routine that Brennan performed is-- as Garrett is no doubt discovering-- very difficult to perform slowly. It tenses muscles and puts load in unusual places when performed slow. When performed quickly, the natural dynamics of the body in motion offset that. Third, what Brennan did was fairly impractical even at high speed. It was an exhibition more than anything else.

What Brennan sets Garrett to is something that can be done slower, and is more practical. He'll recognize the beginnings of thrusts and cuts, blocks, and parries, and he'll see that the style requires both balance and constant motion. It's something that Martin could keep up for quite a long time, but Brennan keeps a close eye on Garrett's muscle tone, posture, breathing and perspiration, to make sure that this is really appropriate for Garrett. Or if it will be, once he exercises to his potential.

The exercise is exhilarating for this lad who is accustomed to hard physical labor. Garrett had begun to think the royal life was slowly melting his strength away. The food, the books, the feather beds. Even though he's almost religious about his morning exercise routines, they're short compared to the dawn-to-dusk days he used to put in at the stables. Though the perspiration drips off him, he keeps at it, breathing with the rhythm of the exercises. And if by chance Brennan even mentions the word "Martin" in comparison, he'll probably notice Garrett takes it up a notch without even realizing he's doing it.

Brennan does not mention Martin, or anyone else, in comparison to Garrett while they are training.

All things considered, Brennan is a tough teacher-- very tough-- but fair. He will move Garrett to the edge of his comfort zone and then relentlessly push him past it, but he will also tell Garrett if he's trying to break out of that zone too quickly. If Garrett complains that something is impossible to perform, Brennan will perform it, quickly, then slowly, then quickly again.

Garrett is nothing if not persistent, and whining was not tolerated in the horsemaster's household. Brennan can sense the prince's desire to catch up, as if he's trying to make up for eighteen years of royal non-training in an afternoon. He'll go over and over the routines without complaint. Any frustration with the more difficult moves is turned inward, sometimes with a muttered curse, causing him to work harder - perhaps too hard. Brennan probably has to stop him on occasion and make him walk it off, loosen up, or just breathe to settle him down.

And Brennan does not hesitate to pull him back when he needs to. He does direct Garrett through quite the work-out, though. The young Prince may have the endurance typical of his line, but it's unlikely that he's used his muscles in quite this way.

Because of this, he does not immediately address Garrett's question. Instead, he waits until Garrett is performing the exercises in a fashion Brennan considers adequate before answering. He glances around to make sure no one is close enough to hear before speaking, and it's quite a bit out of Brennan's natural cadence of speech, the voice pitched higher, more knife-like. He's quoting:

"I'm sure even you will manage those first sweet buoyant steps, boy, without botches or bollix. You'll feel the sacred fire flowing through you freely, and believe you've beaten it already. But the flames will sweep higher and higher, the lightning licking higher, to your knees, your chest, your chin. You might even make it to the First Veil, yes, even you. But there, you will stumble as the Pattern takes you apart, and in falling, you will die, burnt out of reality, not worth the remaking...."

Garrett looks first confused, then a little uneasy about the change in Brennan's tone.

[Brennan's] voice returns to its normal register. "Brand put it to me that way, when I was twelve, and started asking the right questions. He did it to discourage me from any wild, independent ideas, but he wasn't lying by much. It will burn your soul, even if it doesn't burn your body. It will take you apart past any philosopher's wildest imagination, in order to put you back together. It will show you anything it can to turn you aside. And if you do, it will kill you," he says with finality.

Garrett wipes some sweat-soaked dirt off his sword as he processes this. Finally, he nods. "Thank you. Most people so far have just said 'it's different for everyone, so why explain.' I've picked up real bits here and there - mostly from Lilly, Martin and my father. Enough to know it'll f**k with your head.

"What I've heard made me wonder something, though." Garrett's eyes narrow in thought. "If the Pattern'll show you anything to make you stop, how do you know you're done? I mean, couldn't it try to make you think you're finished, then strike you dead?"

Brennan gives a lop-sided smirk. "How do you know you're not walking it now, and that I'm not a manifestation biding my time until I pitch your royal behind off the line? How do I know I'm not still in Tir, locked in the eternal Now of the Final Veil?

"They're right. There is a certain gnosis that can be studied, but never taught, experienced, but never told. Everything that you will see-- everything I saw, at least--- was something I was capable of imagining for myself and telling to others.... even if it was nothing something I would have imagined on my own. When you're finished, though, you will have an awareness you presently lack, which you're as able to imagine right now as the Queen is of understanding the difference between red and green. You'll know when your eyes are opened for the first time."

Garrett nods, grateful for the straightforward explanation, even if it does amount to "when it happens, you'll know." At least knowing that he'll know eases his mind somewhat. "If you don't mind me asking, how old were you when you walked it?" he asks.

"I'll tell you, Higness, but I want your word of honor as a Prince that you'll not do something foolish, like run off and harass your father about it, or worse, try to sneak off and do it yourself."

Garrett's downward glance at the mention of sneaking off reveals that the thought had crossed his mind. But he returns his gaze to Brennan and nods once. "You have my word," he replies solemnly.

Brennan holds Garrett's eyes with ones that have looked out from the center of the Pattern, and into the heart of the Abyss, until he is satisfied; and then he nods. "I accept your word, as a man and a Prince." He does not bother to speak more of it-- both he and Garrett know what Brennan's opinion will be if Garrett subverts his promise.

"I was fourteen or fifteen, depending on whether you use the customs there or here to count by. I asked no one's permission. I knew I was risking a painful death, because it was better than the alternative of remaining home."

Garrett gazes at Brennan silently, but his memory brings back something Martin said, ages ago, it seems. 'Celina may have been forced to it too early.' As much as Garrett feels he is ready, or at least nearly ready, he still has the option of saying no if he's not. The idea of being forced onto the Pattern before one's time is frightening thing. He remembers with a chill the nightmares he had about it - the spider web ones - even before he knew what the Pattern was. Consequently, he has no complaint about Brennan's early initiation, only an empathetic nod.

About that time, Edan arrives at the edges of the yard. Dressed in layers of robes and boots that have seen better days, he is admiring the various weapons hung in the racks. His head moves fractionally as he notices the two talking, but seems to be trying to avoid interrupting them.

Garrett looks over Brennan's shoulder and nods slightly, indicating to Brennan that someone has joined them. Garrett doesn't recognize the man, but assumes he must know Brennan. There's a hint of a resemblance.

Brennan is a tall, well-proportioned man, just a bit over six foot tall. He's dressed for exercise or hard work, in intentionally loose but rugged trousers and shirt that gather back tightly at the ankles, or are tucked firmly into the tough-looking boots he's wearing. He's only wearing one blade at his side, but he's with a younger, shorter man near some equipment that they seem to have staked out as theirs for the afternoon; there are more blades among that selection.

Brennan's blade is not drawn, nor is he fencing. He's worked hard enough to break a light sweat, but the young man with him is likely to be sweating much harder, as Brennan is directing him through some difficult exercise routines in between their conversation. To a trained swordsman, it's obvious that the young man is in the beginning of training himself, which will someday take him to the level of extremely dangerous.

To an observer familiar with the Family, Brennan has a strong resemblance to Bleys. The resemblance is less in the face-- although there's a bit there, too-- than in body type and body language. Bleys and Brennan are of a size with each other, and if someone saw them walking side by side, the similarities of motion would be uncanny.

The younger man appears to be in his late teens. He is almost a head shorter than Brennan and of a slight, but wiry, build. Perspiration pastes his dark brown hair to his forehead as he pauses in his workout to speak with Brennan. The lad's nose and chin are somewhat sharp and his eyes are a bright blue. He is wearing a loose white homespun shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black trousers tapered into black leather riding boots. His shirt, like his hair, is soaked with sweat and his boots are dusty.

Brennan catches Garrett's glance and nod, and steps away, looking behind him. When he sees Edan, his eyes widen, then narrow. He stares for a moment longer than would be considered polite, then plants himself firmly with a hand at his belt, and gestures the man over.

Edan tilts his head, his eyes widening; taking his hand away from the rack he was examining, he advances until he is about an arm's length away from the other two.

This close, the resemblance is much more pronounced. More eerie. Edan is closer to Bleys in the face, perhaps a little taller, a little thinner, his skin darker. His eyes are definitely different, the irises the color of molten gold. But in their shape, their posture, the tension in their muscles, they might be mistaken for twins.

Edan holds out a hand, palm outward, fingers extended. "Forgive me," he says. "It was not my intention to disturb you." His head tilts a little more, and he adds, "My father introduced me to my sister here, just last evening. He neglected to mention I had a brother."

Garrett had just opened his mouth to assure the newcomer that it was no problem, but Edan's last words catch him off-guard. It is instead Brennan he turns to with the raised eyebrow that says as clear as words, "Is that so?"

Brennan watches Edan approach with considerable intensity, sizing up the walk, the body language, the facial structure. When he speaks, Brennan listens to him with the same intensity, but whatever he was expecting, Edan's choice of words were manifestly not it. The tension drains, his posture relaxes, and he almost grins. Almost. "No, I expect not," he says to the Prince.

Turning to Edan, he grasps the offered hand and, for once, doesn't bother much to check his strength. "I'm Brennan Brandson," he says, "and I'm going to guess that you're the son Bleys never mentioned. If you'll give your name, I'll present you to His Highness." He nods back at the younger man.

Edan blinks in suprise, then looks back and forth between the other two. "A thousand pardons," he says. "My name is Edan, ibn Bleys."

He expected me to be someone else, he thinks as he speaks. And... Highness? Random has a son? He carries that sword as if he is not familiar with it, though he will learn quickly, I think. But to be his age and so far unschooled...

Garrett picks up on Edan's uncertainty about him and takes charge. He stands almost imperceptibly taller and puts on a formal greeting smile worthy of Martin. He switches his sword to his left hand, wipes his right quickly on his trousers and offers it to Edan. If Edan takes it, he'll find the young prince's clasp to be strong, but not overbearing.

Brennan might be surprised by the sudden royal manner as Garrett says, "Welcome to Amber, Edan, son of Bleys. I'm Prince Garrett, son of King Random." In fact, Garrett surprises himself by how easily he was able to turn on the royal face. Perhaps there's hope for him after all.

Brennan's eyebrow twitches, almost subliminally, when Garrett steps forward.

"Your Highness," Edan says. "It is a pleasure." He adds a bow of his head to the handshake.

Garrett acknowledges this with a slight single nod.

"I had the opportunity to meet your father last night... my father Trumped me to Xanadu to present me, you see." A corner of his mouth quirks upward. "He insisted I play drums with him. Then I danced." The improbable story is uttered casually and matter- of-fact, as if Edan would have said, 'The sun came up today.'

This prompts a twitch of the eyebrow from Garrett, but he remains silent.

"The King is a musical man," Brennan allows. "What brings you into the Family fold now, other than Bleys' Trump?"

Garrett listens and allows the more experienced diplomat to handle the newcomer. He considers this another lesson.

"My work was finished," Edan says. "The Land of Peace is my home. I have led the tribes of the Deep Desert to independence and freedom after a long and bloody war. My father sought me then, because of events here... his sense of timing is always excellent. But while here, I am also insuring that the gains my people have made are not lost. If my uncle recognizes the tribes of the desert... perhaps opens trade with them... it will help cement their independence from the people of the cities."

"No doubt the reflection of events closer to the center," Brennan says. "A scheme that many of us have seen and noted. You've discussed that with your father, I trust? And I trust your existence is no longer meant to be hidden? How much of the Family have you met?"

"As a matter of fact, I just had lunch with my father and with cousin Conner," Edan says. "I related my recent past with them, and that was the consensus, that my trials were a reflection of larger events." He inclines his head. "If I were to stay hidden, I have done a poor job of it. I have met uncles Random and Gerard... father, of course, and aunt Fiona... my sister and her children... and of my cousins, Brita and Conner. I tend to make a splash wherever I go, as it were."

He smiles suddenly. "Aquatic references are very amusing."

"Right up until the moment you're sucking brine for the first time and wondering if the day trip to Rebma was such a grand idea after all," says Brennan.

This draws a good-natured smirk from Garrett.

"Or so I have been told." [Brennan] pauses, with a hint of anticipatory schaadenfreude, and adds, "I note you have not included Grandmother in your list of met relations. Other than that, on the Redheaded end, you've only missed the acquaintance of the rest of Brand's line. Brand himself, you need not worry about. And as for the rest, more relatives than we have fingers between us."

Garrett continues to listen, carefully sorting and filing all the new bits of information he hears. He nods as Brennan finishes. "And many of them newly-arrived, like yourself," he adds.

"Strange, is it not, that we all should gather together after the black storms, as we have," Edan says. "I shall meet as many relatives as I can, as circumstances permit... and try to save the pleasure of a first meeting with our Grandmother for another time." His expression is perfectly deadpan.

"Not so strange as all that," Brennan says. "Even aside from our mutual attraction to each other, everyone with sensitivity or potential had to have some inkling that the events around them were manifestations of something greater and deeper. Once you set your mind to learning more, in how many places could you reasonably end up? When I saw them around me, I made for the source, Chaosward."

Garrett looks to Brennan curiously, trying to understand. "So are you saying that what happened here in Amber, during the war, cut across all the shadows everywhere? And that's why everyone showed up here at once?"

Edan nods his understanding. "If I were not so insulated, so bent upon my own task within one shadow, I would have seen it."

Brennan answers Garrett's question first: "Yes, I'm saying almost exactly that. The road that ran from Chaos to Amber cut, necessarily, through every Shadow, and because of who and what we are, I believe either we were drawn to the path or the path was drawn to us." He focusses on a far off thought for a moment, then asserts, "For most practical purposes, it probably doesn't matter much which is true. And of course, we're Family. Even focussing only on local effects, it's only reasonable to send inquiries back to our Elders when things settle down. The end of it must have seemed apocalyptic in most places."

Garrett's expression darkens as his thoughts go back to that terrifying night nearly six years ago. Yes, it had seemed apocalyptic. Garrett had been certain the world was ending that night. Destruction of that magnitude occuring in every shadow from here to Chaos is a sobering thought.

Turning back to Edan, [Brennan] says, "I've never tended to become attached to any one given Shadow over the years, which gave me a little more latitude in my actions. And my lineage gave me a little more impetus. When I determined what was going on to my own satisfaction, I presented myself to Benedict and all but demanded the opportunity to join the war."

Edan nods. "I have not yet met him," he says. "I can see your motivation... Father told me of uncle Brand. I was ignorant of all of this, of course, wrapped up in my own troubles."

"Benedict?" Brennan asks. "He's impressive. How much has Bleys told you of Brand?"

Garrett listens attentively, wondering if this is the long story that Martin didn't have time to tell him.

Acutely aware that he is talking to Brennan Brandson, Edan says, "Ah... an abbreviated version, of course... I had no knowledge of the events in Amber since my father and uncle Corwin sailed against Eric. He said that uncle Brand had used those of the Courts of Chaos against Amber, and was preparing to betray them as well." Edan pauses. "He spoke of uncle Brand in the past tense, though I do not know what specifically happened to him."

Brennan nods, not disagreeing with anything Edan has said. "An abbreviated extension, then: Corwin and Bleys failed to take Amber from Eric, of course. Bleys escaped immediately; Corwin was captured, blinded, then recovered and escaped. Amber was pressed by attacks from the Courts along the Black Road, during which Eric died and after which Corwin ruled briefly."

Garrett remembers this part of the history, having been in Amber at the time. This account is the first time he's heard the details from a family member, though. He nods thoughtfully as Brennan continues.

"The rest of the Family determined that Brand and his allies were the author of all recent troubles, and carried the war back to the Courts. This is where I joined them, and several of our cousins. Brand's betrayal of the Family was complete, and completely unrepented. We killed him there, but he managed to take Deirdre with him. Our Grandfather died repairing some of the damage he'd done. You've seen Gerard. You've not seen Benedict, who lost an arm in the conflict."

As Brennan mentions Brand's betrayal, Garrett narrows his eyes, as if he's just fit this information together with something he's heard before. A glance at Edan, son of Bleys, though, quickly puts a halt to any questions he might have asked. He listens to Edan's response with interest.

Edan frowns. "I could have helped," he says. "I could have done something. This was more important than my own struggle, no matter what effort I had put into it. He should have called upon me earlier..." Looking between the two men, some of his sudden tension leaves. "But, then, my father would have been pressed for time at the least. And I would have been difficult to reach."

Brennan looks dubious, and has a very ready response to this. "Once Brand played his hand, nearly all the consequences were in some way inevitable. I was there, and others, and he still took Deirdre with him. Grandfather's death was writ from the moment Brand did the damage he did. Perhaps if we were here to assist Eric-- but the likelihood of him trusting either of us would have been... understandably low.

"Edan, can I ask you about your experiences? I have a more than academic interest in how the Black Road interacts with Family members, and vice-versa."

Edan hesitates, glancing from one man to the other. "You may ask..." he says, with a slow smile.

"It is a long story," he continues. "But I can tell you of the arrival of the hamaaj, the creatures of the Black Road in the Dar-es Salaam." He tilts his head. "Are there many such stories of those encounters with our family?" His eyes widen. "Do they differ depending on the nature of the one encountering them?"

"That's part of what I'd like to know," Brennan says. "There's been a definite trend of... loosening of prisons and exiles, which I've associated with the final act of destruction and re-creation, but I could be wrong. Of late, I've become just as interested in the specifics of the Black Road and its interaction with Family."

"I can't really help much with that," Garrett shrugs apologetically. "You already know what happened here. What else have you heard from others?" Despite his silence through most of the conversation, Garrett does seem genuinely interested in the discussion.

Edan holds back on his own story a moment, listening to Brennan as he marshalls his thoughts for his own tale.

"It's a fairly recent concern," Brennan says, "so I haven't been collecting the stories as diligently as I might. I'm also uncertain whether I care more about Initiated family members or non-Initiates, and how I'll deal with people who were isolated in Amber for the full length or were out abroad. Everyone is likely to be his own special case-- I am, for instance, because I had a good suspicion what it was and what it meant from the moment I laid eyes on it."

Garrett shakes his head. "If you're going all the way back to when the creatures started coming in off the Black Road, there weren't many of the Family here then," he offers helpfully. "I think it was some time after King Oberon disappeared, but I don't recall exactly. I was pretty young then. King Eric was here, of course, and Julian, Caine and Gerard. Perhaps Prince Jerod, too. I used to hang around the stables a lot as a lad, so I saw them come and go." He squints as he thinks back. "I don't remember anyone else, though. Least not until King Eric's passing."

"My experience fit the shadow I was in," Edan says. "It could have been some legend from the history of the Land of Peace." He goes on to describe the hamaaj, and considering his audience, he expounds more on the details of the last battle to drive them out of the shadow.

Brennan listens more than he speaks, letting Edan give the details of the engagements that he's comfortable with. When Brennan does interject or interrupt, it's with economy, trying to clarify the military situation: what were the capabilities of the hamaaj, the ifreet, the various human combatants.

If Edan lets him ask those questions, it will become obvious that Brennan is fairly well-travelled in Shadow and has considerable military experience. The questions he asks tend to be the right ones.

He does tend to press a bit on the nature of the hamaaj as a manifestation of the Black Road-- did it manifest all across his Shadow? Was it local? Did it react to Edan differently than others?

"It was local," Edan remembers. "In fact, the bulk of the war was fought in the desert, far from the cities... if one visited the Land of Peace, they could live there for months before hearing word of it. I did not sense any special attention to me... other than my being in charge, of course."

"No special attention to you, except that out of the entire Shadow, they just happened to be in your back yard?" Brennan drawls. "What are the odds?"

"Ahh, I understand," Edan says. "The odds are high, if there was a gate to the afriti in the desert. The hamaaj used this gate to gain entrance to my world."

Brennan asks a few questions about the afriti, in much the same fashion as he would if Edan described fighting against forces using gunpowder weapons-- it doesn't sound like he's heard of them or run across them, but the questions are designed to give him a rough idea of what they are and what they can do.

Then a few about the gate that Edan mentioned-- is it similar to a Shadow path?

Edan describes both the afriti and the hamaaj, especially what he has seen them do in battle. It becomes rapidly apparent that the power of the fire djinn is matched only by their hubris. It was all the more confusing to them, then, when the hamaaj came with their power over fire and darkness.

"The gate... the gate was merely a door," Edan explains. "A sorcerous one. I once went to the home of the afriti, and recognized that I walked through Shadow to reach them. Obviously, the djinn can reach the Land of Peace... but they needed wizards of my homeland to give them entry. That gate was forced open, somehow. The hamaaj took advantage of this and came through."

As the two more experienced warriors discuss complex sorcery in far-off shadows, Garrett excuses himself and takes his sword back to the sword rack. There he sits and begins carefully cleaning and honing all the swords that he and Brennan used in their workout.

Brennan watches the young Prince retreat long enough to make sure he's going to treat that blade with the respect it deserves, then nods and turns back to Edan. "I should work him until he drops," he says, "But I don't think I have time if I want to talk to your sister tonight."

"It is a good, fast method, if a trying one," Edan agrees. "My father taught me the blades in this way. He pounded me unmercifully. I grew to hate swords... and then tolerate them... and then love them. I still thank him."

"It's good for the endurance, too, which is one of his strengths. He'll be using the ridiculously heavy blades and moving in slow choreography before long," Brennan says, "just to have something to keep his muscles in a state of strain."

Turning back to the conversation about the afriti, he says, "The next best thing to being drawn to you personally, I suppose-- drawn to, or exploiting, a weakness in Shadow itself. But I'm going to be stubborn and hold out the idea that you were related as well. When I first saw it, I thought of the Black Road as a sort of a Shadow-filling curve, but some conversations recently have made me think of it as something more akin to..." he makes a gesture with his hand, "a fold across Shadow. I haven't been able to reconcile both ideas, but the fold model implies that it attracts and is attracted to other objects of sufficient Reality. Which could potentially mean unpleasant things that we have yet to discover."

Edan toys with the hilt of one of the practice swords, still in the rack. He looks thoughtful. "If that is so, then such a thing could be expressed on paper. I wonder what variables are involved, what resistances there are in Shadow, to cause such geometry."

Brennan shoots Edan an amused glance, and says, "You are definitely your father's son. And once it's established if some of my speculations are true, the next thing to ponder is whether the effect was designed with that in mind, or whether that's the only way it could have been. It matters, and it might have had practical applications had anyone thought about it at the time-- it could have been a good way to find Family members. It could have been used that way, if it worked the way I thought."

"I had not considered this," Edan says, "though I would not wish to try and duplicate the circumstances." It is far too dry a statement not to be an attempt at humor. "As it turns out, I have a voyage of some days ahead of me. I have been asked to lead a number of ships from Amber to Xanadu. This would be an amusing problem to gnaw upon, in the spare time I will have between bouts of seasickness."

Brennan grins at the description-- whatever his many and varied problems, seasickness is evidently not among them. "I'd be interested to see what you come up with. I've been meaning to ask Bleys or Fiona about it anyway. It's something of a more practical problem than we might previously have thought. There are a number of our generation who grew to their majority without having any good notion of their heritage, and I know of at least one more who is in the same situation. Or so I hope. The idea that she knows more of her heritage than than we thought is... unsettling."

"So, then, the question would not be 'how', but 'who'," Edan agrees.

"Yes. He had accomplices in the Courts," Brennan says, "who have at least some familiarity with his methods, One worry is their trying to repeat the trick. The new one is that they knew enough and thought far enough ahead to exploit the ideas I'm been kicking around-- finding more of our peers."

[Edan] glances in Garrett's direction. "I would offer my poor services for training or exercise for his Highness... I knew there had to be an exercise yard here, and was planning to practice, myself... but of course, neither of you know me."

"If Bleys trained you to Bleys' satisfaction, Prince Garrett won't provide you with any challenge. Not today, at least. And I'm still picking steel splinters out of my back from the last friendly exhibition I engaged in with your father. Broke my favorite blade," he mutters, by way of explanation.

"He did?" Edan asks, suprised. "That is not like him. He only broke mine to explain breaking tensions and metallurgy. It was a lesson." He pauses. "Pardon me for asking, but was this a recent thing? After the breaking of the Pattern?"

"A few days ago. I think it was that, accept the disarm, or one of our wrists would have broken instead. Neither of us are weak men."

"I would not question that," Edan says. "I have been concerned for the integrity of the Pattern blades since the breaking of the Pattern here in Amber. Hearing this, I am much less concerned."

"I hardly expected to break Werewindle," Brennan says, stating the obvious. "I thought perhaps I could manage to get it out of his hands and end the exposition that way. Alas, not. Next time," he adds philosophically, "I shall have to come up with a better advantage. Bleys is a master, of course, but none of us like to lose."

Edan smiles slightly. "If you find such an advantage, you will have to share it with me, my cousin." If he knows any such secrets himself, Edan does not reveal them.

Brennan gives a thin smile in return-- he hadn't expected Edan to reveal any, nor does he promise to reveal his own. Not only do none of them like to lose, none of them are fools, either.

"If I discover something along the voyage to Xanadu, how shall I leave you a message?" he asks instead. "Whom do you trust to hold such things for you?"

"I have no Trump to give," Brennan says. "But for something of this nature, Cambina. Brita. Any of the Knights Commander. Bleys. Fiona. Sail well, cousin. And to avoid seasickness, avoid thinking of sea food while you're sailing."

He holds out a hand, and if it's taken, he gives Edan a strong hand clasp farewell.

It is, of course, returned warmly. "Fare thee well, my cousin," Edan says. "May good fortune follow you wherever you go." He finishes with a short bow, the palm of his hand pressed against his heart. He will be busy with stretching and with the selection of a decent practice sword, if Brennan looks back at him after they part.


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Last modified: 11 January 2006