Fit the Fourth

Brennan blinks in the sunlight of the forest grove. It has a large pool with an overhanging rock formation that are amazingly familiar to him. Despite the doings of the day, the clearing is peaceful.

Brennan throws the grove a highly accusatory glance. He has always wondered about this place... or the Real place of which he expects this to be a Shadow or a reflection. If Amber had a path out to it, he's always expected that Xanadu and Paris and the others would, as well. Tir-na Nog'th, always the possible exception, maybe, maybe not, maybe only at the full moon, or the new. But Rebma's would have to account for the air-water boundary.

His accusing glance turns slowly to the overhanging rock, and the pool.

This is likely more important than the details of the battle in the distance.

Brennan has as much experience with non-Family modes of travel as any in his generation, and substantially more than most. He brings his senses, his entire being, in tune with the Pattern written in his blood, and expands his awareness as much as he can. He recalls the feel of it when the Eater slipped his grasp and escaped into the Faiella-Bionin, and the interplay of power differentials he's learned to sense along the Great Road, and even the eddies and whirls of his own passing through Shadow under his own power. Brennan does not spare his attention on the grove as a whole, but it is the pool of water that bears the pointed end of his scrutiny. Is there, or could there be, a path under that pool that leads somewhere else?

He follows this up with a careful examination of the place with Astral vision as well, just in case, but it is the Pattern technique he's invested so much time in developing, that he expects to bear any fruit that can be borne.

And finally, he is alert, not just for the signs of a passage, but also signs that something has recently passed this area, especially in the metaphysical sense.

In the shallow end of the pool, Brennan sees a single cloven hoof print. Other than that, the glade and the pool have no more magical or mystical properties than any other pretty, sunny glen on a mountainside. There's no sign of anyone else in the grove and the only sign that anyone ever has been here is that there is a broken and rusted metal bolt clamped to the rock by the exit to the cave.

Maybe that's just to help the royal family find their way back in.

Brennan eyes the metal bolt with deep suspicion, too: People don't put bolts in rocks as markers. People splash paint, carve signs, tie branches, notch bark, and so forth to make markers. People put bolts in rocks to hold things in place, and people break bolts to get them free. Assuming there are no fresh tracks near the bolt, though, whatever was kept here and subsequently freed hasn't been here for a long time.

He's inclined to stay and investigate, but if this place were more than a shadow or a reflection, he'd feel it and see it. So he turns his attention to the immediate task at hand: Seeing what's what out in those woods. He's spent too much time in Rebma recently to limit himself to a two dimensional perspective, so his immediate thought is to scout from up in the trees if he can. Their sentries probably won't be looking up, especially if they're sailors by nature, and it'll be damn difficult for them to track him back to the grove through the trees.

He makes his life easier, and his scouting more effective, with a working of Gravity: He doesn't reduce his mass, per se, but he does prevent his mass from affecting the tree limbs and branches he traverses. This will keep the branches from sagging and swaying as he passes, and will give him far more avenues of travel. In principle, if the woods are thick enough, he could walk across the treetops like a highway-- he doesn't, obviously, as he'd have no sightlines down to the forest floor and would be utterly exposed from above. But in principle, he could.

He's also worried about whatever beasts the Corsairs are using in those woods. The last thing he needs is for them to smell him and given alarm. That's fixed with a remarkably simple working of Entropy that prevents his scent from diffusing. After a moment he changes the effect so that his scent diffuses straight upward rather than collect in a finger-thick bubble of sweat around him.

So prepared, Brennan moves through the middle height of the trees with all careful speed back in the direction of the battle.

From his vantage point on amid the pine needles, Brennan can see both the castle and the Corsairs. He gets a good estimate of their numbers and positions. They aren't exactly settling in for a long siege just yet--they have bedrolls but haven't set up anything more than a primitive camp. Numerically, they've got enough troops to keep the castle bottled up, but not enough to take it. Not unless the walls come down.

There are two interesting factors behind their lines. The first is that the officers seem to be corsairs like the soldiers, except for one who wears long robes that look inpractical for either sea-travel or fighting. The second is a small contingent of what look like naturally armored elephants. If they got amongst a bogged-down cavalry or any infantry, they'd do a lot of damage. They are the source of the beast smells and sounds Brennan heard.

The man in the robes is supervising something around the hole they dug. It looks like they're filling it with water by the bucketful.

Brennan mulls that over while surveying the scene. Water is tricky stuff, and if you're subtle about it, you can turn it into a hell of a weapon against stone and earthworks, as the Eater may some day come to learn. But this isn't quite how Brennan would go about it, unless their grand plan involves elephants spraying water from their trunks at the keep. Which, no, is not what Brennan thinks is going on.

He could, he reckons, wait for an opportunity and just shoot at the wizard-looking fellow. If it weren't a wizard, just an important general, he'd probably risk it, but the distance, the difficulty of the shot, the unknown capabilities of his adversary... he decides against it.

But he's not willing to just wait around out here to see what happens. He could have done that from the keep. He looks around (moving around, if necessary) for a sentry who might have wandered a little too far from the base camp, just a little bit out of sight. A pair will do, if he can't find a single one, but no more than a pair. From what he's seen, he doubts they're seriously worried about lone infiltrators; rather, they're probably worried about relief forces coming from off the mountain if they're worried about anything much in particular.

His rough idea is to circle around and/or above an isolated sentry or two, and drop down silently behind. If he can find a single one, he'll drop down behind and incapacitate him with something in the carotid hold family. If there's two, it will be dicey-- he'll have to pick his moment carefully and kill one quickly and silently, moving to the second before either can make much noise. But he does have the advantage of stealth, surprise, height, and a few centuries of experience.

If all that works, he can worry about transporting the captive a little farther away for a quiet game of Twenty Questions And A Knife.

All that works, perhaps too well. Brennan leaves one guard bubbling up his own blood and the second terrified man is dragged away. Brennan's own spell makes the dragging hard, but it is not something Brennan can't overcome. Brennan, his newfound sentry friend, and (optionally) his knife are ready for a chat in an out of the way bit of forest. The (currently) living sentry seems, in the late evening's light, to be quite young and quite scared.

Brennan doesn't clean his hands of blood before incapacitating the second sentry and dragging him off. Brennan keeps the young sentry as disoriented and confused as possible on the trip back to a safer, quieter locale, by the simple means of whacking his head on passing trees as they go by. Not enough to do serious damage, just enough to keep him from gathering his courage up enough to keep quiet later.

When he deems they're far enough away, Brennan braces him against a tree with his forearm, the young man's feet dangling a few inches off the ground to keep him from finding footing or leverage.

"Today's your lucky day," he hisses, still in Walker's voice. "You got a chance to keep breathin' in and out. Tell me who's the pointy-hat, where's he from, what's he doing with that water in the pit, and you can walk away." He eases the pressure of his forearm enough for the man to draw breath and give an answer, which for his sake better not be, "I dunno guv."

And Brennan actually means that bit about walking away, although not in the sense the sentry might expect.

"The wizard? He's a Maghee." The boy makes an effort to spit, but is apparently scared spitless.

Brennan Brandson, leader of men, takes solace in his ability to scare the spit out of a raw recruit.

But the wizard being a Maghee is probably news in itself, as Trip hadn't thought they were allied with the corsairs. But apparently, at least some of them are. What does Brennan know about the Maghees? Specifically, are they a group currently native to this particular island? Because Brennan's been tripping over them since they made landfall.

They're the gypsies of the islands. Magh is a legendary island that sank, ages ago. Or perhaps Magh was a defeated goddess. Or the valiant opponents of the Witch-King, He Who Must Not Be Named (Corwin). The people have become travelers. They're not well-thought-of, and often the first people who are looked to when a crime is committed.

Back to the matter at hand, though, he cuffs the sentry enough to get his attention, and holds the knife where he can see it-- pointed right at his eye. "Focus," he growls. "What's he doing with the water and the pit?"

The boy's eyes focus on the knife's point. He's breathing hard, but not unable to respond. "They don't tell us much, but he's got a monster. It's gonna bring down the walls. He's the one who hired us."

Two more pieces of useful information. Thus, the carrot, not the stick: Walker withdraws the knife a few inches and although he does not waver, he does laugh, "You bunch, taking orders from the Maghees now? Hah!" He gives the boy a chance to contradict that, but that's not his main focus... yet.

"Aside from those things with the snouts, you reckon? Got a name, this beastie?" Now that he's got the boy talking, Walker squeezes him for all the information he can about this great creature, looking for any or all of the following: Name, description, where it's kept, why it needs a personal swimming pool, etc.

Grunt sentry probably doesn't know much, but he probably is tapped into the camp rumor mill-- everyone is, in a situation like that. When they reach the limits of the kid's own knowledge, Walker will shift to rumors (if necessary) by asking broader questions, like, has anyone seen this thing used before, or is this the first time?

The boy hasn't seen it, but he was witness when the big draft animals were conjured. It's why he's afraid of the Maghee. This time the boy manages to spit properly. All he knows is that the thing is supposed to burrow under the walls, and it's supposed to be slow. Somebody said it was what brought down the Argent Towers, but nobody believes that. Just that it could've.

So, the hedge wizard has some skills. Also useful to know, and explains how they got those other critters on site without Trip knowing about it, and even how they're going to unleash... whatever it is they're going to unleash... without anyone knowing about it either. Brennan is still closer to curiosity than dread on that spectrum. It's unlikely a hedge wizard could summon anything that would provoke dread in him without a lot of help.

Although, there is still Moire to consider as potential "help."

Brennan figures he's gotten everything the boy can usefully tell him at this point, and he's promised to let him go. So, he withdraws the knife even farther and stops pinning the boy quite so aggressively against the tree. "Don't do nothin' stupid," he says. "You're near clear."

He takes the boy a short distance along a path that is-- superficially-- in the direction of his camp. Brennan's senses are aware at that superficial level and beyond. He pays attention to every detail of their route, including the tracks that the boy cannot sense which they are leaving over rocky, hard-scrabble ground. "You have done service to a better cause than you know, this day." He takes a sudden turn around an immense tree trunk, and strong-arms the boy with him, and they face a strong, swift-running stream that has no right being anywhere near Montparnasse, and whose roar neither had heard until just that moment. "I bid you, go," he says, pitching the boy headlong into the foamy water. "Go and take the blessing of Brennan Brandson and find a long life of peace and contentment such as does not exist in Avalon."

He watches the river carry the boy westward to what he hopes will be a better, if initially wetter life, then turns and retraces his fresh path back to Avalon and Montparnasse.

It is very easy for Brennan to move between worlds here. He' suspects that Avalon is bigger than Amber's world, but it's still near the shadow boundaries at the extremes. The boy splutters something into the water and disappears into the torrent. Brennan finds himself alone in the woods. There are sentries about, but no one has found his first victim nor missed his second.

Brennan trots carefully back to his point of departure, then moves stealthily back to the remains of his first victim and spends a few moments hiding the body-- it is extremely likely that there is a convenient hollow tree or natural shelter nearby where Brennan can move the body to at least keep it out of plain sight. Nothing more is required.

As he does that, ideas bubble and percolate in the back of his mind. He is in that mental state where an overall goal is accreting a constellation of pre-conditions and sub-goals about it; unfinished, incomplete sub-plans are wriggling around, trying to link and mesh with each other in his mental landscape. He doesn't have a full plan yet, but he's near the point where he'll have enough to improvise around a few general themes. But he needs a little bit more information, first, so he takes to the trees again to complete his reconnaissance.

This time, he is looking for specific information:

Very roughly, how many of those elephant-like creatures are there? Ones, tens, hundreds?

There are more than a dozen, but not hundreds by any means. There may not be a score.

Also, very roughly, how are they kept? Who minds them? Are there teams of keepers? Are they chained, roped, tied to engines, walking freely?

They are in a makeshift corral that they could clearly and easily break out of. There are keepers with them, men who neither resemble Maghees nor nor Corsairs. They are small of stature and have elaborate mustaches, waxed into distinctive shapes. The keepers may be their riders, as they look like warriors. There is tack for the creatures, and it looks like it includes distance weapons. They seem to be a combination of a trampling machine and an elevated firing platform. They would be extremely vulnerable to boiling oil, but by the time they got close to the oil, they'd've already done a great deal of damage to the castle.

Brennan wonders idly if the handlers got summoned too, or if he just got played by that kid. Doesn't matter. The things are real, and the hedge wizard being a Maghee is too insulting for the kid to have been lying about.

In general, when Brennan returns to the keep with his Walker persona, he'll want to have enough general information that he, Balen, and Trippel can stage a quick raid to shake the Corsair force up. When he's got it, he'll be ready to head back.

If Brennan can come up with a way to spook the beasts, they'd stampede, and if he can aim it at the camp, they'd trample it. That might shake them up.

Brennan ponders all that for a bit, with rival plans competing in his mind, all variations on a theme of raising holy hell with those war elephants and capitalizing on it. As he rapidly considers his options, he reaches one ground truth of the situation: Once he sets things in motion, all sides are going to act, and act with high competence and confidence.

Trippel and Balen haven't missed a trick since the siege started. Brennan primed them to expect sabotage when he left: if he gets those things wild and woolly right now, they'll be launching a raid on that water pit again before the first trumpet fades in the air, and the Corsairs will reorganize and counter-attack before Brennan can even make it back to the glade without Sorcery, much less back and brief Balen and Trip about what's going on.

Does he want that?

Well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, and it's karmically churlish to complain that your fellows are too competent. But, they don't yet know that a Maghee wizard is in charge. This seems like useful information, to them, to Benedict, and to Brennan personally. So it would be ideal if the wizard met with a brick to the back of the head instead of a sword to the lung.

The other broad option is to head back with his intelligence and cook up a coordinated raid on both the beasts and the wizard. Ordinarily, Brennan would worry about the timing and skill needed to do such a thing-- it isn't easy. In this case, though, he'd be splitting Trip's forces three ways-- raid against the beasts, raid against the wizard, and defense of the keep. And Brennan would want to be in all three places at once, which is a bit extreme even for a Sorcerer of his caliber. And it just adds time to everything. It doesn't help to come up with an audacious plan if the summoned thing is already summoned.

His thoughts are rapid, and he doesn't dither too long: He's going to engage the sabotage from here... carefully.

He shows the war-elephants to Skiaza and causes it to understand that it shall soon-- at Brennan's command and not before-- be feasting on one of them. That one of them, to start with: Brennan designates one at the edge of the corral, whose screams should hopefully send the rest stomping into the Corsair camp. After it feeds and sows chaos, it is to withdraw back into the woods.

But before Brennan gives the command, he himself withdraws as close as is prudent to the site where the wizard is monkeying around with the pit. He wants to be in a position to dash out and join whatever force Trippel sends out.

When all is ready, Brennan sends Skiaza out to feed, and waits to see the results, ready to shape them further.

"Yes, Great Lord," replies Skiaza. It flies off, looking like a cross between Robin's Fire Lizards and a Mosquito. Brennan cannot see his affine's attack, but it does the job remarkably well. First Brennan hears animal screams and noises, then the forest shakes like no mountain ever should. The beasts trumpet and there are men shouting and possibly something has caught on fire.

The beasts break through the forest into the open and are charging straight at the castle's side gate. Skiaza is still with them, although now he seems to be larger, and hairier. He trumpets and the beasts reply. They will casually destroy the sheltered dig as they go by, but it's unclear when they will stop or turn, or indeed if they can. Skiaza seems to have very selectively fed, and these animals are much less capable than they once were.

At first, Brennan is pleased.

Then, when he sees Skiaza leading them instead of having withdrawn, he begins to frown.

[OOC: technically, "driving" them rather than "leading" them, not that it matters for your command, but it does for my response...]

When he sees their trajectory intersecting the side gate, the frown turns to a scowl.

But if Skiaza has disobeyed, maybe he can try to use that disobedience.

Normally, when Brennan invokes the Godvoice effect, there is both an Astral and an Entropic component. The former serves to let Brennan's voice bleed over into the Astral where it can better resonate with-- for lack of a better term-- men's souls, while the later keeps his voice from fading into the distance. Now, Brennan does something similar, but much more specific. The Astral component carries his voice entirely into the Astral plane, and the Entropic prevents it from spreading out producing a tight beam-like cone of Astral-only sound focussed on Skiaza. The effect is as though Brennan is bellowing directly into whatever metaphysical part of Skiaza's new form passes as its soul:

"DRIVE THEM THAT WAY!!!"

All without any physical sound on the battlefield. If anyone sees him, it probably looks like Brennan is bellowing forcefully, but wordlessly.

It's a Hail Mary, but there's not much else he can think of.

The winged elephantine beast that is Skiaza lets out a shriek of terror, driving the beasts away from the gate. They'll probably hit the castle wall. The archers are filling them with arrows, which seems to only enrage them. They look to have very thick skin.

Skiaza calls out to Brennan astrally. "Great Lord! Save me!"

Brennan doesn't think the castle wall is in imminent danger of collapse, but he still has little time for his affine, which wasn't supposed to be where it is right now anyway. "Make a great noise, and withdraw," he sends back astrally. For good measure, he attempts a quick working to toughen Skiaza's substance for a bit, but at this range and the amount of time Brennan has to spare, it is critical that Skiaza actually withdraw while it has whatever effect it has.

When Skiaza makes the great noise, all eyes will probably be on it. At that time, Brennan wraps himself in the dead Corsair sentry's cloak puts on his helmet (if he had one) and starts moving toward the dig site.

The elephant-beast at the back of the pack trumpets loudly, which can't spook the other creatures any more than they're already spooked, but definitely gains the attention of all the watchers. A pair of wings sprout from the creature's back and break bloodily through the skin, followed by the rest of a winged creature. It is and isn't Skiaza, or more precisely it is the part of Skiaza that got melded with the beast and then ripped in two. Some of Skiaza was left behind, and some of the beast came with the re-born affine.

The creature, without Skiaza to lead it, collapses in a bloody, steaming heap on the ground.

The rest of the herd slams into the north-west tower of the keep. The wall stands, but the tower shakes visibly and it's possible that something was dislodged. Brennan, with his Amberite hearing, can hear screams inside the castle. Something may have fallen from the bulwarks.

Without a goad behind them, the animals continue to race off, away from the castle. It's unlikely that their riders will be able to gather them up in a short time period, and Skiaza seems to have damaged them. Other than the corpse, the field is empty.

Brennan sees that he's not the only one to take advantage of the crisis. The wizard is also sprinting towards the dig site. Brennan will get there first, but not by long.

Brennan can see that there's some sort of tank next to the dig site. Like a fish tank. It's opaque.

Brennan watches Skiaza's... evolutionary fusion... as dispassionately as he can. Based on the amount he told it to eat, he had been more than half expecting that to happen. It was a necessary risk, but that doesn't mean Brennan is happy about it.

This isn't the moment to worry about it, though. He's done what he wanted to do-- thrown the situation into total disarray by pre-empting whatever the Corsairs had planned with those war-beasts and disrupting everything that everyone else had going. Now it's time to simplify. He runs toward the dig site, but the dig isn't really his objective. That's just where he expected the wizard to be and when he sees that he's right, he allows himself an anticipatory grin.

Brennan runs the wizard down like a hungry wolf and ends-- he hopes-- with a tackle and a thoroughly unconscious wizard. Unconscious, not dead.

Brennan is ready to shut down any hedge-wizard activities with the Pattern, but Brennan himself takes no metaphysical actions of any kind unless the wizard starts.

The hedge wizard sees Brennan coming, naturally, and responds by stopping, lifting his wand-arm and pointing it at the barricade.

Brennan's going to hit him, but possibly not before he gets off a quick spell.

No, no, no.
No spells, especially not ones that will probably destroy that barricade and let loose whatever this guy thinks he's going to let loose.
Brennan hasn't gone through all this trouble just to have another summoned thing running rampant on the field.

As soon as the wand comes out, Brennan acts to neutralize it. A working of Matter changes the phase of the wand from wood to vapor in the man's hand, but it doesn't change its flammability. The twist of entropy provides the spark to set the vapor on fire. It'll probably look like some sleight of hand with flash powder gone wrong. But it should remove his little toy from the field and break his concentration.

Brennan is careful only to target the wand, not anything else in the area, and of course he follows through with the physical take-down.

He drops to the ground, covering his face. Perhaps the fire blinded him, or singed his large Maghee eyebrows. Brennan does not have any problem taking him out, on the ground. It's not very satisfactory, but it's successful. He finds himself lying on the ground next to the quite unconsious and slightly burned Sorcerer.

Brennan glances over at the dig site to take in any new details that might be apparent, but that is not his main focus.

Still the same over there. Tank of water sitting outside a pool of water, sitting behind a screen against archers.

Unless some summoned creature is at this very moment screebling out of the pit intent on eating someone's face, Brennan's focus is the Maghee mage.

In the chaos that he's wrought at the site, there must be a horse or a pack animal of some sort. He commandeers whatever he can find, picks the wizard up by the scruff of the neck and ties him across it, and heads back to the keep. If he really can't find an animal, he'll carry the wizard over his shoulders like a sack of bruised onions, perhaps with a twist of Gravity to lighten the burden. (It's been a long day.)

The corsairs are sailors, not dragoons. They have no mounts. Their mounted auxiliaries are now mourning the pile of elephant-like meat that is lying at the bottom of a cliff. [OCC: On top of a musical alpine nunnery which barely had a chance to sing two verses before being cruelly buried by an elephantalanche.]

When he's close enough to the keep that he's in more danger of being shot by the defenders than the attackers, he'll shed the stolen helmet and cloak so that they can see who is approaching, and let him in.

Brennan and his disarmed mage slip in through the sally-port and he dumps the man on a nearby haywagon. Balen is at the gate. "Do they have any more Elephant-beasts?" she asks, anxiously.

Walker dumps his captive on the ground like a rolled up carpet. "Doubt it," he says. "Ask this guy."

Walker gives her a minute to figure out where she wants the briefing-- and whether Trippel is required-- and allows himself to be conducted there. He keeps the Maghee prisoner fairly close, though. Close enough to make sure he doesn't get executed by some enthusiastic hothead. His story is artfully edited so as not to include his trip out through the caverns and into the grove (in case they include some non-family members.) Or any of his Sorcery. Or any of his Pattern work. Or Skiaza. It takes a lot less time to tell, that way, anyway.

"...and found a pair of bent clowns trying to be sentries." He shakes his head. "Killed one, to get the other talking. Had to show he was more afraid of me than this guy," he gestures to the Maghee wizard. "Said the Maghee was paying the whole crew, that he personally seen the guy presto those beasts outta thin air, that he was calling something else into that pit to burrow under your walls and bring them down. Don't know what," he says, forestalling the obvious question. "Nobody ain't seen the thing, but the beasts made believers."

Balen nods. "Someone else holds the Maghee's strings. They are an accursed people since their city sunk beneath the waves." She turns to a soldier. "Send for the Bailiff. We don't need this one opening a portal to let Elephant-beasts into the keep."

[Brennan] waits to see if there's a reaction to any of that before continuing, especially the corsairs working for a Maghee, or for either a Maghee to be in charge of a part of this invasion, or possibly for the Maghees to be driving the whole thing.

"Didn't know their plan, neither, but it's pretty well bent, now. No beasts, no boss, total chaos out there. We find out what's the deal with that pit from this guy, mop it up and they're done," he says. "How fared the keep?" he asks, while he swiftly updates a sand table or a map with the most recent information he has access to.

Balen's expression shifts to grim. "The beasts did more harm than it may have looked from the outside. They dislodged a cauldron of boiling pitch and it fell on some buildings. The fire is out, but there were casualties." She looks at the prisoner. "We have not lost fighting strength, but it is hard on some who lost their families."

Brennan has, in the course of his long life, seen what uncontrolled fire can do in pre-industrial settings. There is no need to fake sympathy on Walker's behalf.

"I think we'll want to use a truth drug on him. No sense wasting time on torture if we can get an answer quickly." She smiles, not very nicely, at Brennan. "It works better on those who are convinced of its efficiency. Wizards cultivate reputations for years to make these things work. If you have any doubts, please suppress them."

Walker shrugs in a way that Balen will be able to read into what she wants. "Best done quick, before they get their balance back." Walker is content to let Balen handle the initial questioning, if it is directed toward the immediate goal of figuring out what the mage was summoning and how to dispose of it, although Brennan is obviously paying careful, clinical attention behind the facade. If the conversation ranges toward more general concerns, like who he's working for and so forth, Walker will probably take a more active hand. Under no circumstances will he allow the mage to be killed.

The wizard offers to talk, in exchange for his parole, which Balen offers on the conditions that he A) forbear attacking this castle during this war, B) submit to the truth drug when speaking, and C) stay as a prisoner until he can be honorably released. The man is not thrilled about the truth drug, but submits quickly enough.

The creature in the tank is a Great Bobbit Worm, so called for the late Bobbit Maghee, who discovered them. (Like this (but bigger)).

If it gets out of its tank and into the pool, it will burrow until it reaches the castle, undermining the walls and eating anyone it can find. The corsairs know this and were to overturn the tank if the Maghee sorcerer didn't make it.

The Maghee himself is on a pilgrim quest, sent because he thought to question the wisdom of the High Priestess of Lir, who came out of sunken Maghdeburg and summoned the clan chief. He was lucky to escape with his life, and does not wish to encounter an avatar of divinity in priestly form again.

The combination of an Avalonian people with underwater/sunken island myths, summoning seabed creatures, following a priestess so powerful that the summoner considers her a direct avatar of Lir... that has Brennan's attention. He doesn't let any more of that attention show on Walker's face than strictly necessary.

Walker motions to confer with Balen in private, and starts with a shrug. "Your call if he walks," obviously, since it's her castle, but Walker has no especial problem if she trusts him to his word. "Might should parley with those boys out there, drag it out a day or so? Never get a better chance to compare his story to Crisp's and Mayness's." Brennan doubts they were much involved, and doesn't much yet care what Balen does to them even if they were. But it's enough of a pretext to keep him around long enough for Walker to question him, as well.

"Might could tell me who this Lir fella is, too," he mutter.

Balen picks that up.

"One of the Maghees' detestable and twisted mockeries of our gods, I think. We do not call upon the same gods as they do, no matter what they call them."

Walker nods; Brennan tucks the information away for future analysis.

She turns to a soldier. "Lock him in the tower. If they destroy it breaking in, then we will have been unable to secure his safety anywhere."

These people seem competent enough to keep him under an active guard even in the tower, but if not Walker will delicately remind them of that need.

She turns to Brennan, and looks to the ramparts. "So, they got something they can dump in that pool and it'll chew its way here. They think that ends it, which means it takes down the walls. I'm sorta against giving them too long to wander out to their pond and kick over the fishtank. And fixing that magically at this distance is beyond me. Let's just head up to the walls to see if it's already too late. Unless you want to go back out and see if you can do something about it."

Walker follows her up to the tower for the survey, briskly, and expands on his previous thought.

"If they already done it, we'll improvise, probably with pike and axes," but that's not very high on his list of fun activities. "If they ain't done it, they need a reason to keep not doing it while we talk to our new best friend. Say they get their pointy-hat back..." he squints at the sky "...at none? Gives us most of the day. Then we hand him over and build a big bonfire under that thing while they leave." Maybe throw in some carrots and potatoes, Brennan doesn't add.

"Think they'll respect a banner of parley? The rest is details."

She speaks as they reach the top of the tower. "Yep, that they will. What reason can we give them for leaving?" Balen looks out at the field, and is frustrated by the screen that blocks her vision of the tank.

"And given that they killed my father, knifed my brother, and sent assassins into our castle, why should we just let them go?"

Walker gives her a cold, hard look.

"You? I reckon your motive is keeping these walls upright. Unless you got some way of killing that worm thing?" Some way other than asking Walker nicely to do it for them. "Them? They're busted. They get to walk away with their wizard and mug some other keep. Problem ain't them walking away, it's them staying away. Figured you had something in mind when you offered him parole-- a certain ally you mentioned before, maybe, break his hands or whatever you break when you don't want him conjuring for a few days. Unless you're fixed to kill him anyway, make all that," he gestures to the activity outside the walls, "a little easier. I ain't care much if you do, but you're back to thinking about that thing out there and your how long these walls stand up against it.

"What are we trying to do, up here, Princess? Figure on how to get them to take a hike? Or figure on how to get rid of that thing in the pot so we can kill the rest of them?" And, unspoken: if it's Walker pulls off another miracle and deals with that thing, that's a favor on an entirely different level from the one they already owe him.

She sighs, impatiently. "We're doing several things. The Protector's best outcome for the Hill people is to have us intact as a fighting force that can relieve the coastal towns if the Corsairs try to keep them from coming to his defense, or at least threatening to do so. We may not move, but our ability to do so enables the coasters to have the ability to do so, which inhibits one of the routes the Protectors Enemies may take.

"However if these were the risk to the coasters, then hurting them would give our allies more options. It's difficult not to want to do so, given that they have bloodied us. That wizard isn't the top threat we have. If he was, they'd've packed up by now.

"So, I'm torn. You have the right of it, but it's difficult for a warrior not to fight and let the fighting resolve the matter."

She reaches the top of the wall and looks over at the shelter in front of the pool. She slams her palm into the cold stone of the crenelated stone wall. "I can't tell if there's any activity behind it or not. I don't see anything that says they've done the deed they threatened or not."

"Neither can I. We're gonna have to go down and parley just to find out, I reckon, so we can't screw around too long," Walker says.

He works the inside of his cheek for a bit, then says, "Back home, the Legates tended to take the long view, valued intel as much as force. Right twicked off the junior officers, some of 'em." Walker spits off the castle wall.

"Okay, you fight these clowns here, you fight these clowns on the coast, it balances out. Tell me about this Protector of yours-- Is he like the Legates? He value the information we can beat out of that wizard about their tactics, numbers, strategy? You got a way to get it to him? If yeah, that says cut a deal. You get more than they do."

She looks frustrated, but not argumentative. "The Wizard's been paroled. Our best option would be to turn him, probably based on how unhappy his patron would be if he returned having failed. An approach like 'we're the only ones who can protect you' ought to work. Although we'll want to send him to the Protector. Nobody wants a Maghee around here.

"Anyway, yes. But if my brother doesn't go, then they'll suspect we are weak. You should go talk to him, I've got an idea that might help me see beyond that shield, but it's fiddly magic."

"Ah, you want it all." Walker acknowledges that obvious fact: She wants to run the table by sending the wizard back to Benedict, killing or pinning all the Corsairs, and keeping their castle as intact as it still is. Walker doesn't think she's going to get it without his help, and Brennan isn't yet convinced it's worth blowing Walker's cover. The Walker persona is a lot more valuable intact, and for Moire to know that any family member other than Lilly is stomping around in Avalon will just make his life harder. "But that leaves you at dealing with the worm-thing, don't it? I'll think on it while I see your brother." He takes care not to sound too enthusiastic or hopeful about that.

Brennan proceeds to find Trippel, whom he is mildly surprised is still alive, much less conscious. Surviving a serious knife wound from a scion of Amber is as much toughness as any mortal should ask for. When he finds him, assuming he's alone, Walker assumes that his brief has made its way to him and just asks, "How you holdin' up?"

"Made it this far," he says grimly. "Plan to make it farther. I hear the elephants weren't their only plan of attack. Good work if you stampeded them. If they were to magically breach the perimeter, those beasts would've played havoc inside the walls."

"They was supposed to head the other way," Walker says. It's no more an apology than his interest in Trippel's health is an apology. "Dunno what you've heard, but even after we nabbed their wizard they still got a means to breach." He goes on to describe the information from the Maghee succinctly but completely: the burrowing bobbitt worm that will collapse the walls, the tank, the instructions to the remaining force, and especially that business about the priestess of Lir, as well as the terms of parole Balen promised.

"...which leaves everyone in a Warmuthi Stand-off, far as I can see it. If those boys want their wizard back, we might could persuade 'em to just walk away. Only way to make that stick is if you got allies coming. Balen wants to run the table, though-- defeat the corsairs in detail, be free to relieve the coast, ship this wizard back to your Protector fella, all of it. Which means doing something about that thing they got summoned." Walker shrugs as if to say that he'd take the deal and live to fight another day.

"I got some thoughts on that, none of 'em good. First, if we parley and betray, or somehow get that tank knocked over on land, maybe a crew of halberds and axes could pin it in place and hack it apart." Maybe. "Second, if it don't move too fast while digging, a crew could maybe dig like hell and expose it when it passes." Walker looks extremely skeptical. "Third, oil. How much we got left? We got any that burns on wet hide? That thing's a sea critter, probably ain't like fire very much."

"'Course, I ain't fixin' to try any of those out under enemy fire. We'd have to control the field."

Tripppel nods. "They got a decent siege going, but we're well set to sit one out. They've got a worm, but we've got their wizard." He sighs. "I've seen that screen. Nothing behind it is going to do any damage to the walls unless it explodes under them or it becomes bigger or it spawns a hundred of these worm-things.

"So we assume it does one of those. So, we need to get rid of it. I've got an idea for how to get them to leave if we parley, but it requires us to make the tank invisible, or disappear, or hide it from their sight. Maybe the wizard would do that, for refuge or money, like Balen thought."

He stands and winces. "I'm going to need this tied up tight enough to go out there if this is going to work. My sister won't love it, but I'm willing to go for a 'good enough' win by getting them the hell away from here. Stalemate favors our friends in Avalon.

"Will you be my spokesman and negotiator?"

"Ah. You may have guessed that I ain't from here," Walker says, "which don't give me a lot a local knowledge to negotiate off." And, Walker being the man who prided himself on pitching a superior officer off the wall he was building, he is not an obvious choice for negotiations. "I'd be more useful in the field, I reckon," he shrugs, "But I can give it a shot.

"Why don't you tell me what you're thinkin' and what your goal is?"

Trippel nods. He's clearly more seriously injured than he's letting on, but he's not willing to show it, even to Walker. "We'd all prefer to fight, but that's not the best course now. I am injured, Balen is needed for magical support, and you are competent and will not be a risk to the kingdom if we win. The goal is that they leave and do not come within sight of the castle again. If they are hesitant, we may want to threaten to turn their Bobbit Worm upon them, or on their ship."

Walker gives the dealing-with-officers shrug.

"All right. You're sending out someone ain't from here and ain't know much about your sister's magics," he says, "but all right. Balen promised that Maghee parole, and wants to send him back to your Protector for further questioning. I'll aim high, but you got any problem with the obvious trade that we keep him here and squeeze and release? If you got allies coming to relieve any time soon, now's the time to tell me since that's the right amount of time to keep him."

Trippel shrugs, managing not to wince. Perhaps he's getting better.

"No one's coming, it's up to us. Given that they scaled the walls of this castle to assassinate my father, I'm also sending someone I can risk losing. Being the lord of the castle makes a man make difficult choices, but I'm not going to try to say otherwise. It's obvious and if you had to guess at my motives it might cloud your efforts on our behalf."

No one of Walker's supposed rank would expect an officer not to sacrifice him, nor would they particularly like to be reminded of it. Walker doesn't smile-- or worse, thank him for his honesty-- but he doesn't frown too much, either.

"I mostly don't care what deal you make as long as they leave. If they want the mage back, he's free to go to them. Same with my sister and her man. Don't offer that, but don't turn 'em down. We won't promise not to attack their flank if they attack our allies in Methryn's Port, but we won't hunt 'em if they don't go after us our ours."

"Noted, all. Proposal: All sides live to fight another day, even each other."

"Done and done. Lir speed you on your way and uphold you in your work."

Having satisfactorily concluded their conversation with Dear Old Dad, Fletcher suggests some refreshments to Folly and Martin while they wait for Brennan to call. Realizing that he should be ready to travel when Brennan calls, Fletcher also sends someone for the gear he would prefer to take with him.

Folly returns Benedict's card to Martin and runs a hand through her hair. "Yes, since we're all here, and awake, shall we send for...." She squints toward the heavy curtains covering the window, realizes she really has no idea what time of day or night it is, and so settles on, "...food?"

To Fletcher, she adds, "I'm interested in your take on this place -- Avalon, I mean -- if you're up for talking about it."

Fletcher replies, "Even if I do go with Brennan, I'll be back soon. I'm still interested in taking a walk downstairs. It seems a bit odd to me that on a metaphysical level this place is so similar to the Amber I remember, but so different in the physical world. I've heard no man is an island, but this island sure is Dad."

"Do it afterwards," Martin suggests. "If Brennan needs you, he's going to need you fresh. Either that or he's going to need a quick trump out, in which case it won't matter." He looks profoundly not happy with the entire situation, which is his right: it's some ungodly hour of the morning, he's been summoned from his bed to deal with a crisis, and there's nothing useful for him to do. Not to mention nobody for him to vent at. And his daughter--the younger one--isn't around to soothe his temper.

"This is your first time visiting Avalon, then?" Folly asks Fletcher. "I know you were away from Amber for a long time -- do you know if this place even existed yet, when you left?" As she speaks she gestures the men toward seats near the low fire. She settles with Martin onto a blanket-covered couch and wraps an arm lightly, soothingly around his shoulders.

"The answer to that question is apparently both 'yes' and 'no.' I'm led to believe that in the reality I experienced this place didn't exist yet, at least not as it is today. However, it also seems that if a place is going to have a Pattern that the future existence of that Pattern primes the place. I'm not sure what a 'Future Home of the Pattern" would like to an outside observer. It might only be noticeable to the family. How often does the family visit? As charming as it is, I imagine Paris and Xanadu are more comfortable."

Martin looks at Folly for some sort of confirmation, and says, "Talk to Paige and Reid, I think. I'd say Cambina, but she's gone now." Folly can sense the tension in Martin at that particular point. "Apparently they found what might be the place that was going to become Xanadu. Proto-Xanadu, I guess. But nobody imagines Xanadu is ancient. It didn't come pre-loaded with ancient history."

"Unlike Paris," Folly interjects in a no-seriously-what-is-UP-with-that sort of tone.

"And wasn't Avalon Corwin's place before it was Benedict's? I seem to remember hearing that from Merle when he was telling me all his Dad's stories. He confuses things occasionally, but I don't think he was confused on that one."

"Wait---" Folly blinks. "THAT'S the 'sorceror king'?"

She may have more questions, but they'll have to wait 'til she recovers from a sudden bout of giddy laughter.

Fletcher shrugs. "That fits. Growing up, I remember some pretty insufferable behavior. The castle was not always entirely pleasant when Eric and Corwin were both in residence." Fletcher silently ponders the relative levels of animosity in the Corwin-Eric dynamic and the Benedict-Emerald dynamic, but quickly decides to move on. "I suppose it's possible that, if one with sufficient awareness stumbled upon a 'Proto' realm as you call it he or she might decide to hang around a while and see what's up and generate some history. It could also be the luck of the draw. Dad was vague on the details of how he picked this spot. I wonder if the geometry of the Faeilla-Bionin was a factor."

"Don't look at me," Martin says and pulls out a few strands of his hair. "Blond, not red. That's why I'd say ask Paige. Or Reid, who's not a redhead but seems to have his own share of 'sufficient awareness'.

"Do we even know how old this is? I couldn't tell you for sure on my end. I know Avalon was here when I was a boy, but I'm not sure about the Pattern. I didn't know how to tell for a long time." Martin adds, for Fletcher's benefit, "I left Rebma after I walked the Pattern and didn't come back to Amber until the very end of the war."

Fletcher grins. "If it comes down to it, we may not have mignonette trees on Avalon, but I'm sure we could find some red dye if that's the only way to learn about these things." He continues, "If I recall correctly your departure from Rebma was within the last couple hundred years, correct? If so, I believe the Pattern was probably already here by that time."

"And given the nature of this place, you think it's your father's design, even if history suggests Corwin was here first," Folly says, then adds as if it's a continuation of that thought, "Is your father still much as you remember him, personality-wise, from when you were a young man?"

"Mostly. He seems to wince less without my mother or Granddad around to criticize him. In retrospect that may be why he enjoys his privacy so much. I guess that absence makes him feel a bit more responsible too. Still this?" Fletcher gestures to the fortress around them, "takes his inscrutability to new heights. Obviously it's not as flashy as Amber, or Paris. I wonder if it's more purpose-built."

"Even by your father's own description it would seem to be," Folly says. "A testbed for warfare scenarios rather than a land to be governed. But -- forgive me for asking if this is too personal a question, but would you be willing to describe a bit what life was like in Amber, and in your father's household, when you were a boy? I'm afraid the histories are a bit vague on that era. I don't even know whether your father's marriage and your birth came before or after the mess with Faiella, and Corwin." Although the question is mild, Folly is watching Fletcher's face to see if he betrays any visceral reaction to those names or that time. Martin, who knows her very well, might sense that she's latched onto the germ of an idea and is carefully probing it out.

Martin's eyes narrow here, as if perhaps he's caught on to what Folly is thinking, or maybe having some thoughts of his own along related lines.

Fletcher does react with sadness and perhaps a bit of horror at mention of Faiella, but quickly covers it. "I am somewhat older than Caine, but younger than Corwin. Imagine being an only child, but having grown siblings who were already trying to compete with you. That's the sort of thing Caine faced, and apparently Corwin before him. It impacted Court life, though it seems to me that the family's influence at Court has grown as the family grew. There were more nobles families and social institutions that held influence than seem to be in evidence in Xanadu. Why do you ask?"

"Well," Folly replies slowly, as if she's sifting ideas and carefully choosing her words, "although your father is, as you say, generally inscrutable, I can well imagine that historically there's little love lost between him and Corwin, given the bits I know about the politics of that time. It's interesting to me that in all the infinitude of Shadow, he should choose to make his realm in a place that used to be Corwin's. I found myself wondering if the ancient history of Corwin's brand-new Paris was somehow tied to the history, or the what-might-have-been, of this place. Which made me wonder which of them -- if either -- drew the Pattern here. Certainly this realm seems consistent with your father as he is now -- but I was curious if he had always been thus, or if scores of mortal lifetimes tending the former realm of his first enemy had made him thus."

Fletcher nods. "I wondered the same thing, actually. I don't think Corwin was quite his first enemy though. Regardless, I think this location was selected because of the neighborhood. Or at least the neighbors. I hear Xanadu is just two doors down. I haven't thought of a good way to test the strength of Avalon's link to Corwin. What have you heard about Dad's problems with Corwin?"

Martin gives Folly a look, but he's keeping his mouth shut on this one for the moment. There's a long list to choose from.

Folly returns the look; she'll share her thoughts, but he will need to fill in some important details -- particularly in stories that aren't necessarily hers to tell. To Fletcher, she says, "Speculation and hearsay, mostly, for my part. The histories speak of bitter partisan rivalries during those times, although generally they don't call out Oberon's children -- only the merchant families and other members of the court that supported them. In recent centuries, of course, they were both absent from Amber: your father here, and Corwin lost and presumed dead in Shadow. But when they returned... well. There was that bit with the mechanical arm and Greyswandir, for one. Have you heard about that?"

Fletcher is surprised. "I have not heard that one. Based upon the context I can only guess that Dad had a prosthetic arm and came to blows with Corwin? House rivalries rarely involved direct combat of Princes in my day. Was this at the same battle with the assault rifles?"

"It was about that time but not like that." Martin is shaking his head a little at some part of the implication. "Ben had already lost his arm. Corwin went up to Tir and had some fight with one of the ghosts up there. He came back with the arm attached to him, business end first, at dawn. Ben liked it because it seemed to have some useful properties and he decided to wear it, which seemed like a weird decision but makes more sense now." Martin gestures around him at the castle, in case his meaning isn't clear.

"A bunch of stuff happened--I think Ben used it to win a fight sometime when they otherwise couldn't--and then there was a second fight, later, in Amber, while Dara was present, which was a detail of the business on Tir, and it was cut off him and vanished. Basically the other end of the Tir fight with Corwin, distorted by some massive bit of temporal sorcery funneled through two places with Patterns, which I didn't even know you could do. I'm betting it was our grandfather's work."

Fletcher whistles. "Wow, that sounds like an expensive prosthetic to lose. What happened to it? Let me guess. It disappeared into Tir. Its a shame, one would think such a device could be a useful weapons against the Moonriders." In his mind he's running the odds of whether the arm went backward or forward in time. "Does anyone know what the fight was about?"

"From the retellings I've heard," Folly says, "it seemed to be about Dara and her role in Amber." She hesitates, as if considering and rejecting several options for what to say next, finally settling on, "Possibly they had differing opinions on how much to trust her." She exchanges another look with Martin; clearly she knows, or expects him to know, more details, but is unsure what -- or perhaps how much -- to share.

Martin shakes his head in the negative. "When I say it was the other end of the fight in Tir, I mean we watched Corwin's blade--no Corwin attached--duel Ben. If Ben could see Corwin, we couldn't. And he'd've had Corwin too, but for the fact that Corwin wasn't there. Between what I saw and what I heard from Merlin afterward, which was what Corwin had to say to him about it, it looks like a giant circular sorcery. Temporal and spatial displacement: a Moonrider kind of thing, almost."

Folly suspects he's not glossing over the Dara bit so much as considering it less important than the circular nature of the Corwin and Ben conflict over the arm.

While Fletcher is digesting that, Folly says to him, "I asked whether your father seemed much changed since you knew him years ago, but I suppose that's another question -- does Corwin?" It's not clear whether it is directly related to the Moonrider comment or not.

Fletcher thinks for a moment. "Corwin is somewhat different, but then it's good to be king. Of something anyway. Getting to the top and being at the top require two different mind sets though, so I suppose that much at least is natural. I think Eric's death may have had an effect on him too though. Or maybe it's just having so many younger people to deal with. I wonder about that circular sorcery. It may yield clues about the past, or possibly the future. Which Dara was it? My niece?"

Martin steps in to answer that one, since he's more familiar with the genealogical data and the Daras than Folly. "I'd be careful about calling any of Ben's descendants on that side of the family 'yours'. They're picky about possessive pronouns." Moving on to actually answering the question, he continues, "We're talking about Dara the younger; the elder Dara doesn't exist any longer. I don't know who the resulting offspring were for sure, but I think her last reproduction was--" Martin makes a face and settles on the least gross term he can think of "--fissile."

"You know... like... whole-body meiosis," Folly adds, as if that makes Martin's point perfectly clear. Then she turns Fletcher's earlier question back to him: "What have your impressions been about the problems, if any, between your father and Corwin?"