Hello, Lorides...

Felicity, as it turns out, lives in the Louvre, and is quite amenable to having Alice and King Corwin's daughter in for refreshments. When they arrive, the servants have brought tea and snacks: a tiered server of petits-four and pain au chocolat and macarons of various flavors.

She is not a young woman, perhaps surprisingly, but she is elegant and beautiful and quite feminine, and it's easy to imagine why Corwin likes her. Alice mentioned on the way to meet Felicity that Solange was her niece by fosterage and that she's quite keen on the younger generation, having become something of a foster-aunt to Solace and a grandmother to her children as well--and that she has enough sense to stay out of Florimel's way or at least off her bad side.

When they arrive at her luxuriously appointed suite, Aunt Felicity rises to greet them. "Alice," she says, "such a pleasure, as always. And you're Celina--I think we've met briefly, perhaps when your Uncle assumed the throne? I'm so glad for a chance to get to know you. How can I help?"

She lets Celina pour, which is apparently an honor.

Celina makes a show of a Takhi dance with her hands, her fingers account for the game pieces, she scouts the perimeters of the field, and then a smooth delivery of Felicity's brew, on to Alice, finally herself. It's also a show in the sense Celina does not start her questions until she is done with it and has sipped her own brew.

Celina smiles, "You can help by joining my secret cabal. With my father away, you become an important part of defending Paris against intrusion. There is a strong... hunch... that my mother is going to make a play here. Moire is missing, made a show of escaping Paris. I believe she is here having laid a false trail off the map. She has corrupted a few good men to do it. I'm guessing by now she's dug into the male fabric of Paris as well. I need help to root her out."

Alice is leaning forward, listening with interest.

Felicity makes a 'mmm' noise and doesn't pretend to false modesty, either where her own person is concerned or about where men go to consort with women. "There is of course a community of Rebmans here, though Corwin has spies among them already, I think. You might draw them out there. Or you might try visiting the clubs or the opera. The singers are all mistresses of powerful men, and perhaps that would be a place where Moire could hide. Not as a singer, but perhaps involved in a senior position in one of the companies. Do you think she would take a position as a madam in an upscale brothel?"

Celina's reaction to that is strong enough she slows a response. She raises an eyebrow, not in the disbelief she felt, but in the analysis of how Moire would fox investigation.

Would Corwin look for Rebma's queen there? No. Would Merlin? Not at all. Would I? No, I'd look in the Opera or the salons of well-heeled artists and patrons. Something like the Louvre, in fact. Celina 'mmms' herself now. "It's worth thinking on, yes. I would think not, but then, if she held the purse strings, and she would, for the place and the staff, it could work for her. She'd need special leverage. I'm not sure she could work magic here." Celina adds, "Moire would need things. Expensive mirrors. Access to history of Paris. Would that help narrow the search of Opera or Brothel? For instance, how would you know that a well-kept brothel had recently changed hands?"

"The opera and the brothels aren't that separate, not at the exclusive levels. There are courtesans who are invited to all the best salons. Even to the palace," Felicity explains.

Alice mmhmms in agreement.

"And she could certainly have a good library, and the mirrors could be disguised as part of the decorations," she finishes.

Alice adds, "Corwin isn't really keen on electricity; he prefers gaslight. And that means more mirrors."

There's a slight pressure on Celina's mind as if someone is trying to get her attention. It's distracting her from the conversation, and will take up the whole of the conversation unless she resists. She thinks it might be a Trump contact.

Celina does a threat assessment.
If it's Random or Corwin she doesn't want to talk to them.
Merlin has her card so it might be urgent and dangerous.
Folly might have done sketches? She's had plenty of days and she may be curious about Lark.
Llewella.
Yes, well if her aunt is calling all of the double dozen seas are probably blazing with green flames.
Anyone else is probably an assassin.

Celina smiles at Alice and Felicity. "Excuse me just a moment." Celina pushes her chair back from both ladies and preps her left hand to use the chair as a makeshift weapon. Her right palm she fills with dazzle.

The Moonriders meet Brennan in the stables. "Ho, Sir Brennan. We feared you might be tardy. Will you lead or follow? Do you know the way?"

"Sir Argalia," Brennan says, by way of a greeting. "If you wanted to leave without us, you'd have warned yourselves and left earlier," he observes. His tone is wry and dry, but not cutting.

Sir Argalia shakes his head. "I'd've wanted myself to help with the preparations, and I can't work with myself like that. I'm too much of a Prima Donna." They keep working on saddling the horses, and soon all are ready. Sir Firumbras arrives, and looks at the horses.

Brennan has already considered whether he wants to passively observe their method of travel, or use this as an opportunity for other interactions. Both have their merits. "I have never been to Ghenesh, but this is one way of following up on the High Marshal's prior invitation," he says.

"Ghenesh figures heavily in our history and lore, but we are a nomadic people. He may not be present. Sir Firumbras needs sorcerers, not the Marshall."

Sir Firumbras walks in to the stable and sees the saddled horses. Comparing his bulk to the horses, he says, "I may need to walk...." Given his size, he may be right.

Brennan lets Argalia's prima donna comment pass. He looks at the available horses, then at Firumbras, considering. "Let me lead for the first segment of the journey, I'll see if I can remedy that."

"Tell me more of Ghenesh as we travel," he suggests ("suggests") to the Moonriders. "It is unusual, but I may be able to move us closer to it at the same time. For instance: Nomadic? In places of one Shadow? Between them?"

Sir Argalia shrugs. "The way there is always the same, but where it is is always different. I suspect that the path goes into the unordered realms, but there is a path that we can take. If we can move to the starting point more quickly, we can arrive the sooner."

Unsheathed looks up from his mount, which is a not-quite-horse like all moonrider mounts. "I am the only one of us from Ghenesh. It is where we train, and breed our mounts, and our base, but few live there. It is an uncanny place, but beautiful nonetheless. The sky progresses through the colors of gemstones, deep green at dawn, red at sunset, and blue in the evenings. The seas are thick and the horses can run across them, if care is taken.

"If we stay still too long, we sink, so being nomadic is a matter of survival."

So Ghenesh moves in Shadow, but retains a fixed path? That is... unexpected, Brennan thinks to himself, but hardly the most outlandish thing he's ever heard of. He doesn't let himself get caught up in idle speculations on how that convolved about the Black Road, but instead resolves to think about the possible effects of destroying that path, once he has enough information. He also wonders if Argalia has truly understood Amber's power over Shadow-- Brennan is confident that once he's been to Ghenesh, moving or not, he won't need a path.

"It sounds like a place to breed vigilance and readiness," Brennan says to Unsheathed. Brennan comes from a challenging place as well-- Uxmal has its volcanoes. And its thirsty gods. "I hope to hear more of it."

"I shall be happy to show you more of it. Our steeds are native to it, and they move constantly as well, ever vigilant for attack from the sea, the sky, or the surface. If you think they are amazing, then you should see what they evolved to escape from." He smiles at the thought. "When their herds rush by, it is like a hailstorm."

To Argalia: "Let us resolve, then, to first allow me to produce a suitable mount for Sir Firumbras. Along the way," if that is accepted, "we can discuss this path and whether I can take us there."

"So let it be done," says Argalia.

Argalia leads the way, navigating between natural shadow paths, picking them out with a preciseness that is hard to fathom for someone with control over shadow. His path meanders, but always seems to get closer to the goal. Brennan thinks it would be difficult to follow them through shadow. They've definitely left the island.

Brennan had more in mind that he would lead them to something useful on the way to this supposed beginning point, but he decides not to press the issue. This might be better, anyway.

He is in no special hurry to complete this conjury, for several reasons: If Argalia's lead makes it more difficult than anticipated, he doesn't want to mess it up. Conversely, if it's easy, as proximity to Avalon would argue, no need to show Argalia just how easy it is. But aside from all that, one of Brennan's big reasons for insisting on this escort mission was to be able to observe the Moonriders at work, and the more observation time he has, the better.

So observe he does, quite carefully and with the Third Eye (but not Astral, to avoid interfering with his own conjury) getting a sense for how often Argalia moves on and off Shadow paths, and when he's about to do so. When he thinks he has the sense of it, he'll test by causing various styles of apples to appear on any trees they may pass. This may not be Avalon proper, but it must be near, and besides he'll want to give them to Firumbras, so he picks several.

They are excellent looking apples, and mostly green or similar colors. Argalia is using shadow paths the way Amberites walk in shadows, to affect miniscule changes that add up over time. A shadow path can be long and wide enough for a ship or wagon to traverse, but these are very short and he takes the group through several of them in a few moments. He's not creating them, but he's finding them.

What Brennan can't figure out is how he's choosing one or the other or how he knows which one will take him towards his goal.

Brennan has a pretty good idea, actually-- picking one path is easier if you can just pick ALL the paths and choose the best one retroactively. Proving it to his own satisfaction might be difficult, but it's part of the reason he's on this joy-ride in the first place.

At length, Brennan will choose his moment: Ideally, they will be in a forested canyon, in earshot at least of a river or stream, the sort of place where horses can lead a relatively easy life, with natural shelter, and natural food. There, as they come around a bend, Brennan wishes to see at least one great horse of a size suitable for Sir Firumbras.

Since he has had one recent blowback from his powers of conjury, Brennan is a bit mindful of conditions and constraints, here. Aside from conjuring a real actual horse, Brennan does not, under any circumstances, want to accidentally conjure a horse connected with the Altamareans or accidentally shift them into Altmarean lands. He's met the Altamearns. He likes the Altamareans. But that would go very badly.

Philosophers and students of shadow summoning can debate if Brennan has found a horse or created one, the practical matter is that there is a horse, smaller than Morgenstern and larger than any of the horses in the group. The creature has colorful stripes, and is probably related to Benedict's favorite horse, Stripey.

Truthfully, Brennan has never liked Stripey much, it's just never been politic to say anything about it. Not the same kind of wariness as Morganstern generates, so much as underlying concern that patterns that wild might imply lineage close to, or from the other side of, the Tree.

Brennan dismounts and approaches cautiously with an apple in hand, observing. He was so fixated on not accidentally stumbling into Altamarean domains that he had no effort to spare for much else: Does it look wild, or civilized but perhaps lost? Is it shod, saddled?

He's saddled, shod, and calm to his approach. On the far side of the horse is a man, or man-like creature, lying face down and not moving. The horse is grazing near him.

Brennan glances back to Firumbras, to see if he's with him or hanging back. He'll give Firumbras the apple if he's with him, or to the horse if he's not. Then, inwardly sighing, he turns his attention to presumptive corpse, fully expecting it to be a Shadow of himself or of Benedict. He'll give it appropriate levels of look-over-- human or far shadow, geared up for a fight or peaceful traveler, dead or alive or somewhere in between, remarkable to Astral Third Eye or not, that sort of thing-- before approaching more closely.

The body seems fresh, no more than a day or so old. He looks to have a broken neck, and be nearly human. He's larger than Brennan and smaller than Sir Firumbras. The worrying thing about him are the spurs on the back of his hands and the smooth whiteness of his features. Grackleflints shouldn't be this close to the Center.

Well, that's disturbing, but not as disturbing as it could be-- not by a long shot.

Firumbras approaches the horse. He seems pleased with the mount. "He seems friendly."

"I am friendly, potentially," the horse says. "Are you offering that apple?"

"I need a horse for a long ride to a distant land," says Firumbras, seriously.

"I can be hired, but not enslaved," says the horse. "And I might want a favor from you in return."

"My friend's name is Sir Firumbras," says Brennan, to the horse, as one does, "and I am called Sir Brennan." He waits politely for the horse to introduce himself, as they do.

"I am Lorídes,of the line of Hinatauma. Well met, Brennan of the House of Sir."

Firumbras offers the apple and Lorídes takes it. "Thank you, Firumbras."

Brennan gestures to the dead grack, and asks, "Is this the fate of those who would compel your service?"

The horse whinnies, apparently amused. "I wish. No, that is the fate of someone who helped me escape captivity, but could not master the sturrup. He was also a prisoner of the fae and we escaped together." Lorídes sighs, "I didn't know him well, but he was a helpful chap.

"I have been hoping someone would come along and undo the halter that holds me in place."

"A prisoner of the fae, you say?" Brennan asks. "How did that come to happen? Were there more of your people imprisoned-- or his?" Brennan's intent is to distract Lorides a little bit with talk, as he reaches out and gently untangles the reins from where they've gotten caught up-- he isn't sure if the horse had to stop short or was bruised in the process of whatever happened. Once that's done, if Lorides consents, Brennan will take a more careful look for injuries.

"During the Dark Waves, the Fae fought with us to repel the unthings. When the wars were over, the Fae king died, and the Uncourt rose to power. The Unking made prisoners of those of us who did not see the signs and flee. I was one such. The Ibsek was another. We are not naturally close peoples but he promised to get me aid to free my family if I helped him escape.

"And yes, that is the task I would bargain for. Again."

Brennan makes a non-committal noise, frowning in thought.

"Let us speak candidly, Lorides, for I would not have it said that I deceived you," Brennan says. "After you carry Firumbras to our destination, he may not be in a position to honor a bargain of assistance. Nor, I think, can we divert this group from our present task to provide that assistance first-- I would not see us diverted from our task until we reach our destination, nor can I say with certainty what will happen when we do or how long we will tarry.

"However. I have some passing familiarity with your friend's people. I cannot vouch for how well I will be received," he says carefully, "but I believe I could take you to some of his people, there to press your case with them: conveyance for conveyance. Although that place is very distant from here, I suspect it is closer to our original destination than it is to here anyway."

"It would take some time, perhaps a quarter of a day to get there, to free the people, and there might be a fight. But you have no other options for riding at the moment, so your could consider it an investment in later travel. And I would be a willing participant and not a hired servant if we did it.

"But if you would rather not, I will seek other assistance. In any case, thank you for freeing me from the branches. Some things are just easier for people with hands."

Brennan scowls again, hands the reins to Firumbras, and looks at the dead Grackleflint again. He moves closer to investigate. "I know little of their burial customs, however-- are there rites to be performed?"

Lorídes tosses his head. "We spoke of neither his gods nor mine, and he claimed to be an exile from his people."

Brennan rather carefully does not mention that this ignorance is the result of every other dead Grackleflint he's ever seen floating up, over, and away from the battlefield-- and it's always been a battlefield-- into some unspecified distance. Hard to bury a floating corpse, except maybe in the clouds. He sure hopes his Knights are paying attention to the Moonriders' facial expressions, because he can't risk turning back to do it himself.

Sir Argalia looks at the body. "He's not a Grackleflint of the Brass Legion. He'd be up in the air by now if he was, unless he's not dead."

Unsheathed kneels at the body. "It's some sort of transfiguration. Why would you disguise yourself as one of them? Their reputation is... not good."

Sir Argalia turns to Brennan. "Time is not always an enemy, Sir Brennan." He'll leave any implications of that to be requested by Brennan or not.

Brennan goes to one knee while examining the dead grackleflint, including not just Third Eye, but full Astral vision.

The grackleflint is not there to his third eye, which is a good indicator that it died and not in the past hour or so.

Brennan is nodding at Argalis in agreement with his observation of floating bodies, even as he tucks away the Bronze Legion distinction for future use.

"Time is not my enemy, here, Sir Argalia," he says. "What do you think, Sir Firumbras? He'll be carrying you, and to your destination."

Firumbras strokes his beard. "It would not be right to take his service and fail to render aid. I take it as a sign. We are being tested by the Unicorn. We should pass this test and rescue this horse's captive companions. Tell us more of the captivity, friend Lorídas."

Brennan's childhood taught him a lot of things. Not deifying his family was one. Not rolling his eyes when others did was another. Great-grandmare was always welcome to drop in for a chat, but he rather expected she had bigger things on her mind than this.

The horse turns to Sir Firumbras. "Thank you, gallant knight. My people are mostly equines, and are corralled and stabled in the invaders castle. The stallions work the days in the fields, but at night are kept in a locked paddock. There are guards, and canines. Once we get the equines to the plains, they are free."

To Unsheathed Brennan says, "Transfigured? What makes you say that-- and more importantly, transfigured from what?"

He looks at Brennan as if trying to gauge how to answer. "There are signs. Magical residues. Stress on the skin in ways that skin doesn't stress." He pulls the cloak off the victims shoulders and bends the dead creature's elbow. "The way it looks like a functional creature with muscles that allow movement and weight to be carried, but only on the surface."

Brennan inspects the features that Unsheathed points out-- and the cloak and clothing, for that matter... do they have normal patterns of wear?

Yes, they do, but not quite as much as you'd expect from a prisoner. You also get the impression that whatever this is was adapting to being a grackleflint. As Unsheathed pointed out, the parts that were covered by clothes and hair were less adapted than those that were visible to inspection.

Then he asks Lorides, "Were there others of his people there, in need of rescue?"

Lorides shakes his long head once. "He was a new prisoner, and they were not careful with him. I have never seen a person like him."

Brennan, who has been dithering about something this whole time, evidently comes to a conclusion. He reaches out to the dead grackleflint again and casts a spell... and once again hopes his Knights are paying attention to the Moonriders' expressions because all Brennan's concentration is going to be on this.

He is not (rather emphatically not) trying to undo the grackleflint's death. But he is trying to manipulate time in such a way that the grackleflint's body reverts back to what it was before it became this.

Brennan takes a moment to look back through the focus of the body. It's like watching a movie in reverse, and hard to follow with the changing light, but he manages to focus on a key spot, which is the grackle flint in chains, and before that being something else. Something more or less human, with delicate features and a cruel smirk.

Brennan thinks the change wasn't voluntary.

Brennan takes a slate and a sheet of parchment from his pack, and sketches what he saw, showing it to the others. It's probably the same slate he sketched Maeve and that unknown fellow on, long ago.

To Unsheathed, he says, "I don't think this fellow did this to himself. I think it was done to him."

"Then somebody else has appalling taste. Or this fellow did something unforgivable."

Or someone is just cruel. But they've established the general parameters, and Brennan doesn't feel the need to beat them into the ground.

One of Brennan's previous sketches of Maeve-- whom Brennan tries not to refer to as 'Floaty-Woman'-- and the mystery male figure are present on the back of the slate as he sketches.

Shadowslayer does a double take and looks at the sketch. "Your earlier work is remarkable, Danger-Walker. Who have you drawn here?

Brennan stiffens momentarily at his uncharacteristic lapse. He'd been meaning to work this into a conversation somehow, though, so perhaps this is fortuitous. "I am told the woman is the Queen of Tir-na Nog'th, but no one has yet been able to identify the man, or the scene. Perhaps one of you can do that for me. Let us speak of this as we ride," he says, "For I am curious to know who locks people into the form of a grackleflint, and why."

Unsheathed mounts as well. "Agreed. It's an interesting choice, because if the Brass Legions found out, they would direct their wrath in this direction. Are they prepared for that? Do you seek it? Are they unknowing? Let us find out."

"Good rhetorical questions," Brennan says, "on which I can shed very little insight. I do not often cross paths with the Legion." Only when Grandmother tries to kidnap me with them. Always fun.

Shadowslayer is perfectly happy to talk of the sketch. "It seems to be a scene from out of legend, There was a famous painting of it, called 'The Knighting of Sir Mordred'. Did you see a copy of it?"

"No," Brennan says, and meditates briefly on the virtues of being Benedict. But Brennan is not Benedict, so he continues: "I saw this in a very vivid dream, years ago and very far from here. It was unusual, and unusually vivid, and even at the time seemed important to memorialize. I have been trying to understand it since then." He looks to Firumbras for additional commentary-- what is legend to Brennan and Argalia might just be history for him.

Finumbras looks blank. If it happened, it happened in the hundreds of years he'd been in stasis. "Oneiromancy," says Finumbras. "The name itself sounds like the western barbarians." He looks at the drawing. "That is the queen, and her throne and banners behind her."

Shadowslayer nods. "He was her champion."

"I've heard more than one tale of Mordred, most emphasizing his connection to Arthur and the Battle of Camlann, but none that I am convinced are true," Brennan says. "What is his tale?"

"The greatest of Arthur's knights, save Lancelot, and a true son of his father. He sought the grail and nearly obtained it and discovered the truth of his father's betrayal by the Witch-Queen. He died in battle to free his father from the spells of the Witch-Queen who had him ensorcelled and who had corrupted his best friend and mentor, Lancelot.

"It is a tragic story, and yet in many shadows, his tale has been twisted to protect the honor of the the witch-queen and her captives. She and hers had always hated him, because she was born of a different mother."

"And in this case, the Witch-Queen would have been..." If they say Guinevere or a variant of it, Brennan says it with them.

"Guinevere."

"Yes, such charms and fascinations are notoriously difficult to combat," Brennan continues. "How did Sir Mordred pursue this goal? Did he succeed?" If one is not a Sorcerer, the usual method of fighting the enchantment is to have someone else stick a sword in the enchanter, but Brennan doesn't want to lead the conversation quite that much.

"Legendarily? He succeeded in freeing his father, but both were mortally wounded at the Battle. Arthur was taken to Avalon and Modred to La Tour d'Argent."

Interesting that they took him to Lir's island rather than to Tir-na Nog'th if he was Maeve's champion, Brennan thinks, although he's beginning to wonder now if they were both Pattern realms, back during this mythical golden age before Corwin and Benedict were born. Which has a lot of implications waiting for Brennan's non-existent leisure time to untangle. Probably means that the Battle of Camlann was around there, somewhere, too.

"But how?" Brennan asks. "You make it sound almost as though the battle is what freed him."

"Yes. Arthur was freed and they both died. In most versions. But legends are stubborn and malleable, often to the needs of the teller."

Shadowslayer pauses. "If it even happened and isn't a tale told to impart a moral lesson, it was far enough in the past that no one remembers what is truth."

"Of course," Brennan says. "If I press too hard, it is only because of this: Now that you have told me something of the scene, I believe this history is part of the reason this vision was sent. I have more than ever an obligation to pursue it."

Shadowslayer nods. "There are two ways to pursue a vision. One is to search for what the vision shows you, and the other is to look for the sender of the vision. Either end of the line may be of import."

"I'm pretty sure I know where it came from," Brennan says, matter-of-factly. He seems ready to say more when Firumbras draws their attention, then decides to let him wonder for a while.

Finumbras raises his fist. "Steady on, lads, I think we've reached our goal."

The road winds into a small valley, full of pasturelands and fields of cultivated crops. It would look very pleasant if there were not a large brick castle looming over it from the far hillside. It looks out of place in the tranquil surroundings.

"What do we need to know, Lorides?" Brennan asks. He takes a look over the fields and at the castle with Astral vision. He will be surprised if the castle exists in that view, but he hopes to get an indication of the number of lives inside it. Separately from the Astral view, is there a road or roads to that castle?

"Well, it's a working farmstead with an occupying castle. The occupiers live in the castle except when they're on patrol or escorting tax collectors or beating slaves. Horsepeople as slaves will be kept in the stables, with the threat to the others keeping them in line. I'm afraid I wasn't allowed into their keep, being a horse person." He points with his nose. "There are several at the plow there, a few at that mill turning the wheel, and that paddock has more."

From a guess with his astral view and looking at the size of the castle, it could hold a hundred very cramped men or as few as several dozen.

...Vs about half a dozen Knights, three Moonriders, and a Lord of Amber. Clearly we have them outnumbered, Brennan thinks.

"Are your people the only slaves? And in either case, where are the slaves kept at night; and on what kind of a schedule; and in what kind of restraints?" There is an assumption packed into that, namely, that the slaves are kept together at night and restrained somehow-- but much of this place proclaims centralized hierarchical order, and experience in keeping a large population in check using a smaller one.

And as long as they're here, they might as well do it right-- Uxmal was not a bastion of civil liberties, either.

"Well, my people aren't fit for all the menial labor in the castle, only the labor that equines can do. Most of the people are natives, and only the foreigners are occupiers. But some of the natives are collaborators and a handful of the occupiers and some of the natives have been made slaves." Lorides snorts.

"So it's mixed, but you want us to free the equines," says Shadowslayer.

Finumbras looks across the valley. "The keep is the key to control of the entire valley. We could cause a great deal of confusion by striking them here."

Shadowslayer nods. "Right, the only thing I can think that would cause them any pause would be if they didn't have a monopoly on movement. So, of course they enslaved all the horses. It makes them useful and it breaks them of the ability to join the fight."

Finumbras turns to Lorides, "Is there any armed resistance to the occupiers? Someone who could take advantage of our moves. What are they called, again?"

Lorides flares his nostrils, but answers anyway. "They call themselves Lotharingians, but they talk as if they are heirs of the great Reman Empire of the past."

"Everyone thinks they're the designated heirs of the Remans," Brennan mutters. That and a quarter will get you a cup of coffee. More to the point: "We are the only mounted and mobile force they'll have encountered since their consolidation, which is a psychological advantage we'll get best use of exactly once. A visible disturbance there, at the mill wheel-- a fire and an escape if any horsepeople are housed on site, preferably just pre-dawn-- will certainly draw an armed response. Reman doctrine requires it, but so does common sense. The valley is a lot less useful without that mill."

He surveys the valley again, in the vicinity of the mill. "Reman doctrine also requires clear sight-lines from the keep to the areas around the strategic targets, but they've started thinking in terms of foot, not horse. If they're on Reman books in the first place. If we take up position there," he gestures, "we can cut them down like corn from behind when they run for the mill. Two wildcards are whatever it was that transfigured that grackleflint, which may or may not join the fight; and the difficulty of sneaking our mounts-- most of them-- into position at night.

"Here is a proposal: Sir Firumbras, you take Dame Patience and Sir Crescent to the mill. I'm thinking on foot for the silence, but I'll hear other opinions. Set any of Lorides' people inside free, and burn the place to the ground." Brennan will conjure something flammable for them if necessary. "The rest of us move into position for the ambush. Firumbras, we'll have to agree on a signal when we're in position. Sir Shadowslayer, can you take point and lead us there? I want to keep myself in reserve if that first wildcard takes the field."

Shadowslayer looks over the valley as well. "Yes, of course. It will take us 20 minutes to get into position without being spotted from the keep. Depending on the size of the sortie, we may hold some of our forces back. Come, troops, I shall tell you what you need to know of Ghenesh's battle commands to coordinate the attack." He falls into a subordinate role with only a slight smile to acknowledge that he knows what's happening.

"Sir Dangerwalker, what shall be the signal to attack?"

Butter would not melt under Brennan's tongue, as he describes a simple set of birdcalls to cover the basics-- in position, ready, go, abort-- chosen with an eye (or ear) for use about an hour pre-dawn.

When they are ready to set out, Brennan follows with Argalia's group, his senses open wide primarily for any trace of the creature that transfigured Lorides' companion and, secondarily for any trace of Shadowslayer using his abilities to post-optimize their route in order to make the journey undiscovered. Brennan begins his watch as soon as they set out, and it consists of mostly passive Third Eye, punctuated at regular intervals by Astral vision; it continues once they are into position.

Shadowslayer leads the troop to the designated spot, and doesn't seem to draw any attention. Brennan does not see any activity that makes him think Shadowslayer is actively helping his cause, but it's also clear to him (from both the fight in Avalon and his choices here) that Shadowslayer is well-trained warrior and knows how to infiltrate enemy territory successfully.

Brennan had very strongly considered (in advance) accidentally making enough noise that Shadowslayer would be forced to respond in the fashion he (Brennan) is trying to observe, and rejected it: It would likely be discovered and not only end this game of chess pre-maturely, but probably also destroy his friendship with Firumbras. Brennan is not without serious regrets, though, as they make it all the way into position without having learned anything interesting.

Lorides says "they aren't early risers, except the farmers, and the overlords aren't farmers."

It all seems rather easy, and before too long everything is in place for the signal coming from the mill. Brennan doesn't detect any evidence of the magician who affected the dead 'Grackleflint'.

Before Brennan begins to seriously worry that Sir Firumbras hasn't accomplished his mission, Brennan sees the signs of a fire at the mill, and sees a stampede of horses towards the woods. The castle seems to have noticed, in that there's a rider barreling towards the mill house. Shadowslayer birdsings for orders.

One rider? Singular? That is the very reason Patience is assigned to that detail: Patience to deal with one or a very small number of riders, with Crescent and Firumbras to defend her if necessary. It's not like the rider is sneaking.

Brennan takes a moment to sorcerously and astrally survey the theater, making sure there's no (just for example) invisible or well-concealed force moving on the mill (or on Brennan's and Shadowslayer's position!) or any other similar nasty surprises.

There is no such force, invisible or otherwise.

If that is the case, Shadowslayer and his force are to remain in place and Firumbras' detail is to deal with the rider, because Brennan doesn't want to give up his hiding place to lead a charge against one rider. If that is not the case, Brennan will re-assess.

The lone rider gets close to the farm and dismounts. Dame Patience shoots him in the head and he falls like a rider shot in the head. Firumbras and Crescent come out and Cresent sends the horse running back down the road while Firumbras drags the body out of sight. The trap is re-set.

Soon after the horse returns to the castle, riderless, another group sallies forth. This troop is around 10 strong and have some sort of officer type with them. As Brennan looks over them he notes that they have firefighting gear with them, although nothing so advanced as a pump or hose system. Blankets, axes, and buckets will have to do the job.

There are probably enough of them to give the fire party some trouble, although Brennan doesn't think Firumbras and Crescent would lose.

Well that is the sour spot, Brennan muses to himself-- five or fifteen and the answer would be obvious. Ten is dicey, even as Brennan can see its most likely unfolding: Patience taking one from a distance before they know what's happening, possibly a second, and a third unlikely before they get shields out. And since the horse went back to the castle, Brennan assumes this troop is ready for trouble. Patience can handle a sword, too, but that's still mostly four-to-one against Firumbras (okay) and Crescent (probably not okay.)

He shakes his head to himself, almost imperceptibly, then realizes he's shaking his head against the incipient pressure of the Trump contact building up. He blocks it as best he can.

To Shadowslayer, he says softly, "It would be better, had Sir Unsheathed gone, too." That would even things up considerably.

Brennan gives Shadowslayer time to make a response, and begins to consider a spell that might also even the odds without giving away their location. The hoped for response, of course, is Shadowsleyer taking the hint and "optimizing" Unsheathed into the alternate position.

Shadowslayer nods. "So instead of an ambush, we will send him to follow the enemy, and when they are attacked, strike from their rear. The rest of us will wait here for his return. After they defeat the troop, he can deliver any messages and return with any that are needed. Should they attempt more destruction?"

That is not what Brennan meant; and Shadowslayer knows it; and Brennan knows that Shadowslayer knows it. Despite that, it is an adequate plan to bolster Team Burninate over at the mill, and aside from that time pressure prevents Brennan from engaging in the sort of discourse he might otherwise prefer.

And, he admits to himself, he didn't think it would be this easy anyway.

He does not favor Shadowslayer with even the slightest of smiles to acknowledge that he knows what's going on, here, as he nods: "Yes, send him. No further destruction. If that doesn't bring a greater force, we re-evaluate."

There is no need for Brennan to use a spell, so he casts nothing, which is good because he does not know if whoever is trying to Trump him is going to be stubborn about it and Trumps and Sorcery never mix. If the Trump contact returns, he blocks it again. Otherwise, he watches the scene with the eye of a professional soldier and a professional Sorcerer to see how it unfolds.

The Moonrider mounts up and waits for the squad to pass the ambush spot. Instead of ambushing them, Unsheathed starts slowly down the trail. As they take the first few steps both rider and horse become first hard to see, and then invisible. Brennan can see him plainly with his Third Eye, and recalls this was done by one of the first moon riders he ever encountered, with Bleys.

He does indeed remember that. He didn't give them any indication that he could see them that time, either.

In addition, the sound of his hoofbeats is wrong. At first it is as if they are unsynced from the actual contact with the ground but after a few steps they die out completely, as if they weren't being made.

Lorides turns to Shadowslayer. "Can you teach me to walk quietly like that?"

Shadowslayer nods. "If you have the talent for it, the magic is not difficult. Unsheathed is sending the sound of his footfalls into the future."

Lorides thinks for a second. "If not me, I know a magician or two. That's really useful."

Shadowslayer nods. "It can be handy, but don't become over-dependent on any one trick."

Brennan listens to that with interest, both the hoofbeats themselves and the explanation, although visibly Brennan's attention is on the rider rather than the conversation. That's going to be a tricky one to counter, but Brennan will figure something out eventually. He's going to have to talk things over with Fiona at some point.

It takes a bit of time before the troop arrives at the mill. As Brennan expected, Dame Patience starts by dropping several riders with arrows before they can take defensive measures. This leaves them open to the three knights and they are quickly dispatched. Two riders escape, heading back towards Brennan's ambush spot. They are riding quickly, and Unsheathed is following, although only Brennan can see him.

"Shall we intercept?" asks Shadowslayer.

"No," Brennan says, but he does gesture at two of the knights to make sure they're still on point, watching for signs of an attack. Whether those last two make it back up to the keep or not, now they know absolutely that something is wrong... but there is no reason other than general paranoia to think they know about this hiding spot.

If they've drawn sufficient blood, this is where it will get ugly. Brennan guesses the next wave-- if it comes and if whatever transformed that grackleflint doesn't show up-- will be about half of their remaining strength, maybe a little more, so as not to leave themselves completely unprotected from a second assault.

"Lorides, are those steeds they're riding your people?"

Lorides does that strange head shake again. They don't trust us enough for that. They intend to steal our foals and raise them to be warrior-mounts. But my herd isn't large."

The riders head past the ambush spot and speed up when they see the castle again. The main gates are opening and a large group is coming through. It's large enough that they have flags. If Brennan's guess about how much of their strength they'll send is accurate, the place is probably pretty crowded. There are perhaps 40 men riding to meet the two returning soldiers.

Well, that would be at the upper end of his estimates of what the keep could hold-- these forty, another forty, and the ten odd they've already dealt with.

Unsheathed arrives back and starts wiping down his horse, to get him ready for action again. "Message from Sir Firumbras, first of his line. The locals have approached to try to put out the fire, and were happy to leave quickly when warned away by Lord Patience. Sir Firumbras is keeping the fire to the fields around the mill, but it could get out of hand if the winds shift."

"Always a risk when you use fire as a weapon." replies Shadowslayer. If he's talking about the battle in Avalon, it's not clear who he's talking about, but the other riders nod.

"Understood," Brennan says. This is a calculated risk: He does not think the winds will shift that much over the next fifteen minutes or so, and if they do he has means of fire control quite different from what Jerod was using previously. And ultimately, Brennan thinks fifteen minutes of his presence in the battle will be more useful than wind magic. He sure hopes he's right.

He orders the riders to make ready, and begins the preparation of a spell of Gravity, but does not release it. He grips the spear of smoke he had prepared yesterday.

It will take them 20 minutes to get past Brennan's group. They have to meet with the two returnees, get the story on the giant, the archer, the knight, and the invisible assassin, make a plan, and set out down the road.

After that much time, which the troops handle with excellent discipline and Lorides doesn't manage quite as well, the winds have picked up but haven't changed direction. This acts in Brennan's favor in terms of keeping the fire from spreading.

There are storm clouds rolling down from the hills. The air smells of ozone.

Well. Is that someone's fire suppression, or someone's attempt to just kill everyone with lightning? Having seen up close and personal what lightning will do on a battlefield, Brennan figures both.

To Shadowslayer, he says, "I'll try to deal with that lightning storm-- go."

When Shadowslayer leads the charge, Brennan works fast:

He takes a spear-- a real metal one-- and drives it butt-end into a rock away from one of the trees they're using for cover (let's not set anything else on fire) with a trivial working of Phases of Matter to make the stone momentarily pliable. Then a working of Space causes the tip and top half of the spear to be tens of feet above the trees they were using for cover, even though it is only several feet long and resting in the earth.

A good sharp spear connected to ground would naturally be a good lightning rod, but Brennan doesn't like to take chances. His final working, the non-trivial one, is one of Entropy, which takes him a minute to set up. Ordinarily, Entropy would keep the electrical charges in the ground dispersed; in a storm, they'd gather under the clouds. Brennan's working creates a completely a-physical preference for the charges to gather from the ground into the warped spear, making it the most attractive target for lightning by many orders of magnitude. If it works, even targeted lightning will find itself arcing back to the lightning rod.

Then Brennan gets the hell away from the spear because it is about to be struck by lightning. He wants to join the fight, but instead he moves into a position where he can see clearly and gives everything-- the confusion of the battle, the clouds, the castle-- another hard hard Astral Survey.

As he waits, he feels a second stirring of trump contact.

Signy steps off to the side where other conversations won't impinge too much on her, and then holds the Trump of her cousin in front of her and starts to concentrate.

"Hello, Brennan, it's Signy."

There is no answer.

Signy passes her hand over the Trump and lifts her gaze for a second, breaking the attempt to talk to her cousin. She thinks through the options -- does he not want to talk now for some reason, or is he not actually able to talk to her? There's not much she can do to help just now if it's the latter, but maybe if she tries again he may respond if he's just not willing to respond right now.

She sighs, and moves his card behind Celina's, and then focuses her gaze and mind on the image of the Queen and wills it to come to life.

"Celina?"

The colors adjust. Celina's voice seems sleepy. "Who calls?"

Her face remains calm, but her voice lights up.

"It's me! Signy!" She pauses, before remembering who she is talking to, and her tone adjusts. "Your Majesty. I'm in Xanadu, and wanted to give you an update on things here."

She pauses for a moment.

The Trump fully forms on Celina in a luxurious room wearing a silk dress and flowered broad rimmed hat.

"Is now a good time to talk for a moment?"

"That depends," and Celina smiles, "When last we spoke, I offered to teach you something. What was it?"

As Celina comes into view, Signy's face has a quiet grin on it, but at her words it quickly fades and she reddens slightly. "It was dancing the other night in Xanadu," she says quietly, her eyes flicking to see if anyone else is nearby that might hear.

Celina's voice warms, "Indeed, an update would be welcome. Rebma is concerned and alerted. I'm with some others so please give me the essentials."

Signy exhales softly. "So, the King seems...better. The Queen isn't here. Fiona, Gerard, Fletcher, Hannah, Folly and I all are."

She pauses for a second.

"Oh, and apparently we captured a Moonrider in a duel, and I was sent to ask the King what his terms for ransoming her were."

So far from anything Celina expected that her expression neither reflects how odd it seems nor asks for clarity. Instead, "Please let the family know my uncle, the Horn is absent in shadow. Also if you happen to speak to Conner, he should keep his blade ready. Anything else you need from me?" Her tone is intimate, "You are well?"

Signy blinks twice as she parses the first half of what Celina said.

Her voice warms up as she continues. "I've been OK. A cold, quiet night, but things are getting a bit more eventful. How are things with you? How fares Rebma?"

At the last, her voice gets a little quieter, a little softer.

Something in Signy's voice and Celina remembers the touch of their hands. Unexpected.

"Quiet but it won't last. I'm not in peril yet but I'm looking for it." She grins.

Signy nods. "It feels like no matter what we're doing we're all looking for trouble," she says softly.

Her voice strengthens slightly. "I need to reach out to Brennan, and probably bring an offer back to the Moonriders, but afterwards if you need help I could probably be spared...?"

Celina pauses. She wonders how she can answer this generous offer with people in the room without breaking whatever line of need she has developed with Felicity and Alice. All of a sudden, the answer seems simple.

Celina's mind unfurls for Signy, blooming to fill the intangible distance between them. I'll certainly need help, Signy. I welcome whatever you can give. If I do not contact you again, explain to Conner I'm investigating crossover between Opera and Art Salons in the Red Lantern districts of Paris. You may count on Merlin or Bill Roth if you come to Paris and I'm out of touch. The mental flow begins to fade.

Signy nods, memorizing the words. "I understand."

She pauses, before impulsively adding "Be well, Queen."

Celina turns back to her Paris conversation.

Signy breaks the Trump contact with Celina and pulls Brennan's card back to the front. She looks at the detail on the card for a moment, before pausing to look up and around at the rest of her Family in the throne room.

This time, Brennan answers the Trump.

He's clearly outside somewhere, because he's on a horse, but it's hard to tell where or what time it might be. It's overcast and there's a strong wind blowing Brennan's hair out of place-- if it's this dark solely because of the oncoming storm, then that's going to be one mother of a storm, maybe near hurricane intensity. But there's enough directional to the light that it might be overcast at dawn or dusk.

Just as Brennan is about to say something, it starts raining in a few hard, swift, angry drops with the promise of a lot more.

"Not a great time, and what time there is is short," Brennan says. "Was that you about a half a watch ago?"

As they talk, Brennan is cycling his attention between somewhere down and to his left, somewhere off to his right, and somewhere above him to his right. From his eyes, none of those places are close, but the upper right location qualifies as "in the distance."

Behind Brennan is a squat, ugly, and eminently practical castle. It looks like the kind of place that is there to control the area rather than to protect it.

It is being rained on, and lightning strikes are hitting near to it. Signy notices that the weather hasn't deterred their penchant for flying flags.

Signy's face comes into view as the connection establishes, and she takes in what she can see of the scene quickly, and decides to skip the niceties.

"Yes, that was me earlier. Sorry for interrupting, but I'm with the King and a lot of other Family, he wanted us to check in with everyone and see how things are going."

She pauses, before adding "And he seems to be feeling better, too."

"...Noted," Brennan says, after thinking that over. "Something we did, something they did, or a natural recovery? I don't think I want to know more than that right now.

"I've got the three commanders we captured in Avalon, and I'm escorting them back to Ghenesh. This is a side trip of that, but hopefully a useful one, trying to learn all I can through observation. If Bleys or Fiona are there, tell them we're playing Redheaded Chess, they'll know exactly what I mean." Brennan says.

"Hey, do you still have that chain from when you rescued the Queen?"

Signy gives a tight smile. "I'm not sure how, exactly, I just got here. But I think this was done to him. Th...she isn't here any more. I don't know where she went."

She sighs.

"I do have the chain, Fiona was just looking at it. Why do you ask?"

"Good, I don't want to know any more, right now" Brennan says, to the first answer. "I'll catch up on the details when I come home, but I'm not sure when that will be."

To the second: "Mostly curious. Firumbras is here with me, and it's hard to express how ancient he is-- I don't have a good way, yet, to even guess how many hundreds or thousands of years by which he predates Benedict. Which just makes it all the more odd that he was attached to the chain you brought back from that rescue. Things like that keep me up at night," he says. "She learn anything new?"

When Brennan looks at the castle, there are more banners, and it's quite possible that they're visible from the far side of the valley, and they they might be signaling for help.

Or that might be a paranoid assumption.

Signy gives a half-shrug. "It's incredibly old, and incredibly magicked. She half wished that she'd had the chain when they they were trying to subdue...Her. She felt that the chain would stop people from using Sorcery."

She pauses, before adding quietly "And she also couldn't rule out that the chain was planted by the Queen, to have up her sleeve. It made us wonder about the Knight that came at the end of it."

Brennan nods, to both points. "It's a self-reinforcing feedback loop, is what it looked like to me-- pull it, it gets stronger. It wouldn't surprise me if someone of Her level of ability could bootstrap that into metaphysics-- pull it with Sorcery, and Reality gets stronger." Brennan says that casually, but his eyes communicate quite effectively how hard he thinks that would be to pull off.

"Firumbras is an honorable man, and I trust him," he says simply. "I may come to regret that, but I believe he predates any of the present conflict between the Realms, which puts him in a terrible position. If that chain was planted at the historical end, and was made by Her, that's an entirely new level of scary. One of the reasons I'm on this excursion is to learn what I can about all this time-twisting and prophecy stuff. I'm open to suggestions on that account."

Signy gazes at the storm in the background as she mulls over his words. "There was nothing to indicate that he was anything other than what he was, so we may well be over-thinking this. On the other hand, it's hard to wonder about if we managed to win a victory when we rescued Vialle, or if the whole thing was staged to get us to bring back what She wanted us to."

She offers a helpless shrug.

"I had an offer from a Moonrider to learn some of their smithcrafting arts at some point, as part of a parley they had me bring to the King. I *think* that they're genuine, and there may be more common ground with them than we might think. I wonder -- where are their equivalents to our Aunts and Uncles? It seems that our grandparents are all fighting old fights that our Grandfather isn't here to fight, but where are their Randoms and Corwins? Is that the Marshall?"

"Oh, no, she played us like a god damned billiards game," Brennan says, "and the only reason I'm not embarrassed by it is that the overpowering rage doesn't leave room for much else. Where Firumbras fits into this-- accidental side effect or essential ingredient-- I don't know. But even if it's the latter, he might just be another convenient pool ball. They're trying to return him to his own time, too."

Given the whipping winds and the storm, Brennan isn't too concerned that his voice will carry, especially not all the way down to the battle. But they're Moonriders, so he keeps a Third Eye on them and keeps his voice down regardless.

He looks quite curious about Moonrider smith-craft, too, but lets it go for the moment. "I don't think they're organized like we are," he says, slowly. "Marshall would be one of them, the jerk, and I'll be on the look-out for more when we get there. Like us, they use a lot of Shadow allies as troops-- sometimes Moonrider means their allied forces, sometimes it means their... I dunno what to call them, their elite initiated commanders? The 'true' Moonriders? My impression is that the initiates don't need to trace blood descent back to the Queen, and that there may be more of them than there are of us, but the power distribution is different." He shrugs, because he doesn't really know. "One of many reasons I'm doing this."

He seems to have come to an internal decision on something. "How many of us-- just cousins, our generation and below-- can you get in contact with on short notice without going through an Elder?"

Signy frowns in thought as Brennan describes the Moonriders. "It makes me wonder, then, if there are others that can walk the Pattern despite not being Family. And how would one test for that, other than walking the Pattern?"

She assumes that either Brennan will figure out how the Moonriders do it or not, and there's not much point in further conjecture at the moment.

She turns her attention to the matter at hand. "I have your Trump and Celina's. Folly, Hannah, and Fletcher are all here, but other than you and Celina I don't know where anyone else is. I saw Trumps for Robin, Ossian, and Vere in the stack, but I don't know if we have them for anyone else."

She pauses, before continuing. "Merlin, Martin, Edan, Jerod, Connor, Raven. Brita, and Garret?" She sounds less sure on that last one. "I'm not sure who else I'm missing, though."

She pauses there, though it looks like she has something else that just came to mind.

"There's a few others, some that haven't been heard from in a while," Brennan says, "And we can safely limit the list to people who are known to have taken the Walk, so we don't have to argue about my sister Chantico, or the kids like Brooke and Leif." No one would argue over Chantico except Chantico, though.

"Folly's a good start, and she can put you in touch with Merlin who's also a good resource. What do you think about a meeting of just us kids?"

Signy focuses and speaks carefully. "I think it would be useful -- what do you have in mind for goals? It seems like at least part of it should be to see if there can or should be coordination around things like your investigations into the Moonriders and my possible opportunity."

She hesitates, unsure if she is following Brennan's train of thought on this. "And is there more? Or is that a big enough undertaking of itself?"

"Getting all of us in the same place at the same time, even using some sort of Trump contrivance, is going to be a big task in itself-- I would throw my charming personality at the task, except that I can't exactly drop what I'm doing. As for goals, yeah, that specific coordination is a good example of the general principle: Coordination and information exchange. We're supposed to be a generation more open to actually talking to each other and exchanging information, so let's actually do that. I think we'd have ended up doing exactly this, that night at the Grove, if we hadn't been attacked just as we were all getting in the same place at the same time," he says.

"What's this about their metal-crafting and a parley?" Brennan asks.

Signy feels a bit better that she's read the situation correctly.

"So there was a duel, or something, and now the Marshall's Daughter is a prisoner of ours. On my way back from where I was keeping watch for an attack, I was met by a lone Moonrider, their Shield. He gave me a token to give me passage back, and asked me to get the terms of her return from the King."

Her tone becomes more musing.

"It's a really fascinating object. It's not so much magical, but there's some definite Craft involved in its manufacture. He said that it was an object of some value, and keeping it would be considered a pretty serious insult, but I may also be able to stay a bit when I bring it back. He offered to teach me how to make them."

The joy in her tone that came near to the surface slips back away as she forcibly pulls her attention back to the manner at hand.

"The Unicorn made an appearance during the duel as well, from what I've heard."

Brennan thinks about that before making reply. Or maybe he's watching the forces below try to break out from Slayer-of-Shadows' well-organized line.

"Interesting. She surrendered after the duel and claims to be trying to end the war. It's not clear to me that she'll want to be returned, and it's not clear what they could offer that would be sufficient," Brennan says. "Not me, by the way. I'm not exactly planning to be captured, but I'd be a fool not to have considered the possibility. The bunch I'm taking back home never got her memo, I guess, because we fought a pitched battle in Avalon for all that it was only a few hundred warriors on either side.

"So what is this token? Can I see it? What does it do and-- I have to ask-- how do we know it has no nefarious purpose? Because I'm going to remember that stunt with the Queen for a long, long time." Brennan doesn't reach out to take the token, he's just hoping for a look at it.

"Unless maybe not everyone's on board with her plans? Maybe they're more loyal to the Queen?"

She reaches into her pouch and fishes out the token, and holds it up so Brennan can see it.

"Aunt Fiona looked at it. It has something about it, possibly some sort of honeypot she thought. But it was pretty inactive as far as she could see, and she thought it was ultimately harmless in and of itself."

"Intricate," Brennan says of the token. "Bleys would like this, with the dimensionality tricks. I'm going to have to think about if and how that can be applied to time rather than space.

"And, yeah, it sounds like the Moonriders are not as monolithic as they appear from myth and legend. The fact that First showed up with a few dozen riders, but we faced a few hundred in Avalon gives me a first impression as to where the balance of power lies. Speaking of which, let me put all that in time order for you: A duel between Conner and First at the Stairs. Then several of us off to the borders of Avalon to prevent an incursion. The commanders made an attempt to escape involving Sorcery, so I was the only one in position to follow, to a different location in Avalon where I had left Firumbras. That evolved into the current exercise of escorting them home through Shadow, which I think mutually catches us up."

Brennan glances at the skies, which have begun to rain in earnest.

"Look, in a few minutes, there's going to be an earth-shattering kaboom and one way or the other I won't be able to talk. Are you good with talking to Folly and trying to pull together a kids only meeting? I'm not even sure how that'll work with everyone spread out, maybe there's a Trump way to work it."

Signy frowns as Brennan traces through the sequence of events. "But it also seems like the larger faction may still not be that large, otherwise I would have expected more of a show of force?"

Brennan shrugs. "I don't know these folks well enough to judge that," he says. "It could have been a probe, a reconnaissance in force, a feint-- although who knows what the real objective would be-- or something we haven't thought of. Put it all under 'Reasons I'm Doing This.'"

She looks at the skies behind Brennan.

"I'll talk to the others and see what we can put together as a Trump conclave." Involuntarily her voice lowers somewhat. "How quiet should we keep this from our Aunts and Uncles?"

"Enh," Brennan sighs. "You ask the hard questions. Best judgment, I guess. We can't keep a meeting of a dozen and a half of us quiet after the fact. But I don't think most or any of us really speaks freely when all the Aunts and Uncles are present and if only one is there then most of the rest will be all bent out of shape. They'll never admit it, but they will. Don't get yourself in trouble and try not to look seditious. Oh-- and tell Folly that I ask her to encourage Martin to attend in the strongest possible terms. He'll just f*ckin' love that, but he'll know why I'm asking."

Brennan glances up again.

"Yeah, you're gonna want to close the Trump, I think," Brennan says. He is involuntarily bracing for impact.

Signy nods at Brennan's last advice. She pauses for a moment to take in the entire scene again, before turning her focus back to him. "Good luck, I'll be in touch."

Assuming no last-minute words from her cousin, she breaks the Trump connection.

As Signy breaks the connection she hears a remarkable Boom! from the card, and she finds that she's splashed with water. The air smells of ozone and she's reminded of seeing one of the tower lords who threw lightning fight on the plains.