Ossian arranges for the troops to make an orderly retreat from the fire and soon he and Regenlief and Dame Patience are near to Jerod's position. From this vantage it's clear that the middle ground that the moon riders need to cross is an impassable inferno, the troops here are not in danger, but will be if the fire is not controlled. The enemy troops, decimated by previous attacks and by the fire and the confusion, are also leaving the field. It's a question of pursuit versus letting the fire grow unchecked.
The men-at-arms from Avalon are all for letting the moonriders go. The fire is a more pressing threat and the moonrider remnants are running headlong into the Fey Woods without their leaders.
"Secure the perimeter. Prepare for rain." Jerod orders to Regenlief and Patience, making adjustments to the shadow for favorable winds and approaching rain. Without leadership, the enemy troops are a possible threat, but they are unguided, little better than harassers. They can be neutralized later.
Jerod reaches out with his powers to the probabilities and manipulates them to his will. The rain is coming, hard and cold but strong enough to keep the fire from getting out of control. Jerod will need to spend some time making sure it doesn't blow over, but it seems like a serious island storm is on the way.
"See if we have any good scouting parties that can follow the enemy and make it back." Jerod asks Ossian. "We'll get some rain shortly to deal with the fire, keep it contained but we'll want to see where the remainder are going. Especially if wherever Brennan went turns out to be somewhere he's not wanting to be. We might get some new company real fast."
With their leaders gone, their retreat blocked by an inferno, and most of their fellows departed, the few moonriders on the field surrender. They are not officers, and are not even from Ghenesh, but are the kinds of troops Uncle Corwin and Bleys would have recruited in shadow and brought to Amber. They are not as furry as Corwin's army.
Ossian surveys the mounted soldiers available, and asks them who has experience following the trail of others, possibly through Shadow. If there are such soldiers around he orders a small company to follow the moonrider troops. If not, he considers going himself (with a group of soldiers).
A few have crossed shadows, none without Benedict or his children leading them. The sergeant suggests to him that they're heading for the Fey wood and won't necessarily come out unchanged, so a watch at the border may be sufficient.
Jerod works to adjust the incoming rain, making sure that it provides the benefit that he wants, but that it doesn't cover the approach of fresh reinforcements. Wanting an enemy to expose themselves is one thing, but he's not looking for a surprise now. Whoever might have been helping him along from the enemy side last time will be more subtle next time Jerod suspects. He makes sure the perimeter officers are made aware of that possibility.
Orders are given for the remaining enemy troops that surrender to be disarmed and secured. A check will be done for sure to ensure they have no valuable information (ie: they are cannon fodder basically), just in case.
They are Gheneshi and only a few speak Thari. Most speak something that grates on the ear. Regenleif identifies it as the Giant's tongue, but it sounds like Mabrahoring to those who know that language.
With the help of translators, the few captives happily reveal that they were recruited by a Lord to fight through hell to allow him to reach his ancestral heaven. They were as surprised as you when he started riding in the sky.
Ossian is content with placing a watch at the border of the wood. Other than that he helps Jerod manage the troops. He is unsure if Brennan carries a sketch of him , but keeps his mind open to receive a Trump call.
Ossian notes that the men keep a respectful distance from the forest, and refuse to bring torches near it. They set up a very professional perimeter, but they don't seem to expect anyone to come out, at least not now. "Sometimes people disappear there and come back 90 years later, not having aged a day. Sometimes, the other way around."
Ossian nods. He is tempted, of course. He walks over to Jerod. "Good work there, cousin. What now? I hope this is not a diversion to keep us busy?
"Might be." Jerod replies. "Not sure. I've got a feeling that the main action is done though. The cannon-fodder are done, the battlefield has been secured and the real Moonriders showed and then vanished. A part of me is thinking that if they were still interested, we'd be up to our eyeballs in problems.
"I'm more wondering about Brennan, since he appears to have decided to chase the main prey. Let's hope he's not walking into an ambush himself. Do you have a trump of him?"
"I have a sketch. But I do think there is a risk of interfering with his sorcery if I contact him. Let's wait an hour or so."
"Agreed." Jerod says, looking over the remaining troops. "If he needs help, I think he'll call. I just want to be sure we can get through to him if stuff goes sideways here."
"In the meantime, what did you think of the Moonriders?" What's your assessment of them?"
Ossian frowns: "There's something... I wouldn't be surprised if they turned out to be... sort of family. Even though they look a bit different.
"I do wonder how many they are - they could be very few, especially with all that time manipulation they do.
"Of course, we should be prepared that they could be many. Did you notice if any of them were the same as before?"
"No...too busy trying to not have a nosebleed, plus trying to keep one of them from messing with the Shadow." Jerod says. "But I'd agree with your assessment of them being related. Given our origins, any appearance changes would be minor. Their probability and temporal manipulations... those are impressive."
"I wonder what would happen if I tried to trump one of them. Might be worth a try, when I have time enough to paint one."
"I'd run that idea past Fiona first." Jerod says. "I'm pretty sure she'll say that you're insane to try...but that it would be an interesting experiment best done under very controlled conditions."
Ossian laughs. "Insanity runs in the family, you know. But you are right that it should be ran by Fiona. It would be a long term project anyway."
Brennan follows, as do his two knights who he's leading. It takes some time to get the horses onto the path, and even then they are not happy and are difficult to manage. The riders make some distance, but stop to do something to increase the smoke in front of them, allowing Brennan's group to begin to make up the distance a bit. Because the smoke is moving and the horses are riding along it, they leave the field of battle quite quickly. It's unclear to Brennan if they are over the hinterland of Tir-na n'Ogth or the hinterland of Avalon, or some third shadow.
It's a long run, and in naval terms it would be called "a stern chase". The view from the smoke above Avalon is spectacular. Around the end of the first hour, Brennan sights the coast. It's not clear where the moonriders are going, but the chase is fairly balanced. Sometimes Brennan catches up a bit, sometimes the Moonriders gain distance. They aren't able to shake Brennan, but Brennan can't catch them, either.
After a bit more chasing, the moonriders turn out over the sea, riding a thousand feet above the waves, and heading north towards an empty horizon.
As the sun begins to rise, Brennan notices something on the horizon, almost blinding in the dawn. As the sun rises, he figures out what he is looking at.
The moonriders approach The Silver Towers. Brennan doesn't think he can beat them there, not without doing something tricky, but he definitely knows where they are going.
If asked where they ran as they were setting out, Brennan would have guessed without hesitation that they were running to their primary objective, the Avalonian Stair to Tir-na Nog'th. Well, maybe they are, Brennan muses to himself. After all, he hasn't actually seen the Avalonian Stair. And, hell, the path to Rebma wasn't on the Isle of Avalon proper, either.
Either way, there's more to the Silver Towers than meets the eye (and there's already a lot that DOES meet the eye!) and this isn't the first time Brennan has had a very strong suspicion that there's another defunct Pattern at that location, no matter what anyone else says.
An altitude of a thousand feet gives Brennan a commanding view to a very far horizon, and as much as was possible (since the ride started in the dark) Brennan uses that to try to understand the terrain and the coastline they are passing over. But when the Silver Towers come into view, Brennan's interest becomes acute: Can he tell what the disposition of the Silver Towers is? Benedict had mentioned heading in their direction, and he had left the Maghee here along with Firumbras. Brennan will augment this with a working of Space if necessary, to bring the view closer to him, but he is looking for high-level details like:
- Do the Maghee seem to be there?
- Other forces? If yes, can Brennan tell anything obvious about them?
- Is a battle underway or are there signs of a recent one or an impending one?
They seem to be holding them, in arms, and flying a flag that has a symbol Brennan recognizes from the Maghee gathering.
Surrounding the tower, investing them in a seige, are a number of troops in different camps. Brennan sees people in the woods cutting trees to build seige machines, and what look like the start of sapper's tunnels. The smoke riders look as if they'll bypass the ground forces and land at the top of the tallest tower.
The forces on the ground seem to include the northern forces that the Corsairs served and troops from Methryn's Isle as well as related groups. There are lots of small flags, and every hill-fort and lean-to seems to have sent troops, except Avalon.
A battle has definitely been fought here, and it was not decisive. The tower is still standing and defended, but the attackers control the field well enough to besiege the silver towers.
Brennan slows, stops, and dismounts. "Get your spears ready," Brennan says to the Knights, "and when the time comes, don't try to anticipate them-- react to what they do. Do not cast your spears away. Butcher their mounts if you can, to gain the advantage of reach."
Brennan himself stoops and plunges his hand into the smoke for a time before drawing it back out and holding a long spear made of the smoke: It roils, dark and angry, in the haft of the weapon, and it handles as though it has weight and mass behind it... because it does. Brennan has compressed the smoke of the Moonriders' defeat with a working of Entropy and Space, before changing it to a solid with Phases of Matter. The blade of it, though, is bright white, swirling slowly in the nearly two-dimensional cross-section he's confined it to. It is as hard and sharp as Brennan can make it with his Sorceries.
That done, he Parts the Veil to open at the tower that the Moonriders are aiming for and leads the Knights through.
Brennan opens the parting to the top of the tower. If the Moonriders were joining the throng below, they would have started descending by now. The parting is easy, since he can see his destination and in the same shadow.
The transition is easy, although they have to walk the horses through. The animals are pleased to be on firm ground again.
The detachment on the roof is not so pleased to see them. It's a tense thing, what with the tower being besieged, having 3 riders with spears appear by magic is alarming.
The moon riders will arrive in 5-10 minutes. But first the armed Maghees must be dealt with.
Brennan gives the Maghee a way out, reminding them who he is without being pointed about it:
"Find the Ard-Righ Ramjollock and Sir Firumbras. Tell them that Sir Brennan has returned. Someone else, tell me what's happened in my absence. Briskly, please. In about three minutes--" he gestures skyward with the bright, sharp end of the spear-- "a group of demons from the Dreaming Hell will descend."
Brennan does not bark or snap the commands. Someone unobservant might almost mistake them for suggestions or requests. But Brennan has thoroughly shed the backwater persona of Walker and is fully Sir Brennan, a Knight Commander of the Order of the Ruby, still covered in the dried blood and soot of the Moonriders' earlier defeat, and he is accustomed to obedience.
He does not, however, direct them to continue their defense of the Tower. That, he leaves to their commander or second, so he can judge their structure and discipline.
The troops, while not any less wary, do not attack immediately. Their commander orders someone to fetch Sir Firumbras, and others to prepare for magical assault.
Sir Firumbras comes over from the arching sky-bridge from an adjacent tower. He is in his archaic armor "Sir Brennan! They say you are being chased by demons?" His sword, thought equally ancient, looks no less deadly than a modern one.
"Sir Firumbras," Brennan greets him. "The last day and a half would take almost that long to explain. The first battle-- skirmish, really-- in the war I've feared for years has just been fought. We won, they lost. Their commanders abandoned their troops, fled the field, and are arriving here in minutes. Once I discovered their destination, I resolved to arrive first."
So technically I'm chasing them, Brennan doesn't say.
"They are Moonriders. You understand who they are, the history?"
Brennan watches Firumbras carefully for his reaction.
Firumbras nods. "The Queen's guard. The most ambitious and well-connected of my classmates hoped to be allowed to join it one day. They oppose your family.
"I will deal with them." He turns to the Maghee. "The people approaching are quite dangerous. No one is to atteck them unless Sir Brennan or I order it, or we are dead."
Brennan nods to the knights who accompanied him, extending Firumbras' words to them through his own authority.
"Currently the relationship is 'at war.' They've gathered Shadow allies much as we would." Brennan says. He casts a weather eye over the Maghee arrayed around him and on the ground below. "Something has been done to them, something which gives them powers over time I haven't fully gauged. Something akin to prescience, and something stronger-- the ability to discard a bad choice after its been made. Was this so, in your era?"
Sir Firumbras looks out at them. "Fetch my banner," he says to a Maghee near him. "No, it was not. It was the subject of conjecture by battle-mages, but no more than that. Fugue-state was a myth, but those who sought after it predicted it would bring near-invulnerability on the battlefields."
"Near," Brennan allows. "They can also displace their opponents back in time, and perhaps in space."
He looks Brennan in the eyes. "I will handle them when they get close. They are kinsmen of mine. Avenge me if they are not willing to listen to my words."
Brennan does more than meet his eyes-- his hand darts out to clasp Firumbras' arm, and with a half-shake of his head he says, "I have already stood by once in Avalon to watch a man I felt could become a friend die in pursuit of our joint cause. And I have my own grievance with your kin," his voice darkens. "I would let you say your piece, Sir Firumbras, for the hope of a friendship that may yet be. But I cannot allow them free rein to Tir-na Nog'th, and if there is to be battle, we fight together."
"Your words move me, Sir Brennan, and it is a light in the darkness of my life so far from mine own home and time. I will try to be worthy of your friendship." If his words seem strained, he may not have spoken of his feelings in thousands of years.
"As to the Riders of the Moon," he continues, "it will depend on them, and the Ard-Righ's pleasure. But even if he grants them the hospitality of the Silver Towers, he cannot constrain you beyond the shore of this island." Firumbras looks down at the army below. "And practically, not even all of it at the moment."
When the moon riders see the banner unfurled, they stop, drifting slightly from left to right with the smoke. "I regret that I do not have my bannerman with me, may we approach under flag of truce to parley?"
"Come then, Riders of the Moon," says Firumbras, "under truce, to explain yourselves and your presence here."
The riders approach slowly, definitely noticing Brennan and his knights. "If they're going to betray the flag of truce, it'll be immediate."
These moonriders are not as young as First-to-the-Fray's troop, and look like they are able fighters. They all take off their helmets and dismount in the clearing Firumbras has made for them. The Maghees look like they're ready to attack anyway.
Brennan notices them right back.
He isn't terribly concerned about the Moonriders breaking the flag of truce-- he doesn't make the mistake of judging them all against First's standard, but it just doesn't seem their style. At least not at this scale. At a moment where they know it can make or break their agenda, yes, but that probably isn't here. Like any other Moonrider stratagem, it will be deployed at the optimal time and place, because they'll only have one shot at it.
Letting the Maghees break it first though, that's a thing they might do. Brennan waves the Maghee back with a hand. If necessary, he will use Sir Flagstone as crowd control.
He steps up next to Firumbras and asks of the new arrivals: "Who joins us in parley atop this tower?"
Does their smoke bridge (smoke filmy?) dissipate, or is something maintaining it? Brennan does not at this time choose to interfere with it.
There is still some smoke in the air, and as Brennan looks closely, the hooves of the horses seem to steam or smoke. It's possible they could regenerate the smoke nearly instantaneously.
"I am Sir Argalia, called 'Slayer of Shadows'. By your banner, I name you Sir Firumbras, called 'Roland's Bane', and founder of the clan of Ferracutus. I come as a friend of the Silver Towers and the Mag-ee peoples." He does not take notice of Brennan.
Sir Firumbras nods. "I did not account myself the founder of anything, but it's clear you recognize my colors and know my tale. To me it seemed Roland was my bane. We also have granted hospitality to your enemy Sir Brennan, called 'He Who Walks Towards Danger'. If you accept our hospitality, you will be constrained by it."
"Of course, Sir Firumbras, and we can tell you only some of the story after your disappearance. The story of Galafrone's Daughter is legendary. And we are prepared to acknowledge your hospitality. You may need to spell them out to the aptly named Danger-Walker, who has spent many hours riding directly towards us."
Firumbras turns to Brennan, "I think they will honor their bond, if only to find out about me. He named himself my kinsman, which... doesn't make sense, since I had no children. If you accept the hospitality of the towers, you may not break the peace of the realm, without putting me at risk of being executed for your crime. Do you understand and accept the terms?"
Before Brennan can reply, a page comes up the stairs, and whispers something to Sir Firumbras. "I will have to have your answer later, we are all to attend the Ard-ridh. Please do not resolve your differences while we go down the stairs, people."
No homicide in the stairwell, check.
The moon riders and the officers of the Maghee prepare to go down, and the rooftop guard begrudgingly returns to their watchdutues.
As Brennan is at the top fo the stairs, he feels a familiar probing.
Brennan slows his steps until he and Crescent are taking up the rear, with Flagstone between them and the Moonriders. Unless the Moonriders are really aggressive about sticking close and eavesdropping-- it's not worth picking a fight over. He wants it to look like his conversation with whoever calls is actually a murmured conversation with Crescent, rather than muttering to himself like a madman.
Crescent is not part of the Trump call, just a convenient subterfuge.
After waiting a little longer and overseeing the aftermath of the battle Ossian tries to trump Brennan.
"Ossian here. Is the situation under control on your side?"
"Depends on what you mean. Probably not." Brennan's voice is low, and he seems to be at the tail end of a small group of men walking somewhere inside, down a flight of stairs. He hasn't had a chance to clean up, but he doesn't look any worse the wear than when Ossian last saw him. "Followed them here to the Silver Towers, where I have allies under siege. What news there, and from the Protector?"
"Not much news." Ossian says. "I haven't called the Protector yet. But we seem to have won here for the moment at least, for what that is worth. Could we help you out in any way?"
"Unclear," Brennan says. "I feel like I'm walking into a trap, I just don't know what the trap is or what help I'll need. Frustrating. I wasn't expecting a long chase, either." It's almost an apology. "Start by making that call to the Protector. And do you have a card of you or Jerod? I'd have used one already if I had one."
Ossian shakes his head. "I have not had the time to make any new ones. Funny that. And Jerod don't like Trump's. I guess I could draw a sketch and pass to you, but that would take a while."
Brennan thinks for a minute. "Did we take any captives? Proper Moonriders or otherwise?"
"No Moonriders, but their soldiers. Not much useful information there. Recruited in Ghenesh for the purpose of attacking here."
"I wasn't expecting much that's useful right now, although you never know. We could get lucky. Curious about what they think of being abandoned on the field like that, though. Is this a suicide cult for them, or are they suddenly disillusioned?" Brennan asks. It's mostly rhetorical in that he doesn't expect Ossian to have an answer right now, although it's something they could learn if they prioritize it.
"They do still sound loyal, maybe not fanatical, though." Ossian says.
"I will draw a sketch of myself as quickly as possible, and get back to you."
Brennan wonders what the Moonriders have been telling their troops about the Family. Not that the Family-- or Brennan himself-- is above that sort of conduct himself. He nods at Ossian's mention of a Trump, but adds, "Make sure you and-or Jerod calls the Protector, as soon as possible. He needs to know our status. I'm sure he'll be thrilled they're at the Silver Towers."
Ossian nods. "Delighted, I think. Good luck with the negotiations, father."
Brennan looks like he'd rather negotiate with a blade than with words.
"'Negotiations,' indeed," Brennan says, with audible emphasis on the first word. "Thanks. I'll look forward to that Trump. I don't know how fast you intend to draw it, but if I don't answer, I might be 'negotiating.'"
"I'll draw it as fast as I can," Ossian says, and ends the call.
Ossian puts Brennan's Trump away and turns to Jerod "They went to the Silver Towers. As far as I could tell Brennan was going into some kind of negotiation, but he seemed unsure where this was going.
"We should call Benedict, and hear his take on all this, I guess" Ossian says. He's not looking forward to that call, obviously.
"His take will be short and brutal." Jerod replies, digging out his trumps. "Whether we're on the receiving end of that is another matter. I've got a feeling though...if they are at the Towers...we may not be done yet."
He puts the other cards away and focuses on Benedict's image, clearing his mind.
He hates these things, before suppressing that thought as well.
"Uncle, it's Jerod and Ossian."
Benedict's image dissolves into his actual person. "Nephews. How goes the defense?"
Ossian decides there is no gentle way of doing this. Not that Benedict would appreciate gentle.
"We fought them off here. Sort of. But three Moonriders went to the Silver Towers, and Brennan followed them there. He has not fought with them, but what will happen is unclear."
Benedict nods. "If they didn't get through, you did as I expected. He followed them to the Silver Towers? I shall be interested in his story of that later. How bad were the losses on each side? Did Rolling make it? He is probably your best choice for leaving the defense to the locals."
Jerod provides a detailed update to Benedict on the remaining forces, number of effective troops remaining vs casualties in various states of usage, along with remaining officers.
"Do you require assistance elsewhere?" Jerod asks, once he is done.
Ossian is quiet, and lets Jerod handle the martial aspects.
Benedict's momentary silence speaks volumes. In the end, he decides he is willing to be the reason why two of his nephews didn't make Random's meeting. "It turns out I do. There's a port about 15 miles North-Northwest of you that's having a corsair infiltration problem. It would be a favor to me if you would go clean it out."
"I will provide my father with a Trump sketch first. As a way out. But that won't take too long to make." Ossian says.
Jerod nods once. "Is there anyone at the port to serve as a contact point?"
Benedict replies. "Mayor Voight is ... generally competent, but for this mission, you should see the Bailiff, Savor. He is the one who has been writing to me requesting aid in clearing out the corsairs."
Ossian nods. "Any indication of these corsairs being something else than just ordinary local pirates?"
Jerod remains silent but approves of Ossian's question. Benedict wouldn't be using nephews for mundane pirate work.
Benedict nods. "Good question. Your cousin Brennan has reason to believe that the Northern Alliance, who are behind the Corsairs, are involved with Montage and Bend. Which is disturbing, because Montage is dead. What we don't want to do is become the source of an invasion of Rebma by Moiristas leading battle-hardened Avalonian troops into the deepest parts of Rebma.
"That, diplomatically, would be undesirable."
"That's one way to put it." Jerod says drily.
"So a logical course of action would be to get ahold of the Bailiff for his information, then follow up through the Alliance to determine their intentions and if they have outside influence.
"Assuming we find Montage and Bend involved... what limits do we have in regards to dealing with them?" Jerod asks.
Ossian, who was not much involved in the Montage/Bend hubub, stays quiet for the moment.
"As long as you prevent Avalon from being used to threaten your cousin's throne, I trust you to make a decision on the scene regarding the risks of leaving them alive versus their value to various family members. By coming to my home and interfering with the people here, they are mine to kill."
Jerod smiles just slightly. Ossian knows him well enough to recognize the mindset - if Bend and Montage get in Jerod's way, he's of a mind that Benedict can kill his opponents in many ways... and sending Cousins is just another way of inflicting his will.
Plus, Montage fracked with Jerod's friend Martin and that's always a bad idea.
"As you wish Uncle." Jerod replies.
Ossian's smile is almost a copy of Jerod's. Jerod probably knows that Ossian is more likely to write a song about the whole thing than stop him from doing something nasty to Montage and Bend.
When Ossian and Jerod have finished talking with Benedict, Ossian lets Jerod manage the clean up from the fight (assigning guards and the like). Meanwhile he pulls out his sketch book and two shaving mirrors and starts on a quick Trump sketch of himself, intended for his father. He goes for speed rather than quality.
Ossian works on the sketch quickly and skillfully, but is having trouble satisfying himself. He's not sure if it's the smoke or smudges on his face or the sounds, smells, and smoky remnants of the end of a fire and a battle, but it's not coming together.
Ossian thinks it will work, but if his teacher Brand's darker suppositions are true and the look of the card influences the emotions of the subject, then he'll be happier when this sketch has passed.
Ossian figures that struggle holds more beauty than happiness.
Brennan regroups as he gets to the bottom step.
Ramjollock has just nodded to the bows of the Moonrider. "Ah, my good friend, Walker. Or should we call you Sky Knight? Come, tell me how you came to be landing on the top of this beseiged tower." Ram waves Brennan over.
He's wearing the torc of Cameleopardis and he sounds bigger than he did when he was a fortune teller. He has the same feral grin that he had a few days ago.
Brennan pays appropriate respect to the Ard Righ in his court.
Then he smiles, saying, "You're looking well, Ard Righ. The full telling would take as long as its been since I departed, much as the tale of this new siege, I suspect. Celebrations, deliberations, duels and battles. All of which led me here, to accept the surrender of these three worthies."
Ram smiles back. "I await the telling. If it matches what I heard of your adventures on Methryn's Isle, it will give the bards materials for a dozen songs. You are, of course, a guest of the kingdom, which is an honor more desirable when we are not beseiged. A banquet will be held in a few hours, if you are not planning on leaving immediately."
Before Brennan replies, the leader of the Moonriders replies, "Your pardon, most gracious Righ. We do not plan to surrender to any knight of Amber. I regret that his mission, like ours, will end in disappointment."
Ramjollock raises an eyebrow at Brennan.
Brennan does not immediately dignify the Moonriders with a response or a reaction. To Ramjollock, he replies, "Be sure to ask Conner his telling of it, Ard Righ, for he had the duel and the greatest glory of it."
Then he turns to the Moonriders, with a small smile fully aware that he's frustrated their plan at least once if not twice already. "What are your plans, then, so far from the battlefield?"
"Why, to return to our home and report that the way is guarded, unless you would like to negotiate a different arrangement. We would happily surrender our persons if you would remove the impediments to our people's travel.
A Moonrider who hasn't spoken looks up and down Brennan. "And your plans Sir Sky Knight?"
"Your impediments shall remain," Brennan says, to Sir Argalia.
He nods, accepting that.
Then: "I plan to enjoy the Ard Righ's banquet, and then to decide whether or not to take your High Marshal up on his long-ago invitation and escort you all back to your people in Ghenesh. And you are called...?"
The Moonrider bows. His joints move fluidly in a way that would be remarkably painful to anyone built like a human. "I am called Unsheathed, Sir Sky Knight. My other companion is Sir Vigil." The third knight bows as well.
Sir Vigil speaks, for the first time. "We would certainly guarantee your travel to meet the High Marshal, although we would prefer to wait until after the feast. We hope to talk to Sir Firumbras, and learn of his return. His time-displacement is massive."
"My friend Sir Firumbras is his own man-- he may speak with you or not, as he wills," Brennan says. He glances at the Ard Righ, communicating the idea that he would like to speak in a more private setting than open court.
The Ard Righ looks at the visitors and decides. "Well then, assuming the forces outside the castle don't manage to become forces inside the castle before then, we shall reconvene for the feast in honor of our guests. Sir Firumbras, please arrange quarters for our guests. On different floors, I think.
"Sir Brennan, walk with me, I would have your opinion on our besiegers."
Brennan does walk with the Ard Righ, toward a good location to survey the state of the siege unless Ramjollock has a specific location in mind.
"They are extremely dangerous despite their superficial manners," Brennan says, when they're out of earshot. "Do not issue an invitation or allow the Demons of Air and Darkness to recruit here, is my advice." Brennan doesn't mean it as advice, but the forms must be observed.
"Or did you mean the fellows outside?" Brennan asks somewhat archly.
Ram nods. "We are capable of finding our own quarrels with your family without taking on those of others. Sir Firumbras is well liked. It is my hope they do not entangle him in their schemes."
Brennan nods, soberly, and with the same assessment. But there is nothing for it but to let it play-- Firumbras is a trusted friend and advisor, or he isn't.
He mentally reviews the few glances he got from the top of the tower. "You've got time, I think, depending on your supplies. They may keep you busy just to keep you from keeping them busy, but they've only just started the sappers' work, and clearing timber for siege engines. They could just starve you out, though, so they must be under some time pressure. Expecting relief soon? Or are they not a unified coalition out there? I recall Corsair banners and their allies, but also a lot from Methryn's Isle and elsewhere-- like every doghouse, alehouse, and outhouse from here to Montparnasse sent warriors. That could be something to work with if they're in competition with each other."
Brennan tries to remember if there was a pattern of banners and tactics, for example, were the corsairs gearing up for a siege while others looked ready to press an assault? If he can't, he'll wait until he gets to a survey position and look for himself.
"My people were ... not well loved on Methryn's Isle. Some would not be happy to see us return. Others are likely here to keep an eye on their rivals, or because they were pressured to come in order to keep them from being tempted by their neighbor's absence.
"We have time, we have supplies, and we have surprises for our foment. Also, we have allies who will come, but not quickly. Our remergence is a systemic shift in the alliances of the five worlds. It will take time for equilibrium to be reached."
He grins. "And they are probably soiling themselves at the sight of riders in the sky. It's hard to maintain a siege if the besieged can come and go from the top of his castle.
"It will, however, be bloody and people will get hurt. I would like to find someone to parley with them, see if accommodation can be made." He leaves the question hanging.
Brennan smiles faintly at the mention of smoke riders. He'd had the same thought, and wonders idly what legends he would find if he came back for a visit in another few centuries. "When you tell that story to your grandchildren, make it memorable."
"I hear the question you're asking, Ard Righ, so let me answer it as best I can: I'm willing, because I've come to admire your people and-- let's be frank-- our purposes still seem aligned, at least insofar as thwarting Moire is concerned. I am willing, but I am constrained, not least by the need to get those three out of here as fast as I can. But let's assume those constraints all work themselves out," Brennan says.
"I started to ask this of Cameleopardis, but there was barely enough time to ask much less answer. So I'll ask you: Where would you place yourself in the web of alliances? What will you do once you are there?" Brennan asks.
"It never ceases to amaze me to hear you casually speak of my immediate predecessor, who I know as a legend, not a man."
Ram takes a second to answer. "I suppose I want what every monarch wants. To provide a stable and secure place for his people and family while maximizing my influence without limiting my freedom of action.
"Of course, I have only been Righ for a few days, so it's quite possible that my views will evolve. Luckily my job as a carnival fortune teller was ideal preparation for being responsible for the lives and security of an entire kingdom."
He looks out over the trees and the fires of the camps of the besiegers. "A week ago, this was all submerged. Now it's got trees big enough to be worrisome parts of siege equipment. Where do we want to be? Where we always wanted to be--Standing for our rights against those who would manipulate us for their own ends. My people deposed the Witch-King of Avalon, and sunk our own city to prevent him from using it as a base for his misrule. The power to destroy is unbalancing, and that is what they are doing here."
"I've traveled far enough and wide, Ard Righ to know these two things," Brennan says.
"First, there is no position so exalted that its occupant is immune to manipulation. With power comes the ability to resist, yes, but also more-- and more skilled-- would-be manipulators. And second, that is not what all kings desire. Is that all the Witch-King desired?" It's a rhetorical question, and Brennan waits for the answer to form on Ramjollock's tongue before pressing the real question. "What about those who abused your people in the past-- how do they fit into your vision? And the Protector?"
Ramjollock is slow to respond. "To need a protector, you should have three things; The Danger, the Endangered, and the Defender. The perception of one of those can do the job in the case an element is missing. The Protector of Avalon is not the Protector of The Maghee, or the Protector of Tara. Since we are not the Endangered, it is not our intent to be the Danger. We do not seek conflict, conflict seeks us." He gestures out to the armies below. "I note The Protector is neither here nor there. That is better than many rulers who know us of old and find themselves in the tents below."
"That's a subtle answer, Ard Righ Ramjollock," Brennan says-- and it is, even though he can see some obvious flaws in it-- "and I'll give it careful thought." He favors Ramjollock with the full force of his regard. "But at the same time I urge you strongly to consider this: You have, for all intents and purposes, conjured a large stretch of land off the coast of Avalon and occupied it. Yes, conflict will seek you out. But the gap between your intent not to the be the danger and the perception of your patch of new land and its capabilities may be quite a bit larger than you prefer. The new geography is what it is, and there are strategic consequences to that going far beyond the tactics of this siege. The process of equilibration doesn't just happen around you."
If you're not careful, it'll happen to you, goes unspoken.
"Consider it, is all I say," Brennan continues. "I'd be happy to discuss it further but only after you've had time with your own thoughts. And after I've had some rest-- I haven't slept since I left the isle some days ago."
"I shall consider, and discuss with my advisors. We are a practical people. What went before does not have to be what comes after, but we things are not as they were when we were an easy target for the strong. We will be asking your Protector what his policy towards us will be, and will react accordingly."
Ramjollock takes another look over his ramparts, and seems satisfied.
"We will see each other at the feast. It looks as if the troops below will not be interrupting it tonight."
"Not without external encouragement, anyway," Brennan says. "I'll be there."
Brennan makes his exit.
Last modified: 7 June 2019