Corwin has summoned the members of the family in Paris, who appear to be Florimel and Solace, though Solace is excused for reasons that Ossian and Folly suspect boil down to "not a Pattern initiate". Florimel arrives looking as if she's just come from a soiree, and doesn't appear to be entirely pleased to have been summoned from it (or perhaps the summons suggests news she won't like).
Ossian and Folly have time to change into appropriate Parisian clothes, particularly Ossian, whose wardrobe is intact from the last time he visited. (Also there was time for a brief trump exchange, and one for Folly if she wants to check in with Martin in summary.) The meeting is held in Corwin's study, and some food has been set out--finger foods--and there's wine and whiskey, since those things may be needed. Florimel has her Trump deck with her, which suggests that Corwin requested it.
Folly does change clothes -- into something soft and Art Nouveau-inspired rather than one of the more heavily corseted styles, if she can manage it -- and checks in briefly with Martin. She fills him in on the news about Reid, and particularly on Dr. Chu and the shadowpath between the monastery and Greenwood Hospital. She offers to bring him through if he wants to join the family meeting (although since it would require bringing Lark, too, she is not expecting him to take her up on it), or to keep a trump line open if he'd like to join that way. If not, she'll check in again once they're done.
Martin is Not Pleased. He's not willing to bring Lark through to Paris, but he'll take a check-in when Folly is done. (Clearly, he thinks, he should have done a more thorough job of murder and mayhem in Shadow Tyrell.)
When she arrives at Corwin's study she exchanges pleasantries with those who have arrived before her; her tone and manner are rather more subdued than usual, though, and she is not inclined toward idle chitchat unless she senses it would help ease the tension.
Ossian dresses in slightly more color than current fashion dictates. He takes a small glass of white wine. A gentleman as usual, he will kiss Flora's hand, but like Folly he stays quiet for the moment.
Florimel is dressed in a softer gown than one might expect given the current fashions, but they are en famille here. Like Folly's, her dress is also influenced by the curves and designs of Art Nouveau.
The King has also changed into a black and silver smoking jacket. (Black velvet; silver trim.)
Once they have gathered and greetings have been made, Corwin explains what they're here to discuss. He summarizes for Florimel the stories that Ossian and Folly have told them, with particular emphasis on the Greenwood Hospital part of the news. All of this appears to be news, and a bit of a shock, to Florimel, who disclaims any knowledge that Greenwood was affiliated with the Klybesians.
Brand might have known. He'd been the one who suggested that Corwin be put into the hospital there.
"I suppose Brand could have seen that as a fair trade," Folly muses. "Give the Klybesians an Amberite to experiment on, and in exchange they keep a meddlesome older brother out of the way of his schemes. But I'm not sure I buy that, unless his connection to them ran so deep he trusted that they would never try to use whatever they learned against him."
She hesitates, frowning, and looks at Corwin. "Or perhaps you were the price of something he learned from them. But I imagine it would have to be something awfully big." She makes a gesture inviting the rest of them to speculate further or poke holes in that idea; after all, they all knew Brand, and she didn't.
"Oh, I bet they had things to tell him. My grandfather was curious to a fault. I do wonder about Chew's position in the order. What was his role when you met him, Folly?"
"He presented himself as a doctor," Folly says. "He didn't run any of the actual procedures, but he's the one who came to talk to us when we went back the next day to get the test results. Told us some of my results were abnormal and that he recommended I be hospitalized until they could run some follow-up tests. In The Machine." She shudders visibly; these memories are clearly upsetting to her, but she pushes ahead:
"We started asking questions that he was not very forthcoming about answering, and that's when it started feeling very, very wrong. Wrong-er. He left us alone for a few minutes and I was in the process of calling Random to trump us the hell out of there when someone or someones came in the room and scuffled with Martin. He told me to go on, so I did, while he stayed behind to, you know, punch people in the head and blow up labs and stuff...."
Folly hesitates, and then says. "Terranova. I think that was the name of the hospital. 'New Earth' and 'Green Wood' -- possibly just a coincidence, but it's an interesting one."
Corwin is increasingly disgruntled as Folly's story continues, and by the time she's finished, he's openly frowning. "Is there anything else about the Klybesians or Greenwood or Terranova or this Hannibal person that anyone wants to contribute? Because we're past the point here where Random and I need to discuss measures, and if there's no more to add, then I'll take any suggestions you have on how we should deal with them."
Ossian shakes his head.
Folly says, "I will just add this, which you may well already have thought of: As much as I would love to see the Klybesians unmade, there is a very real possibility that they could have a Pattern initiate among their ranks -- possibly a long-forgotten and disgruntled one, if they are as ancient an order as they want to seem. That would explain how that shadowpath might have come into being even without Brand's help; all the other alternative explanations I can think of seem rather less likely. If that's the case, dealing with them as if they are a mere shadow problem could be not only ineffectual, but dangerous."
She makes a small gesture, palms up, to Corwin and Florimel: she's ready for them to call in the other players, if that's what comes next.
The room falls silent after Folly's words, quiet enough that the slightest movement sounds obscenely loud. Florimel blinks, slowly, and turns to Corwin. The Prince in Silver and Black raises his hand.
"I hadn't considered that, but if he's fallen in with them again, we have to act immediately. I certainly hope you’re wrong."
Flora's eyes are wide and she is sitting very, very still.
Folly's brow creases with concern. "Who?" she asks warily.
"Caine," Corwin says to Folly and Ossian.
Flora's expression suggests that she has had a very ugly suspicion confirmed.
"Oh come on." Corwin turns back to Flora. "Dad never told you why he pulled Caine from the succession? Why he threw all the religious out of Amber?"
"That kind of talk wasn't considered suitable for the dinner table when ladies were present, and you know it, Corwin," she ripostes sweetly.
Corwin has the good grace to look mildly abashed.
A smile flashes over Ossian's face. Then he turns somber "How old could that path be?" he asks.
Folly drops her gaze to her hands folded tightly in her lap to hide a momentary glint of amusement in her own eyes. She looks up again at Ossian's question and adds, "And for the benefit of those of us who weren't even around to hear that particular story from Oberon, what happened, if you don't mind filling us in?"
"Caine was deeply involved in one of the old martial orders attached to the Church of the Unicorn. They were involved in the old troubles between Cymnea and my mother--and Caine's--Faiella. Even I don't know all the details of how he annoyed Dad so much; as you say," Corwin nods to Flora, "it wasn't dinner table talk. And I was much out of Amber at the time. It was after my mother had died, but before Dad married Clarissa, I think. The net result was that Dad ordered all the religious out of the city, stripped them of their citizenship and goods, and Caine was out of the succession.
"He didn't get rid of the Unicorn, and now we all know why, but there were no more priests, and the Knights were purely secular."
It takes Corwin a moment to remember that he hasn't answered Ossian's question. "It could be old, depending on how much spying they were doing on Flora, or me, during my exile there. But the real question is how it survived the Black Rain."
"It was underground, if that helps." Ossian says, frowning. "Is there any way to find out who layed a certain path?"
"Or could there be anything else about the place -- inherently or by design -- that could have ensured it would stay somewhere on the natural paths between Pattern realms?" Folly says. "It didn't feel... pre-Patterny or anything, did it?"
Ossian shakes his head. "I don't think so. Jerod said nothing about that either, and he's way ahead of me."
Folly frowns thoughtfully. "I suppose it's possible that Caine -- or maybe Brand -- worked out some other way to ensure that spot stayed on the natural paths. We do seem to exert some sort of metaphysical gravity on the shadows around us; perhaps---" she nods at Corwin "---keeping you in that place, your psychic energy, somehow reinforced that effect. But that's just speculation.
"It does occur to me, though, that if Caine really is working with the Klybesians -- and if he also was somehow in on the scheme to keep you in that hospital -- it casts his actions in the recent war in an interesting light. Perhaps the true purpose of his fratricide was not so much to save the universe from Mad Brother Brand as to take out the one person who knew enough about his comings and goings to out him to the rest of the family."
Flora ponders this question. "Caine was apparently friendly with Brennan at that time." She glances at Ossian, but holds the question for now.
"Oh." Ossian says.
Folly's frown deepens. "In your experience, does Caine have the kind of skill with Pattern, and the curiosity to experiment with it, that might let him make an especially enduring shadowpath, or create some kind of anchor in shadow?" She hesitates, thinking, and then adds, "And does he have any other interesting metaphysical skills he might be sharing with the Klybesians that we should be on guard against?"
"Caine's the most skilled user of Trumps I've ever seen. He can spy on people with them, and that's a skill most of us can't match," Corwin explains. "He's almost as old as I am, and he's one of our Admirals. I don't know that he has any special skills in forging paths, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did. He wasn't one of the original pathmakers, but he learned from them, and he's been doing it for a long time.
"But it doesn't have to be him for all of it. He could have made the path for them centuries ago, before Dad forbade him any further involvement with the religious. Or he could have taught some royal bastard, his or someone else's."
"Probably not his," Flora says and gives Corwin a knowing look. Corwin shrugs.
Ossian frowns "I'd like to ask Ambrose if he has met the monks. Not that he could have laid the path.
"Silhouette has agreed to help me investigate at Greenwood. Unless you kings decide something else, of course."
"If Random approves it, I see no reason why you two shouldn't investigate together. Emphasis on together, since we don't want any more of you disappearing and it sounds as though the Klybesians can take one of you if they want." Corwin rises and moves to his secretary desk to rifle through it, presumably for his Trumps. "What about Ambrose? Brennan's brother, Brand's son?"
"Given that the monks have been involved with Caine, my father, me and Brand, I wouldn't be surprised if they contacted Ambrose, or that mad sister of his. It's just a hunch."
"Well, and if they've managed to piss him off the way they have the rest of us, he might be easy to recruit to your mission, if you think he could help," Folly says. "But -- how were they involved with you, Ossian? I'm afraid I missed that part."
"I found my mother." Ossian says with a sigh. "The Valkyrie Regenlief. Strange that. But Brennan confirms it. They fought alongside with the monks.
"He didn't learn she became pregnant. But the monks did. Stole me and placed me in that orphanage."
Florimel scowls at this report but doesn't add anything. Corwin meets her gaze and shakes his head in the negative.
"A Valkyrie would tie her back to the shadows near Brita's family. Have you brought this to Brita's attention, or Fiona's? Because it's looking more and more like the Klybesians have spread further through Shadow than we previously imagined." The question is directed to Ossian but Corwin seems interested in Folly's opinion.
"Not to mention that we suddenly have a potential motive for getting rid of Reid."
Folly's jaw has set in a hard line. "Ossian," she asks, with a coolness that he feels is not directed at him, "did you come to that orphanage before or after Meg?"
"She's older than me, so I guess after. I was only an infant... But yes, that is a problem too. What's their deal with Dara?"
Ossian looks at Flora: "Why would they want to kill Reid?"
Corwin steps in to field this one. "Reid was in the Asgardian shadow realms for a long time. When we settle in a single place in Shadow, we attract Reality, and clearly the Klybesians are interested in that. Who knows what information he might have picked up about them and their history in Asgard, given that we know they were recruiting agents like your mother there?"
"They might have needed to shut his mouth, or, depending on how things went, dispose of the evidence," Flora adds. "Exile from Amber--or Paris, now--is a cold and lonely thing." She glances at Corwin; their eyes meet briefly. "Who knows what he might have done, all unknowingly, to get back home?"
"Or not so unknowingly," Folly offers. "If I understand his timeline correctly, his youth or young adulthood in Amber could have been during the time they were still active there, yes? Which I suppose could also have led to them thinking he knew rather too much about them." She looks at Ossian, who may know more about that part of Reid's history than she does.
"That is very possible, even probable." Ossian says. "Reid did not say much about his past. Do we have any proof of their precence in Asgard? I was not aware that my mother was recruited by them at all?"
"How did she get out of Asgard to run into Brennan?" Corwin asks Ossian. "I'm not saying she was, but we know they recruit and a presence in Asgard doesn't indicate an abbey. The gods of Asgard are jealous and wouldn't allow foreign religious in without a fight. So they came as warriors--and that means military recruitment."
As the King is speaking, the door opens to allow Signy and Ambrose to slip in. They're clearly dressed for travel, with Signy bearing a plain sword on her hip.
Signy hangs back from the main group for the moment, hoping in vain that they somehow will have managed to avoid becoming the center of attention upon their arrival.
Ambrose is also mildly hesitant, but the group is small enough that there's nothing for it, so he comes all the way in as well.
Corwin is holding court with Florimel, Ossian, and Folly in attendance. It's late at night--possibly even pushing toward dawn by now--and there is food and drink, the latter of which Corwin offers to the newcomers if they want any.
Given that the King is holding family court, everyone is dressed informally, but Ambrose and Signy have come fresh from the Rebma road and are damp (but at least not dusty).
"Welcome to Paris," Corwin says. "Let me get you something to drink and settle in. We're in the middle of a family council."
Ossian smiles. "Uncle." It still sounds strange. "Cousin. You arrive timely. How much of the latest news have you heard?"
Ambrose bows slightly to the King and Florimel and acknowledges Ossian, then Folly with a smile. "There is always news in this family. You'll have to tell us which we're meant to know."
"We're glad you're here. Perhaps you'll have news for us as well," Florimel says with a smile as Corwin prepares the drinks.
Folly returns Ambrose's smile warmly, then rises and extends a hand to Signy. "I take it you know everyone else here, but I've been traveling so much lately I'm not sure we were ever properly introduced," she says. "I'm Folly. We were just talking about the Klybesians, of whom I'm afraid I know very little."
Signy makes a passable attempt at a bow towards Corwin, before giving Folly a small but genuine smile in return as she takes her hand in a firm clasp. "I'm Signy, Dierdre's daughter." She gives a quick glance around the room, before turning her gaze back on Folly.
"I know the Klybesians. My tutor was of their Order, and when Marius came to them seeking knowledge of me he took that opportunity to flee their service and return to me."
She sighs quietly, before taking in the rest of the room.
"Edan and I questioned him after the news of Reid reached Rebma. He had some information, but had fallen out of favor with them some time ago, so wasn't high in their councils when he left. I have him working on writing up any details about his time in the Order in my absence in case something in there means something to someone in the Family."
"That's great news. " Ossian says. "I would be very interested to read that, indeed.
"I, Jerod and Raven went back to get Reid's body. In short: Jerod wrecked the place when we found out who Brother Hannibal is. Folly has encountered the man before, in an unpleasant manner. When we searched the place we found a Shadow Path to the hospital where Uncle Corwin" Ossian nods towards the King "was for a while.
"Too many ties to too many of us. And they like tissue samples of Amberites." he makes a wry face. "And they got away.
"Do you have any idea of who might have laid that Shadow Path?"
Ambrose looks around, in case this question is directed at him, which from the looks being sent in his direction, it is. "I cannot say whether my father laid it, if that's what you're implying. He didn't tell me he had done any such thing, but there are many things I've since learned about him. I can't say he didn't do it, and it was well within his capabilities to lay a path, especially if he had reason to be familiar with one or both places." This is not an answer Ambrose likes, but it's clearly all he has.
"He knew the endpoint," Corwin says. "He was the one who tried to kill me and have my brains fried."
Florimel suddenly seems very preoccupied with her drink.
Signy thinks for a moment, before looking at Corwin. "Does this mean the Order might be looking to continue what he started when he attempted to destroy the Pattern? Is that why they want the samples? Or do they think that they can somehow use our essence to gain our powers?"
"Chew seemed power hungry enough to try to get our powers." Ossian says "But we should not rule out that they want to trade the samples with someone. Or simply blackmail us."
"Or they could be trying to grow their very own little Amberites," Folly says with a tight, forced smile; to Ossian's eyes she looks as though she would like to go be quietly sick in a corner. "My home shadow doesn't quite have that kind of technology, and I gather Greenwood wouldn't've either, but the place I met Chew almost certainly does."
"The shadow Greenwood was in didn't have that kind of technology at that time. But it might have developed it afterwards," Florimel corrects Folly gently. She seems less horrified at the idea than grimly dissatisfied about its very existence. "If you have enough power and you dwell in a Shadow long enough, it molds itself to your desires, if you're Real."
"If you're a Pattern initiate," Corwin says, and it's not obvious whether that's disagreement or clarification. "And we don't think they have a huge number of those."
"They have at least one," Florimel counters. "One who made that shadow path."
Ossian nods. "I agree that Greenwood probably isn't advanced enough from my more recent observation. But Chew can travel between more Shadows. I wonder if there are more paths."
"Do we know of any other locations in Shadow where the Order is particularly associated with?" Signy looks at Corwin. "Or would it be worth looking for any places that Brand was known to frequent?"
"I can make a list of some of the places I know were important to my father," Ambrose offers.
Corwin nods. "That would be useful." He gestures Ambrose to the secretary, which he opens to produce pen, ink, and paper. He turns back to Signy. "Your man, did he describe the places he knew to belong to the Order? Have you got names of places, and possibly routes to get there? Cross-referencing would be useful, and possibly give us a list of places to check."
Signy shakes her head in the negative. "We didn't really discuss the locations of other Chapterhouses. He knew of the Shadow paths, and that the Order had some collection of Trumps that they had collected over the centuries."
Ossian's eyes narrow, but he stays quiet.
She shrugs slightly. "I got the impression that he was either in his Chapterhouse, or with Weyland to tutor me, and hadn't really moved around much within the Order itself."
Folly has been lost in thought during the discussion of shadows and shadowpaths, trying to puzzle something out. Then, "Corwin?" she says, "You mentioned that the path to Greenwood, if it were laid while you were there, shouldn't have survived the giant shadow storm. But the paths between Patterns do, at least in some form. What do you know about those -- and in particular, why were they named for your mother?"
Signy listens to Folly's question before turning to look at Corwin and Florimel for their response.
Ossian too is quiet.
"I wasn't in Amber when the Faiella-Bionin was made. I left after my mother died and came back--later." Corwin chooses not to elaborate on that point, but Florimel rises and comes to him to pat his hand comfortingly, as a good sister should. "Legends have it that some people can leave benisons on their deaths instead of curses, like Eric's or--" he smiles thinly "--mine. The Faiella-Bionin is, I am told, my mother's."
Folly's eyes widen in surprise. "But then... she must have been a woman of considerable power in her own right, to create such a boon."
She regards Corwin with an artist's gaze, scrutinizing his features as if seeing them for the first time, mentally comparing them to every portrait and sketch she studied when she first arrived in Amber and worked to learn the history and legends of her new-found family and its allies and foes. It is only by an effort of will, evident in the way she has wrapped her fingers tightly around the edge of her seat-cushion, that she stays in her seat rather than egregiously invading his personal space for a closer look. She turns to study Signy's features, too, for a long moment, looking for the markers of Faiellan heritage, before turning back to Corwin.
"Was she... of Tir?" she ventures, with a tone that suggests more than just idle curiosity. "Or one of the other realms of power?"
Signy's eyes light up with a question, but for the moment she bides her time to let Corwin answer Folly.
Ossian's eyes shine. He is way out of his depth here. So he is quiet.
Corwin shakes his head in the negative. "My mother was the daughter of a noble merchant family of Amber. I don't know for certain where her family was originally from. But, given what we know from the growth of Paris in recent years, and the growth of Xanadu, it's likely enough that she came from somewhere else. But most of Dad's queens and consorts were powers in their own right. Look at Moins and Clarissa. He didn't seem to care for weak women."
Ossian and Folly suspect he has something else he might have added to that comment but decided not to say for whatever reason.
"Well, one can hardly fault him for wanting a partner with half a chance of keeping up with him," Folly observes with a little half-smile. It's not clear whether the gently wry humor in her tone is directed at Corwin or herself. Possibly both. "But he could have had other reasons, too."
Signy glances around the room before speaking up. "My father had some sort of relationship with the Order, though I'm not sure what it was other than to have Tomat provide me with training." Signy locks her eyes on Corwin's.
"What is my father's ancestry?"
Folly has slipped a small sketchpad from among the folds of her dress and is scribbling on it, angled so Ossian can see. It looks like she's working on a family tree, but twisted around on itself. After a few moments it becomes apparent to him that she's laying out family members and connecting lines along the Faiella-Bionin.
Ossian smiles at that, restraining himself from pulling out a pen to help Folly. Then he looks at Corwin.
Florimel is interested in Corwin's answer as well.
Corwin frowns, more thoughtfully than annoyed. "It's a good question, and one I'd like a solid answer to. What I do know is this: Weyland is Real, as real as any of us, and he's taken some form of the Pattern at some point in his life, or he wouldn't have been able to make something like Grayswandir." Corwin pats the pommel of the blade, which he is in fact wearing to the meeting. "So that makes him family of some sort. At what remove, I can only guess--but it can't be too distant because he's got to be ancient. Unless there's some question of time with him from being on the wrong side of Ygg."
Folly looks up from her scribbling and eyes Corwin's sword with curiosity. "How long ago did he forge Grayswandir?" she asks -- then amends, since absolute times are unlikely to make sense in this context, "When in your timeline, I mean."
Signy frowns thoughtfully. "And in making it, it seems like he would not be the type to ally with the Order, unless something changed...."
She leaves the obvious answer unspoken for the moment.
"The legend about your father makes him no one's ally, Signy. The question is what price Dad paid to have Werewindle made. And what price someone else paid to have Grayswandir made." Corwin shifts his focus from Signy to Folly. "And that's another question I don't know the answer to. It's an open secret that Caine had Dad's sword before Bleys, and the same portfolio."
Florimel nods her agreement to Corwin's statement.
Folly's eyes widen in surprise; clearly his answer has gone in directions she did not expect.
Corwin continunes, "But I don't think Caine was the first prince with that position. Maybe it was Osric or Finndo. I don't think it was Ben, though."
"Do you know whether my father ever held such a blade?" Ambrose asks.
Corwin shakes his head. "Not to my knowledge. He was desperately jealous of Bleys for having it."
"We speculated," Florimel adds, without specifying who the we was, "that it was part of what drove him into deeper studies with Dworkin."
Ossian frowns and asks "Do you think he tried to make one for himself?"
Folly looks like she might have something to say about that, but she lets Corwin and Florimel answer first.
It's Ambrose, perhaps unsurprisingly, who speaks up to answer that. "My father's primary interest for centuries was the Tir problem. I know he resented Bleys, but if he wanted a specific blade, I would have thought it was Grayswandir and not Werewindle. And his--" Ambrose searches for a word and settles on "--creative impulses, such as they were, were channeled in a different direction."
Ambrose is pointedly not looking at Folly. Just Ossian.
Folly's eyes narrow fractionally; she looks as though she might be biting back a comment or two about Brand's 'creative impulses'. Instead, she says to Corwin, "Yes, that's part of what made me think your mother might have been of Tir: not just your bond to Tir's blade, but the fact that Brand seemed so interested in keeping you out of the way and closely supervised. Well, and because Avalon guards the back way to Tir" -- she taps her pencil over Benedict's name on her sketch -- "but... was that always so?"
Signy looks slightly confused at Ambrose's words. "Tir problem?" she says quietly, hoping someone will elaborate further.
Ambrose hesitates, but Corwin gestures to him to speak. "My father thought that Dworkin--his mentor, our great-grandfather--was damaged by something that had happened to Tir, to render it out of sync. That it was a source of pain and mental instability. His plan to remake the universe sprang from a desire to help Dworkin. Though it went into darker places as he elaborated on it." Which is all Ambrose really seems to want to say about it.
With that sidebar complete, and explained to everyone who hadn't heard Ambrose's theory before, Corwin turns back to Folly. "I can't answer any questions about Avalon with certainty. I'm not sure Benedict's Avalon is the Avalon I knew. Very similar, but different. There were silver towers in Avalon as I knew it, but they were part of the city rather than in the sky."
Ossian stays quiet.
Signy frowns thoughtfully. "So, Tir and Amber are both damaged. Are there other places that once had Patterns but are now damaged or inoperable?"
She pauses before the words just spill out of her. "Was Rebma's Pattern created in response to the damage to Tir's?"
Florimel looks to Corwin as if she thinks he has some special insight into the answer to this question.
He sighs. "Signy, a decade or three ago we didn't even know about the Primal Pattern, never mind Avalon. All we knew was Amber and Rebma and Tir. We didn't even know Dworkin was Dad's father. We're all feeling our way through this, too, figuring out which of the legends and myths have some basis in fact. There are no quick and easy answers. Unless Brand had them from Dworkin."
"Not in the papers I've deciphered so far," Ambrose answers. "Though I haven't finished them by a long shot."
"Uncle," Folly says to Corwin as the War Council breaks up, "I still have a few questions for you -- but perhaps more grilling by an eager niece is not how you would prefer to conclude what has already been rather a long evening for you--" where by 'long' she undoubtedly means something about halfway between 'trying' and 'disappointing', given that they interrupted his post-opera plans. "Would you rather wait 'til tomorrow?"
Corwin, who is watching his sister and the rest of the group make their goodnights and departures, shakes his head in the negative. "Kingship means long nights sometimes. I have the luxury of setting the pace of the palace in the morning. Sit back down and I'll answer the questions I can for you." He smiles at Folly, a bit indulgently, and gestures to her to sit down. "And if there's anything I can have brought around for you, let me do that too."
Folly thinks on that for a moment, then replies with a little smile, "Well, depending on how irritating my questions turn out to be, later we may want a lute or a guitar or something -- but for now perhaps just a wee dram of something will suffice." She squashes her natural instinct to go serve herself from the remains of the War Council spread, letting Corwin play host instead. She takes a seat; her posture is noticeably less rigid than it was during the War Council.
Once Corwin has made himself comfortable, Folly begins: "Perhaps it is my songwriting instincts that make me latch onto recurring motifs and symbols to see where they go; but since hearing the story Cameleopardis told of his experiences in the sunken city, I can't shake the feeling that there is something important hiding in the details. I was hoping you might be willing to tell me a bit more about the Avalon you knew, and your life there."
Corwin had apparently been paying enough attention to what Folly had chosen to bring her a plate full of things she would generally have chosen for herself, along with the aforementioned wee dram.
Folly accepts the plate and glass with a warm smile of thanks. She makes a mental note to try not to flirt back, and then promptly loses that note behind the metaphorical couch.
He gathers up another plate of his own, and a dram for himself, and joins her. "I can see how that might be useful to you. Do you want to tell me what themes you see in common and let me search through my memories for them, or ask me a leading question or two and see what I turn up for you?"
Folly chews her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Perhaps let's start with the recurring themes, but then I might have some follow-up questions.
"The first is the silver towers, which seemed awfully important to the legend of his ancestors that the Maghee wizard spoke of. Some version of them has now appeared on land in Avalon, beneath the waves once they were sunk by the Maghees, and in the sky in Tir.
"The second is the relationship between you and Benedict, or perhaps the 'Sorceror-King' and the 'Protector', to use Cameleopardis's words." Folly's tone has softened, and she pauses to take a sip of her drink, perhaps to give herself time to choose her next words carefully; she is aware this could be a delicate area. "That image he related of the two of you striving against one another over the Pattern -- I don't know whether that is an echo of a real incident in the past or the future, or if perhaps it is symbolic of something else. Some clash between realms, perhaps. I'm curious to hear your thoughts."
"The Silver Towers were part of the legend of Avalon when I found the place." Corwin answers that first, because it's clearly the easy part. "I remember them, but I didn't create them.
"As for the other--" and here his expression turns a little puzzled, as best as Folly can tell, not that he seems to be trying to hide anything from her "--I don't entirely know. There are things Benedict and I don't agree on, but not to the point of fatal violence, and certainly not since the war. And in any case, everybody knows he's a greater warrior, and a better swordsman, than I am. He'd make mincemeat out of me unless I had some protection and some luck."
He frowns. "Though maybe it's the scene from Tir, with the arm. It was me, and him, but not at the same time."
Folly blinks. "The arm was silver, too, was it not?" she asks, then adds, "By legend, who raised the silver towers in the Avalon you knew?"
Corwin frowns thoughtfully at the series of questions. "I think the silver arm was Dad's fault. He took it out of Tir and sent it back somehow. He was a greater master of reality than any of us knew."
Folly nods; she has heard similar ideas about the silver arm, and Oberon's abilities, from Martin.
"Now Avalon, there were old gods there, and Fair Folk, who slaughtered each other long before my time. And then the people after them, the great heroes of ancient times, whose magic was stolen from the Fair Folk. They were the ones who raised the Towers."
Folly considers that for a moment. "Did you know of this Maghee clan, and Maghdeburgh, during the time you dwelt in Avalon?" she asks. "And... is the story of their 'sorcerer king' to do with you, or is it part of that earlier history?"
Corwin shakes his head in the negative. "If my present understanding of the relationship between Ben's Avalon and mine is right, I was never there. But," he clarifies, "I did know a people like the Maghees, and I warred against them, and they were the ones who pulled down the Silver Towers in my Avalon. That's the best answer I can give you." His tone suggests he doesn't expect Folly to find that very helpful.
"So, clan Maghee might not have been part of your Avalon, but if not, they sound like a close shadow of something that was there," Folly says. "What were you warring over with your near-Maghees, if you don't mind my asking? And," she adds after a moment's thought, "did they claim any notable descent?"
"They never claimed any specific descent I recognized," Corwin says, "but there were sorcerers among them, which indicates they were somehow of Chaosian ancestry, directly or indirectly. As for what they were warring with me over--well." He pauses there and considers how best to say what he's thinking to Folly. "The last part of the time I spent in my Avalon was after my mother died giving birth to my sister Deirdre. I was not a kind man in those days, nor a good ruler, and it's no surprise that anyone would have wanted to overthrow me."
Folly lays a hand lightly on Corwin's arm in sympathy, just for a moment. Then, "I think I may have mentioned the Maghee Brennan questioned identified himself as 'Camelopardis Findanus', which I thought was... interesting. I don't really believe in coincidences -- not where this family is concerned, anyway -- so I thought it might be worth probing."
She hesitates, thinking. "If I may ask, what was it you were looking for when you first found your Avalon? And... did you already bear Grayswandir then, or did that come later?"
"I had the blade by then. Some, in Avalon, called it Caliburn." The long grief which Corwin wears along with his black and silver relaxes its grip on him. "I was looking for--something very personal. It would be difficult to describe to anyone else. I don't think it's relevant to Benedict's Avalon. He would have been looking for other things. By definition."
Corwin ponders the rest of what Folly has said. "And as for Camelopardis Findanus, that doesn't sound like a coincidence to me. Finndo spread himself far and wide across the universe. Maybe that was part of why he had to die for the good of Amber."
"Yes, I seem to recall he's responsible for several branches in the family tree, and that's just the better-known parts," Folly says. "I've heard only a little bit about his 'dying for the good of Amber'. It... had something to do with Rebma?"
"That was before my time." Corwin huffs out a long sigh. "I know one of Osric's sons died in Rebma in the wars against the Tritons--there was a song about it in vogue about the time Brand was born--but that was already a legend when I was a boy. It may have been a legend in the days when Benedict was a boy.”
"I suppose it's rather too easy for history to fade to legend in a single generation when one generation lasts millenia," Folly muses. "I don't think I had fully appreciated just how widely spaced some of you were in the birth-order, though."
After a moment's reflection, she adds, "With so much of our history obscured by the mists, I expect you won't have a definitive answer to this, either, although you may well have an... educated hunch. You mentioned Bleys's blade was previously carried by at least one other person. What about your own blade?"
Corwin has an easy answer to that one. "Given how long those generations are, I can't imagine I was its first wielder. I don't know whose it was before that, though. There are legendary swords in Amber's history before Grayswandir. One of them must have been Grayswandir, under a different name. After all, Werewindle wasn't called that when Caine had it."
"What was it called then?" Folly asks. "And does the wielder choose the name?"
"Almace," says Corwin. "I don't know its doom, though. I only know the doom laid on Grayswandir. And before you ask, no, it's not something I talk about. I--chose isn't the right word, but the name Grayswandir is tied to me. More like the sword let me know in its own way when the name was right."
Folly nods; that part makes perfect sense to her. "How did Grayswandir come to you, if that's something you can talk about?"
"I've heard it was forged on the steps to Tir, but I can't speak to the truth or falsehood of that legend. What I know is that I found it in Avalon when I was young. This was before Deirdre was born, even, when Caine was still a boy." Any conclusions that Folly wants to draw about that are her own, because Corwin continues, "I've carried it since then, except for the time when I was without my memory. It was lost, and I don't know what happened to it. I called it again by instinct when I started to get my memories back."
Folly sits up a little straighter, with obvious interest. Her mind is spinning in at least three directions at once, but she quickly settles on a path to try first. "You 'found' it?" she asks. "That sounds like a story all by itself. How? And how did you know it was... you know, yours? Beyond just the ancient law of Finders Keepers, I mean."
"I was given it by the Lady of the Lake," Corwin says, as if he expects everyone to know that particular piece of legend. "And no, I don't know who she was or how she got it. It didn't seem that important at the time, though now I wish I'd paid more attention. Unfortunately I can't go back in time to correct my mistake. I'm lucky I remember it at all anymore."
"Well, it does sound rather memorable," Folly says, making a mental note to check the histories and the legends for this Lady of the Lake. "We've got a folk song kind of like that where I'm from, but it was the Lady of the Mountains, and an axe all done up with...."
She blinks. She hasn't thought about that song in years, but suddenly those lines about '...etched across the blade/ the windings of a sacred braid' seem really significant.
"...well, I suppose the original story could have gotten a bit lost in the translation, you know?" Folly downs most of her drink and then fixes Corwin with a level look, though her eyes are twinkling. "Corwin, would it be too forward of me if I told you I want to touch your sword?"
"I never say no when a lady wants to touch my sword." Corwin is fighting the urge to smirk, not very successfully. Also not very hard, at least in the difficult sense. The blade, however, is hard when he draws it out of its sheath for Folly to examine. It's a handsome blade, all silvered steel, with tracery down the length of the blade that makes Folly's heart sing. It's familiar the way her own heartbeat is, the way the creases on her palms are, the way the backs of Martin's trumps are.
At the sight of the blade, whatever playful retort she may have had for Corwin dies on her lips. Mesmerised, she sets aside her glass, brushes her fingers together lightly to make sure they are free from wayward crumbs or condensation, and then reaches out to touch the delicate tracery, gently following it down the length of the blade. She breathes out a long, slow breath. "My god," she says, more to herself than to Corwin, "that's...."
But whatever she's observed, either she can't quite find the words or her mind has already raced ahead to the next idea. With some effort, she tears her gaze from the blade and meets Corwin's eyes. "By your leave, I'd like to try something," she says. "Sort of an experiment."
Corwin nods. He’s mostly watching her and not saying anything.
If he is amenable, Folly stands and asks Corwin to do so as well, with Grayswandir in his sword hand -- but suspended loosely from two fingers through the guard, palm upward, point downward, so that the blade is free to swing. Folly cups her own hand under Corwin's, perhaps to keep it steady at the proper height -- though it is doubtful he would really need her help for such a thing -- with one of her fingers just making contact with the hilt of the sword.
(She could just as easily have done this herself, without Corwin, but she sees his bond with this blade as that of a musician with his signature instrument; she would not dare presume to take it up herself without a great deal more history and trust between them, except in extreme circumstances. And anyway, there might be more she can learn this way.)
Once they are situated, Folly holds a finger to her lips and then flicks the flat of the blade sharply at about its midpoint with her fingernail, ringing it like a chime. She closes her eyes to listen, and to feel.
Her reaction to the tracery on the blade suggests to her that the Pattern is the Pattern is the Pattern -- but at the same time, the realms that grow up around Patterns reflect more than that. Paris is not Amber is not Xanadu is not Avalon. What she is listening for, then, is the relationships -- similarities and differences -- between the vibrations of this blade, rumored to be tied to Tir, and the rhythms of the city around her -- and to compare those to the rhythms of Xanadu, which she knows like she knows its maker, and what she can remember of the rhythms of Avalon. It's a subtle thing, she knows -- like listening for the differences between two note-perfect renditions of the same song by two different cover bands -- but she is hoping she might be able to detect telling similarities. Does Paris feel more like Avalon than like Xanadu? Does the sword seem inherently resonant with one realm more than the others, or is it very much its own thing?
It's an imperfect experiment: ideally, she would repeat it with Corwin and Grayswandir in Avalon, and listen for the differences. Or even better, she would go to Tir to see if she could detect the blade's alleged connection to that place. But perhaps this will be enough to gain her an insight or two, and without needing to resort to sword-touching of a more euphemistic variety.
Xanadu is a rock song, all heavy drumming and mando and fiddle blended in with the lead guitar and the rest of the rhythm section. Avalon was psalter and crumhorn and rebec and shawm. The blade is some kind of keyboard, probably a synthesizer of some sort, all mellow and no rhythm section needed. They're all playing variations on the same theme, with fugues and canons to change what you hear while still working with the same sequence of notes.
And what about Paris itself? More operatic/symphonic, given Corwin's own social-artistic interests? Or more keyboard-leaning, like the early 20th century composers of Shadow Earth's Paris? Or maybe all of the above, mixed with a bit of cabaret and accordion? Or something else entirely?
Impressionistic chamber music, after the fashion of Debussy, with a touch of the holy egoism of genius.
Folly smiles, just a little, as she listens; the whole thing -- the song of the sword, the echoes in the space around her, all of it -- is beautiful and fascinating. And it helps her understand these men, just a little, from the music they've made.
It is several heartbeats after the last reverberation has faded before she opens her eyes again and looks up at Corwin. "I'm not sure that quite answered my exact question, but it did help me understand a thing or two. I appreciate the indulgence." With a lopsided sort of smile and a tilt of her head -- almost a bow -- she releases Corwin's hand.
She takes a half-step back to give Corwin room to re-sheathe Grayswandir, and leans on the arm of a chair rather than taking a proper seat again. "The hypothesis I was trying to test was that there might be a detectable metaphysical... something... linking you and Benedict, or your realms. That perhaps that's the reason for this 'Corwin versus Benedict' motif that seems to recur even though the two of you don't seem to bear any special animosity toward one another. I mean, I'm not certain of the timing, but it struck me that it might be possible that Benedict really did find your old Avalon, once upon a time, and that for Big Metaphysical Reasons he needed to defend it. So he drew his own Pattern there, and it became his Avalon. And... possibly he even drew it with your sword, that could have come to him as it came to you, while you were out of commission. Although one supposes he might have recognized it and mentioned it to you at some point, if that were true." Folly gives a little shrug.
"I don't know him well, but Martin described him to me once as someone who does what needs doing. From that standpoint, I could certainly see him taking on responsibility for something or someplace that had tactical or metaphysical significance. Guarding the back way to Tir, for example." She gestures toward Grayswandir. "I thought I might be able to detect some link, but I think what I learned instead is that Grayswandir is like a pure concentrated essence of Pattern, and each realm is that essence rearranged and filtered through the scribe of that realm's Pattern. I mean, I sort of already knew that last part, but this made it more obvious. I dunno -- how plausible does any of that seem to you? You know your brother a lot better than I do."
Corwin considers and eventually answers. He might have formed three different responses before he finally speaks. "It is hard to know my eldest living brother, but I think he intentionally chose 'Protector' as his title in his home for the reasons you outline. However, he would never have used Greyswandir. It was not his to use. He would have had to use the Jewel of Judgement, because the Pattern is inside it. Once a person is attuned to the Jewel, they have to make a pattern, or they die. Eric only partially attuned, and it killed him. The fact that Brand didn't make a pattern reassures me immensely.
"I should give Greyswandir up, and have Weyland forge a pattern blade for Paris, or re-forge if one is part of the history of Paris that attached itself to my city. But I know of no one that I would charge with the doom that attaches to such a blade, even were I willing to pay Weyland's price. I keep the sword of Tir to keep it from falling into the hands of someone who might be more susceptible to the siren call of it."
He looks off into the distance, staring at nothing that Folly can see.
Folly regards him for a long moment, thinking. "I know you can't speak of the doom itself, but is it actually connected to Tir in some way? Or is there a threat to a specific person or place that would result if a wielder were unable to resist the sword's call? Something that the Protector would be particularly inclined to Protect against?"
"It's connected to Tir." Which is all Corwin seems inclined to say on that point. "Protecting Tir as Benedict sees it might cross what he thinks of as his other duties. The other things he has to protect, as it were."
Folly nods. "Yes, that makes sense, and it reminds me -- I asked you about your mother, whether she might be connected to Tir, but what about Cymnea? Do we know her origins, or rumored origins?"
"Her father was of a merchant clan in Amber, and her mother was a foreign princess named Clothilde. That's what I know. People don't talk about the Queens' War around me me much, or didn't, I should say. I mean, I've seen the play, though I was in disguise when I saw it:
"Two households, both alike in dignity / In fairest Amber, where we lay our scene / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean," Corwin declaims in a theatrical voice.
"I've seen the version of it from Flora's shadow as well. I prefer the original."
Folly smiles. "I think my shadow may have its own version as well, but with your 'Clothilde' and 'Cymnea' as our 'Hildegaard' and 'Heloise'. I'd be interested to see the original -- or the version from this place, for that matter, if such a thing exists. It is fascinating to me that your Paris sprang into being with its own ancient history already attached. Would you mind terribly if I explored the library here? ...Probably tomorrow, though, as I know it has already gotten quite late."
Not quite as an afterthought, Folly adds, "And, just out of curiosity... did Paris come with its own Silver Tower?"
"You're welcome to explore the library. I don't know that Alice has found me a librarian yet; if she hasn't, feel free to consult with her and requisition someone useful to assist you. And as for the Tower, just the Tour de M. Eiffel, which is of course silver in this city. But I don't think it corresponds in the same way, since it doesn't have much of a military use," Corwin explains. "But the correspondences aren't perfect. Amber didn't have a cathedral or a silver tower either."
"Yeah, what's the deal with the cathedral, anyway?" Folly asks, cocking her head in curiosity. "It seems strange -- or at least very interesting -- that one should appear here when religious orders were so explicitly banned in Amber. What do you think it signifies? And what religion does it represent?"
"It's a temple to the Unicorn, of course," Corwin says, as if there's no way there could be any question. "Although nobody really offers services in there. I suspect if I were to marry, we'd hold the ceremony there. Or any other wedding of cosmic significance. But it seems to me mostly a historical place. So maybe--" and here his voice turns speculative "--my subconscious thinks the need for religious practitioners is past, even if it knows better than to think of the Unicorn as a dead letter."
"It does make one wonder whether the Unicorn actually wants to be worshipped," Folly muses. "I may need to add the cathedral to my list of places to visit while I'm here. I'll bet the acoustics are fantastic." She grins.
"I'm told that when the monks used to chant there, it was truly heavenly," Corwin replies.
"On that note, perhaps we should call it an evening, since I've just set myself a full agenda of playing historical tourist on the morrow." Folly reaches out to offer Corwin a warm hand-clasp. "Thank you again for your patience and your hospitality. Please let me know if there's any way I can return the favor."
Folly's planned library research is focused on the early history of this unexpectedly ancient city -- particularly the history or legends of its founding, its early rulers, and how it or they were connected to Amber or other Pattern realms.
She is also interested to dig up information on the early history of the cathedral and those who worshipped or led worship there: Who were the early founders of the church? Where did they come from? What were their major tenets?
And of course, if she can dig up an old hymnal, so much the better.
The cathedral is easiest: it was built on the spot of a pre-existing church on the island by an Abbott of the Church of the Unicorn named Sucre. The old church was already the resting place of the Kings of Paris and their families. Their major tenets were belief in the Unicorn as a beneficent deity who obligates those in Her service to do good works. She is a patron goddess of Paris. During the interregnum when there was no king, all the Unicorn churches were suppressed and for a time the cathedral served as a temple of knowledge or some such in a secular regime. Following the fall of the secular regime, the Unicorn priests were allowed back for a time, but eventually seem to have drifted away from the city as other sects took over other churches and temples.
The Church of the Unicorn itself may predate Paris. The legendary city was founded by Carol, who drove out a tribe of barbarians and built his citadel on the island. There are no stories that Folly would consider historical about Carol, just a lot of legends and myths. He protected the city from foul, inhuman barbarians; he was King by acclamation or at least acceptance; he was responsible for building many of the great buildings of Paris, he led the paladins who protected the city. But actual dates and documentation are hard to come by.
And there is no hymnal in the library on a first sweep.
Do the legends and myths about Carol suggest that he had supernatural or godly origins -- or anything that might hint that his background tied him to one of the other Pattern realms?
What about the rulers of Paris after Carol? Was succession generally hereditary, or via some other mechanism (at least according to these early legends)? She is interested to try to dig up a family tree, or a chart of the succession, to get a sense of it: Does it parallel or overlap with what she knows of Amber's history (for example, by including names or places she recognizes, or a conflict that mirrors the business with Cymnea and Faiella?) Does it suggest dozens of generations between those legendary days and the present (or at least the last named ruler before Corwin), or only a few (which could either suggest unusually long-lived kings, or a long break in time between the end of the previously-existing city and its revival as Corwin's realm)?
And do the kingly remains at the cathedral purport to go all the way back to Carol?
What she learns is this:
There is no real genealogy of the kings of Paris other than Carol, the legendary founder of Paris, who has a line of royal descendants to Clothilde. It appears there was an interregnum after Clothilde's death, in which the commune withered away and fell into ruin. There doesn't seem to be a recent history that explains how Corwin ended up in charge, but he clearly is and everyone accepts it. No clear parallels to the merchant’s war or other pieces of Amber’s history.
The only mention of Amber in the genealogy is a note that Clothilde’s daughter Basina married a merchant of Amber named Vital. But as women frequently do, she passes out of the narrative at that point.
However, the librarian also pulls out a recent survey of the tombs in Notre Dame for her, which he says was ordered by Corwin. This is not bound or published, but exists in note form, with sketches and photographs of the tombs and their engravings. They're all old, looking like things from the ancient of days in Amber. Based on the epitaphs here, the line of descent traces through the monarchs of Paris: Radegund, Hildebrand, and Amalind, among others. Some of these appear to be after Clothilde, so the interregnum had an end, but the last of that line should have been dead for centuries before Corwin.
No sign of Basina, although Clothilde's epitaph doesn't name her children.
Some of the tombs speak of the ancestor, one Carol, who is occasionally referred to as "the Great". (Carolus Magnus) Carol does not have a tomb in the cathedral. There are also a number of paladins (Olivier, Ogier) buried in the cathedral, including a tomb for Roland, who seems to have been related to the royal family, and who was betrayed by another paladin named Ganelon. There’s also a plaque for a fellow named Firumbras who was one of the paladins, and seems to have died in a foreign land. And another tomb for a fellow named Huon.
Last modified: 5 September 2015