Vere spends his last evening in Paris with his parents, quietly reminiscing about the past and discussing how his mother has found life in Xanadu. He determinedly does not discuss the future with them, preferring their last memories of each other before their separation to be free of any possible contention. Afterwards he retires to his room and sleeps soundly, rising early and bathing, then dressing in sturdy and nondescript travelling clothes. He leaves the sword and dagger that he has carried for so long upon the bed, along with a note, "Please have these returned to the armoury of Paris, and extend my thanks for their loan to King Corwin."
He leaves the living quarters them, and has an immense breakfast while waiting for Merlin.
Merlin arrives exactly on time, which is more orderly than one might expect from a being born in Chaos. On the other hand, he's also in the heart of his own father's Pattern realm, which means things are ordered exactly as he wishes in many ways. Merlin is dressed in black, and for all that Vere wouldn't call what he's wearing finery, Merlin's clothes are well-cut and made from fine fabrics.
He's not at all nondescript. By Parisian standards, he'd be remembered because he's wearing a sword belt, which is remarkably old-fashioned.
"Good morning, Vere," he says as he enters the parlor where Vere's breakfast has been brought to him. "May I join you?"
"Please do," Vere says, standing as Merlin approaches. He waits until the prince is seated before sitting again himself. "I am ready to leave as soon as you are," he says, "Although there is certainly time for a good breakfast first."
"Yes, I believe sustenance before travel is wise, always. I do not anticipate our travel to be difficult close to Paris, but one never knows." Having been invited to break his fast, Merlin proceeds to load up his plate with a breakfast well-suited to a Prince of Paris. "Have you hellridden, cousin?"
Vere shakes his head. "I have not. I am familiar with the theory, that instead of slowly changing one aspect of the environment at a time, one instead focuses intently upon a single item or quality, and allows everything else to shift while one seeks the destination."
"Since you have not made a hellride, it will be faster if we travel by sorcery. I know places close to Ygg, and it will be faster travelling with two to Part the Veil. I am told it takes close to a week to hellride to Ygg, even with experience, which we both lack." Merlin's expression and tone are phlegmatic. "For us the subjective travel times will be shorter, but I will require rest and sustenance after the transit."
"I am unfamiliar with true Sorcery," Vere says, "If there is anything I can do to assist in your castings, let me know. Can you Part the Veil from Paris, or do we need to move further away from the Pattern before you can easily do so?"
"It may or may not be possible, but I prefer not to test matters. It will be simpler, and less tiring, to Part the Veil well outside of Paris' influence. For me to obtain the maximum distance with a single spell, you will need to perform the necessary shadowshifting," Merlin explains. "Can you do this?" he asks.
"I can," Vere answers. "Are there any specific parameters you would prefer me to seek out while shifting, or is 'away from Paris' sufficient?"
Merlin frowns thoughtfully. "Away from Paris and Xanadu would be best. I prefer magical realms over technological ones, as they tend to be easier for me to acquire additional supplies in, but the preference is not significant if you are more interested in the technological realms. Do you have a shadow in mind? That will make it simpler."
"The shadow I know best, and can reach most reliably, is my homeland of the Isles," Vere answers. "And I would not mind having a last look at it before departing to Chaos, to see whether the damage to it has worsened, or if it shows signs of healing upon its own. It was a land of magic, and has a long association with the royal family."
"Then that is where we shall go," Merlin says with a decisiveness that Vere might not have previously expected from him. "After we have finished our breakfast, that is."
"Excellent well," Vere answers. "And before I forget, let me tell you that in case of problems I have my father's trump, as I told you, and in addition I have a trump for one of the ranger stations in Arden. Send a message through, and a ranger there will be certain to get it to Robin ere long. In addition, I have a journal on my person. Should anything untoward happen to me, please see to it that it is given to Robin."
The two royals quickly polish off their immense breakfasts, and depart the palace. Vere asks Merlin's opinion on whether it is acceptable to take two horses from Corwin's stables, knowing that they will eventually have to be abandoned on the journey somewhere, or whether it would be better for them to walk, and he abides by the prince's opinion.
Merlin advises horses. That is what they are for.
Soon they are on their way out of Paris, Vere leading them in a direction that avoids both the areas where his people have settled and the way to Rebma. Vere enjoys the simple pleasures of the first part of the journey, delighting in the pure physical joy of travelling without a need for undue haste or any followers who must be watched over. He waits until Paris has fallen below the horizon before he begins to shift shadows towards the Isles.
Vere and Merlin head south out of Paris, avoiding the Rebman water cave and the river leading towards the sea to the northwest.
The rolling land continues for miles but once Paris is left behind Vere can begin to shift. First the small items change--a leaf just so on a branch behind a rock, a view down a ravine after a turn in the forest road.
There are people at first, then signs of people, then trees. The sun moves erratically in the sky as Vere casts for shadows and sunlight, but eventually, he has the light. The trees change next growing taller and looking frailer. Vere finds a place that he cannot tell from somewhere in the isles. He looks out into the rain and it smells like home.
[Where in the Isles are you going? The ride took a bit, but it's hard to say how long.]
[Vere did not have a location in mind, per se, rather, while keeping the Isles in his mind and shifting he was also concentrating on his memories of Robin's ocarina. His talk with the Chancellor has convinced him that she didn't keep it, so he's focusing strongly on the high probabilty, no, the certainty, that it was lost somewhere in the Isles. Right where he is going to be, when he finally arrives, in fact.]
Merlin looks across at Vere, through the rain, as if considering how to say what he thinks. "Perhaps, Cousin, we should rest the horses. They do not seem to be making as much headway as they were when we left Paris."
The sounds of distant music come from the forest, and perhaps the smell Vere noticed was roast venison.
Vere nods, and dismounts. He walks around to the front of his horse and pulls her head adown gently, then leans his forehead against hers. "Tired, girl?" he asks softly. He releases her, and pats her gently on the side of the neck. "Yes, let us rest them, Cousin. I would like to see who is in this forest, and what they have to tell me." He walks towards the music, leading his horse through the rain.
The music is some sort of simple flute or pipes, the kind a shepherd might play in a cave on a rainy day to entertain himself while staying dry.
The horses come reluctantly into the woods, until Merlin takes hold of his mare's head and whispers something in her ear. Then they are easy to lead.
After a short walk, Vere and Merlin come upon a young man resting against a rock wall. He's under a blanket, but naked from the waist up. His hair is wiry and his frame is slight, and he has the whisps of a beard and little more hair on his body. He's got a set of pipes in his hand, and plays a measure or two at a time. A shepherd's crook lies nearby.
One of the horses makes a slight whinny, and he turns and scrambles to his feet. To his hooves, to be precise. His bottom half is that of a goat.
"My Lords," he says, bowing.
Vere nods to him. "Well met," he says. "Has it been raining long?"
He tries to feel the flow of the Pattern in this place as he speaks, to see if it is wounded in the same way the Isles were when he left them.
It's hard to Vere to tell. There are legends of such forest beings, but he knows no one who ever saw one. And if the world was wounded, it was a long time ago.
"My Lords? Only the Gods know how long it has been raining. Are you here for the celebration?" He smiles and lifts his pipes to his lips and plays a few notes.
Vere smiles in response. "What is your name, child of the forest?" he asks.
The creature smiles back, encouraged. "Faunus," he replies, getting his hooves under him.
"I think we have time to stay for the celebration," Vere tells him. "Perhaps I will play, as well." He looks at Merlin to see if the prince has any objection to them staying.
Merlin makes no obvious gesture to indicate any.
"Tell me of the celebration, Faunus," [Vere] says. "Who will attend, and what do you celebrate?"
"Springtime. We celebrate the return of springtime, and our God, Adaeonysis. Everyone would be pleased if you played for us!"
Faunus is, perhaps, 4 feet tall. He walks a few feet towards a cave entrance that was not obvious a few moments ago, and turns back and waves at the two Princes.
Merlin glances at Vere to get an idea of what to do next. He looks a bit uncertain.
"Adaeonysis?" Vere says. "Indeed. I shall be most pleased to be present for the celebration of his return." Vere nods to Merlin, then follows Faunus.
As he enters the cave he reaches out to his right without looking, fully expecting that there is a small naturally occurring cavity in the cave wall, and that a flute lies waiting within it. In his mind's eye, it is made of bone and silver.
His hand closes around the desired object. It seems to be made from a hollowed out bone and have a few flashes of silver on it.
Vere smiles, and examines the flute with pleasure as he continues to follow Faunus.
It is indeed made from a bone (or perhaps an antler), with silver around the mouthpiece and the finger holes. The scale is unusual, but Vere is sure he could master it quite quickly.
Merlin comes up close behind him. "Cousin, is this Adaeonysis a god with whom you are previously acquainted?"
Before Vere can answer, they turn a corner and see a large banquet hall laid out before them. The banquet is well underway. There must be hundreds of guests, but not one of them is human. There is a high table at the front, and the two guest chairs there are empty.
Faunus is waving at another satyr, who is heading towards the entrance.
"It seems nearly certain to me that he is a shadow of our cousin Deon, who was also called Adonis," Vere answeres quietly, casting his eyes over the assembly. "You met him, did you not, before his murder by the Dragon? He was a god of rebirth and renewal, and I am most interested indeed to see what we have come upon. If you feel we can not spare the time, or if you sense a trap that I do not, then I will of course be happy to depart. But if not, I would like to stay."
"I did meet him, indeed. I wonder why his shadow is here, near to your home? Was he not of the forest?" Merlin pauses, frowning slightly. "I suspect there is a purpose to our encounter, but I am not sure if it is our purpose."
"There were legends of such creatures as these in my homeland, and I had long conjectured an association between our Goddess and Deon's mother and aunts," Vere answers, watching as the satyrs approach. "Whatever purpose this meeting serves, I would know more of it."
The two satyrs approach, their hooves clipping sharply on the wooden floor.
"Well!," says the older (or at least grayer) one. "Faunus tells me that he has new guests, but not that they were so exotic. What creatures are you?" He seems pleasant, if a bit unsteady on his hooves.
"Travelers," Vere answers easily. "My home is quite near, yet withal distant indeed. We would celebrate the return of Adaeonysis, and hear the songs and stories of your people." He raises the flute and sounds a couple of experimental notes. "And perhaps I might join with you in making music to honour the god."
"That would be magnificent! Forgive my travelers, I am remiss. I am called Silenius." He stops a nymph who is carrying a clay jug and drinks from it. He holds it out to Vere.
"I am known as Earraigh," Vere tells him, accepting the jug and sniffing it with apparent pleasure, and a smile for the nymph (What does it smell like?). "My companion is Prince Myrddin."
Silenius laughs. "Then your timing is excellent, for we are celebrating your arrival, Earraigh."
The dark liquid within the jug smells of honey and berries, sweet and pleasant. The nymph smiles and looks back over her shoulder as she departs.
Merlin looks around the room taking it all in. He nods when his name is mentioned.
"Such apparent coincidence is the very nature of the divine," Vere says with a nod. He takes a large quaff from the jug and sighs loudly in pleasure. "Excellent," he exclaims, as he passes the jug to Merlin. "Tell me, Silenius, of your people and your land."
"Ours is a land that once was touched by the Gods, but is now tranquil. A place of harsh beauty and exquisite natural savagery. It is a place where seasons turn orderly from one to the next and life blooms and dies back in turn.
"It has been a lonely country of late, since we ate the last of the humans. We did not anticipate that that would cause the Gods to fade away."
The cavern seems slightly darker than it did a moment ago. Perhaps the rain has become heavier outside.
Vere listens carefully as Silenius speaks, listening not only to the words but for the thoughts and motivations behind the words.
"The Law of Unintended Consequences," Vere says soberly, once Silenius has stopped speaking. "One should not undertake an irrevocable act without carefully considering the possible consequences."
He raises the flute to his lips and begins to play. While he plays he is acutely aware of everyone in the cave that he can see, where their attention is focused, their gestures and their postures, absorbing everything he can about what is going on around him.
The tune he plays is a lament, a sweet and sad tune of mourning for that which is lost forever. Yet, subtly, a thread of menace snakes its way through the tune, a thread that is at once an integral part of the lament, and apart from it. A warning, perhaps, that not all that is dead is gone, and that the mourned-for dead may not remember the mourners as fondly...
The tune ends, and Vere lowers the flute, and smiles at Silenius and Faunus.
From the smoke-covered far end of the room, a flute answers, first echoing Vere's tune and then embellishing it. A second joins in, and another, creating and warping the tune into a minor key.
The echoed theme of threat is much more pronounced.
"Beautiful," replies Silenius. "We are who the Gods made, and we were never very good at considering consequences."
Vere feels weakened, and cannot see the entrance through the haze.
"Cousin," replies Merlin. "There seems to be something in the wine..."
Merlin's voice fades and grows distant. He may have wandered off into the haze.
"So you are," Vere answers, bringing his will to bear in a struggle to keep himself from falling any further under the effects of whatever was in the wine. He brings the flute back up to his lips. "Let us celebrate," he says, his eyes meeting those of Silenius. "Let us dance." And he matches the tune the players have turned his tune into, capturing their changes and taking them further, into a wild bacchanalia that demands they dance, that will not allow them to remain still, that reaches to the very core of their wild, savage natures and compels them to give in to its siren call.
Vere begins to play and changes the tune. He leads the dance, playing and swirling around in circles, tighter and tighter and faster and faster until he can no longer see or breathe.
Vere awakens, finding himself under a jacket on a hard floor. The tiny room is lit only by light from under the door. Vere has a pounding headache and is remarkably cold. Merlin is sitting across the room, looking at the wall.
"I overestimated my own stamina, and how long I could resist the effects," Vere observes in a conversational tone, not yet moving. "Being the son of Gerard is not so much of a defense against potions as I thought it to be. Are you well, cousin?"
Merlin nods once, looking uncannily like Martin. "I am. I surrendered. I determined that while I could extricate myself, I was unsure if I could safely extricate the two of us. We are in, I believe, their larder," the Prince of Paris replies.
"The potion was magical," he adds.
Vere sits up, a slight frown the only response he allows himself to the pounding headache. "A pity I could not have held out slightly longer," he says calmly. "I theorized that the amount of emotional energy I was raising with the bacchanal would have been sufficient to raise the spirits of all the humans they had previously slain. A world of angry dead seemed appropriate to me for their breach of hospitality." He tilts his head to one side, narrowing his eyes slightly at the pain of the movement, and adds, "I find that I do still have a bit of a temper, despite my efforts to control it."
He rises to his feet and checks to see if all his possessions are still there. "Is there a reason you did not simply Part the Veil and take us both away from here once they had left us alone?" he asks.
"Because they took my Trumps," Merlin explains, something mildly apologetic in his tone.
[Any trumps that Vere possessed are, similarly, missing, as is anything obviously magical that he was carrying.]
"An excellent reason," Vere replies. "We shall regain our possessions before we depart. Have you examined our prison thoroughly?" He begins to do so himself, carefully examining their surroundings.
Merlin nods. "Our captors are not used to taking prisoners. It is a stores room. They seem to be unused to keeping goods as well, as the contents of the room are very old. It does not look normal to my third eye, as if it were not the natural cavern carved from rock that it appears. I cannot, for instance, understand how it is lit. There are no torches or lanterns, no windows to let light in, and yet I can still see.
"It is an unfamiliar magic. I am not even sure the wall next to me is here, and yet I can hit it and it seems solid."
Merlin pauses. "I believe we can fight them, if you wish to. They are likely to become more hostile if we do."
Vere nods, and starts to search the room they are in, then stops himself and smiles. "I am still unused to the Power of our Blood," he says, half to himself, but loudly enough that Merlin can hear. "I must remember: do not search merely for what is here, but decide beforehand what I need, find it, and then see what else may be here besides."
He looks at Merlin, "I am still angered at their breach of hospitality, and half-inclined to rend their world asunder. But my better nature is beginning to prevail, and forgiveness, or perhaps a certain sense that they are not important enough to waste our time, begins to war with my desire for vengeance. What is your opinion, Cousin?"
Merlin considers his options carefully, as a man would who is working out a word problem in his head without benefit of pencil and paper. "They are yours to kill, Cousin, as their transgressions against you were more severe. I suggest we do not leave without my trumps, but otherwise, I have no opinion. A simple cave collapse might be as effective as a rending."
Vere nods. "I would learn more before I doom an entire world," he says. "Though I am still wroth." He frowns thoughtfully. "You know, Cousin, I had in mind a certain musical instrument when I was shifting shadow to return to the Isles. I still do not know the metaphysics of shadow travel well, but there is no reason why it might not be here, just as well as in the shadow where I last knew it to be, is there?" He begins casting about the storage room, suddenly determined that Robin's ocarina has, somehow, ended up in this unlikely locale.
Vere's search reveals a small door at the back of the stores room. Inside it looks like some sort of bolt-hole. A woman's mummified corpse is inside, wearing the robes of a priestess of Danu.
"Intriguing," replies Merlin. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies the priestess' remains. "Truly a question of how our power over pattern works. Did they, in fact, murder her? If you had not looked with family gifts, would she be here to be found dead?" Merlin reaches into the priest hole and pulls out a well-aged rucksack.
Vere shrugs. "One can find oneself unable to act, if one considers these matters too closely," he says. "I know that my besetting sin is over-consideration, so I shall endeavour to avoid it for the nonce, I shall respond to the situation as I find it, and leave questions of causality for later rumination. What is in the sack, Cousin?"
Merlin opens the bag and looks inside. "Metal tableware," he responds. "I believe I can make it into a weapon for you with some small sorcerous effort. What size and shape of blade would you prefer?"
"No," Vere says, kneeling down and examining the priestess' body. "I chose not to bring a weapon with me, and I will not take one up again unless I must. I do not wish to be a warrior any longer."
"As you wish, Cousin." He closes the sack.
The body seems to be long dead and mummified. Decades or centuries or longer, perhaps. She has coins in her pocket with his mother's head on them. The hem of her robe shows her to be from a religious order in exile from Ladytown, following the fall.
Do her robes show her ranks? Does she appear to be a common sister, or might she be an abbess (Vere is very mindful of the fact that the Spider suggested that Robin's ocarina was most likely given into the care of the abbess of the temple college, and he very much wants this to be that same woman...)
They are well-made robes, but do not show rank. More likely sister who came from a noble family.
"Cousin," he says, as he examines the body. "Would you have any objection to my speaking with this woman?"
Merlin thinks for a moment. "No. However, I was raised in a very different reality, one in which it is quite normal to speak to the inanimate. Would you have objection to my watching your speaking with my third eye?"
"Please do," Vere answers. He sits in front of the priestess, loooking into her dead face. "I would appreciate knowing what you see sorcerously. I do not know what it is that I do, exactly, and more data would be interesting."
Merlin nods.
He continues staring at the priestess silently for several minutes, before saying, "You travelled far from the Isles, Priestess. How did you come to be here?"
"By your highness' grace, of course." She pauses. "Your pardon, Prince Vere, but I do not recall from whence I was called."
"My pardon is granted, Priestess," Vere replies. "But I do need to inquire about what you do recall. What is the last thing you can remember?"
"An argument, my Prince. While we were on the paths between places, while you were leading us from home. An acolyte had stolen into the Schismatics tents and found holy relics from Lady's Town. We were arguing about what to do with them. She fled the caravan and I followed. The last thing I remember was finding her."
"Where did you find her?" Vere asks in a calm voice. "What did you see around you in the place where you caught up with her, and what do you recall of what happened when you did. And do I take it that this acolyte had taken one or more of the relics? What were they?"
The ghost holds up her hands, and seems flustered. "I know not, my Prince! Please, so many questions, at a time, they befuddle me! Give me a moment. The girl, she stole back what was ours from the schismatics who stole it from us, but we are to be their friends now, so we must needs overlook such things, or at least leave them to those above us.
"She brought them to me, hoping for assistance. Instead, I threatened her. She grabbed the bag and left the caravan, with me and Sister Lammas chasing her. That's when... I forget what happened.
"Did I hit my head, Prince Vere? My memory is so hazy..."
Vere reaches out and lays a hand gently upon the withered hand of the priestess. "It is more serious than that, I fear," he says quietly. "You are right that things are mended. The Chancellor once again serves the Lady, and the Goddess has led them to a new home. But you, I fear, will not be able to reach the new land..."
He pauses, waiting to see if she understands what he is saying.
She... doesn't jump. She doesn't move. She's just back where she was a moment ago.
"By your highness' grace, of course." She pauses. "Your pardon, Prince Vere, but I do not recall from whence I was called."
"Hmm," says Merlin.
"Do not concern yourself with that for the moment, Priestess," Vere tells her, ignoring Merlin. "I am seeking the artifacts the acolyte stole away. Do you recall what happened when you and Sister Lammas caught up to her?"
The ghost shakes her head. "Poor girl, so young. Something must have frightened her, I think. She was so self-reliant, and she fell from the rocks. We found the bag next to her body."
"A pity," Vere says. "What did you and Sister Lammas do then?"
"Buried her, of course. They helped. Such nice people." She smiles as she says the last.
"Tell me about them," Vere says, "These people who helped you."
She smiles, and starts to fade. "They were very nice. They played music for us. They said it was what their kind did when our kind died. They invited us to a feast."
"Thank you, Priestess," Vere says. "Be at peace." He watches as she fades, then turns and sits next to the body, with his back against the wall. He takes out his book and begins to write as he says to Merlin, "I would be interested in knowing what you heard and saw, Cousin, and any conclusions or thoughts you might have."
Merlin pauses to gather his thoughts. "A subtle sorcery, not a power of Order. This is a reasonable outcome, given that the effect is one of influencing the universe with respect to a recently dead being."
Merlin. "I did not hear words, but it seemed that you did. I do not know if you learned anything you did not know, nor do I know if you learned anything that could not be learned here. I suspect it may be related to Chronomancy. I wonder if you could be taught to turn back small segments of time."
"An interesting thought," Vere replies, continuing to write. "And one that is perhaps worth exploring," he looks up and smiles at Merlin. "In the fullness of time." He turns his attention back to his book. "You were no doubt able to follow most of the conversation through my side of it. The priestess left the Exodus while we were travelling through shadow, following a thief with another priestess. They found the girl dead, apparently through accidentally falling, although I have me doubts about the accidental nature of her death. It appears that our kindly hosts then invited them to a feast, which is the last thing she recalls." He slips the book back inside his clothing.
"And now, Cousin," he says, "I find that my annoyance with these folk has grown. I debated whether I should take vengeance on my own behalf, but their apparent habit of treating all travellers so shabbily has made me more inclined to do something about them."
Merlin nods, once, silently.
He stands, and gingerly moves his head about, testing the extent of his headache.
It has subsided to "quite distracting", and seems likely to fade with time.
"Please check the frame of the door that holds us in. I think - no I am quite convinced - that you will find that while the door may be solid, the wood in which the hinges are set has grown old and rotten, and will easily give way to our strength."
Merlin nods. "I believe that was true even before you made it so, Cousin. Our strength is a thing they have not likely encountered before."
Merlin stands, grips the door handle, braces himself and pulls on the door. With a crack that sounds as if a bolt of lightning has struck, the door rips from the frame and light pours in.
Merlin stands, holding the now-detached door by the handle. "What is the next step in your course of actions?"
"I believe," Vere answers lightly, "That they may have just made themselves the test subjects in an experiment into the limits of what I may do with the Pattern. While I have theoretical and instinctive knowledge, I have as of yet little practical experience. But I am now in a position to push myself with little concern for the consequences to the immediate environment." He smiles thinly. "I intend to take advantage of that freedom."
He walks past Merlin into the hallway. "I believe that we will find their great hall this way," he says, turning to the right. "Assuming that the noise does not bring them, that seems a logical place to begin our search for someone of importance to question." He sets off at a brisk walk. As he proceeds he recalls his walk on the Pattern of Paris, bringing to mind the memory of that walk, the feel of the Pattern under his feet, and the burning image of the Pattern in his mind's eye.
The Pattern burns with the fire of correctness and Vere can barely see anything else, so strong is his vision of Pure Order. The feel of the sparks beneath his feet seems very real and very close, and the Pattern exhilarates him. Merlin speeds up to match his cousin.
Vere finds, in short order, that he has reached the banquet hall from before. It is unoccupied.
"I have a theory, Cousin," Vere says, his voice light and cheerful. "But before I put it into effect let me detail it to you. I find myself almost giddy with the power the Pattern gives me, and I do not trust myself not to have overlooked something. Now, I postulate that Trumps are real, in a way that mere Shadow cannot be. This being the case, they should interact with the Pattern in a way that Shadow cannot. Now, I seek the Trumps that have been stolen from us. I theorize that, holding the Pattern as I do, I can visualize a pulse of its energy flowing out from me in all directions, easily passing through the gossamer matter of this shadow. But where it strikes an item that is Real, such as a Trump, there should be an echo thrown back. Thus, like a bat using sound to find its way, I can use the Pattern to identify the direction and distance of what I seek. How does this theory seem to you?"
"I believe my father would simply find them, but I am not sure enough of my own skills with Pattern to attempt this," Merlin says thoughtfully. "I myself would try summoning them by spell, but I am a better sorcerer than anything else. Or I would seek them out while looking with my Third Eye. But since you have the Pattern, perhaps you should try to locate our Trumps in that way."
Vere nods, still smiling. "Simply walking to where they are, convinced that I can do that, should work, and I shall use that method if this does not operate as I think it should. But I find myself lacking any concern over whether my attempts to use the Pattern in a more aggressive manner might shred away the very fabric of this world. I should take advantage of that unique situation to ..." he pauses, letting the pleasure of the word build before releasing it, "...experiment."
He chuckles, then closes his eyes and focuses his inner vision on the image and the power of the Pattern within him. He imagines it expanding, passing through the walls of the room they are in as though they did not exist, expanding through the rock and earth around them, shearing through shadow matter without pause. He waits for a sign that the waves of Pattern energy he is sending out have contacted something of interest, something Real.
Vere expands his Pattern sense, or tries. The effort is not as successful as he wishes. He is convinced the cards are here, but receives no sign.
Merlin waits, patiently. When it becomes clear that Vere is not going to learn anything through his efforts, then he speaks. "Cousin, have you considered looking for it with your Third Eye? Trumps are visible to it because they are Ordered."
Vere opens his eyes. "That did not work," he observes. There is no disappointment in his voice, merely intellectual interest. He looks at Merlin. "I have heard of the Third Eye," he says, "And there are reports of such things in the mystical systems that I have studied, in a purely theoretical manner. But boys are not taught magic in the Isles, and I have no practical skill in its use. Is it something you can teach me here and now, Cousin?"
"I could try," Merlin says.
Vere tilts his head to one side and regards his cousin. "What would that involve?" he asks. "And are there potential side effects of which I should be wary? I have resisted learning the 'higher mathematics' that some of our cousins and elders are so fond of, for example, because I have come across numerous indications that lead me to suspect that view of the universe tends to infect one's viewpoint, leading to a mindset that sees everything in terms of mathematics. Does Sorcery run the same risk?"
"It would be difficult for me to evaluate that, Cousin," Merlin admits. "If it does so, I am already infected by that habit of thinking. But if you find Bleys infected primarily by the mathematical constraint, then you can see that it is predominant over the sorcerous mindset. Although I admit that I do not know whether Bleys was a sorcerer before he was a mathematician, or trained in both at the same time." He purses his lips thoughtfully as he ponders the question. "I am familiar with some of the practical aspects of how to use the Pattern, but not in the mathematical theories. It is a part of my education that was sadly neglected.
"As for what it would take, I cannot really explain that in words. But we would need to choose a form of paradox for you to pursue, I think, and then I would open your Eye to show you that paradox in action."
Vere purses his lips, considering the matter carefully. "I find myself tempted by this suggestion," he says after a few moments of thought. "But I also worry that I am allowing my childish dream of being a sorceror to divert me from my quest to find a way to heal my father." He thinks a bit longer, then asks, "What of sorcerous healing, as opposed to healing by means of the magic of particular shadows? Do you have knowledge of how that works?"
"Some, by use of speeding time or retarding entropy. If you speak of your father's case, that will not suffice. If the passage of time would heal him, he would be healing already," Merlin explains.
"But sorcery is a function of Chaos. It violates the Ordered principles. I manipulate Space by bringing two distant places together. I manipulate time by making things happen more quickly or slowly than Order dictates. I retard entropy or advance it. Do these things make sense to you?"
Merlin's tone cannot quite be described as indifferent, but it's clear that he's not trying to unduly influence Vere into accepting the offer.
Vere frowns thoughtfully, then walks over to the long table where the satyrs had caroused the night before. He sits on the table, turning to face Merlin and crossing his legs. "Sorcery, then, is the violation of the Laws of Order. Directed by Will, rather than an underlying Pattern. Is that a fair statement?"
"It is a close first approximation," Merlin allows. "The question becomes then, for your father, whether sorcerous healing can hold anywhere in Shadow. I cannot answer this question with any certainty."
"Sorcerous healing," Vere muses. "It would involve overcoming the Order of the diseased or damaged organism, correct? Imagining the healing, and bringing Will to bear to make it so?"
Merlin's tone turns a bit pedantic. "That would be an inefficient way of doing so, but would work if you had the raw power to bring to bear. I have healed people by using the Principle of Time, and speeding the body's natural healing. Of course, for a wound that would not naturally heal, you cannot manipulate the speed of healing."
Then he looks around. "Perhaps we should discuss this matter after we retrieve our cards and destroy this shadow."
"Ah," Vere replies, "But it is on that very matter that we are paused for consideration. For your suggestion was that I use the Third Eye to seek the cards, which would be the first step on the path to mastering Sorcery. And before I take that first step, I wish to have some understanding of where that path will lead." He frowns thoughtfully. "I know that I have a fault of overcaution and overconsideration, but I do not think I am falling victim to that failing in wishing to consider this matter more closely. Does it seem to you that I am so doing?"
"Your logic is impeccable as far as it goes, Cousin, but it excludes an unexamined third option. It seems to me that I have a Third Eye that has already been opened--in fact, I must have, to be able to open yours--and that I can find our cards to test the theory equally well," Merlin says. "It also seems to me that if we dawdle too long in considering these matters, our captors will eventually return, and we will have to fight, which you do not wish to do."
He looks around, as if expecting their hosts to burst in any second.
Vere chuckles guietly. "An excellent point, and one that leads me to question whether I might have unconsciously been hoping for just such an outcome. Very well, cousin, you are correct. See what you can see, and I shall watch, and see if I can see anything while you are seeing."
"You do not have the skill to see with your Third Eye, and otherwise what I will do will be invisible," Merlin explains. He seems to be just looking around the chamber for a few moments, and then he frowns. "Our trumps are not in this room, but the living rock blocks me from seeing further. I will have to improvise to look further--that is, if you do not wish to search and chance fighting our former captors after all."
"I am of the blood of Oberon, and will not believe I cannot do something until I have attempted it," Vere says with a smile. "But you are correct, I saw nothing other than you looking about the room. How hard is this improvisation you speak of? Might it not be wiser to step outside, and try looking again out there, in case they have been moved from the caves? After that, we can decide what to do next." He shrugs. "While I will defer to your knowledge of and ability with the Third Eye, there is always the option of using the Pattern in a more conventional manner, and walking to where they are."
"I am not sure either of us has the skill to walk to where they are within this shadow, using the Pattern as our guide. And if we rely on my skills, I am first and foremost a sorcerer," Merlin says, as if that is a sufficient explanation. Perhaps realizing it isn't, he adds, "Improvisation is natural to sorcerous work. It is useful to Ordered minds to ritualize sorceries, but the natural state of sorcery is to bend paradox to will. It would be easier with better implements than we have, but I have worked with raw chaos in the past. I will not find it too difficult.
"But yes, we can check outside the caves first." He gestures to Vere, to suggest that he lead the way.
"We shall attempt that first, then," Vere says, turning and heading without hesitation towards the exit. "If you cannot see them, then you will try your improvisation." He tilts his head to one side as he walks, considering. "Sorcery, then, is individualized - different each time, anathema to replication and logical structure, more inspiration than calculation. Is that a correct analysis?"
Merlin trails in Vere's wake again. "Yes and no. Paradoxically, it is possible and even easier to teach sorcerous structures and to replicate one's own spells, but this is, as I mentioned, a function of the ordered mind of the sorcerer. For my part, I was raised in the Courts rather than in a logically structured Orderly realm. My natural tendencies as a sorcerer are improvisational."
Perhaps Merlin is bending his power to Pattern for the moment, because it doesn't seem likely that they would encounter none of their hosts on the way out. Still, it is so.
"The conflict and tension between Chaos and Order seem an integral part of Sorcery," Vere muses. "But in your opinion an Ordered mind can become a fully functional sorcerer, without losing any part of its Order?"
He leads Merlin out into the forest outside the hill, cocking his head as though scenting the air.
Merlin's voice takes on a sort of lecturing tone, as it is sometimes wont to do. "There are a number of sorcerers in our family who were raised in Amber itself, so Amber blood and living in the presence of the Pattern clearly is not a bar of any sort. What I do not know is whether any of them were trained in Sorcery after they took the Pattern. I would expect the training to be easier before initiation, but not impossible afterwards for the right individual."
He seems to be looking around, and again, to Vere's eyes, there is nothing obvious happening. "Ah, yes, I think they must be that way," Merlin says, and strikes off along a pathway between the trunks of the trees.
Vere follows him. "Then learning how easily I could be taught Sorcery would provide valuable information, even if it does not prove to be a path I wish to continue?" he asks.
"Possibly. I would think it would be easier to ask our cousins than to teach you sorcery, although the acquisition of data might not be any faster." Merlin pushes further ahead, and Vere can see in the distance where the path they're on opens into some kind of clearing, based on the light he can see.
"I must say that for myself, I trust empirical evidence more than the words of others," Vere replies. "Not necessarily through distrust..." he falls silent as they approach the clearing, becoming watchful and cautious.
"Oh, yes," Merlin says, as he gets a clearer view, "this is about what I expected."
There is a stone hill of a sort not entirely unfamiliar to Vere here. The hill is broad and not tall, and a long entrance that leads to an opening. There is darkness inside.
[This kind of thing: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beehive_tomb ]
Vere steps ahead of Merlin. "Inside?" he says, assuming that the answer will be positive. He walks to the opening, all senses alert for any sign of ambush or trap. When he arrives at the dark entrance he reaches for the torch that he knows is in a sconce just inside it. He takes a pocket lighter from Paris from his pouch and flicks it, then lights the torch and holds it forward, peering into the structure.
Merlin follows Vere closely into the darkness. From somewhere, he seems to have acquired a staff, perhaps while they were walking in the woods. "Ahhh," he says as Vere lights up the tomb, for such it is, with grave goods, glinting in gold, all around. They are of a different decorative scheme to the ones Vere knows, but he is certain that this is a tomb.
There is no visible sarcophagus, but there is a heavy wooden door that leads further into the tomb.
"Indeed," Vere says. "Cousin, I take it that our stolen items are behind that door? Before we open it, do you have any objection to me attempting to speak with the denizen of this tomb? Opening the door first might anger it, and make communication problematic."
"I believe that would be wise, if our Trumps have been offered to such a spirit." Merlin's head bobs once in a manner familiar to Vere. "If it will not give them back, I will take them by force. You may so warn it."
Vere nods, but does not reply to Merlin. He raises the torch, and in a strong, clear voice declaims:
"We do not come to pillage, nor to steal,
Nor to dishonor the sleeping noble dead,
But rather come we seeking guidance true.
Not to wrest you roughly from your quiet bed,
But softly wake you, seek your wisdom,
For to your somber tomb we have been led.
Arise now, come and speak,
A prince's son would hear your counsel wise,
A Lord of Order bids you to come forth.
Arise.
Arise.
Arise!"
There is no immediate response.
Merlin appears to be watching the doorway. "What, precisely," he asks Vere after a moment, "did you expect to accomplish by means of your invocation?" The tone is pleasant and mild, but Vere intuits that there is some underlying concern from it.
The heavy wooden door is shaking now, and before Vere can say anything, it falls outward, toward Vere and Merlin. Although he's not in immediate reach of the door, Merlin scrambles backward reflexively, his staff held in a defensive posture. There is a dark figure standing in the door. It smells of old earth and decay, and for a ghost, seems altogether too physical.
Vere neither flinches nor steps back when the door bursts open. "Something like that," he murmurs quietly in answer to Merlin's question.
In a louder voice he says, "I give you greetings, and cry your pardon for this trespass. I am called Vere, Lord of Amber, Prince Royal of The Isles, Lord Commander of the Brotherhood of the Stag and the Children of Llyr. In company with His Royal Highness the Heir of Paris I ask your name and rank."
There are burning eyes looking out from the grave wrappings. "I am Enkelon, who was once king of this place. Why do you call me from my rest, Lord of Amber?"
"There is something badly wrong here," Merlin whispers, as if Enkelon were not likely to overhear him anyway. "I do not like the power that animates his body."
"What happened in this place, King Enkelon?" Vere asks, not replying to Merlin, but very aware of what he said. "We met the dwellers in the forests, and heard rumors of what they had done. But I would hear from you what occurred, to bring this world to this pass."
"When I yet lived," the spirit says, "the land was troubled by the influx of satyrs and spirits. Our land had always had some such, but these new spirits were different: foul and vile. We fought them, and I perished in the battle, early enough that I was buried as befits my state. My people fought amongst themselves, and the corrupt land-spirits slew and ate them."
His gaze, or at least what Vere might assume is his gaze, passes over Vere and Merlin. "What brings a Lord of Amber to my land?" Apparently he doesn't think much of Paris, or Merlin.
Vere nods. "I thought something of the sort might have occurred. The Lords of Chaos waged war upon Amber and the very Order of Reality, and sent their minions forth through dark roads and black forests. I am seeking items brought from my mother's land, and the seeking led me here, to your world and your tomb. On the way we met these creatures, and their lack of hospitality angered me. Tell me, king-who-was, what would you wish for what is left of your world, and the spirits that still dwell here?"
Before Enkelon can answer, Merlin hisses in Vere's ear in sibilant Thari, "Do not trust what it says."
Enkelon says, "Slay them. Destroy them utterly."
Vere nods. "I considered that," he says. "But I do not have the time to spend hunting them down individually. And while I could destroy the very world, that seems drastic, does it not? Would you have all the world die, or would you prefer to have it purged, and left to grow into something new?"
He takes a few steps away from Enkelon, moving to a side of the tomb, where Enkelon will have to step through the doorway if he wishes to continue to have an unobstructed view of Vere.
Enkelon steps to the doorway, but not through it. Merlin tenses. "Avenge us, Lord of Amber, or let me pay back their harm to you as well as to us. Give the word, and I will make it so."
"An interesting thought," Vere replies. "Setting you upon them has an elegant symmetry that appeals. I must think more upon it." He turns away from Enkelon, letting his body hide his hand from the draugr as he gestures for Merlin to remain back, and then points back at the door to the inner chamber.
"Walk with me, seeker of vengeance, and tell me what you will do should I loose you upon them." He walks towards the entrance to the tomb, and through it if he hears the dead king following him.
"Am I to walk with you back into the world?" Enkelon asks.
Merlin is shaking his head in the negative, his eyes a little wild and fearful.
Vere pauses at the entranceway, and turns to face Enkelon (and, not coincidentally, Merlin). "Mayhap," he says. "But first tell me what you are thinking." His eyes meet Merlin's as he says this, before shifting back to Enkelon. He is still very aware of Merlin, however, and his mouth moves silently, forming the words, without speaking, I read lips.
Enkelon remains at the door. "The living think, Prince of Amber. The dead are."
Merlin mouths two words: BLACK ROAD.
"That may well be, King Enkelon," Vere replies. He brings the Pattern of Paris to his mind, recalling its shape and its feel; the sensations of its power flowing through his blood. As he does so he continues talking, trying to keep Enkelon's attention focused on him, to keep him from feeling the power Vere is summoning. "I have often felt something of that, when I speak with the dead. A certain stasis which is unlike the ever changing nature of the living. It is an interesting point, and one that I may wish to investigate at a later date, given sufficient time and proper subjects, of course. Such investigations are the very core of a proper understanding, I believe, and I thank you for bringing that to my attention at this time."
He feels the power of the Pattern burning through him, and he walks forward now, towards the dead king. "I begin to think that it may not be the proper time for you to walk the world yet, however." The Pattern burns like a star in his mind's eye, and the power of Order sings through his veins.
Vere is able to summon the power of the Pattern, and glimpses of its form come to mind, but it is too great for him to encompass with his current strength. Perhaps with more study, Vere could bring the Pattern forward in the way he desires.
Merlin doesn't seem to be doing anything: neither summoning the Pattern nor working sorcerously.
Enkelon, however, is doing something, and with the energy of the Pattern flowing through him, it seems terribly wrong to Vere.
"You are not honest with me, king-who-was," Vere says sternly. "That is a mistake." He makes an abrupt chopping motion with his hand, and visualizes the power of the Pattern slashing through and destroying the energy that fills the draugr.
The thing falls backwards, as if it had been shoved. Its seems to be angry. It breaks a wooden arm off a funeral chariot and swings it at Vere, missing wildly.
Vere hears, with his extraordinary hearing, a small sound like a bell, or the voices of pixies. Something has changed.
Merlin mouths, over the shoulder of the former king. "Might we use weapons now?"
"All restrictions are removed," Vere answers aloud. He concentrates on dodging the creature's attacks, and keeping its attention focused on him while Merlin does whatever he plans. He swings the torch at the former king, gauging its reaction to flame.
The creature moves back from the flame, and Vere sees a bright metal swordblade come out from between the thing's ribs. It is not, sadly, coated with the dying lifeblood of the victim. Instead of falling to the floor, the creature turns and hits Merlin hard with both fists. Merlin is thrown hard into a wall, where he lets out a perfectly mundane "Ooof!"
Merlin, now swordless, lies against the far wall and the creature is now guarding the doorway to the inner tomb chamber. He is fighting to regain both his wind and his feet. The sword is still protruding from the draugr's ribs.
A wind, seemingly from nowhere, clears the cobwebs and dirt from one of the walls. It is decorated with weapons, the foremost being a sword made of black iron. It shines in the dim light.
Vere ignores the too-conveniently revealed sword, and instead reaches out with his free hand to grab a lekythos which he is absolutely convinced contains oil. He brings it down with all his strength upon the creature to shatter it, simultaneously thrusting his torch against the former king. The combination of oil, ancient cloth, and dessicated flesh and bone is, he makes himself be certain, highly flammable.
[OOC: The Cards, they dislike you tonight. (Trickery--Coyote is the trickster. Here he is seen stealing fire. This card indicates that the subject may fall for a ruse or pretense.)]
The plan goes perfectly. The unquiet dead is quickly soaked and set afire. It starts to stumble backwards into the tomb when the ground gives way beneath Vere's feet, propelling him, too towards the tomb, perhaps with a shove from behind as well.
Vere lands on the flailing, burning King and feels the flames lick at him, the oil stick to him, and the heat and smoke make his eyes water. He hears Merlin, from outside the chamber, yelling as well. When he later considers his situation, if there is a later, Vere may recall the sound of a child's laughter.
The pain is significant, but tolerable for a son of Amber's line.
What does Vere do?
Vere goes with the momentum of his fall, falling forward onto the burning king and then somersaulting past and over him into the inner tomb chamber. He rolls on the floor, hands and arms heaping dirt onto himself, seeking to smother the flames and rub off the oil while putting as much distance between himself and the immolating corpse as possible within the chamber. He calculates as he rolls, judging distances and directions, comparing them with what he saw of the burial mound from outside, pinpointing his exact location within the tomb and extrapolating wall thicknesses and possible weak points between himself and the outside.
Vere finds himself behind the funeral bier, crouching and patting out the last of the errant flames.
Assuming he reaches an inner wall without mishap and has managed to smother the flames, he will end the roll in a graceful rise to his feet, facing back towards the burning king and judging the situation before taking further action.
The burning king is burning, but not being consumed. Vere suspects that a significant component of his being is magic. He's flailing at his burning self, but doesn't seem to be putting himself out, just filling the chamber with smoke.
It's good that Vere is so good at navigation, because he's rapidly losing the ability to see. Or breathe.
Vere moves to one of the narrower ends of the bier. He crouches and wraps his ams around it, then begins to rise. Calling upon his full strength as a son of Gerard he strains to lift the bier. His intent, if it is possible to lift it, is to bring it crashing down on top of the king-that-was.
Vere struggles mightily, heaving at the remains of the final king's final resting place. Just when Vere thinks he cannot move it, it becomes, as if by magic, lighter. It comes crashing down on the former ruler, burying him under the wooden platform, the remains of rich cloths, and jars of funerary oils.
Additionally, effort seems to have blown some of the smoke out.
The fire, he thinks, still burns.
"Merlin?" he calls out. He moves immediately after speaking, backing up to one of the walls of the tomb. His mind races, calculating. While approaching the mound there were slight depressions ... there ... and there. Possible degradation of the supporting structure of the mound. Internal weaknesses possible ... there ... and there. Sufficient force applied correctly might ... no would... bring down a section of the mound, creating an opening to the outside.
He determines that this is a certainty, not a theory.
"Yes, Cousin. I believe that you may be asking if I aided you in lifting the table you were struggling with. I did. I am engaged in a minor sorcerous combat with some of our former captors, but if you are in need of immediate aid, I am reasonably certain I can break off safely. Do you need assistance?"
"No, Cousin," Vere calls out in answer. "I merely wished to determine your exact whereabouts, and whether you were sorely pressed and in need of aid yourself."
Vere considers carefully, determining the factors that would be necessary to ensure that the amount of collapse he estimates will occur when he brings down a section of the mound will neither endanger Merlin, nor create a barrier between the two of them, and then convinces himself and the universe that those factors are in fact the case.
Only then does he apply sufficient force correctly, then leap aside to a place from which he can safely observe the results of his action.
Vere kicks the mound with his boot, striking true on the weak-point he either discovered or created (depending on your point of view). The back of the mound collapses in a skree of rubble, leading downwards to a river far below. The smoke dissipates rapidly.
Outside, on either side of the demolished wall, Vere notices a wide line of toadstools leading in an arch around the mound.
From beneath the bier, Vere hears a chuckle.
Vere glances briefly at the bier, then turns his attention to searching the tomb for trumps and for Robin's ocarina. Merlin's sight led them here, and Vere works on convincing the universe that they are present in this chamber. As he searches he says, "Do you believe, Cousin, that you can explain to me now what it was that I failed to see earlier?"
"Perhaps not in depth, cousin, as I have to provide a certain amount of attention to our assailants. If you have freed yourself from the tomb, perhaps we can move to somewhere that is less tactically disadvantageous."
The bier shifts and the burning King rolls out from under the rubble. He runs, still afire, for the opening Vere has created. He doesn't look backwards or pay any attention to anything but his exit.
Vere notices what look like primitive tribal burial goods in a nearby alcove. Perhaps what he seeks for is there.
Vere shakes his head, a slight frown passng over his features even as he makes his decision. "Join me, Cousin," he calls out, as he hurries to the alcove, searching quickly through the items there and ignoring the buring king.
Vere hears a crash and Merlin joins him.
"Your pardon, Cousin. I had to bring down a significant fraction of the outer chamber in order to provide myself a clear path to..."
There's a second crash and the entrance Merlin has just come in by is closed off by falling debris.
"I apparently did so in a way that was less than stable. We seem to have no opposition before us at the moment. I will make a light."
Merlin does so, illuminating the burial mound--the ruined bier, the three niches at the cardinal points, the grotesque and crude paintings on the walls, piles of gold, and an opening through the back wall overlooking a steep slope. The smoke is clearing through the hole.
Merlin looks around, taking it all in. "I do not believe I wish to be buried, if this is what tombs are like."
Vere continues looking through the grave goods, striving to convince the universe that their missing trumps, his fortune deck, and Robin's ocarina will be among them. He speaks as he searches. "As you were unable to explain your concern about allowing the king to leave this tomb, and I had to make a quick decision to continue fighting him or search for our missing items, I chose the latter. He has made his exit. Was this unfortunate? What is his connection with the Black Road?"
"I believe he was corrupted by that old energy. 'Corrupted' is not the correct word, exactly, but a principle of Entropy is involved, and temporal distortions--it is complex. Perhaps I could explain it better if you were already a sorcerer." Merlin shakes his head at the complexity of the matter.
While Merlin is talking, Vere retrieves a silk bag that seems to have his cards and a box that he is reasonably certain is Merlin's trumps, Robin's ocarina is lying nearby.
"It is not a particularly good thing for this place that the king is free. Do you wish to concern yourself further with the matter?"
Vere shrugs. He hands Merlin the box and takes the bag and the ocarina for himself. "After their breach of hospitality, I have little concern over what occurs here. That was why I had originally thought to set the king upon them, before you stopped me. Unless you have some thought that there is more here to concern us than I am seeing. In which case, I will be pleased to defer to your judgement. If not, then let us depart. I would suggest parting the veil for a quick retreat, to somewhere unimportant, in case anything from here should sneak through when we depart." He tilts his head to one side. "Although perhaps we should delay and find your father's horses first?"
"I believe we can call them as we try to move, unless you wish to Part the Veil from this place. Is that not the way of these things?" Merlin asks. He shuffles out his Trumps, making sure all the cards and sketches are present, before putting the box away securely. "I can Part the Veil easily here, but there is something about this place that I do not like. I should prefer not to risk it. This shadow seems to be rotten with the power that we faced here, and as you say, we should try not to spread it."
Vere nods decisively. "Then it sounds that the best plan is to walk out, find the horses, and ride away. If we are not attacked, we shall shift shadows as soon as we are mounted, and leave this place far behind."
He suits actions to words, checking through his own cards quickly before shipping them into his clothing, along with the ocarina. Once outside the tomb he kicks several of the toadstools over, making a break in the circle. Once outside the circle he whistles for their horses, while watching for any signs of an impending attack.
The horses take a while to arrive, but they seem to be the horses that Vere and Merlin rode in on, if a bit lighter in the saddlebags. "We were lucky that the satyrs did not eat them, I think. Still, I will accept this luck. Let us ride." As agreed, he and Vere mount up and begin to shift shadows away from this place.
Last modified: 9 February 2011