Having said his goodbyes to Conner and the rest of the Family there are, for a brief moment, no entanglements, no pressing tasks, no timely reasons not to make the next step along the road to Avalon... and only one known obstacle: A Triton guarding a Sacred Cave. Brennan has little doubt that, given preparation and determination, he could overcome it or pass it by. Even less doubt that he and Fletcher could do so together. But that would likely be rather noticeable, and at the moment no one has any motive to draw any special attention to the cave or to what might lie within or beyond. Celina can mitigate that, so Brennan hopes.
So, in coordination with Celina and Fletcher, Brennan makes his way to the cave during as quiet a time of day as the Triton Quarter of Rebma experiences.
The Tritons live in a quarter that is poorly lit and sparsely furnished. There are no signs and no obvious businesses. Apparently they live underground, because the buildings they go in and out of are scarcely large enough for them to enter.
It may be that they see differently from humans, but it is nearly dark in the deepest parts of the quarter, and Rebma towers above.
Celina walks with them, positioning herself as a senior woman of some consequence and wearing a beaded shroud over her head, favored by some very elegant women of fashion. She moves like an older woman, someone who demands respect and might decades ago have been beautiful.
She drops the TaKhi disguise once they approach the Cave and see Tritons.
Just one, masked and holding a trident. He is inside the entrance to a cave, blocking most of it with his body.
There are neither human nor triton witnesses. It is as if this particular path is not travelled by anyone.
Celina pushes back the shroud from her face and steps ahead of the two cousins. "I am Celina, Queen of Rebma. I wish these men to pass safely into the Sacred Cave and travel on. May I know your name?"
Fletcher stands nearby nonchalantly waiting for introductions and to be waved through. Or else he's waiting nonchalantly to jump in and protect Celina if this becomes violent. It's all the same to him.
Brennan also watches quietly, but if anyone thinks it's non-chalant, they don't know him very well. It's probably too close to Rebma's Pattern, but Brennan's observation is through Astrally extended senses-- more on the hearing side than the viewing side.
Brennan sees nothing unexpected. He's still too close to Rebma's to detect if he is on the Great Road.
The Triton manages to look old without looking weak. He seems as strong as any of his brethren who serve the Throne. His voice is like gravel-- slow and rough and deep. "Show The Token," he demands. It's easy to imagine that he has been here since before the war, perhaps since the last war, perhaps since the first.
"Do you doubt who I am or my right to pass these men?" Celina responds in a much slower and chill voice. She reaches a hand around her ribs and into the shroudfall over her shoulders and brings forth the Scepter of Rebma from a hidden sheath.
Brennan has very little confidence that the display of the Scepter is what the Triton is looking for, and it is perhaps for the better that no witnesses are present to see the Triton flouting her command. Still, it might work, so Brennan's reaction is muted-- a more appraising mundane glance at the Triton, judging the reach of its trident and arms, the length of the body, the presence of any surfaces or objects against which it might try to pin or crush him. This is Rebma and Brennan is not a fool-- he takes in the surroundings above and below the cave as well. Are shifting rocks or cave entrances a potential problem? (Or a potential tool?)
That, and a coordinating glance at Fletcher. Whether they kill it or not, they're going to have to draw it enough out of the cave that they can pass, but once they do, they're probably home free.
The triton makes some sort of complicated hand gesture near its face and comes forward and away from the opening.
Celina memorizes the hand gesture and continues to watch the TaKhi of the Triton. She stands ready to defend Fletcher and Brennan.
Fletcher steps forward and addresses the guardian. "Thank you guardian. May I know your name?"
The triton floats to the side and doesn't answer.
In the passage behind the triton, the glowing Rebman ball-lamps illuminate a passageway sloping downward, going into the seabed itself.
Fletcher steps forward. He turns and nods, then bows, to the guardian and the Queen respectively. "Thank you for your assistance here today. You are welcome to walk with us a ways if you will, but I suspect you've already taken too much time from your many duties. We will carry your greetings for those we plan to meet. I hope to spend more time acquainting myself with your Queendom in the future." He readies himself to follow the path, waiting for Brennan to join him.
Celina nods to Fletcher's farewell, though her attention is still on the Triton. She expects Brennan and Fletcher to depart now without incident, but she wonders if that is true and what may happen once they are gone. She holds guard stance, ready for some complication.
Brennan's farewell starts formally-- no one can accuse Brennan of not following the forms when necessary-- but ends less so: A completed Akkadian puzzle chain dropped wordlessly into her hands, a kiss on the forehead, and whisper into her ear, "You might tell it to let us back in, too. Be well."
With that, assuming no further disturbances, Brennan is off with Fletcher, hopefully out of Rebma and into Avalon.
Fletcher and Brennan enter the natural cavern and head downwards. The water swirls warmly around the pair and there are balls of cold magic lights are too-distant intervals winding away from the exit to Rebma. They move with the current and cast shadows everywhere. The caves seem interminable, and it's difficult to keep track of time. The path, such as it is, is either natural or was carved out so long ago that it has been weathered smooth by time.
It may be hours later when Fletcher and Conner find themselves emerging from a pool in the middle of a cave. There's a stone bench and a couple of waterproof pouches stored here, as well as sockets for torches. The air is heavy with water here, and it's hardly different from breathing actual water.
The torch sockets are empty. The path continues into the darkness.
Brennan turns to the side and clears his lungs of fluid. After that, his immediate goal is to see if this place has been disturbed recently (and especially if any of those hypothetical disturbances involve mirrors.) So before he exits the pool, he looks around as much as possible to see if there are any tracks visible on the ground. Thinking like a Rebman, he glances both above and below the man-height slice of space that he and Fletcher will disturb.
After that, assuming no obvious mirrors, he traces the shortest path to the pouches, expecting to find torches, flint, oil, or the like inside them. If he finds what he expects, he'll light a torch and take another look around.
Fletcher drips in the darkness. In his mind he summons a vision of the Pattern and extends his sense feeling for resonance. How far is this place from the Pattern? Is it far enough that the vision comes easily? Can he feel the presence of the Faella-Bionin in this place? These are the questions he asks himself.
The pouches are empty. Perhaps they are for people who are coming down to Rebma to place fragile items in before going into the water. Behind a stone bench is a torch and a flint and steel striking tool. It looks like it has been here for some time.
Fletcher's senses tell him he is in a place of shadow, not tremendously far from the pattern in the sense of similarities to the true earth. The problem with the Faella-Bionin is that the best way to sense it would be to get slightly off the path, but the cave doesn't really afford such a vantage.
Nonetheless, if Fletcher were to guess, he would guess that he is on that road between the kingdoms.
Brennan lights the torch and looks around for signs of recent previous traffic: Footsteps, disturbances, dropped or placed objects... especially mirrors. He does not restrict his attention to ground level.
There are signs of passage, all at ground level. With the stillness down here it might be that they were created last week or decades ago.
It looks like, in the thin dust, someone with wet boots walked away from here.
There are no mirrors that Brennan can see, even when looking with his third eye.
Fletcher looks around, takes a tentative step along the passage and peers into the dimness. "So far so good. I hate to admit it but my father might actually have done something good." He returns to Brennan and lights his own torch. It burns fuel, oil, and perhaps centuries of semi-righteous contempt. He gestures forward, "Shall, we?"
Brennan gives the water itself a hard look, wondering just how much stillness of water would be necessary to use it as a reflective scrying device and resolves to leave before the waters have entirely stilled from their passage. "Yeah," he says. "Let's go." As he walks, Brennan hews fairly close to one of the sets of footprints, not bothering to match it step for step, but not advertising his own separate travel either.
After they've walked for a time, Brennan says, "Sounds like you know a different Benedict than the one most of us have heard about."
Fletcher keeps his eye on the path ahead while he replies. "As wise man once asked, 'I don't have to be who you remember, do I?' and I suppose the same holds true for my father. There may have been a time when I did not view him as an entirely honorable individual. But I'm muddling honor and goodness, and in this case I must admit that building a Pattern is a definitely a good deed. I'm curious as to the details, of course."
"Won't argue with that," Brennan says. "But I can wonder-- did he create it, or is he simply occupying it, guarding the other entrance to Tir-na Nog'th against the Moonriders?"
"If he didn't build it, who did and where are they now? The connection between a King and his Pattern is supposedly fundamental. Ever heard anything about that?"
"Heard a lot of speculation," Brennan says. "Especially after the Sundering. A lot of us assumed that Oberon's death caused it, right up until we learned that Rebma wasn't a Shadow of Amber-- that Moins stood in relation to Rebma as Oberon stood to Amber."
"I'm unclear on whether there are one or two components required for a Sundering. But area we comparing apples and sea apples? How sure are we that Moins is actually gone."
"Reasonably certain," Brennan says. "I haven't seen a body, but it is considered impolite to go about digging in graves without good reason. I'm ready to change my opinion given new evidence, but the length of her absence and the occupation of her throne by three successors is a powerful argument in itself. Powerful enough that I'm not actively looking for contrary evidence."
"Testing that analogy further," Fletcher continues, "Have you come up with a working hypothesis as to why the members of royal house of Rebma do not all walk the Pattern as a traditional right of passage? Or rather why it is believed fiery death would be the inevitable result of doing so?" Fletcher is dissatisfied with the term fiery death given the marine environment but feels 'sparkly death' lacks a certain dignity. Then he has another thought. "Have you seen any portraits or sculptures of Moins in your travels around Rebma lately?"
"A working hypothesis? No. No, I'd need to know something about Moins, the Moon Queen, and their origins, and I know almost nothing," Brennan says. "My impression is that such knowledge was closely guarded even among our Elders, although if any of them know anything useful, your father is a leading candidate." Thus explaining why no one else knows anything.
"But speculation? Speculation is cheap," Brennan adds. "Received wisdom is that it's Oberon's lineage, which I'd always associated with 'King of Amber,' and more recently 'Scribe of Pattern.' Well, 'Queen of Rebma' isn't sufficient, and so apparently 'Scribe of Pattern' isn't, either. If it's a lineage effect, it seems we need to move back a link in the chain, to Dworkin, the Unicorn, or perhaps both. I'd guess that Moins and the Moon Queen had different origins at least in part, and the next time I speak to Dworkin, it's a question fairly high on my list."
"I doubt anyone kept a formal check list, but the issue of who could walk it would seem to be one of those things someone building a Pattern would want to work out beforehand. Perhaps the ability to walk one Pattern translates into some sort of reciprocal ability to walk other Patterns regardless of any individual differences between them. In which case the Rebman Pattern may not have been constructed in the same manner as those in Amber, Xanadu, and Paris. City planning and architecture suggest a coordinated effort though. Is it necessary for Rebma to be underwater, do you think?"
"Well we don't even know if the Moon Queen had any children, much less whether they could walk their own or any other Pattern," Brennan says. "So we can't generalize too far. And a more interesting question, one that's been nagging me for some time, is whether it is necessary for Rebma to be a mirror of Amber." It is possible to hear Brennan's teeth grinding in frustration, if one listens carefully. "And all those that follow from either answer to that question."
"Where would tritons fit in that analogy?" Fletcher is not just being flippant. "I do not believe it serves the large purpose of Order, but it may be something that only consciously applied to the first three Patterns in the circle. What purpose would such a mechanism serve? Some sort of arrangement to keep the three allies similar and close to equal?
"Well, they're called the Sons of the Dragon," Brennan says, "so an obvious counterpoint in Amber would be the daughters of the Arcadian Dragon. How deep that correspondence runs..." he shrugs. "The daughters' father is apparently Finndo. The Sons' father, if they even have one, is currently anyone's guess. And certainly there are more of the one than the other.
"But," he says, "Large purpose of Order?"
What has been happening for some time becomes more clear. The cave they are travelling in opens up into a chamber. This has happened numerous times in this travel, but now the chamber has an opening with daylight on the far side. It seems that the end of cave travel is in sight, for now.
Fletcher peers forward toward the light. "Order is fundamentally an idea. Inspired by the notion that nature absent a higher purpose cannot reach the full potential that is possible. Evolution, survival of the fittest, law of the jungle, might makes right, Chaos Lord eats Chaos Lord.... whatever one cares to call it is ultimately to the detriment of civilization, nobility, and knowledge. They may achieve a stable order of sorts but will ultimately break themselves down. Order makes further advancement possible. Such advancement is rarely achieved, but that is why we are needed."
The light turns out to be an opening, facing the sea, in a cliff wall. There's a small cairn of stones outside it, which looks like it has been standing here for many years. The sunlight reflects brightly on the water, making it hard to see. With effort, an island can be seen, a score of miles out. It also has high cliff face.
When they step out into the light, Brennan stops either to take in the view or to consider Fletcher's statements. At length, he says, "Yes, but I think it's more than that. It's conscience and consequence, as well. Having a conscience requires-- among other things-- a notion of consequence, a notion that things once done cannot simply be waved away, undone." Brennan resists the urge to unpack that thought in painful detail, since Fletcher is not a simpleton. "And consequence springs from Order, and the Patterns. Whatever truths there are, moral or otherwise, seem difficult to hold in the Lord-eat-Lord, causeless and effectless stew of Chaos."
That said, Brennan busies himself making a quick cross-survey of the Faiella-Bionin, on which he still supposes he stands, by the techniques he's already learned. First to verify that he's on it (by stepping off it if necessary) and then if possible to get a sense of what direction it runs. Brennan guesses it will be toward the island.
Brennan's guess turns out to be exactly correct. Twenty miles is a hard swim, but not an impossible one.
Brennan eyes the stretch of water with a weather eye and decides that, in the absence of hostile sea fauna, he can swim it. But knowing he can and wanting to are two separate things; Brennan prefers not to show up at-- presumptively-- Benedict's court dripping wet and leaving minnows behind in his soggy footprints.
Moreover, Brennan is still curious as to the interplay of Patterns, Faiellas-Bionin, and the various Familial gifts. He already knows he can work both non-trivial Sorceries and Conjurations on the Faiella-Bionin, albeit at a place probably equidistant from Paris and Rebma... or near enough to it. Thus, two birds with one stone: Brennan attempts a sequence of small conjuries across the path of the Queen's Gift. Small things, coins pulled from his pocket, with no greater purpose than to see how difficult it is.
Brennan find that small conjurations are successful, but it's hard to say if it's more or less difficult that it 'should be'. It's possible.
Unless those all fail, Brennan proceeds to attempt a larger task of Conjuring a suitable craft for them to pilot across the water. He uses his prefered method, proving to the universe that such a craft exists and maintaining that proof until the universe agrees with him.
Brennan walks to the top of the nearest dune and peers over. He sees a fishing village in the distance, and boats pulled up along the beach.They seem to have just returned from a trip; the fishermen are sorting and cleaning their catch above the tide line.
Fletcher extends however much of his Pattern senses are available to him in this place and inspects the area both physically and supernaturally. Idly noting Brennan's efforts he walks over to the cairn and surveys the area. He eyes the top of the cliff, and the sea. He remembers another cairn along the road. He wades a bit and ponders the construction of stairs, and what contractors might be hired to construct such things. Perhaps Weyland the Smith has a cousin known as "the Builder."
The stairs look to Fletcher like a happy coincidence of naturally placed rock, leading downward ledge after ledge after ledge into the dark cave back to the pool, some distance away.
The water is cool and pleasant, although it is less airy than Rebma's water. Using the techniques Brennan pioneered, it is possible to discern that the princes are on the Feaella-Bionin and that it runs like an arrow into the water and across to the island.
Heartened by the small conjurations and what he considers at least the partial success of the conjuration of water craft, Brennan walks out over the dunes, although he does not drop the Conjury mindset. If anything, the walk simply provides him with more time, and the changing visual perspective with more opportunities, to narrow the scope of the effort. He's already proven the existence of small boats in this location, so he sets himself the task of proving the existence of a subset of those boats-- boats that have been here for a while, in good repair, that don't belong to anyone. In short, boats of the sort Brennan and Fletcher can lay easy claim to.
There's one, right by the inlet to the creek. It's perfect.
If the villagers decide to intervene (and assuming Fletcher follows) Brennan will defer to Benedict's son in dealing with them.
Fletcher walks along with Brennan, waving to the fishermen [if/when] one of them should happen to look in their direction. He makes a note of the color of the sky, the smell of the sea, the gravitational constant, and a few other references points that may help him find his way back to this place one day.
It's all vaguely familiar, and Fletcher thinks he could get back here. It seems a pleasant place. Peaceful.
Fletcher decides if he might be coming back here sometime he should try to make friends. To that end he looks about for the nearest local to greet and ask directions. He's guessing the locals know who Benedict is. [If they're still in the distance he'll wave to get their attention.] To Brennan he asks, "Do we have time to see how the locals feel about the presumed King?"
Brennan shrugs, and replies, but keeps his voice down while he does: "Sure. Remember what Conner said about Thari, though." He looks around unobtrusively to see if any of the boats have names on them, and listens carefully if he can overhear any of their conversations, at least enough to place the language family.
The boats all have unique paint patterns and the nicer ones have carvings on them. The one that no one seems to claim is very highly decorated. It has oars, but no mast or sail.
A native comes towards them, looking nervous. He's within speaking range, at the edge of his field. He looks like a shepherd, although his flock seems a bit wild. He has a sheperd's crook, in any case.
He says something totally unintelligible.
Brennan mostly keeps his frown to himself-- being widely traveled in Shadow over a course of centuries, Brennan does not often run into situations where there is a total language barrier. However, there are languages other than spoken and written. Commerce is another. Brennan busies himself conjuring an assortment of coins in his belt pouch. Old coins, coins with the writing worn off and whatever design was once on them now obscure through long use. Old, but valuable, in a reasonable array of precious metals, with a few small valuable gems at the bottom.
To avoid playing the language game with Fletcher as well, Brennan simply touches his belt pouch. For the moment, he leaves the conversation to Fletcher.
Fletcher had learned that the first ten languages are the hardest, so keeps an open mind on the topic of language and tries to find some commonality, or at least get enough of a sample to get a handle on the local tongue. He greets the native with "Aloha!" and then continues in Thari. "We would like to take a boat to the Island of Apples." He indicates by gestures himself and Brennan, the boats along the shore, and the island in the distance. He gestures toward the native. "Can you help us?"
He replies in more unintelligible talk. After seeing that you don't understand, he gestures towards a younger man, who runs off. Moments later the youth returns with an older woman. She looks at you. "What now?" She asks in a pidgin Thari. Her accent is horrible and her vocabulary is likely worse, but she can do basic negotiations. "What you want this time?"
Fletcher tries to keep it simple but polite, and assists with gestures where he can. "Hello madam. I am Fletcher. We are going to the island of Apples. We need a boat. Can you help us?"
That sums up their desire, and Brennan sees no need to complicate the issue by adding more words to it.
She nods. "Ten Huo." She points back to the shore and what looks like an abandoned boat. It might be sea-worthy.
She holds up a string with some knives attached to it. They look like half-sized machetes, and they have writing stamped on the thick blade. It would not surprise Fletcher if, in a metal poor culture as this one seems to be, the boat was worth a tenth of that amount.
Brennan is not concerned about notions of price, unless for some reason he can't conjure what he needs. But he's not interested in being sold a leaky boat that will disintegrate the moment of a minnow brushes by, either. "How much for someone simply to row us across?" That will foist any concerns about the structural integrity of the boat or any similar issues onto their faithful-- and self-interested-- rowers.
Sometimes, people are offended by haggling; sometimes, just the opposite. Brennan judges the response to his counter with a weather ear.
Fletcher walks over and eyes the boat, assessing its seaworthiness for a 20-mile journey.
Brennan learns that the locals could not be paid any amount to go to the cursed island and Fletcher learns that the boat is sound, but overpriced. Since money is no object, the locals are overpaid for their conveyance and the boat is purchased.
It is a few watches work to row across, and the two Amberites are on Avalon, the Isle of Apples. There may be apple trees somewhere, but there are not here. There is a road that leads along the coast to a large and strategically placed castle. An evening's stroll, which through some stroke of narrative convenience is not interrupted by patrols, brings them to the gates of the edifice. Somewhere between the shore and the island, it became too hard to use pattern, just as it is in Paris or Xanadu, and as it used to be in Amber. The sun has also dipped below the horizon, but the night is still well enough lit by the gloaming.
As they approach a particularly well lit spot in the path, a voice shouts from the castle gatehouse. "Halt! Who goes there, friend or foe?" The speaker doesn't seem surprised, so it's likely that Brennan and Fletcher have been under observation for some time.
Fletcher steps into the light. "I am Sir Fletcher, Knight Commander of the Order of the Unicorn and Defender of the Faith. I was invited to visit this island by Prince Benedict. And this is Sir Brennan, Knight Commander of the Order of the Ruby. Please tell me we've come to the right castle."
Brennan steps into the light as Fletcher names him, and if the source of the voice is obvious from that vantage he will nod cordially at it.
But once Brennan's ability to sense the Faiella-Bionin gives out, his attention is mostly on the landscape... natural and otherwise. The biggest concern, once the sun goes down, is whether the moon is up, and if so where and in what phase. Aside from that, if it is possible, and knowing Benedict's passion for warfare, Brennan tries to form an impression of what sort of warfare is practiced here.
"Enter, Sir Knights," say the voice. The gate rattles open and a soldier comes up to them. "Welcome to Castle Avalon. The Protector will see you now unless you need to rest from your journey."
He seems to be a minor officer of some sort. He also was the speaker from behind the gate.
As Benedict is leaving the room, a soldier comes up to him. "Protector, a word", the solder says. He speaks to him privately, and returns to the younger generation. "We will have company soon. More nephews, I think."
Folly smiles; all her guesses for who it might be are cousins she would be happy to see. (And perhaps she is also hoping that there will be snacks.)
Benedict continues to a first-floor reading room. The walls are lined with books, written in many languages. The center of the room holds a large sand table a number of miniature figures next to it. It seems to be a map of the island and surrounding waters.
Benedict nods towards the bar and Martin, who seems familiar with this room, moves towards it. "Anyone else?" He offers over his shoulder.
"Half-strength for me," Folly replies, trusting that Martin knows her tastes well enough to come up with something she'll find drinkable. She'd intended to settle into a comfortable seat with a not-so-strong drink, but curiosity draws her toward the sand table.
"Full-strength for me." Adds Fletcher, strolling into the room with Brennan. He salutes. "Greetings from Rebma."
Brennan enters with Fletcher, noting the Uncle, the three Cousins, and finally the books and the sand table. Brennan has never met a library he didn't like or a sand table he couldn't motivate interest in, but for the moment his attention is on Family.
Lilly looks up and greets Fletcher with a half nod. The Lilly spots Brennan. Her face lights with a genuine smile. "This is a surprise," she says quietly then adds in a welcoming tone, "Cousins, you are both looking well. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable. We were just about to start discussing a war."
"Uncle, cousins," Brennan says. "Greetings." Then, giving one of his rare smiles to Lilly he adds, "I see. Brings back memories, doesn't it?"
"It certainly does," she says with a smile. "It also says something about our relationship that this seems to be the most common setting for our meetings."
Martin looks up from his examination of the sand table when Brennan and Fletcher enter. "Good to see both of you. How are things in the old home town?" The question seems primarily directed at Fletcher, who did, after all, just announce that they'd come from Rebma.
"I'm still working on perfecting the wet martini. I traveled there from Paris with Silhouette. Celina is negotiating Huon's surrender. He should be arriving to surrender in person sometime soon. Brennan has some more formal tidings from Celina for Dad." He turns to Lilly. "How's the leg?"
"Healed," Lilly replies simply. "Or so I hope. Martin and I have plans to test it later."
"With sparring," Folly interjects. Her tone is deadpan, but her eyes are twinkling.
"At your convenience, Uncle," Brennan says.
Benedict goes over to the sand table and begins moving sand about. "What news from Rebma?". He continues shaping the sand into a topographical map, setting the scene with short efficient strokes of a hand-rake.
"Queen Celina occupies the throne and carries the scepter," Brennan begins. "She has been crowned, and all Family present in Rebma at that time bent knee and swore fealty: Princess Llewella, myself, and Sir Conner, who is now the Knight of Rebma. None of Rilsa, Loreena, or Moire were present and Moire's whereabouts in particular are still unknown.
"Rebma has begun the reconstruction and repair of the damage done by Huon's invasion and the subsequent tremors. The terms of Huon's surrender to Rebma have been negotiated through his intermediary, our cousin Silhouette. Conner and Brita have been dispatched to escort him to Rebma. And Fletcher and I have come here along the Faiella-Bionin, although that road has been closed again behind us," Brennan concludes.
"Hmm,'" says Benedict. "I've heard of Silhouette, but never met her. Impressions?" The question seems to be directed to anyone. He continues to work on the sand table, placing markers on the topology.
Folly exchanges a look with Martin. "I also have not met her," she says, and something in her tone suggests that may have been intentional, "but the stories I heard of her behavior when she first arrived in Amber and Xanadu made her out to be petty, arrogant, and unsubtle. But perhaps she has mellowed in the intervening weeks?" She looks to Fletcher and Brennan.
Brennan raises his eyebrows, surprised more at the pointedness than the substance of Folly's description, and he does not contradict her. "She is very young," he says, "and armored in a religion camouflaged as a philosophy that guards effectively against any new knowledge. My understanding is that she designed some of the mundane weapons Huon used in his campaign," by which Brennan means, not the blood construct, "but how much of Huon's true goals and ambitions she understood and consciously abetted..." he shrugs, irritated. "...I wish I knew. I know she needs to be removed from Huon's circle of influence as soon as possible, for her own benefit as well as ours."
Fletcher nods. "She may not have changed much, but she is adapting to the Family environment. Maybe we could set her up with Jerod?"
"Adopting to the family environment?" Lilly repeats. "I assume you mean that in a good way? Our family environment is not always the most... how shall I put it?.... Nurturing? Loving? Kind?" She pauses then smiles. "I think you get my point."
Martin nods, once, at Folly's description, completing the exchange of looks with a flourish of a slight eyeroll. He seems to have opinions but no particular need to repeat them.
Benedict nods. "It is possible to be young and still capable of learning and living with us." He looks over at Lilly. "My daughter, for instance, may be even younger than Silhouette, and she has avoided that trap." He looks around. "And it is certainly possible to be very old amongst our kind and 'petty, arrogant, and unsubtle.' I think the latter is the only one that my Brothers would consider to be an absolute insult. The first two are side effects of our natures."
Lilly blushes slightly when Benedict looks to her but she seems pleased by his remark.
"Indeed," Folly agrees. "The 'religion' part is worrisome, though, and not something I've heard anyone else mention. What sort of religion?" She looks to Brennan for additional details, adding as she does so, "It's not one of those writhing-on-the-floor-speaking-in-tongues kind, is it? Because that might explain a thing or two...."
Lilly gives Folly a questioning sort of look. She's never heard of these sorts of religions but it might be an interesting thing to observe. Rather then completely side track the conversation with inquiries, however, she mentally bookmarks the topic for discussion with Folly later.
Fletcher allows a moment for everyone to picture Silhouette writhing on the floor speaking in tongues. "Speaking of subtlety, removing her from Huon's circle of influence will require some. Rebelliousness in the face of restrictions is also part of our collective nature, and locking young ladies away in towers has never worked out quite the way it was supposed to. Also, it's clear she has some means of private long-distance communication with Huon. But as for her religion it's one of the 'I understand the framework that the universe works on better than you' religions dedicated to knowledge, personal enlightenment, etc. I wouldn't be surprised if there was some connection to the Klybesians in there somewhere."
"Knowledge, personal enlightenment, and the justification of apparently anything, including but probably not limited to slavery and human sacrifice, in the name of perfection and the greater good," Brennan says. "I pressed fairly hard, and got only circular or self-contradictory definitions of 'perfection' and 'greater good' and related terms, which is really not so different from other religions we've all come across in Shadow. What I found interesting was the consonance of some of the terms she used: her Grand Design initially sounded quite a bit like a metaphorical Pattern. The Unicorn is incorporated into her myth structure, as is the Dragon-- singular, I think, by her usage. I could chalk that up to resonances and coincidences in Shadow. But there are some very disturbing twists, if you press hard enough. Claiming an affinity to an Earth Dragon as the source of her skill in weapons design, for openers. Claiming that Huon was serving the Grand Design in his recent bid against Rebma.
"At best, toxic amounts of ignorance, rationalization, and self-congratulation. At worst," Brennan shrugs. "The coincidences and twists are alarming, and maybe evidence of external influence. But I know almost nothing about the Klybesians, to compare against."
Benedict nods. "The Klybesians are one of the reasons Father banned religions from Amber. They attempted to influence ... one of my brothers. Oberon stopped that.
He looks at all of the youngers, stopping on Fletcher. "You are all advised to recall that they forward their own agenda, which has in the past been opposed to ours."
Fletcher is too old to wince. "Jerod and Marius discussed the idea of military retribution. They are not a foe to be defeated on the battlefield though. Their network is extensive, and pernicious. I do entertain a vague hope, though, that if we spoke with the voices of four Patterns united we could negotiate from a position from strength. Assuming we still have contacts there."
Folly, who also knows almost nothing of the Klybesians, asks, "What's their agenda? And why are we retribu...ting... against them?" Her nose wrinkles, perhaps in a wince at her own clumsy phrasing.
"According to Marius, they were assisting in the construction of the blood creature that Huon used to try to destroy Rebma. Whether they gained that knowledge from Huon and some other of his allies, or supplied that knowledge, their actions require a response," Brennan says, coldly. Something about the act of speaking it aloud triggers another thought, though, and Brennan continues: "They had agents in the Plain of Towers, as well, which is where I was hunting and killing the thing called the Eater... which was summoned right out from under me in order to become the delivery mechanism for that blood creature."
He turns from Folly, back to Benedict: "But I have no first hand knowledge of their agenda, either, beyond wanton murder and mass murder."
"Yeah, they're bad news," Martin says, but does not elaborate.
Benedict nods in agreement with Martin. "I have opposed them in the past. I would describe their philosophy as gnostic and Manichean. They view us as the godhead in the universe, but also as a force of evil. Destroying our power, to them, would be a good work."
Fletcher sighs and finishes his drink. While questing for another he opines. "Their dualism may be somewhat mitigated, which is where I suspect there is room for them to consider us a force of evil, or at least a force of not-purely-good. One could draw a link between the idea of unequal divinities and the relative goodness of subverting the lesser to promote the greater. The question becomes more complex as the family grows. Should each member be taken individually, or can a generalization be made by observing a now-larger population? At one point they were willing to see us as individuals. I'm unaware of data indicating whether any of us is worth the risk premium incurred in taking chance on us. If anyone has such data though, it would be the Klybesians. They are at least as old as I am. At one point in time it my duty to have dealings with them, but that was a long time ago." He sips his refilled drink and eyes the sand table, equally open to further discussion or playing in the sand with Benedict.
Brennan is smart enough not to say the first three things that pop into his head. Nor does he really have anything useful to add on the subject of useful idiots like the Klybesians, since he hasn't really dealt with them, so he says nothing. It's Benedict's party he's crashing, though, so he doesn't try to redirect the conversation.
Folly nods a couple of times as she takes in this new information from Benedict and Fletcher, and mentally files the Klybesians under 'possible threat', but she also has nothing more to add. There are, after all, more immediate threats.
"They are, fortunately, not an influence in Avalon," says Benedict. "As Folly implies, the forces loosely described here are a more pressing concern. Fletcher and Brennan, what are your intentions with respect to the Protectorate? You have walked in, as you may surmise, on a council of war. We are determining how we will allocate our forces to deal with the military threat from the Isles."
A quick look at his sand table shows both formidable opposition and wide swaths of unknowns. Were Benedict not leading this side, it would be difficult to imagine how his side would triumph.
"Queen Celina sent us with some specific tasks, especially, to ask you advice and counsel on some matters, to report back on the condition of the Faiella-Bionin, and the like. But her primary intent is to strengthen ties between neighboring realms in whatever ways are agreeable to you both," Brennan says. "To that end, I believe she would bid me ask: How can Rebma help?
"On my own behalf," Brennan adds, "I ask: How can I help?"
Fletcher feels the need to clarify. He stands slightly straighter. "For the record, I am not here to speak for Celina, nor have I sworn any oaths to her. I am sworn to you and will do whatever I can to assist." He continues sipping his drink.
Folly says, "If it helps for coordination purposes, it should be a matter of a few hours' work for me to come up with a couple of trump sketches -- a bit less if they're of myself or someone I've already done preliminary sketches of." She inclines her head slightly toward Brennan, who falls into that category. So does Martin, of course, but she won't offer up even a sketch of him unless he makes the offer himself.
Martin glances at her, but does not make that offer at this point. What he says is, "I'm in."
"And let it be known father, I will do as you ask in this as well," Lilly offers. For a moment, it seems as if she might continue but she simply takes a deep breath and leaves it at that.
Benedict nods. "Thank you, Lilly. This morning, I anticipated bringing you into this matter to help me, as there were too many tasks that I thought needed an Amberite's hand. Now I have half a dozen of us that may be of help. If any of you have other tasks to perform, we are not in such desperate straights as to call in all hands.
"The diplomatic mission should be mine. My allies need a personal reminder of their agreements and the advantages thereof. The castle here needs to be protected against the high likelihood of a surprise attack. Martin, this would give you a base and the best protection for Folly that exists in Avalon. It would be a siege, but I would be returning to lift it in less than a month.
"The other mission is a scouting one. There are several possible places where the enemy may be massing their forces and I need more information about them. Lilly, if you are up to it, and possibly with the assistance of your brother and cousin, I would like you to gather that information so that after we lift the siege here, I know where to take the army to destroy our enemies ability to make war."
Martin looks to Folly before he makes any answer for both of them.
Folly gives a small, decisive nod: She's fine with the proposed plan if he is.
"I'll do what I can to help," Brennan says, "and that includes trusting anyone here with any Trump of me that Folly may choose to create." That said, Brennan turns his attention to the sand table that Benedict has been working. Before he even worries about the disposition of the enemy forces, he tries to understand the geography-- does the map show only the island, or also the neighboring coasts? What are the major features and landmarks?
The map on the map table shows the coasts and channels for a number of nearby islands, none closer than twenty miles or so. It has some of the mainland as well, or else of a larger nearby island. The forces shown are mostly naval, although there are some on Avalon.
Lilly responds to her father with a simple nod. She gestures to the sand table. "There are several areas of question that I can see here. Where is the greatest area of concern?" Her own thoughts and opinions are left unspoken for the moment.
Benedict looks briefly at the map. "Before we send you off, I still want to know what your capabilities are. That's why you and Martin will be sparring. But the mission is similar. I need to know what the disposition of the enemy is, who their allies are, and what strength they bring to Avalon. In addition, it would be useful to know where they are weak in their supply chain and where we can turn their allies. This is a behind-the-scenes scouting mission, rather than a forward observation."
Lilly nods, "Understood." The truth is, she is rather looking forward to the sparring session. And her father does have a very good point. It would be poor judgement to set out on a possibly dangerous mission without knowing where her physically limitations currently lie. Walking comfortably does not necessarily translate to fighting comfortably. "And Martin, if you do wish to opt out of this, there are now others of our blood that might be willing to take your place. I don't think I've managed to injure Brennan or Fletcher yet." She grins ever so slightly and gives a small shrug.
Brennan isn't quite sure if that gibe was directed at him and Fletcher, or at Martin. Either way, he doesn't respond to it. Instead, he is still studying the map, and integrating that with what Benedict has already said-- if Benedict is expecting a siege, he has evidently ruled out stopping them at sea. Unusual, for someone conditioned to think of Pattern Realms as sea-faring powers, and so Brennan can't help but look at the map with that in mind: How robust are Avalon's navies relative to the enemy forces, and how are those navies deployed, if they exist?
If the jibe is directed at Martin, he takes it in stride. "I think Folly will rest a little easier if someone else does the sparring." He gives his wife a little smile. "I have every confidence in either of my cousins to determine Lilly's state of health."
Folly returns the smile, then turns a somewhat wryer one on Brennan and Fletcher -- "Not that I'm hoping to see either of you get skewered, of course," she says. "Though I do admit to some curiosity to see Lilly cross swords with her brother. You know... for science."
If there is a part of Fletcher that objects to sword-fighting with women for sport he suppresses it. "If science demands it, I suppose some knowledge of each other's abilities is in order if we're to take the field as a team. When getting involved in a war one would typically want a summary of who the bad guys are and what their assumed motivation is." He eyes Benedict. "And I would also request a word in private with my father before he departs."
Brennan defers to Fletcher-- he'll be able to more clinically and objectively judge his and Ambrose's medical handiwork as a spectator. But he does agree out loud, "I have similar questions. I can see for myself the current state of knowledge for their positions and numbers as far as that goes, and I can draw some inferences from the configurations and what you've already said. But without some knowledge of who they are, what they are, what they want, and why, those inferences aren't going to be terribly helpful."
Benedict nods, and answers: The Shadow called Avalon has almost constant war, although many places remain free of it for years or even generations. These range from "little wars" between tribes to "Great Wars" which embroil many countries. It has been around two decades since the last of those, and signs are that another is starting. Benedict lists the major players and their expected allegiances, concentrating on the Northern League. A particularly wide-ranging band of the Northern fighters have taken over on of the major islands in the southwest and are using it to stage further incursions. They have a large fleet somewhere, and it's likely headed to Avalon. Benedict reiterates his intelligence requests.
Last modified: 15 September 2012