Dueling Cymneans

Benedict's castle has numerous small practice fields inside the outer keep walls. There are a variety of pointed and non-pointed instruments of war in a weapons rack at the north edge of the grounds. A simple ring dominates the center of the field.

Martin and Folly arrive a bit ahead of the agreed-upon sparring time. He's got his hands full between Folly leaning rather heavily on one arm and a large cushion tucked under the other, the better to accommodate his poor uncomfortable wife on the hard benches around the field. At his suggestion, they move to a bench with good sightlines, a bit of shade, and plenty of room for their kinsmen to join them if they wish; and Folly begins the slow process of trying to get comfortable.

Brennan arrives a short time later, somewhat surprised that Lilly isn't already here exercising or inspecting the weaponry. If he's been offered temporary quarters in the castle, he's availed himself of them to freshen up from the road. He glances at the numerous weapons and weapons racks, but in some sense he knows what he'd find if he made a close inspection: Excellent quality weapons, optimized for their purposes. Brennan doubts that he could find a substandard weapon in the castle unless he willfully broke one.

Instead, Brennan greets Martin and Folly and sits down with them. It's a relaxed posture that he adopts, but he isn't really relaxed. "Well met," he says. "I'm not sure who or what I expected when Fletcher and I set out, but it's good to see you."

Lilly arrives and takes her time working her way over to her cousins. As she looks at the weapons, she smiles to herself. She loved seeing her foster father's work. It always brought back pleasant memories. Rather then choosing a blade immediately, she takes it all in and weighs her options. Slowly, she makes her way to the others. "Isn't it funny," she says when she nears them. "Of all the possible rooms here, this is where I am most at home."

Fletcher walks in shortly thereafter. He casually picks up a wooden practice longsword from a rack and examines it on the way to greet the assemblage. He eyes Folly's cushion. "Don't worry Folly, I suspect you're not in for a very long show. One or two intermissions at the most, I promise," he teases. He takes off his scabbard and rests in against a bench, and then sets his jacket next to it. He smiles at Lilly and adds, "So.... home court advantage, eh?"

Benedict arrives last, as if he's been waiting for everyone to arrive and get comfortable. "I see our number is complete. You both know your way around the weapons rack. Choose your blades and proceed at will." He moves to stand across from Folly, Martin, and Brennan for the moment, to watch from the far side.

Martin turns to Brennan and says, "We didn't expect to see any relatives other than Lilly and Ben, but I knew she grew up around here. I'm glad you made it out of Rebma safely. It has a way of chewing people up."

Brennan gives a long, unhappy exhalation, and nods: "Yeah. Yeah, it does. And thanks. But I have a feeling I'll end up going back, one way or the other. Avalon may be under threat of invasion, but Benedict is... Benedict. Rebma, though, is calm on the surface, but fragile. Place has been through a lot. And the big ugly question to be answered is, where'd Moire disappear to and what's she planning?"

Lilly eyes the weapons carefully and starts to wander off among the racks. After a moment, she calls back to her brother. "Do you have a weapons preference? And live or practice? I always prefer a nice simple blade such as the one I carry but am willing to try my hand at just about anything."

"Yes," Folly replies to Brennan, "we've been wondering rather the same thing ourselves. I take it you didn't pick up any new clues on that front while you were in Rebma?"

A few feet away, Fletcher answers Lilly, "Practice weapons only. We'd hate for there to be any accidents on the eve of our mission. As for type, i'm a fan of the longsword but if you'd like something else I'm open to suggestions."

Brennan shakes his head, "No, if we did, acting on that would be top priority, and you'd already know. We're pretty sure she either has, or has hidden, Rebma's Jewel, though. Trying to think like someone who can't walk in Shadow under his own power, though, got me to thinking about the Faiella-Bionin-- it's pretty obvious she used it to get from Rebma to Paris, especially since there's a mirror on the road halfway in between. One thought was that she could have gone back to Rebma by stealth and then gone the other way, to here.

"I saw no conclusive evidence on the way here," Brennan says. "No mirrors at all, and while there were footsteps on the sand, there was more than one set. But that branch of the road is as odd in its way as the others. Those footsteps could just as easily have been Conner's and Har'garel's from years ago." Brennan frowns.

"I understand your reasoning about the Faiella-Bionin, but...." Folly shakes her head. "For someone whose chief defensive weapons seem to be rhetoric and lies, this doesn't exactly seem like the coziest place to hole up, you know? I'd give her much better odds of still being in Paris. As to her plans and motivations, your guess is as good as mine, but---" she taps the pocket that holds her card case "---theirs might be better." That will wait 'til after the sparring, however; she looks toward the racks to see how Fletcher and Lilly are doing, and is relieved to see Fletcher eyeing the practice weapons.

"I don't think she's in Paris. It's possible to travel along the trade routes, especially if you have sorcery, and she does, aplenty," Martin opines. "As for the travellers on the Faiella-Bionin, I've been that way, as a child. I spent a summer here with Benedict when I was very young. I didn't understand about the paths then, not the way I do now. I'm reasonably certain that was the route we took." He's speaking quietly, not too low for Benedict's attention but not loud enough to definitively draw it, either.

"Practice longswords," Lilly whispers as she glances among the racks. She takes her time choosing and testing weights. Finally a true look of satisfaction crosses her features as she hefts a blade crafted by Mallet. "I can most definitely spar with practice long swords," she declares loudly. She moves towards the center of the room. "Ready when you are, brother."

Fletcher takes a moment to stretch and then approaches the center. "Alright. Let's get this show started."

Folly is clearly still paying attention to the conversation around her -- she nods at a couple of points as Martin speaks -- but now that they have weapons in their hands, her gaze is fixed on Fletcher and Lilly. After all, last time she attended one of these things, a sword sort of... exploded... in her general direction.

Brennan says, mostly to Folly, "I admit, there's an element of grasping at straws, thinking Moire might be here. I can't figure out what she'd be doing or how she'd gain advantage. But I couldn't unthink it once I thought it, and we were coming here for other reasons already." Then, mostly to Martin, "Interesting-- A cave leading from the Triton quarters into a larger cavern, through a pool of water into an open-air cave that leads out to the coast?" Brennan will describe it in more detail if either of them require. "It was guarded at Rebma's end by a Triton when we left, nothing at this end, and the threshold pool had some basic accoutrements-- a stone bench and some waterproof packs-- just recently."

Like Martin's, Brennan's voice has been low, but not precisely hidden.

Benedict turns his attention to the two combatants. "The goal of this exercise is to evaluate Lilly's recovery. Please do not use crippling or killing blows, and stand off if your opponent is disarmed. You may begin."

Martin nods to Brennan, once. "That mostly jibes with my memory. I don't recall the Triton guard nor the details of the threshold pool, but neither of those would have made much impact at this age. I don't know who else would have come through recently. I don't think most people knew about the path there."

"I think that's still true," Brennan says. "I can tell you or show you how I found it, but the short version is, it took a fair amount of time and effort, a fair amount of the Family gifts, and some confirmation from Conner at the end. Who, it turns out, had it from Har'garel as they escaped from Rebma during the War."

"I've actually heard that story; I was thinking more recently than that." Martin frowns. "That was a messy business. The man Conner escaped with was married to Jerod's mother Rilsa, and he was murdered during the Coronation. We still don't know who did that. The woman he escaped with--his girlfriend--was the Gateway ambassador to Rebma. I think she's in jail, excuse me, under Caine's protective custody--" a phrase Martin airquotes "--in Amber."

"Martin, out of curiosity, when you came here as a boy, did Benedict go down and retrieve you, or did someone else escort you up?" Folly asks.

Brennan nods along at various points in Martin's description; he's heard much of that as well, but never laid out so succinctly. He might have more to say, but whatever it is is less important than hearing the answer to Folly's question.

"Benedict fetched me." Martin glances at Folly. "I was pretty young. A few years older than Raven's brother, maybe."

Folly nods. "So it's not like there was a member of Moire's inner circle who'd made that run up the secret back road with you and into this territory, then. Although it sounds like the path was well enough known among her court, even if it wasn't well-traveled."

Martin nods once, in agreement.

Brennan nods to Folly, "That's the impression I got. At the moment, even among those who know of it, it's traveled only by people who can get past the Triton."

Lilly makes a mental note of her father's words. No death blows and no maiming my brother, she repeats back to herself. She takes her place in the center of the room and takes a few deep breath. Stillness overtakes her body, her muscles relax, and all but her eyes appear perfectly calm. One look into those eyes, however, give her away. They burn with raw energy as they keep close watch upon Fletcher. She raises her sword and smiles. "Lady's never strike first," she chides confidently.

Fletcher nods. He's happy just to probe Lilly's defenses, circling and falling back, moving forward again, and continuing to circle. The goal is to test how well Lilly's leg has recovered, after all.

At Lilly's words, Brennan only gives Martin a sidelong glance on the sidelines-- it's possible that they both know Lilly better than Fletcher does.

Martin raises his hand slightly and gestures with his wrist in a way that Brennan and Folly have no trouble reading as "this is so-so" or perhaps "call it 50-50".

As Lilly and Fletcher feint and circle, it becomes apparent to Lilly that Fletcher is holding back; this is also clear to Brennan. Folly suspects it, but more from Fletcher's facial expression than from his balance or movements. Lilly suspects she's the superior fighter, especially with this blade in hand, but it's not like either of them is really testing beyond the basics.

The leg is holding, so far.

Lilly spends several moments observing and defending. Upon realizing Fletcher is holding back though, she and abruptly changes strategies.

She switches to the offensive with the firm desire to see if she can derive her brother back towards the closest wall. By doing so, Lilly hopes to test her own maneuverability. It is one thing for the hip to hold on the defense. It is quite another for it to hold on the charge.

Lilly has no trouble pushing Fletcher to the wall. He has great skill, but may have suffered from not having proper challenges for many years.

She is aware of her hip, but it is not failing to meet the demands she is putting on it..

Fletcher is impressed with Lilly's skills. She moves him around like it was a dance. After a series of perfectly logical responses to her attacks, Fletcher finds himself with his back to the wall.

Like an enthusiastic sports fan, Folly leans forward in her seat (as much as she's able, anyway) and says in a tone of friendly teasing, "Aw, c'mon, don't let her do you like that!" Then with equal enthusiasm, she adds, "Nicely done, Lilly!"

Whatever the outcome, whatever the gambits, Brennan is confident that Fletcher has more fight in him than that. Neither of them need his encouragement, so his observation is silent. It's quite rare to see two fighters of their skill engaging one another, though, and Brennan takes the opportunity to watch them both-- especially Lilly's hip.

Lilly lowers her blade, slightly and backs away. Her aim, after all, is not to injure or even disarm but to test her own physicality. "Come at me," she says to Fletcher in a conversational tone. "I want to see how the hip fares on the defense." She raises her sword again and waits.

Fletcher nods and presses the attack, coming high to take advantage of his height, and swinging low to tax the hip's flexibility. He repeats and circles as he does so, though at this point he suspects the only real threat to Lilly would be if Brennan came over and helped him out.

Benedict watches silently, attentive to both the combatants. Somehow he manages to look where they will be next most of the time.

Fletcher's attacks are not such that Lily is hard-pressed by them. She suspects he may be holding back.

Fletcher notes an unconventional move or two that he would truly like to learn. Lilly is a master of swordplay.

In the midst of the battle, Lilly calls out to her brother, "Give me all that you have left." She takes a few breaths. "So far the leg is holding... And I am grateful for the exercise." Part of her secretly wishes she were fighting Martin or Brennan. They both knew her well enough to go at her full force and assume she would keep up. But since this is the first time she has dueled Fletcher, she really can not blame him for his hesitancy.

Fletcher exhales and presses forward, determined to make a good showing.

Fletcher's best is quite good, and the battle continues for some little time.

It's apparent to all that Lilly is persevering and has the upper hand.

After a time, Fletcher looks as if he is tiring, and Lilly does not.

Folly looks at her companions and raises an interrogative eyebrow. "Looks like this might call for a team-up...?" she ventures with obvious apprehension -- but after a moment adds, "--which maybe will work better this time since Bleys isn't here...."

Lilly is completely unaware of Folly's comment but does notice that her brother is wearing down. Continuing will prove little. She backs off and gives Fletcher space.

"The leg is holding," she says confidently. "Father, is there anything else you wish to see?"

Lilly may be unaware of it, but Brennan isn't. He glances at Martin, then back at Folly and says quietly, "I don't think she needs help."

Benedict nods. "It seems so. I don't think we need to wait for further improvement. You may speak to my Surgeon, Bottle, who can give you stretching exercises to use if you need them."

He smiles at his two children. "A good match. Do you have any questions for me?" Amber's swordmaster seems to have slipped into teaching mode.

Later that evening, after Lilly's and Fletcher's duel Brennan tracks Benedict down, keeping to whatever protocols Avalon has as best he can. From the sound of it, this will be the last chance he has to talk to Benedict for some weeks, and while Brennan has pledged himself to stay and lend a hand for at least that length of time, he'd prefer to have done with Rebma's business as quickly as possible. Or at least to begin it. The arc of Pattern Realms controlled by the scions of Oberon benefit from good relations with each other, and none more than Rebma, the most precariously held.

Assuming he finds Benedict, Brennan approaches, saying, "Uncle? Do you have some time before your departure?"

Benedict looks up from his desk, where he's filling out a column of numbers with a quill pen.

"I do. Please come in."

[ooc: assorted coming in and sitting down and would you like a drinks happen here.]

[It's bad form to refuse an Elder's hospitality, so Brennan accepts a good scotch, pours it and another for Benedict if Benedict so desires, and nurses it slowly through the conversation.]

"What can I do for you?" he asks, simply.

"Not for me," Brennan says. "I'm here on behalf of Rebma, and one of the things Rebma most hopes for is advice. For instance, Huon's impending incarceration. Keeping him in a Pattern realm should restrict his abilities, somewhat, and yet." And yet, Corwin up and vanished right out from under Eric's nose in Amber. "Rebma is sorely lacking in the resources, right now, to keep a proper Family watch on him for extended periods of time, and his negotiated settlement begins with better conditions than shackles in a prison cell out of sight. Better initial conditions," Brennan corrects himself. "There is latitude for punishment and reward.

"Any advice you might give on how to keep him incarcerated efficiently and effectively would be valued," he says.

Benedict nods, as if he expected the question. "There are options, always. No one of us can be held, if we truly do not wish it. Corwin, blinded and placed in a cell, escaped to raise an army. Father escaped from Brand. Brand escaped from Fiona. It is in our nature. The most successful captivity in our recent history was that of Random by Eric, and that ended better for Random than Eric.

"My advice is to bind him primarily with his own word. The unstated threat is that his recapture would not be so gentle.

"I would worry most that he, with decades of opportunity, would work his way into Celina's confidence. It only took Random three years to do so with Eric. Best if Huon were retired to a quiet life rather than to a court position. I would not be pleased were he to become King of Rebma by peaceful means."

"Understood," is what Brennan says. That Brennan himself would probably be dead before such an event comes to pass is what he doesn't say.

"The current model is house arrest, either in a small, comfortable Rebman estate or some suitable suite in the castle itself. Very restricted motion, very restricted access, but nothing more unpleasant than the fact of those restrictions. And some latitude for punishment if need be," Brennan says. "But motion is easier to restrict than communication, and it is easy to make mischief through communication alone. The question of Mirrors I leave to Queen Celina and Princess Llewella. Trumps... may or may not be a concern. Obviously, any he has come to possess will be confiscated. And while I know of only one Trump of Huon himself, there must surely have been more at one point. And finally, there are his tricks with royal blood, which have shown themselves to work quite effectively in the close vicinity of a Pattern.

"Do you advise concern in these veins, and any similar that we've overlooked?" Brennan asks. "Meaning, among other considerations, if these are real dangers, are there any actions worth taking, any that might be effective?" Short of twenty years of morphine overdosing, that is.

Benedict shakes his head, once. "No more than I would advise concern about the weather. It may affect your plans, but it is difficult to prevent in the long term. Given that we have showed that it is impossible to keep one of us imprisoned against our will for long, preventing communication is nearly impossible. Rebma would be better served by requiring him to tell the Queen of any communication he receives along these lines. Interdiction is a costly tactic and may only serve to convince Huon to retire from custody on his own terms.

Brennan nods. It's what he expected, and in a way it is almost a relief: If there's nothing Benedict would bother doing, then there's nothing Brennan should be trying to imagine he could do, either.

"How, were you the prisoner, would you expect to be treated? What would you resist and what would you tolerate? He chose to go to Rebma, after all."

Brennan fairly twitches with the effort needed to not blurt his immediate answer out: It's irrelevant because you couldn't hold me unless you killed me.

But the strength of his own first impulse makes Brennan realize that simple truth, on a personal instead of an intellectual level. After forcing himself to reconsider in that light, at some length he finally says, "I see. And leaving aside all fantasies of paranoid machinations... I would not tolerate disrespect or indignity. And managing the mismatch of Huon's expectations of respect against Rebma's estimations is the real task at hand. Thank you, Uncle. We'll try to use that advice wisely."

[OOC: Pause to make sure Benedict doesn't want to keep talking about Huon, in which case the following can wait.]

"There is another topic I was asked to bring up," Brennan says, "That being, the relationship of Avalon and Rebma moving forward."

Benedict looks up. "Our current relationship is of friendly powers that have little or no interaction. This has been satisfactory for many years."

Brennan tilts his head, slightly, and asks, "But is it optimal?" It is not a rhetorical question; Brennan does not ask as though he knows the answer. But he does expand on the thought process that led him to the question: "There are two... 'theories' is too strong a word, so, two metaphors for the Faiella-Bionin that are current among my generation. One is a road, as between cities, which some imagine as a tool to promote commerce and common culture. The other is a traverseable curtain wall, as between the towers of a fortification, which some imagine as a tool to promote common defense, presumably of the Primal Pattern within.

"But while Rebma is old, most of its court is young. My generation," Brennan says, "none of whom were present at its creation. It would help Rebma greatly to know the purpose of the thing."

Benedict nods. "The latter is closer to my interpretation. Let me ask you a question. There is a guard stationed at the entrance to the road in Rebma. Why do you think that is so?"

Having thought about this a great deal, there is no hesitation in Brennan's response: "Right now, it is guarded because Queen Celina decided that meddling with it prior to consulting her neighbor sovereign at the other end of the road was unwise. Prior to that, it was guarded because Moire, or Moins before her, decided that it was better to have it guarded than to leave it unguarded, and you either agreed, or at least did not disagree strongly enough, to press the issue. It was, as you say, satisfactory.

"But I recognize that as entirely superficial," he continues, "so I can add some further observations and try to tease the sense out of it: The guard was on Rebma's side of the road, not Avalon's. Unless we count mildly isolationist local peoples and a few miles of sea, the Avalon side seemed unguarded. In fact, although I don't know the status of all of them, that location is the only one of ten such locations that I know to be guarded. Even the road from Amber to the city above, during those moments when it existed, was open five hundred years ago. That, in isolation, leads me slightly to believe it was a state of affairs that was more important to Rebma than to Avalon. But that path is more than simply guarded. It has, so far as I am aware, passed out of common knowledge in Rebma if it was ever in common knowledge to begin with.

"On the other hand-- and I am less certain, here-- Avalon appears to have fallen out of common memory among Family as well. Certainly among my generation it had never been in common knowledge. I'd had several reasons to expect that the Faiella-Bionin ran out of Rebma, but prior to your own statements, I would have expected it to lead elsewhere. That is a very long silence to maintain, so I expect that it was to the advantage of all those maintaining the silence." Brennan tries not to frown. He fails. "This is still superficial, and I know it. I have only speculation: That something about that particular stretch of the road is dangerous. That there was a political or personal disagreement between the two realms leading to more isolation. That there is a reason, overriding the purpose of the Faiella-Bionin as you see it, to keep Avalon hidden."

Brennan's superficial analysis runs down, and he lets out a breath. "I suppose, as an advisor to Queen Celina, I should be searching for a way to make Moire look bad in this regard. But as I am who I am, I'd rather simply understand the truth of it. Which I obviously do not."

Benedict listens attentively, neither confirming nor denying Brennan's theorizing. "Wisdom is knowing when to say 'I don't know'." He says it as if it's an axiom. It may be, in Benedict's place.

"Avalon is many things. One of them is a testing ground that I use for ideas about warfare. There has always been a guard because my neighbors would certainly attack along that vector if they could.

"Ostensibly, the route was closed to all traffic by Moire due to arms merchants using it as a route into Rebma from shadow that evaded customs, but practically, it was because Moire became concerned about my relationship with her grandson. She could not stop me, but she sent a message.

"I had my own observers in Rebma, so I knew he was not going to be killed. I have always thought it ironic that Random and Martin both used the same method to escape Moire's jailer.

"Even if all those reasons are cleared, there is still great risk in trafficking with Avalon."

"I think I begin to understand, Uncle," Brennan says. But as information-dense as that response is, one piece of information tugs at him, demanding closer examination... and then unbidden forms the center of an ideoglyph that's been trying to complete itself in Brennan's mind for weeks.

"And I would be grateful to hear of the other risks of trafficking with Avalon," Brennan says, "But, to clarify: your neighbors on this side of the road would attack Rebma along that vector... because it is in the nature of your neighbors to press whatever lines of attack they can? To engage in raids, campaigns, conquests as they are available?"

Benedict nods. "Exactly correct. They would hardly be worthwhile opponents if they were not aggressive. Rebma has the advantage of having Tritons, but that stops at the waterline."

Brennan nods. This all makes perfect sense in the context Benedict has presented.

"I want their attention to be on Avalon, and each other. As to the other risks, imagine an alliance of Avalon and Rebma that poised a threat to Amber's trade empire. What do you expect would happen to those kingdoms? It was never a desire of mine to put a place I wanted for one purpose at cross-purposes with Father."

Brennan mulls that over, but only briefly-- he's been associated with enough courts and kings in Shadow that the outlines of the response are clear. "It's not obvious to me how commerce between Rebma and Avalon would threaten Amber's trade empire in Shadow, unless you mean simply that the combined strength of an alliance would create a concentration of power too great to ignore. Regardless, if Amber perceived a threat, then Amber would have to respond at least in some measure. Drive a wedge, seek a counterbalancing alliance, on through other more extreme measures," Brennan says, more to demonstrate that he's familiar with Benedict's line of thought than anything else.

"But that's an abstraction. Individual rulers are not abstract; they have personalities, histories, and are embedded in structures and constraints," Brennan continues. The Faiella-Bionin, which prompted the discussion, is exactly one such structure. "And I don't know Moire and regret never knowing Grandfather, so my insight is... limited to that abstract level. Is this a dynamic you see at play in the current environment?"

Benedict pauses, as if collecting his thoughts. "The current environment is in flux. Moire is still active in it, and Celina has not stabilized her realm. I am, by nature, conservative. Whatever the causes of the current situation, I value the insular nature that the people here have. I would prefer that Rebma remains a mythical, magical place whispered over firelight than a trading partner providing them with gas lanterns from Gateway."

"Understood," Brennan says. "I will relay your words and your decision to Queen Celina, though Rebma may hope to change your mind once the situation has settled." Brennan makes a mental note to explain to Celina that it may take a decade of stability before Benedict is ready to reopen the topic. Or a century.

"There is one last issue I was sent to discuss," Brennan says. "As you say, Moire is still at large, and while she has not the Family control over Shadow, she does have a range of options. One such is that, as she had gone to Paris along the Faiella-Bionin, she might also have come here. Originally I thought to raise this only to dismiss it, an act of due diligence. But now, I understand that the nature of your neighbors is to press any lines of attack that present themselves. I understand that Rebma is still a name to conjure and capture the imagination in Avalon. And Moire yet possesses the means to open the Faiella-Bionin and perhaps provide other protections from Rebma's Tritons, thus presenting that line of attack.

"I find this array of thoughts... troubling," Brennan says. "It seems more plausible than before that Moire-- or perhaps an agent-- is here covertly, to raise a small force with the promise of plunder, and lead them on a surprise strike along the Faiella-Bionin."

Benedict nods. "I have considered this. It may explain the timing of a thrust here, but it would require her to have returned from Paris to Rebma and passed Celina's tritons. It's why I want a family member to scout my opposition. An objective such as you describe would make this a different sort of war. You may wish to inform Celina to increase her guard on the cave.

"Yes," Brennan says, in reference to just about everything Benedict just said. Yes, of course he's considered it; yes, Moire could have waltzed through from Paris to Avalon quite easily; yes, that would change the nature of Benedict's war substantially; yes, Celina needs to get both branches of the Faiella-Bionin watched much more carefully and more loyally...

"...but delicately, I think," he continues. "If this is her gambit, then it straddles the line between audacious and desperate. Better, I think, to leave her overconfident and turn the gambit against her, than to spook her into whatever the next plan down on her list is.

"In fact, there is one more minor matter," Brennan says. "The Queen sent me with one means of contacting her, which is a mirror of her construction. We're not certain of the etiquette of such devices, but we did not wish it to be a secret from you in any event. If you do not wish it used, it will not be used. But then I have no immediate means of contacting her."

"Mirrors are unreliable. Light is susceptible to many kinds of manipulation and worse, interception. I would only use such as a last resort, and only with a pre-arranged code. A mirror can be turned on you without your knowledge. Trumps are a better solution. Rebma has long favored mirrors, but they have not been widely used outside of that city."

"Are the Rebmans," and Brennan is tacitly excluding Celina and Llewella, here, "even able to fabricate Trumps? I had thought that was an art limited to the scions of Oberon... in part because the Rebmans did not use them."

Benedict has to think about this for a moment. "There is a difference between fabrication and use. If they have artists trained in the art and suitable subjects, they can do so, as can some of our Kin in Chaos. Corwin's Merlin is a trump artist, I am given to understand."

Brennan frowns, pushing those statements together and trying to make sense of them. "I don't think I understand the use of Merlin as an example, since I believe he has also walked a Pattern." And so did Dara, Brennan doesn't point out; the reason we call them Kin is that they share descent from Oberon.

"But if the Rebmans are in theory able to draw Trumps, then who else-- the Moonriders? What determines who can draw them?" Brennan asks.

"Talent, skill, knowledge, and a suitable subject. A Trump call opens the person of the recipient to the raw forces of Order. Not every being can survive that. Most people are not Ordered enough to be Trump subjects, and thus cannot have their mind re-written by it.

"Have you ever been mentally dominated during a Trump call? It is a direct battle of wills. Trumps are not for the weak of mind."

Brennan manages not to look nauseous at the prospect of having his mind re-written, only by virtue of the fact that a significant piece of his metaphysical model is sliding from "unverified" to "untrue."

"One might expect a son of Brand to be well-versed in these matters, but I am not. I took my leave before those lessons could be imparted," Brennan says. It's an unpleasant sequence of memories, and Brennan could easily be speaking of the formal lessons of metaphysics, the practical lessons of being abused by Brand through a Trump, or both. "Although perhaps the prospects were enough to tip the consensus of the Rebman royal family. That, or the seawater." Although it is not outside the realm of Brennan's imagination that billions of gallons of breathable seawater is what you get when you draw a Pattern and you really, really hate Trumps.

"However, the fact remains, I have no way of contacting Rebma other than the mirror in my possession. Unless I may borrow a Trump of Princess Llewella from you," Brennan says.

Benedict opens a small case on his desk, revealing a trump deck within. "You may, but I am planning to leave shortly. Unless Folly or Martin may provide one, my trump is a short-term solution. I would recommend acquiring a deck, or at least a few key trumps. They are often very useful."

"Understood," Brennan says to the first. "I can return it to you directly after the call, or at tonight's briefing on our respective responsibilities in your absence. And yes," he says to the second, "the lack of a deck is on my list of problems to solve. It's a question of priorities and responsibilities to the various sovereigns of Order: Will the time spent acquiring a deck be worth it overall, or would it cause me to miss a vital opportunity such as thwarting a scheme by the likes of Huon or Moire?"

It's a hypothetical question about a hypothetical situation, and Brennan doesn't really expect Benedict to weigh in on his personal ordering of priorities, although he does pause long enough to let Benedict do just that if he wishes.

Benedict does. "Choices have consequences, always. You may wish to start with providing a trump of yourself to people. You might want to see if Folly has the capability to produce one at this stage in her pregnancy."

Finally, "Thank you, Uncle, for the loan of the Trump as well as your advice. You've given me much to think about."