Once Ambrose and Signy break the connection and drop out of the conversation, Brennan looks to Fiona through the Trump connection and says simply, "Robin?"
It could be interpreted as anticipating Fiona's question for him, or as asking about her directly.
"Robin has visited me, along with her little friends. She is not in immediate danger and I have sent her on to other duties following our discussion," Fiona says, by way of easing Brennan's mind. "Do you have particular speculations you'd like me to address?"
"My chief concern," Brennan says, "was Robin's health, and now is whether there is anything more I can do, or should do. We have our differences at the moment, but this is entirely outside that." Conspicuously missing from that sentence is the coda that any of his uncles might have put there.
"Beyond that, I'm very disturbed by the nature of the wound, to her astral body. My best educated guess is that something living, dead or somewhere on that spectrum was placed inside her. The only reason I can think to do so is to survive the end of the universe and live through into this one without being... replaced, for a better word. I kept thinking about this after we spoke. I keep coming back to the same set of constraints: Someone needed fore-knowledge of what was to come; had something important enough-- almost but not quite real-- to preserve; couldn't do it themselves but had the skill to hijack Robin. I keep cycling back to the same candidates: Moire might have had the knowledge, but probably not the mobility. The Klybesians, the opposite. Possibly the Dragon of Arden, but it could probably had the main strength and reality to do something directly. That leaves the Moonriders, as I suggested before, and..." He shrugs, but not apologetically. "Oberon. If he had something worth preserving that he didn't want close to the Center of things."
"Or Grandfather, or your father." Fiona lays out those additional candidates. "But foreknowledge of what was to come suggests a limited set of suspects, most of whom are family members. Presuming your speculations are correct," which is a point Fiona is at least willing to cede for the sake of argument, "what do you think could have been secreted inside of Robin, as it were, to survive the eschaton?"
Brennan has the sense that Fiona has ideas of her own, or perhaps that's the feeling coming through the connection, but clearly she wants to hear Brennan's speculations without influencing them herself.
He frowns to himself in response. "Brand and Dworkin..." he shrugs. "Yeah, possible, but it just doesn't feel right."
He gathers his thoughts. "I'd feel on firmer footing if I really understood the metaphysics of the eschaton," he admits at last. "My first order understanding is that everything got erased and rewritten with an exact duplicate of itself. Which," he says wryly, "would be fodder for stand-up comedians in some of the Shadows I've visited. To that, my emerging second-order understanding adds: Not quite everything. Not you and I, by virtue of our mastery over the Pattern. Not, I think, the assembled armies of Amber by virtue of whatever Random did with the Jewel of Judgment. What I'm uncertain of is beings like Rebmans of their royal blood, whatever the ultimate source, and beings like the Moonriders. Assuming the Queen of Air and Darkness is actually the scribe of the Tir-na Nog'th, I would say not her. But the rest? Probably.
"Leaving aside creatures of Chaos, so much for beings. That leaves objects. Ordinarily, I would leave out things like Second Order Patterns, but Oberon was at the time repairing the First Order Pattern. In the process, one of the Second Order Patterns was broken. And if Brand's notes are to be believed, this all started as an attempt to repair the Second Order Pattern of Tir-na Nog'th, so counter-intuitively, I don't think they were exempt from the re-creation... not automatically."
He pauses, and editorializes: "Bear with me-- I know I'm making logical leaps in circles, trying to support one with another, so I know how tenuous this is. Oberon may not have shared Brand's goal of fixing Tir-na, may not even have tried. But, could the Queen have known that at the time? Could the Moonriders through whom she worked have known that? Probably not. I'm under the assumption that whatever was-- is-- wrong with that Pattern is reflected in the Queen's mind and vice-versa, and that she wants it that way. So my conjecture is that they would want a sort of an insurance policy, something that by its existence would preserve the ordered flaw in Tir's Pattern against the eschaton or something that could recreate the flaw afterward. That would be a terrible burden even for one of us. Or perhaps something more mundane, like a way to let her out of whatever binding she was under.
"So," he says after all that. "What do we know about objects of power from Tir that would need that sort of preservation, or that would serve that purpose? What do we know about how it was scribed? Is there a Jewel associated with it in legend, as the sapphire is with Rebma?"
Fiona cuts through the speculation to the key point. "You're suggesting it's the Tir analogue to the Rebman jewel, then. If that's the case, I would think Random is your next target, or perhaps Corwin, because they're going to have more knowledge about jewels than I do. Unless you want to try Grandfather, but there's still no telling with him. Just because the flaw in his mind is supposedly cured doesn't make him straightforward. He never has been, and that doesn't seem to have changed of late."
"Flirting with the idea," Brennan says. "Because if there's any object I would expect could survive the sort of rewriting we're talking about it would be the actual Jewel of Judgment. Most of us are still getting over the idea that Amber's Pattern isn't THE Pattern, though, and I'm trying very hard not to make any unwarranted assumptions, like: that there even is a Tir analogue, or what its ontological status is if it exists. It doesn't really please me to think of three independent jewels-- or more-- of that status just floating around out there. It also doesn't please me to think of the one casting Shadows."
He shrugs. "No matter, for the moment-- they are what they are, no matter my sense of aesthetics. You're missing a source of information, though, closer to me than any of yours: Benedict." Also the possibility of prying Rebma's jewel from Moire's sticky little fingers, beating some information out of any unfortunate Moonrider passerby, or perhaps forging one of these temporal windows and asking Oberon directly. "Avalon's Pattern didn't draw itself."
Brennan waits to see if Fiona has any questions about Avalon, while she has him on a Trump right there, and both have some leisure to talk.
"Benedict seems an unlikely source of information, even if he has it, but I'd send you to get it out of him before either Bleys or myself. He respects you as a martial man, or at least a martial youth, and doesn't think of you as a sorcerer first." Fiona leaves the corrollary unspoken.
Brennan is large. He contains multitudes.
"Here's another speculation, or at least a speculative question for you: Corwin's Paris and Random's Xanadu don't seem to depend on anything, including each other, and seem to be fully real and metaphysically complete, where Rebma and Tir are, if not unreal or incomplete, somewhat different to what Amber was and the other two are. If Avalon is one kind of thing, it has implications for what Benedict--or someone--has done. If it's another kind of thing, the implications are different. How does that figure into your calculations?"
"Of whether or not Benedict has knowledge of the Jewel or Jewels? Or of whether there is a third Jewel or Jewel-shadow associated with Tir-na Nog'th?" he asks.
It is obviously a rhetorical question. "Well. Having been to all six realms, even if only briefly for some of them, I can understand the belief that Rebma is in some way dependent on Amber and that Tir is in some way incomplete. Avalon has nothing of that sense to it, so far. It has a history that predates its existence, but so does Paris. It's more porous at the edges, but that is by intent, I'm sure. The stories I've heard about the Silver Towers give me pause, but so far I'll assume Avalon is of a kind with Amber, Paris, and Xanadu. Which unfortunately tells me nothing directly. We know the important parts of the lineage of all four scribes, and we know they were all made with the Ruby." He pauses, considers, then amends that: "Call it very strong supposition for Amber and Avalon. It's the other two that are different, that we don't understand the origins of their scribes, and don't know what tools were used to make them.
"That implies to me that Benedict will have a similar amount of knowledge to Corwin and Random, modulo whatever extracurricular studies they've all been up to. And it doesn't tell me a damn thing about Rebma and Tir or their scribes or their jewels. It suggests some difference, somewhere, but there's a baffle in each case, an historical contigency that could be the cause: Moins' alleged death, and... whatever it was that happened to Tir and its Queen. I've asked Benedict about both and he had little to say about them."
"This is why I don't think of Benedict as a useful source of information. He's like a black hole: things go in but they don't come back out." Fiona purses her lips slightly and Brennan feels what might be annoyance from her in the connection. "Here's another question: what about the blades? We know there are blades for Amber, Rebma, and Tir. Do we know about Paris or Avalon? They've got the inscription, and we know who made at least some of them. Maybe that's a backwards route to finding out more about the Patterns."
"To be fair, I don't think he knew much," Brennan says. "Those events were before the inscription of Avalon, as I understand it.
"As for the swords, as far as I know, no, just the three. Benedict told me he'd kill Weyland outright before he allowed one to be made. Corwin is biding his time, I think. And why not-- there is nothing to hurry him except meddlesome nephews and nieces, very few of who are interested. Random too, probably.
"Weyland will know who scribed Rebma, though, because he'll know who paid the price of Belagamon. But Weyland said a curious thing when I spoke to him: 'Three swords I made that were better than this, of which one was lost and another is no more, if the news I have heard is correct. A fourth I failed at and the fifth I will never try.' Due to an untimely interruption," Brennan forces himself to smile around a grimace, "our conversation was cut short, but he added that the failure of the fourth implied his skill was insufficient for the fifth. Now, at the time, I'd not heard of Avalon. I thought for a while that Avalon and the Primal might be the fourth and fifth but considering what Benedict said... it doesn't sound like it. So where does that leave us? With a missing Pattern? Or another that's been destroyed before all our times?"
"I would assume the fifth is the Primal. But the fourth, I have no idea about. Perhaps more one of our Patterns really is missing." Fiona clearly mislikes all this uninformed speculation. "I want to know which one was lost and which one was no more. Because if those are all blades of that power, we're talking about a lot of Patterns." After a beat she says, "I don't believe that's so. One missing Pattern I could believe, but three or four seems excessive, and I don't mean that with a light Bleysian wit. I mean that three or four such wars as we've seen would have undone the universe.”
"At the time, Belagamon was still lost," Brennan says, "and I interpret the other as Weyland wrongly assuming that Werewindle had perished with Amber's Pattern. He didn't say it outright but it was a tense conversation-- Weyland and Signy were still at something resembling war, and no one was giving away anything for free if they could avoid it." He frowns. It's an all too easy zero-sum game to fall into, and Brennan fell into it, too. "He didn't have news of Amber's Pattern from us, as I recall, nor did anyone volunteer that Werewindle survived, although he must surely know by now, so all those Patterns seem accounted for.
"For what it's worth," he adds, "Benedict implied that he and his brothers may not have been the first princes, that Amber's history and Oberon's offspring stretched back far enough to include some that were legendary even to him-- Lir, Orolando, Weyland. I don't think much of the idea of a functioning Pattern being lost without an explanation of why it's not on the Great Road, but I could conceive of one having been destroyed in an era before Benedict, and the lore simply being... lost. Oberon was quite effective at suppressing the discussion of Ysabeau and Huon; if a Pattern ceased to exist thirty centuries ago as Amber measured time," he shrugs. "I could believe it.
"This takes us far afield from Robin's problems, though. I'm at your service if you want to know more about Avalon," he says, "but I'm curious to know what you think caused that damage. And then one or two other things."
Fiona listens to Brennan's speculations without betraying much of her own opinion besides a nod here and there, which seems to be as much her way of conveying that she's attending to his comments than agreement.
The question, though, she has an answer to: "Something Chaotic," Fiona says decisively. "By which I don't mean hostile--it doesn't seem to have been trying to kill her--but something of sorcerous power without the ability to use the Pattern alongside it. If our hypothetical egg-layer could use the Pattern, they would have, I think. So someone with enough sorcery or other Chaotic power to force the egg on Robin, and on the Black Road, that likely means something, someone, Chaotic."
Brennan is skeptical that it's as clear and obvious as Fiona says. It is certainly possible that whatever it was was Chaotic, but Brennan would be willing to be something value that no trace of Chaos was left within Robin, which is not at all what he would have expected. He doesn't press it. "Whatever it was," he says, "she should track it down for any number of reasons." But none of the Family like to be lectured or harassed, and Brennan gives no indication that he's ready to do that-- or to track it down himself.
"Speaking of use of the Pattern, though, one of those 'other things,' involves just that. This business of sending messengers by Pattern, whether made of blood or not-- is it a skill that can be taught?"
Fiona's answer to that is equally decisive. "Yes. I can teach you, but you'd need to be present. Teaching sorcery through a Trump connection is inadvisable."
"That's Sorcery, and not Pattern?" Brennan is somewhat surprised at that... and the issue of who has been teaching Sorcerous techniques to Huon is kicked just a little higher in the pile.
He stares through Fiona, into the campfire while he mulls that over. His answer, when he focuses back on Fiona, is somewhat reluctant: "Not if there is a risk of losing time here. I have promises to keep. Knowing that trick would make one of them easier-- much easier-- but inadvertantly losing a month or a year would take all of them off the table here in Avalon. Will the offer stay open?" And by all means, if Fiona has a way to guarantee time synchrony, that might change his answer.
"You need to have both, or at least the foundations, to make the trick work," Fiona explains. "And yes, to you, the offer remains open. Come to me when you can, by Trump or other means, and I'll teach you. Is there anything I can give you to aid you in your tasks in the meantime?"
"Thank you, Fiona. It is appreciated. As for anything else... A question you might not even like hearing." But then, that's why he saved the question for a more private venue.
"What do we know about Vialle's lineage, and what does that say about our theory that the Queen of Air and Darkness is looking for Pattern-capable hosts? I wasn't there, but one way of interpreting what I heard about was... a possession. Although apparently one that gave her temporary sight."
"Vialle is from the Rebman court. That is, of course, not my area of expertise." Fiona smiles, a bit sharply, or at least it seems so through the connection. "And Vialle hasn't really talked about her family to me. I know her family wasn't prominent and that her blindness meant she had few prospects, even though it's less of a handicap than it is in Amber or Xanadu. If her illness really is related to the Queen of Air and Darkness, though, I think it started earlier than we knew. She's had trouble all through the Return."
"I was thinking more the night Cambina died, and the aftermath. Ordinarily I would scoff at possessions and ghost stories, but with Benedict, and especially now you taking it seriously..." Brennan shrugs eloquently, as if to say even willfull redheads can take a hint. "It got me thinking of the descriptions of Vialle's rescue shortly afterward. Could have been typical Tir spookiness, or looked at another way, a possession. You know, apparently there were grackleflints there, too? Corpses, anyway, the way I heard it, which is just weird. I've heard a bit here and there about Vialle's illness, but never had the time or motive to pursue it, so I don't know much-- you think it's relevant?"
"If we're talking about a possession, as opposed to something strange that happened in Tir, then a series of difficult dreams would be indicative. I'm bound to keep secret most of what she said by promise to Random and Vialle. But if you're speculating, or investigating, in that direction, you should be aware of at least that much." Fiona sighs. "And be aware of how it looks. Should you have to strike at a Queen, you must destroy her."
"I do not-- and will not-- ask you to betray a confidence," Brennan says. "I thought it might be a sensitive topic, though, all things considered, as much as Robin's issues." He shrugs-- that's why he waited to ask in private.
"Strike at the Queen of Air and Darkness?" He says. "I should, shouldn't I? Aside from trivialities like proof of guilt, if she took Cambina from me, then I don't care if her power is on the order of Oberon, I should find a way and I should end her," he says coldly, almost daring Fiona to bet against him. "But I find myself caught between passion and principle, conscience and consequence. The principle in which I believe, the principle larger than myself is Order, and we've already lost a Pattern. I would not precipitate the loss of another, but nor would I let us-- myself-- have that principle abused... and there ought to be consequence for murder." Brennan is profoundly angry in multiple directions, none of which are Fiona, but that is probably only obvious through a Trump or to people who know him well. He's had centuries to get used to hiding anger in his perpetual mask of faint irritation and habitual scowl.
"For the moment, I channel my passion and principle both into more constructive efforts-- The defense and consolidation of Rebma for the moment. The defense of the Family," he says. "So... I am not pursuing it, not investigating it, as such. Not beyond the level of sharing a few idle speculations as they arise with the people best able to use them." Which, by obvious inference, would mean Fiona. "But life is very long, so while I resolve that question of principle, I am still paying attention."
"All of that is true, but that is not the only Queen I was thinking of," Fiona says, with absolutely no emotional inflection through the trump. "If there is nothing else, I will bid you adieu and listen for you to call me again, Brennan. It has been an interesting conversation."
The connection attenuates, and will close if Brennan doesn't make some gesture to prevent it.
"Stay well, Fiona," Brennan says.
After the Trump contact fades, Brennan takes some time to enjoy the river trout he caught and cooked while talking to Fiona and to let the vestiges of Order and Trump contacts fade from his mind. By the time he's finished his meal it should easily be full dark, and he will be ready for the first of two small workings he wants to perform.
The first is simple-- using principles of Space, he makes a brute force approximation to clairvoyance, giving his vision the benefit of elevation and mobility. He will add a twist of Entropy if necessary to boost the light levels, since it is full dark. What he's looking for is entirely prosaic: Brennan suspects that Cledwin, his mission accomplished as far as he knows, will be making good time back to Methrynsport. At the very least, he probably started out that way. It's possible, although not likely without magical support, that he knows how things ultimately turned out. But he doesn't have that much of a lead. Brennan is willing to spend some time on this, up to a watch, scouting ahead along likely routes, looking for Cledwin.
Not for the first time, he laments the loss of Skiaza. This would be much simpler if he still had his affine and could tell it to "fetch."
Not only is it easy to tell where Cledwin is going, it's easy to tell where he's been. The small country holdings, each a clan's worth of Methrynites of one family or another, are uniformly preparing for some sort of an attack from up the hill. It’s unclear with the tools he has if they’re expecting Corsairs or Parnassians.
Stirring up all the forts has the added advantage of delaying pursuit. Getting through those folks will take some time.
Cledwin is more than halfway back to the port, and probably no more than two days hard ride.
How unfortunate for Cledwin, then, that Brennan learned the Principle of Time from no less than Clarissa herself. But as long as they are planning defense rather than offense, there's no immediate cause for concern.
With these weapons, it's not that different.
But before Brennan moves decisively in any direction, there's one more thing he wants to do, something he's wanted to do for months to satisfy his curiosity and never had the right opportunity. He opens his third eye fully to Astral sight through the clairvoyance, and adds altitude. He wants to see if he can detect those ley lines that the Annais on the Isle of Apples mentioned, and Astral vision seems as good a way as any to go about it. If he does manage to see any, then on a hunch he'll look back toward Montparnasse to see if any converge there. What else he might plan to do with what he learns, even Brennan isn't sure. Maybe nothing-- it's purely curiosity.
It's shadow magic, so it's faint. It doesn't burn like something real, but Brennan has recently spent time detecting the faint traces of the Faiella Bionin in Rebma, so he's in practice.
As expected several lines do converge there. One runs through Methrynsport. Brennan suspects that another runs to Avalon and the third to somewhere in in the far north.
Interesting. Brennan further suspects that several lines will intersect at Avalon proper-- the castle, not just the island-- and, depending on whether they run over the sea or under it, somewhere in the vicinity of the sunken Silver Towers. He idly wonders if, aside from those locations of obvious metaphysical significance, settlements tend to grow up on or near them, or if settlements tend to avoid them. But this is, alas, not the time to pursue those notions. He more than idly wonders if they could be used for communication or conveyance, by someone sufficiently knowledgeable.... especially since the corsairs are coming out of the North.
How well do they follow the terrain? Do they seem to meander with the land in whatever fashion, or are they arrow straight?
It’s hard to say how precisely straight they are, although they ignore terrain completely...
And there may be no good way to tell, but if there is a Line from Montparnasse to Methrynsport, and Cledwin is travelling between those two points... how well does his progress track the Line?
His progress tracks to the road, which tracks to the settlements, which track to available resources. Sometimes the resource is minerals, or farmland. In some cases it might be magic energy.
Okay, Brennan has indulged his curiosity enough for now. Time to return to practical matters. He tends to his horse and his campsite, then lets himself sleep to rest and refresh himself. He doesn't sleep the whole night, but hopefully at least half of it-- he is still up well before dawn. When he wakes, he continues his clairvoyant scrutiny, but now he has a goal-- he knows where Cledwin started out, he knows where he's going, and he has a good indication of what his path has been and what roads he's been using. What he is looking for is some likely position along Cledwin's route that Brennan can put himself to intercept the man.
To err on the side of safety, Brennan is looking for somewhere: Generally in no-man's land, or at least far enough away from a hold or a keep that he's not going to trigger some armed response; at least a watch, preferably several, ahead of where Brennan thinks Cledwin is roughly right now; ideally somewhere Cledwin would be encouraged to hew close to the road in order to keep his pace-- if the road cuts through rough terrain, hills, or woods that would otherwise slow Cledwin down, that would be the sort of thing Brennan is thinking of. Those conditions are in order of decreasing importance. Brennan is familiar with the land from having passed through (with Cledwin!) on the way in, and he makes use of that knowledge and his overhead view while looking for a good spot.
Assuming he finds such a spot, he performs a working of Space. He doesn't need or want to leave Methyrn's Isle, physically or Shadow-wise, so hopefully there is no need to Part the Veil in all that technique's metaphysical violence. Instead, he works a paradox that is local to the particular Shadow of Methryn's Isle, forcing a continuity of location between two collections of points that are entirely discontinuous in real space... just long enough for he and his horse to walk through.
Brennan manages it. He finds that he has to concentrate on it extensively and that he can just manage it without it collapsing. Perhaps he is too close to the pattern.
Brennan arrives at a spot overlooking the pass that leads into the valley of Methrynsport. It's a day or more's ride into the port town, and the valley is used for sheep and other grazing beasts. The pass is basically the only way in or out of the valley, and he can use it to set up an admirable ambush.
It seems odd to Brennan that the spot is not already used as a sentry point.
There are many possible explanations for that-- Brennan ticks them off mentally, as he considers: There could be an even better spot somewhere nearby. Or this could be such a good ambush point, that's what other people are using it for. Or they're using magic and don't need the terrain advantage. Or this is a sentry point and the sentries are, for whatever reason, gone. Some of those are more troubling than others, but it's the last one that seems most likely and most troubling.
If Brennan's understanding of the geography is accurate, he should have about a day before Cledwin comes through here. He doesn't take anywhere near that length of time doing it, but Brennan was going to have to scout and survey the area anyway in preparation. Now he just has something else to be on the lookout for-- signs of sentries, either that have been removed, or withdrawn, or that are active in the area and pursuing their own goals. That includes scanning the horizon, Methrynsportward, looking for columns of smoke.
Brennan surveys the area. In the valley near to the great port, there are farmers working the fields, and there don't seem to be any sentries or watchers. Brennan would tentatively consider the valley "peaceful", with all that that implied. Closer to the pass than the farmland are trees, and it looks like they may be reserved for shipbuilding, which is a major industry for Methrynsport.
It's a good way through the pass before the lands to the northwest become useful for anything. This high up, it's mostly sheep, and it's hard to tell if they're wild or someone's livelihood.
Brennan's got the distinct impression that he's missing something, somewhere, because this level of peace and laxity is utterly at odds with what he's come to expect from Avalon. But if there's no sign of the expected sentries having been removed by, or in response to, some other nearby violence, then there's not much to do about it. He gets back to his original purpose of ruining Cledwin's day.
He returns to the pass and if possible sets up an ambush. Ideally, if there is a spot where the pass takes a blind curve, Brennan will try to put an obstruction there-- felled tree, fallen rocks, something in that venue depending on the exact nature of the terrain. Then, a very nearby place of concealment. The general idea is simple-- when Cledwin comes through the pass, he'll round the corner and confront the obstruction, and Brennan will step out behind him. The obstruction need not be total, nor insurmountable. Just enough that Brennan can force a confrontation without chasing him all over creation, because he's just not in the mood for that. Enough of an obstruction that Cledwin will either have to go through Brennan, or through the obstruction before Brennan clobbers him.
Not for the first time, Brennan wishes he had Sir Dignity with him. This would require a lot less manual labor and/or sorcery.
The ambush is set. Brennan will be at one end, and downed trees will be at the other.
Brennan waits for Cledwin's arrival and arrive he does. He's later than Brennan would've thought and less alone.
Cledwin has a companion, both of them are on horseback. The other man seems young. He's armed and alert.
Cledwin's hands are tied, and the other man is leading his horse.
Brennan lets them step into the ambush before stepping out behind them. His weapons aren't drawn, but he makes no attempt to appear harmless. Merely not-overtly-threatening-yet.
"What'd he do to p1ss you off?" he asks, once they've stopped to assess their situation. His tone indicates that he is not altogether surprised that Cledwin has irritated someone else.
"Why, he makes me most happy, my man. He's my captive, and I know where to ransom him dearly." He pauses. "If you are his kin, I could be persuaded to drop my claim, for the right price."
Does the young man have any identifying marks? Distinctive dress, insignias of local forces, anything that Brennan might recognize?
"Uniforms" are a part of warfare that Benedict has not brought to this island, as yet. He is either a bounty hunter, or a young blade of the gentry or the minor nobility, who is hunting bounties as a hobby.
The young man makes sure that Brennan can see that he is armed.
Brennan does the courtesy of noticing the other man's weapons, although not commenting on them, to spare them both the burden of excessive posturing. He also takes a closer look at Cledwin-- How is he taking this most recent development in his roller-coaster career? And how does the Avalonian treatment of captives apply here? How well is Cledwin bound, and did the man take his weapons away? Does it look like he put up a fight prior to his captivity?
"We might come to an agreement," he says. "Depends how much you're asking, for a start. And who I'm dealing with."
Cledwin has lost a fight, and been treated. The rope seems almost nominal and Cledwin is armed. He doesn't seem to be making any preparations to flee, though.
"I am Sessile," say the young man. "Of Avalon. My prisoner, Cledwin, is wanted by a merchant captain that he tricked most unnobly out of a sum of gold in the northlands. However the reward is not large, and I would turn him over to you for fifty Protectors."
Brennan could easily make a bag with that much money, either with sorcery or Pattern conjuration. It's not a tiny sum, but it's not princely.
Cledwin leans in towards Sessile and whispers to him. "Oh, and I'll want your word that you won't kill the prisoner, if he keeps his parole."
"Walker," he gives as his name. "So I guess that makes you his bodyguard, too, doesn't it?" he muses. That could be a threatening statement, but Brennan doesn't go out of his way to make it so.
He nods, unexcitedly. "If needs be. 'Captor' and 'Protector' sound very alike, in the Northron's language. He is surety for my reward, so I will guard him as I would fifty Prots."
[Brennan] wonders idly, if Cledwin had asked for an armed bodyguard back to the northern islands, how much Sessile would have charged him for it, and whether he's coming out ahead or behind on that transaction. He fingers a coin purse, hefting it, to signal to Sessile that he's thinking it over. "Mind telling me what's the news inland while I think that over?" And while Sessile thinks over his new job as Cledwin's protector, although Brennan suspects that the social mores of Avalon will compel him to make good on that new position.
"I didn't get too far inland, before I came across Cledwin. Talk of battles and alliances, mostly. 'Will the Maghees take arms against the Port, or stay neutral, or fight the hill-folks?' All rubbish, but it makes for exciting bar-room talk."
Brennan wonders if Sessile is intentionally missing the point or if the cultural blindspot is just that strong-- the only reason he has to play bodyguard is because he won't take Brennan's money in the first place. But it's mostly a moot point, and Brennan has more options available than simply killing the man, so he doesn't bother to press it.
"All right," he says, "Let's talk parole terms. Deference, as though I'd captured him myself." His eyes flick to Cledwin. "That means answering questions full and honest, and keeping out of whatever fight I say keep out of."
Sessile looks over to Cledwin. "That would seem only fair, given that he will treat you as if he'd captured you himself."
Cledwin looks back at Sessile. He lowers his voice, but not below Brennan's capacity to hear. "He'd pay a lot more for me, if you held out."
Sessile looks back at him, "If he pays what I ask, then I don't have to drag you to the north. I can take my chances on making more in the next four months."
Cledwin shrugs. "You're being kindly robbed, kid. Try not to let him take you too badly. There's a lot more to him than this act he's putting on."
Brennan interrupts their dickering by tossing a purse at Sessile's feet. He does not approach until after Sessile picks it up and satisfies himself that the contents are sufficient. The coins are all coins of Avalon, in the currency that Cledwin had paid him and that he's seen in use. Whatever extra he needs is conjured into the purse. He smiles broadly at Cledwin, saying, "A lot of that's from you." Irony is a fine and savory spice.
Cledwin bows towards him. "I had hoped you were spending your rewards from Trippel, but no matter."
Assuming the deal is sealed, he says to Sessile: "You might want to stick around a bit."
To Cledwin again: "Go ahead. Tell him why you're worth so much more, since you haven't already."
Cledwin rubs his wrists together. "Trippel, now-Lord of Montparnasse, would pay a greater reward, for I was instrumental in his father's death at corsair hands, in service to the Admiral of the Northling's War Fleet.
"And the Protector might also pay a handsome reward for me, as I had attempted to damage his alliances with the Mountain, for the benefit of my Admiral.
"Walker here can bargain with either of them to sell my parole for more than the Northern Alliance will pay, and they are closer.
"I do not know my value to them, but it is high."
Brennan gives Sessile a wry glance, as much to include him in the conversation and make him understand that his participation in this discussion is permitted, as to remind him just when Cledwin chose to give up that information.
"Poison," he says. "Thing he left out is, Prince Maibock was poisoned. And that this happened with him an honored guest at Maibock's daughter's wedding. Was it your hand actually shot the arrow, or'd you get someone else to do it for you?" And by extension: Who?
Brennan lets him answer, and monitors Sessile for a reaction. His recitation is calm, not outraged, but he is trying to gauge the reaction from someone not a family member or otherwise personally involved: Is poison, and that level of deception and treachery, considered acceptable in Avalon?
Sessile turns to Cledwin. "Is this true?"
"I knew nothing of that until Walker insinuated I was responsible, just now." The onetime captain of guards turns to his captor. "You overstate my involvement, Walker. I took out some sentries and allowed the corsairs in. I was on the road before they were indoors."
He pauses. "I'm only sorry I didn't win."
"Pretty thin rope to hang from," Brennan observes. "Instrumental, but ignorant. Whatever. Let's cut to the chase, you just tell us the whole plan-- how it was supposed to go, how it actually went. You can talk about your Admiral, too, while you're at it."
Brennan's choice of us-- including Sessile-- is casual but deliberate.
Cledwin swallows and begins. "The Admiral wanted Maibock replaced so that he could arrange for the hill people to bottle up the port, so that they could not threaten his flank, thus making the Protector's forces need to spread out further, improving his chances to put an invasion force onto Avalon Proper. On our first trip here, I used magics to make the Prince's daughter fall in love with Crisp, and vice versa, not that they needed it. We returned, making sure to agitate the port and arm every trumped-up hill-fort to the teeth. Oh, and Crisp's bodyguard was intentionally chosen to fail, so that they would not interfere. Walker here was the only one who was any good, and Crisp insisted on him.
"So it went. I was supposed to let the invaders in and then leave, so that I could be blamed and Crisp would be able to be outraged at my betrayal. I fled as quickly as possible to the first of the hill-forts, and when news reached there that Prince Maibock was dead, but Prince Trippel was returned and holding fast, I headed back towards Port Methryn to get word to my Admiral."
Sessile looks annoyed. "Is there anything else I didn't know to ask you about?"
Cledwin shakes his head. "Just speculation. A number of the Montparnassians were agents of the Protector. Possibly Walker as well."
Brennan barks a short laugh of genuine amusement. "One of the Protector's agents thought that, too! Hated to disappoint her." He shakes his head, still amused. "You think maybe you did your job a little too well? Damn near lost all four of those clowns back in port." Brennan gives him enough time to respond to that, if he chooses, before returning to the questioning.
Cledwin’s look indicates that he may agree with Walker, but doesn’t wish to say more.
He expresses curiosity about all the operational details of the plan-- did he have known contacts among the fleet? Was he in communication with them, and if so how? If not, how did the timing work?
There was a flag flown when the wedding party arrived. The corsairs moved then. That’s why it took a few days for the attack to happen.
Brennan's curiosity about those aspects is genuine-- you never know what you might turn up if you tugs at the threads of a plan-- but it is equally a smokescreen for his true interest: These magics to cause Crisp and Mayness to fall in love. Is Cledwin a magician? Did he get this magic from his Admiral or some intermediary? Is this a common stratagem for the Admiral? It's not the first, or even the second time that he's come across subtle geasa and mind-control tactics: Moire against Camelopardis, the Admiral against Jellicoe. Brennan finds the whole idea deeply distasteful, to the point of physical revulsion, but he keeps it in check as best he can until he sees how Sessile reacts to it.
The Admiral got the love draught from his Maghee sorcerer. Cledwin isn't sure it was even necessary. Both parties seemed to be getting something they wanted, anyway. It's probably worn off by now.
The Admiral finds you. Cledwin was to return to the North on completion of his tasks. If he was needed again, he'd be called upon again.
Along the way, Brennan's trying to gauge without asking directly (at least not yet) whether Cledwin's mind has been fuzzed, too.
Either he's been fuzzed or he doesn't know much about the Admiral.
Oh, he gets his love draught from his Maghee hedge-wizard, does he? Brennan lingers over that, digging for more details-- name, description, whereabouts, etc. He wants to confirm or deny that this is Cameleopardis. Either way it's useful information.
Cledwin only knows it secondhand, but he assumes it's Camelopardis. Maghees aren't that common outside of Methryn's. Somewhat of an insular tribe, apparently.
After that, he returns to pressing the issue on the Admiral, asking directly whether he's met Stratum or Syke in person, and if so, he wants descriptions as warranted. He asks in that order because if Cledwin is a victim of Sykological warfare, he wants to know. After he gets the verbal evidence, he shows Cledwin the non-Trump images of Moire and Dara and asks if he recognizes them. He does not hide them from Sessile.
Cledwyn last saw them when he transferred to Jellicoe's ship, to take this mission. His orders were clear, but he doesn't seem to recall much detail around them, such as where he was or who was there. He knew he was getting orders from Stratum, though. They were definitely the Admiral's orders and not anyone else's.
He has never seen Dara. He recognizes Moire, but doesn't know from where. Perhaps a painting.
That he's seen Moire but can't remember exactly where is telling. No help in deciding the particular, but all three major possibilities are strengthened, here: Moire is Skye directly (by replacement, apparently), or she's attached herself to her court and is manipulating her, or is taking advantage of Syke's unique command structure to spoof it to her own purposes. That his mind is filling in details is not surprising, although it is a disturbing echo of what Benedict had to say about the sketch of Maeve.
He'll return to that-- Cledwin's memories and Moire-- later, but for now, a redirection:
"So what's your angle in all this? You're the Admiral's agent, but is it for money? For your people? Is it personal?"
"Well, all of those, yes. It is the duty of each man to serve his lord faithfully, and the duty of the lord to give them reason to do so, and the duty of each man to find his own reasons for having faith." Sessile nods. Cledwyn may be reciting a local aphorism or quasi-religious slogan.
While he's listening to the answer, he's also giving Cledwyn a very careful examination with the Third Eye. He is not entirely concerned, any more, with Cledwyn or Sessile learning that he's a Sorcerer. Neither one of them are leaving this conversation on the same trajectory they entered it. So while he is not so obvious as to stand there making arcane gestures, he does not hesitate to move from the more passive Third Eye to the more active Astral examination.
Brennan's Third Eye examination is inconclusive. All of the basics are solid. He's a living person, he's not a Prince of Amber, he's not under immediate Sorcerous influence. What can't be told is more subtle. Brennan can’t see if he's under the influence of much weaker shadow-magics, or if he's from a Shadow of Avalon instead of this Avalon, or if he's been subject to intense probability manipulation.
Brennan scowls to himself, and puffs air out through his mouth, collecting his thoughts-- clearly the true Sorcery that stood out so brightly to his sight on Cameleopardis was the binding of Time, and nothing else. The mental manipulation wasn't some lesser, subtler Sorcery masked by the greater, it was just pure shadow hedge wizardry. Nice place you've got, here, Benedict, he thinks to himself. Again. This does somewhat limit his options:
He can try to break the influence without knowing much about it or even being able to detect it directly, which seems like an option of last resort. He can haul him back to Balen at Montparnasse. He can sail him back to Avalon proper. None of those appeal. Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat.
"Not good enough," he says. "I need to know what the Admiral looks like. I need to know where you've seen this woman, and the fact that you don't know yourself should be very worrisome to you. How long ago was your last meeting with Stratum, did you say? Shortly before you signed me on, I take it?" [OOC: A few months ago, that would be, right?]
He gently corrects Walker. As one does when one is a prisoner. "A few months before that. I did take one voyage here with Crisp."
Brennan nods to acknowledge the correction. As one does when one is wrong.
He pauses, and his forehead starts sweating. "I never forget a face," he says, in a puzzled tone. "I..."
[Brennan] waits for the answer, then turns to Sessile: "How much would you ask to guide and escort us to the Maghee, in some large numbers? How long a journey?"
"Two weeks, thirty prots," Sessile responds, promptly.
Brennan nods at that, too: "Hold that thought."
Brennan, who has slowly but steadliy dropping the artificial cadences and phrasings of Walker's speech patterns (although he hasn't bothered to discard the name, just yet) turns the full force of his regard back to Cledwyn. "The hard question is: What else has been taken that you don't remember enough to even go looking for?" He lets Cledwyn chew that over just long enough for the implications to start biting back. "That's the hard question. But the real question, the one with consequences is: How badly do you want them back? I can't promise success, but I can think of a few places to start." There is much less gloating in Brennan's expression than might be expected, all things considered.
Cledwyn's jaw clenches and he takes a moment to breathe loudly and recover himself. "I am in a parlous situation. You've insinuated that I've been sorcerously tampered with, and used as a tool, and given me reason to consider it. But opening myself to further such may be allowing myself to be used by ... another." He does not say "by you".
"I'm tempted to say 'a plague on all your houses' and follow the deep forest to freedom, but I would like to know if I'm myself, and if someone has something hanging over me that they can control me with.
"So, 'how badly?' Well, badly enough, but not badly enough to pay any price. What price is there for what you offer?"
Sessile looks over at Cledwyn. "It would do my people no end of good were we to prove that the Alliance were using sorcery thusly. They would lose allies and we would be stronger. I would like to see this proven, not merely undone."
"Well spoken," Brennan says to Cledwin. "I will speak candidly: I don't know to a certainty that you've been used in this way, but I have very good reasons to believe that it is so. This is how I knew which questions to ask to highlight it. Beyond that, I do not know its extent-- it could be just this, or it could be very deep. I have suspicions there, but they aren't well founded. Speculations would be a better word. And from your perspective," he gives a bitter, wry, perfectly humorless smile, "you could be missing a memory that you have reason to hate me. I would not bargain too deeply in your position either.
"But like Sessile," he nods in the young man's direction, "I value proof in this matter. And more, I value the timing of the information. So. I could take you back to Montparnasse and hope that Princess Balen can prove and undo this, but all things being equal I know she is not your first choice. Instead, I propose this: You travel with me willingly to the Maghee as the closest thing to a neutral party, in the hopes they have a wizard who can shed light on this. You willingly cooperate-- within reason-- in our efforts to get to the bottom of this. You allow Sessile and I both to witness the results.
"When we know more, let the default be this: When we know more, Sessile re-takes custody of you and takes you to Avalon to collect a reward from the Protector which, by your own admission, should be substantial. This gives Sessile a stake in your survival and well-being. Sessile, you agree to take custody, to go to Avalon and collect your reward, and to keep what you learn private and relay it and any message I have to the Protector, who may or may not release you from silence as he sees fit. I think this approaches fairness to you, Cledwyn, and treats you rather well, Sessile.
"But," Brennan chews off the word, "Let us also agree to re-evaluate that when we know more. We may find better plans for all of us come that day, or reasons to continue to travel together.
"Do we have a bargain? If so, we should depart immediately. Sessile, if it makes any difference to our destination, we are looking for a gathering of Maghee likely to have such a wizard."
Cledwyn nods. "If I turn out to have done no harm to you except as coerced, then I am no longer a lawful prisoner."
Sessile bites his lower lip. "That is true, and there shall have to be a reckoning as Sir Walker says. But if you are still for the bargain with that foreknowledge, then so am I. I will get my pay as a guide and my evidence as well, in front of witnesses."
Cledwin nods. "I am content."
Last modified: 2 January 2016