While Celina is otherwise occupied and his captains have dispersed to relay the plans to their troops, Conner retires to his tent with the map table and pulls forth the Eye of Rebma. For all his confidence in laying out his plans, Conner has never led troops into battle on such a scale before. Conner just looks at the mirror for a long moment. This should be his moment alone; his chance to achieve something great without Mother or Uncle leading him by the hand.
"Am I trying to prove myself to them or myself?"
Silence reigns once more as Conner and his reflection ponder the question. "This is too important to let my ego decide. Besides, I can always leave this part out of my book." Conner grins. Uncle Bleys defeated Huom before and has the most reason to see him defeated again. Conner would ask him for advice.
Not for the first time, Conner regrets not getting Brita to paint him a few critical Trumps for times like these. Hopefully his talents were up to the task. The Eye would serve to find Bleys but Conner would need to augment its magicks to let his image and voice be carried to his location as well. He places the Eye on the floor of his tent and then marks out an set of runes around it with small white stones. They sketch out the magical version of a transmitting and receiving antenna and the cables necessary to patch it into the Eye. When all looks to be ready, Conner focuses his will upon the Eye and calls out to his Uncle.
[[OOC: If Conner can do this with his own powers, then there is no need for Merlin to be here.]]
[There will be an energy cost: you're close to Rebma and her pattern. You can take a full day to do it and to recover or a much shorter time with Merlin. Up to you. Your GMs are all about choices having consequences.]
Then Conner will graciously accept Merlin's aid.
Sorcery is difficult here, near the submerged pattern. Still, the spell is possible and after some searching he looks down at his Uncle in shadow. He is in bed. His companion is asleep, but he is apparently awaiting [Conner's] contact. He casts a quick spell and she is likely to stay thus. He smiles down at her fondly and turns to Fiona's son.
"Conner, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you? Oh, and remind me to tell you why Edan is going to see his Grandmother after we're done with your business."
"Of course." Conner smiles. His uncle always did know how to pique Conner's interest. "I've called for advice of course and to catch up on family gossip. Due to an interesting set of circumstances that I really must fill you in on sometime, I've found myself general of an army of Tritons and Rebma currently moving to besiege the city of Rebma. Now if that were the only issue I should not have bothered to call but between our army and Rebma is Huon's army you see."
[I have played rounds of "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen" in which that paragraph would have fit in perfectly. "Really Ambassador? But surely Prince Huon had Magisharks to defend himself with?" "Indeed he did..."]
Conner steps to the side a bit and lets the map with his battle plans become visible. "So what I am looking to do is soundly defeat Huon's army while minimizing damage to Rebma proper and maximizing the heroic quality of both my army and my myself. So with your vested interest in the fate of Huon and your combination of military prowess and style, I contacted you first." Conner concludes. "Care to give me a few pointers?" Conner smiles. "Oh, and afterwards remind me to update you on the sudden of lack of Rebman royalty in the area." Unless interrupted, Conner proceeds to outline his battle plans for Bleys to critique.
Bleys beams. "Of course, my boy, of course. I think you're absolutely right to rely on the unfamiliarity of his army with underwater tactics as compared to yours. Make sure the battle is close enough to Rebma proper to minimize spells and pattern use and you should be able to beat him on numbers alone. He'll have an escape route. Obviously, chasing him, but not catching him is a strong heroic measure if you don't mind him escaping. Which I do.
"I prefer it if you captured him and turned him over to me, of course, but I expect he'll have a way out if he loses. I wonder who is taking his trumps these days? In any case, I should prefer it if you and your army don't do the expedient thing and negotiate to give him what he wants. I'm far too busy for him to finally drink enough two o'clock courage to attempt to challenge me. If you do negotiate with him, send him word that I will not pursue him an' he does not give me cause to."
"I shall do so." Conner nods. "For what it is worth, I included the crippling of Huon as a priority in the campaign but we both know how currents flow down here."
Bleys goes on for several minutes, delving into the minutiae of the plan and leading Conner to some definite improvements. He's a Socratic teacher and lets Conner do most of the work. Finally, he seems satisfied. It reminds Conner of a long fencing workout. It was about as tiring, too.
The whole lesson makes Conner a little nostalgic for his childhood. It has been far too long since he trained his mind like that. Conner resolves to change that.
"So, whose army are you commanding and who is running the sea kingdom in such parlous times as she apparently faces?"
"The first question is easy to answer. Khela, daughter of Llewella leads this army and bears with her the Pattern Blade of Rebma." Conner replies. "The Tritons flock to her banner because of it. As for who rules there," Conner gives an eloquent shrug, "it has been reported that Moire has fled the city, Loreena is in our custody and Valeria's Tritons were out with the army which indicates to me that she wasn't below water to need them herself. So that would leave Rilsa or Llewella herself to guard the gates of Rebma since there is too much organized defense to believe that no Royals currently command there." Conner concludes. "I can't get through their magical defenses for accurate scrying so I cannot confirm for sure."
Bleys nods. The girl beside him turns over and he pets her hair absently. "Do you know where Llewella stands? Rilsa will be less competent than Llewella, if you have to oppose her or rely on her strengths to fight Huon. Perhaps you should have a chat with your aunt, my lad. I'm sure she'd be most pleased to hear from you."
"I always enjoy talking with my family," Conner observes, "but I lack the means. It was hard enough getting this sorcerous sending out to you even with talented assistance." Conner directs a smile and nod at Merlin. "Unless either of you has a Trump to lend, I should have to rely on Rebman mirror work and I am always uneasy relying on a power I have little direct experience of."
Bleys reaches into a pouch on the nightstand next to him and pulls out a trump. "A moment, nephew. This is tricky." He spends some time casting a spell. "There we are, protected from the Sorcery..." He pulls out a dagger and parts the veil between you. The rip is quite small, but water begins flooding into his chambers. The protected trump slides through and the veil is sealed. "Take good care of it. I've already lost one this tennight."
"I shall." Conner promises as he takes it and holds it firmly in his right hand. "Thank you, Uncle."
"Impressive," says Merlin. "How did you make that work?"
"Another time", replies Bleys. "Is there anything else? I'm afraid I shall need to mop up here before my charming companion awakes."
"Only the story of Edan that you bid me remind you of once this business was concluded." Conner reminds him. "I should love to hear what the firebrand is up to."
Bleys smiles at the firebrand reference, although perhaps a trifle too quickly. "Edan found himself unexpectedly revealed to Mother, and is on his way to pay his belated respects. He made the mistake of using Sorcerous means to communicate with someone in Amber and it happened to catch her attention. He's reached the tree, where he's become caught up in shadow politics and run across your cousins Martin and Lily. I think he's been made Duke of Ofallion, poor lad..."
Conner understands the necessity of dealing with Grandmother. His own experience went well enough but that was nothing to be counted on. The news of Martin and Lily traveling together is disturbing. What kind of trouble are they out to shoot? Still it is the last statement that caught his attention.
"Duke of Ofallion?" Coner looks to Merlin to see if the name was meaning for him. "I am not familiar with the place. Is the title a worse burden that the ones he already has?" Conner asks.
Merlin is very blank-faced, even more so than usual.
It is Bleys who responds to the question, of course. "It's near the tree, with all that implies about stability. I don't think the title has to be burdensome, not unless he pays attention to it. The officeholder is supposed to go mad. It's traditional, apparently. If only he hadn't chosen to use sorcery for cross-shadow communication when he didn't know if it could be intercepted, he'd not have to worry about it. Ah, well. Can't be helped, I suppose. The young have to learn somehow."
"Yes I suppose I do." Conner smiles with a shrug. "Though I presume if Rebman sorcerers had the capacity to intercept this communication, you would have brought it up before letting me describe all my battle plans." Conner pauses here for a moment in case one of the magic men just realized a flaw.
Bleys is dismissive. "No, you need to worry about Sorcerers, not Magicians. Your only worry is if Dara has met up with Huon and chose to spy on me." He pauses. "It seems unlikely, at least without my noticing."
"I really must take you up on that offer of a metaphysical maths crash course one of these days, Uncle." Conner says ruefully. "Thank you for all your help. I'll let you know how things go when I have a spare minute." Unless Bleys stops him, Conner releases his concentration and lets the spell lapse.
"Thanks again for your help, Merlin." Conner nods to him. "I vastly underestimated how draining sorcery would be this close to Rebma's Pattern." Conner holds up the Trump of his Aunt. "Now let's see what the Rebman side of the family tree has to say about things." Conner concentrates upon the card.
"Who calls?" says Llewella. Her hair is flowing as if she is under water.
"Conner." He answers such that she could hear the smile before she saw it. "Sorry about the last minute nature of the call but I did not have the capacity to reach you until recently. Generally speaking, I don't show up with a besieging army around a family member's home without the courtesy of informing them first and for that I do apologize. I presume you have kept apprised of Khela's activities?" Conner inquires. "She would only repeat that you were safe when I inquired about you."
Llewella's hair flows around her head, and it occurs to Conner that that it is amazingly convenient that it shields the background so perfectly.
"Conner, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you had a trump of me. She and I are keeping in touch, and I am expecting your arrival at the appropriate time. I am in the city, preparing her defences. You are with her? You may be able to do me a favor. I have a nephew here who would like to speak with her."
Conner tries not to let the surprise show of his face that she is in charge of Rebma's defenses. That should make things much simpler. "Yes, I am in her camp." Conner confirms. "Who needs a lift?"
Llewella nods, and speaks more quietly "Duke Jerod has returned to Rebma to aid in her defenses, and has expressed a desire to work with my daughter to this end. He wishes to help minimize Rebman casualties and damage, a goal I am sure we all share.
Conner nods when his guess at the passenger is confirmed. "Of course. A crippled Rebma is the last thing we all want." Certain Rebmans crippled is another matter though Conner would never say so aloud.
"Is there aught that you need in the field? Your very resourceful direct link makes it much easier to pass things to you."
Llewella's head turns side to side. She seems to be watching something in Rebma.
"Your latest scouting reports on Huon's army would be useful." Conner replies. "As well as any details of Rebma's defense that would allow me to coordinate our actions with yours. Materially we are well supplied though I wouldn't turn down any crossbows and bolts you could spare. Is there anything Rebma requires?"
"Other than a decisive victory by our heroic defenders? We have a good chance here. Please make sure that your cousin doesn't do anything foolish." She pauses and her hair settles around her. "I assume your mother taught you how to hold a contact when your subject is active, yes?" Without waiting for Conner's answer, Llewella's attention drifts and she starts moving. Whatever is behind her is a blur.
As Ossian and Brita proceed downward through the caverns, Brita asks Ossian "How should we Present Ourselves when Approached on the Stair? Tourists from Reality Paris?"
"Tourists, envoys, whatever. I guess they will judge us to be spies anyway."
"But I think it is a good idea. Let's adjust it just a bit. We can be artists from Paris. Seeking inspiration. It's not even a lie."
Brita glances at him in surprise. "Do I Look like An Artist? I would have Suggested Artist and Bodyguard, but My Understanding is that Rebman Women are not Guards but Guarded. Perhaps Artist and His Sponsor? I've Come Along to make Certain you Produce, Perhaps?"
Ossian laughs. "You mean I should adopt a lazy Lucasian approach to art?" he asks. "Oh, I can't make art under pressure. I must wait for inspiraation." he adds with a drawl.
Brita's grin is conspiratorial as she adds in a snooty voice, "My Artiste needs an Eastern Facing Room to Catch the Tides of His Muse. At Once!"
In a more somber tone he adds "It works. But don't forget that you are an artist too. I have seen your Trumps."
"My Skills are Better Left Unspoken for Now." Brita says. She turns back to their cover and spends some time addressing their background. "Our Names and Linked Lineage may not be Commonly Known Yet in Mirror Rebma, but I would Avoid their Use. You may call me Lady Bria Dafne; Aunt Dafne was a Wave-Maiden in Shadow Asgard. She was Always describing the Glories of The Deep and never missed an Opportunity to Draw the Unsuspecting In to Experience those Glories First-hand. Everything was 'Wondrous' and 'Mysterious' and 'Intense' by her Account - Good Descriptions for your Art, yes?"
Ossian smiles "At times. I will go as Sandor Dali. A really surrealist painter. Chaos inspired."
Brita wants to spend a few hours rehearsing on the way down, practicing their addresses to each other and replaying their history together until it is memorized.
Ossian really enjoys this but does not always play seriously.
Ossian and Brita descend the rest of the way down the tunnel and emerge onto a mountainside above the city of Rebma. The view over the city reminds Ossian and Brita of the view from the lower part of the mountain over the city of Amber in years gone by--but there is a mountain across the way that is tall as Kolvir, and it is there that the palace of Rebma lies.
Brita is first to spot the large armed party moving up the side of the mountain they're descending, toward them. Once Brita has spotted them, Ossian catches sight of them too.
Assuming they have not been spotted, Brita will draw back into the shadows of the tunnel exit for a moment to assess the situation. How large a party? How far away? What are they armed with?
It's unclear whether they've been spotted just yet. The party seems to consist of about a couple of dozen people, of whom maybe 2/3 are armed with spears. There's a trunk floating along with them, so there's at least one magician of some sort.
The group is far enough away on the path that it will take a half-glass or so to meet them, but Brita and Ossian (or the other party) could halve that by swimming directly up the mountain, off the path proper.
After she's assessed the situation, Brita is in Lady Dafne mode. She only hesitates a moment and proceeds down the path as if she Owns it, striding ahead of Ossian.
Ossian smiles and follows. Do the soldiers have green hair?
It's hard to tell under the helmets, but some of those who are unhelmed seem to.
Lady Dafne gestures widely to out to the vista spread below as she nears a bend in the path. "Here!" she exclaims loudly, "Here would make an Excellent vista for the background of the portrait for Mother, do you not agree, my Dear Sandor? The City crowding the valley floor, the Majesty of the mountain with the Crown Jewel of the Palace perched above." Her stresses are fewer and different than Brita would normally use, long and emotive. She turns slightly to get the artiste's opinion as she holds her hands in the classic picture frame 'L' shapes to capture the view before them.
As Ossian and Brita, er, Sandor and Dafne look down the path, it becomes apparent that the other party has spotted them. They are still coming up the path, but with a bit more speed. If the presumed Rebmans keep up their pace and speed, they will arrive at Dafne and Sandor's present location in perhaps forty minutes. They have not (yet) decided to depart the path and swim up the mountain, but they could bypass the Amberites completely if they wished it by doing so.
Ossian looks around for something to carve in, and finds a piece of sinkwood. He sits down, and carefully starts carving.
After a few minutes, the Rebmans depart the path and begin swimming up the mountainside, as if to bypass Ossian and Brita. The Amberites can move to intercept the Rebmans, or they can allow the Rebmans to bypass them.
Ossian grins. "They seem to dislike artists. A pity. "
"Let's see how much?" he says and starts swimming to intercept them.
"How rude of them to disrupt the image!" Lady Dafne proclaims as she follows Ossian. "You There!" she calls forward, projecting the sound through the water with a little jet of water. "We have need of your services!"
It takes Dafne and Sandor a little while to swim down the mountainside to meet the party. As soon as it becomes apparent that they are trying to intercept the Rebmans, the Rebmans change course to meet them.
When they get within shouting distance, one of the armed Rebmans calls out, "Who goes there? Halt, and identify yourselves, in the name of Queen Moire."
Lady Dafne puffs up like a prickly blowfish at the tone, "Well! In the Name of King Corwin of Paris, _I_ am Lady Bria Daphne and this..." She waves expansively at Ossian, "...is the Incomparable Artiste Sandor Dali. I am certain you have heard of him." She does not stop to let them speak. "You have disrupted his Vision." She spins in the water with an arm outstretched to encompass the vista below. "This needs the presence of a..." she glances back at the Rebman contingent "...strong, loyal force Advancing to defend the beautiful jewel of the Palace beyond. You Must pose for the Artiste so he can work you in to his next Masterpiece!"
Both Brita and Ossian can tell that something she said has set off the leader of the Rebman guards. For a moment, Ossian fears there will be a fight. Then a veiled figure emerges from the middle of the group to lay a hand on the arm of the angry Rebman warrior. Her sleeve falls back, revealing a green-skinned arm.
"Peace, Pompilius. Lady Bria, please accept our apologies for disturbing your master artist's vision." There is something familiar about her tone, although neither Brita nor Ossian feels they have met the woman before. "You have come from Paris, have you not? Would you tell travelers passing by how things fare in Corwin's kingdom?"
Ossian answers, his voice imitating of Lucas "Paris. No change. A little more stink in the alleys. A little less music on the river. A lot more politics. A lot less inspiration. So naturally I had to leave."
"Politics?" the woman asks. "What sort of politics?" The tone is all idle curiosity, but Ossian and Brita can tell that it's not, entirely. The question really seems to be directed to Brita, but includes Ossian.
"Why the politics of the Kings, of course. Lovely Paris is becoming more established and must be the Shining Example for the new kingdom of Xanadu."
[Brita hates politics as much as I do.]
"And not in the sense of culture, but 'government'" Ossian adds with a "Hmpf."
The woman does seem to know of Xanadu; even though Ossian and Brita can't see her face, there's no change in her posture to reflect that she's on unsure ground as she continues. "King Random and King Corwin are close, then?"
There's a certain shifting, if not an actual murmur, at Random's name. The men don't think much of him.
"Close as Brothers of Amber blood can be, I suppose," drawls Lady Dafne. "I do not know much of King Random - he is so new to Kingship - but I have heard that he is a little wild and definitely excentrique."
To which Ossian nods. "I was hoping to avoid politics by going here." "
As Ossian speaks, Brita is sweeping the company with her gaze, looking for indicative markings, colors, banners. She draws a gentle current towards her from beyond the group, hoping to catch a scent of their origins. "And you, my dear traveler, where are you off to, the brilliance of Paris or the novelty of Xanadu?" Lady Dafne turns back to the woman with a broad smile.
"Paris, for the nonce. If it proves less than congenial, we may journey onward."
It's hard to smell things clearly underwater, but it's finally occurred to Brita that this woman smells somehow familiar.
[Familiar how? Family? Chaos? Meg-ish?]
[Brita decides after a moment that she is family, but it's definitely not Meg.]
"Paris, despite what my Dear Artiste believes," Lady Dafne glances at Ossian with an arch to her brow that is more Brita like, "is all that is congenial." As she turns back she begins to expound on the subject with increasingly larger flourishes of her arms as added emphasis. "Paris is a Refuge, an Oasis, a Restful Haven, a Shining Paradise of Peace and Tranquility that greets all comers with welcome arms. 'Send me those tired at heart, those poor in spirit, those huddled beneath the mass of oppression, those wretched outcasts from a thousand shores! Send them, those tempted by glory but lost, and I will raise them up to be washed in the Golden Light that is Paris!!' As she proclaims the last few phrases, her emotive motions have stirred the waters around her and with a grand flourish at the end, she whips the water towards her audience with a specially directed spurt attempting to lift the veil of the mystery woman.
There is a momentary turbulence in the water that lifts her veil and allows a momentary glimpse of the woman's features. Neither Brita nor Ossian know her, but she must be wealthy and powerful to have these guards and the wealth of sapphires she wears on her breast and upper arms.
She probably will want to put on something more than that netting for court in Paris, too. Paris does not favor bare breasts.
Ossian favors scandals, and will decline to advise her on the "no bare breasts" policy.
"Paris is great for some, of course. What are your needs, fair lady?"
Lady Dafne remains quiet for the nonce.
"Depending on how things go, perhaps a place to stay for a time, or perhaps--let us say, company." There is amusement in the woman's voice.
Lady Dafne's smile grows wide, "Paris has divine Company." She glances at Ossian then back at the woman, "May we have your name, fair traveler? When we return to Paris and if you are still dressed in her gay light, we will send you invites to all the best parties. Sandor and I know all the best haunts in Paris."
"Indeed we do." Ossian says with a grin.
The change in tone is warmly amused. Brita and Ossian can almost feel her smile under the veil. "If I am still there, you will know me. You may know me as Lady Fate, for that is the name under which I travel."
Lady Dafne sketches a small curtsy, "Lady Fate, then. We shall hope to see you anon. Perchance Lady Luck with be with us. May your journey be swift and your burdens light." She is ready to depart for deeper waters.
Ossian grins and bows.
"Fare you well also. Be careful in the city below. If you find it dangerous, return to Paris," Lady Fate suggests. She makes a gesture, which Brita suspects is some kind of benediction, and her men close around her again.
Lady Fate and her retinue make their way up the mountain as Brita and Ossian head toward the city.
When they have come a bit away Ossian grins at Brita "That was awesome. Didn't expect it from you."
Brita sweeps a deep curtsey to her cousin, and comes up with one finger posed under her chin, "The Winters can be Long in Shadow Asgard. We found Amusement in Mimicking the Play of those who Dwelt Without." She straightens and continues, "There was a Rich Widow with a Plump Daughter in Town Varden Beyond the Bifrost Bridge who was Particularly Amusing in her Attempts to 'Move up in the Nine Worlds', as she put it. Uncle Loki didn't know What Hit him.... Turns out, it was a Gar Fish, but only After he Turned Down her Offer of a New Wife, Twice."
Brita's motions as they continue are still Lady Dafne's, but she changes the conversation as they descend. "So, what did you Think of our Kinswoman?"
"She'll be a challenge for Corwin. I'd like to know ...Our KIN? How do you know that?"
"She had a Scent about her of One of the Blood. It would be Interesting to Know if she Knew Our Reality. She seemed Rich, surrounded by guards and a Wizard. She must be High in the Echelon of Mirror Rebma."
Ossian nods. "I bet she knows. We should approach with caution. She might be fleeing from something."
Brita agrees with Ossian. From where they are now, do they see any other guards or watchtowers on the path down? If they are clearly visible, the best approach is to continue as if they are expected, but remain alert. If there is a chance to divert and assess from outside, Brita would like to take it.
The road to Rebma is well marked and empty. At some distance from the city it's apparent that the citizenry has retreated inside the walls. From this angle, it's not clear why. The wall has sentries on it, and they look as if they mean business. The gate is closed.
[I'm assuming the sentries can see them approach and there is no way to hide before being spotted. Are there any clues around the city that indicate why there is a lockdown? Any siege indication? Any destruction? Brita will scan the area for sorcery as well with her third eye.]
[Yeah, it's a plain, like sailing into Amber. This side seems quiet, and there's no destruction. If there's a siege, it's not encircling the city yet, so it's fresh. There's plenty of magic on the city walls, probably detecting spells, although there are other, older magics as well, which aren't well-maintained.]
"Well, Cousin. What do you Think? Straightforward Approach and Hope they let us In? Divert Elsewhere?" Brita asks Ossian.
Ossian snorts. "I seem to have done this before. I survived that time, mostly because the others reined Jerod in."
"I say we approach openly. Sadly I think we will be arrested. We will have to turn that into an advantage."
"Why would they Arrest Visitors? They may Bar us from Entry, However. I wonder Who we could Contact Inside to Let us In if that is the Case." Brita is thinking through who she knows is in the area.
"Halt! " A voice cries from atop the battlements. "Who goes there?"
"Two travellers, who'd like to visit your, according to rumor, most exquisite city." Ossian answers.
"Now, let's see what happens." Ossian says quietly to Brita. "I bet they let us in."
Brita smiles widely up at the battlements, with a "What excellent detail in the coral!" said in a stage whisper to Ossian as she waits for the guards to respond.
"Swim to the top of the wall, travellers," says the voice.
It occurs to both Brita and Ossian (perhaps not for the first time) that a wall is very different kind of defensive barrier where armies can swim.
Ossian grins back towards Brita: "I bet the view is even better from up there!"
Ossian starts swimming up towards the top.
(Indeed: How are they going to defend Rebma from swimming attackers?)
Brita follows Ossian to the top, using her legs to propel her forward, her hands clasped above her to guide her passage (and keep the tunic in place).
The top of the wall is made of carefully cultivated coral: the men avoid it and it looks like it would cut feet and ropes to pieces. Oddly, it doesn't look very different from Amber's city walls except on close inspection. On the other side of the wall, a number of men swim, all armed with spears and javelins. They are dressed in traditional Rebman outfits and look wary.
From the height, Brita and Ossian can see a parade ground in the distance, with a small division of the army marching in formation for war.
The guard leader swims up to them. "Why come you to Rebma, surfacedwellers?" He's outwardly pleasant, but seems quite nervous. Perhaps it's the whole war-footing thing.
"We come to your Wondrous Kingdom to find _Inspiration_ for my artiste, the great Sandor Dali," Brita waves a hand at Ossian. "I am the Lady Bria Dafne and we come from the shining surface city of Paris, I'm _sure_ you have heard of it." As Lady Bria smiles at the man and those around him, Brita takes note of the armaments. Her look turns somewhat confused as she glances down at the small army in the parade ground, "You seem to be preparing for battle, and we met travelers, well armed, warning of dangers in your _glorious_ city. Should I have brought my guards? Should I hire some here?" She seems the distressed lady, her hand fluttering slightly at her chest as she turns to Ossian with wide eyes.
"I have always found danger to be most inspirational, my lady." Ossian says "Although I can only provide a little protection, the art will be soo much better."
The soldier straightens when Brita mentions Paris. He floats, just a bit off-level, and waits a moment, impatiently.
"If you've just come from Paris, her Highness will want to speak to you right away. Swim this way." It seems like a command, in that he doesn't seem to expect any discussion. Two other soldiers begin swimming as well.
Brita glances at Ossian with a raised eyebrow, then turns back and practically bellows at the departing soldier, "Wait, you! I cannot see Her Highness like this! I'm practically in rags and bedraggled from two long days of hard travel!" Only Lady Dafne could make two days of floating through the water sound like an arduous trek of weeks through a grueling terrain. "We must be taken to quarters first to freshen up from our journey!"
"Indeed, Her Highness' eyes should not be exposed to the ugliness that we travellers represent. If my lady gets the time she needs to prepare, she will contribute with beauty to the court."
The soldiers all become much more attentive at Brita's near-bellow. Some swim down, some swim up. The pair of Amberites is inside a lopsided globe of soldiers, all with spears no longer held in casual fashion.
The soldier turns and grits his teeth. "Lady, I mean you no disrespect, but understand. You have come to our gates while we are at war with airbreathers such as yourselves. You could be who you say, or you could be spies or infiltrators. My commanders happen to be an easy swim away, and I can pass the decision upwards to them if you do not delay me.
"Let me make myself clear. The only way in which will be granted any delay in immediately being brought before her highness is if we have to take the time to knock you unconscious and lock you in irons. I suggest you swim. Being dragged is less pleasant."
Even with their advantages, Brita and Ossian could take them all, although not silently and not without some likelihood of bloodshed.
Lady Dafne is obviously not pleased. She is practically Red with outrage, but she takes a calming breath, glares down her nose at those with spears leveled against her and says in a tightly controlled voice, "You may lead on.. at a dignified pace, so that I may attempt such repairs to my dishabille. I would also request your name, soldier, that I may Explain to Her Highness, how diligent you are in the protection of her city against 'airbreathers' such as myself."
Ossian silently agrees with Brita that a two-man invasion of Rebma would not be a very good idea. "Oh Her Highness certainly wants to know." he suggests.
Lady Dafne follows the soldiers at a stately pace, or at least as stately as she can manage while swimming. She brushes out her hair with her fingers and then winds it around and up into a more elegant style, tucking the ends under the neat chignon. She snaps the tunic into place with a simple shimmying twist and makes several adjustments to the pants that probably look to the men like they result in the exact same arrangement that she started with.
The guards swim on. If they notice anything unusual in the tucking and snapping and adjusting, they wisely keep quiet. Soon, the group approaches the parade grounds. There are hundreds of soldiers here, some more highly skilled than others. To one side is a group of officers. Near them are some nobles.
When the group gets close enough Brita and Ossian see (and Brita smells) Jerod and Llewella. Jerod is dressed as an officer. It's quite a natural look for him. He's likely to spot you as soon as you swim up, if not sooner.
The Guard is not difficult to move, a certain amount of their training has been to keep them ready to move on command. When the command is given they move with minimal fuss.
The route march is a good opportunity to practice communications between the various battle elements, to work out any last remaining kinks. Beyond that, Jerod continues his practice of remaining at the forefront where possible. He has always disliked the idea of sitting back and waiting for others to tell him what's happening (really???...:), and it serves as a good example.
The scout salutes. "Redcoral Current is just over that ridge, Colonel. Looks quiet."
Jerod accepts the salute and orders the scouts to remain vigilant on the ridge as the remainder of the Guard approaches. He arranges with Drusus to prepare an advance contact unit to make the initial approach to Redcoral Current and establish contact, which will happen as the Guard crosses the ridge and remains in an established high ground position. Forward and rear scout flanks continue monitoring while the contact unit goes about its work of notifying the Shell that the Guard is here.
The above is done for two reasons. If the Shell is peaceful, the last thing you do is march a substantial number of troops into the area without first notifying the local leadership. It's bad manners, it causes panic and the leadership tends to take a dim view of such things. All of these are things to be avoided if possible.
If the Shell is hostile or otherwise compromised, the advance unit can attempt to ascertain this situation. It's function is not to overcome against a superior force, it is to retreat in good order and warn the main Guard. The advance unit would be made up of young, able-bodied individuals known for their perceptiveness and cunning, not for being brawlers - they'll have to think their way out of a problem to get back, not blast their way out.
He also warns Lamell to be watchful. If the Guard is under surveillance by hostile forces, it's entry into an urban/shell area would be an ideal location to launch an attack if the Guard were to drop it's guard (no pun intended).
The advance party is sent out, and sends messages back shortly. The current is peaceful. The team has met fisherds (abiding with their schools by night), and the local squire has invited us to camp on her lands.
From the ridge, the famous red coral is obvious, and most buildings are built of it. The Castle, on the far ridge and at the other end of the valley, is a striking piece of semi-organic architecture.
Lamell frowns marginally less when he sees it. "No obvious signs of trouble, Prince Jerod."
Jerod nods. "Then we proceed with dealing with the local dangers have to offer." he says. "Let's set about getting ahold of the Queen shall we, and see what the Lady of the Redcoral has to say about current events."
Having had enough time over the last little while to consider the possibilities, Jerod would already have given orders to Drusus on the Guard's mission should Jerod be incapacitated in any fashion. Getting back to Rebma with the information is his first priority, keeping the Guard in good order and discipline, his second.
Since those orders have been given, they now proceed to contact with the castle proper. Another advance party is sent out, this one only slightly modified from the first's structure (different troops though), with one or two individuals holding sufficient rank to make for a polite impression and to arrange a meeting. While they are doing their job, Jerod and company will make nice with the local squire to arrange for space to bivouac.
Assuming the report comes back acceptable from the second group, then Jerod heads to the castle. He'll take a small escort only, made up of individuals who have some knowledge of the area or its people, and Lamell. Drusus remains with the Guard unless he has reason to indicate why he should come on ahead.
Drusus stays with the Guard, and Lamell and Jerod and the few troops who know this area head for the castle. The gate is open and someone has found, made, or conjured a pennant indicating that Duke Jerod of Rebma is at Redcoral.
The woman waiting inside the courtyard is lovely. She smiles at Jerod. "Your grace is quite welcome to Redcoral. We had heard you were in the area, but not that you had planned to stop here."
On the assumption that this is the Countess Baleen of Redcoral, which Jerod would verify with Lamell before entering auditory range (he adjusts his intro suitably if it is not her), he settles his expression into one of courtly politeness, one suitable to a Prince of Amber and a Duke of Rebma.
"Countess Baleen, it is an honour to meet you." Jerod says, inclining his head slightly, suitable as a greeting to another of noble rank so as to not insult her, but not to take away from his own position.
"We regret our short notice in arriving here, but as with all things for the Crown, sometimes the notice gets lost in the tides. Our travels through the Seaward have kept us quite busy and I decided once we were within a march of your Shell it would be good to settle and give the men some rest before continuing our duty.
"I trust all is well in the area?"
"Redcoral is far from the troubles of the Seaward, Your Grace. With the pirates and smugglers smashed, our people will be untroubled as they go about their business. I have been contemplating going to court for the next season, but when nobles such as yourself come here...
"But please, come in. We can talk inside."
"Of course." Jerod says, adjusting his grip on his spear for a moment, using the movement to cover a hand signal to the escort to keep vigilant. Then he will move forward with her as the lead, a quiet tap-tap of the spear-cap accompanying their walk.
He will let the Countess lead on, responding to polite conversation and inquiries but keeping a watch himself, both of his host for her emotional state (how she speaks, the comments she makes, the way she addresses others), as well as the actions of those around her as the party approaches and departs. Shells far from the Court are also good for usurpers to use to acquire allies and support and just because they're at the front door does not convince Jerod to lower his guard.
The first thing Jerod notices is that there aren't very many men of fighting age. The ones working the land were young men and women. Jerod could take this keep with a third of his command. Holding it would take more, if the opponent were determined. The keep seems designed to be beautiful, not defensible.
The Countess offers her arm for Jerod to take, and leads him to a lavishly decorated central room. It's likely that it serves as ballroom, courtroom, dining room and whatever else needs a big open space. It could hold the Guard if needed.
"We so seldom receive visitors from Rebma. What good fortune brings you to Redcoral?"
"The Queen felt the need for the Guard to once more make its rounds, for display of the flag, now that the Black Tides are no more." Jerod says. "As you had indicated, the suppression of the pirate bands will ensure that the Shells can go about their business unmolested. My travels amongst my uncles was free enough to allow me to return home for a time and the Guard was offered to me in the interim while a new commander was sought, since the old one had recently been promoted to a new position.
"One of my men noted that Redcoral was close by during our march and advised that we might stop for a short while. He has a relative here I believe." and Jerod looks over at Lamell, using the opening thus created to inquire. "What was his name again?"
"Gorgias, Your Grace. He serves in your court, does he not?"
"My wizard. He is in his tower." She smiles. "We do not bring him out unless our audience requires a philosopher." She looks at Jerod. "Shall we send for him?"
"Of course. Our hostess is most kind." Jerod says.
A servant is dispatched.
Once Jerod has the answer, and the Countess also hears the name, he continues, watching her expression as he speaks. "And I've never felt that the outlying Shells should be avoided, unlike some of the elders at Court. There is much to be learned and one need only take the time to look."
"Ours is a simple shell. If more people felt as you did, we would all be more prosperous."
She pauses, and leans in towards Jerod. "You don't plan to recruit here, do you? We lose so many young men to the call of Rebma and we have so few to spare." She lingers, not pulling back immediately. Her perfume is subtle; it's as much of an affectation as Rebman wizards who smoke cigarettes.
Jerod smiles, for his own reasons, noting the perfume scent. He doubts that Baleen could even conceive of the training regimen that his parents required of him as he was growing up. Just as his father taught him what it meant to be a leader by virtue of his position, to understand and deal with uncles and kings, so his mother taught him to understand being a pawn by virtue of that same circumstance.
He is not surprised at how Baleen commenced this part of the encounter, having been through similar situations many times earlier in his life during his time at Court. The difference now is only in the time since the last encounter. The Ladies of Court had long ago recognized this prize was too independent, too disciplined to accept the simple ways of sex and denial.
"The Guard does not recruit thusly except under the most dire of circumstances." Jerod replies, his voice taking on a calm and soothing air. "We prefer volunteers instead. The choice of their hearts makes them better warriors for defending the kingdom.
"I had noted on arrival that the number of young men was rather low. I was naturally concerned as to what might have caused this situation to arise. It is certainly not good for the future strength of any Shell."
She sighs, and it might even be genuine. "The Black Tides hit us hard, your Grace. The men who survived did not want to stay here. This place is both too peaceful and too insecure for our former fighters. The ones too honest to turn to banditry left for the city long ago, or never came back."
"And the remainder?" Jerod asks. "The ones for whom banditry is an option?"
"Killed, captured or fled in the face of the gallant forces of Rebma, your Grace."
She leads him into her common room, which is dominated by a large, dark wooden table, probably made from sinkwood. Two young women stand as he enters. "My niece, the Lady Calpurnia," she says, gesturing towards the one of the pair of obvious station.
The woman bows.
Jerod returns the salutation, taking a moment to observe the situation and garner a snapshot of the emotional dynamic of the three women.
"Lady Calpurnia, an honour".
"Your grace," says the young woman, bowing. She is either bored, or faking boredom well.
Given her relative youth and the out-of-the-way nature of Redcoral, Jerod will figure boredom.
From the back there is a commotion and a portly man strides in. Jerod notes how differently extra weight is carried in Rebman waters.
"Baleen! What's so important that I am summoned from my... Lamell!" He's running towards that old mage, who has a rare smile on his face.
Jerod's expression changes ever so slightly, now that what he has wanted has arrived. There is still politeness to his features, but there is a firmness to his expression, the kind that one sees when focussed on a task. The tone of his voice also carries this firmness, expressing itself without the need for volume.
Lamell slaps Gorgias on the back, but pulls back.
"Lamell. Send all information on Huon, the Dragon, all of it. We remain here for one day before returning so if the Crown has a reply coming, that's how long they've got to redirect us." he says. "Proceed with all dispatch."
"Of course, of course. Your apprentice or to someone else?"
The two mages lean in to talk closely as they leave.
He looks at Baleen, awaiting any reaction. He has a response for her concerning his actions, but he is merely waiting to see if she has anything to say.
Baleen actually seems to be relieved.
"Are there issues I should know about Your Grace?" she asks pointedly.
"The Guard is on a war footing." Jerod replies, returning his attention to a point mid-way between Baleen and her daughter Calpurnia. "One named Huon, a former prince of Amber has returned and is in the area with a force. His intentions are to be ascertained but first he must be found.
"There is also another matter of some import. What do you know of Khrop?" he asks.
Jerod's attention is focussed in such a way that he is looking at neither woman directly, though he retains both in his field of vision. He is looking for any kind of response from either woman on either topic that has been brought up. He is not particularly interested at the moment as to what kind of response - that can ascertained afterwards, but rather if he gets one at all. In this way he does not focus on one to the exclusion of the other, and possibly risk missing something that might arise.
Her upper lip curls back in a sneer. "An unruly shell led by an unpleasant woman. Lir's grace that they are far from here, making trouble in the seaward. Are they connected to this renegade prince?"
The niece doesn't recognize either name, but she and her companion seem quite inclined to take her Aunt's word for it.
Jerod takes a moment from general observation to study Calpurnia's companion before continuing.
She is either a friend or a hanger-on, it's hard to tell. She reminds Jerod of many of the minor functionaries at his grandmother's court.
"Not as far as our intelligence indicates, nor do I believe so." Jerod says. "Huon's intentions appear to be directed towards one of the Princes, but his path has brought him to Rebma in search of power to aid him. He follows the old ways, from a time when Oberon was in power. I doubt he is aware of the many changes that have been wrought since the Tides."
"The days when Rebma could offer a Prince of Amber aught to feed his ambition are long gone and buried, I would have thought. What assets we have along those lines march with you, do they not?"
"If those were the resouces he seeks, that would be true." Jerod replies. "His battle against his brother requires something greater.
"What do you know of the old times, of the old war against the Tritons?"
She looks confused. "Nothing. Who warred on them?"
Jerod shakes his head. "Oddly enough, us. It is not important." he says.
"I think it best that we wait until the sorcerers have completed their task. That will determine what next is on our plate. Until then, perhaps a tour of your estate is in order."
Disappointingly, before the tour can run through the Countess' bedroom, Lamell interrupts. "My Prince, I must speak to you immediately."
For Lamell, he's agitated.
"A moment Countess." Jerod says, nodding to her politely before moving off away to where he can speak with Lamell privately, having taken into account the accoustical nature of their current location, and knowing from childhood the inherent behaviour of water to transmit sounds further than air depending on the frequency.
"What is it?"
His face is ashen. "War presses Rebma, Your Grace. An army of surface-dwelling sorcerers led by Huon of the Horn has defeated the forces of Rebma at Phillipae just past Fortuna's Gap. They march unimpeded towards the walls and will be in Ostia by morning. The walls are manned, but no one has seen the Queen or your mother for two days. The situation there is grave."
Jerod parses the information for a moment, keeping speculation to a minimum as he considers his few remaining options. Too far by far to march to meet Huon, and the Guard is not sufficiently strong enough to engage a numerically superior force. If battle is required, fortifications are needed to cut the value of superior numbers and sorcerers. He must get the Guard behind the walls.
Jerod pulls out his trumps and sifts through the cards, stopping at Llewella's while he considers his options, then he nods and closes the pack.
"It's time to see if we can deal with Huon, instead of his army." Jerod says to Lamell. "We return to the camp. Tell no one of what you know. I will advise the men once we are ready. Make sure your cousin does not decide to gossip concerning this. Rumours are not needed now, and I would not be pleased by it."
Lamell nods. "If we leave here and he is not with us, he will be duty bound to tell his liege and she will doubtless press him. If you do not wish it shared with the Countess, we need to enlist my Cousin."
"Consider him enlisted per the requirements of the Crown." Jerod says. "Another mage might help."
"Yes, My Prince. We assumed it would be so. We will leave on our own, so as not to disturb the Countess." Lamell goes back to speak to Gorgias.
Once Lamell acknowledges this, Jerod turns back to the Countess to speak to her. "I regret that some news requires my return to our camp. I would thank you for the tour. It was most enjoyable."
She seems surprised. "Is there news, your Grace?"
"A report from another quarter that requires a reply on my part." Jerod replies. "It requires that I consult with my officers before I proceed."
And with that, he departs as politely as can be achieved.
He is both invited back and offered assistance. The Countess is quite interested in learning what has transpired.
Assuming pleasantries can be completed without incident, they make their way back to the camp. Jerod needs a quiet place to make a trump call.
Jerod can return to the relative isolation and peace of his tent. [Call at will, she'll answer.]
Once alone, he pulls out his deck and sifts out Llewella's trump, studying it for a moment while he consideres his arguments. His dislike for the Court is not an insubstantial thing and he finds, though not to any great surprise, that having someone close by to smash it to rubble would not be something he would lose a great deal of sleep over. The loss of life amongst the greater portion of the over-preening populace might even improve the overall gene pool, though he recognizes that such is unlikely to happen.
But as with all wars, the Court would be the last thing to be touched by it, the weak and powerless being the first to be sent off to fight the invader, in order to protect the nobles and the politicians, the leaders of the kingdom who have rarely if ever fought or bled for their people. And Jerod is not yet ready to sacrifice the innocents just to suit his own personal ambitions. There are plenty of other family members more than willing to assume that role.
Thus he sits himself on his cot, focusing on the card for a moment, letting the image become real.
"It's Jerod. Are you in the city?"
Llewella is underwater, but Jerod can't tell where. "Jerod, so good of you to trump me. How goes your mission?"
"The mission's outcome is still open to interpretation by those who authorized it, I suspect." he replies. "My sources tell me Huon is one day from Ostia."
Llewella smiles. "You have good sources. Mine tell me the same. Are you in a position to do anything about it?"
"That depends." Jerod says. "His army is of little consequence, if Huon is dealt with directly. I have arranged a possible means to do so. However, it requires that I get to him, and I'm still more than one day away from Ostia. That's why I asked."
Jerod looks to see if there is anything in the background or the feel of the connection to tell him where Llewella might be, the surrounds and such.
Jerod does not see anything that helps him determine where she is. She's underwater, but he knew that.
Llewella smiles, and it makes her face seem even longer. "I have no authority to countermand your orders, Jerod. I can ask the Queen if she wants to change them. Shall I do that for you?"
"That depends on which Queen you are referring to." Jerod replies drily, adjusting his focus to Llewella herself, studying for inconsistencies, any kind of discrepancy (or possible threat).
"And my orders were quite liberal. I have considerable freedom with my choice of actions. So long as I deem them a threat to Rebma, I can point the Guard, and any other resources I have accumulated, at whomever I choose.
"Since Moire is no longer in Rebma, I do not propose chasing after her on some silly quest for approval. I need to get the Guard to the city walls. Since our family can accept trumps, it provides an option to get the Guard where it needs to go quickly. That is an advantage that you would recognize. The question becomes, is it more advantageous for you to let Huon threaten the city, to give Khela some benefit."
"Very well, Jerod. You always were your father's son. You'd be useful on our side, although we'll win without you. Name your price and we'll consider it."
"Dear Auntie, flattery is unnecessary." Jerod says with a smile before continuing with the more serious side of their discussion.
"Prove that Khela is not tainted by the Dragon. Prove that the Tritons, the sons of the Dragon, are not a threat to Rebma. And get me and the Guard, intact, into the city, so I can be in a position to attempt to reach Huon. All this, and I will not oppose her, barring a change to these circumstances, or a new threat from that quarter.
"I'm not going to bother bargaining for my family. You know they're not chips, and what will happen if they get harmed.
"As for winning...there is winning without loss, and there is winning after burying all your casualties. With regards to Huon, I have acquired the support of Corwin, Random and Benedict." Jerod says. "All are concerned about the situation down here, though Benedict expressed a deliberate comment that he would not wish a catastrophe to occur. Since I know that he has a certain fondness for Rebma, should it become necessary to defend the kingdom, I could always hand the Guard over to him."
Jerod does not elaborate on the implications of his comments, for they both know what they mean. No army is big enough for Khela if she faced Benedict. And for his demands to know that Khela is not tainted, such a comment whispered in the ears of the Kings, could have unfortunate repercussions.
Llewella smiles back at Jerod. "Huon is one thing, but I wonder how deep your support from Random and Corwin really is? Khela has Corwin's daughter with her, as well as Fiona's son and Martin's protege Merlin. Don't count on knowing how those cards turn, nephew.
"Khela bears a pattern sword, the sword that is tied to the great Pattern of Rebma. She cannot be tainted by Chaos or it would burn her away. The Tritons serve her due to their oath on this Pattern Blade. She intends to free them. Their long obligation to Rebma is more than paid. You may ask her more of it if you wish to know how she came to believe it had to be so." She shakes her head and a strand of hair floats free from her braid. Llewella ignores it.
"Here is what I propose. Return to Rebma with the guard and relinquish your command to me, for I am the only Royal Princess in the City and am in charge of her defenses. Then I shall send you to Khela and you may interrogate her at your convenience. I suggest offering your services in dealing with Huon. You are uniquely suited to bring such a message to him. But if you would do this, it must be immediately. Huon will be besieging Rebma within a day."
Jerod considers the offer for a moment, ticking past the various elements of concern to determine whether they are met, to a minimum level of satisfaction before stopping at one that pushes at him, requiring his attention. A moment's rumination is all that is needed before he replies.
"Your proposal does have some merit, Auntie, though there is one element that I would like counter on." Jerod says.
"If my mission to Huon is successful, I would need to ensure that he continues forward either to Corwin or Random, whom I'm sure you'll be able to contact to verify my...level of support." and he smiles. "In that case, the need for the Guard is diminished and there would be no issue with a transfer of command."
"However, if the mission is unsuccessful, and Huon continues with an assault upon the city, assuming I am able to return, I would not be interested in sitting in the castle waiting for him to beat down the door. Nor do I believe that you would be in the front line with the Guard when your duties would require a more generalized focus for the defense.
"I would propose a small alteration, in that I would be willing to cede strategic command of the Guard to you, to be utilized as needed. I would retain operational command while I am in the city, with said authority passing to you while I am dealing with Huon."
"Being a stickler for protocol, I would be relinquishing command of the Guard to the Queen once the current crisis is concluded, by which time I would have determined there was no further need for them. The protocols, of course, do not state a specific Queen, just the Queen.
"If that is acceptable, I can have the Guard ready to come through in one hour."
Llewella takes a moment to think through the counterproposal. "Should it come to it, I'll want you and the guard protecting the city, so do not think I would keep you from the front should it be needed. However, I am in command of the city and may have strategic reasons for keeping the guard back. You may have the guards as long as you're willing to work within my defence plans.
"If that is acceptable, call me when you are ready to bring the guard through."
"The terms are acceptable." Jerod says. "The Guard will be ready as indicated and I will contact you then. Until later."
Barring any last minutes comments, Jerod turns down the card to break the contact and sifts the card away into his deck. He then steps out of the tent to call Drusus and get the Guard encampment broken down and ready to move out.
Jerod makes sure that Drusus and the other unit commanders have the men ready for combat, though they are not to expect it when they arrive immediately in Rebma. He doesn't figure that Llewella's going to do anything foolish, otherwise she wouldn't bother even taking his trump. However, he is looking for the men to have that air about them that troops have when they have been afield, when they've had the chance to test themselves in combat and to outfit themselves accordingly. He wants them to be ready to fight, and to look it as well.
As the old saying goes, "No combat ready unit ever passed inspection...nor should they."...:)
Llewella brings everyone through into a parade ground near the city walls, coincidentally where a large contingent of Rebman forces are marshalling (which is only prudent, in case Jerod tries something fishy). She won't comment on this, and the existing troops are men Jerod and the Guards know, including Drusus' father in law. It's clear to Jerod's expert eye that the training regiment didn't get as much seasoning as the unit he took afield.
Drusus is ordering the men for review, or more precisely letting the senior men do so. He's in conversation with General Germanicus, his father in law.
"We are glad you have risen to Rebma's need, your Grace. Your return is as timely as it is welcome." Her voice is pitched for public consumption, and there are a few members of the court behind Llewella who are apparently here to see Jerod's arrival. Perhaps it's to stiffen their backbone and remind them what a Princess of Amber can do.
Jerod looks over the troops marshalled upon his arrival, given that he would be the last one to come through. He smiles just a little, the way his father would when dealing with his siblings, an unconscious behaviour on his part. He takes the presence of the troops as a compliment, for he would have been insulted otherwise to not be considered a potential threat.
For the audience behind Llewella, the need to bolster her position to prevent dissent is essential though, given the threat that Huon represents. Thus, Jerod's words are also for the consumption of those behind her, as well as those men in the training regiment who have not yet been out to fight.
"The sons of Rebma hear the call that she has put forth, Princess Llewella, and we will not find them wanting in this time." he says, with no difficulty in projecting his voice. "The Guard awaits your orders."
Llewella nods. "As Huon has had mere moments in which he might hear of your arrival, I expect to be able to use you to surprise him. Our best course in that case is to keep the guard as a separate command, a floating column that can used wherever needed. Do not fear that we would keep you from action, your men are our secret weapon, and it shall not go unused. You shall be allowed to crush our foes when the time comes to crush them." Her voice drops to more normal tones. "Your man Drusus will take control of them while you run your errand of armed diplomacy, that last bit should keep there from being any pressure to integrate them."
Jerod nods his agreement, having no eagerness to dissipate the edge that his men have acquired by mixing them with the less trained troops that he has seen. In any coming battle, skill will matter more than numbers.
"I will give the appropriate orders to Drusus, to ensure that there are no problems with keeping the Guard intact. The last thing they need is a pep talk in glory." Jerod says, not bothering to glance at Germanicus. "Once that is done, then we'll see to getting me to Huon. I'm curious as to what he intends to do with his guns. How far is he, and where is Khela in relation to him? Another perceived presence may prove useful if he is inclined to continuing his feud with Bleys after I speak to him."
"If I were to guess? I'd say the guns were a shortcut to the mages. That's what he used at at Cannae. We need to-- Bide a moment," she said. Llewella takes two steps back, not retreating from Jerod's presence, just his proximity. "Who calls?" she asks the air.
Llewella bobs her head, and says "Conner, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you had a trump of me. She and I are keeping in touch, and I am expecting your arrival at the appropriate time. I am in the city, preparing her defences. You are with her? You may be able to do me a favor. I have a nephew here who would like to speak with her."
Lamell and Gorgias approach Jerod. "Someone's coming here from the stairward gate." A group of guards and two nobles are swimming directly to the parade grounds.
Jerod pulls Lamell and Gorgias just out of quiet speech range of Lewella, giving her a short nod as means by which to inform her that he is still here, just dealing with loose ends. He takes advantage of the few moments between the arrival of his cousins in speaking to Lamell.
"I'll be leaving to deal with Huon it would seem. Ensure that you are available if Drusus requires it. He will be in command of the Guard in my absence." he says, then drops his voice lower. "Also, find out if mother left any messages. See what you can figure out on the current situation, who supports who and whether Llewella's offspring has substantial support amongst the families here. I'm curious as to whether that option has been prepared ahead of time."
As they get closer, [Card Draw... "Trickery (Reversed)"] Jerod can make out the familiar shapes of his cousins, Ossian and Brita.
Jerod waits to see what the guards do with his cousins, or perhaps what his cousins do with the guards, smiling slightly as he wonders what they did to deserve the escort, knowing how perimeter security works.
Brita starts waving wildly and grinning at Jerod and he hears, "Lord Jerod! Lord Jerod! It is me, Lady Bria! We met at Lord Greenblaugh's soire after the coronation. I've come with my new artiste to visit Rebma and look how I'm treated!" At this she gestures at the soldiers around her. She glances at Ossian with a slightly raised eyebrow and wide eyes - in for an ore, in for a kroner.
There is an odd gleam in Ossian's eyes. Brita can possibly detect a tiny smell of nervousness. Ossian raises an eyebrow. He says quietly "So that is the Lord Jerod." he makes a bow towards Jerod.
As Jerod accepts the nod from Lamell concerning his instructions, he hears the call from Brita and turns his attention to their approach more fully. He knows he's not on close social terms with Brita, but he still knows her well enough that assuming an alternate persona is not one of her normal behaviours. This is enough to spark his curiousity, though he guesses it also explains why they are under a military escort. Sneaking into an armed city using flamboyance is not always the least obtrusive, though it does have the advantage of giving the soldiers a firm image to focus on. And Jerod believes firmly in letting people see what they want to see, instead of burdening them with the truth.
For the moment, he decides to play along. Llewella's trump call will occupy her for a short time no doubt and he can swap information with his cousins before he departs, guessing that whoever is on the other end of the trump is in Khela's camp and will be his conduit for his meeting with her, and hopefully with Huon. Given that information, the list of suspects narrows considerably. Not liking the trumps has an additional benefit for Jerod, in that where possible he always keeps track of those who do have them, and of what people. There are only two individuals remaining at the moment. He is curious to see if he is right.
"Lady Bria." Jerod replies, stepping forward to intercept the group and accepts the verbal salutation of Duke from the soldier in charge but keeping his attention on the pair. His uniform is a Rebman style outfit, with insignia and markings befitting that of a fairly high ranking officer. There is a sparseness to the markings though, with none of the finery that they would have seen with officers in their dress uniforms at Random's coronation. This uniform is meant for an officer in the field, not a social function.
It is a uniform that Jerod appears to be quite comfortable in.
"It would seem that since our last meeting things have changed somewhat. I regret that your first visit to my home was not as friendly as one might have hoped." he says, pitching his words so that the escort troop can hear them without seeming to talk directly to them. His tone is friendly, and it has the familiar tone one would expect from one who has met another person before.
"You must understand that Rebma is in a state of armed conflict at the moment, and the soldiers escorting you were doing their duty as one would expect. I'm sure you'll appreciate their diligence once you've had a chance to develop a clearer picture of the situation here. Their defense of the city takes precedence over...less pressing matters.
"You said you were travelling with your latest artiste? I presume this is the one?" he says, motioning to Ossian. "Your name, good sir?"
Ossian makes a second over-ornate bow. "I am Sandor Dali, a humble painter.
"The news of this conflict has not yet reached Paris. Who is attacking this beautiful city?"
"A renegade son of Amber, by the name of Huon." Jerod says. "I go shortly to attempt to meet with him in the hopes of securing his departure from this land. If that does not work, then of course we must be prepared for other means. In the interim, the defenses of the city are being overseen by Princess Llewella.
"What news do you bring from Paris? It has been awhile since I visited my uncle, the king."
Llewella walks over, a distracted look on her face. "Jerod, are you rea---?" She takes a moment to register the newcomers. "Well, this is a surprise." Her eyebrows are up and she seems to be waiting for some sort of explanation.
"Yes, it is." Jerod says with a smile. "I'm sure the good Lady Bria and her companion Sandor will be able to provide any answers required."
"I'd love to stay and chat, but time presses. I'm ready to get my questions answered, and then go see about Huon."
Ossian bows "Of course we will answer your questions, my Lady." Ossian says with a smile. "In fact, we might even have some valuable information, as I have narrowly escaped this Huon's army before. Travelling somewhere else."
Llewella almost loses focus. "Take my hand," she says, reaching one out to Jerod and another out to Brita and Ossian.
"Great. Conference call." Jerod mutters, taking the hand.
Ossian, on the other hand is grinning blissfully as he takes Llewellas hand.
Llewella takes each man's hand, and assumes that Brita will take Ossian's.
"First, welcome to Rebma, niece and nephews. I believe that I am host by family tradition." Llewella smiles. In fact, she's been smiling the entire time, but her voice is still clear to everyone. "Now then, if you haven't practiced using trumps without vocalizing, you may not be very good at it. Try not to speak aloud or move your lips. Ossian, tell us of Huon."
Ossian's mental voice is weak, but crisp and clear. He does not move his lips "Most of this is known to some of you."
"Huon has been recruiting in Shadow. Among other places Abford, the place where I grew up. He has guns that could work in Amber. Or do we know yet? What we don't know is where Dara is in all this. She snatched cousin Meg from us as we left Abford, trying to follow Huon."
"If she is with Huon's army then she hides well." Conner observes. His voice is also weak but clear. "And whether or not his guns work in Amber he has yet to employ them beneath the waves."
Llewella nods. "I'd heard that he went through Abford, but I didn't know about Dara. She's dangerous, but because she's a sorceress, she's less dangerous near Rebma. Conner, please let Khela know of this. Jerod, if Huon has your cousin Meg or is allied with Dara, please find out what his intentions are. Hers were made clear at the coronation."
Other than a slight nod, Jerod has no reply.
Conner also nods an affirmative.
She turns to Ossian. "It complicates things if Meg is with Huon. Our intent is to repulse him rather than defeat him. That might not suit you."
"Ah. Yes. It might not. It does however leave room for negotiations. I do consider Rebma as more important than cousin Meg at the moment.
"If Jerod is scouting, I would appreciate if he looked for Dara and Meg, though."
Jerod's expression changes a bit as he concentrates. His "voice", such as it is, remains very low, despite what would seem to be a considerable amount of effort.
"If circumstances permit". he says.
He seems to be more concerned with making sure each word is formulated properly, and sacrifices energy for form. Llewella can tell from the rigidity of his hand grip that he is focussing a great deal, locking his hand so he does not accidentally tighten his fingers into what could be an extremely painful grip.
After a few seconds, his expression returns to normal.
The others hear a small cough of sound resembling 'clf' and then, a little stronger 'dawtr' and finally a clear 'bracelet' as Brita finds the right path for her thoughts. Her trials are followed by a pause and then a relatively clear 'Meg May be Dara's Daughter tho the Bracelet was more Of Rebma. She was with clef Again.'
"So Cleph may be here, too? This war is more crowded than I expected. They were a nasty pair at the coronation. Of course, he'll be further incapacitated in the proximity of the pattern, so the same applies, only moreso." She pauses for a moment and turns to Brita. "What about a bracelet? Is it important?"
"That is Brita's department more than mine, I believe." Ossian says.
"I believe the bracelet is more a mystery than a concern." Conner opines. "It was left as Meg's birthright in Abford and for reasons that are unclear, Huon gave this bracelet to Celina when first they met." Conner explains. "That in itself draws attention to it."
'Dara claims to be Mother to Cousin Meg. Bracelet is more Rebman.' Brita thinks.
Llewella smiles. "Well, that's a message. I wonder if he even knows what the message is. Where is this bracelet?"
"It was last seen in a pouch around Celina's waist." Conner reports. "She has not been wearing it openly."
"Wise move, that." Ossian says "Let us just hope that the bracelet didn't come from Dara. That would mean she has been here, I suppose.""
"I shall have to [tell] Celina of it when next I see her." [Llewella] turns towards Brita and Ossian. "I am about to hand Jerod to Conner to see Khela and then, assuming they agree to it, on to my brother. Do you wish to accompany him thuswards, or do you have additional business in Rebma?"
Brita cocks her head and raises an eyebrow at Ossian. 'We Search for Cousin Meg. Brother, have You seen Signs of our missing Cousin or of Dara? Would our Assistance be better From Inside Mirror Rebma's sphere or Outside? Uncle Corwin mentioned Exploring Mirror Rebma as well.'
"We don't really have the time for Exploration if we want to find Cousin Meg alive." Ossian murmurs "How long has Rebma been closed up like this? I mean, maybe Dara haven't been able to get in here, even if she wanted?"
Llewella shakes her head, and sends her long, loose hair in circles around it. "Dara fooled Prince Martin when she was disguised as Cambina, and Martin knew her very well, perhaps very, very well if the speculations of the embassy were accurate. She'd be here if she wanted to be here, but not from Huon's direction. They've only been in the area for a few weeks, and most of that was getting here from Gateway."
Her hair continues to move for some moments afterwards.
"The guns for Gateway?" Jerod asks.
"What little information I have says they bargained through Gateway rather than fighting and such a magic focused culture would have little interest in guns I should think." Conner opines. "Her location really depends on her current agenda. If she is currently focused on the reacquisition of offspring then I think her attention would be focused on Khela's army." Conner's eyes flick briefly off to the side and then back. "I think the best course of action would be to get my sister down current of either city or army and see what she can sense."
Llewella nods at Conner's suggestion. "Celina should warn Merlin. Gently." She turns to Ossian and Brita. "Have you decided?"
"I Believe we should Rule Out Dara's presence Here first and then I can Contact my Brother for an Assessment of Khela's Locale. He should be Capable of Handling any Concerns until then." Brita says.
Ossian nods. "As long as we have some license to move freely here. If we are arrested, our precense here is of no use."
Llewella looks at Ossian. "It is a city under siege by strange surfacedwellers. Little or no business not related to defending ourselves is happening. The citizens are either preparing to fight or preparing to hide. While you have my permission to travel, you will find people suspicious and perhaps hostile. You will need not just to seem harmless but to be harmless. If you are willing to stay here under those circumstances, then I will pass Jerod through and we can end this contact."
"We can Wander looking for Scenes and Scents we seek. I Believe we can be Harmless in doing this. If Dara is Found, however, do we have Permission to be Harmful?" Brita asks with a slight raise of an eyebrow. "We will Try to Protect all Locals."
"Heh. There are a whole lot of people from whom we don't have that permission. A few more won't hurt." Ossian says with a grin.
"You don't have that permission from me, either. You may defend yourselves, of course, and you may capture Dara, but Rebma is too fragile right not to be in the middle of another blood feud between us. The one is sufficient."
"I only Asked for Permission to Defend and Capture." Brita clarifies quietly.
She moves back to encompass all of them. "Any other words before I pass Jerod through? I'm afraid I need to get back to the others before too long has passed."
"Good hunting sister." Conner offers. "Be well." Conner offers his hand so that Jerod might be passed through.
"You Will Stay Safe." Brita's thought is firm but more of a statement than command.
Jerod accepts the hand to step through.
Llewella passes Jerod to Conner and then drops the connection.
Last modified: 13 May 2008