Conner would like to track down Llewella and have a chat with her if she is willing to see him. Even if she isn't, Conner would like to borrow a Trump of Fiona so that he and mother can talk.
Conner inquires about Llewella and is told that she's in the castle proper. A swimmer is sent to notify her that he's coming as Conner makes his own way through the palace.
At the door of the chamber where Llewella is working, a triton hovers, guarding her. He allows Conner past and into the chamber. Llewella is speaking with several young women, but she gestures to them to leave as Conner approaches.
"Nephew," she says, "what can I do for you?"
"Well, my aunt, there are many things that should be discussed concerning Rebma's future but my purpose in seeing you was more personal in nature." Conner admits. "I wish to speak of the gift you gave me oh so many years ago." Conner smiles. "I had always thought it an over generous compensation but now that I know its true significance, I have to ask. Why did you place it in my possession?"
Llewella smiles. "I had my reasons. It seems to have worked out well for both of us, hasn't it?"
Conner smiles back. It was too much to hope that she would have answered a direct question but Conner always hopes for miracles. "I suppose it has as that. It is a most useful device." Conner agrees. "It appears to be a bound thing of Chaos. Have you any idea as to its origins?"
"It hung in my mother's chambers in the palace. You should ask an archivist about it. I'm sure there are official stories that may be used to start a proper investigation."
Llewella's smiles grows languid. "I assume you are not offering to return it?"
"Not at the present time my Aunt." Conner replies easily. "It is after all a mystery and what redhead can resist that." Conner smirks as it occurs to him that may be the reason he now holds it. "Another mystery on my plate is to ascertain the stability of the basement after all that has happened. The damage done here mirrors that which occurred in Amber during the Sundering. Naturally, I am concerned."
"Of course, of course." She nods. "I would be pleased to find Moire pinned under a giant rock in the basement, although that's a story with a different ending than Amber's.
"But in any case, it should be looked upon. Things here are not exactly as they were in Amber. We had no fire, and the castle is more intact. It was more of an echo than a mirror.
"If you are right, it would not be wise to start to walk it to find out if it still has the same potency. Nor is this a story to tell beyond the confines of those who already know of the device."
"Of course." Conner replied easily enough. "The very fact that we breathe alleviates most of my fears but it is best to see for sure. What is your take on Moire's decision to flee? Simple preservation or does she hope to find the power to retake the throne?"
She cocks her head, and her hair ripples in response, slowly moving through the water. "What do your diplomatic instincts tell you, Conner?
"Do you know how our mother arranged to get the help of Amber in her war against the Tritons? She had an ally, a son of Osric. When he was killed, his relatives avenged him on her enemies. In less charitable circles, it was whispered that things worked very nicely for her. No one said such things publicly."
"So you think Moire seeks a modern day Cneve to take up her cause?" Conner half asks. "That is certainly plausible. I find it out of character for her to give up so easily but find it hard to believe she will find the necessary allies required to regain her position here. So either I have misread her intentions or she has resources that I am unaware of. Either troubles me." Conner explains.
Llewella shrugs. "My sister is far from out of resources. When you have the opportunity, you might attempt to look on her with the Eye, assuming she is still in Paris."
"I spied on Valeria for a time while she was seeking my death in Amber." Conner offers. "She trapped and held the Eye within a circle of mirrors. I have been leery of peering in on mirror practitioners ever since." He admits with a shrug. "Still I shall try in time. No doubt she will be taking precautions but I may catch her in an unguarded moment.
"Her Majesty comported herself well on the battlefield." Conner comments. "I must make a note to have a poem or song composed. It's good for morale and historians love them." Conner grins. "I think I'll leave out Huon's elbowing me in the face though. That's the prerogative of the winning side after all."
Llewella's hair drifts slightly in the current. "If reports are correct, you were a heroic leader of men and tritons, you fought a shark creature hand-to-hand, you engaged the leader of the enemy, and your sorcery was instrumental to the salvation of the city and the defeat of the foe. Certainly songworthy, Conner. I am not sure if any of your cousins have a better record of outstanding service to a crown."
When fishing for compliments, it helps to use the right bait. Conner smiles in satisfaction at his Aunt's words but tries not to get to comfortable. After all, this could be buttering up.
Now it is her turn to grin, slightly. It is a grin with just a touch of ruefulness. "My supposition is that you, or perhaps Fiona, will soon be swarmed with women who want to marry you off to their daughters, for political purposes."
Conner's eyes widen and his grin slips a little. "I suppose I should have seen that coming." Conner chuckles and rubs his chin. "I think I shall tell Mother that I will settle only for a true mermaid." Conner sighs and a jet of bubbles float up and away. "Will you and Khela then be plied with sons hoping to become Royal Consort?" Conner asks. "For all the time I spent here, I never really understood the protocol of the Queen and her relationships."
"It is both easier and harder to be a woman in Rebma. We have more ability to say 'no' than men do. We don't really, but that's the perception." She pauses, briefly frowning. "You should go below the castle. I worry about what you may find there."
"So do I." Conner nods. "I will want to talk further with you at a later time though. I will need to have a conversation with King Random regarding a certain oath of fealty and my new situation here in Rebma. As you have some experience with this sort of thing, I would appreciate any advice." Conner smiles thinly. "May I borrow your Trump of my mother? Depending on what I find down there, I might want an expert opinion."
Llewella reaches into a case and pulls out a card. "Don't keep it too long," she says. "Dual vassalage is not uncommon, or wasn't back before my sister and my father fell out. Assuming Random gives his permission, your only problem will be if Amber invades Rebma and Random calls on you to attack while Khela calls on you to defend. At that point, I'd suggest moving to Paris." She floats up in the slight current, then settles.
"But learn to be quiet and be slightly suspect in either camp. I don't think you can cultivate my reputation as a non-player, but you must plan some way to present your alliances that does not make you the scapegoat of choice.
"In short, I have advice but no solutions. Go, now. It is important that we know the state of what lies beneath the castle."
"Thank you, my Aunt, for the card and the advice." Conner nods with a smile. "Both are appreciated. I will let you know what I find as soon as I find it." Conner proceeds immediately to the basement. He had planned out the route he would take to break into the pattern room dozens of times as First Secretary. Never he did expect to simply be able to walk down there as a General and honored war hero.
Jerod heads off to find Khela. He has a Pattern to check out and it's time to call in his favor. He gives her the quick message from Random that Huon is his responsibility.
Khela smiles, but is not happy. "I see. We shall have a letter for the King of Amber and Xanadu at a later point, but if you see him, ask him informally if he intends to provide reparations to Rebma for his vassal's misbehavior?"
"I have no doubt his majesty will take the utmost care in crafting his response." Jerod replies with the absolute precision that a lifetime of Court life allows him to provide.
Conner is announced and enters the informal audience chamber. Khela's reply to their task is brief and for their ears along. "Go, cousins. If I could escape my duties for a moment, I would join you, if I did not have cousins such as yourself, I would go immediately. The question of 'what will Rebma be?' is answered below, and we all need to know. You have my blessing and thanks, and I look forward to your return with news."
"We will return as soon as we can." Conner nods and looks over to Jerod. "Once more into the breech, cousin. Let's see what lies beneath."
Jerod is silent as he nods a departure to Khela before heading out for the basement. He would seem to be a great deal more tense than he was the last time that Conner saw him, which certainly was not that long ago.
Conner remains silent as well until they are alone and on their way to the basement chamber. "Do you wish to talk about what troubles you or shall I leave you to your silence?" He offers. There is no grin upon Conner's face.
[Jerod] remains silent as they travel, without immediately registering Connor's comments until after they are far along on their walk.
"Vere has informed me that he summoned my sister's shade following her death in an attempt to garner information on Vialle's disappearance and Cambina's death." Jerod says quietly.
Conner's eyes nearly pop out of his head at this matter of fact announcement. It is clear he has a dozen questions but doesn't want to interrupt Jerod.
"I have reason to believe Vere is not alone in this activity. His journey would not have returned him to Xanadu to have learned of my sister's death. And while I have seen him converse with spirits in their immediate proximity, I would have to suspect that in order for such to occur, either he must be in proximity to the spirit, or to their body for some kind of sympathetic connection to occur."
Conner nods in agreement.
"That said, someone had to have contacted Vere to advise him of the situation and perhaps request his assistance, and it would have been someone who knew his ability which is not widely advertised. He would probably have been contacted by Trump as the most logical means for communications. So that begs the question of which trump artist has at least created a sketch of Vere."
Jerod stops for a moment, glaring at a page who stops to look at them before hurrying on with great haste. "This places me in an...awkward situation. I very nearly lost control when Vere spoke to me. I am not sure if Corwin's presence stopped me from trying to act, or if I chose not to of my own accord. The funeral comes and tempers are sure to be short. We choose sides and make choices at such times that are often poorly considered and have dire consequences. I would eliminate that by finding any others involved and confronting them, before it comes to that. There is too much at stake now for splinters to arise in the ranks, and I will not be the cause of it if I can help it."
He looks at Conner. "None of the elders would have engaged in such an action, except under the most dire of circumstances, which these were not. That leaves both your mother and Bleys out of the picture. I suspect even if the circumstances were dire they would not have done so. I might not be very old, but I doubt they would want me as an enemy in a hundred years.
"That leaves one of us, the younger generation. Who amongst us can manage the cards?"
Conner does not answer right away and takes some time to sort through all Jerod has told him and his own memories. "To my knowledge the only Trump workers of our generation are Brita, Paige, Ossian and possibly Folly. Dworkin had taken her away for training last I saw her." Conner rubs his chin. "However, I am presuming a Trump or sketch was made of Vere for the Trump booth so quizzing the artists may prove a dead end. I would be asking who would be most likely to contact Vere with news. That points to Gerard, Solange and Robin."
Conner pauses a moment the speaks again. "What do intend to do should you find this other?"
"I will determine if they were merely being blatantly stupid, or actively treacherous." Jerod replies. "I do not hope for the latter as that will necessitate actions on my part that I cannot be held back. The former will allow me to express my considerable displeasure with them, and perhaps enact some form of discipline upon them, without actually taking it too far."
He turns again and continues their journey, letting his mind sift Conner's comments and the list of suspects. "The summoning of spirits is an activity fraught with risk. I have seen enough to know it is not something to be done even in perilous times, let alone now. As Family we have power in any form we are in, and to summon one of us makes me think they are more likely to become connected to Tir than to Amber or Xanadu. For all its supposed wonders, Tir is a place only that only those wishing to escape reality go to. It is not for the living, but for the dead, or the foolish.
Conner tactfully refrains from pointing out Cambina's love of Tir. Though considering Cambina's latest trip led to her death, perhaps Jerod does place his sister in the latter category as well as the former.
"I will need to determine if a sketch or trump of Vere is in the booth, and if the booth has been moved. There was mention made of that occuring, though I am not sure as to the timing of it. If so, then it extends the field of suspects a bit more." he says. "I would eliminate Gerard from the list. While he might have told Vere what happened to my sister, he is far too honourable a man to have condoned such an action should he have known it was in the offing. And I pity those who might have defied him, even in his current condition.
"Robin, I'm not sure about. She avoids me like the plague for reasons that are unknown. I have spoken less than a dozen times to her in the past few years, so I am guessing it is something related to my father. Burning Garnath garnered him few allies, especially amongst the Rangers. Because she is an unknown, she will remain on the list for now.
"Solange, is another matter. She is far more active than most people might realize. I know she's been...involved with others, at least their general level of deportment would tend to indicate as such. She's also aggressive enough of her own accord to undertake actions she believes to be important without worrying about the implications to others. She would never admit it but I suspect she enjoys having a good fight to prove herself. I do as well, though I usually plan my battles ahead of time so that I always win them. I hate winning a fight only to find I've pissed off someone bigger than me."
"I know that feeling." Conner nods thinking on the escaped Huon once more. "Well we seem to have gone as far as psychology can take us. Establishing a timeline of events is always tricky for our family. If I hear anything, I will pass it along. In truth, I have no problem with the raising of a shade if done so properly, but it is not a thing you do without permission of the surviving family." Conner agrees firmly.
"When survival is paramount, neither do I." Jerod offers. "It's the part leading up to that which I have a problem with."
Conner and Jerod traverse the long stair, heading below the castle and into the mountain. It is dark, but there are Rebman light-globes to see by. The chamber at the bottom is much like its counterpart in Amber, except this one has a guard in it. He smiles and waves at the two. "Generals," he says. Conner recognizes him as one of Khela's Khropp advisors. A count or a baron of some distant place.
"Any problems?" Jerod asks, surveying the area around them for irregularities, problems, treacherous queenly behaviour...
Conner nods to the Khropp and waits for the answer to the question.
The man steps close to Jerod as if he wishes not to be heard. Unless there are listeners past this room, it is an unnecessary precaution.
"Have you found the Key? I haven't, yet."
The man's actions are sufficient to put Jerod on his guard and to adjust his stance to one of immediate readiness for attack. If any of this individual's actions appear to be threatening, Jerod is likely to do something very rash, very fast.
Conner leaves the Khropp to Jerod.
"Who told you to look for it?" Jerod asks.
The Khropp does his best prisonyard whisper. Jerod thinks it might also be designed to keep his lips from being read through a mirror. "Queen Khela, of course! She was afraid Moire fled with it, or worse still destroyed it."
He looks up at the peg it should be hanging on. The peg is definitely empty.
Jerod takes in the peg's apparent emptiness. Certainly it is not surprising that Moire would not want one of her enemies having access to such a point of power. However, he does not appear to be overly perturbed.
"Find the Queen. Advise her that the key is missing and she should arrange to have a search conducted for it. Return here when you have delivered your message." Jerod says, before departing down the passageway towards the Pattern room. While on his way, he keeps an eye out for anything that appears unusual, with particular attention to Uncle Random's comments concerning ghosts of former Queens and all that.
The Khropp nods and heads off to the throne room.
Conner follows Jerod out of the room similarly searching and scanning the corridors around them.
The only difference between the underwater trek and the same cave path trip to the pattern chamber in Amber are the currents and the lightglobes that replace the lanterns of Amber.
Conner thinks he smells tobacco at one point, down one of the earlier side tunnels. A lingering smell, it would indicate that a Rebman magician has been here. Smoking is their habit.
Soon enough Jerod and Conner reach the great door. It is closed and the key is not in the lock.
Conner examines the door directly. If the key has been lost or taken, then the door is useless and must be removed. Conner checks which sides the hinges are on, the complexity of the lock, and whether it looks like a pair of Amberite shoulders could remove this obstacle. Conner smiles wide. This is old familiar ground to him thanks to his Mother's training. He could almost believe that see foresaw this day and prepared him accordingly.
This door, assuming it is as thick as the door in Amber, is unlikely to move if hit by Gerard, much less someone of lesser strength. To his third eye, the door seems to be opaque. It is either alive, magical, or has been in the same place long enough to be like stone. The door looks to be ancient burled wood, blackened with years and banded with rough, simple, thick iron. The lock is large and does not penetrate the door but rather sits on top of it.
Jerod, being neither a redhead nor a sorcerer, tries perhaps the most unreasonable behaviour possible in this situation. He checks the door to make sure it is actually locked and tries to open it, on the belief that one eliminates the most obvious of paths first before heading towards the harder ones.
Conner nods in approval as Jerod tries the door. "Here's hoping for a careless last user of the door."
The pattern room is locked tight, and secure against the kinds of intruders who use doors.
"Actually, it's something that Random said when I was talking to him. About keeping an eye out for either Moins or her ghost because we have to deal with her when dealing with Rebma's pattern. The differentiation in the two states of Queendom is most interesting. Oh, and not to swim over it because it gets cranky when people do that."
The two sons of Amber search the area and exhaust their immediate options for opening the door and are forced, at least temporarily, to work on the project by other means.
The smell of the city is always there. Even though surfacers say there isn't, that they cannot tell it because of the water, it's there. It's always, in a hundred different forms, a myriad of different odors, faint and vaguely intangible unless you know what to look for.
Jerod looks out on the city from the palace, watching as the people move about in the distance, the troops and the teams scattering about the damaged buildings, salvaging where they can, digging out the dead and remaining people still trapped in the rubble. He remembers a lesson Valeria once taught him, to distinguish the smells and sounds and the heat of the waves, to know where each came from with just a tiny bit of thought, some memory work and occasionally a bit of luck. It was an easy way to reset oneself, to regain focus and centre yourself when things became too crazy.
But not today.
The smells and sounds and heat are still there, Jerod notes, his mind sifting them without effort, cataloguing and prioritizing. The mind works and sifts and processes, but there is no easing of the moment.
It is an alien feeling he senses and he knows it because the city is alien to him now, though a hundred buildings remind of his youth, a thousand smells remind him of home. It is not what it is supposed to be, and he is not sure what it is becoming. He is not sure what he is becoming.
He thinks about the sealed pouch, collected from Khela during his brief discussion with her following the unsuccessful attempt to verify the Pattern's status. The role of messenger is simple enough, but it is not what he is he knows. It is convenient enough when one wants to learn things and be places, but that is all it is and it is not who he is. But if he is not that, what is he?
Not the titles and positions he once had, or could have now, he knows. So many available for the taking should he choose to but reach out his hand. He smiles slightly, a mirthless smile tinged with cynicism. Kings and Queens sit upon thrones and make bold pronouncements, wield armies and shift favors to gain advantage. An old behaviour he knows, and indeed there is power there, but only a few know how very limited they truly are.
All their power, and yet their choices become limited, encircling them in a stranglehold, subjected to the whims of others, their need for servants and supporters, loyal confidants and minions of questionable ethos. While outside that sphere stands a man, holding a small black trinket bag, feeling the funeral baubles within. The man hopes his sister would approve of his choices, even as he understands the simple futility of hope for those who are now dead. Another part would thank his sister, an insane thought perhaps, for in her death now he is free.
Jerod puts the funerary pouch into a cloak pocket, adjusting his new clothing slightly, the new colours suiting him as always. Cambina would think him insane for such a thought. Perhaps he is insane, he thinks. To think of freedom when all that he loved from the surface is dead and gone, it would invite or even demand such an opinion.
One side would see him vulnerable, without allies or family to support him, dependant upon the whims of monarchs and lords of power to offer him a place for comfort and security. Such could be the case, were there still those who might need him, for whom his choices might have unpleasant consequences. But now there is no one. Even his mother and sisters scattered from their home, his lover safe for the moment, they are no one now for they will not live through the ages and long after they are dead and dust, he will still be there. He wonders at that for moment, realizing it to be a truth even as he knows he will always love them.
But the other side of the coin, always the other side, sees the future and his newly granted freedom, to choose without the burden of family or consequence to them. He wonders if anyone can imagine what this means, or how it will play out. He smiles again, thinking about whether any of the Family will truly understand who he has become. He will see.
He picks up small conch shell from the ledge beside him, looking at the swirl pattern on the side as he holds it in his palm. He remembered the old stories, superstitions mostly of old seamen and travellers in his youth, of how the shells stored the memory and knowledge of the seas within them, the hopes and fears of beings long dead and newly born, for all the sounds and smells and feelings of the sea washed through the shells. Let it be so, he thinks, it will serve his needs now.
Putting his lips to the shell mouth, his breathes forth, summoning the rage and pain that grips him, forcing it from him with his breath, pushing it relentlessly into the depths of the small shell, a silent purposeful scream of life and death. Images of Cambina, his father, of friends and comrades dead and gone now, all mingled and pressed together, the collage ripping through his mind as he forces it from him until the last dregs of air are pressed from his lungs.
He pulls the shell back from his lips, drawing a ragged breath as for a moment his strength fades and the shell almost falls from his grip, though he seizes itat the last moment as his strength returns once more. He remains standing, holding the shell for long moments, staring into space, waiting for the rage and grief to return, waiting....waiting.....waiting.
Jerod wraps the shell into the soft leather and places it into another pocket. "Thank you sister for my freedom. I'll give you your vengeance." he whispers, before pulling out the trump deck, sifting out Random's card. He stops for a moment to let the mask settle across his features, then realizes the mask is no more. He smiles again - let them make of that what they will.
"Uncle." he says, concentrating. "It's Jerod."
"Jerod? Are ready to come to Xanadu?" He reaches out his hand.
Jerod reaches out for the hand silently and takes it to step through. He will be examining his arrival point once there while he puts away his trump.
Random is in the Castle library, recently populated with the books and papers of Amber, or boxes which contain them. He's clearly been going over items with the two men in the room, who are Gilt Winter and Nestor. There are ledgers open on the table, and several crates have been opened and items removed.
The room is lit by oil lamps, although there are electric fixtures here.
It's probably not the orderly unpacking Nestor was hoping for.
Random lets his hand drop after he arrives. "Jerod, good to see you. Things calm in Rebma? Calmer at least?"
Jerod is silent, uncharacteristically so as he takes in the room, noting the décor, the people and the changes. He takes a moment to find a place to lean his grandfather's spear, and to place a large leather wrapped package on a table from which he retrieves the smaller message package he acquired from Khela.
"The dead are being buried, the rubble being cleared." Jerod says, handing the packet to Random before moving a few steps away, curious as to a book he notices on a table, though only momentarily.
Random will certainly have noticed the change of appearance in Jerod, the black and silver of his Amber court colours now vanished from his garb. In their place is a uniform of dark steel gray, though he still carries his father's sword. The silver ring remains to bind his long hair out of the way and the marina necklace is also evident, but upon his uniform coat is some kind of decorative jewelry image finely stitched and embedded into the shoulder of the uniform coat.
It will be apparent after a few moments that it is some kind of fractal image design, a many tentacled star pattern radiating from a central point, the crystal points making up the pattern arms themselves appearing have their own radiant star points within. The star points themselves appear to be of some kind of unusual material, like mother of pearl, and Random might wonder if they would appear a different colour underwater.
For now, the points carry the colours of both Xanadu and Amber.
Jerod nods to the packet now in Random's hands. "From the Queen. No doubt elucidating her displeasure with your decision to claim the right to Huon's judgement. She asked me whether or not you as King, and ensuring Huon's protection from Rebman justice, were going to offer compensation for the dead and wounded he inflicted, let alone the damage in property.
"My response was suitably diplomatic, in that you no doubt would take her concerns under serious consideration." he says, looking around the room again. "Of course, should you offer compensation, let's hope you've got a big bank account."
"It would be a fascinating negotiation, I'd expect. She'd try to get enough that it would not seem to be insulting to the dead, with me offering enough to destabilize her currency and break her economy.
"Mind you, I'd make Huon do the heavy lifting of getting it, assuming I agreed to such a thing. There are plenty of people who are angry at him.
"I suspect the currency her Majesty would seek would not be as simple as gold." Jerod replies. "That can be acquired far more easily than demanding it from you.
"As for Huon, you can assume most of Rebma, the Guard, the Tritons and most of the Shells who lost loved ones are on his list of people to avoid. I'm also wondering if whoever he might be working with is pleased with him for getting the crap kicked out of him. Failure is rarely rewarded amongst allies and this will have pissed off Rebma enough to go after whatever Shadows or places supplied him with troops and mages, even if only to deny him material resources in the future and keep him moving and off balance."
Random shrugs. "Other currency, as you say. I can't very well give her your hand in marriage unless she asks, though. Shadow is infinite and there's no shortage of sweet, naive, earnest people to screw over and send to die in a fight they don't understand. Even if you inconvenience his supply lines, it would take him no more than months to prepare anew.
"Think of this as one of those tactical problems your father was so fond of, except apply it to the real world. You've got control of a city and an unknown number of opponents who want to take it from you. Your job is to protect it, forever. You've got some magic on your side and a standing navy. The other side has to raise a navy or an army and may or may not have an easy way to follow one of the infinite number of approaches to the city. The last two wars devastated the city, once bad enough to force the people to abandon it for a new site. You have the option of attempting to talk to your foes or bloody war. The question is 'at what time will the two trains pass each other?' Don't forget to show your work."
Random taps his pen on the inkwell. "In other words, we all have things we want, but like any housewife, a King has got to weigh the cost of his pride and see if he really wishes to buy something that dear. And King Khela will be in the same boat, as it were, as any monarch. Expediency or righteous justice? I doubt either Llewella or the remnants of the Rebman Court will be eager for war right away."
"I wouldn't know, your majesty." Jerod says. "My part in the machinations of Rebma ended as soon as Huon was driven off and I could surrender the Guard commission I had received. If a threat returns to Rebma, assuming my family there remains alive, I will return to defend it. Otherwise, while I have no doubt her majesty would find your tactical exercise most stimulating, I regret I can only treat it as that - an exercise. Rebma is her responsibility, just as Xanadu is yours.
"As for my comments concerning who might want to go after Huon, that was offered as an opinion from an observer at the front line, not as a statement of what one should do. How one chooses to utilize the offered opinion is left entirely to the individual who receives said opinion. I have only one stake at the moment and that concerns my sister. I'd be most grateful if you could direct me to where she is."
Random nods. "Of course. She's in the chapel. First floor by the waterfall, next to the Oratory. Ask a page if you need to. You have my permission to go to her."
If Jerod were not going to see his dead sister, he might almost smirk that he would require Random's permission to see her body. Perhaps there is a reason permission is needed. Perhaps it's simply a King laying down the boundaries for his kingdom. But Jerod is not quite who he once was and Random's comment does not seem to have any reaction. He simply nods in reply but says nothing as he picks up the leather wrapped package again and departs.
Gnashing his perfect teeth in frustration, Conner finds a quiet room in the castle, hides every reflective surface and digs out his Trump of Merlin. Conner concentrates on the image.
Merlin's face comes into focus. Conner may guess from what he sees of the background that Merlin is in Paris. "Who is it?" he asks, and then answers himself, "Conner. Where are you? Still in Rebma? Let me summon Vere and Celina; they will wish to speak with you."
Conner merely nods in acceptance.
The young Page finds Celina fresh from a nap trying to get her hair in a particularly complex net updo that she admired many months ago at Rebman court. She expects the change of tresses might energize her for the week.
Merlin calls on her so seldom, she drops everything to hurry to his side, leaving the page behind with just a speedy rustle of skirts. Arriving at the sunny room Merlin is in, she understands he is in the Trump fugue and gently rebalances herself before putting a hand lightly on the bare skin of his wrist to join the missive in play.
She restrains herself from asking immediately about Khela when she realizes it is Conner. However, she looks Conner over closely to see what state Rebma might reflect from the appearance of the Poised Lord.
Vere arrives shortly after Celina (apparently the pages keep a much better track of the exact location of the beautiful princess than they do foreign royal nephews). Seeing that they are both in Trump contact he moves to stand in front of them, so that they will know he is there, without intruding unasked.
The Poised Lord does not look worthy of that title right now. Conner is slumped in a chair without a grin, smile or other positive facial expression to be seen. At least not until Celina enters the contact. Then Conner finds the emotional energy to look pleased to see her. "Well we won." Conner begins without preamble. "There is damage to the city but the populous seemed happy enough to welcome their rescuers with cheers. Have you had had any news of Rebma already?" Conner asks.
Celina shivers with the released tension. Conner has not said the thing that seemed best kept behind the well-strapped door of her darker mind. He would have said if it was very bad. He would not play soft with that kind of news. "No, we have not." Celina glances at Merlin. "Vere is here with us. Do you have news for us all?"
Celina tries to make it easy, not knowing the proper etiquette of family, she holds out her other hand at her side in a way that Merlin can see she is prepared to let Vere join the union. If Merlin tenses, she'll know to drop her hand. If Conner demurs, or Vere shakes her off, she won't immediately think she handled the moment badly.
Conner nods an affirmative and waits for Vere to join.
Merlin pulls Vere into the contact without hesitating. "You say that you won. What other news is there, and have you heard any news from Paris?"
Vere nods a greeting to Conner as he joins the contact, but remains silent.
Conner does not return the nod right away. There is a long moment of examination and only then does Conner nod to Vere. "Before the battle, Huon delivered to us an ultimatum. Deliver to him the Pattern Sword of Rebma or he would destroy the Pattern of Rebma with a bloodbomb." Conner pauses a moment to let that sink in.
Celina's horror reads through the trump connection.
"Fortunately, just before the battle our cousin Brennan arrived and together we manged to project Brennan into the Pattern chamber to deal with the threat there. The armies clashed then. Jerod, Khela and myself fought Huon while the armies fought around us. Then Khela, Jerod and Huon all disappeared in a Trump flare. I mopped up the remnants of Huon's army and secured Rebma. What happened with Huon I have only heard second hand but apparently he took the sword and fled followed by Caine, Bleys, Robin, Jerod, Brennan and Khela. I do not know the full details from there only that the sword was recovered and Huon escaped," Conner pauses a moment and looks more fully at Vere, "because of a bad judgment call from Robin. There are many in the family not pleased with her."
In that you are a well matched pair. Conner thinks but does not speak.
Vere's face and stance do not change at all at this comment.
"Moreover, something that happened in the Pattern chamber caused a seaquake to strike Rebma." Conner goes on. "The pattern of the damage matches that of the Sundering in Amber though less severe. There are many casualties but Rebma is recovering and upbeat from the victory. Largely the feeling is that despite our wounds, it could have been much worse."
Conner pauses once again. "What news from Paris and specifically what news of Moire? We are finding many things missing from the castle that Her Majesty Khela would like returned should Moire have them in her possession."
"Moire is possibly still in Paris, but at large and being sought by the throne," Celina has had a chance to steady herself from the instinctive reaction to Huon's threat to the Pattern of Rebma. Her words are steady. "Do you know what manner of calamity shook the Pattern chamber? Did this involve...family? Is anyone missing?"
To those in the connection, it seems that Merlin is a bit green around the gills at this news.
"It is presumed that the quake had something to do with Huon's machinations." Conner replies. "Brennan might know more as he was the only one to witness what went on in the Pattern chamber. Jerod and I went to ascertain what damage if any occurred but the way to the Pattern chamber is blocked." Conner pauses a moment and decides not to elaborate. "Circumstantial evidence, namely that we can all still breathe, would indicate that the Pattern is secure but we in Rebma will not rest easy until we can see it with our own eyes." Conner brings up his free hand and begins to massage his left temple. "So Moire is missing. I suppose I should not be surprised. What other news from Paris?" He asks.
"There is word that Queen Vialle has been found," Celina responds easily enough and passes the bad along with the good, "and Lucas was killed in his quarters by a mirror shard through the heart." She lets Conner comment on those items.
Vere remains silent and watchful.
Conner's eyes pop open wide. "Lucas dead? By a mirror?" His hand clenches around the Trump in his hand. "How?"
"Yes, how and why," Celina says. "I'm not sure of Trump etiquette and wisdom, Conner. I have no idea how safe this chat is..." She looks at him because she feels he will advise her if she should speak family business. "There are answers in hand and many outstanding yet."
"Treat Trumps the way you would treat communication by mirror or sorcery." Conner advises. "The greatest danger is people overhearing you where you speak so if where you are is secure from spying, speak on. Else, we must speak more of this later. Will you be at Cambina's funeral?"
"I will be there if it is possible," Vere says. "Although there are duties that may keep may away."
Celina is glad for the pause for it is all a bit much, Cambina, Lucas and who else is next if Dara has her way? Celina manages the easy part first, "I can attend if the timing works. I would ask you to tender my regards if I am not able to go with my brother or father because of events." She figures that Conner knows well there is no card for her yet and that if a Parisian party goes to the funeral she will be with them. She tries to organize the how of Lucas' death for Conner then, "It would seem that Lucas was a trump artist. Further it appears that he tried to do a trump of Moire. We found an unfinished trump before his corpse in his rooms. A nearby mirror exploded and killed Lucas. Based on what I've learned, Lucas should never have tried to do this. In other news, I've seen some evidence in reflection that Moire was attacked unexpectedly and seriously threatened. The two events may be closely related. We have still more questions and Moire left the palace here rather than answer them. Rilsa is also missing."
Conner returns to rubbing his temple as he digests this news. "A trump of Moire." Conner repeats. "Merlin, does that make any sense to you? I was under the impression that Trumps only worked among the Family which so far as we know Moire was not. What would happen if you made a Trump of nonfamily and used it?"
Celina waits on Merlin's answer, but Conner's question brings the memory of Moire's reflection twisted in agony. Celina's temples throb with the hint of pain she drew from the mirror. Odd ideas meander beneath the currents of memory.
Vere's eyes narrow marginally, and he gives a very slight nod.
Merlin seems startled that he's being addressed. "It is not a thing I was taught to do. But Moire would seem to be a special case. I think of her like unto a Lord of Chaos. I would not like to make a Trump of a Lord of Chaos, because for a true lord, not one of half-blood such as myself, I believe this would imply a fixity that is not inherently present. It would be--" and here Merlin pauses to search for words "--a weapon that would prevent them from adapting.
"I do not mean that I think Moire is a Lord of Chaos," he adds after a moment of additional thought. "I mean that she is a being of some sort of power and that her power may not be of Order, or bound by the Pattern in the same way. I do not have confirmation of my theory."
Celina finds his words apt on several levels, so she adds, "So it would be like the lash of ...the Grand Design behind the Trump call. Not fit for but a rare few, deadly to nearly all." Celina looks at Conner and decides to give him the extra information she has. "Moire was ...if what I saw later was Lucas' focus on her through Trump... then she may be still weak from what happened to her. She may be running from Paris."
Vere frowns thoughtfully. "Would Moire flee in weakness?" he asks. "I do not know her well, but my reading of her is that she would be inclined to seek to prove she was not weak, and go upon the offensive. Wounded sharks are killed by their school, after all."
"Moire has done a fine job of keeping her motives veiled." Conner grumbles. "That in itself makes things more difficult. When I am better rested I plan to attempt some scrying on the various public enemies of Order. Should I find out anything of consequence, I shall let you know." Conner offers. "Out of curiosity were any of her retinue left behind?"
Vere looks at Celina.
Conner knows the Rebman court, so Celina does not even detail the staffers left behind. He's asking for retinue. "Lady Carina was left here and very very afraid. Looking back at it all, if Moire and Rilsa thought Lucas' attack signaled some sort of Family vendetta for prior Rebman complications, they may have imagined Lucas bribed me to 'not be watching' as he took care of his business. I am at a loss as to why they did not trust Carina. Archivist are neutral in Rebma. My thought is that they knew Carina would be no target in an Amber blood feud against Moire." Not to mention having the courteous Jerod flay anyone who touched her.
But why was Carina so afraid...of me? It could not have been Vere or Merlin that made her shake. What did she imagine I represented? My vendetta? For what? My tension? The TaKhi stance? Moire might have been furious with her plans torn, but based on what I saw, the attack struck her soul...she'd need time to...
Celina has only been silent a moment...but the sudden jerk of her mind in the Trump connection might be a mental flinch read by those in touch.
Celina speaks slowly, "Vere, she was terrified before we entered the room. Carina was afraid of me, but not just me. Would you agree?"
"She was most apprehensive when she reported to you that the queen had instructed her to inform you that she had left the palace," Vere replies. "Something had occurred, or been said to her, before we arrived that had already disturbed her equilibrium."
Conner's drooping head snaps up. "Were those her exact words, Vere?" Conner asks. "The queen instructed her to inform you?" Without waiting for an answer, Conner looks to Celina. "Has the palace been searched for Moire?"
"Indeed," Celina responds, catching his drift, "that was the first thing we did. The palace guard rounded up every Rebman in the palace or city and made a thorough search for Moire. We have found signs that she was in some of the neighborhoods of Paris. We also have Bend captured."
She makes a thoughtful pause. Celina reviews that last sane things that Moire told her. Banishment for a few years. Khela overturned by the court. Moire returned in triumph. Our relatives in Chaos. Be careful what you try to eat.
Ends up eating you.
Too late for you in any case.
Celina remembers the bloody face in the mirror of her youth and how terrified she was. She swallows on the echo of that fear.
"Ah, gentlemen," Celina trembles a bit, "kin." She looks at the three. "I have a suspicion that Moire ate Moins some long age ago. If Lucas wounded Moire severely, purposefully or not, could Moire's fall have woken some older mind in the depths that surfaced and took over?"
"I have insufficient knowledge of such matters to have an informed opinion," Vere answers quietly.
Conner simply looks to Merlin for a more informed opinion.
"If that was how it happened--" and Merlin's voice betrays some skepticism that it could be, and perhaps some fear that it is so "--then such a thing would not be entirely unprecedented. A Lord of Chaos is what it eats."
"I don't intend to say she is a Lord of Chaos," Celina offers in a thoughtful tone, "but she is a lord of the deep, cannot walk the Pattern, yet held the fealty of the Tritons and spoke to me as if she were one of the Family regards Chaos, eating for knowledge and survival. I think Vere makes a good point about her leaving Paris weakened. Certainly we can check the palace again and look in on the Pattern here in case Moire is trying to get something from Paris while it is still new and things reflect turmoil in Rebma."
Celina adds, "What I wanted to share was the idea that Moire's actions may suddenly be of a different motive since the incident with Lucas. She was injured. We have the mirror, covered, that she used during the fatal event in our hands now."
Vere nods thoughtfully.
"Even without such conjecture, an attack via Trump is an attack on the mind." Conner reminds. "So Moire acting erratic after one is quite possible."
A sudden shift of intent, "Merlin, could the incomplete trump you saw of Moire been done by someone other than Lucas? I wonder if it could have been planted there after he was dead. Was he working on a trump of someone else? Did that murderer get there immediately to take the trump away and put the Moire trump in place?"
"Along those lines, how could Moire be attacked by an incomplete Trump?" Conner asks. "Is the act of creating a Trump something that affects the subject directly?"
Celina bites her lip at missing the elegant simplicity of that question.
"Too many unknowns," Vere says quietly. "It makes reaching a conclusion difficult."
Merlin shakes his head in the negative. "Not to my knowledge as maker or subject of Trumps. But Lucas was not making a complete trump, merely a sketch. And if he made a first sketch, and tested it, that would explain the sequence of events we saw.
"He tried an assault on Moire and it caused the sketch to fail. Then he was killed before he completed a second sketch. It would also explain his folly in assuming he was invulnerable to an assault through the mirror. He had injured Moire, and forgot that there would be others in her company who could strike back," Merlin explains. "This is my working hypothesis."
"Reasonable," Vere murmurs quietly. "It fits the available data."
"Ah," Celina simply responds, juggling her own staged version of things in her head. "Then likely Rilsa if Moire was seriously injured. It also supports the idea that they would disappear for a time. Not really a retreat." She'd been in charge to anyone's eyes. The retaliation would come back on her... or they would take the complaint to Corwin directly. Which could easily be worse.
It would mean nothing to say, 'but you see, I did not know that Lucas could explode heads from the inside' to them. So no return to Rebma until this horrible mess was settled. The green of her eyes darkens to a somber shade.
"My regards to Queen Khela, Conner," Celina says, "I rather wish I was there, but do not expect me anytime soon."
"My regards to King Corwin." Conner replies. "I do not know where I wish to be but expect me in Paris for the funeral. Until then, good fortune to you all." Conner pauses a moment to see if anyone has anything more to say and if not, he passes his hand over the trump and ends the contact.
Celina adds a bit of politics that she is sure Conner will understand, "I remind the Queen of my personal parole with Loreena. I shall return to Rebma when I can to deal with that." She gestures with her fingers in a circular fond manner that means she would squeeze Conner's hand if only they were really together.
Vere nods a silent farewell.
Merlin releases the contact on his end as well.
Last modified: 7 February 2010