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(Continued from Called to Tea.)

Once Priya and, incidentally, Kieran, are both out of sight through the door, Ederyn relaxes a little and turns to Fiona. "Well, Aunt," he says, tugging at the ring on his finger, "we have several things to talk about, and I still hope to reach the Pattern before noon." The ring comes off with its usual token resistance and lies, spiky and gleaming, in his palm. He is not looking at it, however, but at Fiona, watching to see how she receives what is intended as a significant gesture.

"Now there's a curious thing," Fiona says, gesturing for Ederyn to come and sit at the table. "Place it on the table," she says. She looks at it owlishly. "A Chaosian Intellect Fortress Ring." She looks up at Ederyn. "You've managed to get it to bind to you instead of its original owner, it seems. Well done. I didn't realize that you could be subtle as well as reactive with your elemental control." She pauses. "Disrupting Kieran's device may have been a tactical mistake on your part."

Ederyn has settled himself comfortably on a chair beside Fiona, and now he shrugs. "It was a reflex. I didn't know what he was doing, though I didn't think it was an attack. Which is good," he adds, showing a few teeth in a warrior's smile, "because we might have found out if I could break the device. He really should have asked first."

"Elemental manipulation of light, and an instinctive reaction is somewhat unexpected, you must admit, Ederyn," Fiona says. "How could Kieran expect it? I found it rather...sudden." She smiles slightly. "Now, of the the ring?"

"I took the ring from the Chaosian prisoner in the infirmary, just before I came here," Ederyn goes on to report. "This proved what I was taught, that most sorcerors do not think of guarding well against elemental sorcery, or cannot. The ring is made to protect," he says seriously. "It has no mind, however, so the act of putting it on was enough for it to work for me. Taking it off the man while he still lived was the difficult part. I would like to meet the man who made it, some time," he muses, "and see his forge. Kunrad Minobee, his name is; this metal, this moonsilver, remembers that."

He toys with the ring for a moment, then looks up. "Gerard said I could keep the ring. And he said that the Chaosian was part of an attack on Dagny and Hadrian near Baylesport, and she and Pollux and Valerian were trying to find out what they did with Hadrian."

"Yes. Dream Magic, not my forte, so I have not put my, ah, wand into it. We'll see if they think to ask me for aid once their plumbing of the man's mind produces any useful intelligence," Fiona says. "There are forces moving quickly, Ederyn. The Omphalos, yes, and others taking advantage of their maneuvers to their own advantage. This points to you walking the Pattern sooner, rather than later, of course."

"Did you find anything of interest or use in Eric's quarters?" she then asks.

Ederyn is surprised by the change of subject, but answers readily, if vaguely. "Of interest, several things, of course. Of use? A few things to better understand my father, but nothing, I think, to help with the war or the Pattern." While he speaks, he gets out the piece of bandage, wraps the ring in it, and returns the bundle to his belt purse. It goes without saying that his normal mental defenses are still in place, but he sees no reason to be potentially insulting by putting the ring back on. "I'll start with something I didn't tell you this morning." He gives a quick, disarming smile. "Because I was a little annoyed with you."

Fiona raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Aram said that, aside from curiosity, the reason he wanted to talk with me was to tell me that I should do something that I had only talked about with Noys and Lorius."

"You seem to have gotten rather chatty and intimate with someone from a different reality," Fiona observes. "Do go on."

"According to the way Aram sees things, he said that if I were to find and walk the Fire Pattern, that would improve the stability of this universe. He seemed to think it is very important, in fact. This gives me greater hope that such an action will help us resist the Omphalos better - though I cannot understand how it would help. But perhaps, I think now, it would even make their Doors more unstable."

"The existence of a Fire Pattern is strictly theoretical," Fiona says. "It means the tripartite division of Sky, Sea and Stone is incorrect. It would be a fundamental change to the paradigm of how and what we think Patterns are and how they are arranged. Maybe, with your connection to fire and the earth, you can find something hitherto unknown--except maybe Grandfather, who isn't telling.

"As far as this theory of Aram's is concerned," Fiona says. "His theory, if there is a Fire Pattern, and it has lay dormant all this time, and you can awaken it, is sound. It would increase the balance of order in the universe, and as a knock on effect, make our universe less susceptible to tampering.

"Theory dictates," Fiona says "that a Fire Pattern would have to be separated in some fashion. Tir is in a bubble of reality in the sky. Rebma is in a sphere on the ocean floor. Another Pattern would be similarly segregated, and without a known path, nearly impossible to find.

"The problem and danger is," Fiona says "is getting to the Fire Pattern, if it exists. You could probably try to teleport to it after walking the Pattern in the Castle," Fiona admits. "However, asking the Pattern to teleport you to a theoretical Fire Pattern that may not exist has any number of possible outcomes. Some of them," she says. "Are very bad. That is why neither Lorius nor I have tried this approach. Then, we've not had a universe-threatening force to spur us to such action."

Ederyn has listened attentively. "Aram seemed as confident in his skills as I am in mine," he says now. "Though there is the question of how well they apply to this reality. A few points of congruence are, perhaps, not as good a proof as I would like to believe.

"Teleporting from the Pattern here is what I was thinking of," Ederyn admits. "I am fairly sure that I can react well enough to problems involving Fire to escape them, if needed, either by walking or by Trump. But I am wondering now, how is it that Amber is not also a bubble of reality, no different from Tir or Rebma?"

"Why, but of course it is," Fiona says with a smile. "I'm certain that Lorius and Noys would have taught you about the Primal Pattern. That, Ederyn, is the real Amber. That is the small island of reality, the primal shadow, if your studies used the phrase, that our ancestor created the Pattern on. That Pattern was reflected and refracted from the Primal. The Amber Pattern's bubble of reality is relatively large, but it is a bubble. It just so happens that the bubble completely encapsulates Rebma and Tir's bubbles."

Ederyn looks a little doubtful at this, but says nothing.

"It probably didn't have to be that way," Fiona says, in a voice of confidentiality. "Or have to be that way, although how one would change that relationship I do not know. It's possible even the Pattern's creator is no longer capable of modifying it. But where and what the nature of the Fire Pattern bubble's is a question with theory and speculation, but no data.

"I admit," she adds. "that you are uniquely qualified to handle such conditions that would exist around a fire pattern, if this thing does exist in fact. You, and probably Helias. That's my brother Bleys' daughter, recently arrived in Amber, too. She's half Fire elemental, on her mother's side of course."

Ederyn nods, remembering the talk about that cousin from last night. After a moment of contemplation, he says, "And whether or not to try it - is all my decision. I am thinking that I will, unless I learn something new that tells me I should not."

"You are your father's son," Fiona says. "And your sister's brother."

"Now, the next thing concerns effects of the Pattern," Ederyn goes on. "I understand that walking it will remove unwanted enchantments from me. My question is, what about wanted enchantments or ... similar things?"

"You mean if you carried a beneficial enchantment on yourself, or in yourself, and walked the Pattern with it?" Fiona says with a smile. "The Pattern tends to revert people to form and type. A beneficial enchantment, one that is commonly applied to you, familiar to you and your makeup, will not be wiped away. It might be reified, if anything. There's precedent for that, mind." Fiona says. "Not so much the same for magical items, such as that hammer you carry with the Sidhe bound to it. A Logrus walk would change the hammer, perhaps drastically, but a Pattern walk will generally not affect it."

That is a relief, Nasirpal sends to Ederyn.

"Well, good," Ederyn says aloud, a little ruefully because of not having thought of that possibility. "It would be ... awkward if that enchantment was suddenly undone."

"Quite an interesting embedded spell, that," Fiona comments casually. "It occurs to me, Ederyn," she goes on, "that it might be the wiser course, if you are intent on it, to walk the Primal Pattern, rather than the Amber Pattern, if you intend this venture." She taps the table. "There are only minor differences in the imprint, but the Primal Pattern came first. If any of the Patterns can transport you to this theoretical Fire Pattern most easily, it would be the Primal Pattern."

"Hmm," Ederyn says thoughtfully. "But that might also give up what advantage there might be, if there is any advantage, to walking the Pattern that is, like me, attuned to Earth."

"That is the counterpoint," Fiona concedes with a nod. "The Pattern under the Castle is the more natural Pattern for you to walk and imprint upon. You may even have a slightly better chance of surviving that Patternwalk than walking any other Pattern, simply by its nature, its location and your nature. Well, I make the offer, regardless. I'll stand to your Patternwalk, wherever you wish to take it. I will only intervene if things ... go awry.

"Did you have further questions, Ederyn?" she asks, taking a companionable tone.

"Yes," Ederyn says, but rather than ask them immediately, he picks up the teapot, offers to pour tea for Fiona, and also pours some into an unused cup for himself. He is obviously thinking something over, at least up until he takes a sip of his tea, and then looks askance at the cup.

Fiona accepts the cup and sips it.

After a moment he dismisses his surprise at the taste, and switches the cup to his left hand, using the other to dig into his belt pouch again. From it he takes the thumb-sized diamond, and holds it up between thumb and forefinger. "I've already walked the Pattern," he says, watching Fiona's face, "yesterday morning, in a dream, while I was riding to the Castle."

Her eyes widen and study Ederyn carefully.

"I talked with it, and made this with the energy from the walking." He gaze flicks to it and away again, and his tone takes on a tone of self-deprecating amusement. "I dislike waste."

More seriously, he continues, "What uses might it have?"

"You've walked an image of the Pattern in a dream, and you spoke to it," Fiona says. "You surprise me, Ederyn. I know of family members who have secretly walked the Pattern, only to officially walk the Pattern for the first time, later, with that original and secret walk already done." She pauses a beat. "That list includes me.

"Your imprint is not a complete one, being it mediated through a vision and a dream and yet," Ederyn can feel her regard. "There is an imprint of sort upon you, and certainly your Pattern artifact confirms this was more than a fantasia. What one might do with a Pattern artifact like this? Bear it upon your next Patternwalk and make it even more attuned to the Pattern. You might use it as a focus for developing methods to undo Doors, since this is charged with Pattern energy. In the form of a gem, like this, you might even be able to inscribe a new Broken Pattern, which would likely expend it in the effort.

"Its abiding use is to protect yourself if you found yourself beat with Power." Fiona says. "With such a gem active, hostile magic would have little hold over you. A Logrus user would be foolish to try and strike you. A mental defense would be bolstered."

"And its use against Omphalos power is not tested, that I know of," Ederyn notes.

"So what did the Pattern speak to you of?" Fiona says.

"First it invited me to walk upon it, though without words," he reports. "Doing that was ... informative." There is hesitation on the last word, as is usual when a Thari word has no real cognate in his native language. "Then I thanked it, which seemed appropriate to me, and it said that few people think to speak to it. Noys says that the fact that it is a thinking being is not usually talked about. Is there a reason for that?"

"There are complicated reasons," Fiona says. "A figure of power that is drawn on the floor is one thing. A figure of power with goals, hopes, ambitions and motivations of its own is a more disquieting prospect." Fiona continues, "Just as a magic sword is one thing, but a magic sword with a mind is a completely different sort of weapon."

Ederyn nods judiciously. His gaze strays toward the diamond again, and he moves a little abruptly to put it away, where it can't keep distracting him. "But do we know what the Pattern wants, other than its own survival?"

"In general," Fiona says. "The Pattern is interested in spreading its influence versus its opposition, and increasing the Order of the multiverse."

Ederyn nods again, and goes on with his story. "Then I wondered if the family would dislike my doing that, and it said, more or less, that if pleasing my family was my greatest concern, then I should turn around and go home." He almost smiles, turning the diamond between his fingers. "I believe it knew very well that I would not do that. And that was all, except that I asked if I could speak with it again, and it said that talking might be easier after I walked it the waking world. You must understand, at the time I had no idea of what to ask it. I had never heard of it before this event."

"It must have been a disorienting experience," Fiona says. "To speak to a High Power in such a way. That sensibility, though, does sound like the Pattern. It is right. Your presence here does upset some applecarts and will upset more, even more than most new arrivals to the family do. A reputed daughter of Eric showed up here not long ago, but she didn't act much like one, and I think it was just a ploy. Chaosian, you see. You, though. You're earnest. You're likable. You appear to be the real thing. And you look a lot like my brother did when he was young.

"You do know that the politics around you can be fraught. I can't imagine Noys didn't tell you that already. She has a sharp political mind. She'd make an excellent Eminence Grise."

"But why stay, now that you come to the big city?" Fiona says. "I will venture that its possible Valerian had a hand in your coming here, didn't he?" Her eyes study Ederyn. "Or did he?"

Ederyn sits back in his seat, leaving the still-full teacup on the table, and shakes his head. "I met Valerian first yesterday," he says. "I have wanted to go to Amber for a long time, though it was very little more than a foreign name to me. The reason why is the same reason why I will stay: my kinsfolk in Norwend died of old age a long time ago." He pauses for a moment, his gaze turning inward, then sighs and looks back at Fiona. "I expect I will not want to go away just for looking at different worlds for some time. Until I really believe that I will not lose everyone that way again."

"Mmmm," Fiona says. "Not a standard point of view. But it will be good to have you around Court."

"Thank you," Ederyn replies. "Though I cannot promise to be 'sociable' all the time."

With an effort of will, he puts away the old griefs and gives current events his attention. "About how I came here ... the simple answer is that the Montenegrans found a route to Norwend, learned enough of our language to talk, and happened to speak of the mysterious 'Amber' as a place they knew. So of course someone said, 'Could that be the Amber the smith's father came from?' And it seemed very likely, so I came."

"That seems awfully coincidental," Fiona says. "Luck and coincidence have their place, but for the Montenegrans to find a route to your door, where you were waiting, and to by accident mention Amber, which you were aware of. Montenegro, as you no doubt learned, has been politically withdrawn from the Golden Circle for a century, and happy in that role. Perhaps the rejiggering of relationships after the War is to blame. Its also possible that someone manipulated the Montenegrans into finding Norwend.

"Anyone with a decent amount of Pattern could do it." she says. "The question of course, would be who. The why takes care of itself."

"I think the question is 'why now,'?'" Ederyn disagrees, courteously. "I think there are at least two people involved. Because of the dream Pattern-walking yesterday, I know that someone used a very subtle magic to stop me from thinking of trying to find Amber myself - so that I would wait for the path to open. But the Lady of the Oak is a seer; she may have acted because of something she saw in the future. Or, she may have acted because someone asked her to. Who in the family has good relations with the alf�r, or the Fae, or the Sidhe, as you call them?"

"Not terribly many," Fiona says. "Fae, Sidhe are a proud people, elements of them predate Amber, and elements of them predate even Chaos. They remember their higher station, some of them, and resent us as newcomers, even thousands of years later. Julian's daughter Brieanne is part Faerie, he did not take her to wife, but some sort of Faerie lady was his lover for a time. Would Brieanne speak with this Lady of the Oak regarding you, a son of Eric?" Fiona smiles. "She is well in favor with your sister, and would do it without telling her. There is no telling how deep Brieanne's connections with the world of Faerie really go.

"The other option is Sand and Delwin. I am sure Noys told you of them, and may have told you of them, if her education was worth anything. Sand's mother was of the High Sidhe, and both of them partake of that heritage heavily. Their penchant for manipulation is considerable, and crafty. If they coaxed the Lady of the Oak to do this, then they have plans and goals that involve you. They may take even decades to come to fruition. It is their way. And Delwin is a good enough magician to put that sort of enchantment on you directly, and you never remember you met him. And Sand's authority and bearing would overawe local faerie in your world, easily. She plays the Queen almost too well."

Ederyn looks alert. "Sand is the one I suspected," he says. "This is ... 'independent confirmation.' I know that it was the Lady of the Oak who put that enchantment on me, because Pattern brought up the right memory, and this time I could see it. But Sand has told me that she knows the Lady. You see, the reason I am not quite comfortable with the idea of Trumps is that when Noys gave me a set, and I looked through them, Sand tried to force a contact through her Trump. I made certain preparations and contacted her, to learn what she wanted." His shrug is a comment on what he learned: "I am still not sure, except that it was partly because of the Lady's continuing interest in me." He pauses, and shifts uneasily in his seat, just a little. "Which is disturbing by itself. And, she - Sand - also invited me to visit her, and said she would explain more at that time."

"Of course she did," Fiona says. "Sand is my sister, but she's also a Queen, as I said. She has a sense of the politics of these things. Having you actually come to her Court is a much better move for her than simply talking over a Trump.

"I wonder," Fiona temporizes a moment and then continues. "If this might not have aught to do with Benedict's call. Perhaps she wishes you to serve as her champion. And perhaps." she adds and smiles. "She is simply seeking to marry you into a Sidhe house. Or perhaps its some other, as yet indeterminable reason.

"Do you intend to take her up on her offer?" Fiona asks.

Ederyn has gotten rather quiet at the word "marry," but at Fiona's direct question he blinks and says, "Yes." With a conscious effort to relax, he adds, "I am too curious about her intentions to not go. I do not think it has to do with Benedict, because when I said that it would be some time before I could visit, she said that was well enough. It must be something more complicated."

"Of course it's more complicated. I did say," Fiona smiles, "her plans take long to come to fruition. You may not know the real reason why she'd like you to visit Coriliaine for a long time. I confess," she makes a palm up gesture with her hand, "to being curious just what her plans are and what stratagem she is using. Perhaps she is asking on Delwin's part. She's the more social of the two of them. Delwin prefers to be even more withdrawn and careful in his contact. You do not strike me as a Trump Artist, although his sorcerous skills are also prodigious.

"You will keep me informed?" she asks, smiling again. "I don't chat with my the twins enough, and knowing their interest in you would be...informative."

"Yes," Ederyn agrees, nodding. "I will value your advice about understanding her goals."

"There is one other thing," he says. "I liked the South Tower so much, this morning, that I asked Henden if I could live there. He said that you used to use it, so I should ask whether you object."

"The South Tower." Fiona puts a finger to her lips. "I could be cruel and ask you for compensation, or a favor, in order to give up my rights to it. But it amuses me that you might make good use of it, given your skill set, and it would you far larger space than a number of your peers. And that is not even counting the forge that you are getting Random to set aside from you."

"Does it matter that I won't use most of the rooms?" Ederyn asks - a little ironically, as he suspects that the answer is no.

"No," she replies. "And now, I think," Fiona says with a smile. "You have places to be and things to do. Don't you, Ederyn?" she adds. She gives a gentle nod of the head. "You make wish to take your disk with you, though." she indicates the disk Ederyn used to indicate and display his study of Door magic. "Unless you were gifting it to me."

"Oh, no. I mean," Ederyn says as he gets to his feet, "I've owned that disk for a long time, and I may need to look at the Door's structure again." Then he glances between her and the disk, obviously taken by some thought; but whatever it is, he doesn't feel a need to share it.

He goes over to shut off the disk's display and pick it up, then returns to near the table. "I plan to walk the Pattern just a little later," he says, and then smiles cheerfully, and with a hint of mischief. "Should I send a messenger to you when it's time, or just assume that you will know?"

"It is polite, Ederyn," she says, "to send a messenger. Even if I will know. The forms should be observed, my sister would say."

With a last friendly nod, he strides out of the room and down the hallway, headed back to the Ruby Suite.

Ederyn's return to the Ruby Suite goes without incident. When there, he discovers Kezia is the only one of the three there, puzzling over a book. She looks up, closes the book, stands and bows.

While she does this, he tugs on the bell pull, then leaves the door open as he moves into the room and gives Kezia his attention.

"My Jarl," she says respectfully. "Captain Gerison asked if Boaz and Cyrus might train with the Guards. I." she sniffs. "was not invited, and so have taken to reading something from the Amber Library instead. One of the servants was good enough to go there and fetch me a history.

"In addition," she says. "A set of servants came and took your bed. They said you were being given quarters in a Tower. Is this part of your official recognition, milord Jarl?"

Ederyn is a little amused by how literally his reference to that bed has been taken, and also pleased that he definitely won't have to complain about oversized, overstuffed sleeping arrangements.

"Yes," he answers Kezia, seating himself in one of the chairs. "All the family has at least two rooms, I believe. I saw the tower this morning and asked to stay there." He eyes her for a moment. "There is room for you three up there, but I want you to stay down here. For several reasons, starting with the one that no one else seems to have a personal armed force here."

"I've noticed that, milord Jarl," Kezia says. "As your vassals, we have a status and presence here. I suppose," she looks reflective, "that if we were to remain near you, it might be considered a lack of confidence in the King's protection of you. Or, worse, that you were looking to be independent of his authority. I recall the humans of Weirmonken having this problem, when visiting each other."

Ederyn nods, pleased with her quick grasp of the problem.

"You cannot take teeth and claws away from us, or bind them in peace cords," Kezia says. "Unless you could keep us from changing somehow..."

There is at this point a scratching at the door. "Come," Kezia says.

A servant, dressed in a dark green shirt, brown pants, and both trimmed in gold. comes in and bows. "You called, your..." he stops, looking from Kezia and seeing Ederyn "... highness?" he says, keeping his eyes fixated at a point at the floor somewhere in Ederyn's vicinity.

"Yes," Ederyn says. "I asked the girl who helped me before to ask Queen Vialle if she would speak with me this morning, and to tell me the answer when I rang again."

"Ah, yes, Your Highness," the young man says. Even with his downward gaze, he narrows his eyes in thought, in recollection. "I was told that her Majesty would be pleased to see you, in her quarters, or if she is not there, in her studio." He pauses. "I can conduct you there if you so wish. Highness," he adds. He still isn't quite looking at Ederyn.

"Good," Ederyn says, but doesn't make any move to get up. Instead he taps his fingers on the arm of his chair a couple of times, and then abruptly says, "Where I come from, it is rude to not look at the person you're talking to."

He lifts his eyes. The young man hesitates to meet Ederyn's eyes with his own, the color of a mottled green and brown. "Apologies, highness," he says. "In Shakdale, the country I come from, to look uninvited upon a Saint is to invite retribution, or even just ill-fortune from the Unicorn."

Kezia raises an eyebrow at the word Saint.

Ederyn looks resigned, though to what, exactly, is unclear. "I have to doubt that applies to me," he says quietly, "because I do not know what a 'saint' is, and I never heard of the Unicorn before I left home to come here. Also, I do think my sister would have mentioned such a thing ..." He shakes his head. "But she did say I should not waste effort on things like trying to stop people calling me 'highness,' which sounds so very silly to me. I will try to not think ill of you for your tradition."

"All of the Royal Family of Amber, in my country, are anointed by the blessed Unicorn by virtue of birth. Therefore," the young man says, "you are a Saint, even if you do not know it. I understand much of Amber, and most of its shadows, do not anoint the family as Saints. However," and Ederyn can hear the pride in his voice, "we understand, and cherish that Truth."

Ederyn sighs a little, and gets to his feet. Then a new thought makes his expression brighten a little.

"Kezia, would you like to meet Vialle? I think you'll find her interesting."

Kezia does not hesitate, but inclines her head and smiles. "If I can meet a Queen of Faerie, my lord Jarl, a Queen of Amber does not intimidate me. I would dare to meet Queen Vialle. Let us go, then, milord."

Ederyn grins briefly, and in the Weir tongue says, "It may be that Vialle is more subtle."

"To be a Queen of Amber must require many skills and talents," Kezia agrees, in Weir.

The youth briefly shifts his head but says nothing at the use of a language he appears not to understand, given his confused look.

Switching back to Thari, Ederyn tells the youth, "Show us the way, please."

"Very well." He pauses a moment. "Highness," he says after that hesitation and moves to lead Ederyn and Kezia out of the room, and back to the fourth floor. Kezia's steps, behind Ederyn are a stutter step to keep up. Her desire to look around and look at the artwork and architecture, especially once the party goes above the ground floor, is obvious.

Ederyn slows down a bit, forcing the servant to slow down too, so she can look around more easily.

One of the guards, a slightly obese man with thin blond hair gives a nod as the servant leads Ederyn and Kezia up. Ederyn recalls seeing him there when he headed down the staircase after his time speaking with Fiona. "There are few to think to climb and descend this staircase so frequently, milord Prince." he says. "Perhaps for exercise?" he adds, his tone light.

Kezia snorts slightly and the guard's focus turns from Ederyn to Kezia. Kezia doesn't say a thing, doesn't even look threatening but Ederyn does feel ... something from her, something in her eyes, her gaze. After a moment, the guard clears his throat. "Sorry, milord." he adds

The servant looks distinctly uncomfortable, ready to get away from the guard and head on.

Ederyn, who had been about to pause to respond to the fellow, comes to a complete halt. And sits, hard, on his irritation, because all the gods know he doesn't want to see another display of abject submission from Kezia. "Actually," he says to the man - mildly, lightly - "I don't mind a friendly word or two. Most of the time."

Ederyn gives the man his usual slight smile, and a nod, and heads on up the stairs.

Ederyn can hear a released sharp breath from the guard as he, the servant and Kezia climb up the steps past him and to the fourth floor. He directly leads Ederyn to a relatively unadorned door. Aside from its single guard, there is nothing remarkable about it. The guard looks at the servant.

"Ah, good, her Majesty had been hoping the Prince would come, Matthias," the guard says to the servant. He looks at Ederyn and Kezia.

"Kezia of Weirmonken, vassal to my Jarl," she says proudly.

"Ah, one of the Weir." the guard says. He scratches at the door. "Your Majesty? Prince Ederyn and a guest are here."

What is presumably Vialle's response is too soft for Ederyn to catch, although he does note Kezia's ears prick up. The guard opens the door, admitting Ederyn, Kezia and Matthias to a well lit room. The room, Ederyn notes, is full of sculptures of all sorts on pedestals. Most of them appear to be of glazed ceramics, mostly busts.

He looks at them with interest, ceramics being of earth, though in Norwend the uses of clay were very simple, and not something he ever thought much about working in.

The Queen of Amber is sitting in front of a table, a lump of clay on a wheel in the middle of the table. She perks her head up. "Hello Ederyn, I'm glad you've come. Please sit down. There are chairs here and there. Matthias, go fetch us all something to drink."

Matthias disappears to the left, behind a drop cloth.

"Thank you," Ederyn says. "I brought one of the Weir, Kezia, to meet you."

While they speak, he and Kezia find seats and move them a little closer if that seems necessary.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, your Majesty," Kezia bows and then stops at Vialle's sightless glance.

"It takes some getting used to," Vialle says with a slight smile. She gestures toward a couple of stools near her. "Do sit down, the both of you." she says. She lifts her hands. "You caught me in the middle of molding some clay. I wouldn't mind, at some point, doing you, Ederyn," she says casually. "But I am sure you did not come to model for me."

"No," Ederyn agrees, taking a stool. "Not today. Though I am now more certain that you are the right person to talk to."

Matthias returns with a pitcher of something, and several glasses.

"You can pour and withdraw, Matthias," Vialle says. Matthias pours a tart smelling pale yellow liquid into the three glasses, bows and leaves. Vialle picks up a glass, a slice of fruit floating in it. She sips this.

Kezia clearly resists the urge to smell the drink and instead impulsively takes a sip. Her eyes widen slightly and she sets it down.

"Go on," Vialle encourages Ederyn.

Ederyn nods. "I saw Dulcinea at breakfast," he says without further preamble, "and I talked her out of a plan to ride into Arden alone to see whether things were in order. It seems she wants to be useful, but Random has not given her any tasks, and she seems to think that he will refuse to do so. I suggested that she speak to you, but she might not do so. I also suggested Florimel or Asteria, but ..." He pauses, then sighs. "I think I have seen this thinking before: young men who believed that proving themselves was their task alone - and got themselves killed or injured doing something they thought would achieve that.

"I hope that you can think of some way to talk to her, or to Random, that will lead to preventing her from doing a thing like that."

"Ah, Dulcinea," Vialle says. She takes another sip. "She's a bright, intelligent, and capable young woman who has been dealt a very tricky hand," she says. "Her mother has raised her to be her heir, Queen Sand has groomed her to be her son's consort, she's the daughter of the King of Amber, and no one seems to ask her what she wants. Or, worse." She sips again. Ederyn notes she places the glass in the precisely same spot each time. "She gets manipulated into doing things and even feeling things that people want. Or treated like some prize in a long running conflict.

"And she IS capable," Vialle says. "She aided Jayson in catching Triton when he tried to make off with a rather valuable piece of property, for instance. I can understand that she doesn't want to be treated like a ceramic figurine. Dusted, admired, but never handled or used."

"I find this problem hard to ... comprehend," Ederyn says gravely. "And I can only hope that one of you can solve it, because I have no other thought about it but to give warning."

"I suspect Random is just going to try to keep her out of this war," Vialle says with something like a sigh. "And neither Amber nor her home shadow are places where women are kept out of affairs." She looks at Ederyn. "What part do you plan to play? Raise an army of Weir to bring to Benedict?"

"Benedict asked for us," Ederyn says. "I will bring a large group of Weir, not an army." Then he glances at Kezia. "A small large group," he adds dryly.

"Something less than a full army, more of a unit," Vialle says. She considers this for a moment. "No doubt, instead of front-line fighting, you will be doing other things. What's that phrase Benedict uses ..." Vialle purses her lips. "Special forces. Yes, special forces."

"You know," Vialle says. "I know you have magical talent. I know not what talents your Weir captains like Kezia here have besides the talents known to the Weir. It occurs to me, Ederyn, that if you are building a special forces unit of yourself, and Weir, you might do well to have a cousin or two with your unit."

"Like the Princess," Kezia says.

Ederyn stares blankly at her.

"Like the Princess," Vialle agrees, after a sip of her lemonade.

"No," Ederyn says firmly. "No, that is, is more 'acculturation' than I can carry." He finds his desire to gesture hampered by the glass he's still holding, but points at Vialle with his free hand. "And you just said the king will want her to stay out of the war!"

"I did," Vialle says. Despite Ederyn's agitation, her voice is as calm as the most serene mountain lake. "Random does want to keep Dulcinea as far away from this unfortunate but needed conflict as much as possible. But what does she do?" Vialle says. "As you say yourself, she chafes at this penting, seeking action, involvement, purpose, use.

"You would have someone speak to her, but I do not think this torrent of emotion and the need to be useful can be easily assuaged. No, not for long, anyway. Would you have her mollified for a little while, only to feel useless and unproductive again? And then take bold, brash action, bursting the banks that have been set around her?

"It is better to channel the flow, than to dam it up, in this case, I feel," Vialle. "And so I ask you, Ederyn Ericsson, Prince of Amber, to do me this favor. Not for Random, but for me. And for Dulcinea. She would be far safer in your sphere, where you will take action, than acting on her own, with no one to protect her."

Ederyn listens, frowning at the table in front of Vialle. His left hand makes a fist on his knee, and nothing she says or that he thinks (behind strong mental barriers) seems to please him.

"Who better to protect the daughter of a King than a son of one? I can already sense on you, dimly, that you have more than a little competence in dealing with opposition. You certainly did not get that ring you carry in Norwend, for instance."

He gives a dismissive snort and shake of his head at that last, but remains quiet, deep in scowling thought.

Finally he looks toward Vialle again, still frowning. "Very well," he says abruptly. "If you can talk Random into it - and if you both cannot think of another choice - then she can come with me."

Vialle's tone is bright. "Very well, then. I shall talk Random around. You might think, Ederyn, this is a poor reward for bringing a problem to the attention of the Crown. But surely, if your sister has not already told you, there is but one currency in Amber." She sips her lemonade. "And that currency is the exchange of favors, promises, things done for one another. When you can walk into shadow and get all the gold you want, create an army, find anything, the only real value is doing things for one another."

Ederyn begins to look slightly mollified at this explanation, but not very much, though he finally relaxes enough to try the lemonade.

"Do this for me, for Random, for Dulcinea, and you will find such an investment of your time and effort might be useful someday." She sips her lemonade again. "But, surely you did not come just to speak of Dulcinea, did you?"

"Yes, I did," Ederyn says, wondering what else she thinks he might want to talk about. "I delayed going to walk the Pattern, which is what I am going to do next. I plan," he adds, "to leave for the war tomorrow after Court. Dulcinea should know that, and be ready." He manages to sound stiffly businesslike, rather than annoyed, on the last part.

"Well," Vialle says. "Most people come here with a laundry list of things to ask or talk about. I, and Random, are going to have to get used to your single minded directness."

"He is a good Jarl," Kezia says with a short tone in her voice.

"I never mentioned otherwise, dear," Vialle holds up a hand to forestall Ederyn. "An observation of his nature, not a character flaw, certainly." She pitches her voice back to Ederyn. "It also counterbalances your sister, which is well and good."

"I wish you luck and success on your Patternwalk, Ederyn," Vialle adds. "May it bring you all you desire, and deserve."

"Thank you," Ederyn says, getting to his feet and putting his glass down on the stool.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Kezia adds, rising.

"You're welcome, dear. Perhaps next time you will be more inclined to talk." Vialle says, with a slightly amused air. She turns her attention toward Ederyn. "Until we meet again. I will send word once I've spoken to Random."

"Of course," she adds. "I am sure it has occurred to you that the power obtained after Patternwalk can send you anywhere. Anywhere." She pauses a beat "Goodbye, Ederyn."

"I think," Kezia says "she thinks you are considering bolting, milord Jarl. Or offering you the option."

"Huh," Ederyn says dismissively. "Leave Amber because a few things are annoying? No."

...

An hour later, Ederyn is walking down a corridor in the subterranean passage below the Castle. Finding Noys was relatively easy, she was getting some exercise in the courtyard with some of the guards, some light weapon practice with wooden swords. Asteria she finds in the library with her mother. Flora wishes Ederyn well, but declines the opportunity to observe. With a large volume on the table in front of her, she's clearly preoccupied with something else, to Ederyn's observation. Fiona, neither messenger nor visiting her quarters, or her laboratory seems to turn her up.

During all this Ederyn has decided to leave his good tunic (still, despite the indignities it's recently suffered, his best item of clothing) in the Ruby Suite, and is now only wearing the linen shirt that was under it. The coolness of the tunnels is hardly enough for him to notice even without the extra layer of clothing.

"... that's why we had to tell Kezia and the Weir not to come," Noys says. "We've lost mortals too fascinated and enchanted by looking at the Pattern, and walking onto it."

"Too right," Asteria puts in. "Merlin had gotten some flak, when ..."

Asteria stops as, turning down another corridor, Ederyn, Noys and Asteria see Fiona.

"Well now," The redhaired sorceress of Amber is standing by a large door, a keyring dangling from her finger. "Did you think that I was going to miss this?" She puts the key in the door, and pushes it open, to reveal the large cavernous room with the design that Ederyn has seen in vision, in dream. Even here, at the entrance, the power washing from the Pattern is obvious.

Ederyn grins briefly at Fiona's sudden appearance, then strides past her into the room. There is the Pattern, as in his dream, only even more compelling. He makes himself pause and look away from it, his excitement tempered by what he�s learned of others� experiences, which say that this will not be as easy as the dream walk. Fiona, Asteria and Noys follow Ederyn inside the large cavernous room.

He glances around at his witnesses and turns to Noys. �I�ll return to the front courtyard,� he tells her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. �Look for me there.�

"You be careful," Noys says. "This won't be as easy as you think. It's going to reforge you, brother."

"We're here for you," Asteria says.

"Speak for yourself," Fiona says with a smile. "This is going to be fascinating."

He turns toward the Pattern. Ready? he asks Nasirpal, already starting toward it.

I can't imagine any more preparation will prepare us.

Ederyn reaches the Pattern and, without hesitation, puts first one foot on the glowing line, and then the other, walking into a flow of power much stronger than that in his dream. At this point it�s like pushing against water � no, he doesn�t like that imagery. Like pushing against a strong breeze. And of course, disorganized memories flash across his awareness: glimpses of his talk with Aram, seeing Corwin waiting outside his own tomb, the vertigo-inducing ride on the monorail in Locus Minerva, his conversation with Nasirpal, last night�s family dinner. He is amused to think that he used to go for weeks with nothing more exciting happening than finishing a scythe blade or seeing the neighbor�s boy delivering bread.

He pushes through the First Veil, sparks flying, feeling as though he�s trailing a skein of memories behind him.

His early memories flash through his mind. Growing up in Norwend, the first decades of his life. Before he quite realized he was different, what he was. The weight of the years translates to the force of getting through that veil.

Now he focuses more on the act of walking, rather than on observing the experience as it�s happening. More memories: the realization that he was actually talking to ��inn; a series of images of the Lady of the Oak, which reminds him to hope for the end of her enchantments. One foot goes after the other, not letting the memories catch in his mind. This is all about mental control, and he has plenty of experience with that � and he is approaching the Second Veil already.

A memory of the Lady of the Oak. Memories of a binding, an enchantment, and the memories of the time with her flood open. it's a torrent of information, of images, of events that Ederyn cannot process now.

One image comes to mind, though, of the Lady of the Oak, and another woman, one that Ederyn has seen in trump.

Sand.

The images fade away, as Ederyn concentrates on taking step after step.

And what he remembers next is rage, white-hot, and the witch-woman backing away from him in terror, and all the flames in the house rising up in answer, leaping to set fire to wood and thatch and stone. It is a shock, but his foot comes down solidly on the Pattern�s line, and he is through, still walking, making his jaw and fists unclench. Even now, he takes a fleeting satisfaction in knowing that only non-human vermin died that day, but the witch�s house burned for years.

Finally, after a few more steps or perhaps a hundred, the Third Veil. It is what all the others reported: pressing against an immovable obstacle, an implacable force. Worse, at the same time his senses try to report a cold rain pelting his head and shoulders, and icy mud around his knees, as he kneels by the half-filled grave of his wife and the pent-up grief and misery and confusion of years bursts out in a wordless scream at the uncaring sky.

It�s a good thing that he can feel where the line is, because as he bursts through the last obstacle everything is blurred by tears. His breathing is ragged, but his steps remain steady and firm. As he continues the last few feet to the center, he is a little shocked by how quickly the effect of reliving that memory is passing off. When, he wonders, did he change that much?

He dries his eyes on his sleeve, looks around for the cavern�s entrance, and gives the group there a little wave.

Noys is smiling. Asteria is cheering. Fiona gives him a nod. Ederyn feels like he could do with if not a lie down, then maybe going to one knee. He chooses, not without awareness of this audience, to put the effort into staying upright.

Nasirpal? he asks silently.

I ... am different now, Nasirpal says, a little uncertainly. I have been ... reforged just as you have. I ... am still learning what was done.

Ederyn sends an impression of relief and deferred curiosity. Later, Nasirpal agrees. Once I figure this out myself. Although ... he leaves that thought unfinished.

Now all he has to do is make the final, final decision about what to do next. With his thoughts and feelings in good order once more, he turns his attention to the entity in whose palm he now stands, figuratively speaking. Greetings, once again, he says. Do you have an opinion on what I planned?

"I know what you wish, Ederyn Ericsen Smith." The Pattern's voice thrums, throbs in his head. Or is it a whisper echoing from the design itself. None of his watchers seem to realize he is having the conversation, though.

"I applaud your courage and thought. I cannot directly see my sister Pattern," the Pattern says. "But I know she is there. I can send you to her, but cannot promise you what might result from me doing this, what else might await you.

"Do you still wish to go?"

Ederyn's lassitude can be fought by main will. The Pattern of Earth cannot completely sap him, but this was far more of an ordeal than his mental walk. He can see why many would be tempted to rest afterwards.

He considers the question, taking a few deep breaths, and tests to see whether he can, from here, establish a link to the Earth to replenish his energies, the way he's done in the past. If that works, the physical part of his weariness could be taken care of by a few minutes' rest. Assuming that is possible.

Although he is in the middle of the Pattern, Ederyn is also at the heart of the Mountain of Kolvir. The Elemental Pole of Earth for Amber, for the Universe, perhaps, is here. If Ederyn cannot draw power here, he cannot draw power anywhere. And so he can start to replenish himself. It will take a few minutes for Ederyn to be recharged, nothing more.

In response to the Pattern's question, he silently muses, "You won't be able to put me as close to your sister Pattern as, say, this room, and you don't know exactly what is there. You, and the Pattern in Rebma, are guarded by castles, and the Pattern in Tir by the difficulty of reaching it, and the Primal Pattern by being a very deep secret ... but none of these places are instantly fatal in places close to the Pattern. So, a place near the Fire Pattern should not be extremely unsafe, and the Pattern not unreasonably difficult to access." He considers how the denizens of this castle would react to a stranger suddenly appearing in their midst, and is amused. "Which is not to say it will necessarily be easy. But it does not seem like foolishness to try it. In a moment."

Ederyn's energies continue to rise and replenish from the link. The wave of weariness is being worn away moment by moment. Dimly, behind him, Ederyn can feel Fiona's eyes on him. The energies of the Pattern around him make it impossible for him to sense what she is doing, but she is clearly active. Noys and Asteria's observations are more mundane.

Ederyn takes a deep breath, braces himself against the worst possibilities he's thought of - finding himself completely surrounded by flames, or in a place without any air - meets Fiona's gaze across the Pattern, and gives her a decisive nod. To the Pattern, he says, "Now, please."

And the Pattern Room falls away.

Bright as the sun, brighter, are the flames that surround Ederyn. where he has landed. Mountains of solid fire crackle and burn around him. Everything here seems to be made of fire, of flame. The sky crackles with auroras, whirlwinds, arches and tongues of flame. It takes Ederyn a moment to distinguish sky from ground. The very ground, for lack of a better term for it is flame. It is hot, very hot through the soles of his shoes, but Ederyn does not burn. The air is as hot as a blast furnace, hard to breathe, but Ederyn manages it.

As Ederyn resolves all of this, and makes sense of the topography of fire, he can see there is a great towering spire in a bowl like depression below him. That spire spikes higher than any of the mountains, seemingly reaching to touch the sky of fire in its dizzying height. Ederyn's sense is that the Pattern of Fire lies within that spire of flame.

Something rushes from the top of the spire, flying toward him.

A dragon of red scales, wings like fanning flames, bright eyes, and sharp teeth and claws. Lots of sharp teeth. The dragon lands between Ederyn and the Spire. Ederyn estimates the dragon is slightly smaller than the Vrijheid that carried him to Amber.

And he thinks it's beautiful, in its deadly way. He memorizes details, and wonders if it's an ordinary creature or some kind of exalted elemental being.

Ederyn does get a few moments to study the creature on its approach. It doesn't look like the apotheosis of Elemental Fire ... but a fragment of it? Perhaps. Perhaps. Certainly some of the details of the creature blur a bit, and not just from movement.

"Is that you, Dworkin?" the dragon asks, beating its wings. The voice is as soft as silk, like the softness of a candle flame, at odds with the dragon's size and power. "Have you come back to wake my master?"

"I'm sorry, Bright One," Ederyn answers courteously. "But I have never met my grandfather's father. I was not expecting to meet anyone here, except the Pattern."

"My Master sleeps at the Pattern," the Dragon replies. "As it is his charge, his duty, and his treasure." The Dragon cranes its head, studying Ederyn. "If you are not the Lord of the Jewel, then who and what are you, and why have you come here?"

"Or," she laughs "is this one of your dissembling games, Dworkin, as when you came with hair of flame and eyes of green, possessing the Spikard Werewindle and calling yourself Brand? What shall I call you this time?"

Ederyn puts a little effort into keeping more of the heat away from himself; the fire might not be able to touch him, but dehydration certainly can, and this is looking to take longer than he hoped. The heat is definitely an issue above and beyond the nature of the flames.

"I am Ederyn the smith," he says conversationally, "son of Eric, son of Oberon, son of Dworkin. I have come to walk the Pattern, because I believe that will help us defend our universe against its enemies. And because I'm too curious about it to ignore its existence. And I hope that really was Dworkin that you met, because they tell me my cousin Brand went mad and became an enemy to our family and to the Patterns." A new thought occurs to him, and he frowns. "Is it normal for your 'master' to be sleeping?"

"Why, yes," The dragon replies, amused by the question. "You may call me ..."

A streak of something flies across the flaming sky, vaguely bird shaped, but, too, made of flame and fire, but of a lighter hue than the flames around it. Instead of giving a name, the Dragon leaps into the air, and in moments, precisely catches it in its talons. The Dragon swoops to return to the ground exactly in the spot where it stood before Ederyn. The firebird, or whatever it was, was transfered from talon to jaws in its descent, and the Dragon spends a few moments in mastication. After swallowing and clearing its throat, the Dragon resumes speaking.

Is there a whole fire ecosystem here? Ederyn wonders bemusedly.

"My master would say that my nature can still be somewhat bestial," The Dragon says, as if in apology. "He, of course, is mostly beyond such concerns. But I am learning." If a bird made of fire can be said to leave some sort of blood, or ichor, a drop of that ichor, a small drop of flame, splatters against the flame ground in front of Ederyn.

"He will want to talk to you before you walk ... you could hardly do so without his grace, in any event. Would you prefer to walk, or fly? I promise not to drop you, Ederyn the Smith, of the line of Dworkin."

"I believe you, but I would rather walk," Ederyn replies. "I need to rest a little before I try this Pattern."

"I see" the Dragon says. "Very well."

Suiting actions to words, he does start walking toward the spire. "You were saying that I can call you -- ?"

The Dragon starts a slow pace, matching Ederyn's speed with fewer, larger strides.

As he walks, Ederyn digs out the water skin he packed along and takes a drink, mentally applauding himself for not wearing his good tunic, which would be getting soaked with sweat, again, the way his shirt is.

Water is good, but it is almost inimical to exist, here. The water is heated, as if threatening to completely evaporate. Not quite as much as Ederyn would like gets past his lips and down his throat. The waterskin's contents will not remain terribly long. Which is why, he reflects, so much of his training in fire affinity was focused on control - Fire is intrinsically the element most dangerous to fleshly beings like himself, even where it isn't the dominant element.

"You may call me Aurelia the Carnelian of the Southern Firewall. I thank you," The Dragon, Dragoness, says, "for not asking me my name directly." The tower slowly resolves into its full size as Ederyn and Aurelia proceed toward it.

"The Elemental Pole of Fire in which we stand is magnificent, is it not?" Aurelia says as the towering building of fire, flame and the rawness of an elemental firestorm given shape looms overhead. "The very center, the apotheosis of what it is to be fire. My master says ..." and then she stops. "I should not" her tone is almost regretful, "place words in his mouth."

"It is beautiful," Ederyn agrees sincerely.

At this point, Ederyn is close enough that he can see a thin open staircase that starts on the outer edge of the spire, and then plunges inside.

"The way to the Pattern, at the top, is by that staircase," Aurelia says. "There is a refuge of safety within, a place not touched by the blessed flame. If you need to rest, Ederyn Smith, it can be there. Stay there as long or as little as you wish."

"I," she adds, "have my master to prepare for your meeting." Her eyes cast upward toward the top.

"Thank you," Ederyn says. "I am glad that I have met you."

The thought of a refuge draws him on a little more quickly, as this walk has not been quite as restful as he hoped. But as he approaches the first step, he pauses. Aurelia never responded to his remark about whether it was Brand or Dworkin that she saw, and she seems so naive that he doesn't trust her judgment about who it was. Worst case ... it was his power-mad cousin. Knowing, from Aurelia, that only Dworkin had ever been here. And he, Ederyn, doesn't know anything about traps ...

Or does he? He knows about traps for animals: snares for rabbits, pit traps for bears and wolves. Weighted nets for birds. The principles must be similar. Unless it's something magical ... but anything that isn't Fire ought to stand out here ... unless it's camouflaged, like a pit trap. ... Or is his family making him imagine potential dangers? He considers what he knows of Brand's history and decides that in this case, at least, paranoia may be justified.

Brow furrowed, Ederyn starts trudging up the stairs, slowly, senses extended to pick up anything out of place, either physically or not.

The fiery stairs, a little smaller than the stride in the Castle, carry him swiftly upward into the tower of flame. Once he is within the spire entirely, the experience is the somewhat disorienting one of walking on blocks of flame, surrounded by walls of flame, in a superheated air that may in itself be an aspect of elemental fire. The staircase winds in such a tight corkscrew manner, that Ederyn finds it difficult even to see how far it goes up, how far he has left.

In a way, striding up this staircase, for whatever destination lies in the end, is in itself an initiation, a test, a crucible in which to forge and reforge Ederyn. Nasirpal, too, notices this.

I have a feeling, he sends, we're being set up, or that this is a test to destruction, Ederyn. He then lapses back into the silence that has marked his post-Pattern state.

This nature of the stair allays most of Ederyn's concern about the possible Brand's possible activities here. He starts to concentrate more on making progress than on watching for trouble, seeking to use his affinity to ease and speed his progress. He skims a little energy from the Fire all around him, for strength, the way he does on Earth - but just a trickle, carefully controlled. Enough to help him redirect the heat more effectively and add more spring to his steps, but no more. Fire is just too tricky, in his experience.

The climb goes up and up, and just how long Ederyn is on the stair, he probably could not say. But he makes a turning step, and is suddenly out of the staircase, and on ... stone?

Stone. A high vaulted chamber, roughly egg shaped, made entirely of stone. The staircase, this one, is at the bottom, fat end of the egg. Up at the top of the egg of stone, he can see a hole in the ceiling, the exact size of the one he just emerged from. There is furniture in this chamber, but that furniture is on every surface of the egg. There is a large plush sofa on the bottom, here, and a sink, the taps glistening brass. But there are chairs, tables, and even a bookcase or two sitting on the walls. Near the top end Ederyn can make out a figure sitting in one of these chairs. As the distance is roughly the size of a throne room, he can't make out any real details.

Ederyn blinks, looking around at the bizarre scene, and panting a little to take in more of the wonderfully not-superheated air.

"Took you long enough to get here," the man calls down, his voice unexpectedly loud for the distance. Wash up, get some water in you, rest a bit, and then join me. I'm sure you will figure it out."

"Thank you," Ederyn says, squinting in that direction, then adding a small wave of his hand. His curiosity about the man and the room, however, is easily overwhelmed by the promise of the sink. Dousing his exposed skin in cool water is a great relief, and drinking quite a lot of it (from his cupped hands) is even better.

The water has a slightly smoky taste, like a mountain spring in a thick forest. Not at all what one might expect in the middle of a plane of fire, that's for sure. It's perfectly refreshing, and Ederyn has to resist drinking too much of the liquid in the process.

If he does this again, he plans to make sure he's a bit waterlogged before he starts off, just to see if it makes any difference. He thoughtfully refills his waterskin, just in case, before shrugging his shoulders and taking stock of how he feels.

He does not, he decides, feel tired enough that he has to rest any more right now. Instead he slects a path among the furniture and starts walking toward the other end of the room, keeping his gaze just ahead of his feet and assuming that the direction of "up" will change as he goes along.

The transition at the junction of dimensions is the tricky part. Walking along a surface is fine, but it is when he reaches an angle perpendicular to his original, when he should be falling and tumbling, there is a quick shift in dimensionality, and Ederyn feels the gravity change, The gravity does seem to be toward the walls rather than up and down. In this way, making his way past couches, and chairs, and bookcases, and a large wooden counter of some kind with stools, Ederyn comes to the short man sitting in the chair. His back is not quite straight, hunched over, even. He chuckles as he puts the book down on a table in front of him and regards Ederyn.

"You look a lot like your father. I hope you are far less of an overbearing brat than he was. Sit down, and tell me about yourself, Ederyn." He pauses a beat. "While I am still lucid."

At that last remark, Ederyn interrupts his choosing of a seat to glance at the man, but forbears to comment. Instead he settles himself on the edge of a nearby chair.

He does not immediately speak, regarding his host thoughtfully for a long moment. Finally he asks, "Should I know who you are?"

"Yes" the man says. "The fact that you got here without recognizing me is ... interesting." The man says. "Great-grandson." he adds, and watches Ederyn's reaction for a moment and then shrugs.

His expression is simply one of confirmed suspicion; he obviously had guessed, based on partial information, but preferred to ask.

Ederyn thinks a bit more, then begins, "If we were in Amber, I would say that I came to there yesterday. But my sister also took me to her pet shadow for a number of weeks, where I stuffed my head full of all kinds of knowledge." He tries a slight smile. "Much of which was even interesting."

"At present," Ederyn goes on, "my greatest concern is the invasion by a people from outside our universe who call themselves the 'Omphalos.' If they succeed in destroying the Pattern and the Logrus and stealing everything they think is valuable, all other matters will be irrelevant."

"Yes, yes, how fascinating, don't you think? Actual voyagers beyond the Abyss, in the void between the worlds. That was the way the entirety of creation was like once, you know, bubbles, tiny bubbles, swimming in a blue sea. Such tiny bubbles, and one perfect enough to ..." He snaps his head up and down. "So you came to do what no one has done in over a thousand years and try the Pattern of Fire. I couldn't walk it, of course, because I am the Pattern and the Pattern is me, don't you see, congaree? It wouldn't strength it at all, it would just be writing on the same tablet, with the same stylus."

He jabs a finger in Ederyn's direction. "Each of the Patterns has slightly different powers and focus, and to walk a Pattern is to strengthen and bring it to fruition, but it would take many walks ..." He leans forward and looks at Ederyn.

"Are you willing to risk and dare much to strengthen the Ignis Pattern, great grandson. There is a way, if you are willing to do more than simply walk it and leave." His eyes stare at Ederyn, and in those eyes, Ederyn can see the vastness of space, the eternity of the arch of time, the cold solid lines of reality and formless madness, in a kaleidoscope display.

Transfixed, Ederyn perceives that he has not grasped the full meaning of his heritage. Just as he could not imagine the scope of his ignorance before his sister's education program, all his focus on tasks and tools and whatever is in front of him at the moment has obscured the fundamental truth. He has been, is being, given a fraction of this: the power to make and remake reality itself. Not just objects or energy or matter, but that which gives the whole of it form.

He gathers his will and looks away, because mundane things like breathing are still important. His hands, resting on his knees, are trembling a little. "I will dare it," he says. His voice sounds almost normal. He risks another glance at Dworkin. "What is it that I need to do?"

Dworkin, chuckling since Ederyn broke his gaze, laughs a second or two more after Ederyn's response. His countenance is relatively kind but strong, as the hunchbacked man scratches his chin.

"The dragon, my dear friend sleeping above, holds a mote of the Serpent's Eye. A mote that I could not incorporate into the Jewel. Oh, no copy this, no reflection, this, but a true and pure fragment. But I cannot walk the Pattern, cannot bear this mote, cannot inscribe it. No, no, no. Not any more. Cannot bring it, and this Pattern, to full power.

"You, though. You bring the blood of shadow ..." and he looks at Ederyn sternly "and the blood of a Shadow god, an ancient one at that." He watches Ederyn's expression. "Oh, but you didn't know yet, not at this time. Not at this juncture." He clucks his tongue. "I thought you did, to know you could come here, as few could. Forget I said that. Forget it, one, two, three. But go and get the Mote. And bring it, and the Pattern to flower. And use both, and end the Omphalos threat. Or the universe."

"Easy as Pi. But I am on the circumference of the problem. You seek a radius to its heart. I have given you thus. Go and do it."

Ederyn's ability to be surprised is overloaded at this point, so he simply accepts the news about his mother's heritage with the rest of it. Several questions occur to him, however - though he can only hope to get at least one coherent answer: "The dragon will give it to me if I ask? How should I use it? And do you want it back afterward?"

"The Dragon has been waiting for someone to give it to since I drew the Pattern here and gave it to him." Dworkin clucks his tongue. "The children of the fire witch showed promise, but they were no good. A dandy, a schemer and a madman. No one else showed interest in trying to come here. Thought maybe the schemer's son might come ... but you did instead ... :click: He's been waiting a long time. I visit him not too often, he's none too pleased." :Click: "None too pleased at all." :click: click: "He'll be happy to give you the burden, if you will take it. Oh yes.

"I can not foresee all ends, but the Mote, infused with the Pattern, the imperfection of Chaos, but Chaos all the same, inscribed with the Pattern, will be enough to end the threat of the Omphalos. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Wouldn't do to let him ever escape their world again. Bring the Mote to their center of power. Use it there. Break the danger.

"Oh, but wait, you want to know what you are doing now, not now-future. Walk the Pattern with it. Create a bridge between the Fire Pattern and Amber. Inscribe the Mote with the Pattern in your walk." :click: :click: :click: "Easy as pie."

He waves a hand. "Realities swim before me. You should go."

"Both answers are useful, grandfather, thank you," Ederyn says, getting to his feet. "I hope to see you again, if I live."

Ederyn heads for the exit, reflecting that none of his education covered the skills needed to handle or "inscribe" a fragment of Chaos. He hopes that if he can't work out how to do it, he can still back out.

And then he braces himself for the fiery conditions on this plane and steps through the doorway.

The doorway at the top of the chamber leads to another staircase, similar to the one that brought Ederyn to the chamber with Dworkin. It takes a twisting step for Ederyn to get onto the staircase, the orientation change is ... disquieting. He manages it, regardless, and the staircase trip upward goes about the same. A hot steep climb brings up away from the chamber, and to, finally, the top of the spire.

Here, Ederyn sees the Pattern.

It is the reverse of the Pattern he so recently walked, his path will go around the opposite direction from his trip in Amber's basement. The fiery sculpted solid flames of the top of the Spire are only a slightly different color of red and orange than the lines of the Pattern itself. It will take concentration, and discipline, for Ederyn not to stray off the Pattern.

This, of course, supposes Ederyn can get on the Pattern. For, there is an enormous red and golden dragon, large enough that its body, head to tail, encircles the entire Pattern. Its massive head lies between Ederyn and the first step onto the Pattern.

A tall woman in a golden dress, with fiery red hair stands next to the head of the dragon, and gives Ederyn a smile of welcome.

Ederyn longs for the skill to capture this scene in paint in the true-to-life style he's become acquainted with. Then that longing is reflected, and briefly amplified, by the Fire all around him. Desire, passion, and fervor are the nature of this element, or perhaps it is only what it means to him. And it is a potentially dangerous distraction that he quells immediately, in the moments before the dragon speaks.

"Hello Ederyn," The dragon rumbles. "Aurelia here has told me so much about you. I am Hesiesh, the Immaculate Dragon of Fire."

"I am honored to meet you," Ederyn says, taking a step or two closer. "I've had an interesting conversation with Dworkin, just now."

"Of course you did," Hesiesh replies, showing lots and lots of teeth. The dragon raises his head, slightly. Ederyn notices a golden chain around its throat, and a teardhop shaped stone of brownish red at its lowest point.

The dragon lowers his head again.

"Dworkin, milord?" Aurelia says. "I thought this one was the great Maker, at first. He is here? Why did I not see him?"

"He has his ways he does not share, Aurelia," Hesiesh says. "But I know when he is near." Aurelia frowns at this revelation. She turns, as the dragon does, back to Ederyn,

"And what did you speak to the greatest thief in the history of the multiverse about, Ederyn son of Eric?" Hesiesh asks.

Ederyn is momentarily taken aback at what is obviously not meant as an insult, though it would have been where he was raised. But he does remember the Odysseus character that Noys made him learn about, whose guile the "Greeks" (and Noys) so admired.

"The most important thing," he replies, "was that I might be able to use the mote of the Serpent's Eye to strengthen the Pattern, to help in our defense against the Omphalos, and perhaps to help end their threat entirely. -- Have you heard of the Omphalos?"

"I have," the dragon replies, his voice crackling like a bonfire. "Any who use fire, Ederyn Ericsen Smith, fall under my Estate. Be it the traveler who makes a fire to warm herself against a fall frost, or a creator of weapons and precious objects in a forge." The Dragon's eyes gleam.

Ederyn looks alert at this, but offers no comment.

"Or the Omphalos, those who have used fire in my purview several times already," the dragon grumbles. "To twice try and burn the Forest of Arden. And, more recently, combining the power of fire with Earth, and unleash a volcano great enough to wreck a world. Yes, I know of the Omphalos and what they do."

"I have not heard of these Omphalos, my lord," Aurelia says. "I have not felt their trembling upon the Domain of Fire."

"You are still young, your years counted only in centuries," Hesiesh says, not unkindly. The Dragon turns his attention back to Ederyn. "You oppose the Omphalos? Good! A fire that would consume the cosmos is not the power of Fire, but of Annihilation. I oppose it."

"I have waited a long time for someone to claim the Mote," Hesiesh continues. "If Dworkin deems you the one to take it, and to use it in such an endeavor as to oppose the forces of annihilation, I give it freely to you."

Ederyn nods, takes a breath, and steps even closer. "He implied that failure's results would be very bad," he says frankly, "but also seemed to think I can do it. And I definitely oppose the annihilation of this great universe, which I have only just begun to discover."

He waits for Hesiesh to make the next move. His expression is open and expectant, seeming to say: "Here I am; show me what you are, what this thing is, what needs to be done."

"Good," the dragon responds. "We are of an accord on this." He lifts his head again, exposing the dark brown object on the chain. "Take the Mote. Walk the Pattern as it. As you are inscribed with the Pattern, it will be inscribed on the Mote. When you reach the center, contemplate the Mote. There will be an experience, of what kind even I do not know. Perhaps none can ever know but you.

"Once the Mote is yours, once the Pattern is fully inscribed, we will be ... closer to Amber," he finishes.

"Closer?" Aurelia says. "Able to reach it?" Her eyes are gleaming, clearly calculating.

"Yes. I suspect that might be influenced by Ederyn's Walk." Hesiesh says. A snort of steam comes out of his cavernous nostrils. "Your desires and thoughts as you walk the Pattern will influence it, because you are carrying the Mote. Because you are first. Because..." the dragon pauses "Because it has been written."

The dragon swings his head, so that the Mote comes within reach, and the path to the entrance of the Pattern is now clear.

"Thank you," Ederyn says. Then he reaches up his left hand and pulls on the mote, and the chain comes off with it. Considering what the dragon said about looking into it at the end, he is careful not to look at it too closely just now.

The not full on stare that Ederyn gives it lets him see that, within the mote, he can see a slow swirling of chaos, a churning of the endless possibility of endless infinite change and variability. To stare into this too deeply and too long, would be dangerous. Very dangerous. The Pattern within Ederyn resists this mote, burns at the thought of Ederyn falling prey to the mote's charms.

With another deep breath - not as satisfying as it would be in a less fiery place - Ederyn approaches the Pattern, and pauses just short of its beginning. If his desires and thoughts will influence it, he should think about what he wants to those to be. Assuming it will allow him any control of that. Its power and presence wash across his nerves ... but he can ignore that. What he needs is to decide, as much as he can, what he wants to be thinking.

Instead he wonders if any of his family - even his father - would have chosen him for this task. Even Dworkin acknowledged that he was the one who came. He can, he muses, lay it all at the feet of Wyrd and let it go.

So Ederyn stops trying to think of what he "ought" to be thinking. He knows what he desires: long silences, metal to work with, fire to work it on and air to feed it, the earth strong under his feet and water at hand to quench the metal or his thirst, as needed. It is peace, and contentment, and a fleeting balance in all things. Wherever he goes, whatever he sees, he will always come back to that; in Norwend, in Amber, or places he can't imagine.

His family, and the universe, will just have to cope with the fact that it is Ederyn the smith who is here, and not someone else.

He looks down, finds the line of the Pattern, makes sure he can feel it clearly, and steps out upon it.

To be the first person to walk this Pattern, to take step by step. To forge a Pattern as much as the Pattern forges him. This is a heavy Wyrd, to be sure, and step by step, it falls upon him. Sweat pours on his brow, even more than his walk to the Tower, and up the Tower. Steps slowly become leaden, more difficult, more fraught. The mote sears itself in his hand, enough that Ederyn has to loop the chain around his wrist, keep the burning object off of his skin. It still radiates, its heat, even swinging free of touching him.

Too, as he forges this Pattern, and this Pattern forges him, and the Mote, Ederyn feels the Pattern changing, reforging, altering Nasirpal once more. He had been changed by the first Patternwalk, and now, a second and perhaps more dramatic fashion. This, too weighs Ederyn down, and buoys him, at the same time. Its a tension that overwhelms any lost memories, any considerations of the past. This walk is about creating something new.

The last steps are the hardest for Ederyn. The first Patternwalk might have been draining. This second Patternwalk, these last steps of it, are eternities of time. Infinities of distance. The universe compresses to a single infinite line, where the ticks of a Montenegran clock last forever.

And then he is through the final veil, and at the center of the Pattern of Fire. The New Pattern of Fire, hallowed by his walk, the first walk. The flames of the Elemental plane of fire roar around Ederyn, in and around the Pattern at whose center he now kneels (for standing is too taxing at this moment). The Mote hangs, changed. Ederyn can see a copy of the Pattern of Fire engraved around it. It is something else, now. The swirling chaos given a template, given form, given purpose. Given change. It no longer burns, for it waits.

Waits to be Ederyn's.

Panting, he looks away from it, sits on his heels, and stares around and the fire and the Pattern. It's one thing to decide to do a thing, and another to have done it. As with so many things he's experienced lately, though far more so, he cannot just shrug it off and move on in an instant. He has to pause to acknowledge it, and let it settle in his mind for a while, first. But it's only a short while; all that practice with assimilating new things is a help.

He starts unwinding the chain from his wrist, not looking straight at the Mote, and gently says, Nasirpal? How is it with you? While he listens, he mends the chain and hangs it around his own neck.

Royal Prince Ederyn, Nasirpal says with no trace of irony or malice in his voice. ''I find myself now ... reforged. I am no longer a creature or inhabitant of the Court. I no longer am bound to the Queen, I can feel that, truly.

I am instead bound to you. But perhaps we should discuss this later. Good luck.

Ederyn's eyes widen, but he agrees that this is not the time to explore this development. Thank you, he says instead, and sets the matter aside with the other things he's going to deal with later. Whenever a nice, quiet piece of "later" actually happens.

Then, as prepared for this as he can manage, he cups the Mote in both hands and looks into it.

The advantage to staring into and having ones impressions and consciousness focused completely into a former artifact of Chaos overlaid with the Fire Pattern is that the outside presence, the outside feel of eternal heat and flame, is instead replaced with the sedate sensations of being within a murky, reddish brown realm of glass corridors. Its difficult to make out what is glass and where the spaces are, given the limited light available, but it looks like a maze of glass rooms of many shapes, with several corridors out of this dodecahedronal room connecting to rooms

One of these exits draws Ederyn's eye in particular. Three feet in front of him lies the lie of the the burning line of the Fire Pattern. It looks like while it is on a two dimensional surface, as the line of the Pattern goes up and down in the distance before the reddish brown darkness obscures it, the overall Fire Pattern, within the Mote, is itself a three dimensional design.

A shifting three dimensional design, as Ederyn sees an opening above him close suddenly, a wall of glass sliding into place. Another new opening opens in a wall to the above and right.

Of course, he thinks. Nothing made from raw Chaos could be forced to stay entirely still, even trapped within the rigid structure of a crystal.

And then, Ederyn feels the glass beneath his own feet start to move...

He laughs and takes a couple of hopping steps forward, feeling light and energetic, his physical body's weariness no more than a vague concern at the back of his awareness. His third step takes him onto the beginning of this copy of the Pattern, the obvious route to taking possession of this - stone, or artifact, or whatever it should be called now.

The lack of physical weariness is probably key to allowing Ederyn to mentally traverse this three dimensional copy of the Pattern. Too, the fact that Edeyrn has walked a virtual copy of the Pattern, was the first time he traversed a Pattern of any time, gives him advantages in navigating what turns out to be a shifting, moving, evolving design. Following the line of the Pattern is easy in theory, but Ederyn finds himself having to make turns and corrects as the plates of crystal ahead of him shift and change, making an expected grand curve ahead into a short series of hairpins, or an upcoming hairpin into a long straightaway where Ederyn can build up a head of steam. In this invigorated mood, he rather enjoys the challenge.

The path finally does, even with the changes and alterations, become more stable as Ederyn approaches the center. There is simply less room for variance and variability. Though, in the end, Ederyn finds, in a replay of his time in the Spire, having to traverse a wall and a ceiling in the final stretch to complete the design.

And then he is in the center. A perfect icosahedron (a word Ederyn learned in his studies under Lorius and Noys tutelage), a twenty sided room of crystal walls, with the end of the Pattern the only egress.

The Mote is now his, and attuned, and bound to him. And a reservoir of energy...Fire Pattern mixed with something else is at his command. Most of that energy will go in projecting him back out of the crystal and to the Fire Pattern.

But, Ederyn feels, not all, if he wished to make use of it. A breath of Chaos and Pattern washes over him in this chamber, and the potential hums with expectation.

He hesitates to absorb this mixed energy into himself, though he suspects he could use a boost of energy very soon. Of course he's just been bathing in it, in a manner of speaking, but that isn't quite the same as drinking it, he thinks. Yet he also still doesn't like waste.

So he decides to put off a real decision about what to do with it. The extra energy can be stored in the two cabochon rubies that form the eyes of the stylized dragon on the hilt of his sword, and used for something later.

He wills this to happen, and himself to return to his physical self and the Fire Pattern.

The Pattern energies, with enough of a taste of Chaos as to be noticeable,pour into the gems on the hilt of his sword. The remainder of the energies do as Ederyn expects, and his attention (or physical body, its never quite clear) retreat from the interior of The Mote, and Ederyn is back on his knees, at the center of the Pattern of Fire.

There is one last thing. He turns his attention to the Fire Pattern, noticing an odd sensation that he's also paying attention to himself, and simply says, Greetings.

"You are the clever one," thrums the voice of the Pattern. Neither of the Dragons, however, seem to notice the conversation. Hesiesh has turned his head and regards Ederyn. He smiles, revealing very many of his teeth. Leaning over the coils of his body, an unmistakable smile on her face, is Aurelia.

Ederyn smiles in response to the dragons, and manages a casual wave - a little surprised at how much effort the motion takes. Then he lets his attention appear to to turn inward again.

"You have marked me to an extent nearly as much as the Maker. You have opened a way, however difficult, for others to reach me, now," the Fire Pattern continues. "I also note the mark of my sibling upon you. Twice, in fact, though one is as the touch of a ghost."

Ederyn replies, with some amusement, I would call myself clever if I had thought of more than coming here - and if I had not underestimated how difficult just reaching you would be. Also, it was the Maker's idea for me to claim and carry this mote of Chaos-that-was.

He adds, Your sibling tempted me to walk in a dream, almost within the hour I reached Amber. I know not whether that was due to curiosity, impatience, or something else.

"Things are afoot, Ederyn Ericsen, of the line of Faiella." The Fire Pattern states. "And not in any way one might have foreseen. A son of Faiella, and not a child of Clarissa, here, first? Powers ancient moving and young aborning? Fire is the ultimate agent of change, and yet is trapped, bound in the form of a Pattern. You have marked me and marked yourself in turn. This Pattern can be reached, now, like my siblings. But to do so..." Ederyn loses a few moments (longer?) of what the Pattern is saying, as fatigue washes over him like the cresting waves of fire, threatening to immolate him.

"...you might want to use that Path, as dangerous as it might be, to come here again. For now, Ederyn, shall I return you to Amber? Or elsewhere, perhaps?"

Ederyn presses a hand to his head, inside which a serious ache is starting to blossom. Wait, what path? he asks, calling on whatever slight reserves of energy he can find in himself.

"There is now a road from Amber to the Fire Pattern. A Path from the harbor to the sun, in the light of dawn's light. Only in its light can be the Path be seen, and used," the Pattern replies.

Thank you I'll try to come back, Ederyn thinks as quickly as he can. But now, Amber, please. He has a particular place in mind: the area of the main courtyard that Lorius brought them to from the battle in Arden. He assumes that Lorius would not transport himself to anywhere that his dignity might be offended by being run over by a carriage or a passing troop of soldiers.

And Ederyn's intimations about Lorius' favorite spot is true. Ederyn appears in the courtyard, safe from being tromped on by guards or run over by a carriage. He has escaped the realm of the Fire Pattern, back in the morning light of Amber.

And he is there, in blessedly cool air and kneeling on blessedly cool stones. It seems that he has closed his eyes, so he pries them open again.

When Ederyn opens his eyes, he is no longer kneeling, nor is he on the stones of the courtyard of Castle Amber. Instead, he is in a familiar bed, the bed that he slept in during his stay in Noys and Lorius' pet city. There is something attached to his arm, a tube of some kind runs from a large bag hanging on a pole and is connected to his right wrist by a needle.

After a moment he recognizes it, from viewing one or another of the "movies" Noys had him watch, as a medical device. Fluids, medicine, nutrients, he remembers her saying. He can well imagine that he needed fluids, at least, after that excursion.

The next question is whether or not trying to get up seems like a good idea.

"You're finally awake." Noys says, striding into the room, wearing a pantsuit and long skirt in red and black. "You had me worried when you popped in like that and promptly passed out." she pauses and smiles. "Congratulations, brother." She dangles the mote, sitting in a filigreed silver basket on a silver chain. "Quite the tchotchke you got out of it."

"Just finding my limits again," he says with a smile. Then he looks quizzically at the Mote in her hand. "You didn't like the gold?"

"Silver is more our branch's metal, but I still have the gold," she says. "It's easily replaced enough in its original, although it tastes strongly of dragon magic. Or was that what you wanted? She blinks at him. "I didn't think Dragons were something positive in your culture."

"I wouldn't have thought of changing it, I think," Ederyn says uncertainly. "This dragon is from a very different, ah, culture. And it carried the Mote for a long time." He isn't annoyed; he really isn't sure how he feels about it.

"I'll bring the original chain in, then," Noys says "And you can switch it back as you like." She advances to his bedside and puts her free hand on Ederyn's forehead, and then tenderly strokes his cheek. "I am so proud of you. Although continuing to try and break yourself is a Corwin trait, not an Eric one."

He smiles again. "I will try to stop, I promise. Thank you for taking care of me."

Noys smiles. "I am burning with curiosity as to what you went through, although I shouldn't push you too hard yet," she says. "I do have the time here set fast relatively to Amber as before, time for you to recover."

"Good, I don't want to miss dinner with the family," Ederyn says, though at the moment he can't remember exactly why. He shifts a little in the bed, and feels hopeful that he won't have go to sleep again immediately. "But a little food now would be good." He also looks at the medical device thing ... I.V., he recalls.

Ederyn does not feel like he should be running for 10 miles, but right now, he feels more than strong enough to get out of bed.

"Let's get you unplugged, since I bet you want to get up and about. And should," Noys spends the next couple of moments fiddling with the IV on the top end and then produces a band-aid. "There will be some slight discomfort for this," Noys says, as she carefully removes the needle from Ederyn's wrist and quickly applies a small bandage. The bandage is black in color with a half-oval shaped creature with large eyes on it.

So she can do all that, he takes the Mote from her and puts it back around his neck, using his untethered hand, of course.

"Feel like dining in or out?" Noys says, offering her arm to get Ederyn to his feet.

"In," he says, accepting the help just in case. "I want to tell you about my journey, but not in public."

After a visit to the lavatory and a change of clothes (the trousers and short-sleeved shirt he became used to before), he has a view of the city from the window beside Noys' table, a bowl of soup and some bread, and Noys herself seated expectantly across from him.

Ederyn starts eating slowly, not wanting to cause trouble with his extremely empty stomach. Talking between bites helps him keep it slow, but means his report is full of pauses. Noys' own meal taking is more perfunctory, eating soup and pausing to respond within Ederyn's gaps.

"The place of the Fire Pattern is all fire," he begins. "Even what would be stone somewhere else is actually fire. I think even the air is really a kind of fire, but I didn't stop to study it all." He glances at Noys and smiles a bit wryly. "I wanted to be done and come back quickly, so you wouldn't worry too much."

"I think it must be more like Tir than like the others," he muses. "All or mostly one element instead of a mixture, and not very hospitable to fleshly life."

"You seem to have come through it, though," Noys says. "But it's not a place to linger, sounds like. Or a place to visit unprotected."

"A dragon flew down to meet me," Ederyn continues. "She is talkative and very lacking in experience outside that realm, I think. She is called Aurelia - Aurelia the Carnelian of the Southern Firewall. Really a beautiful creature. The whole place made me wish even more to know how to draw and paint in the realistic style.

"Aurelia offered to carry me to the spire where the Pattern is, but you know how I feel about traveling through the air. Or air-like stuff. So I walked."

Noys smirks. "Not terribly surprised at that. Although walking in this realm sounds odd...if everything is fire. But a Dragon..." Noys nibbles her lip.

"It was not really very far to walk. The stair leading upward, however, is obviously a kind of test. Partway up, it opened into a chamber of real stone, with quite a lot of furniture, and a source of water. But I'm not certain it is still there now, or will be there for anyone else. That is where I met Dworkin." Ederyn looks mischievous. "Aurelia spoke of meeting him, but it makes a better story this way, don't you think?"

Noys looks surprised. "Dworkin was there? Unicorn. But of course he'd know about it. But how did he know you'd..." She stops. "Because you told the Pattern, and the Pattern told him."

"It was a short conversation," Ederyn says, mopping up some soup with a piece of bread. "He seems to have trouble keeping his mind in the present. But he did say that he had thought one of Clarissa's children might be the one to travel to the Fire Pattern. I'm not sure whether to mention this to Fiona ..."

"Not unless you want to be quizzed ... a lot," Noys says. "She's going to find out anyhow, in the long run. Especially with your bauble."

"I told him that my greatest concern right now is the Omphalos, and he suggested that if I dared, I could do something that would help greatly against them. More than just walking the Pattern. The Dragon, his friend - not Aurelia, but the one she called the Master - had the care of a left-over fragment of the Serpent's Eye." Finished with his soup, he holds up the Mote. "This. I only had to carry it while walking the Pattern, and then claim it. It is mine." His voice and manner shift suddenly on the last phrase: it as is if he is not really talking to Noys, but to the universe at large, stating a claim that it, and all the people in it, must respect.

"The Mote is yours," Noys says, slightly entranced by the Mote and Ederyn's words. "You are its Keeper. It is yours." She shakes her head. "Hypnotic. I only peeked at it when you were asleep. It's got a Pattern within it.

"You walked that Pattern inside," Noys adds. Not a question. "You walked the Pattern within it..." Her eyes widen. "You're attuned to it."

She leans back in her chair. "Brother, it looks like from here that you have a miniature or a fragment of the Jewel of Judgement."

"It is its own thing," Ederyn objects, then has to slow down to think through his response. "Because I made it. Even though it is made with the same stuff - the living Chaos of the Serpent's Eye and the Pattern ..." He pauses, staring in the direction of the window, thinking. "I wonder if it is actually the same as the original Pattern?"

He lets the Mote lie on his palm and bends his head to study it - warily, because although he wants to see whether it looks the same, he also doesn't want to exhaust himself again.

"You made it?" Noys asks, but her voice is somewhat distant, removed, as if trying to speak conversationally to Ederyn from across a large hall. Ederyn can't pay attention to Noys' voice for the moment. Its not that he falls into the Mote, but its study does take a fair bit of attention to Ederyn to work out. Inside of the swirling chaos, the three dimensional Pattern that Ederyn created, and walked, gleams. Even with his wariness, to study the design that he made, that he made, is entrancing. Seeing the differences between the real Pattern(s) he's walked and the one he has here. Even beyond the three dimensional nature of this image, some of the parameters of the design vary, and show that Ederyn has left his stamp on them. It's a Pattern, but not the Pattern. The shifting pieces are not visible from here, but the shimmering nature of the Pattern suggest its a Pattern with no single fixed route ...

It is Nasirpal who jars Ederyn out of the reverie.

Ederyn, comes the voice of the dweller in the Hammer. You're falling into it again. Wake up! Nasirpal's voice breaks the spell and Ederyn can now notice that Noys has reached across and is shaking his shoulder. He hadn't felt that at all.

"Oh ... thank you," Ederyn says to them both, blinking and letting the Mote fall to the end of its chain, out of his immediate sight.

"You've got yourself something potent and dangerous, there," Noys says. "You probably didn't hear a word I said for the last 5 minutes, though." She frowns. "You said that you made this? The Pattern inside of it? You drew it?"

He sits back in his chair and considers. "After I walked Ignis, there was a Pattern inside the Mote, but the whole of it was ... incomplete. I looked into the stone and my consciousness went into it, and I was at the beginning of the Pattern. But, it changed while I walked it. And it is certainly different in shape than the Earth and Fire Patterns. And, I believe, in its nature, though it needs more study. When I am more rested. I suppose I think very differently than Dworkin.

"I feel, Noys, that the Mote's mixture of Chaos and Pattern was not a passive thing in this making - but it would have remained incomplete if I had not acted, so it is correct to say that I made it." He nods, satisfied with this argument for what he instinctively believed, and then smiles at her. "And you're right, I didn't hear what you said. What was it?"

"I was trying to tell you," Noys says "that you've not only managed to do something few have done, but something, as far as I know, even fewer have done, and helped create a Pattern artifact." She indicates where Ederyn has secreted the Mote. "You truly are a creator already, Brother," she smiles. "Your explanation makes that even clearer."

I suppose, Nasirpal comments mentally that she doesn't realize that I count as well, now.

Not yet, Ederyn answers.

In response to Noys, he shrugs. "I would feel more proud about the accomplishment if it had not happened with only the vaguest conscious intent on my part."

"Given your reaction to it just now, though, I am glad that I didn't dare to study it, deeply, while you were resting," Noys continues. "Artifacts like the Jewel do not open up for just anyone, either. I suspect the Mote will do the same?"

"I expect so," he says. "If I can't really work with it yet ... I can only hope that I can learn to control it before I need to use it against the Power of the Omphalos. Unless control isn't really necessary - I don't know." He shrugs again, content to leave it up to his Wyrd. Not that he isn't going to try to master the Mote, but either it will happen in time, or it won't.

Noys opens her moment to reply, but then quiets as Ederyn continues.

"But wait a moment," he says. "I want to introduce you to someone."

He gets up from the table and ducks into his room, returning a moment later with the orichalcum smith's hammer, which he lays on the table. "Noys, meet Nasirpal," he says formally. "Nasirpal, my sister Noys."

Noys regards the hammer for a few moments and then takes it into her hand. Not quite as awkwardly as she might, Noys is no smith or forger of items, but it's not quite the ungainly gesture that someone who would normally have with a foreign object. There is a few moments where she handles it, and then Ederyn feels the mind of Nasirpal. He does not feel Noys' mind, as if it were a three-way trump contact, however.

You have an interestingly talented sister, Lord, Nasirpal says, dryly. She doesn't miss a trick. She's figured out what happened to me.

He pauses a beat. I'm permanently bound to this hammer, and to you. Consequence of that walk, and then that initiation, I think. Her Majesty will be disappointed not to have me in her court anymore, and I wouldn't recommend Faerie handling me. Or those of Chaos, either.

That is approximately what we expected, Ederyn notes. Have you noticed any other changes? And - are you still content with your choice? The tenor of his thought makes it clear that the latter question is really more of a general inquiry about Nasirpal's well-being.

It's difficult for me to answer that question in some ways, Ederyn, Nasirpal replies. I've been reforged, remade, reborn to be your tool, your ally. I am content with my choice because I was made that way. It's hard to remember that I had a choice in the matter. Nasirpal pauses. Noys says nothing, watching Ederyn intently look at the hammer. I also think I have greater ability to repair and shape objects, especially restoring them to the state that should be. The power of reification. Nasirpal adds with a touch of pride.

I could repair your father's sword. I could reforge Crepusculum.

"Oh," Ederyn says aloud, eyes widening. "That's ... that's perfect."

Then that is what we will do, Nasirpal says, with a point of pride. I am meant to be used, after all.

"He says ..." Ederyn looks at Noys, "he says he's been given an ability to restore and repair things. He believes it would work to repair Crepusculum."

Noys puts her hand on the table, in surprise. "I don't expect it will be as easy as just hammering it back together, but that makes sense." She runs her teeth underneath her bottom lip, forward to back and then nods to herself. "If your...vassal? is a Pattern artifact, now, then it makes sense he would work to be able to reforge a Pattern sword, brother. But I suspect there will be more needed than that. But..." she puts a hand on Ederyn's arm, "it should be done."

Shall I detail for you what materials I would need? Nasirpal says. Although a more accurate list would require an inspection of the broken sword.

Ederyn absently pats Noys' hand. "I thought I would need to study for a while before trying it," he says, brow furrowed. "But ... now, I feel that ... I know things I did not know before. About the Pattern, I think." He shakes his head and gives her a crooked smile. "I shouldn't be surprised."

Noys nods her head several times, in a series of short, shallow gestures. "If you didn't, it would be more surprising," she says.

"Nasirpal says he'll need materials," Ederyn goes on. To both of them, he continues, "we can certainly talk about that and about exactly what to do, but we're not going to act on any of it until I feel completely rested. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after."

He looks out the window again. "And in the meantime," he suggests to Noys, "let's go out and see a play or something, and visit one of those 'restaurants.' That should be restful enough."

"That tells me," Noys says, "What sort of plays not to bring you to."

"Time?" Noys says aloud.

"Early afternoon," comes the voice of the apartment, in a warm male voice. Vocalizing to the apartment wasn't something Noys did often when Ederyn was being educated here, but Ederyn knows it's tied to the computers he did his lessons on.

"Weather?" she continues.

"A light gale, no chance of rain until the overnight hours. 21 degrees Celsius currently."

"Good." Noys turns to Ederyn. "We'll have time for something light, not to strain yourself. Perhaps Neo-Aragonian tapas. I think I mentioned Lorius and I sponsor some of the playhouses and other venues. We'll see what The Hope and Anchor is showing tonight. They usually do Shakespeare."

"Shall we?"

"I really should bathe first," Ederyn says. "I won't take long. Are these formal places, or not?"

"If I take you to Aljafer�a ,that's not a really formal place." She chews her lip. "The Hope and Anchor, however, is definitely not for casual dress. You'll want to look good. So will I." she smiles.

In due time, Ederyn returns to the living area in the formal getup that Noys helped him acquire in their last stay here: A black jacket and trousers with red pinstripes, a red vest with a curly pattern in black and hints of silver that Noys called "paisley," and a white shirt. For decoration he has a red "bolo tie" held in place with a silver object shaped like a unicorn's head, and silver cufflinks with the same design. His hair is combed and pulled back in a tail, except for the few locks that always escape that treatment.

"Black and red," Noys says approvingly. "Father would approve." Noys herself wears a sort of tallieur - a high collared blood red tunic, with long sleeves. This is paired with a skirt in the same crimson hue that runs to her knees. The boots that she wears, running more than halfway to her knees, are of a calfskin black. Her earrings are of silver, small whirls in the shape of the Amber Pattern.

"Not my usual palette," Noys says "However, I saw a diplomat on a science fiction show wear this outfit, once. I had to have it." She smiles. "We'll both have to be careful with our clothes."

The afternoon is cool, and partly cloudy, dappling and intermittent sunshine lighting the way to the monorail, and hence to early dinner. Aljafer�a proves to be a boisterous communal sort of place, with Noys and Ederyn both slightly out of place among the crowd, usually dressed in far more casual clothes. The foods are small, handsize affairs, of trout and boar, cheese and ham, in small sandwiches, tiny quesadillas, stuffed mussels and small turnovers. The conveyor belt of food winding around the restaurant and the bar stools means a parade of options float by for them to try and like or dislike as one wishes. Conversation is difficult, with the noise, Noys relying on just the enjoyment of eating the food and getting Ederyn to try many different things. Ederyn can't help but notice the many looks his sister gets in her outfit, and is not unaware that he draws some admirers himself.

He's content, for now, to try the things Noys points to and give her the pleasure of watching him react - though he is careful to take small tastes at first, in case of strong spices. None of the food is subtle, not like that restaurant with the soup that Noys and Lorius took him to that barely had a flavor. No, all of the tastes here are noticeable, and different. Some of them are strongly seasoned, others are more moderate. But everything registers, one way or another.

It's all amazing, he thinks. The strange music, and bursts of laughter, and many kinds of cheese, and that blonde girl in the tight orange shirt and a blue sweater that seems to be mostly holes on purpose ... it all exists because of the Pattern, which is part of him now. Or he is part of it, or perhaps always was. He takes another drink of wine and notices that the blonde girl and her friends are talking in a way that suggests they're egging each other on, and of course one of them catches him looking. Glancing away hastily, he reminds himself, half sternly and half laughing at himself, that the plan for the evening is "rest."

Besides, when he gets back to Amber, there's Kezia. But when did he decide on Kezia? He ponders this while inspecting something Noys has put on his plate, which smells of mustard.

"It's less of an issue here than in more differentiated shadow," Noys says, picking up a small round section of bright red sausage. "With the Pattern, desires can sometimes be subconsciously found with very mild shadowshifting." Her head indicates the blonde girl and her friends. "If this wasn't Locus Minerva, you probably could charm her, or her friends. It would be part the Pattern, and part your natural-hewn charm, brother. Here, in a more managed shadow, it would be much more your own doing than the Pattern's if you dumped a night at the theater with me for other things. Or other people." Her voice carries no sting but rather a smile. "Your choice, Ederyn. If that's the sort of relaxation you're after."

"If not ... are you ready to go to the theatre?" She changes the subject. "Seating should begin soon."

"This was my idea. I just want ... one more of these," he says, snatching a miniature cream puff from the conveyor belt. "Then the theatre, please." He scoffs down the treat, finishes off his wine, and then he's ready to follow Noys off to see the play, whatever it is. He is rather carefully not looking toward that one girl through all this.

"Theatre it is, then," Noys says, draining the last of her wine. The blonde girl does give Ederyn a shy, if somewhat disappointed smile as they head out and back into the evening air of Locus Minerva. His response - it would be unkind to simply ignore her - is a friendly glance, just before distance makes that impossible.

The lit street, alive with people wandering to and fro, does drown out most of the starlight, giving the scene a cast of yellow and white artificial light instead of starlight and moonlight. He still finds it strange, despite their handful of previous outings. It's all a far cry from the choice of moonlight or torches that was once his only experience.

Under the glow of those lights, however, Noys leads Ederyn down a couple of blocks to a rounded corner, and the rounded building. with columns, rounded archways and a balcony with a balustrade on the roof.

Inside, the ornate architecture extends to elegant columns, caryatids, shining gold decoration, and elegance everywhere. As Noys had promised, all of the men and women chatting in the lobby as Noys leads her brother through the crowds are dressed elegantly and well. Neither his sister nor himself looks an iota out of place amongst the attendees.

With drinks and a program (in Thari) in hand, Noys and Ederyn are soon seated in the Royal box, given pride of view for the night's production: Henry V.

"It's one of the historical plays but there's enough humor in it to not make it unpalatable," Noys explains. "The Hope and Anchor prefers to do the more serious works."

Looking around at the other seats and boxes, Ederyn can't help but observe that their occupation of the Royal Box (so labeled on its door, he saw) seems to draw at least one look from everyone who comes in, and everyone who is nudged by a neighbor to take notice. Even the stage curtain keeps twitching slightly, as people behind it peer out for a moment or two. No one seems inclined to actually stare, however - as in the restaurant, people just notice their presence and seem to have to look, as if to be sure, but then turn back to their own business. At least as far as he can tell without staring, himself. His sister takes this casually, taking note but not remarking about it.

The building's interior itself, with its murals and elaborate moldings, is interesting to look at, but soon he turns his attention to the program. "War and intrigue," he murmurs, reading the plot synopsis. "And romance. This is the 'Eng-land' and 'France' of the 'Earth' shadow, yes?"

Noys nods. "Except for it being translated into Thari, it's the straight up adaptation of the play," Noys confirms. "England, France and all of the locations are intrinsic to the play. One of the other playhouses tried a more experimental adaptation of Hamlet, and changed the locations to more familiar ones, but it was a flawed attempt. Personally," Noys smiles "I would have preferred it in the original English, the wordplay and jokes are funnier but that's uncommon here, too. The only way that sort of thing works is for works like Opera, where language familiarity is not necessary.

"Here comes the chorus," Noys notes, as the lights die down, except for the lights shone upon the stage.

"O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention, A kingdom for a stage, princes to act And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!..."

...

With a brief intermission after Act III, the play rolls on a couple of hours. Noys is rapt, watching the performances, listening to the voice. Sometimes Ederyn catches her closing her eyes and focusing only her ears on the dialogue. For his part, Ederyn has some trouble following the speeches; despite Noys' earlier efforts, his knowledge of Thari is still more utilitarian than poetic. But he chooses to listen in a relaxed way, letting the words flow over him and not worrying about the bits he can't comprehend. Occasionally he asks Noys to explain why people are laughing, or to confirm what he thinks is going on. The energy and flow of the language and acting are powerful even with his imperfect understanding, however, and he sometimes finds himself watching intently to see what the outcome of an exchange or conflict will be.

Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen, Our bending author hath pursued the story, In little room confining mighty men, Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. Small time, but in that small most greatly lived This star of England: Fortune made his sword; By which the world's best garden be achieved, And of it left his son imperial lord. Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King Of France and England, did this king succeed; Whose state so many had the managing, That they lost France and made his England bleed: Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, In your fair minds let this acceptance take."

Noys stands up and applauds. Ederyn notes that some on the stage and some without are extremely keen on the reactions of those within the Royal Box.

Unused to the traditions here, and still wondering what the last line is supposed to convey, Ederyn is obviously following Noys' lead when he also stands and applauds. Even then, his expression could better be described thoughtful rather than enthusiastic.

The applause is effusive but does not go on terribly long, the sound and spectacle of the enthusiasm for the performance finally ebbed away. Many, Ederyn notes, do not stop applauding until Noys does so. When she does, the applause drops markedly and then fades away.

And with that, people start leaving their seats and gathering themselves into a hive of chatter below. The amount of attention paid to the royal box diminishes but does not quite drop to nothing.

"Well, then, Ederyn," Noys says, turning to face her brother. "How did you find the play?"

"It seemed very well done, and I stayed interested in it," he says. "Most of the war speeches could have been translated from my native language. Some of the cultural things, however ..." He shrugs, then smiles. "The way those first two characters were worried about the king taking all their goods wouldn't happen in Norwend. Or not for very long."

"That's a relic of that age, even," Noys says, standing up and making her way to the exit. "And even by Henry's time, absolute monarchy was being challenged by social forces opposing complete autocratic rule, in name or in effect. Come. I assume, brother, you do NOT want to be introduced to the luminaries of Locus Minerva. This was supposed to be relaxation and fun, not politics."

"And you know how I feel about politics," he replies, catching her eye and smiling again. "No more of it than is absolutely necessary."

With a preternatural eye for the back ways and side passages of the theater, Noys soon has herself and her brother into the main lobby without being accosted, and from there, to the street. Small fresh puddles of rainwater reflect the lights of the theater and on the street, the sky overcast and a bit sullen, but otherwise dry.

"Now, then, with a meal and theater in you, you feel more human?" Noys asks. "A return to Amber in the morning, or do you want more time here to recover? We could stay a day or two extra, pull Lorius from wherever he's got to to take a look at you."

"I think I'll be better by morning," he says judiciously. "But I would like to talk to Lorius about, well, everything. And what do you think he'll say if we don't invite him to watch the repair of the sword?"

"To witness the repair of a Pattern Sword?" Noys says. "He would never let go of it. Even if he'd never pick up a sword himself, the idea of seeing father's sword remade ..." Noys shakes her head. "Best not to tempt fate."

Back in his room in Noys' apartment, Ederyn takes off his shoes and jacket, then pauses with his vest unbuttoned. He doesn't really want to undress just yet, he decides. Instead he unfastens the top buttons of his shirt, and goes to the chest of drawers to rummage in his belt pouch. Nasirpal, he says silently, the first Pattern unlocked some memories that I am going to look at now. He brings the Chaosian ring out and holds it for a moment. I think I'm not going to like them very much, and I want to feel sure that I'm alone with them.

Are you certain this is wise? Nasirpal says. Not the looking at the memories, but doing it alone? A tone of concern suffuses his mental voice. I understand and respect your choice, Ederyn, but I strongly disagree with it.

The ring slides on and adopts its deceptively smooth appearance. And with that, the voice from Nasirpal, already stopped, goes completely still. Noys is in her own chamber, Ederyn is alone.

Ederyn turns off the light but leaves the window transparent, going to stand by it looking out at the city. The tangle of feelings and memories that he avoided thinking about for so long is gone now, leaving a kind of empty space that's almost as disturbing. He doesn't know, right now, whether he ever really loved the Lady of the Oak. Or argued with her over something he never wanted to think about. Obviously, that avoiding was because he was not supposed to think about, or question, his decision to leave. Or remember meeting Sand before. Or any of it; he is aware, now, of how little he really remembers from that time, besides his training with the svartalfar.

And he hates knowing that his memory was tampered with. What did she, or they, think was important enough to risk angering him this way? He has to find out, but what else will he find? He frowns, and tells himself that it's unlikely that remembering the Lady will somehow impose on his life as it is now. If the Amber Pattern couldn't shake his present sense of self for more than a few moments, there's no reason to expect these memories to somehow change him.

Finally he decides that only action is going to resolve his unease. Sighing, he sits down on the bed, still facing the window, and looks inward. He put the memories in a box, figuratively speaking, and the box in the equivalent of a dark corner of his mind. Before he can come up with another reason to hesitate, he pulls out the box and looks at what is inside.

Time is funny in Elfland. There are months of memories here, longer than Ederyn remembers being in the company of the Lady of the Oak, and far longer than he was absent from Norwend during his sojourn and journey there. Or remembers being absent.

What was Ederyn, in the land of Faerie, besides an apprentice to elves?

Many things as it turned out. Ederyn's exploration of his memories comes in associations, rather than remembering specific days and discrete events. Thinking of the Lady of the Oak, for example, leads to an entire tangled set of associations and memories of memories long suppressed and hidden. His first days at the Court, always hazy, spring to life. The interest the Lady took in a smith. The bed that the Lady took him to. Again, and again. Ederyn was apparently her Favorite for a long time. Months, maybe. It's hard to tell.

In the present, Ederyn sighs and bows his head, dismayed but also pitying toward his younger self. How quickly he forgot that his purpose, coming there, was to ask the seer questions about his father! Her vague answer to the first one troubled him only a little. Used to working hard for everything, and still half-broken by grief, he found himself given abundant food and shelter, materials for any work he felt like doing or asked for, and the attention of an alluring woman who knew a great deal about pleasure. She hardly needed to enchant him; he fell willingly into the role of pet. His time there could have been years, and he would not have cared. But galling though it is now, his recollections tell him that in this interval of comfort and peace, his wounded soul began to properly heal.

And then came the Journey. The Lady of the Oak decided to have her court visit distant kin in a place called Euterpe, and moved her court there, taking Ederyn with her in the bargain. Ederyn found himself powerless to resist such an offer. Euterpe was a faerieland shadow much like the world of the Queen, with faeries both above and below ground. Those that dwelt underground were dark skinned, and white haired, lithe and great craftspeople. Ederyn learned much.

It strikes him that these other people, if not those of the Lady's court, must have spoken Thari. In a long-forgotten reflex, he reaches up to tug at his left earlobe. Yes, early on the Lady put a silver ring in his ear, and afterward he had no trouble understanding the people of her small Court, and they him. No wonder he has still needed to learn the language - one small mystery resolved.

One day, Ederyn had an encounter with a golden haired man, a lover of one of these Sidhe Dark. Syanda was the Sidhe Dark, a high daughter of their court. The man's name, however, was Jayson. He was surprised, shocked to find Ederyn in the elven host. By machinations he never fully understood, Ederyn found himself on another journey, away from the Lady of the Oak, and to a castle and realm ruled by Jayson's mother.

Queen Sand.

Finding Sand in all this does not surprise him, considering the glimpse he saw before, but Jayson? Somehow, irrationally, forgetting two important people seems worse than just one. Reviewing his memories of the second journey yields mostly that Jayson seemed to be an agreeable fellow, quite patient overall with traveling with a man who really did not want to be making the trip at all and didn't try to hide the fact.

Well, Ederyn had no idea what was going on at the time. With another sigh, he returns to the meeting with Sand. Her fascinated stare, he remembers, made him very uneasy.

At Sand's Castle, Ederyn recalls meeting with Sand, and with Jayson, and with Sand's brother, Delwin. There is a week, here, of Ederyn getting to know all three. It seems pleasant and idyllic enough, and not at all connectable as to why Jayson's consort took an interest in him, nor Jayson, nor Sand. One fateful day, however, Ederyn finds himself in a different building. A tower of some kind. Ederyn is sitting down at a table with the other three. The memory is not perfect, and he remembers it in medias res.

"...she had hinted it, but I hadn't imagined it was actually true," Sand says. She turns toward Ederyn. "You are in fact, Eric's son. My nephew."

Ederyn's memories are clear, and it is clear that the glamour, the enchantment on him for the moment abated. He can think clearly in a way he hadn't for weeks, months.

"Why do we care about the Lady's games?" Delwin asks. "It's her business what she does with him. Should we interfere?"

"He is my cousin. Your nephew." Jayson says fiercely. He puts a hand on Ederyn's shoulder. "You've been badly treated. I'd take you into shadow, first, rather than throw you back to her."

"No," Sand says. "That won't be necessary. I will have words with the Lady. This will not stand."

"I suppose not," Delwin says. "But, the question is, are you happy, Ederyn?" He looks toward Ederyn. "Do you want your freedom?"

The lifting of the glamour doesn't help as much as it might, considering the shock he's just received. He is still two steps behind the rest of them, staring around at the faces that are suddenly much more important, and barely hearing what they say. "Y - you are my kin?" he says, wide-eyed. "You know where this 'Amber' place is? You could take me there!" He seems ready to spring to his feet and start for Amber this very moment.

Delwin looks at Sand. Sand looks at Delwin. Jayson stares at the both of them.

"No, not now," Sand says. "We could, but it would be a death sentence for you. You're Eric's son, Ederyn, and for you to visit Amber right now with its troubles ... would mean a large fat target on your back from those who oppose your father's political efforts."

"The new baby," Delwin murmurs. "Eric keeps her well out of sight."

"Exactly," Sand says, nodding, decision made. "At this point in time, no, we are not sending you to Amber." She shakes her head at Ederyn. "You'd trade ensorcellment for a knife in the back. Or worse."

Disappointed and a little appalled, he can only stare back at her.

"What do we do, then?" Jayson says.

"We can't just leave him to this enchantment and bondage. It will not stand. Better to have Jayson take him into shadow as he suggested," Delwin says.

"We return him to Norwend, unenchanted," Sand says. She looks to her brother. "Perhaps a benign spell of limited duration to keep her from enchanting him again."

"There will be side effects to breaking the enchantment and doing that," Delwin says. "Suppressed memories, confusion over what happened. And the Lady will..."

"The Lady if the Oak will understand that ensorcelling a relative of mine is a dangerous choice of action," Sand says. "Unless I am the one doing it." She pauses. "Give the spell a few decades, though, Del. And then we'll have to see about building a path from Norwend to here." She turns to Ederyn. "You are going to be furious, and angry with us, nephew. But we'll keep you alive and safe. And meet you again, when the timing is better. And introduce you to your father."

"Mother ..." Jayson says.

"No more, Jayson," she says. "You did him a good thing in bringing him to us. Now, we are going to do him one more. Brother."

"No!" he cries, jumping to his feet. His chair goes sliding back across the glossy floor. "She is helping me!" He has turned pale, and they ought to be able to hear the panicked hammering of his pulse across the room. "The Lady is helping me," he repeats. "Let me go back to her. Please."

"Helping you?" Jayson exchalims. "By keeping you in thrall?" Sand seems similarly skeptical

"How," Delwin says. "How is she helping you, Ederyn?" He regards him.

Ederyn takes a moment to breathe and scramble for what to say. Finally he looks at Delwin. "I don't know," he says unevenly, "if I will ever be happy again. But being ... being with the Lady is better than lying dead under the snow somewhere."

Jayson mumbles something, a name, under his breath, too low for Ederyn to hear. Sadness crosses his eyes. Sand whirls and glares at him.

"She was a completely different situation. Completely. And, now, Syanda isn't ensorcelling you. At least not that way. There's something weirdly bound in your fate and hers, but she's not keeping you as a puppet to her whim."

"This confirms it, Del," Sand looks at Delwin. "The Lady got her hooks into him deep. Took advantage of his grief." She turns toward Ederyn. "The fate of mortals bound to the likes of us is to not live as long. The grief of their passing is real. I ... lost my husband, Jayson's father, to mortal age." Her eyes soften. "The pain will fade, even as the memories, good and bad, do not. You must believe this."

Jayson crosses his arms, brooding. Delwin nods along with his sister. "Let us help you, nephew."

"You can modify the spell, Del?" Sand says. "Add some anesthetic for a time, to make his return easier?"

"If he wishes," Delwin says. "And you will be welcome here, someday, Ederyn. The Sidhe have taught you much. I can see your talent in crafting items of power. We will have much to talk about, when the time is right, and you step into your full power and role. My sister and I might even visit Amber, again," he chuckles.

Ederyn doesn't like that Sand disbelieves his interpretation of events, and even her sympathy and Delwin's kind words can't counter that. Worse, their certainty is beginning, just a little, to undermine his. So like any free man of Norwend, he takes the offensive - not exactly angry, given the circumstances, but stubborn. Resentful, perhaps. "Why not invite me to stay here now, if you want so much to help me?" he asks.

"Your father," Sand says strongly. "would not stand for it, when he were to learn it."

He folds his arms across his chest and tucks his chin a little, unwittingly echoing a gesture of his father's. "And to interfere with my memory, to put a 'anesthetic' enchantment on me, and send me back with no understanding of why things have changed, is to help?"

"Yes," Delwin says. "We do not wish for you to die in some sort of revenge against The Lady. Or worse. We free you, even as we cloak who and what you are. For now."

"I cannot stop you," Ederyn says flatly, not giving an inch.

"We will doubtless have this conversation again." Sand says.

"I still disagree." Jayson says.

"You can tell us in a few decades we were right." she says crossly to him. "Del" she adds.

"Until we meet again, Ederyn." Delwin says, raising a finger bearing a ring.

And there the memory ends.

"Huh," Ederyn says aloud, blinking, then shaking his head. He probably could have made a better argument for his position, but would they have believed him? It seemed unlikely then, and still does now. And what if he was wrong? Sand and Delwin may have assumed that the Lady sought him out, instead of the other way around, but if he'd corrected them, they still would have assumed she was taking advantage of that to - what? Keep him bound to her forever? As a sort of ornament, he supposes now, knowing more about the universe. Having an Amberite in her train could be a point of pride ... except that it would be unbelievably shortsighted for the Lady of the Oak. He doesn't think she was surprised when he turned up, or when Jayson thought he recognized him and arranged to take him off to see Sand. Nor can he remember any incident of her deliberately showing him off to anyone.

Which raises the question of why his aunt and uncle had so little respect for her wisdom. Though he supposes there's no reason to assume they knew, or know, all the Sidhe in the universe, much less a seer with a small Court in an obscure corner of the universe like Norwend. One who, he seems to recall, deliberately stayed out of the way, most of the time.

Or he could be wrong about everything. Except that she saved his life; he has always been able to remember - not that he wanted to - the way that, at the time he reached her, despair was following him as closely as his own shadow.

Certainty, he hopes, lies in how she reacted to this turn of events, and in the explanation for why his memories of the end of their relationship have always been as vague as those of its beginning. He returns his attention to the past.

The memories bubble up, like a hot spring in the regions of Norwend that, at the time, Ederyn might have thought to touch Muspelheim, the land of the Fire Giants. Mud pots, hot springs, and even a lone geyser (a holy site to some), far from the settled realm. So, thus, the memories come to him again. Returning to the Lady of the Oak's court. The hard, cold stares of the Sidhe there as he made his way to the throne. The friendliness, the interest in his work, all gone. The shining eyes of the Lady when he approached her, and when she bade him stop well short of where she sits.

Confused and worried, he stops obediently, looking trustingly to her for explanation.

"Ederyn Ericsen Smith," she says. "Once you were welcome, here. Once I sought to keep you here a year, a century, perhaps more. I could have given you much, shown you much favor, shone great things upon you."

"But the Queen Sand has a claim upon you that is greater than mine, and has greater plans for you than for you to reside her in my court and work on the Great Common Task. An ancient pact, and her blood line to you, mean that to defy her would mean an open war, and who would fight a Queen who can command the loyalty of many Sidhe nobles? Not I. I already see the spells laid upon you by her sorcerer brother; you will forget this, and your pain will fade. But you cannot remain here. You cannot help create what I wished you to Make."

"It would have been a work of the ages." A wan sadness turns her voice. The leaves of the trees rustle and crackle, as if it were already autumn. The hostility that Ederyn saw in the faces of the Sidhe, turns to the sorrow of November. "Now go. I bid you remember ... what the spells of the sorcerer will allow. Do not come here again. This path is closed to you."

"No!" he says. "Please." Shocked, bewildered, appalled, he speaks as quickly as he can. "I don't know this Sand or what she has told you ... but you say her brother ..." He shakes his head, as if to dislodge some useful memory, and realizes that he cannot remember where he just came from. "Did I - did I go away somewhere?" he asks, half-turning to look back toward the doors, as the answer might lie there. Nothing.

He turns back to the Lady, beginning to be angry. "These people have tried to claim me, but then make me forget them? What is that supposed to mean?" He makes an effort to push past the blockage in his mind, giving himself the start of a headache.

"I am surprised," the Lady speaks patiently, "that you even remember that much. A testament to your mind and fortitude." She regards Ederyn with a mixture of love and pity, even as Ederyn's head rages with an increasing pain as he tries to work on the word Sand. "You truly are the son of your father, Ederyn Ericsen Smith. If you were but the child of another, I might see to your happiness. But you are not, and that is the root of everything. Of Queen Sand's decree. Of you being sent away from this Court. Of you being claimed, and then forgotten. It is of a piece with your heritage, for your father has done the same for you, and to you.

"You are someone in a state of keeping, my dear Ederyn. Like a pure crystal of copper, awaiting to be tempered with the best tin, to make the ultimate bronze. Here, now, you are copper, best in the anticipation of what you will be become rather than being wrought, now, as you are. I would think that you would make a splendid copper instrument, but the decision is Sand's, and before that, your father's. And so you must go."

Abruptly his resistance evaporates. He has no choice in this, no alternatives. His life truly is lying in broken shards at his feet, again. Again. Despair darkens his vision and for a moment he falters before it.

And then he reaches within, and down - to the Earth. There is strength there, and a measure of calm: a gift of the training he has received. It is enough to keep him on his feet, and to let the tears fall freely, like water on stone. "Lady," he says hoarsely, "you have saved my life; and you have given me all good things; and I love you. I want to stay with you." He takes a long, ragged breath. "Perhaps one day, I will be permitted to remember," he continues bitterly. "Perhaps even to choose what I will be. If --" He pauses, and pushes aside the bitterness. "*When* that time comes, if there is anything that I can do for you - please ask. I will try." The offer is made without any real hope that it will ever be taken up, but that is not the point. He means it, even if the words alone are all that he can ever give her.

"If we are both free of this bond, and your memories return, and I need your aid, Ederyn Ericsen Smith," The Lady of the Oak replies. "I will call upon you as my champion."

He bows his head and turns away, gathering what strength he can for a new effort: remembering the Lady, against whatever enchantment that unnamed kinsman has laid on him.

How does one remember something, even though one tries their hardest to do so against strife and struggle? The enchantment laid upon him by Delwin counters his fiercest holding onto of the memory of the Lady with random noise, sudden images, unusual sounds. All of this threatens to keep his mind occupied, continually processing this new input and not able to hold onto the memories of the Lady. All of these images, noise and sound are not harsh and dissonant. Far from it. They are instead soothing, calming, inviting Ederyn, pushing him into sinking into those memories, and giving up the memories he wants to hold onto so dear. The spell is implacable. The slightest give that Ederyn gives, and it pushes its way in.

His memory skips ahead again, to the moment revealed to him by that dream Pattern-walk: His final leave-taking. Now he knows that his belief in some kind of falling-out with the Lady was his explanation, to himself, of why his vague memories of her were tangled with so much frustration and anger; since he remembered nothing of Sand, Delwin, or Jayson, it seemed to be the only possible reason. But the purpose of her last gift to him is now even more mysterious. Was it intended to interfere with Sand's plans, or simply another way of trying to keep him safe?

With that thought, he pulls free of the memories entirely. After a moment he gets up and paces back and forth across the room a few times, waiting for his churning thoughts and emotions to settle a bit. Finally he stops and leans his somewhat overheated forehead against the cool glass of the window. He fingers the Mote and considers the primary question: Would he trade what he has now for what he might have had with the Lady?

No.

That rather clears things up. And also makes it hard to stay angry with Sand. Or extremely angry, anyway. There is the matter of the long delay in his departure from Norwend. But when he considers what he has learned about the history of Amber from that time to this, he supposes that it was never really "safe" until after the great war with Chaos - during which his father died. He can easily imagine Sand concluding that bringing Eric's son to Amber in the aftermath of that would be even more dangerous. Objectively speaking, in fact, he has to agree.

He snorts and stands up straight, shaking his head at himself. He doesn't remember becoming so ... rational. What it feels like, looking back, is that he slowly rebuilt his self out of iron and stone, survived additional wounds inflicted by Fate, and now is ... whatever he is. Not really so cool and hard as he knows he sometimes seems; perhaps the most astonishing thing in all of this is that, despite everything, he still wants to love and be loved.

But not, he thinks, by the Lady of the Oak. The man he is now feels an abiding gratitude and affection toward her - but not the love his younger, damaged self once felt. And that's a relief, because how could such a relationship work now? He wouldn't leave Amber for her, and he doubts she would want to leave her own domain for him. It's better this way.

Which is probably exactly what Sand would say, damn her. And the Lady as well.

He goes back over to the chest of drawers and turns on the lamp. For a moment he considers leaving the ring on, but this isn't a good time for experimentation, so he tugs it off again. Nasirpal, he says, if I ever tell someone that adversity makes a man stronger, please remind me that if any man says that to me, I'm likely to punch him in the teeth.

Aye, Ederyn, Nasirpal replies. I will stay you from saying such a foolish thing. Still your tongue.

Ederyn pulls out his Trump deck and opens it, picking carefully through the cards at the back. I won't be able to sleep until I do this, he tells his advisor, so ...

He carries the hammer with him to the room's simple chair, and rests the tool on his right thigh, while he gives meaningful attention to the card he has slected.

Sand, of course.

The connection takes more than a few moments, but does finally open. The subject is sitting in a sunken seating area in what appears to be a library. To one side of her is Delwin. Sand puts down the object in her hand, a set of trumps, onto the table in front of her, and regards Ederyn, and his surroundings for a few moments. She gives a nod, and speaks aloud.

"Hello, Ederyn," she says calmly.

He has put on a completely neutral expression, and lets the pause extend even further, before finally saying, "Are you ... satisfied with your decisions, Aunt?"

"To be frank," she says. "No." There is a pause, a study and assessment further. "I'll amend that. Given what I know, now, of what happened, I might have altered some decisions. Things would have been vastly different and I cannot see to better ends or worse. You might have died in the war, or Corwin, for all of his professed change of heart, locked you in a dungeon the moment your father died and left you there for years. Or you might have died defending him at the battle of Kolvir. Or right now, you might be plotting an overthrow of Random, putting yourself, as the son of the last King, forward."

"Any of these," Ederyn says coolly, "would be better, if it came from my own choices." But then he finishes, in grudging, half-growled concession, "in principle."

"Your awakening postdates my son's time in Amber," Sand adds. "My guess it was your sister, or perhaps the meddling of Valerian?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I thought perhaps it was your doing, that a Montenegran exploring ship sailed into the harbor at Drengrheim. Until I walked the Pattern," and his tone turns sour again, "I believed that I had never seen any of the family."

(Continued in The Time Meddlers.)

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