Strange Bedfelllows | StrangeBedfellows / EderynTheFurtherEducationOfEderynSmith browse

Ederyn the Further Education of Ederyn Smith

"And now I'll disconnect us," Noys says. "Until then, cousin."

And Ederyn and Noys softly and silently vanish away ...

... And just as softly, the apartment Ederyn has been living in the last days and weeks comes back to his senses. A look at the clock shows that little outward time has elapsed, only a few seconds, since Ederyn entered the conversation with Martin.

"Well, that was educational, even if Martin didn't directly answer a couple of our questions," Noys says, sweeping into the kitchen and soon returning with mugs of tea. She hands Ederyn one. "Now you can see that not just Lorius and I are involved in big and interesting projects. This is the sort of thing all of us eventually try, one way or another, albeit in different forms. Pollux runs the diplomatic core, Castor is practically his dad's second in command in the navy, and so forth.

"Martin is a builder. Like, I think, you might be, with your interest in creation," Noys says.

"Making things is what I do," Ederyn agrees. "Except since I left home," he adds gloomily.

Noys puts a comforting hand on her brother's shoulder. "Well, you have had a lot to absorb and learn since leaving Norwend. Opportunity, brother.

"We'll have to see about getting you time and space at the Forge in the Castle, Ederyn. It would not be an imposition on your part; few enough of our Family have an interest in basic crafting that you would be competing with them.

"Eventually," she adds brightly, "you will likely want a Factory-Cathedral of your own in shadow. When the time comes for that, someone like me, or Lorius, or Martin would be happy to show you how to make that work. You will almost certainly want to have walked the Pattern in full before attempting that, though.

"Weir and war leadership aside, though, I bet that if we went early to Uncle Benedict's place, he would be happy to put you to use crafting items."

He looks cheered by this prospect, but then says, "How are we going to get there, Noys? And how are we going to bring the Weir to there?"

"I can shadowshift us there, Uncle Benedict's instructions were clear enough on that score. As far as getting the Weir there, that might take some more wrangling." She looks at her brother. "I could drop you off there, and then trump to Amber and then, well, trump you to bring us back across. We wouldn't get a Weir force that way, but you might be happier in whatever foundry Benedict has set up than trying to raise a force now. That would give you a chance to get to know him while I am gone, and whoever else has gotten there before we did."

She looks at Ederyn. "It would also require a brief lesson in teaching you how to take a trump call."

"Besides Aunt Sand's effort?" Ederyn says wryly. "That would mean letting someone make a Trump of me, yes? Who?"

"It would be someone you would want to trust, of course, especially given that unpleasantness with Aunt Sand," Noys says. "Someone who you would be all right with having a trump sketch or trump card of you, even if briefly. And it would be good practice for contacts like that in the future, too."

Noys' blue eyes shimmer like the blue of the sky on a clear day back in Norwend.

"Me, of course. Who else?"

"Well," Ederyn says comfortably, "that's answered, then. And now I know who to ask to teach me to make them, when I can draw well enough."

"Drawing?" Noys asks. "That doesn't seem like something common to Norwend," she says with a puzzled expression.

"The kind of painting they have in Montenegro - and in Amber - making pictures of things to look like real things - that was new to me," Ederyn explains, with the same enthusiasm he shows when talking about physics. "I asked how it was done, and someone introduced his sister, who told me it all starts with drawing, catching the shape of things, and - but you know this," he interrupts himself. "I got a book with line drawings to copy, and paper and things, but there's been little time to practice."

"I had no idea you were interested in the subject," Noys says, delighted. "And this is valuable information, that Montenegro's technology and art has gone that way in the century or so since we've had last contact with them. Books of line drawings to copy. Intriguing." She licks her lips. "Yes, learning the basics of drawing would be a prerequisite to learning the art of trump itself.

"Doing things like sketching is an art form acceptable to ladies of quality in Amber the city. I learned to draw, then, and learned the art of Trump relatively recently.

"Not many know the full extent of my talents, brother," Noys continues. "Being our father's daughter has taught me to hold some cards close to the vest. Not being seen as an outward threat to the King is important to me."

Ederyn nods, but is struck by something. "My thought," he says slowly, "is to hide nothing - at least from the King himself. Secrets are hard to keep. And keeping them might seem threatening."

Noys nods, and swings over to get a drink for herself and Ederyn. "Fruit juice," she says. "That was really a long Trump call."

He takes a cup willingly.

"I see it," she says, sipping the reddish sweet liquid. "as two halves of the same coin. Neither of us want to be seen as an overt threat to the monarchy. Amber does not have a rule of primogeniture, of course, in many ways it's an autarchy rather than a straight up monarchy. That said, even if Amber doesn't have that tradition, the position of a child of a former king, when the kingship has gone to a cadet branch of the family, is a unique one. Like Martin and Dulcinea, and like the Elders, we're children of a king, Ederyn. It may not officially mean something, but it does at the same time anyway. Understand?"

"Well," Ederyn says humorously, "primogeniture, autarchy, and cadet are on my list of dictionary words now."

More seriously, he goes on, "I understand your words about being children of a king, Noys, but in Norwend being a king's child is just an advantage. You say that in Amber it means 'something,' but if you said it means 'green' or 'up' I would also understand your words. I accept it is important, but to me it is important because everyone says it is, not because it is ... oh, a thing like gravity, which makes objects always fall unless it is opposed."

"It means something in that people connect you with the Throne and who sits in it," Noys explains. "It's something that no one is going to bother worrying about with Lorius, or Asteria or Aura. We on the other hand are children of a king. Do we secretly want the throne for ourselves and see ourselves as better rulers than Random? As silly, Ederyn as that question may sound to you, I know that all of the Elders think about that question, and they have their partisans in Amber and beyond that do that thinking. Not out loud, because to play that game is dangerous, but the thought is out there.

"You and I are the children of the king before Random. We're young, sure, but how do we really feel about the succession? I'm certain people have wondered that about me the day that Gerard brought me to the Castle. And they will wonder it about you. Court politics."

Ederyn sighs irritably and sips his fruit juice.

"So I keep many of my talents relatively hidden, so I don't look like I am amassing a power base to see myself as the logical next ruler, especially since Martin so clearly does not want the job. Your openness might be seen as naivete, but being so new to Amber, I think it helps keep you from being seen as having secret plans and desires.

"Is the kingship in Norwend not hereditary?" she asks. "Is it an elective monarchy?"

"Elective?" After Noys' explanation, he says, "If the warriors' approval counts as 'election,' I suppose so. The current king is descended from my mother's brother, but for a time between then and now, there was a king of a different family, because my kinsman then had not enough support. Then he died in a fight to keep control of Dannisklund, which he started in the first place, according to those where there, and Aren's father was made king ..." He shakes his head. "Strange to think that none of that is important any more."

"Aha, so the kingship comes from military strength and the ability to keep armed forces supporting you." She nods.

"Well," Noys sips more of her juice. "As they say, the role of Norwend in your life from now on depends on how important it is to you, how important you want to keep such. Time will tell of course, but consider that cousin of ours, Aura. She considers her home shadow, even if in the middle of nowhere, important and central to her life. Hadrian is the grandson of the king of his homeland; I wouldn't be surprised if he keeps DuMarque important to him.

"The question becomes, brother," Noys says. "What do you want for Norwend? The Family, starting with me, is going to consider it yours. Even if you aren't the ruler, it's your world to do with, or not, as you will."

Ederyn's jaw actually drops at the thought of 'owning' Norwend in this way ... and he supposes the same applies to Weirmonken. "That is hard to truly believe," he finally says. "A world is not like a house or a pair of boots."

"Isn't it?" she says. "Some might beg to differ."

Noys cranks down the time differential, and sets Ederyn into another round of study, returning to the curriculum that she and Lorius had set out. The latter does not make a physical appearance in the next week, although he does trump Noys, and Noys allows Ederyn entrance into the call. Lorius is apparently in Aura's home shadow, aiding her in matters related to an incursion from Chaos, and helping to negotiate the basics of a treaty between Amber and Atlantis. He is pleased by Ederyn's success and development, very curious about Martin's doings, and makes a few suggestions to the program of study.

Ederyn does learn writing in addition to reading. At Noys' insistence, this goes beyond the basic ability to write his name and words, and launches into a entire subprogram of composition, creative writing and reading. There is poetry in Amber, and beyond, and prose, and novels. There are no plays - Noys insists that plays be seen before being read.

Once writing and composition are explored, Noys returns to the fundamentals of her and Lorius' design, strong in the sciences, especially earth sciences and chemistry, given Ederyn's talents, and additional mathematics and physics (as Ederyn wished). Ederyn ends up with a high school education in language, astronomy, reading and writing and biology, and Amber history, and college to graduate levels in chemistry, mathematics, geology, physics and basic magical theory. He's not quite at a high school level in Latin, but enough that he is able to order in a restaurant and make himself understood.

"We'll get you back here at some point," Noys says, over dinner (something called short ribs cacciatore). "But now, brother, you are educated, far more so than when you arrived in Amber. Enough that you can swim in the seas of our world.

"What I think we can do before we go meet up with Uncle Benedict," Noys says, "is get you the information you need to know where you came from. And for that, we should go back to Amber. You need to learn more about Father."

"And his brothers and sisters," Ederyn says. "Yes." He looks at his sister thoughtfully for a moment, and then goes on. "The door to the Ruby Suite remembers him. Did you know that he made it?"

Noys shakes her head. "You seem to have tapped into, and discovered a side to Eric that he didn't reveal to many people, not even me. I wonder if Mother knew ..." She looks thoughtful. "Well, Uncle Corwin is a musician of some note, not that you would guess that at first glance when seeing him with Greyswandir. Uncle Benedict is fond of horticulture. Aunt Flora is an expert markswoman with a gun. Father being a maker of doors and things is in the same vein, I guess. How did you find out? Your connection to Earth and Stone?"

"Yes," he says. "Strong minds and strong emotions can mark stone and metal, especially."

Noys pulls out a trump of Castle Amber and fingers the edge. "Shall we, brother?"

"Let me change into my real clothes," Ederyn says, gesturing at his modernly-garbed self. He get up without delay and disappears into his room. When he returns a few minutes later, he is once more every inch the rough, unsophisticated barbarian in appearance. Which, Noys now knows, was always partly deceptive: the mind laboring under Norwend's primitive conditions was never unsophisticated. Homespun and restricted by circumstance, yes, but very far from lacking in wit.

He gives Noys one of his rare smiles, clearly glad to be dressed in his familiar clothing and heading back to Amber. "I'm ready," he says, holding out his hand.

"Well enough," Noys says. "We'll be back, but perhaps not soon. I've clocked the shadow as close to stasis, and we should not tarry here, or else much time will pass in Amber." She runs the edge of the trump card she is holding. In short order, she activates it, and without further ado, and a trump transport later, Ederyn and Noys stand in front of the Castle, in the early evening, and in short order, are inside.

"The question becomes," Noys says, stopping once inside, "of precisely where to begin." She pauses a moment. "A number of lines of possibility come to mind. We could ride up to his tomb, later, but perhaps we should begin with Father's quarters. Few disturb them these days. And of course, we should check in on your Weir vassals." She spreads her hands open. "Brother's choice."

Ederyn looks conflicted, but finally says, "I think I don't want to find out what happens if the Weir get worried about me. We can see our father's rooms after we see them." With that he starts off in the direction of the Ruby Suite, as the most likely place for them to return to.

"A good point," Noys says, moving into step with Ederyn. A few minutes later, their arrival at the Suite reveals that the Weir are, in fact, not in attendance in the suite at all.

"The servants see and know everything that goes on here," Noys says. "One time, I was laid up with a broken ankle after a riding accident. Even without prompting, the servants brought me dragonfruit. They had paid attention to what I ate at breakfast and thought I would appreciate it."

Flagging down a passing servant and a few questions later, Ederyn and Noys discover that the Weir, in the company of the Montenegran Ambassador, are currently in the City.

"There, solved," Noys says to Ederyn. "They are with Daniel Poole down in the city." She pauses a beat and lets her tone go to slightly more serious. "How much trouble could they get in?"

"Cyrus - all of it, I expect," Ederyn says. "But the others should prevent serious problems."

"It's good that they are unworried enough to go out," he adds. "So, we can go up to see his rooms now, yes?"

"Yes," Noys says with a smile.

Eric's room does not have a guard on it, but it does have a rather large padlock and chain on the door. Noys produces a shiny bronze key, inserts it in the lock and after a little bit of fiddling, opens the lock and undoes the chain. Ederyn can feel the chain definitely has no imprint or resonance from his father, but the door itself, and what lies beyond, definitely do.

"The servants only come in here every month or so," she explains, opening the door. "To let the air out and to dust. Some of the other unused rooms are like this too. Brand's, for instance, although you would have to dare much to go into his chambers. And Aunt Fiona likely would know in short order anyway."

Eric's quarters are done in the colors of red, silver and black, with a rug with a silver crescent moon design overlooking Castle Amber. A woodcut of two warriors fighting hangs on another wall of this foreroom as well. A weapon stand in another corner bears a broadsword, naked, gleaming preternaturally. The bedroom door is open, giving a view of a well-appointed bedroom, and a fireplace to match.

Noys runs a hand along a large bookshelf next to a writing desk and chair. Opposite this is a large, far more comfortable looking padded chair and a side table.

"Father did not entertain visitors in his room much," Noys explains. "These rooms were for him and him alone."

Ederyn is standing on the edge of the rug, looking around. He knows that most of the subtleties of decor pass him by, but even to him the room speaks of simple and very masculine comfort, just as Noys says. He feels a pang at the thought that his father, like himself, felt a need for solitude, despite the very public life he'd chosen.

"I didn't get to visit here before his death," Noys says. "And after that ... aside from servants, few come here.

"You're probably more interested in his sword though," Noys adds. "He also has a mace hanging in the bedroom, last I checked. And a couple of other weapons, too. But the sword is special."

Ederyn lets her misapprehension go and moves over to stand in front of the sword. It obviously isn't the 'Crepusculum' Noys talked about on his first day here ... which is still the same day ... He shakes off the confusion caused by his stay in Locus Minerva and focuses on a visual study of the sword's construction.

Then he looks at it with his mage's sight, trying a passive analysis (having learned caution) of whatever magic is in it.

Noys is right. No, this is not the broken Pattern sword that Noys had mentioned before. It is whole, complete, and never broken. But it is enchanted. It's a mild accuracy enchantment, a sword for those who are new to the art of swordplay. But there is something more to it than that.

Eric made this. His father made this. It may not have touched blood in years, but the pride he took in making the weapon is clear. Not only because of its pride of place, not only its mild enchantment, and not only because of its prominent position in this anteroom, but the love the weapon has, for lack of a better word, for its creator, and vice versa, comes through. If he touched the sword and grasped it, Ederyn might learn even more, like the sword's name, or how and why it became enchanted.

"It's beautiful, isn't it," Noys says. "In Aunt Flora's shadow, there's a replica, a shadow, of this sword, as well as a shadow of his broken sword, in a prominent museum."

"He made it," Ederyn says, reaching toward the hilt. Then he stops and holds a hand out to Noys. "Come here," he says. "I'll show you what it means, that metal remembers."

"I should be surprised less and less by these revelations," Noys says as she steps closer to Ederyn and takes his hand.

There's a moment of uncertainty as he works out how to convey the impressions he receives via another kind of sense. Then she, too, knows that the stone floor notices the pressure of their feet through the rug, the walls feel the movement of air caused by their movements, and the ceiling is deeply satisfied with its role in the castle's overall structural integrity. Ederyn's sword bristles with a mix of fire and metal held in dynamic tension. Then he pushes those background impressions aside and reaches out with his free hand to touch the hilt of their father's sword.

Father's sword exults, for a lack of a better word, at the contact. Tools, weapons often want to be used, and Eric's sword has not been used in years. Decades.

Beyond that, the feel of the metal and the construction come clear. Forged by Eric when he was sixteen, a labor of love that was poured into the enchanted metal. Where that enchantment came from is interesting - an ore in a mountain north of Kolvir, allowing for minor enchantments to be laid in it. Eric didn't do that part, Ederyn feels the touch of another (and no one he recognizes) in laying down that enchantment. But that enchantment is almost an afterthought. Forging it in this ore, with this love and care, makes Fausta what she is, even before that magic.

Ederyn can feel that Fausta misses the thrust and cut of combat, or even just working out and sparring. The sword has the idea that Ederyn and his sister are here to claim her, use her, bring her back to her glory, or at least to stop from being forgotten.

For lack of a better word, the sword is lonely.

When Ederyn lets go, Noys gives off a gasp of surprise in releasing her breath, held during the procedure.

"That was ... amazing. Everything you touch is like that?"

"It's strongest with forged metal," Ederyn says absently, letting go of her hand and looking thoughtfully at the sword. "Both Earth and Fire are in it. And Eric had a very strong mind, even as a youth; weak minds leave faint marks, usually, even over a long time."

"A strong mind in our father. That is truth," Noys says. "So the sword remembers him. As did the door," she says.

He turns his attention back to his sister and smiles. "To me it is like the other senses; one does not listen to everything one hears, or look at everything one sees. Touching things often helps, but isn't always needed. I know where the Sun is in the sky and that there are fires burning in the castle's fireplaces, but I'd have to think about it to tell you how many fires and where they are.

"And I get nothing from cloth, leather, or wood. Or 'plastic.' It has to be close to Earth or Fire." He looks amused. "I could sense, dimly, the 'electricity' in Locus Minerva, but it seemed unwise to try working with it. It felt somewhat like lightning, which is very hard to control. I might have turned off half the city."

"Lightning is an elemental form of electricity, yes." Noys says, nodding. "There was a bit of that in your lessons, so it makes sense that they feel the same to you. Electricity beyond lightning or basic static electricity does not work in Amber, although some of Martin's and Kieran's devices seemed to work regardless. That probably was due to they being tied to their creations so deeply."

Ederyn files the information about those creations away for later reference.

"I wonder if Eric's Pattern sword, even broken, has enough of a metal memory to do the same as this sword," Noys hypothesizes. "Although I have the strangest urge to bear this sword, now." She gestures to Fausta. "Don't you?"

"I would feel guilty if I left her here," Ederyn admits. "She seems a little large for you ..." he adds cautiously, knowing that Noys is stronger than she looks and unsure of how she'll respond to this remark.

"It is not quite suited to me, but no one but you or I should bear her," Noys says. She grasps the pommel again, steps back and goes through what seem to be a couple of basic sword forms.

"Perhaps I should bring you to see the Broken Sword once we are done here," she says, lowering the blade. "It's within father's tomb."

"Yes," he says. "Its memories are likely to be painful, just because of being broken, but we can prepare for that. And ... I would like to try to repair it, one day."

"Oh, brother," Noys says with a smile. "I am counting on you being able to one day repair it. For I can think of none other that I would both deem capable of doing it, and trust to do it. Hence the sword has remained broken and pent for so long.

"Not many visit Father's tomb." Noys says. "It will be good to visit again, myself. Shall we see the rest of father's quarters? See if there are any other surprises?"

"Yes," he says, glancing around this outer room one more time before following her into the next.

The large bedroom extends the theme of Eric's quarters as retreat from the greater world. The bed is not quite as wide as Ederyn would expect for the bed of a once-King and always-Prince. Or, perhaps, the length of the bed, a couple of feet longer than he was tall, gives the illusion that the bed is long and not particularly wide. The four bedposts are carved with exotic creatures. From the top left, a rearing unicorn (very similar to the one Ederyn has seen on banners and elsewhere in Amber), a man-headed lion creature, a winged horse, and what looks like a two-legged dragon with a sharp tail.

There is a painting on the wall opposite the bed of a street scene in Amber, a cobblestone street sloping upwards with closely packed houses at regular intervals.

"This was his way of remembering me, I think," Noys says. "That's the street I grew up on. I know he feared to reveal my existence, so he would not have had a picture of my mother, or me, here."

The other unusual object in the room is a piece of native copper, about the size of a small loaf of bread, sitting on a pewter tray. The native copper is clearly untouched from its mined state, an irregular clump of crystalline shapes that together looks like a lumpy hand of reddish octohedral and cubic shapes.

Ederyn moves toward this coppery lump as if drawn by a magnet. He's still cautious as he extends his awareness towards it, his hand hovering above but not quite touching it until he's sure it's reasonably safe.

"I am going to make a wild guess," Noys says, "that its not just a rock Father liked. Although that's what I have always thought."

It does not appear to be immediately dangerous. Even as his hand hovers over it, his sister watching all the while, Ederyn can feel the raw elemental strength and power in this piece of elemental copper. Once Ederyn does touch it and engage fully, he can feel the nature of the copper in full. And something much more.

The crystal is from the mountain. This mountain. Kolvir. Unearthed long ago from a shaft on the far side of the mountain from the castle, city and sea. The spirit and personality of the mountain lie within its untrammeled nature. A gift to Eric, from someone, someone who did not possess it long enough to make an impact. Eric, however, Eric clearly has poured personality, energy, care and something else into this piece of copper. Ederyn is not sure if it's magic, explicitly, or will, but Eric had made use of this stone, as it sat here on the pewter plate, as an anchor and an arrow to an unknown destination or subject Eric was looking for. Who or what, precisely, unfortunately, is not encoded in the stone.

But the native copper crystal is still aligned and "pointing" at someone, or something. It would be easy for anyone who works with Earth to resonate with that arrow and follow it, as Eric sought to do.

"It's like a compass," Ederyn says. "I'll see what it points to."

"A compass? I didn't think copper was magnetic," Noys says. "But its not pointing to a magnetic pole is it?"

As a precaution, he anchors himself in the stone of the castle. Then, carefully, he starts following the arrow's direction - if the act of sending one's thought out to an unknown destination can in any sense be called 'careful.' His attention sinks into his purpose.

The direction that the copper points is both a physical and a non-physical direction at the same time. His thoughts follow the arrow, into the deep heart of the mountain, into rock and stone. There is a brief flash of the sizzling lines and the Pattern, but the arrow is pointing beyond the Pattern. However, Ederyn cannot follow it in his mind, further. He can see the path, but his mind resolutely will not go on. It's as if it points into another world.

Ederyn is not sure that he has enough of a Pattern Imprint, or training with it, to actually make the physical journey by himself, and it would require walking to the boundary first, presumably the Pattern room. Given those two things, and a link to the copper arrow, Ederyn might find what truly what its meant to find.

Ederyn returns his mind to where it belongs and gives a huffing sigh of frustration. "I can't follow it," he says. "I think it goes outside this world. How did he do that?"

"You've got me," Noys says. "Is there anything I can do to assist your analysis? I'd rather not bring this even to Lorius, much less Fiona. The former would take most of the credit, or try to, and the latter would take it away from us."

He concentrates on the copper mass again, trying harder to understand exactly what Eric did with it. Surely Ederyn - or anyone else - should be able to tell if the Pattern was directly involved in it. How could Eric do any of this without an Earth affinity? Perhaps some other kind of affinity is involved? Maybe a separate piece of the same stone is at the other end.

Ederyn's deeper analysis of the stone takes him a long period of time, subjectively. Objectively, once the effort is too much for him to continue, he feels that he must stop, and in fact, the effort saps his attentions for a short while before he wakes up on Eric's bed.

As his memory comes back of the subjective hours of study he did, trying to unlock the arrow, Ederyn does come to a startling and surprising conclusion.

This arrow was made with a Pattern. But it's not the Pattern he has encountered and dealt with. Instead, the imprint of the Pattern, or a pattern, within this arrow is not the Pattern he might expect. In a delicate rendering through the copper, from point to tail, there is an overlay of a Pattern that is not flat. Instead, this appears to be a Pattern that has length, width, and height. It's a labyrinth in three dimensions, a twisting line that runs through it.

But the effort of following that Pattern, is, for the moment, one Ederyn cannot finish. He can feel it in his bones - his incomplete imprint, although strong, is not strong enough for him to follow the one in the arrow completely. But this Pattern within the arrow is definitely what is allowing the arrow to point outside of Amber to ... somewhere.

"Eat," Noys has a bowl of what smells like soup. She holds up a spoonful of it. "You lost consciousness briefly, pushing yourself," she says. She waits until he assents to eating some soup before speaking. "Do you remember what you found?"

Ederyn has pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Mmm," he answers, chewing, but obviously thinking over what he remembers. After a moment he rubs his forehead and remarks absently, "A lorthew once asked me why I always seemed to find my limits by running my head into them ... it was one of those 'rhetorical' questions."

"You do seem rather determined, brother," Noys says. "We get that from our grandmother, I think." She offers more soup.

After a few more moments of chewing and thinking, he points at the copper lump with the spoon. "That," he says, "has a pattern in it. A three-dimensional one, and not the one in the basement. But I believe if I had a full imprint of our basement Pattern, I'd be able to follow that one, and go wherever it points to."

"A three dimensional pattern?" Noys says. "Unicorn's blood, Ederyn, are you saying that there's an imprint of the Jewel of Judgement in this arrow?"

He blinks. "That would explain it."

"I don't have the right pair of skills," she says. "I can give it a try, but I don't think I have the talents you do. I've a Pattern imprint, but not the affinity for earth and metal you do to see it properly," Noys says. "But what would Dad want with such an arrow, and where would it be pointing?" She nibbles her lip.

"I wonder if this is pointing at the Primal Pattern, Dad's method of looking for a way to it, or something else," she says.

"Until I go look, it could point anywhere," Ederyn says with a shrug. He looks around the room again, waiting for Noys' response.

"We keep this to ourselves for the moment," Noys says, looking at her brother. "Lorius, maybe, we'll tell when the time is right, but I think we should wait until you are ready to find where that arrow leads. Dad created it for an unfulfilled purpose, he would not have made it unless it is important."

Ederyn nods. "It took a great effort, I can tell. We'll leave it here; that way, no one will ask questions about it."

"This means you will want to walk the Pattern after all," Noys says. "Even if you have been doing so very well with a virtual imprint."

"Oh, certainly," Ederyn says, surprised at the idea that he'd plan otherwise. "I still want to talk with someone who is expert in its effects, but I want to do it as soon as the fealty thing is done." He contemplates the idea of sitting up on the edge of the bed, and then does so.

There is a tiny bit of vertigo and disorientation, which soon passes, leaving him well enough to contemplate something as radical as getting to his feet.

"Lorius, again," Noys says. "Unless you like the idea of Fiona dissecting your brain. I've heard the stories, and they aren't just stories. If you don't like the idea of dealing with a redhead, we could also talk to Corwin. Assuming we could find him," Noys says. "He is the only person besides Dworkin to actually draw a Pattern.

"At least," she adds "as far as we know. But I think we'd know."

"If it was done in this multiverse," Ederyn reflects, staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular. "Unless the Jewel doesn't work outside it."

"I'm still not sure I buy all of Valerian's story about that," Noys says. "I think maybe that was a weird reflection of our Pattern. There's nothing in the history about a sister to Oberon, and none who took a copy of the Jewel with her."

He looks at his sister. "What did you mean about Fiona 'dissecting' my brain? What stories?"

"Mind magic," Noys says. "Fiona has mastered a number of magical disciplines, including the ability to manipulate and change one's thoughts. There are stories she has permanently altered thoughts, memories and even personalities.

"I do know that she recently did it to a Chaosian who came visiting, who already had the IQ of a turnip. Supposedly Larissa's Chaosian brother. Attacked Random for no discernible reason. Aunt Fi did mental surgery on him, and tossed him back on their side of the universe.

"The darkest rumor I've heard," she adds, "is the one you don't breathe outside of this room, okay?" she says. "There are rumors she did it to one of the Family years ago." She lets out a breath. "The King's sister. Mirelle."

Ederyn thinks about this for a moment. "How did we go from 'talking to Fiona about the Pattern' to 'keep Fiona out of your brain'?" he asks. "Are you saying I should never talk to her at all?"

"No," Noys says, "that would be impolite, rude and not possible. Just to be careful in what we tell Fiona, is all," she says. "And to keep some basic defenses up around her. Effective deterrence. We never let her be tempted. Even if the story about Mirelle is false, she has the capability and willingness to do such things.

"And," Noys adds, "remember, for a long while, she was in Brand's cabal. She and Bleys may have repented, but she did go to Chaos and make deals to try and take Amber.

"It is one reason," she adds. "I have carefully cultivated my relationship with her son. I just don't want her to steal a birthright ..." she gestures to the arrow, "that belongs to you and I."

Ederyn regards her thoughtfully for the duration of four breaths. Then he says, with great care to not sound accusatory, "Is assuming such a lack of respect really the best way to go on?"

Noys decides not to answer.

He sighs and pushes himself to his feet, taking a moment to assess the wisdom of that action.

His feet obey him, returning his connection to Earth. Some walking should dispel any lingering aftereffects, he thinks.

"Well, the day is getting older," he says. "Shall we go on?"

It is mid-afternoon at this point, by a check of the sun's location. A quick stop by Henden's office reveals that there is a late meal planned for those family members in the Castle, which is admittedly not as many as there might be. But as members of the Family, Ederyn and Noys can attend, but aren't mandated to do so. There is also apparently going to be a salon, with a string quartet, hosted by Flora some time afterwards. Noys explains that ambassadors, nobles and the like usually turn up at such events.

"It is good form, though for us to go to dinner, even if we eschew Aunt Flora's event afterward," Noys explains, leading Ederyn out of the Castle. "Dinner with the family is the best way to find out who is in the Castle, and a sense of what people are up to. Or aren't, if they are here," she says.

"I'm going to live here; I should know these people," Ederyn tells his sister. "I think I'll go to both."

She leads Ederyn to the stable for the borrowing of a pair of horses for the ride up to the tomb.

"Sometime I could get Hadrian or Brandeigh to make me a trump of it," she says. "However, the ride up the ridge helps clear the air, and sometimes," she sounds slightly apologetic. "clear my head and my words. We'll see three tombs up here. Granddad's, Corwin's, and our father's. Deirdre has one down in the Grove."

"Two of those are still alive," Ederyn notes.

"Corwin and Deirdre were both believed to be dead," Noys explains. "At different times. Corwin, before the War, after his fight with our father, and Deirdre was believed to be lost in the Abyss at Patternfall.

"Corwin returned, of course, and helped set things in motion that lead to the war. Deirdre's return was as shocking a surprise, being rescued by Jayson from a forsaken ice ball in the Abyss where Brand was keeping her.

"Fiona's daughter Brandeigh was the one who designed the Deirdre tomb and shrine," she adds. "Although she won't admit it directly, I'm sure it was for Percy's benefit. Before her, she only had a cenotaph.

"Caine has a tomb, too, down by the sea," Noys adds. "Although whether he is really dead is an open question. Officially, he is."

Upon being presented with a horse, Ederyn inquires about the commands it's trained for, remarking that Norwend's tradition was different from Montenegro's. He climbs aboard the animal ably enough, but his seat is obviously no more than competent and he takes a little while to settle into it.

The horse, named Ghain, has a wide variety of commands at its beck and call, and he is relatively gentle and forgiving of his rider. Noys' own Ebont is a larger and somewhat more fearsome looking steed with a sleek black appearance.

"Horses are not something Norwend is known for, is it?" Noys asks, leading her brother out of the courtyard and onto a path along the ridge.

"Oh, we have them," he answers. "But I prefer walking. It doesn't tire me, and I don't need special food and care."

''And he walked all the miles of the Earth And he walked all the many roads of the Earth And he walked all of the lost paths of the Earth For legs carried him him far across the Earth,''

Noys quotes.

"Who is 'he'?" Ederyn inquires.

"Iskander Al-Kuhl," Noys explains. "It's a tale from the shadow of Antioch, about a traveler, second son of a desert chieftain, who made a promise to travel to every city in the world to find the most perfect gift for his beloved. He was afraid of being thought a barbarian, so he gave up his beloved camel to travel from city to city solely on foot."

The trio of tombs are there, in a row. The one for Oberon, the largest of the set, impressive and impassive in its architecture. Eric's is the second largest. And then there is the oldest and smallest of the three but also a template for them all, Corwin's. It's also the tomb they will ride past first.

A figure stands leaning against a pillar on the portico of Corwin's tomb. As he steps out of the shadow, like a ghost, the identity of the person, in a twist of fate, is clear from Ederyn's examination of the trumps.

"Good afternoon, Noys," Prince Corwin says. "Won't you introduce me to your brother?"

Ederyn reins in and looks at Corwin with guarded curiosity - aware that the subjective weeks since his viewing of the terrible scene in the throne room makes it much easier to do so.

"Uncle," Noys says, dipping her head. "This is Ederyn of the shadow of Norwend."

"Norwend?" Corwin says, studying Ederyn and addressing him. "Not Weirmonken? I had heard that you had some hold over the Weir." He smirks. "I was expecting you to be some get by a Weir warrior lord's daughter."

"No," Ederyn says in his distinctive heavy accent. "Norwend is much farther away." After the briefest of hesitations, he swings down from his horse to talk at a more equal level. Physically, at least.

Corwin makes a hand wave of welcome as Ederyn and (in turn) Noys dismount.

"What I didn't learn, then, and I am extremely curious, is why you have three Weir vassals running around Amber. Not something the Castle has seen since the end of your father's reign.

"I'm surprised, given their last encounter, that Random is comfortable with their presence," he adds.

"I haven't heard about that," Ederyn says. "About why they are with me - well, it looks like ur�r - you would say 'fate,' I believe: a storm at sea, and in Weirmonken, two prophecies about the result of it."

Corwin looks at Noys.

"I had no hand in it, Uncle," Noys says, with a touch of defensiveness. "None whatsoever. I've suspected a bit about my brother's existence, but I didn't manipulate events so that he would travel to Weirmonken, and then come here. His arrival was a surprise."

"So you say," Corwin says. Ederyn's read of his uncle's voice is that he is not completely convinced by Noys' answer. Corwin turns back to Ederyn.

"Weirmonken aside," Corwin says. "What did cause you to leave this Norwend and come to Amber at this time?" He studies Ederyn a moment more before continuing. "The signs and portents caused from Apollo and Jayson's meddling with the universe? Or perhaps the meddling of our distant relation Valerian?"

"I hadn't thought of the former," Noys says, biting her lip.

Ederyn shrugs. "Opportunity," he says. "A ship from Montenegro found a way to Norwend. There was a strange storm some years before that - I think now it may have been caused by Jayson's actions, and may have changed things so that Norwend could be found." He pauses. "Or someone changed things after the storm. I am doubting that the Pattern could influence how that storm went, but I don't know ..."

"Not unless someone was nearby, or had the Jewel," Corwin says. "I can't sit in Amber and cause a storm in Norwend without such aid. However, someone in that shadow could do any or all of that."

Noys nods in agreement.

Nodding, Ederyn goes on, "In their talk, the Montenegrans showed that they knew of a place called Amber, and had heard of Eric Oberonson of Amber. And they were willing to help me get here, and here I am."

"It is possible," Corwin continues to regard Ederyn, "that you were indeed in a locked shadow all this time, until that ship, that storm. How much lore is there in Norwend about visiting other worlds?"

"It is said that there are nine worlds," Ederyn explains. "My father only said that Amber was 'far away,' and so it could have been somewhere unknown in Mi�gar�, the world of men; later we thought he must be from one of the other worlds - Alfheim seemed the most likely. That there are other worlds of men was part of the news brought to us by the Montenegrans."

Corwin scratches his chin. "Norse mythology," he murmurs.

"I think," Ederyn adds, "that Benedict knows something." He looks at Noys. "His letter that arrived today spoke of me, but without my name, remember?"

Noys nods and turns toward Corwin. "Yes. I take it you've heard of Uncle Benedict's project, Uncle Corwin," she says. "Benedict seems to have known about Ederyn, but in an odd sort of generality."

"Benedict is canny," Corwin says. "It would not have surprised me to know that he knew Eric had a son in shadow, or suspected it."

Noys looks at Ederyn. "Perhaps Benedict is responsible for Norwend's nature. Perhaps even for it being isolated for so long."

Corwin chuckles. "Benedict did mind my own store for a while. It would not surprise me he did the same for a shadow tied to Eric.

"How are you finding Amber, son?" Corwin then asks Ederyn. "Bright lights, big city?"

Ederyn ignores the incomprehensible cultural reference. "I dislike cities," he replies seriously. "I'm not sure how I feel about the Castle. But the Earth here is a delight." And he looks up Kolvir's slopes with the kind of affection usually reserved for old friends - even as if he might pat the mountain on the shoulder, if he could.

"Mountain climber?" Corwin asks Noys.

"Not so much that, uncle," Noys says, "as a strong alignment to the element of Earth, in an arcane and magical sense."

"I see," Corwin says, returning to Ederyn. "Not a particularly common trait." He pauses a beat. "But what I meant was, now that you have come, and walked the Pattern," the last few words have a questioning tone, "are you going to go back to your homeworld?

"There's a number of relatives who have retreated to their homelands over the years," Corwin says. "I'm curious as if you are going to be one of them, especially given your heritage."

"Oh," Ederyn says blankly. "I don't know." He hesitates, wondering how much he wants to say to this man. "I never heard of Trumps before I came here; I thought I would never go back, or not for a long time." Another pause. "Before I left, I sold or gave away everything I could not take with me. My land - my tools - my cat.

"I ... I'm not sure that I want to mend what I chose to break."

"You've made a decisive break, then." Corwin scratches his chin. "I've not heard of many of us who were raised in shadow doing that. But there is some truth of that. Centuries might pass in Norwend before you return. All that you knew might be gone.

"So, not likely to be another Sand or Delwin, then?" Corwin flickers his eyes to Noys. She shakes her head in response. He then looks back at Ederyn.

"I might provide a perspective on my brother that your sister can't," Corwin says. "If you have a question or two, that is."

Ederyn glances at the tomb looming above them, then studies Corwin for a moment. "What I most want to know," he says over a brief, strong breeze, "is whether he knew about me. And if he did - why I never saw him." Then he shrugs slightly, wordlessly letting Corwin off the hook on those questions, if he doesn't want to try answering.

"Ah, boy," Corwin says. "My own sons might ask the same question, save that I've been alive to answer them, and in those cases, it was the doings of their mothers that kept me from Triton and Merlin.

"As for you, Eric and I were alike in many ways. Doubtless Noys told you about her upbringing and how she was kept under everyone's nose. I suspect Eric did the same thing for you that he did for his sister. Kept you safe by keeping away as much as possible. Or entirely, in your case.

"The children of Amber were as much stuck in the intrigues around the end of Dad's reign as the Princes and Princesses," Corwin says. "Weren't so many, then, but they were tools, pawns and targets. And you would have been young, right as he was forming his cabal and alliances. You'd have have been a prize for anyone opposing Eric.

"Hell," Corwin says. "Had I known you were lurking in Norwend, boy, I'd have gone after you."

Ederyn puzzles over the phrase "gone after" for a moment, but its connection to the previous sentence is clear enough after a moment's thought. "That might have been interesting," he says mildly. "It may be that I should say my question this way: 'Where was he while I was watching all the companions of my youth grow old and die, and during all the long years after that?'" There's a slight edge to his voice by the time he finishes speaking, despite his best efforts.

Corwin leans back against the wall and scratches his chin. He looks at Noys with an unspoken question.

"He's physically older than you, or many, think, Uncle," Noys says. "The Shadows lie for him too."

"Hunh." Corwin turns his gaze back on Ederyn. "Now you've puzzled me, Ederyn." Corwin says. "Shadow time can be fuzzy, so it's possible that Norwend runs at such a rate that what was twenty years for him was sixty, eighty, a hundred years for you.

"Same thing happened with Merlin," Corwin says. "I met him twice when he was growing up, him growing by years when it was mere days for me. I missed his childhood and upbringing completely that way. Could be that your Dad didn't expect that.

"'Course," Corwin says, "Could be that someone else had a hand in you having a long life without Eric, Ederyn. You already noticed your shadow was odd in some ways. Could be they decided you needed a long life there alone without Amber, maybe even a long life all the way to death."

"Uncle!" Noys exclaims.

"It's possible," Corwin says. "We only really get the full effect of the Pattern's aging-prevention ability once we walk it. And if a son of Eric, a possible problem for succession issues, was born, lived and died without meeting anyone, that simplifies matters, without raising a hand to strike.

"I would have been more direct," Corwin says to Ederyn, "This is far subtler play."

"We are attributing to action what may have been accident. Or a flaw on our father's part," Noys points out.

Trying to think and talk at the same time, Ederyn says, "Norwend isn't not --" and has to stop and back out of that grammatical thicket, shaking his head impatiently. "Norwend's time, now, is like Montenegro's," he says more carefully. "It could have been faster before and changed, on accident or on purpose, or could have been always the same. We know nothing to tell us which is true."

Corwin nods thoughtfully, scratching his chin.

"Eric might have not known about me," Ederyn continues, "or he might have known and lost me or made a mistake, and someone might have caused one of these things to happen. But you both believe that he would not choose to leave me so long alone?"

"Not by choice, no," Noys says. "He kept me secret from nearly everyone, but he did see me enough that I can tell the difference between hiding and abandonment."

"She's right, Ederyn," Corwin agrees at the last.

"That is what I wanted to know," Ederyn says firmly, and sighs. "I will ask Benedict what he knows, but then ... it might be best to put the other questions on one side."

"It certainly gives us more reason to aid Benedict in his project," Noys says. "An opportunity to speak to him. Carefully."

"As one should when dealing with my older brother," Corwin says, clapping his hands. "But you did come up here to see Eric's tomb, I wager. And I'd not have Random upset you were missing dinner tonight because of me. I assume I will see the two of you then and there? He gets cranky when I skip out on it."

"Yes, we'll be there," Ederyn replies.

Ederyn decides to walk the rest of the way, rather than remount the horse. He looks back once, toward where Corwin was standing.

"I'm not sure what to think of him," he tells Noys quietly.

Noys leads her horse as well toward the tomb. She waits until Corwin is well out of earshot before responding verbally.

"I know what you mean," Noys says. "Corwin is a difficult man for you or I to get a hold of, and vice versa. Our father and he were great rivals, a rivalry that changed our kingdom. His children are comfortably far away from here, but when they do come, disruption follows. Corwin's like that too, in many ways.

"Lying in wait for you and I was also rather presumptive of him," Noys adds. "He could have met us at dinner. He did stop calling you 'boy' once you told him how old you are, at least."

The tomb of Eric of Amber, with its alternating black and white pillars, is, indeed, larger than Corwin's, and intended to have a larger footprint, given its wider portico, taller pillars, and small cupola on the top. An iron door guards the entrance to the tomb like a (mostly silent sentinel). Ederyn's senses tell him that the iron is welcoming, glad, pleased that Noys has come back once again to its threshold.

"The actual tomb wasn't built until the Interregnum," Noys explains. "Uncle Gerard's idea, he had it built at the same time as Oberon's. This was just around the same time he introduced me to the Castle."

"You're nearly the only one who visits here," Ederyn murmurs. "This door knows you."

"Your abilities and affinities will take some getting used to, still," Noys says. "I can't imagine much else of the Family comes up here, besides me, except maybe Gerard and Julian on infrequent occasions."

Half-listening to her response, he touches the fingers of one hand to the door, wordlessly introducing himself. Iron doesn't really understand the concept of parentage, of course, but he can convey the notion that he and Noys and the one that the door guards came from the same ore mass.

After another moment's communion, the door unlocks itself and even swings an inch or so ajar.

Ederyn glances at Noys, amusement lurking in his eyes. "The metal locks so many people have - they think them so secure," he notes.

Noys laughs. "Metal locks are in many cases just speedbumps, or token signs of property and authority. Even, say, Aunt Flora has physical strength greater than many mortals. But, clearly, you don't even need to use physical means to open up secrets held by metal.

"The Door to the Pattern Room might be a stouter challenge," she adds, stepping in first. She reaches up and taps something with four sharp raps. A warm yellow begins to glow from the long teardrop-shaped crystal, and its three siblings in the other corners of the room.

Ederyn follows her inside and then stops, looking around, uncertain of what to do now that he's here.

The interior is a rectangular room, perhaps fifteen feet across and forty feet long. The walls are covered in mosaics of semiprecious stone, and the center of the chamber has a coffin, done in obsidian and red sandstone. On the far end of the chamber is a plinth, and a table with a sword broken four inches above the hilt, and many of the shards besides, artfully arranged as if trying to piece it back together, each shard in its proper location.

The mosaics, as Ederyn gets a look at them, are of two scenes. On the one side, Ederyn can see an array of figures around Eric, being crowned King of Amber. On the far side, he can see Eric fighting a large creature, ten feet tall, with bull's horns and an oversized double-headed axe. The sword that lies on the table is proudly being wielded, as Eric fights the creature one-on-one, as the rest of a war of creatures and men ranges around him in some vale.

Looking at these images, Ederyn moves slowly toward the room's center and the sarcophagus. He stops several feet short of it and folds his arms, lost in thought.

Noys busies herself with walking around the tomb, as if inspecting it, as Ederyn stops and stares. Ederyn's thought keeps Noys' doings out of the main of his perception, but he is dimly aware that she is active and engaged throughout his think.

"Were you talking to the tomb?" Noys finally says once Ederyn breaks his silent thoughtful introspection and looks approachable again. "I am going to have to allow for your tendency to ponder and ruminate in future expeditions."

He smiles slightly at this.

"Or were you thinking about father?" she prompts.

"Thinking," he says. "I have to accustom myself to being ... confident that his absence was not his choice. It's been an unanswered question for a long time.

"Besides," he adds, "your visits, I think, you would rather keep to yourself."

"True enough," Noys says. "But I meant something beyond expeditions to Eric's tomb, or even anything to do with him. I meant in general, you think, and ponder and work things through in a patient manner. The bones of the Earth, and the bones of the buildings of men offer much to say to you that most others cannot hear but you will.

"We will, brother," she adds, "learn more about Father's choices regarding you. And other mysteries besides."

She gestures toward the sword. "Did you want to see Father's blade?" she offers.

"Yes," he said, and shoots her humorous glance. "Slowly and carefully."

Noys grins in response.

Again, he studies the blade with just his eyes at first. He's wary of this one even without making any sort of contact with it. Fausta was journeyman work, and made when Eric was very young. "This will be different from Fausta, I think," he tells Noys. "I expect it to have a stronger awareness. It could even have had a true mind in it, like Priya Luur's things. If that is so - it might be dangerous. Or just broken and hurting. Unless it died when the sword broke ... I cannot guess what the effect of the breaking might be."

Even without touching it, Ederyn can see something telling and interesting. The pattern of banding and mottling are more distinct on this blade than on Fausta. In fact, as Ederyn studies it with his eyes, the shape and form of the banding and mottling jumps out at him.

It's the Pattern. Or, more accurately, it's a portion of the Pattern. The banding and mottling patterns, even on the broken portions, are unmistakable.

He looks at her, nods, then takes her hand and extends his other hand to rest gently on the hilt of Crepusculum.

There is no immediate reaction, or greeting to Ederyn as he puts his hand on the hilt of the broken sword. There is a dim awareness of something, but it is not an immediate sharp reaction. A moment or two later, as Ederyn gets used to touching his father's old weapon, it slowly builds in his awareness. This sword was indeed forged by his father. The blade is indeed a sword that has had a portion of the Pattern forged onto it. It is a work as much tied to that, as it is tied to Eric.

And yet, the breaking of the sword keeps it from full flower. The broken nature of the Pattern on it keeps it from being awake, alive, and aware.

The mind of the sword Crepusculum is sleeping. But, perhaps, might yet be awakened, if the sword were reforged.

Noys can feel Ederyn's relief that his concerns were unfounded, and his curiosity about how this kind of thing works, as well as his doubts about whether such things are a good idea. He is also definitely getting more from the contact than she can comprehend - details about the metal's composition and strength that mean nothing to her, and that he doesn't have to think about in order to grasp.

Ederyn shifts his mental hold slightly, turning from the sword's imposed mind to the impressions held by the metal itself. Warily, he tries to draw out from it the first time that Eric took it up.

There are flashes and images that race through Ederyn's mind, as if Crepusculum, Twilight, was seeking its metal memory for what Ederyn wants, what he is seeking. Ederyn gets two sequences in quick succession.

An image of Eric on the summit of Kolvir, the harbor and the city behind him. Why the sword picked this is not clear - there is no battle, no conflict, and clearly no forge or foundry here. The sword is grasped, from its spot where it lies, on the third step of a three step staircase. Eric holds the sword, goes through some basic forms, and apparently finds it good.

The other image is a more martial and sanguinary moment. The sword drawn from its scabbard on a battlefield, in a flat bottomed river valley, with no hills or grade anywhere in sight. A long line of soldiers at Eric's back, and another ahead, with reddish-orange painted shields with a black symbol of a plumed helmet above three crossed spears, two to the left and one to the right.

Ederyn gives a little sigh and turns his head to meet Noys's eyes, wordlessly asking: Does she want to join him in looking at the other end of the broken sword's memory?

Noys gives a nod.

The last battle, then, he suggests to the remains of the sword.

The last battle.

Garnath. The Vale of Garnath and the battle against Chaos. The King of Amber, and his forces, and brothers, against the greatest army of Chaos to come to Amber in over two thousand years.

The battle is long and hard. Eric fights many foes, rallies the troops many times. The sword of Twilight defends Amber many times.

And then there was Skafloc Hendrake.

Seven feet tall if an inch. Ram's horns, goat hooves, and a general in the Chaos army, seeking single battle with the King of Amber. And single battle Eric gave him.

Eric is outmatched, fighting bravely, keeping the general occupied, pent, and distracted so that he could not wreak havoc elsewhere. His brothers are elsewhere, fighting things eldritch and strange. Skafloc wields a great sword of his own, a zweihander making Crepsuculum seem like a dagger. And yet Eric fights on.

With that blade of green and black, Eric is stuck in the sword hand. He is driven to his knees and that hoof holds his arm down. As his hand is pinned, the demonic Skafloc strikes Crepusculum itself with his blade, the energies of Chaos rising within it. The blow is a mortal one to the blade, and, it seems, to the foe itself. A bright flash of energy erupts from the sword upon breaking, energies of magic, and the Pattern. Energies enough to save the wielder whom Crepusculum so clearly, yes, loved.

And Crepusculum, then broken, knows no more of the battle. As the vision ends, there is a sense that Ederyn gets that Crepusculum doesn't quite know that the body of its creator lies only a few feet away.

Ederyn breaks the contact, feeling again a deep regret that isn't quite grief - while part of his mind is also analyzing the breaking, trying to consider ways to make the blade less vulnerable to such an attack in future. That he will repair it seems inevitable, now.

He turns toward Noys, putting his hand on her shoulder, looking to see how she fares.

"Not the story of his death," Noys says, hugging herself from the experience. "That's not when and how he died in the Battle of Garnath. The ..." she stops. "The sword saved him, from dying there and then." She slowly unwinds from her self-cocoon of limbs and looks up at Ederyn.

"You could say that Amber was saved by the sword. If our father fell then, and not later that day, Corwin would have come back too late. Amber would be a ruin."

"That might please it," Ederyn says soberly. "When I have to tell it - him - that he's dead."

"Is it a he?" Noys asks. "I wouldn't know how to tell. But talking to a sword and telling it, him, that its creator is gone is going to be difficult. You won't escape being the wielder of the sword, then. Swords are meant to be used, are they not?"

The broken nature of the sword makes the gender of Crepusculum not completely certain. Ederyn is pretty sure it was forged as a male sword. It could be remade as a female sword, if he wished to do so when the blade is remade. That would take no small effort, though.

He nods in response to Noys' remark, but a troubled look also crosses his face, and he touches the hilt of his current sword.

"I suppose the other two Pattern swords are as this once was." Noys says. "Alive and aware."

"I expect so," he replies, going a little abstracted. "I think perhaps the awareness gives the best effect to the powers added to the blade."

Then he sets aside that train of thought and glances westward. "When is this family dinner supposed to happen?"

Noys blinks her eyes, concentrating for a moment. "We are going to be late unless we leave imminently. We should," she decides. "We can return here whenever we wish. The ire of Princess Flora, however, is far more lasting."

Ederyn gives her a wry look but says nothing. On their way to the door, he studies the sarcophagus again, but doesn't slow down for that.

Back to the horses and to the trail, the ride back to the Castle goes without incident. It is past sunset, but Noys has conjured a small light to light and lead the way. Given the ease of the path, its not truly necessary,. but it does provide a silver-colored illumination for the journey back to the Castle. Aside from the few syllables Noys spoke to create the light, she remains quiet, pensive, and reflective for the entire journey.

Ederyn is, of course, comfortable with riding along silently, thinking about this and that, and looking at the night-draped landscape and the many lighted windows of the Castle.

She collapses the light into her palm once they reach the well-lit courtyard in front of the Castle, grooms ready to take Ghain and Ebont, and guards watching it all placidly.

"Well, that was educational," Noys finally says. "At some point, I should show you the Grove and the Stairs as well."

"When we have time," Ederyn agrees, swinging down from his horse and handing it off to a groom. He moves to Noys' side, offering his arm for her to hold. "Right now I need time to wash my hands." And a place, but he expects Noys will help with that.

"We do need to clean up for dinner," Noys agrees, taking Ederyn's arm and leading him into the Castle, dipping her head to the guards. "My quarters will do for now." She walks with purpose, her stride equal to Ederyn's.

"We also need to put a bug in Random's ear about space in the Castle for you. Permanent, that is. He'll probably counter that he'll want you to formally swear allegiance," Noys says. "You should counter that you want the title of Royal Prince. He'll try and make a ruling on the Weir presence. Your counter should be to open negotiations for the status of Weirmonken and Norwend."

Noys laughs merrily. "Politics is like Chess, brother. You need to be able to play out moves in advance. Also, the winner is the person who makes the second to last mistake."

"Umm," Ederyn says, glad that the one fellow in Montenegro explained chess to him once - not that he really understood it. "I think I should play for something I want. But I already agreed to swear fealty at the next Court, he already agreed to let me keep the Weir and walk the Pattern, and I really don't care if getting my own rooms takes a day or two. I can't imagine that he wouldn't let me have a forge. And I don't understand what you mean about the status of Weirmonken and Norwend."

"The question is what you want." Noys says, continuing to lead Ederyn toward her quarters. "As well as what you need, and how those two intersect. What I meant, though, and perhaps was less than clear is that this game will be the public one. You did negotiate with Random, true, but that was in camera." She smiles. "He will want to make a show of talking to you about these things in front of family, at dinner, if the opportunity to have this game arises.

"There is a novel on Flora's Earth that has a line about a fae court. 'Sentence first, verdict afterwards,'" she explains. "You have already negotiated with Random, now would come the opportunity to have it said in public. A way to temper you.

"He's done this before, you see," Noys says.

Ederyn, struggling with his instinct to see such re-negotiation as perfidious, frowns.

"But to get to your earlier question, your sphere of influence, de facto, has your home shadow, and Weirmonken in it. Weirmonken once attacked Amber, and our Dad used Weir here during his period of control. Our family remembers these things. I think at least a protectorate status on your behalf for Weirmonken and Norwend would be wise, don't you think?"

She opens the door to her quarters and lets Ederyn precede her to the bathroom.

He goes inside but then pauses. "Weirmonken once attacked Amber?"

Noys stops at the entrance to her bathroom. "I'm sorry, brother. I should have included some of that in your lessons. There are thousands of years of history, though, and we only had weeks, not years."

She moves to one of the two sink basins in the black granite countertop and turns on the metal taps. She reaches underneath, retrieving two white bars of soap and starts washing up.

The metal and stone are new to the Castle, only a decade and a half old, Ederyn realizes.

Noys seems to be quite fond of the aesthetic of Locus Minerva. He turns on the other sink's taps and begins washing his hands while Noys continues.

"Hundreds of years ago, before Amber and the Golden Circle were quite so established and firm, and after the wars with Chaos, Amber had conflict with some of the more aggressive Golden Circle shadows. There's a pass up in Kolvir's mountain range, a pretty spot with a beautiful cascade of waterfalls. A number of incursions happened through there. The Moonriders of Ghenesh and the Weir of Weirmonken are the two most memorable invasions from that quarter. The former was defeated by Benedict, the latter by a number of Princes, including Corwin. I think this was when Dad first got the idea of going there and imposing order on them."

"That must be the path they were talking about," Ederyn notes. "Why would this 'protectorate status' be wise?"

"As a protectorate," Noys says. "It means that you don't rule Weirmonken and Norwend, but their foreign relations go through you. A protectorate means that those two places are officially your area of interest, and under your protection against action by third parties.

"It would mainly be wise because of that earlier conflict," Noys says. "And because of Eric's use of the Weir. There are those who might wish to meddle with Weirmonken or Norwend to see if you can be provoked. I do not only even speak of merely our aunts, uncles and cousins, but even some of the more powerful families in Amber might see an opportunity for adventurism. Other shadows, too, might see economic advantages in a 'new' shadow that has no protection against it.

"And," Noys says, turning up the flow of the taps and lowering her voice. "It would be no bad thing to have an independent base of power for yourself."

Drying his hands on a towel, Ederyn looks from her reflection in the large mirror to his own. He'll leave his hair as it is, he decides: the wind-blown mass of curls down to his shoulders is so much the opposite of his father's close-cropped tidiness.

The thought echoes in his mind, and he takes a slow, considered breath. "I am an independent base of power, Noys," he says quietly. "I need no Shadows for that."

"You are," Noys says with pride. "Each of us are. Give you a few decades, though, and you might want something more. It's only natural. Our horizons are limitless."

Ederyn is doubtful about that, but says nothing.

"What is not limitless," she adds, "is the time until dinner. We should finish up and go."

He smiles. "I'm ready," he says, hanging up the towel.

With Noys, arm and arm to lead him, Ederyn escorts and is escorted by his sister across the second floor of the Castle to a small dining room. A long dining table has been set up, made of some dark, imposing wood. In contrast to their fears of being late, there are only a few of the family here, talking in small clusters. Underneath a painting of Castle Amber on the mountain is Asteria, talking animatedly with Corwin and Pollux. Closer to the entrance, next to a side board, is Castor, in a white shirt and a dark blue suit, talking with a woman with green skin and light blue hair, in a dark grey floor length dress.

Noys steps up to the latter pair. "Hello Castor. Hi Tina."

Castor gives a nod to Noys and Ederyn both.

"Tina," Noys continues smoothly. "I would like to introduce you to my brother, Ederyn. Ederyn, this is Amphitrina, although everyone except her mother calls her Tina."

Tina offers Ederyn her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Ederyn. Castor told me that you got him to talk his quota of words for the month." She laughs.

Ederyn is ambivalent about meeting another Rebman, but accepts the handshake - and finally remembers that 'Tina' is another of the many cousins. "He was very helpful," he answers her comment, and glancing at Castor adds lightly, "I hope he will not need those words for using later. But I will lend him some of mine, if he does."

"Now," Tina says, releasing his hand. "I understand that you are the quiet sort. Hopefully your sister," she gives a look to Noys, "will help to encourage you to talk. Silence has its power and its place, especially in the darkening deep, but talking is what helps define who we are."

"Do not worry, Ederyn," Castor says. "I needn't the loan."

"I would ask when you were going to come to visit Rebma, Ederyn," Tina adds. "However, as you no doubt have noticed, despite the presence and efforts of me, or the Queen, or the Ambassador, the ties between the two kingdoms have been strained of late."

"In time," Noys says. "My brother has only seen a small fraction of Amber after all."

Ederyn glances between them, hoping this idea never turns into an actual plan.

"Too soon to ask for opinions, then," Tina says, in a disappointed tone of voice. "So what did you do back in your home shadow?" she asks. "Were you a noble, err, a Jarl there?"

He shakes his head. "Not in the way that people here think," he says. "I am a smith. And also a kinsman of one of the kings there, but that is not important."

"He's a maker," Noys adds. "Magical enchantment and imbuement of objects. We're going to get Random to allow him to set up shop, so to speak."

"Like Delwin and Sand, then?" Tina says, looking at Ederyn. Castor grunts in surprise.

"I think that's probably an unkind comparison," Noys says. "Again, Ederyn is not a king in Norwend."

"Well," Tina says, waving a hand in dismissal. "My apologies, cousin," she says.

Since he can't fathom why the comparison might be unkind, he only looks perplexed.

Tina turns as another blond haired woman, in a sea green dress comes in. Her blue eyes look around, alighting on everyone present. She comes up to Ederyn, Tina, Castor and Noys and her eyes focus on Ederyn intently as she places her hands together in front of her, by the fingertips, and rotates the cradle counter-clockwise.

"Kalispera. You must be Noys' brother," she says with a smile. "I am Dulcinea."

He nods a little in reply, not knowing what her gesture is or how to respond to it. "I am pleased to meet you," he says, calmly and without any special interest.

"The pleasure is mine," Dulcinea says. "I have heard much of you from many different sources. Like a cascade of mirrors, each of them giving a different view of you. I had wondered if you had already left for Uncle Benedict's expedition."

"No, not yet," Noys puts in.

"I didn't think so, because the three Weir are still here," Dulcinea says. "They are extremely devoted to you, you know," she says to Ederyn. "And protective."

"Yes," he says, not showing how uneasy those facts make him. After a brief hesitation, he asks curiously, "How did you meet them?"

"They are rather distinctive. The Weir are, anyway," Dulcinea replies. "Even in their human form, they stand out in the city, which is where I met them. The Weir were escorting Ambassador Poole, who was paying a social call on the mayor of Amber, and I was doing the same thing, as it so happens."

He blinks, then immediately reflects that if Daniel wants to borrow some additional consequence for such meetings, Ederyn feels he owes Montenegro rather more than that.

"Her Majesty my Mother seeks better trade ties with Amber. Not just the Royal Family, but the merchant companies and noble houses," Dulcinea adds. "As do I."

"So does Montenegro, of course," Ederyn says. "And Daniel said something about finding a house for his embassy."

"The old house that the Montergrans had must long since have been sold ..." Dulcinea says, and glances toward Tina and Castor.

"Before my time," Tina says, waving her hand.

"Real estate in Amber is at a premium," Castor says. "I am not a real estate magnate, but there are those in the family who play those sorts of games. But yeah, any Montengran Embassy, and my brother would know more, would have been sold. Probably to the church, or a noble family, merchant prince. A Royal, if it was nice enough. So a new property would be needed."

"The Mayor may be able to aid the Ambassador in that," Dulcinea agrees. "Getting a shadow known and established in the minds of Amber is a thorny process." She looks at Ederyn. "Do you seek a greater place for your world, Ederyn?"

"Norwend?" he says, and shrugs. "It is far away. Some trade might be worth the journey, I think. But trade is less important to Norwend than it is for Amber and these other places I am hearing of."

"The obvious question," Dulcinea says with a smile, "is just what is important to Norwend. Or," she widens her smile, "what is important to Ederyn Ericsen Smith.

"Did I get that right? That is how you style yourself?" she adds.

At this point, Tina and Castor draw off a bit, leaving Ederyn with Dulcinea, and his quietly observant sister.

Pleased by Dulcinea's interest in his preferences about his name, he actually smiles back at her. "That's right," he says warmly. Turning more thoughtful, he adds, "I'm still learning what exists, and what is possible. What is important to me and to Norwend seems likely to change because of that learning."

"Indeed," she says. "I think I may have had it easier than you. Ambassador Poole said that Norwend didn't even know that there were other shadows, other worlds, until they made contact with your King.

"Is that right? How was the journey into another world for you?" she asks. "What of others of your world?"

"The endless numbers of other worlds was new to my people. My mother's people," Ederyn says, leaving aside his home shadow's complicated cosmology. "A few of us have visited Montenegro - but only the best sailors. It is not a journey for the less skilled. It is hard for me, sometimes ... so many new things. New languages. Everything."

He shakes his head slightly, dismissing a hint of remembered distress. "Where is it that you come from?" he asks Dulcinea.

"A place far less isolated, clearly." Dulcinea says. "I am from the shadow Maeonis. We're in the region of the Golden Circle, but we've not signed any Golden Circle Treaties with Amber. The Queens of my land have valued our independence.

"We're closest to Corilaine, Crie, Antioch and DuMarque. With the last we have substantial trading and exchanges. In fact ..." She claps her hands. "Have you met Hadrian?"

Ederyn thinks back. "We saw each other," he says. "In Arden, during the Omphalos attack."

"Hadrian is from DuMarque," Dulcinea replies, nodding. "We've known each other since childhood - the Royal Family of DuMarque leases an island near our capital for when the snows and cold of their homeland get too much. We visit there for skiing. I find it funny that we grew up as members of our respective stations, and now turn out to truly be relatives. Close relatives, anyway. His cousin Prince Jalo is married to Lady Sophia of the Duchy of Straton, who is second cousin to me."

"Anyway," she says. "I think you'd like Maeonis for the same reasons Hadrian would. I understand your realm has a similar climate?"

Ederyn looks puzzled. "The winters are cold, yes," he agrees. "But ... you are talking about people traveling a long distance from home because of the weather?"

"Snowbirds," Noys chirps. "That's what this reminds me of."

"Snowbirds?" Dulcinea says, shaking her head. "I don't understand."

"On some worlds, the affluent own multiple homes, one in a colder climate, and one in a much warmer one to spend the winters in as a vacation home to escape the worst of the weather. Some worlds call them snowbirds, like birds who migrate with the seasons."

"Oh," Dulcinea says. She turns back to Ederyn. "Anyway, the DuMarqueans are very good at Trumps, and so simply trump to their island when they wish to visit. And they've given us trumps to do the same."

"I am not used to the idea of Trumps," Ederyn admits. "But when they make the journey short, I suppose this traveling makes sense." His tone, however, suggests that he's not entirely convinced of that.

"They have their advantages, and our friends in other shadows would be less able to communicate otherwise without them," Dulcinea says brightly. "Maeonis is fortunate to have links to a culture well versed in their creation. We've had some students go to their University and learn the secret. Unfortunately, Hadrian has tried to teach me, and I've never managed the knack of it."

"Trumps can be dangerous, though," Noys says. "Be it place or personal trumps."

"Like any tool," Dulcinea says. She turns back to Ederyn. "So I understand you are a Maker. But not a conjurer?"

"Yes," he replies. "I am what you call an elemental sorcerer. My elements are Earth and Fire. And I also work with what you call 'runes,' but I call 'the Names.'" He looks hopeful. "Is there some kind of magic that you do?"

"I have some training in the arcane arts," Dulcinea says. "My paradigm is that of a ..." She stops a moment, and her eyes widen. "Wait, wait. Earth and Fire," she says, holding up a hand "Ederyn, are you familiar with volcanoes and sorcery to influence eruptions?!"

The look on Noys' face is puzzlement. Dulcinea's enthusiasm has drawn some heads turned in Ederyn, Dulcinea and Noys' direction.

"Vahl-cay-no," Ederyn mutters, prodding his memory. Recalling what the word means only helps a little, so he still looks nonplussed. "I have done a few reckless things in my life, cousin," he answers bemusedly, "but playing with a fire-mountain is not one of them."

"But you know what one is. You can help with the problem we have," Dulcinea's enthusiasm is unperturbed by Ederyn's reaction.

"Help with what? What problem? Whose problem?" Noys asks.

"You haven't heard about the latest from the Omphalos?" Dulcinea asks.

"The attack in Arden? We were there," Noys says. "There was no volcano ..."

Dulcinea shakes her head. "No, no, the refugee fleet that has shown up in Amber waters. They fled their home shadow, a broken Pattern realm. Distant relatives of ours too. Dagny, Hadrian and Uncle Gerard are handling the refugee problem and what to do with them, with help from the Rebman Ambassador. They discovered that the Omphalos destroyed the shadow by causing a formerly extinct volcano to erupt."

Her voice goes deadly serious. "Ederyn, there is the possibility that such magic could be used in Rebma. And in Amber."

"Not if I'm here to stop it," he says flatly. To Noys's eye, he seems angry - which he didn't before, either during or after the battle in Arden.

"Can you stop it?" Dulcinea says. "Or tell us if and when they are trying such a thing. Is that in your skill or power, cousin? Father would certainly want to know."

Noys briefly exhales, sharply, catching herself after a half moment. Ederyn has been around her enough to realize that she has something important to say, but not in this company. Dulcinea appears to have missed the gesture entirely.

Ederyn takes the time to calm himself and give Dulcinea a thoughtful, rather than instinctive, answer. "I believe I can," he says. "But it would help if I knew exactly what was done. This shadow you speak of - did the Omphalos destroy it completely?"

"I don't think so," Dulcinea replies uncertainly. "Dagny and Hadrian, or the Ambassador, would know more, since they were there," she replies.

"No, they didn't destroy the shadow, Ederyn, although I understand there was enormous devastation to the area. Something for us to talk about at dinner, although we have no shortage of subjects," comes a new voice. The voice belongs to the King, who enters the room with Vialle on his arm. Everyone in the room stops talking and bows and curtsies to the couple. Noys does this as well. Ederyn notes only the briefest of eyerolls from Random, although Vialle's smile is radiant.

A beat behind everyone else, Ederyn manages a bow, and is as stiffly awkward at it as usual. Then he starts to turn a little towards Noys, in case the King's arrival means that dinner will start now.

"At ease, everyone," Random says. "I see not everyone is here yet, but I suppose some people prefer to make late entrances." He gives a glance toward Asteria. "And a fair number of us are out on the business of the Crown, or elsewhere. Something we should talk about, amongst other things."

"Now, Random," Vialle says. "You know the rule."

"Yes, yes," Random says. "No business until the meat course." He walks to the head of the table and sits down, with Vialle on his left. Once this choice is made, Ederyn's relations start choosing chairs.

"Family dinners are a bit of a free-for-all," Noys says. "There is no real rule of precedence. People sit where they will talk to the people they want to talk to. When we have Ambassadors and guests, we are far more formal."

"You are welcome," Dulcinea says, "to continue our discussion, Ederyn." She moves away, choosing to sit to Random's left.

Ederyn lags behind, far enough to quietly ask Noys, "What were you wanting to say?"

"The Fire Pattern," Noys says quietly. "It could be vitally important we find it."

"Mmm," he agrees.

"We'll discuss more later," Noys promises, and follows Ederyn toward the table.

"Good," Random says approvingly to Ederyn as he takes his seat. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk. And you may have questions, of course."

He nods amiably, but focuses on getting seated and studying the place setting, comparing it to what he got used to in Montenegro.

Every one seated, staff appear out of nowhere, with elegant wooden bowls of lettuce and other vegetables, which they place in front of each of the guests.

"Salad," Noys explains. "We'll then go to bread and soup, and to a meat course or two."

"Thank you," he murmurs, and unobtrusively observes which utensils she and others are using for the salad, and how they go about eating it - imitation is how he got through many Montenegran dinners without too much embarrassment.

Everyone, including Noys and Dulcinea to his immediate side, uses one of the smaller forks to eat the salad. Small tomatoes are skewered, leaves of lettuce are hooked, small pieces of white cheese are impaled. There are also sour green pickled peppers. Ederyn carefully avoids the peppers after one small taste, finding the flavor too strong. The tangy cheese, however, he thinks he might like.

"Father ordered the salad for my benefit," Dulcinea says conversationally. "This is much more in the style of my home, rather than here."

Down and around the table, other people are engaged in similar low conversation. Random remains quiet, though, alternating eating and looking over the table.

"What are customs revolving around gatherings like this in Norwend, Ederyn?" Castor, seated next to Noys asks Ederyn, as two late guests arrive. Everyone looks up, but no one comments as Flora and Fiona enter. The latter is clad in scarlet, the former clad in blue. Ederyn notes servants hovering, waiting to place food and glasses in front of them once they are seated.

"Customs?" he answers Castor uncertainly. The differences between the places are so vast that he can't think of where to start.

"Customs," Castor replies. "For a full formal dinner, here, we have an order of courses, salad, soup and bread, meat, sometimes second meat, fruit and dessert. Is that similar in Norwend, when eating at a formal dinner? What do you talk about? How is it done?"

"A big topic, I think, cousin," Noys laughs, chewing on one of those sour peppers.

"But one well without the bounds of our rules about topics," Dulcinea says.

Glad of the more specific questions, Ederyn says, "We have not courses like this; everything is served at once. Though sometimes we have to wait for the meat." This reminds him of a story that might explain the cultural differences better than facts. "One time," he says reminiscently, "I remember, it was so late, the Njalssons rewarded its arriving by throwing the cook's husband into the fjord. Luckily for him, that was a warm autumn."

"Important safety tip. Serve the meat early to the Njalssons," Castor says to Pollux, sitting to his right.

"So noted," Pollux replies.

Ederyn chooses not to darken the moment by mentioning that those particular Njalssons have been dead for decades.

"There is a word for feasts where everything is served at once," Dulcinea says.

"Spread?" Random, half-listening, puts in.

"Smorgasbord?" Noys suggests.

"Yes," Dulcinea says to Ederyn. "What do Norwendians eat at a ..." she pauses "smorgasbord?"

"Whatever we have," Ederyn says. "Greens and roots in the spring and summer, just roots in the winter. Meat from the hunt or the cattle, fish. Dried meat and fish in winter, fresh other times. We have mostly stews and soups, or roasts. But also bread, cheese, skyr. And ale and mead, of course."

"Dried meat and fish," Castor says. He nudges his brother. "Sounds like that lutefisk stuff you had in Shadow Hennepin."

"It could be like salt cod, instead, too," Pollux says. "That's far tastier than lutefisk. You don't have lutefisk or salt cod in Norwend, do you, Ederyn? And what is skyr?"

"Something like yogurt?" Noys suggests, looking at Ederyn.

He finishes chewing and swallowing a small tomato. "When one lets the cow's milk sit, it becomes very thick. Not solid, but close. That becomes skyr. I'm not sure how exactly it is made, but it is very good. I remember gathering berries to go in it during the spring ..." He smiles a little at the recollection.

"Sort of like a soft thick cheese," Noys says. "We'll have to get you to introduce us to it one meal, brother," she says. "Members of the Royal Family are encouraged to introduce new cuisines and dishes to the cooking staff. It helps keep the menu fresh and interesting."

"Yes," Castor says. "A few of us, on occasion, have brought chefs from shadow here to teach their skills and recipes."

At this point, another family member, a dark-haired young man, slips in, murmuring words to Fiona, whom he sits next to. He flickers his eyes, which have orange irises, in Ederyn's direction but respectfully looks down at his place, which is quickly filled with a bowl of salad.

Right on the heels of this, the servants return, this time bearing bowls of soup. The thick reddish soup is set in front of Ederyn, as well as the rest. Vegetables of various kinds are in the red soup, and there is the distinct smell of clams. Large loaves of long, crusty bread are set out on the table, along with bread knives, and glass dishes containing butter. Noys cuts herself a hunk of this bread and butters it, closing her eyes as she takes a bite, crumbs of the bread falling neatly into the soup.

"Last course before Father gets to business," Dulcinea says.

Busy spreading butter on a piece of the bread, Ederyn nods. "Who is that who just arrived?" he asks Noys quietly.

"That's Minh," Noys says, giving a nod in his direction. He studiously and quietly seems to be concentrating on his salad, and only briefly breaks his gaze to look at Ederyn again, curiously, before turning to Fiona and engaging her in quiet conversation.

"Yet another mystery of the family," Noys continues quietly. "Bleys found him in shadow, determined somehow he was one of us, and brought him to the Castle. He walked the Pattern, but Bleys did not claim paternity. Given that he's been willing to since acknowledge a half-fire elemental as his daughter, this is rather strange behavior on his part. I think most people assume there is something in the culture of Minh's home shadow that doesn't allow Minh to acknowledge Bleys as his dad, even here, and so Bleys keeps up the polite fiction. Minh's a quiet, polite, shy, sort. He's probably asking Fiona who you are but in as an elliptical manner as he can manage."

"Half fire elemental? Really?" Ederyn says in low-voiced astonishment.

"Who is this?" Dulcinea asks, putting down her spoon.

"Helias," Noys says, eliciting a nod of agreement from Castor. "She said her mother was the head priestess of some fire temple in a shadow near Chaos. Shapeshifter and a sorceress."

"Pugnacious sort," Castor puts in. "Got into a number of scrapes around here."

"Father didn't mention anything about her," Dulcinea says.

"That's right, I didn't," Random puts in. "She seems born to be in trouble. Funny, I think you might be able to handle her, with your skill set, son," he says to Ederyn.

Not sure what Random means by 'handle,' Ederyn looks uncertain. "She sets fire to things?" he hazards.

"When angry or agitated, I've heard," Castor says. "She's in a human form, mostly, but she does seem to like to set things on fire. I think Minh has seen her in her fire elemental form."

The young man with the orange eyes looks up. He regards Ederyn, Noys and Castor and gives a nod. "Yes," he said. "We sparred, once, in a chance morning encounter. Afterwards, I enquired politely as to her nature. She demonstrated. Apparently physical activity ... enhances her fiery form. The nearby grass and rose bush, though, suffered."

"Oh my," Dulcinea comments. Noys looks surprised as well.

Minh gives an apologetic look down the way to Asteria, who is engaged in a different conversation entirely.

"You're good at earth and fire," Random says. "If anyone can keep her from burning down things, you'd be the guy. Are you fireproof, with those skills of yours?"

"Random, that is hardly a suitable question," Vialle chides. "Ederyn is made of flesh and blood, not asbestos."

Ederyn, unoffended, lets his spoon rest in his half-empty bowl. "It is not about what I am made of," he says. "It is about control. The last test of my mastering Fire was to walk into my lorthew's great furnace. If I am awake I have nothing to fear from fire. If it is fire that knows me, then perhaps not even if I am asleep. Maybe." He smiles slightly. "I like to know things, but not enough to try that with purpose."

"You walked into a raging furnace?" Dulcinea says, in a tone of obvious disbelief, mixed with awe.

"Is that so unusual?" Fiona, down the table, speaks. Her voice is clear and bright, as if she were sitting next to Ederyn. "Walking the Pattern is an even greater trial than facing a raging furnace. Same certainty of death if you are not qualified or strong enough."

Ederyn looks toward her and nods acknowledgment of the point.

"Still means that if Helias got angry, you'd be the best person to deal with her, 'sides her father," Random says.

"Is she really so ..." He pauses to look for the right words. "Lacking in discipline? Or, does she think it is normal to destroy things when angry?"

"Yes," Random says. "She was definitely not ready for prime time when she showed up. One reason why I suggested to Bleys to take her out of Amber for a while and try and get her somewhat civilized before she came back. Apparently, the shadow she is from is some sort of nightmare of volcanoes and deserts. Going nova on her part is par for the course. Dad would have stuck her in a dungeon." Random pauses a beat. "In Rebma. Before Moire went and declared independence and caused no end of trouble with that mess."

"Father, I think that might have broken your rule," Dulcinea says. There are a few murmurings around Ederyn. Noys chews her lip, Castor chuckles.

Vialle smiles slightly. "She's right, Random. The third course is outside but not on the table."

"Well played, Dulcinea," Random says. "You win the forfeit. We'll settle accounts later."

The soup and salad bowls are being cleared away, causing Noys to quickly take more of her soup, as servants wait in the wings with platters of what Ederyn can smell as roast meat.

"Now," Noys says to Ederyn quietly between spoonfuls, "we'll get the politicking and jockeying. Dulcinea might have done us a favor, though."

Ederyn glances at her as he takes another piece of bread, but says nothing. He's happy enough to have (perhaps) escaped making a definite commitment with respect to Helias. Commenting on the fact seems like asking for trouble.

The platters placed and the meat revealed, the next few minutes are spent by the Amber royal family taking various cuts of meat. The meat is mostly beef, with a few different cuts, ranging from beef ribs to rounds of beef tenderloin to a single platter of what appears to be poultry.

"A few years ago, Aunt Flora brought a guest chef from something she called a churrascaria," Noys explains. "Some sort of restaurant where they serve meat, and lots of it, in numerous, different ways and styles. Michael took to the techniques like a fish to water."

"As the newest to our table," Random says, loudly, after chewing and swallowing a piece of the beef tenderloin. "Ederyn, traditionally, if you want to bring up a topic or concern, now's the time. Even if you haven't formally sworn allegiance yet."

Heads turn in Ederyn's direction curiously.

Ederyn stops chewing for a moment, his gaze on the king, then resumes, glancing around the table and obviously thinking. He finishes his mouthful, picks up his wineglass, and takes a sip. Then he speaks, sitting back a little with glass in hand, glancing around again; his accented speech is just loud enough to be heard by all. "I have asked some of you about my father," he says. "Maybe not all of you know that I never saw him in life."

There are some murmurs of surprise, and others of agreement, around the table.

"I have heard some very honest things from this question," Ederyn goes on. "So, I am thinking maybe he is not something that you want to talk about at dinner. But I want very much to know all about him that I can." His gaze, wandering from face to face now, is determined.

"Random," comes the voice of Flora. "Is this a good idea?"

"Of course not," Fiona smirks. "Talking of dead kings has its hazards."

"The boy has a right to know his father," Random says. "Everyone does." He looks hard. Moments pass.

"All right." He looks around the table, from Vialle, Minh and down all the way to Fiona and back up to Ederyn. "Everyone answers one question from Ederyn or shares something about Eric. Ederyn's choice."

"I'll go first, then Vialle, and down the line," Random looks at Ederyn expectantly. "Go on, son."

"I know something about the ... events of not long ago," Ederyn says. "But there was much more to his life than that, I am sure."

"Yes. Yes, he lived a full life as a Prince."

"And a King," Noys pipes up.

"And a King," Random says. He looks at Ederyn keenly. "Is that what you want to know? What he was like a King? Or when he was younger? Some story from his past. Before or after he threw me in prison?"

"Oh, Random," Vialle says.

Ederyn looks interested. "Was that before or after you shot at him?" he asks lightly. More lightly, perhaps, than his relatives may think is appropriate.

Random stares at Ederyn for a long moment. He gives a glance to Noys. The entire table is silent.

"Ha!" he finally says, with a grin. "Very good, Ederyn. I see your sister has been educating you."

"With some less biased sources," Noys pipes in. "Not just my view."

"Hunh." Random says. "To answer your question, I walked Rebma's Pattern and tried to kill your father with a crossbow. I figure I owed it to Corwin, who was down in the dungeon, blinded, at the time. This was about six months after his coronation. 'Course, it only ended up that I wound up in the dungeon, myself. For reasons I still don't understand, a week later, I got a cell mate." He puts his hand on Vialle's.

"Your father could have kept me in the dungeon longer," Random says to Ederyn. "But he didn't. He let me out not too long after Corwin escaped, actually. Although I think that was mainly because of the Black Road."

Ederyn nods cordially. "Thank you, Uncle," he says. Then he glances around the table. "This is all going to be cold," he remarks in mild tones, and picks up his knife and fork to start cutting pieces from the meat on his plate.

"No one said we had to be statues during this star chamber," Fiona says.

"Star chamber?" Flora says. "That's a bit unkind, sister."

After a moment or two, Ederyn glances up at Vialle. "Aunt Vialle? Perhaps the first time you met my father?"

"It was a week after Random had left me and walked the Rebman Pattern," Vialle says. "The Queen was furious, of course, he was supposed to have stayed a year in Rebma."

"Couldn't stay," Random says. "Eric would have kept watch against that day. He had spies in Moire's Court."

"I know, dear," Vialle says. "Anyway, Ederyn, I petitioned the Queen to journey to Amber to get my husband back. Met Eric in the office behind the throne room. Petitioned for his release. Eric refused, said that attempted assassination had to be punished.

"So I asked him to be put in Random's cell with him," Vialle said. "Without Random, my status in Moire's Court was ... uncertain. For the sake of that status, and my growing affection for my husband. Eric, amazingly, agreed.

"He had a powerful, rich voice," Vialle says. "I can hear some of it in your voice, Ederyn. They tell me you look a lot he did at a young age."

Ederyn suppresses an irrational urge to try speaking in a higher register. "Yes, I have learned about that," he says. Though he's trying to be dispassionate, it's not hard to detect that what he feels about that is definitely not joy.

"Thank you," he concludes, and looks at the next person in line. "Maybe something from more long ago?" he asks hopefully.

As currently arranged, the table runs, from Random, to Vialle, next are Flora, Asteria, Tina and Corwin. Then comes Minh, followed by Fiona. Pollux is followed by his brother Castor. Finally, this returns to Noys, Ederyn himself, and Dulcinea, who finishes the table.

"Ederyn," Flora says with a smile. "A man, especially a young man like yourself, should not imply the age of a lady."

"Unicorn save us," Fiona mutters. Ederyn doesn't react to the sally at all.

Flora ignores her, and looks at Ederyn intently with those blue eyes. "Something from more long ago, you say?" she says.

"Brand wasn't always the studious would-be destroyer of the universe. He was once a moody teenage brat who delighted in tormenting his sister who was a few years younger than him," Flora says. "Me."

"One day, after his latest bit, which involved 'testing the properties of gravity by dropping my dolls off of the roof of the castle', I ran crying to my rooms. Eric came by, asked me what had happened." Flora looks intently at Ederyn. "Your father could be comforting, charming, paternal, and persuasive. I would never have told Oberon. I told Eric. He was furious.

"I don't know what Eric said or did to Brand." Flora says. "I've heard rumors. I've heard stories. But Brand never said a cross word to me, never inflicted another torment, not until I was well grown.

"That's what I remember about your father," Flora says to Ederyn.

"Thank you," he says, in exactly the same tone as when he thanked Vialle. Moving on, he looks to Asteria. "Hello again, cousin," he says pleasantly, and then hesitates, trying to think of something to ask.

"I can't give you something from Eric's youth," Asteria says with a smile. "But I can give you something else." She looks thoughtfully down at her plate. A look of hesitancy, followed by determination.

"Has anyone told you about The Hall of Mirrors, and the visions you can see within it, Ederyn?" Asteria says. "I saw Eric there, once. Shall I tell you of that, cousin?"

Intrigued, he says, "Certainly. But I haven't heard of this Hall of Mirrors before, I think."

"The black sheep of the Castle architecture," Random says.

"That's one way to put it, brother," Fiona says briskly.

"The Hall of Mirrors, Ederyn." Corwin clears his throat. "It's an enchanted portion of the Castle. A corridor that wanders the castle. Sometimes you see it. It's not counseled you go walking down it, because walking into enchanted hallways can be dangerous." He looks at Asteria.

"I've long since scolded my daughter, brother," Flora says. "the deed is done."

"Go ahead, dear," she urges her. "Tell them what you saw."

Asteria takes a breath. "I stumbled across the hall by accident, as nearly everyone does. This was a few weeks after Random's coronation when people came back from the War. I stumbled into the corridor and met a slew of visions. That's what you see, Ederyn. Sometimes they even talk to you. One of the visions I saw was of Eric. He was standing on a battlefield, wearing the crown of Amber. It wasn't any battlefield I recognized. He met my gaze, cousin, and he spoke to me.

"He said that he was soon going to lose his crown with his head," Asteria says, pausing to swallow, "but that a child of his would one day wear a crown of his own. I distinctly remember," Asteria looks at Ederyn, "that Eric said he, and not she. He then wandered back into the depths of the reflection, and was gone."

Random looks distracted. Fiona smirks and speaks up.

"There's always non sensical elements to any sort of scrying, prophecy, visions or delusions, Ederyn," she says. "I have the theory that the Hall of Mirrors is a piece of Tir Na'Nogth that is trapped in Amber somehow. Which suggests one might be able to get to there from here. Or perhaps it's a reflection of Rebma. Full of Mirrors and Mirror witches, too. I wouldn't worry your head about Asteria's vision."

Ederyn doesn't care for her patronizing tone, but it's certainly not worth more to him than a brief extension of his attention before he turns his gaze away from her.

"It sounds like something he would wish for, and wish for strongly, is it not so?" he remarks, ostensibly to Asteria. "But it's very too late for his wishes to make my choices."

"Yes and no," Flora says. "What our parents and relatives, even the dead ones, want is an abiding concern in an extended and long running family like ours, Ederyn."

Ederyn's chin lifts a bit and his jaw sets stubbornly, but he doesn't bother arguing semantics.

"What I wonder is what you would see if you visited Tir," Asteria adds. "Would you meet Eric? Would he speak to you?"

"That would be very dangerous," Noys says sharply. Asteria frowns and quiets.

Random looks unhappier in his distracted concentration.

Ederyn looks to Tina. "Did he ever visit Rebma?" He's mildly proud that he keeps his aversion to even the concept of visiting Rebma out of his voice - at least, he believes he does.

"Not in my lifetime, not in the time of his kingship or Regency." Tina shakes her head. "I do know that he considered asking Moire's hand in marriage when he was in control of Amber, though," she says. "And ..." she looks around and settles her eyes on Corwin. "He would have had to visit when younger, right?"

"The three of us did," Corwin says. "That was when Oberon renamed the staircase to Rebma. He re-named it in honor of our mother, your grandmother, Faiella. The Rebmans didn't like it, but they were our vassals at the time, and had to accept it. I wonder if they will try and reclaim its old name now they've declared themselves independent."

"That's current politics." Flora said. "And nothing to do with Eric."

"But no less true. And annoying," Fiona says.

"I think I've talked your ear off about my brother," Corwin says to Ederyn. He glances at Minh.

"I never had the honor to meet King Eric your honored father," the young man says. "However, do you know of the play The Tragical History of King Eric of Amber?" he asks Ederyn.

Flora and Fiona look distinctly uncomfortable, although Corwin looks slightly bemused.

"I've heard of one, play," Ederyn says, trying to remember exactly what it was that he heard and whether it fits these reactions.

"There is no standard, Crown-approved work on the subject," Flora says. "The Tragical History of King Eric of Amber is brilliant, but the people in it are not myself and the rest of your family. Think of them, at best, as fictionalized versions of them and the events of the War. Very fictionalized," she emphasizes. "It should not be taken as history or biography of your father."

"Not at all," Fiona agrees.

Ederyn nods, and looks at Fiona. "I'm interested to hear what you think I should know about my father, Aunt Fiona," he says, in a very polite and formal tone.

"A more curious question," Fiona says. She purses her lips and looks thoughtful for a couple of moments.

"You have stumped her," Corwin interjects. "I am not sure this moment should not be recorded for posterity." Flora looks amused at this, as does her daughter. Most everyone else focuses on Fiona curiously, only Minh looking directly at her.

Fiona does not give him a look. Instead she turns those green eyes at Ederyn.

"Your father was an unacknowledged son of your grandfather, and that lack of acknowledgement, formally and otherwise, drove all that he did. He wanted to be his father's heir, and that drove all that he did. He tried to take care of Amber, and that drove all that he did. He knew little of magic, something of swordplay and much of politics.

"And," Fiona asks. "He lives on. Not just through you, but I've seen his Pattern Ghost. Recently, too. You might even say he is a player in the events of our universe."

The room goes silent in surprise. Noys looks poleaxed.

Ederyn stares. Noys' information had mentioned Pattern Ghosts briefly, but he hadn't thought of them as something active. After a moment, he says, "Are you willing to describe this seeing the Ghost recently?"

"This is not precisely news," Corwin says to Fiona. "At least from what my son described."

"No, not seven or eight years ago," Fiona says, keeping her attention on Ederyn. "I last spoke with the Ghost of your father a month ago, I'd say. I speak to him on regular, if infrequent occasions."

"Are you seriously saying you are friends with Eric's Ghost?" Corwin says. "And you are just choosing to reveal this, now, because Ederyn asked a question?"

"Ederyn did not bind us all to speak truth," Fiona says. "But I am not lying." She keeps looking at Ederyn, and widens her gaze to take in Noys as well. "I've spoken to him about you, of course, Noys, but have not had the chance to talk to him about you, Ederyn. Not yet, anyway. Should I give him your regards? Both of your regards?"

Ederyn can feel Noys barely restraining her trembling. The rest of the room is watching the interplay closely but not saying a word.

He looks at Noys, laying a reassuring hand on her arm, then back at Fiona. "I suppose that would be polite," he manages, inadvertently demonstrating that his accent can, in fact, get thicker and less comprehensible.

"But perhaps we should move on with the questioning, shouldn't we?" Fiona says, looking at Pollux. Pollux looks at Ederyn and cocks his head as if indicating he is ready to answer, if Ederyn does want to disentangle with Fiona.

Ederyn nods jerkily to him, but can't even begin to formulate a question.

"I can speak about your father at length," Pollux says, giving Fiona a cool glance and then a warm smile to Ederyn. "My brother, too. We're among the eldest of our generation, you know. Carl would not likely talk to you about him, and that would leave Lorius, if you were looking for perspectives from the point of view of a child of an Elder."

"How I hate that term," Flora interjects.

"Any road," Pollux says. "Your father, as your sister can tell you, had a keen mind for diplomacy. Questions of Rebma aside, he had a mind for building personal relationships for political purposes. I'll tell you the story of my father and how we came to be another time, but the thrust of it is that it was people like your father, Ederyn, who did heavy lifting with more than a few Golden Circle Shadows. He got them on board with our grandfather when it came to dealing with the Deigan Succession, or the War of Three Kings, or the attempted partition of Menuis. I shadowed him on a number of occasions, learned from him, saw him in action."

His cousin's list of references to places and events he's barely heard of actually helps Ederyn regain most of his equilibrium. Not knowing exactly what someone is talking about has gotten to be a familiar, though unpleasant, sensation.

Castor picks up the ball smoothly. "A bit of an amusement for you, cousin," he says to Ederyn. "You've taken a long journey on ship to get here, from what Noys tells me. For all of his diplomatic endeavors, though," he gives a nod to his brother. "Your father hated sailing. It wasn't precisely that he got seasick, but he could not stand to be on a ship if he could possibly help it. I think he felt pent and cramped on board a vessel. Met him on the water once in shadow, though, cousin. He'd found a ship big enough that he reacted better to it. A ship called an aircraft carrier, they called it," Castor says.

Intrigued, Ederyn considers whether to remark on his own dislike of sailing.

At this point, suddenly, Fiona rises, her nose twitching and her face in a frown. "Excuse me," she says. "I must depart. Something is wrong." She heads out of the room.

The room is a mixture of relief and confusion.

Ederyn stares after her, then turns his attention to what (if anything) the stones of the Castle know about what might be wrong.

The stones of the Castle are ringing, slightly, like a bell struck, but Ederyn does not know why. The stones don't know why, either.

He decides to keep half an eye on them, as best he can while also carrying on a conversation.

"We continue," Random says. "We'll find out what bee is in her bonnet, later."

Ederyn puts "bonnet" on his vocabulary list. "I have talked a lot with Noys," he says, and turns toward his other side. "Dulcinea? Did my father's diplomacy bring him to Maeonis?"

Dulcinea nods. "Eric came to Maeonis several hundred years ago. It is said, although it may be a fable, Ederyn, that he, ah, seduced one of the priestesses of Aphrodite Acidalia during his visit."

"Doubtful," Pollux says. "Eric wasn't a tomcat like that. Or he wouldn't have gone seducing a priestess for kicks. Not sure about the diplomatic trip, part, he never told me about it. Don't recall it in the histories, either. Shannon would know," he adds.

"Relations did not progress with Amber for many decades afterward," Dulcinea says. "But it does explain," she faces Ederyn, "a peculiar thing I've remarked upon now that I have come here to Amber. There is a statue of Ares Areios in the Pantheon in Maeonis that looks an awful lot like your father. Or you for that matter, Ederyn."

"That will be something to look for, if I ever go there," he says politely, then looks around the table. "I thank you all for your patience," he says formally. "I never imagined that coming here could become so difficult a thing. I wish it were not so."

Noys puts a hand on Ederyn's shoulder. "You were eventually meant to come here. Even if you go off and be like Sand and Delwin, you're part of this family. You should know your heritage."

"Well said," Flora says approvingly. "We're your family, like it or not. Living in ignorance in a relatively impoverished shadow is undignified for the child of Eric. Or any of us."

Suddenly, the idea of living in a simple hut on the mountainside, instead of in the castle, has even greater appeal to Ederyn.

"Now that's out of the way, to other matters," Random says. He looks at Ederyn. "Don't know the customs of your land, and they're important to you. So I don't want to tread on your toes, unless I'm intentionally doing it."

"Here it comes," Corwin mutters. Random scowls at him, then looks at Ederyn.

"Your presence here can be problematic as long as you are a free agent, since you're the child of the last king, like your sister there," Random says. "Amber isn't looking for a change of administration, but I'd not want some ambitious noble family putting some pretty little thing in your bed as a way to try to get you to make a play for power yourself, and for them.

"Plus, Benedict has his little war on, and I'd rather have you have the Pattern before you get sent off to that," Random says. "I want you to join the family formally."

Baffled by this oblique way of putting it, Ederyn looks blank for a moment. Then he says, "Is this the fealty oath you are speaking of?"

"It is," Random says.

"Yes, of course," Ederyn says. "To be part of this family is what I want."

"Good," Random says.

"Is this truly necessary, here and now, rather than in camera, milord King?" Corwin says.

"I've talked a bit with Ederyn in chambers before. But sometimes you have to put your cards on the table. In public. We've gotten bitten when we've not done that," Random says.

"Ah, Luke," Corwin says aloud, nodding.

There is a ripple of discontent that Ederyn sees run around the table at the mention of the name.

"Brand's son," Noys says quietly into Ederyn's ear. "King of Kashfa and a Family Problem."

"How is this going to play in Weirmonken?" Random asks Ederyn. "What are you *doing* with Weirmonken anyway?"

"I am planning to learn enough about Weirmonken so that I can have ideas about what to do about it," Ederyn says. "While I was there for just a few days, I met three Weir, several Fae, some ship carpenters, some inn keepers, and the Sea Lord."

He frowns into his wine glass, recalling some of his gloomier thoughts on the subject. "I had not heard of the Omphalos then, so I did not look for their influence, but I think it is possible. They knew to attack Prince Julian, although they are strangers to this universe. They also may know there is a way from Weirmonken to Amber. Although crossing that land may be more difficult than they think. Or they might travel by sea. Or both."

"They don't seem to be mariners, at least as far as we know," Random says. "They drop their portals, pour out and do their business. Difficult terrain, such as Weirmonken, might require a large application of their resources to effectively subjugate. They are unlikely to sail from another shadow into Weirmonken, or even into Amber."

"The refugee fleet Gerard is dealing with," Pollux says. "They escaped by sea, and were not pursued."

"Right," Random says.

"But back to the matters at hand," he says. "So you aren't looking to use Weirmonken as a lever. Yet, anyway. I suppose the question, besides being part of the Family, is what do you want?"

"We might be asking him too soon, Random," Vialle says gently. But her sightless eyes turn toward Ederyn.

Belatedly remembering Noys' advice about "his" shadow, he says, "What I hope about Weirmonken is that it will take care of itself most of the time. I'll certainly try to make that be so."

"Just as long as we don't get invaded again," Corwin says.

"Yes ... that's a good reason for watching them," he replies.

"And for everything else ..." Ederyn sighs. "I have learned a lot from traveling, but I think it has not changed me much. I suppose I still want what I have wanted for longest: peace, and quiet, and work to do." He smiles briefly. "A smith's work isn't quiet, of course, but ..." He gestures helplessly, unable to find words to explain the feel of being in focus and creating something.

"And there's also the Pattern," Ederyn adds. "I want that." He meets Random's gaze directly, and nods in affirmation of what he's just said. It's entirely possible that he wants it a little too much, if anyone can read his expression that well.

"Well, then, we sort out you swearing an oath to me and Amber, and you get the Pattern. That's simple. Title of Prince, of course," Random says.

Ederyn, feels a jab of a finger from Noys, under cover of the table, at that.

"Ah, Noys has tried to explain what these 'titles' are," he puts in. "If I remember correctly, that should be 'Royal Prince,' is that right?"

"Royal Prince?" Random asks, with a tone of clearly feigned ignorance.

"Royal Prince, sire," Noys says. "Ederyn is the son of a King."

There is a murmur from Corwin and Flora.

"Royal Prince," Random says. "It just means I'll put you even more to work, son."

"And as far as your smithcraft, you can make magical items on a forge, Ederyn?" Random asks. "Weapons? Artifacts? I'd give you a forge of your own, if you can do that."

"Random, you're not suggesting we add a new forge to the Castle?" Flora says.

"I can't exactly see a member of the Royal Family making horseshoes for a living. And if he can do more interesting and useful things, it's worth the cost" Random says. He continues to look at Ederyn. "Right?"

"I can make very good horseshoes," Ederyn says blandly, but with a hint of humor. "I make farming tools, weapons, armor, jewelry, kitchen tools, metal parts that go in boats, wood-working tools, metal harness pieces ... whatever is needed. My work lasts well, rusts slowly, keeps an edge better than your mother-in-law's tongue ..." He stops what is obviously a practiced spiel, looking a bit sheepish. And also a little surprised. "I am getting better at knowing this language," he remarks, shaking his head at himself.

"Wouldn't Moire technically be Random's mother in law since you were a ward of the Court, my Queen?" Corwin says.

"No," Vialle says defensively, and makes a hushing sound so Ederyn can continue.

"Also," he goes on, "I put power into things when it's needed, or if I want to. I am not sure how to put in these words what I do in that way. The people who taught me had no need for those kinds of words.

"I'm sure," he adds, "the smiths who work here would let me use their forge, but then they would not get their work done."

"Hence getting you one of your own," Random says. He waves a hand at Flora. "You've been doing architectural stuff. I'm sure a small bit of that extra can be extended and turned into a forge for Ederyn.

"I know what I want from you first, Ederyn," Random says. "But that's a matter we discuss in private. Price of getting the forge is you make something for me, first. Capische?"

Ederyn looks cheerful at the prospect of work, after so long without any access to a forge. "Of course," he says.

"Good," Random says. "I think that settles it. A forge, rooms in the Castle, title of Royal Prince, access to the Pattern. Weirmonken to be decided later." He makes a temporizing sound and looks thoughtfully at Ederyn.

"He's going to ask you now," Noys says softly. "And in Court, later."

"I can hear you, Noys," Random says mildly. "I think Elias cleaning the mantel over in the June Room on the other of the Castle can hear you."

Noys makes a face. Ederyn works to stifle a smile.

"I do know you're not the high-social type, son," Random says to Ederyn. "We've got to eventually do it in Court, for the forms, but I suspect that doing it here and now, with just your relatives, is an easier audience to handle. Isn't it, Ederyn?"

"After all, by the Unicorn, Fiona hasn't returned," Corwin chuckles.

Ederyn glances at Corwin, unsure of what to make of that remark. Then he looks back at Random. "I don't know what words you expect for this oath," he says simply, "but I am willing to do it now."

"Excellent," Random says. "Your sister will do for a second, and we have Princesses and Royal Princesses a plenty to hear. Noys, if you would?"

Noys whispers in Ederyn's ear. "Some of the form can vary," she says. "What I said years ago ..." She stops and closes her eyes. And then speaks.

"I ... Noys Benes ... Daughter of King Eric of Amber ... do pledge you, Random, son of Oberon and Paulette, rightful ruler of Amber, the service of my hands and my heart until my final death or the breaking of the Arch of Time. May I never fail you. And may the Unicorn witness my oath.

"Something like that," Noys says aloud, to Ederyn. "Go ahead, brother. He will give one in return as your liege lord. It's his duty."

"Thank you, Noys," Random says thinly. "Kneeling is traditional, too, Ederyn."

He nods. "And you should have a sword for me to swear on, or at least a ring?"

"Royal ring of office will do," Random says, drawing it from a pocket and putting it on. "Figured it might be useful tonight." The ring is white gold, with a single large emerald. He slips it on his right ring finger.

Ederyn stands, meets Random's gaze, then glances around the table with one of his slight smiles. "In Norwend, again, this kind of oath is started with some talking about himself by the oath-giver," he says, "but I will leave that out this time."

Giving Random his full attention again, he finishes assembling his thoughts and puts his mind in the proper frame. As he does so, his stance changes slightly: a little more erect, stronger, more 'present' than he often seems. He strides forward and lowers himself to both knees before the king, keeping his body straight otherwise, and reaches out his right hand to touch the ring.

When he speaks, his voice is quite audible and his tone is firm and surprisingly compelling. The foreign words still come a little slowly, but that only seems to add gravitas.

"I, Ederyn Ericsen Smith, do pledge to you, Random son of Oberon and Paulette, rightful ruler of Amber, the service of my hands and my heart. My weapons and my strength are yours to command, and the skills of my hands and the wisdom of my heart also. And I swear that I am not interested in your kingship and will not try to take it from you, and I will not permit anyone to attempt that for me or for anyone else. Let my oaths be witnessed by ��inn Alf��r, by T�r and Freyr and Nj�r�r; if I fail to keep this oath, let their vengeance be swift, may my own blade's edge turn against me, and every man curse my name."

Finished, he bends to kiss the ring, then straightens and waits for Random's reply.

Random regards Ederyn with more seriousness than he has seen him. He nods once, and speaks.

"And I, Random, King of Amber, son of Oberon and Paulette, hear your oath and shall remember. I do swear I shall defend you and yours with all my power, until your death or the world ends. Ragnarok, in your tongue. I grant you all the duties and responsibilities and privileges of the title Royal Prince of Amber, of the line of Eric. Let all know and recognize this.

"Royal Prince Ederyn," he says. "Rise."

Ederyn nods once, in his turn, and gets back to his feet.

The applause comes from his sister, first, with tears in her eyes. If Ederyn notices, the applause is taken up, in order by Vialle, Dulcinea, and then the remainder of the room. The first applause catches his attention as he turns, and he smiles a little in response as he makes his way back to his seat.

"Next Court we'll do it for the vassals and the paparazzi," Random says once the applause tapers off. "They've certainly gotten their money's worth this season."

Vialle leans over and whispers in Random's ear. He nods. "Right, we're also going to have to find permanent rooms for you, Ederyn," Random says. "Thanks to a little contretemps a few years ago, that won't be so hard.

"I think," he adds to the room at large, "this calls for dessert.

"I heard that some of your folk eat fish preserved in lye for fun," Random says to Ederyn "Michael refused to make that, unless, and I quote, 'it was the only foodstuff to be had within 500 miles, and starvation had been tried and failed as an alternative.'"

Ederyn's eyes widen slightly and he looks away. At the table, at the fine dishes, at the impossible gulf between himself and these people. He doesn't think what he feels is even anger; it's more like dismay. Not, he decides worth arguing over.

Noys notices, and puts a hand on his arm. "There are other family members who come from non-noble origins," she says quietly to him, quiet enough that only Dulcinea, perhaps, hears it as well. He gives a kind of half-nod, half-shrug, and a weak attempt at a smile.

What dessert turns out is presaged by the familiar spell of lefse, this is served, unexpectedly, with something cold and white on it. Ice cream.

Most people are being served some sort of dark liqueur. Ederyn, however, is presented with a stein of something equally familiar. Mead! It appears that the twins, at least, have also been served mead as well.

He immediately gives the mead a taste and is pleased to find it good. Not as good as the best he's ever tasted, but very good.

"I know ice cream doesn't generally go with this," Noys says, "but Michael has had a fascination for it recently and has been pairing it with a number of desserts. How is your mead? Amber is wine country, of course, but if you really like it, that will draw notice."

"It's good," he says.

"You could sponsor a brewery," Dulcinea suggests. "Back in Maeonis, up in the Bottia region, some mead is made. Something lighter than this brew, though."

"Easy," Pollux suggests. "Ederyn is still getting used to being part of a royal family, without getting him tangled in patents and monopolies."

"Someone would have to explain what those are," Ederyn replies. "But not tonight, I thank you," he adds hastily.

Pollux chuckles. "Fair enough, cousin."

"How," Random takes a bite of his dessert and changes the subject, "are we going to handle your three vassals, Ederyn. Are they permanently stuck to you like glue? Your friend the Ambassador seems to be doing well for himself, and we can get him situated in the old embassy for his shadow without any sweat."

"Do you mean the building in the city? That would suit Daniel, I think, but he was not expecting that," Ederyn says. "I believe he was looking for another place, today."

"I'll have to see who or what is in the old embassy, or even if he still wants it," Random replies.

"About the three Weir, I'm not sure," Ederyn says. "I think it is a matter of pride for them to stay with me as long as they can. But not, certainly, with me every moment ... I understand that some Weir used to stay in the Ruby Suite when they were here."

Noys beams. Random clicks his teeth. "Is that true, Flora?" he asks Flora.

"Yes," Flora says. "Not an official real ambassadorial suite per se, but de facto, certainly."

"Well, that solves that problem. We'll get Henden to put them there, at the same time we find new digs for you. As far as the forge," Random looks at Flora. "Flora is still technically Royal Architect. You can talk to her about that longer term project."

"All four of us are already staying in the Ruby Suite," Ederyn advises the king. "That's how I know about it."

"Ah," Random says. "Someone didn't send me the memo. Well, they can certainly stay there, then, once we have you set out."

Looking to Flora, Ederyn says, "I will not need a large space."

"No?" Flora says, regarding Ederyn with her blue eyes. "I would still think that if a Royal Prince of the Realm is to have a forge," she wrinkles her nose, "of his own, it should be of a size befitting his status."

"She's got a point, son," Random says, looking at Ederyn. "We're not going to give you a ramshackle shack."

"Perhaps, Mother," Asteria says between bites of her dessert "We should call it something less ... prosaic?"

"Perhaps," Flora says. "I don't know the specifics on how to design a Forge-Cathedral, what it precisely needs. I trust, Ederyn, we might have a chat in the near future about the requirements for such an addition to the Castle?"

"Without burning down said Castle, or filling it with smoke, or worse," Random clarifies.

Ederyn doesn't think any of them are joking. But he's seen a cathedral in Montenegro, and the thought of a forge designed along those lines is ridiculous. And, he realizes with relief, dangerous.

"Of course," he says to both Flora and Random. Then he adds to his aunt, "But it really cannot be very large. That would make it too hard to control the fire and the smoke."

"Well," Random rubs his hands together. "I am sure the two of you can work out the logistics. Once the forge is off the drafting table and actually a part of the castle, we'll talk about our deal."

Ederyn acknowledges this instruction with a nod, and silently wonders how long the process will take.

"And I think," Random adds, "that's dinner." He looks around. "Pity Fi isn't here. Noys, do see that Ederyn gets the usual reading material. In a language he can understand, if necessary," he adds with a moment's reflection. "See he reads it before he tries anything crazy. You know the drill."

"My lord King," Noys says.

Members of the Royal Family are starting to get up and get ready to depart, but none have departed if Ederyn should wish to engage any of them.

He tries, he thinks successfully, not to show relief that this ordeal is over. Since he hasn't finished his mead, he stays put, sipping from his mug and hoping for a moment or two of quiet.

Noys seems to sense this, stepping from her chair and chatting people on their way out of the room. His body language, or perhaps Noys, seems to dissuade anyone from coming over to congratulate or speak to the newest member of the family. Soon, the room goes quiet, and empty except for Ederyn, his mead, and Noys, some meters away. She's leaned back against a wall, palms oriented back against it and watches Ederyn silently, but with a smile of pride upon her lips. She patiently waits for Ederyn to make the first move or the first word.

In the meantime, a few servants have come in to clear the dishes and detritius of the other dinner guests, giving Ederyn a berth wide enough to leave both Noys and Dulcinea's dishes and cutlery alone.

Only a few minutes pass, while Ederyn nurses his drink and gathers himself for the next effort, like a man pausing to rest while climbing a mountain. The servants are still working on clearing other sections of the table when he puts down his mug, carefully wipes his face with a napkin, and gets to his feet.

"I should find out if the Weir have come back," he says to Noys as he moves toward her.

Noys pushes off from the wall. "Are you all right?" she asks, turning her head. "I know this crowding, this sudden influx of family, all of this is overwhelming," she says. "It's some of the reason why, after walking the Pattern for the first time, many of us travel in Shadow for a while. Get our heads around what and who we are."

Ederyn offers her his arm, so they can walk together; Noys takes the arm and leads him out of the room and toward the main stairs. "It is like coming down from the hills in the autumn," he says meditatively, "except that there are rarely many strangers in Drengrheim's mead-hall. There, I've known almost everyone since they were children; here, almost everyone is a stranger ... and where is Lorius, do you know?"

"Probably dipping his fingers into yet another of his pies," Noys says. She pauses a beat. "That is to say, Lorius always has ten projects going on at once, and he's probably dealing with one of them. Did you want to talk to him? I'm sure he will be delighted by your news. Probably would want to come along with us if we try and look for what Father was searching for."

"So I should expect to see him when I see him?" Ederyn says. "Well enough. I was only curious." He frowns to himself. "My list of things to do is getting longer with every hour, it seems. I think that calling the Weir to start preparing for Benedict's war should be next, but ..." He pauses. "Do you have our father's Trumps? Is there one for Weirmonken?"

"Father never had a trump of Weirmonken," Noys says, as they descend to the ground floor. "For the longest time, the number of people who knew or could draw Trumps was extremely limited. Dworkin was the original Amber Trump Artist, and his set was the definitive one. The redheads, some of them, learned how to do it, and a few others have as well. Not Father, though. He never got along with the redheads to flesh out his trump deck.

"I, however," she smiles, "have made a effort of making connections and collecting favors to get others to make trumps for me, and lessons to learn, as I told you I have done. I've been slowly building a collection of trumps of places and people.

"I created one for a spot just outside a small human settlement in Weirmonken. Leckei, I think. I thought one day it might come in useful."

"Ah, good," Ederyn says. "At least I hope that will be a useful location. I think, you see, that I would rather use the Pattern to find the Fire Pattern, not for going to Weirmonken."

"A Pattern Teleport is to be used carefully, brother," Noys says, as they head into the diplomatic wing. "Everyone has a story of where they went the first time they teleported. Some choices have been more foolish or wasteful than others. Trying to find the hidden Pattern is a good use, I think," she says. "Although we'll want to make sure you have a trump deck or other means to contact others. Our aforementioned cousin Lorius, for example. Or me."

"The possibility of something like a furnace, or a fire-mountain, has crossed my mind," Ederyn admits. "We must think it through and try to prepare for something like that."

From inside of the Ruby Suite, he can hear the sound of laughter from one of the Weir. Boaz, in point of fact. Inside, the three Weir, and Ambassador Poole, are gathered around a table, playing a game with dice. There is also a pair of wine bottles open on the table. Only one cup, in front of the Ambassador. Kezia slaps Cyrus on the back. "Moons, Cyrus, you really can't keep a straight face, can you?"

Cyrus growls, good naturedly, and then turns. "The Jarl," he says, sobering.

"The Jarl," Boaz and Kezia say.

"Ederyn," Poole says. "How good to see you!" He blinks his eyes. "And you as well, Princess."

Ederyn surveys the cozy scene benignly. "Have you had dinner?" he asks.

"The Chamberlain sent a servant here with something called barbecued beef brisket," Boaz growls. "It satisfied."

"Lots of delicious meat," Kezia says. Cyrus adds a wolfish grin and smacks his lips.

"I had to make do with some remainders," Poole says. "However, I am not starving."

"Good," Ederyn says, adding two chairs to the group around the table and sitting in one. "Daniel," he says, "it seems that your embassy might be able to have the building it had before. At least, the King seems to think so. I told him I thought that might suit you."

"The original embassy building?" Daniel widens his eyes. "I did not think it was available after all of this time. I would be honored if this is to be." He swallows. "This is your doing, as a member of the family, to make this happen?" he asks.

"The Jarl is generous, if this is so," Cyrus says.

"The King did not need to be persuaded too deeply by Ederyn," Noys puts in. "However, having a friend in a Prince of Amber is a good thing. Although there will be a formal public investiture, he is now officially a Royal Prince of Amber, a recognized son of our father King Eric."

The table doesn't quite get flipped over with the hoots and cheers as the Weir rise to their feet, but it does rattle and dice go flying across the room.

Ederyn steadies the wine bottles and looks amused, though he finds this level of celebration a little excessive. He's still not sure what Random's idea of "work" is, after all.

When the noise dies down, he says to the Weir, "We have a busy time ahead of us. This problem of the Omphalos is, I think, our first thing. Do you know a human village in Weirmonken called Leckei? Is it close enough to the Weir to be useful?"

"Leckei." Cyrus looks at Boaz, and then both look at Kezia.

"Leckei," she says, closing her eyes briefly. "Yes. Leckei is a small village not too far away from Turku. As you will recall, milord Jarl, that is where repairs to your ship were made. Leckei lies on the mainland to the south of Turku, and is relatively close to several of the lands of the Clans, including mine. We do not prefer it grow overly large."

"Ja, Ja, Turku," Daniel says. "Better for the Weir that we do not base ourselves there."

"I avoided Turku myself," Noys says, looking at Ederyn. "I had suspicions that one of our cousins might have a strong hand there, and that by making myself known there and using it as a base, said cousin might know I was doing work in Weirmonken. I preferred this not be well known."

"Well," Ederyn says, "it seems that I am claiming Weirmonken, so this other cousin will have to give up his work. Or her work."

"Oh not work," Noys says. "Meddling and snooping." She can tell that he plans to ask questions later, but for now he lets it drop.

Looking back to the Weir, Ederyn says, "So, when the time comes, I suppose in the next day or two, thanks to my sister we can use a Trump to go to Weirmonken to gather the warriors for Benedict. Much easier than walking there."

Kezia nods. "indeed, my Lord Jarl. We stand ready to do so, at your will." Boaz and Cyrus bow their heads seriously.

"Now, for this evening," Ederyn says, "we were talking about going to a musical thing by Aunt Flora." He looks to Noys to see if that plan is still acceptable to her.

"I wasn't sure if you still wanted to, after the uncomfortable experience you had with taking tea with her," Noys replies. "However, she's a valuable ally, and showing interest in the things she likes can pay dividends down the road. After the explosion in the Castle several years ago, I managed to get better quarters than one might expect, given my age, because I've been polite, patient and friendly with her. Her credentials as Royale Architect made her a valuable ally."

"It is who you know, not what you know," Daniel says approvingly with a nod. "The Princess was kind enough to invite me."

"Still," Noys says. "The string quartet, and a salon, is not a star chamber, and any Ambassadors and the like around," she looks at Daniel, "would get to meet you, and you, they. They might be curious about you, but it will all be causal. Anything more would be uncivilized. I remember," Noys smiles, "Flora took to bringing Yukon because the Deigan Ambassador was being disruptive at such events. While her wolfhounds are not as scary as Brie's beasts, he got the point in short order."

"I think I can be not disruptive," Ederyn says. His eyes are amused as he adds, "Despite the talk at dinner."

"You are not a bull in a china shop, brother," Noys says. "And, with her sudden disappearance at dinner, the odds of Fiona gatecrashing are extremely low. We should make our toilet, and go."

"There is a fence at this salon?" Boaz asks.

"No," Noys says amused. "I think your vassals would be bored, though."

"I do not think," Kezia says, "we were going to attend, unless the Jarl commanded it. Did you intend that, my Jarl?" Kezia turns to regard Ederyn.

"Only come if you want to," he says. "But it would not harm the Weir to show interest in things these people call 'civilized.' Even if it is pretended interest." His gaze drifts to Cyrus. "So perhaps you should stay here," he adds dryly.

"I will come, then," Kezia says after a moment's indecision. "There will thus be representation of the Weir. I will not," she adds, bemused, "come in my war-form."

Ederyn nods approvingly, and looks around the room for a moment, wondering if (unlikely as it seems) the clothing he sent to be washed has been returned.

Noys looks at Kezia. "I don't think that Aunt Flora would appreciate the extra hair."

Kezia pauses a moment, and then laughs. After a moment longer, Boaz and Cyrus do as well. "Come," Noys says as the humor fades, and nods to her brother, his vassal, and his friend. "Let us go."

"I just noticed, Daniel," Ederyn says as they turn toward the door, "my painting isn't here. It must be with all of your things."

"Your painting!" Daniel taps his forehead with his right hand's fingertips. "Ja, ja, I think it must have been mixed with my things when they were offloaded from the Vrijheid."

Out in the hallway and into the Castle, Noys deftly leads Ederyn and company through the building and to a modestly sized room. Even before Ederyn reaches the room, he can hear the sounds of musical instruments. It's a distinctly different style than musical performances in Montenegro. Ederyn notices that Daniel's steps slow, his brow furrowing in concentration.

The room itself currently has Flora, her daughter, and a small set of people Ederyn does not recognize. Asteria comes up to the group, delight on her face. "You brought him," she says, pleased, to Noys and then faces Ederyn and offers her hands. "You're among good people here. And there are so many to introduce you to." She releases his hands and re-introduces herself to Kezia and Daniel.

"Ambassadors and Nobles, and Merchant Princes," Noys says to Ederyn as Asteria speaks to Daniel and Kezia. "There will probably be a reading, or a presentation beyond the music." She gives a nod to the four musicians, two men and two women, in a corner.

"Poetry?" Ederyn says hopefully.

"Let's find out," Noys suggests, making to maneuver Ederyn past Asteria, Daniel and Kezia and over to Flora. The latter disengages talking with a white haired woman with dark eyes and comes to meet Noys and Ederyn halfway.

"I'm so delighted, dear," Flora says, "that you brought your brother to my small gathering.'

"I described the tenor of such events to Ederyn, Aunt Flora," Noys says. "My brother is hoping that there will be poetry."

"Poetry," Flora turns toward Ederyn and studies him for a moment. "You're more used to skalds, I'd imagine, than sonnets." She raises a hand. "Elspeth!" she calls. A redhaired servant comes rushing up at Flora's command. "Go and fetch the Heaney translation. We'll read from that instead of from the Tale of the Barahals tonight."

Elspeth hurries away and Flora turns back to Ederyn. "I think you will like this. You may even be familiar with a version of it."

"Thank you," he says, a little surprised. The curious attention of the strangers prickles across his awareness, and glances toward them to see if any are actually staring - a matter of idle curiosity.

It's not so much that he is being frankly stared at by various attendees of the salon, but he is being regarded, sized up, glanced at and watched to all sorts of levels of attention. Many in the room are not paying attention to him at all.

"Perhaps, dear," Flora says mildly, "you might offer your brother some introductions." Flora doesn't glare at the assemblage, but Ederyn does note that some of the more frank stares have ameliorated. Others have decided to look away entirely.

"Yes, thank you, Aunt Flora," Noys says. "Come, brother. I'll let you choose. Local noble, an ambassador, or perhaps someone without noble rank, and with temporal power. We have a couple of Merchant Princes. Princess, in the case of," she gives a nod, "Lady Shruti" She indicates a Rebman, green haired and blue skinned, stepping out from behind a pair of middle aged woman. She is wearing considerably less than everyone else, and much of that diaphanous.

Noys turns from looking at her and waving the room at large. "You could also be the patient fisherman and see who stops gawking and comes to meet you instead," she says.

Appealing though that last idea is, Ederyn decides against it. "To choose, I would have to care," he murmurs. "I'd rather let you continue to guide me, systir."

"Well, Daniel seems to be doing well by himself," Noys says, nodding her head in his direction. He is now caught between a pair of men, talking animatedly, so much so that the thickness of his accent has risen, much to his listeners' amusement.

Over the next forty minutes Noys spins Ederyn around the room, introducing him to four scions of Amber Noble houses, six Ambassadors and charge d'affaires, and three independently wealthy traders and businessmen and women from Amber City. Noys keeps it fresh and flowing, giving apologies before Ederyn can get too uncomfortable. Questions to him (and there are many) don't get repeated, as much as Ederyn might expect the various people to all ask him the same questions about himself, Norwend, and his position in the family. In turn, they reveal themselves to varying degrees, all extremely curious as to Ederyn's new position in the family and what it "means." Since he doesn't really know the answer to that last question himself, this is occasionally awkward.

Noys eventually shepherds Ederyn out of the line of fire after this barrage of meetings and introductions and looks at him with concern in a corner of the room.

"Too much?" she asks, plucking a couple of flutes of something bubbly from a tray held by a circulating servant, and offering one to Ederyn. "Ginger ale," she explains. "Not alcoholic. Good for settling nerves and your stomach. You haven't met Lady Shruti or a couple of the other guests, I noted. These things are usually so populated that the first time is a sampler pack of personalities."

Ederyn sips the fizzy stuff tentatively. "I'm all right," he says. "As long as I have some quiet time later ... it's no different from Montenegro, and those events were not all bad."

"We'll get you out before, how did Lorius describe it ..." She furrows her eyebrows. "Go postal. No idea what it really means."

Daniel and Kezia together are talking with Ambassador Ferla Quist of Begma, one of the dignitaries Ederyn got to meet in his little tour of the room. She had a lot of questions about Norwend, its geography and its trade potential with Begma. She was also extremely curious, pointedly so, about Weirmonken being 'tamed.'

Ederyn had had to ask what she meant by 'tamed,' and then debated the very concept with her. It was an interesting conversation, he thought.

The musicians start to slow down and come to a stop, the music dying away like the light of the sunset.

"And I think we're about to have our poetry reading," Noys adds.

"Oh, good," Ederyn says. He's interested to know what Flora thinks he might like.

Ederyn notices a subtle shift in the mage lights illuminating the room. Much of the room has had the lights dimmed, including where Ederyn and Noys stand. This effect is deep enough that a glance over to Kezia shows that her Weir eyes glow softly in the dark. A brighter light illuminates the space that Flora has stepped into. She carries a black book in her hand, open to the beginning.

"Tonight's reading from Seamus Heaney is in honor of the newest member of the Amber Royal Court and family. My nephew Ederyn Ericsen Smith," she says, gesturing to where Ederyn and Noys stand. "Some of you may remember the poet's Spirit Level poems, or might remember my sponsoring of the production of the play Burial at Thebes. But let us begin."

''So the Spear-Danes in days gone by and the Kings who ruled them had courage and greatness. We have heard of those Prince's heroic campaigns.

[...] So times were pleasant for the people there until finally one, a fiend out of hell began to work his evil in the world Grendel was the name of this grim demon haunting the marshes, marauding around the heath and the desolate fens ...''

She continues on for a good while in this vein. Flora seems familiar with the text, only occasionally looking down at it, preferring to let her blue eyes, her voice and a free hand to beckon the audience to join her in entering the story in verse.

That story sounds vaguely familiar to Ederyn as Flora recites verses about the tall warrior and his companions summoned to deal with the monster threatening the Hall of King Hrothgar. He's heard skalds tell a story similar but different, of a warrior prince who fought a "demon who walked as a man" and who was forced to kill it by breaking its legs, not the arm, here. But the style is very much similar to Norwend, too. If he were to recite this poem, he'd be acclaimed as a great poet, none would guess it was written by someone from far away.

"There is much more to Beowulf's Tale," Flora says. "But I think we will end the story there, for now," she says, to quiet, and then a rising tide of applause.

Ederyn also applauds. "I think I'd like to hear more of this poet's work," he remarks to Noys.

"We'll see if we can get a translated version for you." Noys says. "I do think it works best in recitation rather than reading. It's that kind of poetry, yes."

The room starts breaking up, guests giving their thanks and regards to Asteria and Flora and filtering out like April snow melting in a finally warm-enough sun.

"Well, thank you for coming," Flora says, coming up to the two of them, while Asteria is still talking with a couple of the last of the guests. "Too much of the family finds it old hat at this point. You did notice no others attended."

"My jarl!" Kezia interrupts in loud laughter from the corner of the room. She waves a hand. She's talking to the Rebman. "This one wants to offer me a price for you."

"'Twas but a joke," the Rebman merchant says, shaking her head, smiling.

It's too late to avoid giving offense, however. Ederyn glares at her. "It is not a thing for joking," he says stiffly.

Noys can guess that he doesn't know how intimidating his glare really is.

Ederyn's vassal does not challenge Ederyn's gaze. Instead, Kezia goes to one knee. "Yes, my jarl," she says, bowing her head.

The Rebman looks at Ederyn, looks at Kezia and clearly looks discomfited. She walks forward.

"Forgive any impropriety, Prince Ederyn Ericsen Smith," the Rebman says. She curtseys, or at least it's something like a curtsey, but looks something more like a move of a dancer, bending her body in an undulating move that takes about a quarter minute. If this display is intended to distract him from his ire, he has to admit it's a worthy attempt.

"I meant no offense, and I apologize forthwith," she says, as she straightens to a standing position.

Kezia remains in her one-knee position. Attention from Flora and Asteria has turned to the scene.

Ederyn takes a deep breath, casting his gaze up toward the neutral ceiling, then lets the breath out again, letting his reflexive anger go with it. Most of it, anyway. "This apology I accept," he says gruffly. "It is the different 'culture' thing, I believe." He pronounces the word 'culture' carefully, having heard it from Noys but not often used it himself.

"So I am being led to understand, Prince Ederyn. We come from very different cultures," the Rebman says. Her accent starts to emerge, instead of the stolid Thari of Amber, there is something exotic to her words.

"It would be an honor if I might one day invite you to visit the demesnes of my House in Rebma," she says. "In recompense for the insult, and to better understand each other's cultures."

If there's a polite way to say, "Not on a bet," Ederyn doesn't know what it is. Instead he says, as neutrally as he can manage, "I will consider it, thank you."

"I see," Lady Shruti says, regarding Ederyn. "Indeed, our cultures are disparate. Good night, Prince Ederyn." She turns her back, and walks away. She is intercepted at the door by Asteria, who appears to be trying to talk to her.

Ederyn has a feeling that he's missing something significant about her reaction, but after a moment he shrugs and gives up on trying to figure it out.

He looks around her at his Weir companion, wondering what the kneeling pose is all about. "Kezia," he says patiently, "let's go."

"Yes, my lord," she says, rising at his words and moving alongside him.

"I suppose all social events have the possibility of awkwardness," Noys comments. "I think we probably should just depart ourselves. It's been a long day."

"Mmm," Ederyn says, perfectly happy to start toward the exit. "I think it's possible that I should avoid Rebmans."

"We will reserve visits to Rebma for the nonce," Noys says. "In a way, the tensions between the two realms are an advantage. Aunt Llewella is unlikely to suggest it. Not the Queen, either," she says. "Rest, and morning ahead, I think."

Returning to the Ruby Suite is without incident. Kezia remains muted and quiet. Noys is mildly talkative, filling in the minutes walking through the castle with pointing out a sitting room there, or a piece of art (and what shadow it is from) there.

Boaz and Cyrus greet Ederyn upon his return. However, Daniel has not returned from the party and in point of fact, Ederyn does not recall seeing him around at the end of the salon at all.

"I think, tomorrow, we should talk seriously about doing your Patternwalk," Noys finally says, once he and Kezia are settled in. "But we can talk in the morning about it. See you at breakfast?"

"Yes," Ederyn says, smiling. "In the room where we ate lunch?"

Noys nods. "Yes."

"Good night."

With the door closed behind his sister, Ederyn starts taking off his boots. "Kezia," he says, "you seemed very upset."

"I am sorry, milord Jarl," Kezia says. "I should have not encouraged the humor in the watery woman, and thus angered you," she says. "I apologize."

Ederyn glances at her, then appears to concentrate on stripping off a sock and wiggling his liberated toes. "It was not," he says carefully, "humor in general that I object to. You did not know, and the Rebman did not know, what might offend me. Now you know about one thing, at least, and I'm sure that will not happen again."

"Aye, milord Jarl," Kezia replies.

With that settled (at least in his own mind), Ederyn visits the lavatory, changes into his spare nightshirt, wishes the Weir a good night, and climbs into one of the cots. He finds it quite comfortable; certainly nothing like the too-soft bed they first offered him in Montenegro.

He is not really very tired, thanks to his sojourn in Minerva, but a little sleep won't do him any harm. In accordance with his recent practice, he spends a few minutes reviewing and reinforcing his mental defenses. It is at this point that he remembers that he should talk to Nasirpal. But he really doesn't want to deal with that being's disapproval of some of Ederyn's more precipitate recent actions. Which reminds him that he could, he supposes, try to contact the Pattern again. But he wants to talk about the Fire Pattern concept with Noys and perhaps someone else with more expertise, first.

Instead he reviews his memories of Crepesculum. Not the events he invoked, but his observations of the sword itself: its shape, the kinds of metals in it, its molecular structure, the magics embedded in it, the way the Pattern interacted with those aspects. Relaxing toward sleep, he considers how he might repair the blade - and how he might improve it. His past experience with difficult technical problems suggests that in the morning, he may have some very clear ideas about the project.

His sleep is not quite dreamless; he finds himself dreaming of forges, and fire, and the Pattern. The last looks wrong, reversed in shape, and burning red on black. Even with such things to occupy his mind, Ederyn, in the end, does not sleep through to the morning, or even close to it.

The length of days here is different, but that length has varied on all of his trip to Amber, and in Minerva as well. He thinks, based on the sky, that its still two hours before dawn, maybe a little longer, when his need for rest comes to an end. The Weir still sleep, although past experience on the voyage proved to Ederyn they could wake quickly if needed or impelled to do so. The rest of the Castle, as far as Ederyn can hear from the Ruby Suite, is still in the throes of silent slumber.

He lies quietly for a moment, thinking over his dreams and resolving that he will definitely consult this Earth Pattern about the Fire Pattern. Or maybe the Primal Pattern would be a better choice. Are they, he wonders, the same entity or actually different ones? Or something more complicated?

Ruminating on these questions, he gets out of bed and dresses. He moves quietly, but in the way of someone trying not to disturb anyone, not of someone trying to sneak, and ready to murmur reassurance if any of the Weir wake up. If the Weir are awakened by Ederyn, they are doing an excellent job of hiding it. With a snort from sleeping Boaz at one point the only other sound, he can make his preparations without issue.

Clothed, shod, and armed, he opens up the locked chest and extracts the orichalcum hammer, tucking its handle through his belt for transport. Then he lets himself out and goes looking for a way up into one of the towers.

Ederyn is not molested as he heads up onto the fourth floor, where access to the towers, and the roof are located. A night shift guard gives Ederyn a puzzled look as he walks the halls in search of a way to go up further. After a little exploration, Ederyn finds an archway. Beyond the archway, which is covered in some sort of runic writing, he can see a spiral staircase going upward into a tower.

He pauses to inspect the runes, determining whether they are magical and whether he can understand them. They are definitely magical, with a faint magical cast to the lot of them. Even with his new lessons in literacy, the alphabet is utterly unfamiliar to Ederyn. There might be one or two characters that remind him of home, but it's likely a coincidence.

"Smith, you likely do not want to go into that tower," comes the mental voice of the fae trapped in the orichalcum hammer. "I do not think it is entirely real to Amber."

"Reality gets more complicated every day," Ederyn mutters in response, continuing his examination of the arch, and of course (since the possibility of a connection is obvious) the stairway beyond.

"Indeed," Nasirpal says. "I have no idea why this is here. There is a fae-touched reflection of Amber in its sky, but this appears to be unconnected. Note the stone, smith." Indeed, as Ederyn looks at the arch and the area beyond, the stone looks subtly different. Touching and getting to know the stone would be ideal, of course. However, to his practiced eye, the makeup of the stones that make up this tower is not the same as the wall of the rest of the Castle. Instead of the gneiss that makes up a lot of Castle Amber, the stone of the tower (and the interior, including the stairway) to visual inspection looks more like limestone.

At this point, Ederyn hears footsteps coming down the staircase, someone whistling an unfamiliar tune to themselves.

He checks to make sure that he's standing in good light - hoping not to startle whoever it is too much - and waits with patient curiosity.

After a moment, he also establishes a connection to the castle's normal stone and to the Earth, to use for shielding in case the person wants to keep this strange tower secret.

The Castle responds to him warmly, openly, grounding him and being prepared to protect him, if necessary. This establishment of a connection makes it clear that Nasirpal tells the truth. The tower is definitely not of the Castle. He can't even feel it properly through his connection to the living stone of the Castle. What's more, the area of the Castle just immediately in front of the arch, perhaps three paces, feels off, indistinct, not as solid as the rest of the Castle.

The figure that comes into view is a moderately tall man, with short hair as dark as Noys'. He's wearing pants of the same color, and a white shirt accented in red. [Casting Call: Colin Farrell] He carries what appears to be a spyglass similar to the Montenegran in his hand. He stops at the landing at the bottom of the stairs, and turns to look across the way to the archway to where Ederyn stands. Stopping his tune, he holds up the spyglass to his right eye, and grins.

"Hello brother," he says, lowering the glass after a moment. "I'm pleased to see my astromancy has proved to be accurate. I was expecting our sister, though," he adds. "A minor misreading of the ephemeris, perhaps."

"Brother?" Ederyn says, taking an involuntary step forward - though he stops short of the transition zone. "I only arrived here this - no, yesterday morning." He stares at the man in fascination. "What's your name?"

For his part, the man advances until he is not far from the archway. He stops at a point roughly equidistant from the archway as Ederyn is. He nods his head.

"A thousand pardons. Brother might be too glib a term, but there is little language that covers this sort of situation." He considers a moment and bows his head.

During this pause, Ederyn recovers his equilibrium, but still regards the stranger with great curiosity.

"Blessings upon you and yours," he says, raising his head. "My name is Aram. In an Amber that is not yours, I am a son of Eric, too." He gestures around him at the tower landing and makes a motion indicating going up the stairs. "It's not quite my doing that the Tower of Stars is currently connected to your Castle, but I am taking advantage of it all the same."

Ederyn nods absently as Aram confirms things he had already guessed.

"I do know what you are, and what you are going to do, though, brother. Or should do." Aram cocks his head. "I'm here to tell you that you should."

Ederyn gives a snort of laughter, and smiles wryly. "I have a very long list of things to be doing, brother," he says. "You'll have to be more specific, and explain why." His smile broadens as he gestures at the space between them. "And if this joining is not your doing, then whose is it?"

"I was hoping you might know more about the conditions that allow for this brief joining." Aram says. "Some sort of traumatic event or events in your universe have made your universe receptive to contact with other universes, such as mine." he explains. "Enough that you are showing up in my calculations and stellar alignments. It's rather distressing." Aram says. "To suddenly see a brother on the cusp of a choice to increase stability and Order. So, too, I saw that at a particular time this morning, this tower would be in alignment with your Amber, and a child of Eric could chance meeting another child of Eric at that time. And so here we are."

"I am Ederyn Smith," he puts in, thinking that this "child of Eric" thing is not the same as knowing his name.

"Thank you Ederyn," Aram says. "As for the astromantic calculations, the constellation of Hestia is in alignment with that of the Hammer. Together, they suggest action that will lead to greater prosperity and stability, and an increase in the domestic power of the Hammer. Translated." he grins. "You are looking for the fourth shadow of your Primal Pattern, one based on some sort of fire element. Doing so will not only increase your prestige and power but will increase the health of your Amber significantly. It also would have a minor beneficial effect on other Ambers as well." Aram adds. "Like mine."

"I hoped that it would help us against our enemies," Ederyn notes with approval. His recent education shows through when he goes on, "But it is good to have independent confirmation of that."

"About traumatic events ..." Ederyn's brow wrinkles in thought. "We are being attacked by the people of a pirate universe. They are called the 'Omphalos' and they open portals in the shape of bronze doors and send through soldiers and machines. This might be traumatic to the fabric of the universes, though I had not thought of it that way before. The only other thing known to me is cousin Brienne's action of yesterday. She made a strange portal to the Omphalos universe, so that we could rescue her father, Julian. It was certainly traumatic to her - she collapsed and is recovering, I am told, in a tree."

Ederyn looks at his other-world brother with grave concern. "I know not how these Omphalos find other universes to attack, Aram, but it seems to me that this ... intersection ... between our two universes must make it more likely that they will find yours. And our cousin Valerian, who escaped from the a universe they attacked recently, says they seek to destroy their victims utterly - after they take what they want from wherever they go."

"This cousin Valerian travels between worlds, then, and has been to these Omphalos world, then?" It seems more statement than question. Aram scratches his chin with his right thumb. "A widescale rupture between universes might be what I am seeing in terms of your Amber's instability, certainly. Or, as you say, this Brienne ripping a portal open. She sounds like cousin Rhoeas, who is part Fae."

"I will have to do some more calculations now that you told me of them. Perhaps they will show up in the star patterns now that I know to look for their doings. I'll need a new ephemeris." He rubs his hands in satisfaction at the prospect. "I'd invite you to come up and see the tower, but the conjunction here is unstable. Pity we're reduced to standing across a doorway."

"It is still tempting," Ederyn says, peering curiously past Aram into the other castle's tower. "But what do you mean about our 'instability'?"

"Your Amber is unmoored at the moment," Aram says. "It means that it's more readily accessible by other realms. These pirates may have caused it, or are taking advantage of it, as I am now.

"By the way, who is King in your realm, if I might ask?" he continues. "I don't believe the entirety of what the stars say about your world. And sometimes things are more metaphorical than others--I see you really do carry a hammer, for instance." He gestures to indicate the transformed Nasirpal. "It could have been that is your nickname, or profession, or even the city you grew up in."

"I should remember to say 'Ederyn the Smith,'" Ederyn remarks. "This hammer is a new thing, and I don't usually carry one about. - Though I must say I wouldn't object to such a nickname," he adds thoughtfully. "It sounds like it might fit."

"It's how my magic identified you, Ederyn," Aram agrees.

More slowly, Ederyn continues, "The King here is my youngest uncle, Random." He pauses and glances down and away, not sure that he really wants to ask this question but unable to resist. He looks back at Aram and says, "It was Eric for a short while, they say. Is your father still alive?"

"Thought you might ask that," Aram says. "I know that he died heroically in your world. As far as my Amber goes, father..."

"You might want to step away from that doorway, Ederyn," comes the voice of Fiona, interrupting Aram's answer with the sharpness of her tone.

Ederyn feels a chill down his back. Aram and the tower behind him start to turn transparent, fading into twilight.

"Instability," Aram says regretfully. "You can change that, I think, if you..."

However, the fading accelerates, ending his last words unspoken and unheard. Aram and his tower rapidly fade away. The doorway now appears to lead to a linen closet.

"It is fortunate," Fiona says, reaching Ederyn, "you did not cross the threshold."

He turns toward her with frustration and a little offense much in evidence - while his innermost thoughts remain behind barriers reinforced by his connection to the castle. "I was resisting the temptation quite easily, Aunt," he says testily, and with even less effort to suppress his accent than usual.

"I think so," he says, on a frustrated sigh. He crosses his arms, thinks for a moment, and then goes on in a businesslike tone. "Aram Ericsen uses magic he calls 'astromancy,' which has something to do with the stars. He says this told him that his Amber and ours would meet at this place and time, and that a child of our Eric would be present. He also says that our Amber has become unstable and unmoored, and that is why part of their castle appeared here. He said he did not know what caused it, and we spoke of that. It might be caused by the Omphalos doors - I warned him about them - or perhaps by what Brienne did yesterday, or perhaps by something I know nothing about, or something from more long ago than the Omphalos attacks.

"Also, that part of their castle is made of a lighter colored stone than ours, and the opening leading to the tower had runes of power carved around it, almost as decoration."

"There have been." Fiona says after a moment of processing Ederyn's words. "suggestions and ideas to build a tower in this corner of the Castle. None of those plans have come to fruition. Not even after the renovations of several years ago was such a process contemplated." She stares at the linen closet, as if willing the Tower and Aram to return.

"I do not consider most prophetic magic to be efficacious." she says. "However, the rules of the universe where this Aram comes from may be different than others, and he might have spoken the truth." She pauses. "He said that he divined that you or your sister would be here. Did he say why that mattered? Why did he want to speak to you? Proof of his own abilities?"

Ederyn considers the question (or questions) for a moment. "I think," he says, "he really wanted to know how this instability he sees was caused. I am sure that curiosity was also part of it. I believe that he would have come to the door for those reasons, even if someone else was going to be here. That the person here was going to be what might be called a sibling must have been -" he searches for the right word "- a bonus." Still a bit nettled over the interruption and whatever it was (something she did, he suspects) that caused the chill he felt, he's not inclined to share anything further.

"And what *are* you doing here at this hour? Surely you didn't wake and come here without a reason." Fiona adds.

"I finished sleeping," Ederyn says, "and I was looking for a good place to watch the sun rise - a tower, in fact."

"Hmm." Fiona considers Ederyn for a moment. "Sunrise has not yet occurred. I might suggest the other side of the floor, where there is a real tower. It is relatively disused, although the door is likely not locked."

"Thank you."

Fiona turns away from the linen closet. "Knowing more about this instability would be valuable. But it is perhaps that, being the fish in the pond, we cannot see that we are swimming in waters roiling on the surface, that turbulence only visible to those above and outside of it."

She pauses and then adds. "You don't think you could redraw those runes of power you mentioned from memory, do you, Ederyn?" Fiona asks.

"I can," he says. "Shall I send them to you?"

"Yes, please." Fiona says. "You can send a servant with them to my quarters. I would be grateful for the knowledge, especially since I was not so lucky." she smiles thinly "as to be the object of this sorcerer's astromancy. I do wonder, though, Ederyn, if the previous appearance of a tower here was his, or yet another's. I can make a case for either without further information to sway the verdict."

Ederyn shrugs to indicate that he can't add anything more on the matter.

She purses her lips and regards Ederyn. "Many hitherto unknown relatives have come to Amber in the last few weeks, thanks to the manipulations of a certain distant relative. I admit that a Maker son of Eric was not what I anticipated among their number."

He raises his brows. "You think I came here because of Valerian? I met him the first time yesterday." After a fractional pause, he adds, "If anyone else planned the time of my coming here ... I would like to know about that."

"Interesting." Fiona says. "Something else is at work rather than him, then. Surely, you don't think there is a coincidence that you came to Amber, here and now, at a crisis point." Fiona purses her lips. "I mislike coincidence, it is so rare in our family and our lineage to actually happen."

"I have been told this," Ederyn agrees, nodding. "I plan to ask Benedict what he knows, when I see him."

"Wise," Fiona says. "To change the subject, then: How quickly is your sister pushing you to walk the Pattern, if I might ask?"

Ederyn grins, really amused for the first time in a while. "She has no need to push, Aunt, since I am already running that way as fast as I can. I am hoping to arrange it today. After other people are awake." There is no censure in his tone with that last remark - to him, it is simply a fact that other people generally want or need more sleep than he does.

"Well, I won't gainsay you that." Fiona says. "I *would* like to witness it, however." Fiona adds. "First time Patternwalks are extremely revealing, all around. It would be remiss to have you walk, today, and I not be present. Say that you will send a messenger to me when you do it." Fiona asks and smiles.

"If you wish," he says agreeably.

"I do so wish." Fiona says, her expression lighting up briefly like a lit candle before calming down again. "And now, I think I will leave you to your splendid isolation to go watch the sunrise." She looks up at the ceiling, focusing on a featureless point on it before returning her gaze to Ederyn. "You have approximately 17 minutes before the start of the sunrise. I suspect you may have experienced the flow of time differently when you were conversing with the scion of the other Amber. Something to watch out for if you should do so again, nephew."

She turns to return down the hall.

Ederyn blinks and consults the Castle's rather more vague sense of the time of day. Sure enough, he learns that far more people are up and about, especially down in the kitchens, and the way the air moves has changed in a way that indicates the sunwarmth will be reaching the outside walls soon. By the time this exercise is done, Fiona is several steps away down the hall.

He does not try to detain her, but since "watch the sun rise" mostly means "have something nice to look at while thinking and planning," he walks at a normal pace to reach the other tower. His thoughts are still guarded and resistant to communication at first, but when he finds and reaches the stairs, he finally lets his link to the Castle fade into the back of his consciousness. Well, he says to Nasirpal as he starts to climb, how do you feel about becoming part of my mythology?

You mean to carry me on this Pattern walk of yours, Nasirpal says. The other tower, even with the increased bustle of servants, is relatively easy to reach, and clearly marked. The ghost tower that Aram inhabited is not its twin in style or shape, but its the mirror reflection in terms of how its attached to the tower. This tower, though, is clearly as old as the Castle, the bones of the tower as old as it. The door does prove to be unlocked, and a narrow spiral staircase wends its way upward. Closed, locked doors greet Ederyn on every landing save the last one, which opens up with a gust of blowing wind onto a room with four large ports, oversized windows, in the cardinal directions. The sun is rising just the slightest bit north of east. It's not below freezing, but it's not far from it.

Ederyn chooses the west-facing window, which gives him a good view of Kolvir. It would have to be quite a bit colder than this for him to be uncomfortable, especially with the sun coming up.

I do not think that the Queen had anticipated you would do this, Nasirpal continues, as the sun's light emerges from the horizon. I do not know what the consequences of this will mean. Will I be bound forever to this hammer? Or freed? Or something else entirely. It is clear that you need a minder of some sort, counsel to keep you grounded. This new Family of yours is full of agendas and self interest. You are vulnerable, Ederyn Ericsen Smith. You need me in your mythology. I suppose that is as good as a yes.

Such confidence and enthusiasm, Ederyn says lightly, his mood lifted by the sunrise (another reason for watching it). You like to be involved in things. It's your nature.

Indeed, Nasirpal says, with a note of satisfaction at the understanding.

Ederyn leans his shoulder and head against the wall beside the window opening. I wish I could say you are wrong about *my* nature, o Adviser, he says. But I would have not developed an affinity with Fire if I did not also share its nature. My affinity with Earth encourages stability, and I like that, but my Fire side is always surprising people. Including me, sometimes. He stretches a little, basking like a cat in the feel of the sun on his back. I suppose I like high places like this because Fire loves Air, he muses absently. Then he winces at the memory of trying to ride the elevated train in Locus Minerva, which turned out to be not the same thing at all. He can't imagine himself traveling in an 'airplane' any more than he can think of going under the sea to Rebma.

This does surprise me. Air is the antipathy of Earth. I will expect you to be at home in the bowels of the Castle. Not here.

I certainly need to keep my feet on the ground, whatever else I do, Ederyn acknowledges.

He turns his thoughts away from those unpleasant things and sighs, relaxing a little into the feel of Amber. I love the Earth here, he says, and then his attention sharpens. Understand, Nasirpal, that to keep the right to stay here, I have given my oath to a man I barely know, and whose abilities I do not entirely trust. I can only hope that I can keep both my honor and my place here. And I hope that you can help me with that.

And then there's the Pattern, Ederyn says. He only has to think of it to notice it again, glowing away down there in the depths beneath the Castle. It's part of the Earth here, and partly more. I've already walked it in my dreams, can you tell?

Mmmm. There is a sensation, a connection, a vibration from the hammer. She has marked you already as her own, Nasipral says.

She? Ederyn mentally shies away from thinking of the Pattern as feminine. It makes him uneasy, and from some of his talks with Noys, he also suspects that some of his habits of thinking might cause him trouble.

I want it the same way I want this Earth, Ederyn goes on. Or maybe it's the same wanting. I think, he says slowly, that I can influence what it does, but certainly not control it. It has a mind and will of its own. It might have its own ideas about how you can best serve me. Are you really sure you wish to risk this, Nasirpal?

There is risk if I did not partake of this, Nasirpal counters. This Patternwalk will forge and change you. You will not be the man before, even if you have walked it in your dreams. Is it better to be bound to you if I have not changed myself, to match? I think not. The risk would be for you not to take me...and then to discard me. Or worse.

Discarding you or giving you away is less likely now, Ederyn says. At first I saw you as something forced on me, you know. And I don't like cruelty. But ... now I think I need all the advantages I can get. Quite aside from your advice, this hammer, he taps the metal head, will be an excellent tool for using power in making things. I certainly hope that you'll lose your sensitivity to iron - though what other changes that will require, I cannot imagine.

Perhaps the Patternwalk will make that so, Nasirpal says. I do not know.

But there's also the problem of your Queen, Ederyn reflects. I wouldn't want to give you back if the Pattern changes you, but neither advisers nor, especially, lumps of true gold can be just plucked out of the fields in the spring. What could I possibly give her that would be a fair exchange?

I gather that slavery and bondage are not permitted here, Nasirpal says drlyly. Or else you could find someone to physically take my place. I think you need to find something more unique, more special. Surely, though, if this Pattern allows you to find items of your desire, or places where they might be found, that would suit her Majesty. Novelty, Ederyn Ericsen Smith, is the greatest treasure one can give to the immortal.

Ederyn contemplates this, in thoughts that he keeps to himself. It certainly puts his relationship with (or, he suspects Noys would say, exploitation by) the Lady of the Oak in a new light. And also Nasirpal's willingness to go along with this plan. He pushes off from the stone and wanders clockwise around the tower, absently looking out at the different views. He could work here - it's a terrible place for a forge, of course, but there are plenty of tasks that don't need that much fire. Earth affinity notwithstanding, he has long felt more creative and vital in a space open to the air, like this one.

He returns to the west window, the locations of a few basic and sturdy furnishings already planned, and goes back to the previous conversation as if there had been no lengthy pause. We have what's left of a year and a day to find or make something, he decides. Assuming we still exist by then. So I ask for the third time, Nasirpal, are you willing to attempt the Pattern with me, uncertain though we are about the risks?

What I tell you three times must be the truth. For the third time, Ederyn, I will essay this thing with you. As you become greater and something other than you are, so will I.

Good, Ederyn says briskly. Now let me tell you what I've been doing ... Briefly, he outlines what happened while the hammer was locked in a chest in the Ruby Suite: the Omphalos attack and the rescue, who the Omphalos are, the 'request' to join Benedict's war effort, and his getting educated in Locus Minerva. And on the way to joining Benedict, I need to see whether the Omphalos are active in Weirmonken, which seems much too likely. Which will be after I walk the Pattern - or Patterns. Aram was right about my plan - and that is something I have only spoken of with Noys.

Which reminds me - did Fiona try to cast a spell on me, or was it something else that I felt at the time she spoke to me?

I do not sense any active ensorcelment on you. You perhaps felt the weight of her mind, the prickling of her power. Proximity to the furnace allows one to feel its heat, even if one is not thrust within it.

"Huh," he says aloud. Suddenly the thought of her witnessing his Pattern walk is profoundly unappealing. Maybe if he tries to think of it as a short-cut to being understood ...

Ederyn heads back down the stairs, absently using the Castle's sense of itself to get an idea of how unused the rooms below really are - and whether any of them have the hot-water plumbing and water closets found in other parts of the Castle.

The fourth floor, with the Royal Apartments, Flora's suite as the major occupants, appears to be the most unused. There are more rooms on the third floor that are occupied, and the second floor as well. And most of the major suites and apartments do have full running water. Water is not Ederyn's element, but following the pipes and the heat is trivial once he opens his mind to the Castle's innards. Just how it gets pumped up from the ground floor to the fourth floor is something not precisely clear. As far as the habitability of the Tower itself...the plumbing is all there, Ederyn can sense the remnants of an ancient fire in one room to tell him, even without opening the door, that a couple of rooms have fireplaces that were used at one point. Another room has had something alien and unfamiliar spilled upon its floor in the last twenty years, still staining the flagstones.

Rather than risk irritating any of his kinfolk by waking them up, he decides to go collect the Weir and then find out if anyone else shows up for a very early breakfast.

Dawn's morning light gives a few guards and servants chances to salute, curtsy and bow to Ederyn on his way to breakfast. In response they get uneasy looks, telegraphing that he doesn't like this behavior but doesn't know what to do about it, either.

Inside of the room for breakfast is Dulcinea. Dressed in what looks like a riding habit, she appears to be alone, although there is a plate in front of the chair across from her with some crumbs of bread and cheese upon it. She looks up from her own meal, which appears to be something involving eggs, and smiles.

"Ederyn," she says warmly. "Greeting the dawn, too, I see?" she says.

A servant moves into the room, heading toward the dirty plate directly.

"It's my favorite time of day," he says, pausing near the table to let the servant work undisturbed. "Who else was here?" he adds, nodding at the recently-occupied place.

"Oh that was Uncle Corwin." Dulcinea says, as the servant picks up the plate, wipes the place and scuttles out of the way.

Ederyn settles himself in a seat not directly across from Dulcinea, but one next to it.

"I feared that the remainder of my breakfast would pass in solitude. For all of my desire to greet the dawn, it seems there are more night owls in the Castle than early birds. Weather permitting, I intend to do a little riding today. I intend to do so before Father decides to be all protective and paternal and ask me not to, with all that's happening. Like the situation..."

She stops speaking.

"What would you like, milord Prince?" another servant asks as he enters the room from the direction the prior servant left. "Milord Princess, more juice?"

"Yes, please." Dulcinea says brightly. "Also, some of that tea, please."

"Very good." the servant says, waiting for Ederyn's response before departing off.

"Sausage." the servant says with the hesitation of one that has been given information but not a surplus of information. "Very good, sir." he says, and departs.

Ederyn hesitates over what he knows must be a vast array of choices. "Anything, as long as there is sausage with it," he says at last. "And some of today's milk, if you have any."

"What are your plans, cousin?" Dulcinea asks once the servant has left the room for the two of them again. "Surely you are not going to walk the Pattern right now." She pauses a bit, uncertainly. "Are you?"

"No, not for another few hours, at least," he answers easily. "About this riding that you plan - how far are you planning to go, Cousin? You know, yes, that yesterday our enemies put a Door almost within sight of the Castle and stole away our Uncle Julian? We were very lucky to get him back alive."

"Between you me and the Gods, Ederyn." Dulcinea lowers her voice. "that's one reason why I want to do it. Uncle Julian is in the Infirmary. His son is about as sociable as a minotaur with a toothache. There's no telling what's going on with Brieanne."

"Uncle Benedict is raising his army for the Omphalos, William is off sailing to Begma and beyond, Gerard and his children are dealing with that incoming fleet. No one is watching what is happening in Arden.

"Someone has to take a look out there." Dulcinea adds emphatically. "We can't be caught off-guard. And if I told my father, he would just retask someone else to do it, even though I helped Jayson with capturing Triton after he stole Moire's Jewel. I'm not an Gods-cursed ornament."

She lets out a breath and stops speaking for a moment.. "I'm sorry I am taking this all out on you, Ederyn." she says. She stops, as a pair of servants return with a large bowl of eggs, diced sausages, and peppers. A large goblet, to the brim with creamy white milk, is with it. They also has the promised glass of juice for Dulcinea, and a small ceramic pot.

Ederyn briefly thanks the servants, though he is a little disappointed when he picks up his goblet and finds that the milk is cold. Investigating the egg and sausage dish gives him a few moments to collect his thoughts, focusing chiefly on what he would say if he was talking to a headstrong young man who wants to prove himself, instead of a woman. This also allows time for the servants to go away again.

"I'm not sorry that you spoke to me," he finally says. He glances at her, then looks back down at his bowl, preparing to take up another mouthful of food. "Have you spoken with Julian about this? I understand that Arden and the Rangers are his responsibility."

"Julian would say no." Dulcinea says firmly. "Furthermore, he would send word to his son, or to Random, or to both, what I plan to do. Besides." she looks at Ederyn and gestures with her fork. "I am spending a half day in the field. If I get into difficulty, I've a few tricks to get back here, quickly."

"You didn't want to come with me, did you, Ederyn?" she says. "That I wouldn't mind."

"No," he says quietly. "I like Julian, and I don't want to annoy him by pushing into his business uninvited." In case that remark somehow missed its target, he adds, a little slowly as he works out how to say it in Thari, "And, I would not want him to think that I think that he doesn't know how to cope with such a problem." He doesn't stare at her while he speaks, but when he finishes, his deep blue eyes are soberly fixed on her face.

The intense look that Ederyn gives Dulcinea by the end of his speech sweeps over her like the rising sun over Amber harbor. Inescapable, heated, illuminating. She is at first fascinated, and then cannot meet his eyes, looking away. "You have a point" she says. "You have a good point, Ederyn." she adds.

She dangles and then lets her fork drop to the plate below, giving off a slight rattle as it vibrates upon impact. "One might say the Gods saw to it that you would come to talk me out of it this morning." she says. "Or to plant the blooming seed of doubt of the wisdom of my choice."

"If they did, none of them told me," Ederyn replies matter-of-factly, returning his attention to his breakfast. After a moment, he adds, "I think you need advice about how to be useful from someone who knows this place and these people." He considers the problem while chewing another mouthful of food. Then he swallows and says decisively, nodding to himself, "Vialle."

Dulcinea tenses more than a little at the name. "Vialle." she echoes Ederyn's last word. "Nai." She bites her lip, looks down at her plate. "I know she has been warm, and welcoming and kind, but there's an awkwardness there, do you not see?" She looks up at Ederyn. "I know Random met and then knew my mother a few years before he ever met Vialle, but still..." she trails off.

Ederyn shrugs, not considering this awkwardness much of an obstacle. "It is your father's protecting that you find a problem, yes? And she knows your father's mind well, I am sure. But you also could ask Florimel or Asteria, I suppose."

"No, no, its not my father's protecting." she says. "It's that my relationship with my, what is the thari word?" she stops for a moment and thinks. "Second mother?" she tries out. "I do not know how to act around her. I never expected to have a second mother. I still have a mother, after all."

"It matters little." she says. "I will be useful, or not."

Ederyn's brow wrinkles as he mentally reviews this exchange. "What I mean is that, to talk your father into giving you a 'job,' which he seems to call it - to do that, you might need advice from someone who knows him very well. Like Vialle."

Ederyn takes a drink from his goblet, eying Dulcinea and obviously trying to decide whether to speak the rest of what's in his mind. Finally he shrugs and says, "I am not impressed that you seem to think that discomfort is a big obstacle." His effort not to sound judgmental, despite the content of his words, makes him sound almost indifferent instead.

"Social discomfort." Dulcinea says evenly. She looks at Ederyn, staring at him, and then finally sighs. "Consider how your relationship might be awkward if Eric were still alive." she says. "Perhaps even married to Noys' mother--I understand they had quite the affair. How would you regard your status and position, then?" she asks.

"Status and position?" he repeats, looking puzzled at first, and then, unmistakably, disappointed. He shakes his head and says, "I have no advice about that kind of thing. As long as I have the right to walk the Pattern, and to live somewhere in Amber, and if some of my family, at least, will talk to me, then I don't care." He pauses briefly. "As it is now, I have those things. If my father was still alive - who knows? But even if he'd married twenty women since he left Norwend, it wouldn't matter unless it somehow interfered with those three things." He looks into his goblet and finishes off the last of his milk.

"I see." Dulcinea says after a long moment. "I think its different, having been in a different political power structure than you. Perhaps..." she picks up her fork again and looks at it. "Perhaps I am too immersed in such circles, and thus sensitive to their currents. Every new addition to the Amber Royal Family is a weight upon the Ariadne web of relationships and interconnections. Me, as the daughter of the King, especially so when it comes to Vialle."

She looks at Ederyn. "I've heard some of the stories about your father, Ederyn. Some of the legends, for lack of a better word. I understand Noys gets a lot of respect, and attention, for who she is, but this is not Rebma. As a son of Eric, you might wind up getting a lot of notice. And unwanted attention. I'll bet you have already." she says. "Haven't you?"

"It's like wading through a pond," Ederyn says, nodding. "Every step has an effect, whether I wish it or not." He sits back in his seat, prepared to keep chatting with Dulcinea if she wants to.

"I'm sure I met every unmarried girl in Montenegro," he says, "and my host the Duc asked me to be polite. That only encouraged them." He shakes his head disapprovingly, then brightens. "But one of the girls is an artist, and becoming friends with her made most of the others stand away. She said her brother said that giving everyone a chance to catch the prince -" he rolls his eyes ceilingward "- was the Duc's way of showing that all the money he'd spent on exploring had gotten something. He's a clever fellow, that brother," he concludes thoughtfully.

Dulcinea nods in recognition and agreement but doesn't interrupt as Ederyn continues.

"I think he knows that Mina and I don't want to marry, but, they both hope for a chance to come to Amber if their family thinks it might be possible. Or if their family wants to pretend in front of the others that they think it's possible." He snorts with amusement and gives Dulcinea an alert look, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "I will go out of my way for a friend, sometimes."

"Forgive me." Dulcinea says "If I implied you had had no experience with these sorts of politics. I should have guessed that coming through the Duchy would have immersed you into politics, especially from a hitherto unknown shadow. No doubt." she continues. "you found political situations and entanglements among the Weir as well. I am not so foolish as to label them as merely brutes."

Ederyn nods, then adds, "In truth, I've only met these three." He grimaces. "The politics will happen when we go to collect some of them for the war, I'm sure."

"From what I understand here, almost all of us have arrived too recently for various nobles to cast their children in our direction, but I have no doubt that will come. Even if she is not seriously courting you, Mina will have an open field for a time. Of course." Dulcinea steeples her fingers. "A Montenegran young lady of quality courting you might open up some eyes and spur people to motion."

"If my dance card is full for the next year, I will know who to affix the responsibility." she says, her tone light.

"I'm glad you don't say 'blame,'" Ederyn replies with amusement. "For myself, I can only hope the attempts won't last long."

A movement near the kitchen door catches his attention; a servant looks in, presumably to be sure it's still only the two of them. Ederyn hesitates, then pushes back his chair and stands, looking back at Dulcinea. "I have several things to do, cousin," he apologizes. "We can talk again, if you wish."

"I do. Be well, Ederyn." she says and nods as Ederyn departs.

In the hallway, Ederyn walks in the direction of Lord Henden's office. She didn't make me promise not to speak of her plan, he remarks to Nasirpal.

"Now." Nasirpal says with a note of satisfaction in her voice. "you're learning, Ederyn. To be in and around a noble court. Yes, you spent time with your local lord, and with the lords and ladies of Montenegro. That showed when you came to see my Queen. That showed when we wound up in that Port and you treated with the Sea Lord. Now, though." he says. "Now you are living in and are part of a Court, one of equals. You have to play the game, at least enough not to be played yourself."

Ederyn almost wishes he could find half as much enthusiasm for the prospect. So, he says, slowing down to let a trio of chattering maidservants cross the hallway a bit ahead of him, what do you think I'm going to do with this information about Dulcinea's plan?

"Keep her from leaving the Castle, obviously." Nasirpal says. "If I were in your shoes, I'd go for deflection rather than keeping her pent. That would lead to resentment, if not outright disobedience. You don't want that, no one does. My guess is that you are going to find something or someone to request the Princess' talents. Something necessary, useful, and safely in of doors where rogue elements cannot kidnap her."

He pauses for a few moments, letting Ederyn advance to Henden's office door. "A talk with Princess Asteria, perhaps? Or perhaps the Queen herself?"

"Tell me your plan before we speak with the Chamberlain." he adds with a bit of excited impatience.

Ederyn suppresses a smile. I suggested that she talk to Vialle; so, I will talk to Vialle instead, he advises his adviser. Then he adds, But I won't suggest any task myself. Thanks to Noys and Mina, I won't offer that she settle down and tend to her weaving, but other than that, I am too ignorant.

Ederyn lifts his hand and knocks twice on Henden's door.

"Come in." the voice of Henden echoes through the door. Once Ederyn opens it, he finds the Chamberlain of the Castle with the impossible amount of paperwork on his desk, on shelves to all sides, and a writing implement in his hand.

Ederyn eyes the mess, absently trying to see if any of it has changed since yesterday. Using a keen eye for detail, Ederyn does notice differences. A document stamped with a bright green rectangular stamp that was on the desk yesterday is no longer on the desk, but is on a shelf to the left. A trio of documents with an ornate handwriting is in its former place. And something familiar, a couple of papers stamped with the Ducal seal of Montenegro are just to Henden's left. Poole's ambassadorial seal, Ederyn realizes.

"Ah yes, Ederyn. Prince, I should say even if there hasn't been an investiture in front of Court as yet. I suppose congratulations are in order, but if I had to make a guess, you are here about something else. Is this about your desire for a forge? Or perhaps permanent quarters?"

"'Ederyn' is enough, thank you," he says. "And I came here to talk about rooms. I went up to the top of the tower on the west side of the castle this morning, and I like it. Can I have the use of a room, or rooms, in that tower?"

"Very well. Ederyn." he says. "The west tower, hmmm? At least you aren't asking for rooms in this mystery transient tower on the other side of the castle I've been receiving reports about." He grimaces. "It's difficult enough to run this Castle without its layout changing."

"No," Ederyn agrees. "I believe that tower is already occupied."

"Only Royals are allowed quarters on the fourth floor or above." Henden says. "However, I understand his majesty is naming you as a Royal Prince, correct? Because of your father?"

"Yes," Ederyn says slowly, frowning a little. Does he want to assert that kind of privilege? Or, more importantly, would not taking advantage of it provide any benefit greater than having rooms that truly suit him? The culmination of these rapid thoughts is a decisive nod, mostly to himself. He looks expectantly at Henden.

"That keeps you from being an exception to be explained to your cousins who might want the same thing. We must have order and tradition and perogative, Ederyn, or else we face chaos." The last word is not quite capitalized. "Now, let me see..." He gets up and turns around the spot in front of his desk in a circle. He finally walks to Ederyn's right three paces, leans down, and reaches into a relatively disused slot. He pulls out a small bound volume and brings it back to the desk. Opening it in front of Ederyn, he pages through pages with crabbed handwriting, until he reaches the last marked page.

"Last person to have any formal claim on the tower was Princess Fiona. There is a notation about lobbying for a new tower on the east side of the Castle. My predecessor appears to have noted that his Majesty turned her down. That was one hundred and ninety years ago."

"Technically, by the forms, she still has possession of the West Tower, although I can't imagine she uses it in any way. Still..." he looks at Ederyn. "you might want to tell her about its reassignment."

"I will," Ederyn promises.

Henden starts scribbling in the book for a moment and then looks up. "Oh, and what materials and furniture are you requesting?"

"Whatever is appropriate," Ederyn says. Then he adds apologetically, "I am used to having a table, a bench, and a bed on the floor. And a chest or two to hold things. But I think that having so little, here, would offend Aunt Florimel." He ponders for a moment. "Only let it not be the kind of furniture that seems so delicate that I could break it with a hard look. And the bed should not be very soft, I cannot sleep on that. The small beds in the Ruby Suite are comfortable." He considers some more. "A sheep's fleece for a rug would be pleasant. And later, when I have time for working, I will want in the top of the tower another table, and a brazier." This is followed by a last thought: "And none of those very large mirrors. Seeing something moving and then finding it is only me, is unpleasant." He shakes his head, remembering. "In Montenegro, one of those things surprised me so much that I broke it."

Henden writes a few words down in a blur of hand movements as Ederyn speaks. He stops precisely when Ederyn stops talking.

"You broke a mirror because you were startled by your reflection." Henden says dryly. He regards Ederyn for a moment and then grins. "I should hire you to find and break the mirrors in the Hall of Mirrors then. Bloody nuisance of Castle architecture. As far as your requests, they are reasonable. No doubt, the rooms of the tower are in a state of disarray and disrepair, even if the orders to the servants are to clean any rooms not specifically forbidden by one of the Royal Family.

"You should be able to sleep in the tower tonight, if you so choose." Henden continues. "Otherwise, the Ruby Suite will remain at your disposal. Oh, yes." he says. "What provisions are you making for your vassals? Are they staying in the tower, too? I am aware of the needs and comforts Weir prefer."

"Good," Ederyn says. "One day soon I hope you will tell me about those needs." He shakes his head and continues, "I want them to stay in the Ruby Suite, please."

"Very well." Henden says. "It is exceedingly unlikely we'll have anyone of rank that wishes to lodge there, so they can remain in place for the moment. It's inelegant but it will do for now."

"Now," Ederyn says, "the public oath-taking. The king said you would decide when Court is to be held. When will it be, please? I have things I would do today, unless there is Court instead."

This gets Henden to laugh, a sound that sounds a bit like a bray from a donkey. "Did his Majesty, now? I thought I was just his booking agent." He shakes his head. "It is true that his Majesty delegates such matters to the Chamberlain. His predecessors did as well. Ruling and reigning are all fine, but the King is a big-picture guy."

Ederyn smiles, as much as he ever does, at Henden's reaction. He is beginning to warm toward this man, whose work he appreciates a little more after his stint of education. Henden might not work with his hands, but the task of managing this place must be immense.

"Currently, the next Court is scheduled for tomorrow." Henden continues "Public oath takings would be handled, then. Even with Trumps and the like, this is exceedingly unlikely to be changed to today. So whatever business you need done today, do so with the knowledge that Court won't be held until at least tomorrow. I may delay it as circumstances warrant."

"Good," Ederyn says, nodding. "I must not miss it. And as many people should be there as can be persuaded to come." Then he sighs, his resolve faltering at the thought of how big that throne room is, and stares glumly at one of the paper-heaped shelves. "I wonder how much I'd have to drink to not care about standing in front of all those people?" he muses aloud.

"I sense a contradiction, Prince Ederyn." Henden says. "Wishing for as many witnesses as possible, and being worried at standing in front of their multitude." Henden says.

"I don't like crowds," Ederyn replies gravely. "But I also don't want to have to kill anyone for trying to make me king. So, more witnesses is better. Whether or not I like it."

"While it IS true we have had a spate of oath-takings lately, you do have the added attraction of being Noys' brother. We have even more pomp for royal Princes invested than ordinary Princes. Dulcinea can attest to this. To say nothing of the presence of the Weir.

"No, Ederyn." Henden says. "I do think that many will come to see you swear fealty to Random. You will have no worries on that front." He pauses. "I can answer questions about the ceremony, although one of the recently arrived Princes and Princesses might be a better guide, having recently gone through it themselves."

"I'm not sure who is new," Ederyn says. "But there is also this, that where I come from, a man who is going to swear fealty gives a speech, and then asks the king if he will have him, and then gives his oath. This I would like to add to this ceremony, if I may."

"It's a variation on the usual formulae." Henden says. "I am going to guess that this is something you did last night, and so the King will not be overly surprised by this variation in the formula?" He pauses only briefly. "The form of oaths and fealty taking have varied as members of the family have come forward. This is usually due to cultural heritage of where they came from. I see no difficulty in yours." He takes another piece of paper and writes down quickly. "I'll see to it that his Majesty knows what you plan, regardless."

"Thank you," Ederyn says. "I spoke of this tradition last night, but it was not the right place for it. And also, I haven't finished composing the speech. It will be in my first language, first, and then translated into Thari."

"And this reminds me. Before I left, the king of Norwend asked me to give certain gifts to the king of Amber. This is another tradition, showing good will." His smile is ironic. "Toward one who might be a rival. We assumed that Amber was a place like the ones we knew ... but I did promise to do this thing. Can this be added to Court tomorrow? Usually there is a speech with the gift-giving, too, but I will keep it short."

"That would be welcomed." Henden says. "As long as its nothing that the King could not in good conscience accept. Or would be unwise to do so. Like the time a Dahnash embassy tried to give King Oberon a set of pleasure girls. Queen Clarissa was not amused. Dahnash is still not part of the Golden Circle."

"No, nothing like that," Ederyn says after a moment's astonishment. "Just a gold cup and some pieces of amber.

"That is all I can think of now," he concludes. "I will tell you if Fiona does not want to give up the tower. Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. Good day, Ederyn."

In the hallway again, Ederyn takes his bearings and heads for the infirmary.

The infirmary is much more active than Ederyn expects. Julian is sleeping in the infirmary but he is not the only one.

In a corner of the infirmary, a set of beds contain Pollux, Dagny, Valerian and someone Ederyn does not recognize. Like a hawk, Gerard is watching over all of them, facing outward.

"Ederyn" Gerard says, looking up from his vigil. A frown is etched on his stony face with acid.

"Uncle Gerard," Ederyn replies, approaching him. "What's happening?"

"Trouble." Gerard growls, regarding Ederyn. "Dagny and my son Hadrian were attacked at a holding north of Baylesport. My son was kidnapped. Dagny captured this one. Valerian, Pollux and her are delving into the man's dreams as an interrogation technique."

Ederyn blinks and his brow furrows as he processes this. His expression clears a little at the end, and he looks at Pollux and the others. "So *they're* not hurt," he says with relief. "Much," he adds, catching sight of Dagny's abused neck. "Attacked at ... Baylesport is part of Amber, yes?" While Gerard answers, he examines the stranger from where he's standing, looking for any jewelry the man might be wearing, which could offer Ederyn an additional clue or two.

Dressed in a dark shirt and pants to match, the man's clothes appear ordinary. Short black boots, too, nothing out of the ordinary. He wears an unadorned silver ring on his right hand...

...or is it? Something to Ederyn suggest that he look closer and deeper. It glows with magic. No, that's not quite right. It's obscured, masked, hidden by magic, with something greater hidden beneath the minor spell disguising it as a plain silver ring. That's all Ederyn can tell from here, without going deeper, closer, or actually taking it.

"What is it?" Gerard notices Ederyn's intent look. "You do not know this man...do you?"

"No," Ederyn says. "It's that ring. It is only pretending to be ordinary." He looks at the three sleepers and then at Gerard. "I don't want to interfere with what they are doing ... but what if it defends him somehow?" Following his own advice about not pushing into another man's business, he is waiting for direction from his uncle.

"It would be difficult." Gerard says. "To wake them up at this point. At least, as far as I understand these things. If it is protecting him, it should be removed. Now."

Gerard reaches for the man's hand, and grimaces as the ring refuses to budge from its position, as his fingers slip off of it again and again.

"I might break the man's hand, but I suspect that might wake him up." he says. "Perhaps some use of your magic might be useful here?"

"It might be," Ederyn agrees. He crouches next to the bed and looks at the ring with just his ordinary eyes for a moment. Most enchantments, he knows, do not consider the possibility of elemental sorcery; those that do, often do it poorly or incompletely; and even with those that do it well, the results of meddling come down to the relative mental strength and willpower of the sorcerors involved.

Since the ring resists being touched, he decides that he won't touch it at all. Instead, under his cautious influence the metal ring becomes a bit larger in diameter. Then, warding his mind against inadvertent mental contact, he picks up the man's hand. With a little gentle shaking and manipulation of the man's finger, the loosened ring slips down to the first knuckle and then stops. Ederyn moves his other hand underneath the ring and firmly calls the metal to himself, indirectly pitting the strength of his affinity against the enchantment's effort to keep the ring in place.

The ring's reaction to Ederyn is sudden and swift. It does expand at his request, the large size making it more difficult to bond to the skin, and easier to manipulate down the finger. Its a process that takes a couple of minutes but finally the ring comes off with an audible and physical pop, flying off of the end of the man's finger and onto Ederyn's palm. As soon as it is off of the man's hand, though, the smooth unadorned appearance and feel is gone, replaced with a ring that is full of sharp protruding spikes on the inner and outer portion of the ring.

It doesn't injure Ederyn, of course, given that his full attention is on it, but he gives a soft exclamation of surprise, looking from the ring to the stranger's apparently undamaged hand.

"That looks painful," Gerard says.

"It certainly is meant to not come off," Edeyrn replies, standing up and backing a few paces away from the man. "There must be a reason for that ..." Cradling the spiky thing in his palm, he decides to continue looking at the metal side of things for the moment. Whatever seems useful or interesting, starting with its history - who made it, and for what purpose, and who has been wearing it?

With the ring off and on his palm, Ederyn can bend his metal and earth psychometric skills (although of course he would not use that word) to the task of learning more about the ring. It was forged, crafted, in the forges of Courts of Chaos. A large forge, too, a war forge, a forge capable of outfitting an army. Someone named Kunrad Minobee was the one who made this ring in that forge, birthing it from raw elemental metal moonsilver (not ordinary silver, after all, but something distinctly different). This ring was given to this man for the purpose of protecting him. None but Kunrad, the maker, and this man have worn it. The shifting nature of the ring is meant to defend him, not physically, but instead to defend his mind. To keep him from spilling secrets, from being coerced to speak against his will. The thorns, of course, are there to make it difficult to simply remove the ring to get around the defense.

The ring's purpose is to defend, to protect. For all that it is an artifact without mind, Ederyn can feel that it desires to fulfill its purpose, to defend whomever wears it.

Ederyn takes another moment or two at trying to glean the name of or any other information about the man he just took it from. He thinks he could, with some work, and with this ring gone, try and glean some of that from his other possessions, perhaps. The ring itself is too neutral to betray its owner, or perhaps the owner did not impress upon it, as the creator did.

"It is a defense for the mind," he reports with a note of triumph in his voice, looking at Gerard. "It was made by a Chaosian named Kunrad Minobee. I assumed this was an Omphalos man," he adds, perturbed. "I thought we were at peace with the Chaosians."

Gerard growls. "We ostensibly are, but things are ... complicated. There's a group of Chaosians upset with the missing Prince Jayson for causing a massive disruption that reached from Chaos to here. Not sure where you were in your journey from your home, or if you left, but some bad shadowstorms were the least effect of Jayson's actions. I understand pieces of Chaosian Houses wound up in the Abyss. They are still baying for his blood.

"And if that wasn't enough," he adds. "My sister tells me that there is a minor House of Chaos which has decided to call a vendetta on her and hers for stuff back in the War. Wasn't Minobee, though.

"So, a mercenary of some kind?" He looks down at the unknown Chaosian thoughtfully. "Or something more dangerous?"

"The ring only remembers its creator," Ederyn admits. "This Kunrad works at a very big forge. It might be that he or House Minobee was just paid for the ring, and asked no questions of the buyer." He, too, looks at the stranger. "I believe it required great skill to make, and so was probably very expensive," he continues. "So someone has put great effort into what this fellow is doing here. Or," he adds thoughtfully, "into the man himself? I can't say for how long he owned it. And I suppose he might have paid for it himself, too, if he has been more lucky before."

"Any road, this makes it unlikely in the extreme someone from far from Chaos would have this ring, then." Gerard says. "Valerian, my son and Dagny might have been helped by what you've done. Maybe," Gerard adds. His eyes travel toward the ring. "You really can talk to metal and stone. It's true, isn't it?" he says.

"Oh, yes," Ederyn agrees, nodding, and leaving aside the fact that 'talk' isn't really the right word. "This has limits, of course, as we find here." He lifts the ring up a little higher. "May I keep this, at least for a time? This metal is very interesting, and I want to see if it is safe for anyone to wear." His eyes brighten, and harden, a little. "If we decide to talk to this man's people, some time, it might be a good prize to show them, if the one who goes to talk is wearing it."

"I do not know that Dagny knows of its provenance. If you wish to keep the ring, Ederyn, as payment for aid and assistance in this matter," Gerard says. "It's yours. And as you say, wearing the ring and showing mastery over it, rather than simply carrying it, sends a message."

He looks back at the man on the bed. "I do not know how much longer this will take," Gerard grumbles.

In the meantime, holding and exerting his will upon the ring, even lightly, confirms for Ederyn - this ring was not designed for its wearer. Others might wear it. He might wear it. The ring doesn't seem to like not protecting someone, it feels naked, prickly and exposed on Ederyn's palm, unable to perform its function, its duty, its desire.

He cups it in his hand a little more securely, but does not consider putting it on right now; that's an experiment that can wait until he doesn't have any other distractions, and can work out the potential complications beforehand.

To Gerard he says, "If there's anything else I can do to help, Uncle, just ask."

"At the moment, I can think of nothing," Gerard says. "As you can speak to stones, you probably could pry secrets out of the Castle my son and Dagny were visiting, but that would put you in danger."

With a last worried look at the sleeping group, Ederyn goes to the infirmary staff and asks them to tell Julian that he visited. He also gets from them a piece of bandage, in which he can wrap the ring so it won't accidentally damage any of the other objects in his belt purse.

And then he is out in the corridors again, making his way back to the Ruby Suite. *It won't do,* he remarks to Nasirpal, *if this ring makes it impossible for me to talk to you.*

"This is not an artifact I am familiar with," Nasirpal says. "It is certainly worth the experiment to try it."

Upon returning to the suite, Ederyn finds that the Weir have awoken and departed. He gets out his sketchbook and pencil, brings his memory of the arched doorway into the other Amber to mind, and copies down the symbols carved around it. At the end he adds a small sketch of the doorway, with the first few symbols repeated to show which direction he copied them in (from the bottom left of the doorframe, if it matters).

Only then does he give in to curiosity and bring out his new ring. He has several things to consider: Will wearing it prevent him from using his own mental skills, or block communication with Nasirpal? Will it keep him from sensing the elements (this seems unlikely given its lack of defense against that power). He also wonders if it will block Trump, but may not know enough about how Trump works to be able to tell.

Ederyn's preliminary testing, without wearing the ring, suggests that it will not interfere with his own abilities. What else it WILL block is not entirely clear.

"You might as well put the thing on," Nasirpal says. "Get this over with."

The sensation of putting on the ring is like putting on a heavy hat in the cold. The sensation of cold is gone, replaced by warmth. In analogous manner, the ring, snug on his little finger (and Ederyn can feel its weight, slightly out of proportion to its size, as if it were made of something dense) seems to be keeping him warm from a wind and cold he didn't know was there. Its a pleasant feeling. Taking off the ring brings a slight note of something from the ring. Not preventing him, exactly, or trying to dissuade him-but more of a warning that its protection is being forsworn. Replacing the ring returns things back to the "warm hat, slightly heavy sensation" back again. Ederyn is able to freely put it on and remove it, feeling the sensations each time.

"I can hear you," Nasirpal says. "I seem to be inside of the protection." This is further confirmed by experiment. Putting the hammer on a table and eschewing physical contact keeps Ederyn from being able to reach out with his mind to reach the imprisoned Fae at all. Grasp the hammer again, and Nasirpal comes under the aegis once more.

As Ederyn hoped and expected, his ability to touch and talk to stone and metal are something that the ring has a real blind spot in, and he is able to invoke the stone of the Suite without any difficulty and without any apparent loss of fidelity.

"I wonder if it would work against Sirens and things that affect the mind by voice," Nasirpal speculates. "And Trumps, too, of course."

I need to learn more about Trumps,* Ederyn replies. *Also to consider is that, if the Castle's defenses cannot perceive me, they might not defend me.*
That could be a disadvantage,* Nasirpal agrees.

He rings for a servant, leaving the door standing open and working on a new sketch exercise while he waits, and then asks them to show him the way to Aunt Fiona's rooms. The servant takes a couple of extra minutes to arrive at Ederyn's door, allowing him some extra time to practice with pencil.

"You know, Ederyn, this ring will make it even less able for people to realize we communicate," Nasirpal says with satisfaction. "The conversation with Princess Fiona is going to be extremely interesting," he adds. "With that ring on."

I am very interested to see how she reacts,* Ederyn replies, with a definite trace of mischief in his tone. *That will tell me something about her,* he adds more seriously.

The servant, a young woman in green and gold, arrives. With a nervous curtsy, she leads Ederyn through the Castle, and to a non descript door on the fourth floor. The door is made of a thick, polished wood with brass fittings.

Ederyn feels the heavy ring on his finger grow slightly warmer as he stands at the door.

"Most times," the servant, who has edged away a bit but not yet left, says, "the door opens of its own accord." Her voice is hushed. "She knows when people come to call."

"Oh?" he says, looking at the door again. He looks back at the servant to find that she has edged even further away. "Wait," he says. "Go and ask Queen Vialle if she will speak me with this morning, please. After I'm finished here I will go back downstairs, and ring again to learn what her answer is."

"I suppose I could..." she looks at the Door with dread. "Send her answer, here, as well."

"I'd rather not be interrupted here," he says kindly. He does wonder why the girl is so frightened - according to Noys, most of the servants have been here for generations, and should be used to magic - but this isn't the time to pursue the question.

"Very well," the servant says. "I will bring the answer to your suite." She backs away.

Left alone with the door, Ederyn considers it for a moment with his mage sight - just a superficial look, in part to confirm the impression of attempted observation that the ring is giving him. He is also curious about how it will react to being touched by someone who apparently isn't there (he hopes it won't be violently, but just isn't sure).

Even with a superficial look, the elegant spells that the door is tied into are visible. Ederyn may not immediately understand them, but the clean, geometric lines, the pride taken in the wards and arcane forms, is evident. No one could touch this door, even cloaked, without its mistress knowing ... or the door reacting.

This leads to a slight delay while he pauses to admire the work. Then, prepared to observe any immediate effects, he knocks firmly on the door, four times, each knock distinct and evenly spaced.

There is a pause of about nine seconds, and then the the Door swings open. Yellow circles of light are arranged on the floor of the short passageway beyond it, leading ahead, and through a t-junction into darkness. How all of this space exists beyond the door, based on what Ederyn knows of its architecture and space, is not entirely clear.

Follow the yellow brick road? Nasirpal says. If this leads to a sacrifice stone in the center of a megalith, this was entirely your idea, he adds.

Noys showed me that story with the yellow road, Ederyn replies, setting off along the marked path. But how do you know it?

Your father, as it so happens, Nasirpal says. The Fae enjoy stories, tales, myths and legends, given our origin. Your father knew this, and in a visit to our Court, when he sought suzerainty over the Weir, he told the story of a young girl transported to a land of speaking scarecrows, cowardly lion men, and a curious man who pretended to be a wizard. And of course, the road.

Did not Queen Zinvera mention that she had once met your father? Nasirpal adds. He pauses. Perhaps she did not think to mention it, or thought you might be interested. After all, in Fae terms, it was so very recent. Or perhaps the business with meeting the Weir and taking their fealty overwhelmed such concerns.

She did not mention it, Ederyn says, somewhat diverted from his observation of the sorcery around him. He realizes that his appetite for information about Eric seems to be satisfied enough that this does not trouble him. And that is well enough, I think. Getting free answers to questions from her might have been ... difficult.

If not an impossible task, the trapped Fae responds. You might not have wanted to bear the cost, especially if you did not know which questions to ask. Something for your next visit to Weirmonken.

(Continued in Called to Tea.)

Backlinks