Strange Bedfelllows | StrangeBedfellows / OmnesViaeElectrutnDucunt browse

Omnes Viae Electrutn Ducunt

This journey has not gone quite as planned. Wyrd has reared her something ugly head.

Oh, leaving the court of the Duke started off all right. The Duke seemed pleased at the arrival and appearance of Ederyn Ericsen Smith, and his story drew attention and interest.

The Duke even gave Ederyn a companion, Daniel Poole, the new envoy of Montenegro to Amber, nephew to the last one, back when Montenegro was part of the Golden Circle.

The trip was to be a somewhat circuitous one, thanks to the storms which have swept through Montenegro, and the Golden Circle in general. Still, a ship left the island nation with Ederyn and Ambassador Poole on board, a ship much more advanced, to Ederyn, than the longship which carried him from Norwend to Montenegro.

Even for its more advanced shape, the ship still ran into trouble. A storm that sprang suddenly one fine day drove the ship into unfamiliar waters, and finally toward a bleak and desolate shore upon which the ship was wrecked. The shore reminded Ederyn somewhat of his home, although the sky's color is slightly different, and the plant life not quite the same. The ship was run aground, with damage, against the rocks. The crew and passengers disembarked and made camp on the beach to wait out the night and the storm.

The fact that the grey morning light has revealed that the small crew of the Vrijheid have apparently left the Ambassadors in the night.

Ambassador Poole looks up glumly at Ederyn. "I can't blame you if you want to try and go back, as the crew have evidently done. I still think that our following them would be a bad idea."

"There's only a finite number of shadows this can be, and I am sure we can find direction if we just apply ourselves, eh, lad?"

"How?" Ederyn asks bluntly, settling his sword belt into place. He is fairly sure that the answer will be maddeningly vague, like all the other answers he's received about these 'shadows' and their workings.

"You're not used to being an Ambassador, are you, boy?" Poole says, not unkindly. "What we do is the simple thing--we find the nearest village, town or city, and ask."

From his standing position, he glances toward the wreckage of the ship, then looks at the sand around himself and Poole. He expects to be able to see the disturbance from the sailors' efforts to bed down for the night, and likewise which way they went. At the same time he 'tastes' the local Earth power, hoping it is not too different from Norwend's or Montenegro's.

There is ample evidence where the sailors bedded down, a rough semicircle of disturbed sand, along with some discarded bric a brac.

Interestingly, the markings of their passage, which should be a well defined and wide set of footprints, has been swept away. Its difficult to see which way the crew actually went.

And it is as Ederyn looks at this, that he has a chance to taste the power of this unknown land. The Earth power is strong here, even given their proximity to the ocean. Stronger than the island of Montenegro, certainly equal to Norwend. There is a strong mineral tang to it, this is a land of metals and minerals, even in the very sand.

"You're using your strange esoteric abilities," the Ambassador says as he stares at him. "Can them tell you which direction the sailors went?"

Ederyn does not answer right away, as doing two things at once is difficult enough. First he invokes the extra sight that will allow him to see any magic in the area - including what has become of the rudimentary wards he set up before permitting himself to rest.

Second, almost as an extension of that, he joins his thought with the Earth and seeks the answer to a simple question: where in this area is the sand irregularly compressed from many feet passing over it, though the uppermost surface has been swept smooth?

Poole does not repeat his question as Ederyn extends his senses instead, and listens to the speech and song of the Earth in mind, as well as his inner sight. The waves on the shore provide counterpoint to the answers of the latter, but the sight is unimpeded by distraction.

His simple wards are gone. Gently blown away, as defused by some sort of subtle power. A careful study of the remnant afterglows shows something interesting.

Whoever or whatever removed the wards--the wards were removed from without, not within.

And then there is the thought merging with Earth. Although the power of Earth is weaker here than it would be further from the implacable ocean, the whispers of the sand come to his mind's ear. "Here, brother smith," comes the response of the power of the beach. "Taken by the power of Air," comes an unbidden answer to an unasked but perhaps sensed question.

All signs point to Ederyn's wards being gently blown away, and the sailors then helped along to their departure by that power. Thus, the sands blown about, to obscure the trail.

But the compacted sands show that they have proceeded away and up the beach, to the southeast.

Ederyn's satisfaction and gratitude translate into a sense of things being as they should be, from the perspective of the element. He considers following the traces of the sailors' passage further, but instead withdraws his attention slightly and addresses a new problem: is he being observed at present?

Assuming that he is, he turns to face the ship, frowning slightly, and rests his left hand on his sword's hilt. The power of Fire embedded therein answers him readily, being long used to meeting his needs. He studies the apparently-empty space around himself with his augmented Sight, holding a skein of Fire ready to disperse any spying power.

Ambassador Poole as Ederyn decided, doesn't exist for the purposes of his study and his problem. His senses slowly unfurl, like the slow build up of a fire from flint and steel. Its slower than Ederyn might like, with the Water so near, but a campfire can be made on a beach, and so Ederyn can summon the element of fire in a web.

Within the glow of Fire, Ederyn sees her, him, it. A shadowy figure, really a wraith, a spirit of the air, a minor ifrit perhaps. With the sight that Ederyn has, it looks limned by a fiery glow as it watches Ederyn, and perhaps, Poole as well. It hovers nearby, right over the compacted area of sand that marked the beginning of the trail of the deserting sailors.

It does not yet seem to realize that it has been spotted.

Ederyn allows his gaze to slide past it, as if he is considering the inland horizon, than apparently returns his attention to the wrecked vessel. "We may need things from the ship," he remarks to Poole.

"It looks like the sun is rising at last." Poole responds, glancing toward the ship, and beyond it, the form of the sun rising inland. "I presume you mean victuals and other travel things, or something else?"

Meanwhile Ederyn fingers the coins in the wallet attached to his belt, picking out three small pieces of gold. His other hand touches the apparently decorative metalwork near the top of his sword's scabbard; a narrow compartment opens, and he draws out a slender rod of crystal. It must be clear quartz, since no one would use diamond as a stylus ... except its sharp point bites easily into the surface of the gold coins, as he quickly scratches runes of holding and binding into them.

"Doess 'vac-too-als' mean 'food'?" he asks absently.

"Food" Poole replies, with a nod. There is only the barest hint, possibly carefully cultivated, of exasperation. And then he walks off in the direction of the ship.

Then he cups the coins in both hands, the stylus held between two of his fingers. The Fire is already stoked; here is Earth in one of its purest forms, and if the twain cannot hold a spirit of Air, then most likely it cannot be done. Under his will the two elements join, the gold sublimates, and for a moment he holds a shimmering cloud, almost as visible to his companion as it is to him.

He turns and flings the double-handful toward the hovering sylph.

The elements of earth and fire, melded together with the sublimated gold in the cloud of particles lightly held, flies through the air toward the hovering sylph. The sylph is fast, and of the Air, and sees the threat.

It apparently sees the threat a second or two too late. The leading edge of the cloud just manages to cut off the flight of the sylph before it can escape its aegis, and as it backs away from it, the cloud surrounds it.

And so, neatly, in a golden net slowly descending toward the sand, the sylph rages. In its rage and attempts to escape, it becomes visible, attracting Poole's attention as the net gently touches down."By the Three, the One and the Unicorn!" Poole exclaims.

The sylph hisses as it touches Earth with an obvious distaste. It is trying to hover so that it touches neither sand nor the walls of the cage.

"Set us Free!" it wails.

Ederyn steps closer, evaluating the cage's ability to keep holding it.

Ederyn thinks the cage will hold for a while just because its nature is so inimical to the air sprite. It will take a while for it to settle down enough to start probing its integrity. It is then that Ederyn will get a good sense of the strength of his cage versus the strength of the air elemental.

"You, or one of you, took the other men," he said. "Took them where?"

"*I* did not take the other men. I was only set to observe and watch you and your companion, being too dangerous to ensorcel in the same manner" the Sylph replies, in a continued wailing tone of voice.

"My sisters took the other men to Court, on behalf of our Queen!" the sylph adds, as it wings touch the cage inadvertently, and it spirals away again at the disagreeable contact.

"Set us Free!" it wails again.

Ederyn glances aside to see if the astounded Poole is close enough to catch any of this.

Poole has sidled a little closer, close enough to hear, but clearly uncomfortable to approach much closer. Ederyn did catch a furrowed look of concentration from him, as if trying to figure out, too, what the Sylph means.

"Who is this queen?" Ederyn asks the sylph. "What wants she with men skipsbrotir? Ship-lost," he finishes, as his Thari vocabulary has failed him again. A tone of annoyance comes into the wheedling voice of the Sprite. "*I* do not pretend to know or ask the mind of her august Majesty Zinerva, the Queen of Air and Darkness. Her reasons for taking the men are her own and I do not answer or apologize for them!"

Poole doesn't betray any knowledge of the name. To Ederyn it sounds like a name of one of the Alfar, if they were back in his homeland.

"And if you attempt to conjure with her use-name, Sorcerer." the Sylph adds in as much of a menacing tone as it can manage while pent up, "your soul will ride the winds, disembodied from your corpse, forever."

Lacking the words to deal properly with this behavior, Ederyn only scowls, turning his stylus so that its internal facets catch and hold the new sunlight - in fact, it seems to hold rather more sunlight than is natural.

This seems to startle the sylph some more, as if anticipating some sort of retribution for its words.

"Are other men here somewhere?" he asks, much more sternly than before. "Know you of any town or village? Or city?"

"There are dwellings of men, and men who sometimes walk on four legs." the Sylph says primly. "You are a stranger to this land, and so the names of their settlements will avail you little." The sylph says with a gleam of malice. "Oh,there is S�rkisalo, and Vuolijoki, and Kalvola and the city of Turku."

At the third, Poole makes a slight exclamation of surprise, and clear recognition. And, clearly in his voice, a slight tone of fear.

The Sylph, however, doesn't seem to recognize this, and instead looks challengingly at Ederyn. "Now will you set us free, now that your questions are answered?"

"Yes," he says, stepping closer, then pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "But tell your Queen ... that a Prince of Earth and Light intends to visit her court, that we might discuss certain things like ... civilised persons." There is an edge to his tone on the last words.

He holds his left hand out over the cage, the other (still holding the glimmering stylus) to one side. The hot golden net of mist rises toward his hands to hover between them, while he watches the sylph carefully, in case it tries something. The sylph carefully hovers as Ederyn moves the cage, trying its best not to brush against the metal and fire of the binding cage as best as it can. It only relaxes its motions once the cage reaches its hovering position between the sorcerer's hands.

Irritated though Ederyn is, he is not cruel; the edges of the cage stay well away from the helpfully motionless being.

"You are a Prince of *Earth* and *Light*?" A tone of doubtfulness seems to creep into the Sylph's voice. "A sorcerer of Earth and Fire, you most certainly are, but why should my Queen care for noble titles of mortal men who live and die like snow on a summer's day?"

Poole retorts. Ederyn's relative mastery of the situation has loosened his tongue and definitely removed the patina of fear from his mien. "Foolish Creature. You are bound by no ordinary mortal. He is..." and then stops, and nods to Ederyn rather than say it.

"Peace," Ederyn says, not taking his eyes off the sylph, the net still suspended and ready. "It *is* a foolish creature, to try and choose who the Queen will see."

"You have a point." Poole points out. "There is something you should know about where we are. I recognized one of the names that this creature named."

The Sylph turns slowly to regard Poole. "Did you now, Mortal? Or do you claim to be a Prince as this sorcerer does?"

Poole shakes his head. "I'm just a diplomat." He then looks at Ederyn. "Accept a visit to this Queen or not, we are in a dangerous shadow in any event, Ederyn. We're in a land of Fey creatures and men who shift their forms."

He pauses a beat. "We're in Weirmonken."

If he is expecting a response from Ederyn, he has forgotten how little the smith knows about Amber and its environs.

"Of course you are!" The Sylph says haughtily. "Where else would my Queen have her Court save in Vibiscum...Weirmonken in your tongue." The Sylph pivots back to regard Ederyn. "If you release me, I bind myself freely to the task that I will convey your intent to visit her Majesty's Court."

Ederyn lets his watchful stance relax somewhat. "I release you," he affirms.

The Sylph does not hesitate. As free as the element it is composed off, it blows out of the net, and shoots into the sky and is soon invisible, intangible, and imperceptible, even to Ederyn's enhanced sight.

Ederyn waits until he is sure the creature has left, then draws the Fire out of his impromptu net. It collapses in a swift spiral, until he is holding a sphere of purest gold about the size of his thumbnail. He rolls it between his fingers, further ideas for it percolating in the back of his mind.

Turning to Poole, he says, "So. We can reach Amber from this Weirmonken?"

Poole gives a nod. "Natuurlijk. Zonder twijfel" he says. "In times past, Weirmonken was feared for its darker elements raiding the Golden Circle. Their forces reached Amber at least once, and were broken and destroyed in striving against the armies of their great General, Prince Benedictus, Benedict in the dialect in Amber."

"We only have sketchy rumors of contact between Amber and Weirmonken since then, thanks to closing ourselves off." Poole continues. "I am not sure how much credence to give those, save to say that there will still be land routes, easy to follow."

"Or if you would prefer, and I would fault you not for wishing to avoid such a thing now" he says. "We could find passage on a ship, out of Weirmonken in Turku. It's really the only settlement of a size that we in Montenegro would view as a city. When that Fey mentioned it in its prattle, that is then how I knew where we were."

Ederyn transfers the gold bead to the same hand as the stylus, so he can scratch his chin. His beard, like his shoulder-length hair and his clothing, is stiff and sticky with salt only partly washed away by last night's rain. "I prefer travel by land," he says. "Yet travel by ship is faster." His gaze falls on the smallish iron-bound chest of gifts for the King that he carried off the wrecked ship, and which he rested his back against during his sleep. "And better with luggage," he adds.

Poole gives a nod. "Walking, or even riding a long distance is not often done in elephants, as the phrase goes."

He looks back at Poole. "Let us find, if we can, how far to Turku and to a road," he says, dropping the gold bead into his purse, and putting away the stylus. "With that ... fr��leikr, that knowing, we will choose. But first, we need food and things."

"Those we can salvage from our ship, with surety." Poole says, gesturing back toward the beached and holed Vrijheid. "I took a look when you were first trying to find that spirit which was spying on us." The Ambassador starts striding toward the ship. Thanks to the tide, the ship now only sits in the shallowest of water. Although most of the ship is in the water, the slight pitch of the ship suggests that the keel is partially run aground rocks or rocks submerged even in this low tide. Besides this, the large hole on the port side of the vessel suggests that it will never sail again.

Although the pitch would make one's footing on and within it slightly perilous, it does seem eminently possible to re-board the vessel.

Ederyn follows Poole, and together they climb back into their former transport. He is relieved to find that his leather pack, containing his personal belongings (including his intended Court clothes), does not seem to have been immersed, or at least that its waterproofing held.

They need blankets for sleeping on the road, food from the galley, and a quantity of rope. Ederyn encourages Poole to add a trunk full of his own belongings; it all makes a fairly substantial pile up on the drying sand.

"We won't starve, save if we fail to carry enough food with us." Poole says. "With the natural terrain here, and the fact that we're in early spring means that we will not lack for water. We should carry a canteen or two, full, with us, just in case." Poole looks at the pile. "It all looks so much simpler and easier when stored away."

Poole's belongings are less immediately practical, and seem to revolve around a trunk of belongings, pared down from several that Poole seemed to have on the ship. The diplomat takes some time in getting his possessions into the single trunk. "I don't carry that much with me on voyages, save when I have little prospect of quick return to home." Poole says. "Still, I've little choice in the matter. I have all of the documents necessary, and the few treasures that I carry with me, as well as the gift for Amber's Monarch. The other things..." Poole looks back at the ship with a wistful look and then back at Ederyn.

The Norwendian thinks of the closed-up smithy and hidden materials he left behind, and the hut up in the hills, and the half-wild house cat he gave into the care of a neighbor in town. The single pack lying on the sand contains almost everything else he personally owns.

The wealth of goods these Montengrans keep has been shocking to Ederyn; he supposes the court of Amber will be even more awash in mostly-useless things. Still, he can sympathize with the feeling of loss, and nods understandingly towards his companion.

Then he takes a couple of his long strides further away from the water's edge and turns his attention to the sand. Once again he lets his thought merge with Earth, but this time with an even more specific purpose: he wills the sand to shift and move in certain ways, perhaps not entirely natural but not impossible either.

A short distance in front of him, a mound of sand slowly, slowly heaps up, at first in a sort of rectangular column and then, bit by bit, taking on a more definite four-legged shape, conforming to Ederyn's precise mental image. When the process is eventually complete, standing before him and Poole is a sand-sculpture, in life-like detail, of a startlingly prosaic animal: A mule.

Poole watches, at a somewhat cautious distance, but yet with a clear interest and fascination.

Taking out his stylus again, and adding a deep breath for good measure, Ederyn approaches the sculpture and inscribes a series of runes along its back, on its legs, and so forth. To his mage-sight, these key runes give off a steady glow. But that is only the beginning; he remembers how long it took for him to master this technique, and is glad he has kept in practice.

The next series of runes are inscribed in the air; the stylus flashes in the sunlight, too swiftly for the eye to follow, and the marks fly to join the ones made directly on the sand. Several minutes pass before the complex series of arcane instructions is complete. At last he makes the closing rune on the top of the sculpture's head and steps back with a sigh, shrugging the tension out of his shoulders.

Inspecting the work and finding it good, he speaks to the thing in his native language and moves back toward the pile of goods - and the mule-sculpture follows him, its gait and nodding head just like that of a real mule, though it still looks like sand. Another spoken command causes it to stop and wait, entirely motionless.

"I am not a sorcerer, as I have said many times." Poole says, walking back toward Ederyn and the Sand Mule with slow and deliberate steps. "However, I have *seen* magic at work, in Montenegro, and in the Courts that I have visited in my travels beyond my home. I have seen, Ederyn, creating things out of thin air, both prestidigitation and real conjuration. I have never before seen this..." Poole looks at it for a moment "*Shaping* that you do, save for something that a Djinn performed for the Sultan, in Dahnash."

"Do you have the blood of such a creature, as well as Prince Eric, in your line?" he asks.

Ederyn seems startled by the idea. "I believe not," he says. "It is only a skill. And an art." He also looks at the 'mule.' "It is difficult to do well," he adds. "And slow. I omitted the part to make it look real, for time's sake."

"I think your handiwork serves more than well enough as it appears." Poole replies, regarding the Sand Mule.

The smith shrugs and approaches the small trunk he first brought ashore. Touching the blank-faced iron lock, he bids it open, and takes from the top the leather bag with the rest of his personal funds. By feel, he draws out the pieces of amber he purchased before leaving, and selects four of them, each around the size of his thumb: three clear and golden-brown, and one containing the captured corpse of some unfortunate beetle.

"Gifts for the Queen," he informs Poole, showing them to him. "Think you they will serve?"

Poole steps forward to inspect the pieces of amber. "Ja, This last piece, especially, given the mystery of how an insect can be captured within a stone, without resorting to magic." he says with a nod. "The relative rareness of the mineral makes it valuable for these faerie. Its novel, unusual and rare, after all. It's not." Poole changes his voice to imitate an even higher noble of Montenegro than he already is "*common*."

"It is not precisely a stone," Ederyn notes, not surprised that Poole missed his main reason for choosing such a gift for the Queen of 'Air and Darkness.' The objects on his palm are *of* the Earth but not entirely *part* of it, to his senses, and thus - perhaps - more acceptable to her. That they are rare (at least here) is an additional benefit.

"I will take your word for that." Poole says.

Poole manages some good intentioned but not very dextrous aid in loading the mule with their combined possessions. The endlessly patient, unliving construct bears the weight without a problem, and so the two travellers, with the slow but tireless mule, can start following the path that the sailors took, to the southeast.

Soon away from the shore, Ederyn's senses lead them into the interior of Weirmonken, crossing a path and continuing to bushwhack across the country. The cool spring morning makes for brisk going, a recent rain making the ground not quite as firm as Ederyn (and especially, Poole) might like.

With a couple of brief, necessary stops, it is sometime in the early afternoon that Ederyn's trail following finally shows a sign of success. A line of hills and mountains in the distance provide a dramatic backdrop, but it is a single, lonely hill in the foreground that the path of the sailors heads toward.

"I don't understand the arcane reasons for it being so." Poole comments at this point. "However, faerie courts like these, Ederyn, are found 'within' hills, or hidden in secret vales, or, so it is said, even at the bottom of deep lakes. I'd guess that yonder hill is where this Queen has the holding where the sailors were taken."

"The Alfar at home have not courts," Ederyn replies, and pauses in a patch of sunlight, looking around for any watchers. "But I once met an one who lived inside a great tree."

"A great tree." Poole repeats, with a nod. "I can believe that, especially if you are dealing with one of their kind." Poole then gestures toward the hill.

"I suppose there will be something similar here. Your...Alfar was likely aware of all of area around his tree. So, too, I think that the denizens of this Court likely know that we're here."

"I would counsel that we wait for them to acknowledge us and allow us entry. However, I concede that you have equal experience with these beings." Poole finishes.

"Similar, but not the same exactly," Ederyn muses. "Yet I think, with both, to go ... l�till�tliga ... quietly, softly, is no good." He gifts Poole with one of his rare smiles, this one mostly teeth and little humour. "So: we go forward."

"I'm with you." Poole says confidently.

He steps out again, at a slow, meandering pace, the pseudo-mule automatically matching his speed. He keeps a sharp eye out - both mundane and arcane - for sign of any threat or sign that he approaches danger.

Poole takes the same pace as Ederyn, and the pseudo-mule, that slow, meandering pace toward the hill. The hill grows slowly in the approach, looming higher and higher.

There are no overt signs of danger to Ederyn's overt senses. Poole doesn't seem aware of anything amiss either.

It is when the two, and the mule, are within fifty yards of the base of the hill that something changes. Its not a gross change, but somehow, now, to Ederyn's eyes (and judging from Poole's reaction, his as well), the side of the hill now appears to have two tall doors of stone set into it.

Doors which of their own accord slowly begin to swing open.

"You're not the only one with a power over earth." Poole murmurs.

Ederyn makes no response, only pacing gravely toward the doors, Poole beside him and the pseudo-mule nodding along behind.

The doors remain open, quiet and passive as Ederyn, Poole and the pseudo-mule approach them. As they near it, standing in the shade, a form can be seen, hovering in the shadow cast by one of the doors. The form is very similar to the sylph that espied the pair on the beach. This one is clearly more visible, as Poole stares at it as the fae speaks in a raspy tone

"The Runesmith and the Diplomat are welcome within the Court of Zinvera, Queen of Air and Darkness. The both of you may enter and proceed most directly to her Majesty's audience chamber. She awaits your entry."

The sylph pauses and then adds. the raspy voice turning ominous.

"If you both dare."

Ederyn considers for a moment. "An audience chamber, I think, is not a place for a pack animal," he notes, and leads the pseudo-mule a short distance off to the side.

"It didn't give the mule leave to entry in any event." Poole murmurs to Ederyn.

Thoughtfully, he fetches the gold bead from his belt-pouch and rolls it in his palm for a moment. It gleams in the sunshine - then shines a little brighter, then brighter still, as he gathers in the Fire inherent in the sunlight. (He hopes anyone watching is suitably impressed by this difficult feat.)

The Sylph in the shadow seems to twist uncomfortably in the air at Ederyn's fiery display of power.

When it reaches the right point, he brings his other hand close and plucks a thread of gold from the bead, almost too thin to be seen by unaided sight. Moving quickly now, he circles the psuedo-mule, laying a series of threads over it; twelve, he feels, is the right number, plus a closed loop in the grass. There is still a fair amount of the bead left after this, and he drops it back in his purse.

Next, he brings the stylus out again, and sketches a new series of runes; even Poole can see these gleam in the air for a moment, then flow toward the golden threads. He pauses, mentally reviewing the next steps, and then walks around the mule, etching another (invisible) series of eight runes.

When he closes the last one, the mule and its drapery vanish from normal and arcane sight, leaving a bare patch of grass inside a slightly trampled circle.

Ederyn studies the effect, gives a satisfied nod, and strolls back toward the doors. "Shall we go in, Daniel?"

The diplomat nods. "We have been invited in, it would be rude not to do so at this stage." He paused and them adds in a slightly amused tone. "Runesmith."

Poole then lowers his voice as they proceed toward the entrance together "Did you send the sand mule Elsewhere, or simply disguise it from their sight?"

He dawdles his steps to hear Ederyn's response before the boundary of the looming entrance of the world under the hill is crossed.

"Both, or neither," Ederyn says, peering ahead into the doorway. He is not sure how to express the concept "space" in Thari, much less the notion of manipulating it like fabric.

"All right." Poole says with a nod, accepting this for now.

Inside the doorway is a roughhewn tunnel, dimly light, extending an impossible distance into the hill.

"Hurry up. Her Majesty is waiting." comes the voice of the sylph, now visible as a shadow within the shadow, a being made not completely of air as the one was that spied upon Ederyn and Daniel, but rather a creature of shadow and darkness as well. Red eyes give a baleful look.

Ederyn appears undisturbed, nor does he appear to hurry - though his pace is now an ordinary walking pace, as he crosses the threshold.

There is a mild tingle as Ederyn crosses the threshold. On Poole, this is manifested as a shiver, a tingle that causes him to briefly squirm before his instincts suppress them. Ederyn is aware, though, that the rules of the universe inside of this hill are slightly different than those outside of it.

Now inside of the hill, the shadow sylph is somewhat more visible as a shadowy, smoky outline within the darker black, still with the baleful red eyes.

"Down the tunnel, do not veer into any of the side tunnels." the creature hisses.

"We're pleased to proceed to her Majesty's Court." Poole says, with diplomatic smoothness. He even gives the creature a nod of the head. The diplomat then looks to Ederyn expectantly.

The smith is darkly amused, if the expression in his eyes is anything to go by, but he only begins striding down the corridor, still alert for any threat or trickery.

The tunnel that Ederyn and Poole go down is deserted. Not neglected or dusty, the rough hewn look of the tunnel looks both impossibly new and as old as a turn of the universe.

As the shadow creature promised, there are many side tunnels, an equal number to both sides. Some of the tunnels hold the promise of a fresh breeze, of an inviting glow as compared to the semidarkness of the main tunnel.

And then there is the voice. Halfway to the wide opening at the far end of the tunnel, a voice from one of the side tunnels ahead starts to sing. A song of reverie, and desire, and loss, and longing, terrible longing. A song that interweaves both the names of Ederyn...and Daniel.

Ederyn does not at first identify this as a threat. He listens absently, moved to remember his own lost ones, until they reach this tunnel and he finds himself turning to go down it. His breath catches and he stops, feeling the pull of enchantment now, like a strong current in water. An instant later he reaches out and catches Poole's arm.

Ederyn's strength is necessary to keep Poole from advancing down the tunnel, for the diplomat seems set to traverse its seemingly empty length.

"Ederyn. I hear her..." he says. pushing and pulling against Ederyn's strength. "I have to see her. I must. She sings of a girl that I lost,years ago, to the yellow fever. She knows her. She has to. Let me go to her!" The look in Poole's eyes is glazed and ensorcelled.

In seeming response to this, the song focuses exclusively on Poole, dropping the references to Ederyn entirely. As it does so, the enchantment's pull on Ederyn, at least, fades away entirely, even as it attempts to pull Poole even more strongly. And then comes something else that Ederyn hears.

"Let him go." comes a voice seemingly just for Ederyn's ears, emanating from this same tunnel. "I will make it worth your while if you allow me this morsel."

Ederyn keeps a firm grip on Poole. "I will need him later," he replies to the voice, with a show of apologetic regret. He raises his free hand, a spark of sorcerous energy glowing at the tip of the index finger. "Let us not argue this, Singer. The Queen is waiting."

The Singer does not respond immediately, instead continuing its siren song on Poole. However, after a few moments, and coming to a graceful and artistic conclusion, the Song from the still unseen Singer finally ends. Poole's attempts at progressing forward stop, and a look of bewilderment comes over his face as the enchantment bleeds away.

"Unfortunately" the voice responds. "You are indeed correct on that point, Smith. It would not do to anger her Majesty. A free word of advice. Do not anger the Queen, for her punishments can be creative. You may wish for a simple death."

"I thank you for this advice," Ederyn says gravely.

"Go then to the Queen, Smith, you and the Speaker of Words." A breeze blows down the tunnel, and Ederyn can feel that the faerie, and her song, is gone.

Poole for his own part shakes his head, to clear the cobwebs. The look in his eyes is still a little glassy, his body motions still a little uncertain. Ederyn for his part feels no ill after-effects, especially after his own sorcerous display of power.

The smith keeps holding on to Poole, but more to be sure he won't fall over. "Your arm is hurt, I think," he says, looking at the other man with concern. "This is indeed a place of some danger."

Poole's steps very slowly, with Ederyn's help, start to become sure and strong. After about ten yards, well beyond the dangerous side tunnel, Ederyn feels confident enough in letting go of the diplomat and allowing him to walk on his own. The steps are not precisely sprightly, but Poole manages each one, fending off any further efforts at aid with a raising of his left hand.

"You're a strong one." Daniel replies. "Still, I'd rather a sprained arm, then whatever awaited me had I gone down that tunnel.' He pauses, and uses his hand to lean against the tunnel wall for a moment. He regards Ederyn, and gives a bow of his head.

"Thank you, Ederyn. Let's go see this Queen, yes?"

Ederyn returns the nod, his expression as serious as it usually is. "You are welcome." If he has any regrets about choosing this course, they do not show. He proceeds down the tunnel again, matching his pace to Poole's recovering one.

The slower pace means that the various side tunnels pass by with more painful glacial slowness. However, past the barrier of the Siren, there seem to be no further distractions to lure Ederyn and Poole. Or, perhaps more crucially, none of these potential distractions manifest themselves.

The tunnel turns into a corridor, with stone square walls, and baroque tapestries lining the wall. Unnatural lights, locked in small cages of brass, illuminate the way, putting off pools of yellow light that form a line of lights deeper and deeper into the hill.

The first beings that Ederyn and Poole see in person since the shadow guardian at the threshold turn out to be a pair of elfin figures, tall, dressed as knights, in armor of burnished bronze and carrying long oak spears with tips of the same bronze metal. These spears are crossed to bar entry to a pair of great doors with grotesque knockers on them.

The left guard regards Poole. "Are you Ederyn Ericson Smith, the Maker, come to see her Majesty?"

"No" Poole says. "I am..."

The guard interrupts Poole and then looks at Ederyn. Poole is too much of a diplomat to glower.

"Are *you* Ederyn Ericson Smith, the Maker, come to see her Majesty?"

"Yes," Ederyn says, very interested in the fact that they know his whole name.

"You are expected, and welcome." the left guard says. "As well as your companion." He regards Poole with a slightly suspicious air again. However, both guards move their spears from the crossed position and bring them down to ring against the floor.

The right guard opens the door as the left one speaks again.

Beyond the open doors is a long tear drop shaped room, with the thin end at the doors, and the room opening out to a much wider space. In that wider space, lit by a fey yellow light, are a host of humanoids, all of whom have turned to look at the entrance.

It seems, Ederyn thinks mordantly, that every Court in the universe is larger than that of his own King.

Beyond the assemblage of people is a throne upon which sits a woman with pale yellow hair beneath her silvery coronet, which matches the color of her robes.

"Let us see you." The woman says. "The *both* of you, I suppose." she adds in a slightly bored air.

"I have the feeling of being somewhat unwanted." Poole murmurs.

"Best stay quiet, I think," Ederyn agrees.

And he steps forward into the room. As he paces calmly forward, he keeps his gaze fixed on the Queen, using only his peripheral vision to observe the beings that are watching him.

The walk toward the Queen and her throne is definitely longer than the one to Ederyn's own King, and certainly it is people by more unusual people. The beings range from tall and haughty looking fey beings, to short and stout bearded beings topping out at 5 feet and likely 200 pounds that resemble the dwarves of his land. One of the odder beings is is a tall woman who, with her leafy green skin and hair appears to be as much a tree as a woman, and a pair of the shadowy creatures similar to the one that guarded the entrance to the realm beneath the hill. All eyes are on Ederyn; his peripheral vision confirms that he is the object of interest and just about no one pays attention to Poole. He walks beside Ederyn, saying nothing, keeping his focus on the Queen firmly.

When Ederyn reaches twenty paces from the throne, its dais and its occupant, the Queen smoothly raises a crystal-topped amber wand in the air, a clear signal to stop progress and speak. She swings the octahedral point of the wand to point at Ederyn. Around him, Ederyn can hear the intakes of breath of anticipation from the assembled Court.

He bows, smoothly, copying the manner of the Montenegrans. "Your Majesty is very kind to receive me, little known to you as am I," he says when he straightens up. "I would offer greetings from the Lady of the Oak, but I travel not on her business. Still - I hope you will accept this small gift, from me."

So saying, he reaches into his belt pouch, slowly enough that there can be no threat in the gesture. The pieces of amber come to his hand, and he brings them out, openly, resting on his palm.

"It would be improper for you to offer greetings from our royal cousin if you do not travel on her behalf." the Queen replies. She leans forward on her chair to better see the pieces of Amber that Ederyn has selected as a gift. Eyes study the pieces even at the distance with a piercing, all encompassing gaze.

A small smile briefly plays upon her lips. "Your gift is welcome and accepted, Ederyn Ericson Smith. You may approach closer. First, your gift of course. Dionisa..."

A sprite very similar to the one whom Ederyn and Poole encountered on the beach manifests in the air before Ederyn. The creature of the air gently allows a small breeze to blow across Ederyn, and then two cupped hands appear at about chest height.

He glances down, trying to ascertain what it is holding.

The hands are empty; it would appear that they are cupped for Ederyn to deliver the gift that he has now shown unto the sprite.

Ederyn carefully drops the stones into the hands. When the sprite moves out of the way he steps forward again, with only a quick glance to the side to make sure that Poole won't try to follow.

Poole gives a nod and a reassuring smile to Ederyn in response, but he remains in place, as if he were rooted there. With the amber delivered, the sprite backs up, still facing Ederyn as he approaches, only turning at the last to deliver the pieces into an elegantly outstretched hand of the Queen.

When Ederyn has halved the distance, ten paces from the dais and the throne, the Queen of Air and Darkness raises her hand and gestures with the wand to signal Ederyn to stop.

He halts almost before she completes the gesture, and waits patiently, a trace of curiosity now showing in his expression.

"Very good." she says, looking at the pieces for a moment longer before returning them to Dionisa. She then looks at Ederyn.

"You came here, I trust, because of the matter of the sailing men who were shipwrecked upon our treacherous shores?" the Queen asks him.

"Yes, your Majesty," he responds. "I made wards to protect them. Against your servants -" he nods toward the hovering Dionisa - "they failed, but I tried."

Dionisa regards Ederyn as almost a small mirror of the Queen, who considers Ederyn's words for a few moments.

"I am perhaps pleased that they were not proof. I brought the sailing men here, Smith, for the simple reason that I wished to bring *you* here. Tell me this, Smith, for a wager within the Court depends on it."

The Queen pauses and then leans slightly forward to regard Ederyn more directly as she continues.

"If I had not brought the sailors here, and instead sent only Dionisa to your camp, with a summons or invitation, would you have come to my Court of your own free will?"

It is Ederyn's turn to consider for a moment, though he does not try to avoid the Queen's gaze, and he still shows no trace of fear. "I think of no reason to refuse any courteous request," he says, "though I should not delay my errand. No more than I must, that is."

The Queen laughs.

"A fair answer, and not the one I was counseled by my advisor that you would give." She glances over through the supplicants and attendants of the court to a sandy haired man. "This one here, one of my advisors, said that you would never dare to come here if I only offered an invitation, without something more substantial to bring you here."

Ederyn follows her gaze, taking a look at the man whose expression tells him he's the one the Queen is referring to.

The sandy haired man looks ordinary, especially in relation to the faerie and other unusual beings that are in the room. He's dressed in a doublet of brown, with red trousers. That sandy hair is cut short, and his eyes are blue. He seems to be holding his expression in check at the Queen's words.

"Perhaps I should." the Queen muses "turn him into, say, a hammer, and tender him into your care, Smith, for a year and a day of service. With the proviso that you use him, and frequently." Malice is not quite the right word to describe the facial expression of a nonhuman fey, but there is a cold and cruel amusement on the Queen's lips as she expresses the thought.

"What say you to that idea?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment, as if he is not rejecting the idea out of hand. Then he shrugs. "I think I will have little chance for smith-work for some time," he says. "That would not meet your desire in this, your Majesty."

"Perhaps not." The Queen looks at Ederyn speculatively, and then glances at the unnamed advisor and then back at Ederyn. "Of course, if I were to ask for you a gift from your hand and skill, to be delivered in a year and a day, then you would be of a surety to employ such a loan of a hammer, wouldn't you?"

"Your Majesty, please, I beg you..." the man responds. "I only sought to ensure that the Smith arrives so that..."

"Quiet your prattle." The Queen says. "You've decided for me. The idea pleases me to do." She gestures toward two of the guards. "Take Nasirpal and soulforge him into the form of a smith's hammer, and bring it back here."

The two indicated guards move toward. He does not run, but rather than speak and plead with the Queen, he gives one last pleading look at Ederyn before he is carried, bodily, out of sight.

The smith suppresses his dismay, but some of it can be seen by Nasirpal, at least, as he briefly meets the unfortunate man's gaze.

"Now" the Queen returns to looking at Ederyn. "I suppose that you are curious why I have gone to some trouble to ensure that you would come here."

"Indeed yes, Majesty," he replies, with a certain wariness. He's already given her several gems, and gotten back only the task of punishing one of her people and making her yet another gift; what else is she going to want?

The Queen smiles thinly.

"Then although I am a Queen and not a diviner, let me tell you of a prophecy, and a birthright, and what has brought this meeting to take place." the Queen says. She gestures with a hand. "Some time ago, a diviner in my Court predicted that a man from outworld would come to Weirmonken, but not by choice. A heir to power, a throne, a birthright, and to a loyalty that he knew of but little."

"Such prophecies are amusing, but harmless." The Queen continues, waving a hand as if dismissing what she said. "I regarded it as being a fancy, a fantasia to amuse me."

Listening intently, Ederyn gives a slight nod of agreement with her opinion of most prophecies.

"A moon ago, a group came to my Court under an old right and treaty. They had heard of the prophecy and had one of their own that promised that you, Smith, would appear in Weirmonken and soon. They were desirous of a meeting, and wished it to take place here in my Court I owed their clan a favor, and to discharge that debt, I agreed. And thus I asked Nasirpal, whom you just met, if he thought you would come to Court of your own accord. In any event, now that meeting may occur."

The Queen pauses a moment and then raises her voice.

"Kezia, come and greet him."

Three figures comes out from between the line of people. Two of the figures are crosses between wolves and men, standing on two legs and nearly seven feet tall at the tops of their dark furred canine heads. The third is a human woman dressed formally in a red dress. Her hair is red too, shot through with bolts of silver.

Ederyn turns toward them and eyes the wolf-creatures with respectful interest; these must be ones that Poole and the sylph both mentioned.

[Casting Call: Luciana Paluzzi, circa Thunderball]

She bows to the Queen, as do her companions, but she goes to one knee before Ederyn and lowers her head as she speaks.

"Ederyn Eric's son, heir to our Jarl and heir to his title and power by birthright, I hold the fealty of the clans of the Weir in trust and now, as we did to our Jarl your father, we offer it to you for your journey to claim your birthrights."

Close observers can see that the smith is surprised, though as with all his expressions this one is very contained. He studies Kezia's bowed head, then looks into the eyes of the two wolf-men.

Finally his gaze returns to the woman. "Look at me," he says quietly.

Slowly and carefully, as if Ederyn was indeed her liege lord, she looks up at his command. The hesitancy slowly melts like snow in early spring. Dark eyes regard the smith, but she does not lower or waver her gaze. Ederyn does notice the slight trembling of her lip, and slightly canine looking teeth digging into her bottom lip.

For his part, Ederyn seems troubled, yet also very focused. Just loud enough for her and her escort to hear, he says, "It may be that I am not be what you wish for in a Jarl. And likely not what you expect."

Kezia pauses a moment, moving her head slightly to look at her escort

and then regards Ederyn again.

"You may or may not be what is expected for or hoped for in a Jarl, milord." she says. Her voice is quiet, modulated, and certainly few beyond Ederyn, herself, the Weir and perhaps the Queen can hear. "However, the bonds of blood and rulership persist never the less. It is whispered in the forests that your father, may his journeys in Arborea be endless and fruitful, was not what we sought or expected in a Jarl, himself. He does not hear the call of the Moon as we do. He does not seek the taste of Heart's Blood."

"I would wager, milord." Kezia says "that you do not do these things, either. But in truth, how different are you from your father?"

"I know not," Ederyn replies. "I never saw him. And I never heard of Weirmonken or its people before today."

He waits a beat, his keen gaze taking in her response to that.

Kezia seems slightly surprised by the first, but the second is much less of a surprise to her and allows her slightly perplexed look to recover to a more stable mien.

"You see, perhaps, why I hesitate," he goes on. "Or some of it. But, if the clans are of one thought in this ..."

And he waits again, measuring the truth of her response.

"It is wisdom to consider a fork in the path." Kezia says quietly after a thought. "before one chooses a fork hastily and unwell. Know this. 900 moons ago, your father came to this land, where he had never walked before, and Amber was only known as an old, distant rich land of which we knew little. Our clans, fractious and squabbling, were united under his hand, and his guidance. More than a few of us journeyed with him back to Amber to serve him in his needs there."

"Three hundred and sixty moons ago, we received word that he perished, with honor, defending the realm of Amber from invaders from afar, and by extension, our own. Those in his service returned here. Without him, it was obvious to all that we might descend back into the way that we lived before the Jarl's coming. But there was a prophecy, spoken by one of our seers. That if we would wait, a son and heir to Eric would come to our land, seeking his own birthright and the heritage of his father. The Clans agreed that we would wait for your arrival. We claimed an old debt..." she glances at the attentive and watchful Queen "to ensure that we would meet you properly."

"We did not imagine." Kezia admits. "that you were raised apart from our Jarl, and know nothing of him. But it does not change who and what you are to us."

Ederyn listens with intense interest to this history of his father, and as Kezia confirms what he already suspected. He spares an moment's thought for what old King Aren, and perhaps others, would have to say about this. Then he holds his hands out toward her.

The female Weir is not certain of Ederyn's gesture, but after a moment's gesture and coaxing, Ederyn manages to convey the idea of clasping her hands within his own. Kazia understands this as some sort of giving of obeisance, and takes in the gesture.

"I, Ederyn Ericsen, accept the fealty of the clans of the Weir," he says, in clear tones meant to be heard by all. "As you keep faith with me, so shall I keep faith with you."

"On behalf of the clans of the Weir, under the New, Changing and Full Moon, I and the Clans of the Weir will keep faith with he whom we have pledged our fealty. Our Jarl." she responds in an equally clear and loud tone, ringing through the Queen's Court. Kazia says a few more words in a lower tone, in a language that Ederyn does not know. The result is that the two towering wolf-men Weir kneel at this point, and bow their heads in Ederyn's direction. They both say a few words in that same, guttural language.

"We have much to learn about each other," Ederyn says, quietly again, as he releases Kezia's hands. "I will try to begin soon." He gestures for the three to get up, and then turns toward the Queen of Air and Darkness.

Kezia and her two companions move to stand behind Ederyn.

"Your Majesty," he says, giving her another slight bow of respect. Surprisingly, there is a dark amusement in his blue eyes, as his gaze meets hers again. "I trust this is enough diversion for you?"

"Indeed" The Queen of Air and Darkness replies. "I believe that all debts have been paid and all promises made today have been filled, save one..." the Queen snaps her fingers.

A small, androgynous, elfin being about four feet tall comes out of the crowd, carrying a familiar-shaped item in an oilcloth. The being moves between the Queen and Ederyn, bows, and then turns to present the bundle to Ederyn. She(?) unwaps it as she extends the bundle forward, to reveal a brand new cross pein forging hammer. While the handle is wood, the head appears to be made of some sort of golden bronze material, rather than iron or steel.

At the sight of the object, Ederyn's expression loses even the faint trace of humor he had just shown. "If your Majesty still wishes this small favor from me," he says.

"It would please me." The Queen replies.

Bracing his mind against any contact from the misfortunate being trapped inside, he takes the handle and gently tests the balance of the hammer, eyeing the material of the head a little dubiously.

While the material of the head is definitely odd, the balance of the hammer is good, very good as a matter of fact. The shape and overall density of the head material, combined with the handle, give the hammer a heft similar to tools Ederyn has used in the past. Perhaps just a tad heavier overall, but its not overbalanced in any way.

As far as the misfortunate Nasirpal, there is no immediate recognition of mindtouch with him within the hammer, perhaps thanks to Ederyn's steeling himself against such a contact.

The Queen and the Court watch Ederyn's study of the tool, murmurings running up and down the Court. Kezia and the other Weir are attentive and watchful but silent.

"Do not forget to collect the human you brought with you upon your departure." the Queen says, as if satisfied with Ederyn's wordless appraisal of the hammer.

The smith reaches for the oilcloth and re-wraps the hammer in a few swift notions. "No," he says while he does this. "But what about the sailors I came looking for?"

The Queen smiles slightly, and perhaps a bit ruefully, as if being reminded of something that she would have preferred Ederyn to have forgotten.

"Indeed" she says after a moment's shake of the head. "I had hoped to gain something by this entire affair. However, since you have asked over their fate, they will be remanded to your custody rather than the plans I had made for them." The Queen says. She pauses and gestures with her wand casually.

"They will be waiting for you outside when you depart from Under the Hill, Ederyn Ericsen Smith." The Queen says. "Alive and unspoiled."

A sigh of disappointment comes from an unseen member of the court.

"Your Majesty is ... bli�r," Ederyn says, finding he does not know a Thari word for 'gracious.' "And I will remember. I dare to say, that is not nothing."

The Queen assents her head to Ederyn. " "As you say, it shall be believed"

She then looks at Kezia. " Fare thee well, and may he prove the heir to the Jarl that you hope him to be. You all may now depart, in surety and safety. Begone, all of you." She swishes the wand and briefly points it at Ederyn, Kezia and the two other Weir.

"I'd not turn my back on her Majesty, milord Jarl, until we are at least back to the point where we can collect your friend and ally." Kezia quietly advises.

Ederyn gives her swift glance and a slight nod, tucks the hammer under his left arm and bows to the Queen. Then he backs away, his opaque gaze still on her, mindful of the Weir behind him.

Kezia's advice seems wise, as the eyes of the Court, and the Queen are keenly on Ederyn, taking measure of his departure as much as they did his arrival.

When he reaches Poole, he bows once more, somewhat less deeply, takes one more deliberate step backward, and turns away from the Queen.

Poole makes one step forward to match Ederyn, bows to the same depth as Ederyn does, and at this point turns away from the Queen as well.

Making his unhurried way toward the doors with the other four in tow, the smith now looks around at the assembled beings. Perhaps he is curious about them, but it is impossible to tell from his expression.

The expressions of the assembled beings are a range. Ederyn gets a look of surprise from a black skinned and white haired male and female pair that look much like Svart�lfar, and resemble each other enough to be twins. There is a look of disappointment from a red eyed and tall bald being, with long fingernails and an unwholesome look about him. A woman who looks as much a tree as a woman bends her head, complete with a crown of leaves, in a gesture of apparent respect to Ederyn as he, Poole, Kezia and the Weir pass by her.

Eventually they reach the doors, and pass through them into the long corridor. Ederyn ignores the guards there and continues on, his pace perhaps a little faster.

None of his companions seem to mind or comment on Ederyn's pace. None of them, either, have anything to say, until the group is past the doors and is in that long corridor with all of the side passages that leads back to the world.

"You did well there, Ederyn." Daniel finally says, twenty paces from the doors and the guards that flank it. "Very well." He doesn't slack his pace, but somehow the diplomat manages a sketchy bow toward Kezia.

"Daniel Poole, of Montenegro." he says to her.

"Kezia, of the Mirza Clan." she replies. "These are Boaz, of the Farrokh Clan and Cyrus of Clan Shahruz" The now two named Weir grunt their responses.

At these introductions, Ederyn looks around to find out which of the wolf-men is which.

Although at first glance the Weir are not very distinguishable, based on Kezia's gesture, Boaz is slighter taller, and his fur somewhat more rust colored than his shorter and grayer looking companion. Also, Cyrus has a slightly larger snout than his taller counterpart.

"I have to admit." Daniel says as the outer doors start to come into view. "of all the reasons why the Queen wanted you in particular, the ones she revealed were not expected." His glance goes from the Weir, to the wrapped hammer.

"Yes," Ederyn agrees.

"I think," he says next, "that Boaz and Cyrus will frighten the sailors." He glances at them, trying to determine whether they understood that.

The toothy grins from Boaz and Cyrus suggest that they not only understood enough of Ederyn's speech to get the gist, but actively like the idea. Kezia shakes her head and speaks in a guttural, harsh language. There is a few moments of give and take, before Kezia turns to regard Ederyn.

"Milord..." she begins with a tone of slight shame "I regret that your bodyguards' ability to shift is not as deft and skilled as mine. They can shift back to a human shape now if you wish, but would find it exceedingly difficult to shift back to their Gauru form if it is needful."

Ederyn regards her thoughtfully, his pace slowing a little. "Is Weirmonken so dangerous, that I may need such help?"

"Yes." Kezia says without hesitation. She looks at Daniel, with a slightly apologetic look, and then back to Ederyn. "Forgive me, milord Jarl, I am often used to giving direct and often curt answers. My training as a skald is not as polished as your friend the Diplomat."

Ederyn nearly laughs at the spectacle of someone apologizing to him for brevity of speech.

Poole gives a nod and listens.

"To extend my answer." Kezia continues "the world of Weirmonken is a fierce one and not kind to the weak. You have already met the Fey, and you can see a bit, I think of the power of the Weir. Many other fierce creatures live in this land, from trolls and giants, to rumors of Wyrms and Dragons."

"Travelers tales of the dangers of our world are few." Kezia finishes "for few travelers seek to come here, and not all of them return."

The new Jarl listens more soberly to this information, as they draw closer to the doors. "We have some such things in Norwend," he says, "but they are ... not often. Rare."

"There seem to be some similarities between this Norwend you grew up in my lord Jarl, and our own land of Weirmonken." Kezia says.

Ederyn nods absently, thinking, then shrugs. "I doubt that waiting back within the doors would be wise," he says. "Daniel and I will try to calm them." He gives the two male Weir a quelling look. "And you will try to *not* frighten them."

Although they do not seem to have mastered Thari as a spoken language, it seems that they have at least some ability to understand it. Boaz and Cyrus bow their heads, and bow their heads further after Kezia says a few more words in that guttural language. It's still not familiar to Ederyn but he has begun to pick up a bit of the cadence of how it sounds and is spoken, in any event.

The two Weir growl out a response and bow their heads again to Ederyn.

"Now" Kezia says with a slightly bright note to her voice. "Now we can go and meet the crew of the ship."

The doors open of their own accord as Ederyn, Kezia, Cyrus, Boaz and Daniel approach them. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and about 10 yards from the hill, a group of men mill about.

They are, as Ederyn expected and the Queen of Air and Darkness promised, the sailors.

One of them, whom Ederyn will recognize as Captain Edwall, strides forward, a finger stroking his black beard as he regards the group. The rest seem rooted in place.

Edwall, Ederyn will note, is doing his best not to look at Boaz and Cyrus as he walks slowly toward him.

"Smith!" Edwall growls. "I understand that we have you to thank, and to blame, for our freedom and imprisonment. And perhaps the loss of my ship, too."

Kezia tenses slightly at Edwall's greeting. Poole cocks his head, ready to respond, if Ederyn wishes him to do so.

Boaz and Cyrus just seem to be looking away from the sailors as much as they seem able.

Ederyn has not thought of the shipwreck in those terms before; after a startled moment, he says, "It seems Ur�r willed that I come here. So, perhaps it is my fault, as you say - though it was only your freedom that I willed, myself." He pauses fractionally to let that sink in.

Edwall opens his mouth to speak, and then shuts it as he digests what Ederyn has said, giving Ederyn opportunity to continue.

"Captain Edwall," the smith goes on, "be known to the skald Kezia of Clan Mirza. Kezia, this is a skilled ship-master, who kept the storm from drowning us all, Ur�r's will or no." And he watches them to be sure they've gotten his point.

"Then he must be truly skilled to dare �gir in wrath and bring those under his charge to safety." Kezia replies. She steps forward and turns her palms upward and cups them as she extends her arms in the direction of Captain Edwall. "You then are responsible for saving the life of not only yourself and your crew, but of course, my Jarl. For that, I thank you with sincerity."

Ederyn's words and Kezia's sincerity soften Edwall's gruffness. "Hunh. You're welcome." he says, shaking his head. The display seems to have soothed the sailors behind him as well. Out of the corner of his eye, Poole gives Ederyn a fractional nod of respect and support. Edwall returns his gaze to Ederyn.

"I seem to recall the damage to my ship was pretty bad. Didn't get a good look at it though." Edwall says, his tone much less angry now. "However, I did contract to take you and the Ambassador to Amber, and even with your new friends around you now...not me, or my father, or his father ever's broken a contract."

Ederyn nods his respect towards this commitment. "The ship looked bad to me, but I cannot guess about repairing it," he replies. "We all will look. But first we need to know - Kezia, how long to Amber from here on feet, or else to some town?"

Kezia looks pensive for a moment. "Turku is the largest port of humans in Weirmonken." she says. "It is perhaps a day's travel from where we stand." She looks up and down at Ederyn and then the sailors. "A day by the pace of the Weir, which, milord Jarl, I daresay you might match. Perhaps closer to two days for the sailors, the captain and the diplomat."

"It is said that the passage to Amber takes from the moon at half full until the full moon in order to reach the Great Wood that surrounds the kingdom of Amber." she continues.

Ederyn contemplates the sailors, from the leathery old man to the boy on his first voyage.

None of them seem pleased at the thought of such a walk. The unhappiness is overlaid with a mien of stoicism, though.

"A fortnight." Poole says. "So, for most of us, nearly a month's travel overland. Not much longer than the sea route we were going to take..." he looks at Edwall.

"Three weeks of sailing in good weather to reach the port of Amber." Edwall says. "With less tired feet." he smiles slightly at the last. "Assuming that my ship can be repaired for the purpose, or a new ship obtained in Turku."

"We will try the ship, or Turku," Ederyn decides, sighing.

Poole raises an eyebrow, and then nods.

But first, he walks to one side, to the spot where he hid their baggage, fishing out the bead of gold once more. It in glints very brightly in the sunshine, as he passes it through approximately the right area and unlocks his work. The spell unfolds, revealing ...

Revealing, still hale and whole, the construct of sand, carring the baggage from the ship, topped by Ederyn's shield and arms. There are gasps from the sailors; while they have dealt with the fae here, and Ederyn's profession was not unknown to begin with, a manifest demonstration of his skills is something else again.

Kezia's reaction is more of satisfaction than anything. The two Weir behind her give subtle bows of the head in Ederyn's direction. Poole offers a smile.

"You do show skill at what you do." Edwall says. He steps forward toward the Sand Mule. "Would it be possible to create more of these, if the ship cannot be salvaged and we have to walk to Terrkoo? Or, if the Gods will it, to Amber itself?"

"I must make them new each morning," Ederyn says, competently checking that the load is still secure. "But sailors keep fewer things than diplomats, I think." He gives Poole a look that falls somewhere between sardonic and amused.

Poole gives a slight nod. Edwall cocks his head and grins at the jest.

"Two more should not hold us too long in the morning," the smith finishes, and glances toward the sun-splashed Hill. "Let us leave here," he suggests, and orders the mule to follow him as he starts back along the route they all took to reach this place.

Like a string, those following Ederyn sort themselves out into a marching order. Ederyn is in the front of course, seemingly by acclimation. Kezia walks beside him, Boaz and Cyrus act as outriders away from the main column. Behind Ederyn, Poole falls in with Captain Edwall once he realizes the smith wishes to consult with the Weir, and behind the two of them, the sailors string out by rank, save for the first mate, Brinkirk, who winds up in the rear of the line.

"Kezia," Ederyn says, "What other rulers are here, besides that Queen, and myself, and the clan-chiefs?"

"The humans mostly rule themselves at a local level." Kezia replies, as the party makes it way down toward the sea and the ruins of the ship. "Villages and towns are always fortified and have local rulership. They sometimes title themselves. However, milord, I can't really think of anyone who claims large areas. We Weir, and to an extent, the Fey, do not like the idea of a human kingdom or duchy trying to subjugate a region."

Her eyes brighten slightly. "The Clans have taken measures in the past to prevent the humans from unifying, milord. Dalan Bearkiller, for example, tried to unite all the towns in the Swindale valley under his rule. Boaz's clan, and a couple of minor ones together culled Bearkiller's holdings in response."

Ederyn stares at her for a moment, his already hard-to-read expression becoming completely inscrutable. Then he turns away and picks up the pace a little.

Under his lead, the party keeps up a brisk pace, faster on downhill slopes and flat parts of their path than on up-hill places, and he glances back over the column now and then, checking on how well the sailors are keeping up.

The sailors are not used to marching. However, they have the Captain and his officers exhorting them. In addition, it is possible that the presence of the Weir and the prospect of being caught in dangerous country at night might speed their steps as well.

At one point, Poole draws up next to Ederyn as they progress.

"These Weir are a bloody minded lot, to be sure." he murmurs. "It's said that the Royal Family of Amber can be the same way. It's no wonder that your father aligned himself with them."

Ederyn nods in response, but his gaze remains on the path he is trying to retrace.

In this way, they eventually reach the top of the low dunes that line the shore, with the setting sun's glow streaming over their shoulders towards the sea. "My ship!" Captain Edwall cries, moving forward at a faster trot across the sands toward the wreck of the Vrijheid. The sailors follow him, breaking the discipline they showed on their march as they head toward the beached and holed vessel. Past Ederyn they stream, leaving him, Poole, and the three Weir in their wake.

It still seems obvious to Ederyn, from where he stands, that the ship would be difficult and time consuming to repair here. In a shipyard with proper tools and lumber...the hole and damage could be repaired to survive an ocean voyage quickly. Here, on this beach, it is much less feasible to undo what storm and water, and the machinations of fate have wrought on the Montengrean vessel.

Ederyn follows, scanning shore and sea, and coming to a halt inland from the ship's prow, well away from the surf.

The sailors surround the beached ship, the Captain talking with his crew in an excited voice. Their Thari is not easy to follow, thick with a Montenegrean accent and loan words. However, its clear they are discussing the damage, and what would be needed to fix it.

The three Weir keep their distance from the surf, even more so than Ederyn, staying on the landward side of Ederyn. Poole, for his point, is willing to risk the surf coming close so that he can keep the Smith between him and the Weir, especially Boaz and Cyrus.

Finally the Captain comes back, with an apologetic look on his face.

"Goodman Ederyn." he begins. "The damage is not as bad as we feared, although it is worse than it might be. The trees of Weirmonken, like many things..." he glances past Ederyn toward the Weir "are strong, but it will take time to turn trees into boards. Thanks to the Unicorn and other Gods, we have carpenters and a crew who can repair the ship, although the repairs will be slow. If all were to go well, we might float my beloved Vrijheid again in 30 days."

"Perhaps..." Poole interjects "the talents of a smith might accelerate that?" he says, turning toward Ederyn.

The tall man shakes his head slightly. "Of a sorceror," he corrects.

"A sorceror" the diplomat repeats, with a nod.

Speaking to Captain Edwall, he says, "I would trust not to sorcery for a long journey, nor for crossing to other shadows. But to reach Turku, perhaps - if the damage could be covered, somehow, I could ..." He pauses, searching for the best words. "Make it, the cover, to not let in the waters," he finishes.

"Sealing a patch against flooding would make sailing of any distance much easier." Edwall replies. "And make repairs much faster, if we only need but cover the hole rather than rebuild the hull."

The meal on the beach is a relatively simple affair in the early going, as ship's rations are broken out and fires made for the sailors to sit around against the ocean breeze.

The Weir turn their noses up at that, and with apologies, Kezia tells Ederyn that Boaz and Cyrus will go off to hunt. This hunt is quickly effective, as each of them return with a deer draped across their soldiers.

After offering Ederyn the first cut and choice of meat, the three Weir together consume about a half of one of the deer, and the rest of the meat is available to supplement the evening's meal. Although they are still frightened of the Weir, the gift of fresh meat to be cooked over the fires does help relations. Ederyn can find time to think and ponder the situation.

With food and time to meditate, some ideas do occur to Ederyn. From his point of view, keeping the water out of a hole might be done one or both of several methods.

First, if a patch is made, a spell might be laid to keep the patch bonded closely with the rest of the ship, integrating it with the body of the hull so tightly as to be impermeable to the sea.

Alternatively, or perhaps in concert, the patch might be made hydrophobic, repelling the water away from all sides of it. The water would not and could not leak through with such a spell in place.

Most ambitiously, Ederyn might simply try and conjure the patch already imbued with one or two of the spells laid upon it. The disadvantage to this would be that the sailors might not trust Ederyn with the entire patching of their ship. It would be easier for them to swallow an augmentation of their own repairs rather than ceding it completely to him. And, such a complicated work in an unfamiliar medium might have a greater failure rate. Assuming that the patch in the first two options takes some time to create, however, the third option might be much faster overall.

Finally, with Ederyn's meditations and thoughts sliding through his mind, the sun starts to rise on a new day in Weirmonken...

He allows himself to doze for a while, as the dawn turns the eastern sky to gray, then pink and gold, but opens his eyes and gets up as soon the fire of the sun itself spills over the rim of the world.

Nodding to the others who are also awake, he walks back and forth on the beach for a few moments, barefooted, stretching his legs and reviewing his plans. Then he approaches Captain Edwall.

Sailors are already engaged in various tasks, ranging from pickets and scouting, to cooking, and looking over the beached ship. The captain stands in the midst of this, giving directions and running interference.

The three Weir are visible as dark silhouettes on a hill above the beach. No one seems to know what precisely they are doing up there.

"You're a light sleeper." Edwall says by way of greeting, turning from a question posed by the second mate to face Ederyn. "Those keeping watch were hard pressed to actually see you sleep that much tonight."

"I was thinking," Ederyn explains.

Edwall gives a short tip of the head."Let us reason together on how we can get my beloved ship off of this cursed beach and to port."

After some explanation, and a bit of go between, with a bit of help from Poole, Ederyn manages to convey his ideas to the Captain. While Ederyn alone might not be able to sell the idea, it is fortunate for him that the diplomat is able to push the Captain into trying a simple patch of canvas, reinforced and improved by Ederyn's arcane skills, rather than the more laborious method of making a wooden plug for the hole.

"It would take us about a half day to prepare for your part in this, sorceror." Edwall finally says. "We have canvas in our stores...extra sail, of course. We'll use that, fold and sew it to make as strong as possible. The hole itself has to be trimmed as well, so the canvas doesn't tear right away. Then, we'll be ready. I suppose I will have some of the boys get to cutting down some trees and getting more potable water and refresh our other supplies for the journey to Turku."

Ederyn nods. "I will ask them" (he glances toward the hill) "if they have seen water nearby."

"They might be able to smell it." Edwall speculates.

Taking his leave of Edwall with another nod, Ederyn gestures for Poole to accompany him. He claims a bowl of porridge from the cook before making his way back toward the pile of gear they took off the artificial mule, before it dissolved back into sand. "Thank you for your help with the Captain," he tells Poole, sitting down and resting his bowl on one knee.

"Graag gedaan" Poole replies with a smile. "It is, after all, my skill. I am not asked to create in metals white or black, I leave that to you. Speaking to others, you are not as proficient in, and should be left to the more skilled if necessary."

"Although." Poole adds. "you certainly did well enough with the Fae Queen."

Ederyn swallows a mouthful of porridge (which is already mostly gone), and shrugs. "I know something of her kind. Although," he continues in a burst of loquacity, "beside her, the Lady of the Oak is a picture of kindness and gentleness." He shakes his head slightly, surprised to be saying such a thing, and scrapes the last of his breakfast out of his bowl.

Poole gives a smile.

"It is said by the superstitious that the entire Royal Family of the Kingdom of Amber are as much of Fae as the Queen and the Court with which we just dealt. Which would mean that you would be or soon be a Prince of Faerie, yourself, would it not?" Poole's tone suggests he is not being entirely serious.

"It would partially explain, however..." Poole continues "to explain why the Weir respected your father, and by descent, you."

Ederyn considers this, while he finishes pulling on his socks and boots. "Or it could have been his strength of arm," he observes.

"His strength of arm was admired and known far and wide." Poole agrees. "These Weir certainly respect strength."

Climbing to his feet, Ederyn tells Poole, "I will go and talk to the Weir, and then come back and consider that thing --" He points to the hammer, still lying wrapped on the sand where he left it last night.

Poole turns his head to regard the hammer. "Indeed. As we discussed, I leave matters of that nature to those qualified to handle them."

[OOC: And off he goes, again with a nod to whatever Poole says, to talk to the Weir, wherever they happen to be. Incidentally, are they armed, as with swords or what have you?]

[The Two Weir in half-wolf form do not appear to be armed with weapons, at least none that they carry. Kezia has been seen to carry a blade during the trip from the Queen's Court to the beach]

By the time that Ederyn makes his way up the gentle ridgeline to ascend above the beach, the three Weir, led by Kezia, are moving in the opposite direction.

They stop some paces away, Kezia, Cyrus and Boaz giving bows of their head.

"Milord Jarl" Kezia speaks. "You seek us?"

"Yes. The Captain wishes for fresh water - have you found any? And have you seen any dangerous thing nearby?" He smiles suddenly, and perhaps unexpectedly, his glance including all three of them. "Other than your selves."

"Other than our selves." Kezia repeats, in a slightly amused tone of voice. "There are no other significant predators in this region. The game is sparse and has fled since our hunt last evening."

"To answer your other question, milord Jarl." Kezia continues. "Boaz found a spring that erupts from a notch in the rock face not far from here. The water neither smells nor tastes of salt."

As confirmation, Boaz gives a nod of his head and a toothy smile. He says something in the Weir tongue. Kezia shakes her head.

"Boaz thinks that sailors are used to the salty water of the sea and would not truly appreciate the clear taste of the spring. Is this true, milord Jarl?"

"No," Ederyn says. "They say that drinking the seas' water will kill a man. I have not tried it, to know for certain," he adds with another glimmer of humor. "So - ships must bring fresh water with them, and the sailors will like the spring's water."

"We may be ready to leave after noon," the smith goes on. "Which way is this spring?"

"It would not do for us to perish of thirst upon the Sea. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink." Kezia shakes her head at the thought.

She adds something in Weir that makes Boaz and Cyrus grin.

"The spring is easy to find." She continues in Thari, as she pivots on her right heel and points in the direction of what seems to be an animal trail that passes between two stunted trees, further up the slope. "Seventy six paces upon the spot where I stand, the spring can be found."

"Good. Thank you," Ederyn says. He looks at Cyrus and Boaz for a moment, but then says only, "I will see you later, then."

The Weir bow their heads as they part ways.

Just to be sure the sailors can find it, Ederyn follows Kezia's directions, finds the spring, and blazes the path to it with marks cut on the trees.

As Kezia promised, the animal trail leads directly to the spring. The flow seems decent, the water is clear, and there is a small pool.

A chirping brown bird on a branch of a tree is the only thing sharing the view of the spring.

He takes a good long drink, and for good measure rinses his face, before starting back.

Returning to the beach, he asks Poole to tell the Captain about the spring, and that the area seems to be fairly safe. Then he sits down and takes up the hammer. Unwrapped, the oddly-colored head of it gleams dully in the sun. Cautiously, Ederyn opens his thoughts a fraction, trying to make contact with any awareness that might be there.

With the news of the spring delivered to Captain Edwall via the Ambassador, and the sailors still preparing for his contribution, Ederyn is unmolested as he takes up the hammer.

Ederyn is being cautious, and so the slow opening of his thoughts comes like the slow lighting of a landscape from a rising sun. As Ederyn probes gently and slowly, there is a feeling of another mind, one within the hammer. A feeling of bondage, of imprisonment, of forced servitude and a reluctance born of clear pain and anguish.

Ederyn hesitates, unwilling to intrude if that might make things worse for the imprisoned being. He withdraws his thought a little, and turns some of his attention to examining the hammer. The magic of the �lfar is different from his own, as he knows well, but not entirely.

The actual hammer itself was definitely handcrafted, that much is clear. It was not conjured out of dust or baser material, the hammer clearly shows the hand markings of craftsmanship, and recent at that.

So after a little study, it's clear to Ederyn that Nasirpal was not really turned into a hammer as the Queen commanded.

Instead, perhaps he was made incorporeal in some manner and, in that form, his essence was melded into a newly created hammer. It's also possible his spirit, his anima, was taken from his body and placed in the hammer. What that would mean for his physical body is a matter of no little debate.

Intrigued despite his distaste for the whole matter, Ederyn shifts his concentration to activate his mage's sight and see what he can see.

With the greater focus of concentration born of Ederyn's interest, more of the details of the working slowly become revealed to him. The spells and workings are layered, like gossamer webs that Ederyn's sight finds, tests and then passes through to the next strand.

It slowly becomes clear to Ederyn as he studies the bindings of the spell and how it relates to Nasirpal that the entirety of the hammer is wrapped up with him, but the main focus and locus of whatever he is now is in the head. The handle might be grasped safely without unnecessary contact with Nasirpal, but any use of the hammer will definitely impact on him.

And then comes a contact from the courtier of the Queen's Court. Ederyn's heightened concentration and senses allows his mind to come close enough to Nasirpal's so that a mental word leaps from the hammer to Ederyn's mind like a spark.

"Who?"

With deliberate care - and caution, as he does not know what Nasirpal's reaction will be - Ederyn eases his thought a little closer and replies with his name.

"The Smith!" The reaction comes strongly. Not quite hostile, but certainly not a pleasant, welcoming reaction as Ederyn feels the mental anguish of the voice of the former courtier.

Ederyn can feel the exertions of Nasirpal as he reaches out toward Ederyn, attempting to initiate stronger contact, to form a mental plane between the two of them. Such a contact would allow much easier and faster communication--but also would open up both of them to the possibility of mental-borne conflict.

Ederyn refuses the closer contact. "Peace!" he sends, with an unaccustomed note of command in his thought. "I try to understand this thing."

The note of command, filtered through the mental contact, seems to quell Nasirpal. It's not, as far as Ederyn can tell, a mere case of Ederyn persuading him. The act of command from Ederyn influenced Nasirpal in some manner.

With the courtier's spirit cowed for the moment, Ederyn has room for further examination.

To his eye, to change this situation between Nasirpal and the hammer would likely require more knowledge and power than he currently possesses. The Fey soulforged him *very* well, and there are few obvious leads in managing to get him free of the strange-metal hammer. And what leads there are appear to require a fair amount of magical skill in order to try and untangle, more than Ederyn would be able to do save with a lot of time and experimentation.

The Queen's cruelty, though, is clear. The way that Nasirpal is wrapped around this thing, every strike of the hammer's head would be felt, in an etheric and esoteric way, by Nasirpal's spirit, like ringing a bell makes a sound from the vibrations of the clapper against the sides.

As far as modifying it, that's a much more reasonable goal to Ederyn's mind. While having someone aid him in such a working might be preferable even if he usually works alone, with time and effort, Ederyn feels that he would have a reasonable chance of modifying the binding in a subtle manner to reduce the impact on the spirit.

At the very least, it would be an educational working to attempt.

Sighing, Ederyn pauses to roll the tension out of his shoulders, then seeks to re-establish mental contact with the prisoner - more confident, now, that Nasirpal will not be able to do him any harm.

This time, the contact with Nasirpal is much more muted. No attempt at a Mind plane is initiated from Nasirpal. Instead, the contact thus far is much more like the initial stages of the previous attempt.

"Smith" Nasirpal says, with something resembling submissiveness, or acquiesence, carried in the mental intonation of his voice.

"I understand your distress, Nasirpal," Ederyn replies calmly. "But I dislike interruption."

There is an emotive note from Nasirpal, rather than words, one of acquiescence.

[Ederyn] pauses slightly, just for emphasis. "I think I can change this enchantment somewhat," he goes on. "But it will take some time."

"I understand" Nasirpal replies. He, too, pauses, before a more interrogatory note creeps into his mental voice as he resumes speaking with Ederyn. "Will you obey her Majesty's command in the interim?"

"It was a request, not a command," Ederyn says. "But I made no promise to torture you - only to use the hammer and make a gift for her. And I have no forge, no metals, and a long journey by sea still ahead. So, I will study this enchantment and think on what manner of gift to make."

"I understand" Nasirpal replies, a note of mollification in his mental voice. "Yet, I was given to understand the Queen's intent as somewhat darker, as to use this item into which I am bound for your everyday use. A year of use, with a gift to the Queen as the capstone of how I am to be employed."

The voice pauses.

"A long journey by sea would give me some respite before the rigors of being the tool that you use. For that, Smith, I thank you."

Ederyn is mystified by this. "You thank me for the distance from here to Amber?" he asks. "Or for not trying harder to do this task I did not want?"

There is a note of slight impatience in the mental voice of Nasirpal.

"Clear it is to me that you are not overused to the ways of Courts and those who dwell within them."he replies. "What I say, plainly and without adornment, it is a good thing that it will be a considerable time before you will have opportunity to employ me as the Queen wishes. Every hour that you do not use me in the forge is an hour that I will not feel the wrath of the Queen's judgment. A journey across the sea to Amber will take many hours, will it not? Even if you were to try harder to do this task, the effects upon me would be mitigated and delayed by the choice of your destination and the journey needed to make it."

Ederyn's only response to this speech is a certain restrained impatience of his own.

"In truth, though, I cannot say for certain what the effect of employing me in the forge will be. Briefly only was the testing of myself in this new form. I found the sensation of being used to beat bronze...unpleasant. I expect iron to be even less so."

The smith gives a mental snort of dismissal. "I will risk no good iron to this strange hammer. And, give a gift of iron to your Queen? I think not. Bronze, gold, perhaps copper ..." His thought starts to fade off into consideration of how to work these disparate metals together, and in what form, but then he catches himself and gives his attention back to the matter at hand.

"What kind of creature are you?" he asks curiously. "An �lfr like the Queen, or some other thing?'

"What I am now is difficult to say, since I am now bound with this hammer." Nasirpal replies.

"What I was, as you have deduced, was a kinsman of her Majesty, a member of the �lfr, as you seem to call them, though we use other names."

"I am her cousin, more is the pity for my fall from her grace." he adds. Nasirpal pauses.

"Bronze, gold, perhaps copper, iron." he says, in the same mental intonation that Ederyn used. "Base metals, of course. Tell me, Smith, since our fates seem to be bound together whether or not we wish it. And perhaps a pleasing enough gift to the Queen will release me into her grace and favor. Are you familiar with the five magical materials?"

Ederyn's bemusement at hearing gold referred to as a 'base metal' vanishes at the question. "Yes," he says. "But perhaps by names different than yours." His attention wavers a little, as he looks at the hammer's head with renewed curiosity.

"Very possibly" comes the mental voice of Nasirpal. "It is said by the eldest and wisest that the five magical materials are old, older than the creation of the Realms of the Unicorn and Serpent. Remnants of an older time. It would not surprise me if they were known by different names in the places where the Elder Races exist, or sleep."

"We call the metal that I have been forged into Orichalcum, the True Gold, the Metal of the Sun." Nasirpal offers.

"True Gold," Ederyn repeats, with a mix of amazement and acquisitiveness. "I know that name. But not how to work with it."

"Few do." Nasirpal replies. "It is a secret held by a very few of the Thari and the other Elder Races. It is said that some of the Jaghut, should they be freed from their self induced icy entombments, may also know the secrets of the Five Magical Materials."

"It is possible." Nasirpal "that knowledge of working it might be additional inducement to you for success in changing the enchantment as you suggested." Nasirpal says. "Although it is not to your nature to think in such terms, I point out that such knowledge in turn might be a valuable commodity for you to bargain with the scions of Amber."

"Have you forgotten already, you know too little of my nature, Nasirpal?" Ederyn responds coldly.

Nasirpal responds with silence.

"I have said what I will do, and I will do it," the smith goes on. "If you wish to suffer less, you will tell me things I must know for this."

There is another mental silence from Nasirpal. Twenty seconds finally pass,before the voice finally speaks again.

"You raise a salient point, Smith. Perhaps a transfer of knowledge would be prudent. If you permit, I will plant a nodule of knowledge of what I know of the working of Orichalcum, for your mind to unwrap in your dreams."

"It is possible." Nasirpal replies "that knowledge of working it might be additional inducement to you for success in changing the enchantment as you suggested." Nasirpal says. "Although it is not to your nature to think in such terms, I point out that such knowledge in turn might be a valuable commodity for you to bargain with the scions of Amber."

"Have you forgotten already, you know too little of my nature, Nasirpal?" Ederyn responds coldly.

Nasirpal responds with silence.

"I have said what I will do, and I will do it," the smith goes on. "If you wish to suffer less, you will tell me things I must know for this."

There is another mental silence from Nasirpal. Twenty seconds finally pass,before the voice finally speaks again.

It is Ederyn's turn for a considering pause. "In my dreams - why that way?"

There is a chuckle from the mental voice of the former advisor to the Fae Queen.

"It is not the best way to teach you the manner of the crafting of True Gold." he replies "However, it would be the least obtrusive to the integrity of your own mind. Knowledge works by association, and by use. While I suppose I could guide you with a mental link as you worked the metal, that would be a slow process, and require a continual connection as we did so. However, in your dreams, unless I miss my guess about you, your natural inclinations toward thoughts of your craft will unlock the knowledge I plant there, and allow it to foment without any further direct mental contact from me."

"Unless the other option truly has more appeal for you?." Nasirpal finishes.

"No," Ederyn says immediately. "But I will first try to gather in this knowledge while awake. And not now. Later."

"As you will." Nasirpal replies, with a patient tone. He does not press the matter, and does not contest Ederyn as he withdraws his mind from the contact with Nasirpal.

It is only when Ederyn finally ends the mental contact completely that he realizes that the sun has moved more than he expected. A couple of hours seem to have passed. Ederyn is thirstier, and hungrier, too. It is when he comes to his senses that Ederyn also notices that Poole is watching him carefully.

"I told the sailors." Poole says once Ederyn tears himself away from the hammer "that you were meditating, that it was part of your religious beliefs, a communion with the Goddess Freyja."

"They've seen odd enough things that they accepted my explanation." the diplomat continues.

Ederyn looks a bit startled by the notion, but only shakes his head a little and sets about re-wrapping the hammer. "Is the ship already ready?"

"Very nearly, I should think, from what the Captain told me a little while ago." Poole says, looking over Ederyn with a discerning and serious look on his face.

He pauses a moment before continuing. "You don't look as hale as you might, Ederyn. Is there anything you need?"

The smith sets the wrapped hammer aside gently, and tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders. "Some food and water," he admits, smiling slightly. "That was hard work."

"Certainly." The Montengrean diplomat replies. "After I see to that, maybe you can tell me, if you would, just what sort of hard work that *really* was."

Without waiting for an immediate reply, Poole heads over toward a cookpot where the ship's cook is ladling out a stew made from the caught venison. Poole brings back a bowl, along with a large cup of water, back to where Ederyn sits.

While he's away, Ederyn takes the opportunity to stand up - a bit gingerly - and stretch properly, before settling down again. At the same time, he invokes Mage Sight to determine whether any sylphs or other creatures (or spells) are spying on him at this time.

"Last really fresh meat for a while, if this project works." Poole says.

"Thank you," Ederyn says, taking the bowl and cup. "It will work," he adds. "It not hard - only I never tried repairing a ship before. So it needed some thought."

"That makes sense." Poole says, after a moment's thought. "When writing a brief to present to a potentate, I will spend hours or even an entire night pouring over it, especially if if it is a court new to me."

"I am still working on what I will say to his Majesty the King of Amber..." Poole says. Just as Poole reaches this point in his explanation, Ederyn is finished with his Mage Sight and review of the area.

There is no evidence of the trio of Weir to be seen.

The only thing of note from his Mage Sight is a boulder, sitting harmlessly on the beach some small distance away from him and the sailors. His mage sight proves to his conclusive satisfaction that the boulder is clearly more than a boulder. His immediate suspicion is that it is an elemental of some kind, or perhaps someone shifted into the semblance or form of the boulder.

"You will speak well, I think," Ederyn tells Poole, letting his gaze drift away from the boulder and up towards the hill the Weir disappeared over. Then he settles his mug into the sand and gets out his spoon. "The work," he adds, before taking up some of the stew, "was only that I rarely can see other magic workings. To understand it, that is hard. Like a new language."

"Your words are a kindness." Poole replies, sitting down. His gaze briefly goes over to follow Ederyn's look at the boulder, and the path up the hill. "I am curious, however." he says. "You say that you rarely get to see other magic workings. Do not the mage-smiths of your land collaborate? Or is it only the one you were apprenticed to whose workings you've ever seen?"

"Or did you come by your abilities in some other fashion?" Poole enquires.

In the distance, almost as if it were punctuation to Poole's words, there is a wolf's howl.

Ederyn raises his head and stares in the direction of that howl, still chewing. After a moment he says, "I meant to say, magics not like mine."

"Ah, you seek to learn from sorceries not your own." Poole replies. He no longer faces Ederyn, since like the Smith his head is cocked in the direction of the howl. He is about to say more, when he is interrupted by a second howl, of a different pitch and volume, that seems to answer the first, from a position further to the south and east.

Ten seconds later, a third howl, which sounds much like the first, but not precisely so, registers as well, this time to the north of east.

Ederyn has not allowed his attention to these signals to interrupt his meal, so the bowl he sets down is mostly empty. He climbs to his feet, stamping his feet to shake off the sand. "Daniel," he says, "see to our things getting on to the ship, please." To fend off questions, he adds, "I know not what this means - I will find that."

The diplomat nods. "Be careful." he says, and regards the hill. An emotionless stare crosses his face, and he nods in the direction of Ederyn .

Ederyn pauses long enough to pick up the hammer and stuff it into his pack as well as he can, and hesitates over his helm and shield before letting them lie. Then, with a last glance toward the pseudo-boulder, he strides back up the hill.

The pseudo-boulder remains visibly and outwardly quiescent. At the top, he glances all around.

On the top of the hill on the ridgeline, things are relatively quiet, for the moment. There are no more howls at any rate.

Planting his feet and crossing his arms, he stares toward the woods - and extends his awareness out to the earth of this realm once more. Now he wishes to know what it feels: the patter of three wolves' feet through the forest, or something more (or less)?

Ederyn's senses extend out from the ground beneath his feet, outwards in an ever growing, creeping circle of sensations. There is a lot of chaff and noise to ignore, on the borders of his waking mind: the movement of worms and beetles, the skittering of a snake across the ground.

What is much more interesting are four things that the earth nearby feels. The patter of the paws of three wolves. And a fourth creature as large as they, but bipedal. As Ederyn continues to take in the sensations, he can feel that the wolves feet are converging on the bipedal creature from three different directions, like the tightening of a noose.

Ederyn can deduce that the bipedal creature's movements, and those of the wolves, will come together just away from this hill, to the east.

Frowning, Ederyn moves eastward and down the hill, aiming to get a look at what is being chased before the wolves actually catch it.

Progress east is not on any paths, but the ridgeline of vegetation is open and easy enough that Ederyn can make his way without too much difficulty and only with a minor effect on the speed of his travel. Ederyn arrives in a clearing, clearly meant to be the location that the wolves intended to drive their quarry into, moments before a figure, said quarry, approaches the clearing.

The figure is tall and lean, with very long legs and very thin arms. Although the sandy haired figure looks like a man--Ederyn is sure that no man ever had body proportions quite like that. As Ederyn with his penchant for observation watches, that the figure's legs, arms and torso become a more human like set of proportions, and then he enters the clearing. He looks warily around with grey eyes, and then focuses them on Ederyn.

"Stand and help me or flee!" the figure implores in an accent that Ederyn knows not as he draws a sword. "Demon wolves hunt me!"

Ederyn can hear their approach. The three Weir are only a few moments from arriving in the clearing.

The smith lets his awareness of the earth retreat a little, in favor of his mage's sight. "They are Weir," he says, speaking rather louder than is necessary, so that the trio should (he hopes) hear him and understand. "Put away your sword and speak with me. What are you?"

At the same time, he hooks his right thumb casually on his belt - close to the hilt of his sword, but not, perhaps, threateningly so.

The Weir seem to both understand what Ederyn might be up to, and are amenable to his plan. Ederyn can hear them slow their approach, clearly pulling up their pursuit of the personage in the clearing, taking more time than necessary in arriving at the scene.

"Weir. Yes. Demon creatures that walk on two and four legs!" the man says defensively. He regards Ederyn and his sword a little warily. "As far as what I am, I'm just a woodsman from Duckford village, back to the northeast. My name is Yason."

He stops and listens. "They've slowed down. They're playing with us." He makes no move to put away his sword, instead, turning around to regard the directions that the Weir approach (now more slowly).

"Are you not frightened?" he then says, turning and regarding Ederyn.

While Yason's back is turned, Ederyn's left hand shapes a faint glimmer of firelight into the rune for Truth, adds another for compulsion, and flicks the near-invisible makeshift spell at the man.

"I respect them," Ederyn answers the question, watching the man and the twist of magic.

"You are a woodsman carrying a sword, not an axe?" he goes on to ask. "And one that can be very, very tall and thin at one moment, and much less that shape the next?"

Ederyn can see the spell try and take root in Yason. He also sees that the spell fizzles and burns away on a defense of some kind that Yason has against such things.

"Only a fool fails to carry a sword in these woods. I dropped my axe whilst I fled those creatures." Yason counters. He furrows his eyebrows. "I hear them no longer. Surely, you and I should put aside our debate and together leave this place ere they arrive."

And then Ederyn himself feels a compulsion, a tendency toward reasonableness in what Yason is saying. Its far from absolute, and at this stage, Ederyn can recognize that Yason is trying to turn the tables with a compulsion spell of his own.

Ederyn mentally shrugs off the attempt, his only visible response a slight narrowing of his eyes, and braces himself against any further activity of this type.

Fortunately for Ederyn, the attempt is relatively weak and quickly formed, perhaps in haste or arrogance. Ederyn's psyche allows him to indeed shrug off the attempt without much more than a moment of a headache.

And now, very quietly, the Weir have arrived at the edge of the clearing at 120 degree angles, waiting and watchful.

"They will not attack you again unless I tell them," Ederyn informs the stranger. "But I tell you, I knew not what they pursued until I saw you. And still I know not what you are - except one whose first and second thoughts are both to lie."

"You *lead* them." Yason says, in a much more respectful tone than the one he has been using since the beginning of the encounter. He seems to consider this for a few moments before looking at Ederyn and continuing to speak.

"Perhaps I misspoke about my origin and profession. However, you might still call me Yason with a desired degree of accuracy. You might also think of me as a traveler from an antique land who has found himself here in this place by a combination of chance, choice, and command."

He lowers his sword, but does not drop it.

Ederyn chooses not ask what "antique" means. His expression is eloquently dubious, but he says nothing - only watches the stranger for any false move. He gives the impression that he could wait hours, or possibly days, for a straight answer to his questions.

Yason waits a few moments, gauging Ederyn's expression and reaction. When Ederyn offers him nothing, he turns his head in the direction where, just out of sight, the Weir are still waiting, as patiently as Ederyn is.

Yason takes three steps backward, away from Ederyn, and the Weir move, much more loudly than they needed to, shifting so that they continue to bracket Yason, and perhaps tighten the noose a little.

He decides not to move again, and gestures with a hand toward Ederyn.

"You seem insistent on names, titles and origins. Very well. I am Yason, son of Gelimer, of the House Lenelli, of the Empire of the Courts of Chaos. I am an outrider for an ambassadorial party which is traveling to the Kingdom of Amber."

"I would wager that what I have explained means little to you, o Master of Beasts." Yason adds.

But in the midst of that last remark, Ederyn evinces startled recognition. "Chaos?" he repeats over top of Yason's last few words. His hand moves toward his sword-hilt - and then stops, and with an effort he returns to his previous casual pose, albeit now also glaring at Yason.

Yason watches Ederyn and his reactions warily, but he says nothing. Instead he shifts his stance slightly, taking a clearly more defensive position.

It is, however, only another moment before Ederyn gains even better control of himself, though his expression is still not friendly. He says, in a deliberate tone, "For my part, I am a free man of Norwend and Jarl of the Clans of the Weir. My name is Ederyn Ericsen Smith, and I also am traveling to Amber."

"A Jarl." Yason says. "This is some title similar to a Warleader, a General, is it not?" Yason gives a quick scan in the direction of the Weir and then returns to look at Ederyn. "It would appear that we have a destination in common."

" Perhaps that is why the Serpent set me in the path of you and your companions." Yason continues. "However, I suspect that we might be both best satisfied if we now part without further interaction." He takes a half step backward from Ederyn. "Assuming that you can and will communicate with the Weir to allow me to pass. It would be unfortunate to have unnecessary casualties."

"I wish not to break the peace," Ederyn says. To emphasize the point, he lifts both hands away from his sword, to shoulder height. "My feelings on your people matter not. Would your ambassador not say the same?"

"Ambassadors are often a cursed nuisance who should never be allowed to spawn." Yason says with a moue of disgust. "However, they sometimes offer wisdom, and the Way of Peace is sometimes wise." Yason replies.

The smith goes on, "But - to you, now, this title 'Jarl' means I must know why you are in Weirmonken." He crosses his arms over his chest and falls silent again, waiting.

"All right." Yason gives a glance in the direction where the Weir lurk, shakes his head and then faces Ederyn once more.

"It is a long journey from the Courts of Chaos to Amber, Ederyn Ericsen Smith, Jarl of the Weir." Yason replies. "In times past, if you are old enough, or perhaps your father or your father's father, our...travels to Amber were by means of a Black Road. After a treaty between our Empire and Amber, such a Road is no longer permitted. Thusly, the trip is for us more hazardous and more difficult to coordinate, to travel between worlds."

"This problem can be an opportunity, however, for our travels. Outriders can be sent from the main body of a visiting delegation, to make their own individual ways to the destination, and by the Serpent and the grace of power given to us, find means and methods in shadow and ties to our final goal."

"Thus I was sent out, with the expectation that I would find a way on my own, and learn and gain knowledge in the process. I arrived here some time ago, and I knew not how this cursed shadow was tied with the fate of Amber, until you confirmed what I expected. You are traveling to Amber, and so my steps had ultimately led me toward the coast and your party."

"Your three Weir, however, appear to have dreams of devouring me instead." Yason finishes.

"Or, they made you come here to me," Ederyn points out.

Yason makes a face at Ederyn's point but he does not reply in words.

There is a lengthy silence while Ederyn contemplates Yason and his information. Finally, he says, "I need to know where you are and what you are doing."

Yason furrows his eyebrows, puzzled, at this.

" And, too, it is unwise to go against what fate or gods intend. So, you should come with us to Amber." He looks like these final words have an unpleasant taste.

Yason stares at Ederyn. "The Serpent seems to have willed that we will travel the same Road. It is unwise to tempt the will of the Serpent. It may be unpleasant for all of us, however, if you wish to make a Blood Bond of Peace now, before we travel together, I have a kris to seal the bargain."

"Why do you find it needful to know where I am?" Yason asks.

"You are trouble," Ederyn says, "and trouble is best kept under one's eye." He pauses a moment to see if that is enough explanation for Yason.

Yason grimaces at Ederyn's explanation, but seems to accept it.

Ederyn goes on, "I know not this blood bond of peace - or perhaps I know of something like it, but I am unsure. Will you explain what you mean?"

"A Blood Bond of peace is a small working of blood magic that would only take adverse effect if one of us raises a hand against the other." Yason replies.

"It is a common working in the Courts when members of minor Houses not aligned with each other journey together." Yason continues. "The spell automatically fails if the participants are separated from each other by a long distance, and must be renewed about every 21 turnings...days."

It is plain that whatever oath-taking Ederyn was thinking of, it was not this. He frowns. "A man's promise is not enough for your people?"

"Ah, you believe that I spoke of a simple oath taking. My word." Yason considers this. "It is true that when emissaries of the Empire deal with more primitive veils where the magic level, or the culture, does not allow for the use of a Blood Bond, a more simple verbal Oath can take place. I only offered the Blood Bond as a sign of respect for you and your abilities. However, if you would prefer, we simply can swear an Oath not to harm another on our journey to Amber together."

"Would that be acceptable as prelude to our travelling together, Ederyn Smith, Jarl of the Weir?"

"Yes," Ederyn says slowly, a definite tinge of curiosity now mingling with his wariness. "But I must ask you also to promise not to ... interfere with any of my companions on this journey."

"That is acceptable." Yason replies. "If I had a Strix bird with me, or a bound demon, or some other sort of familiar or companion, I would presume that the oath said between us would apply to them as well as to myself."

"Then." Yason continues. He steps back two paces and bows to Ederyn. He then speaks, seriously and with slow deliberativeness "I, Yason of House Lenelli, swear by the Serpent that I will not cause harm or discomfort to Ederyn Smith or his companions for the duration of our journey together from Weirmonken to Amber. I shall be bound by the rules of Road Hospitality for the duration of the trip, with this Oath revocable only upon the agreement of both parties."

He then lifts his head and looks at Ederyn expectantly.

Ederyn gives him a slight bow - perhaps a concession to Yason's idea of manners, since there is a certain stiff awkwardness about the gesture. He straightens immediately and looks directly at the Chaosian as he says, "I, Ederyn Ericsen Smith, swear by ��inn Ganglari and my own honor that I will not cause harm or discomfort to Yason of House Lenelli, nor allow my companions to harm or discomfort him, during our journey from Weirmonken to Amber. He shall be to me as a guest in my house until we set our feet on the earth in Amber, unless we both choose otherwise before that time."

He adds, "In Norwend, we would clasp hands as a sign of good faith."

"Very well." Now and only now, Yason sheathes his sword at last. With a stiff awkwardness of not being familiar with the custom, Yason steps forward and offers his right hand for Ederyn to clasp. His grip is not crushing, but strong enough.

For his part, Ederyn's grasp is firm, but not in any way trying to make this a contest of strength.

"Our pledge is complete." Yason says once the gesture is done. "We are bound to walk the same Road, in peace. You will now summon your Weir, I would imagine? Or will they come of their own accord, for surely they have seen and heard our bargain?"

Ederyn looks toward where the earth tells him the Weir are standing (though not for an instant taking all his attention off Yason), his gaze moving toward each of them in turn. "They will come when they are ready," he says. His eyes are bright and alert, but at this time there is not much else to read in his expression.

"But I think," the Jarl adds, raising his voice a bit to speak to the Weir, "we will leave here very soon now." He glances upward at the sun's position. "Sooner than I thought before."

"A lack of delay in our now shared journey would be ideal." Yason replies. "While I have no doubt that this Veil has appeal to its inhabitants, and perhaps to you, as well, it holds no such sentimental appeal for me."

"We like it here." comes the voice of Kezia, who appears at the edge of the clearing, in human form. Cyrus and Boaz appear a moment later, in that half man-half wolf form. All three offer bows to Ederyn. "Milord Jarl. We stand ready to be commanded." she adds. She pointedly does not look at Yason, although the other two Weir regard Yason with wary and suspicious eyes.

Ederyn looks and them and smiles, just a little. His voice is warm with approval, somewhat in contrast to what he says: "If he breaks his promise, we will kill him then. So: be patient."

"As you command, milord Jarl." There is a definite and exuded pride in Kezia's voice as she responds, bowing her head to Ederyn. Cyrus and Boaz give bows of their heads as well. They both give Yason a look that suggests they have weighed and measured him, and, spurred by Edery's words, find him not at all appetizing.

"Now, let's go back to the beach." Ederyn turns in that direction. "Yason - there will be more delay than I like," he says as he starts walking.

Yason hurries to walk alongside, giving himself as much space and distance as possible between him and the three Weir, who follow behind.

"After we have repaired the ship here, we will go to a near city and have better repairs done. It should not take long, they tell me. Then we can go on to Amber."

"I have no useful skills in boatwrighting, I am afraid to say, Ederyn Smith." Yason says with a tone of apology. "While I have sailed on vessels, the nature of those vessels and the waters of the Black Zone are very different than the seas here."

Ederyn shakes his head slightly. "Well enough. I meant the sailors and me. We have a plan."

"I see" Yason replies. He falls silent for the moment, continuing the progress toward the beach.

The Chaosian furrows his eyebrows as the two reach and pass by the boulder on the way to the ship. The latter is still busy with activity, although more sailors than previously are idle. The glances from the sailors suggest curiosity, interest and anticipation as they watch Ederyn approach.

Yason lowers the pitch and volume of his voice once the boulder is passed. It still looms nearby like a silent and menacing sentinel.

"Are you aware that you, we, the sailors, are being spied upon?" he says.

There is just the slightest of huffs from one of the two shapeshifted Weir. Cyrus, probably.

"And the Weir as well, one might say." Yason amends.

"Yes," Ederyn replies, just as quietly, catching Daniel's eye and gesturing him over. "It is not a concern."

"As you wish." Yason replies.

Daniel stops speaking with the first mate and walks over at Ederyn's signal. The diplomat's eyes follow and watch Yason as he approaches, and he shoots a quizzical eyebrow at Ederyn.

When the diplomat arrives, Ederyn raises his voice to a more ordinary speaking level. "Daniel Poole, envoy from the Duke of Montenegro to the Court of Amber," he says by way of introduction, "what the Weir have found is Yason Gelimerson of House Lenelli, who is an 'outrider' separated from an abassadorial party going to Amber from the Courts of Chaos."

Ederyn allows Poole no more than a fraction of a second to take that in. "Perhaps I should remember to say," he adds to Yason, "that *I* am an envoy from the King of Norwend to Amber." The look in his eyes suggests he hasn't forgotten Yason's remark about ambassadors, and is amused by recalling it at this moment.

Yason opens his mouth to say something but then closes it.

"He will be going to Amber with us," the smith goes on. "And I expect he will tell his Ambassador that Chaosians are not welcome in Weirmonken, and in the future they will not be handled so gently." There is an unmistakeable edge of steel in his voice as he makes this last point.

"That is an important lesson to learn, Ederyn" Daniel says, looking at Yason as he does so. Daniel gives an inclination of the head. . "It is a pleasure to meet you, Yason Gelimerson. I have only heard some thirdhand stories of your land and its Empire." Somehow, Daniel manages to sound sincere.

"I have heard no stories of the Duke of Montenegro's duchy. Of any degree." Yason replies, with a nod of the head.

Daniel pointedly ignores this, and turns toward Ederyn. "Ederyn, the sailors and the Captain are ready whenever you are to show your stuff."

"Good," Ederyn says. "If you'll explain my guest to the Captain, Daniel ..." He gives the diplomat a slightly apologetic look before moving closer to the ship.

Daniel gives a nonplussed look, nods, and heads in the direction of the Captain. Yason regards Ederyn for a moment, and then follows Daniel in the same direction, leaving Ederyn alone with the Weir and some of the more idle sailors.

For a moment Ederyn surveys the piece of heavy canvas, pot of heated tar, and interested onlookers. A question makes it clear that the outline around the hole in the ship was drawn (in charcoal) to be sure the canvas covers it properly. Several reinforcing boards have been nailed across the hole, on the inside of the ship. Pleased, he takes out his stylus and walks up to the shattered hull.

There is a buzz of curiosity from the sailors. Not exactly fearful, but an undertone of hushed questions. From the Weir, there is an aura of pride and respect coming from the three of them as they watch him work.

What he intends is not technically difficult, at least compared with animating a statue, but he gives it all his concentration. He would not like for the ship to sink under him. He begins by inscribing runes around the edge of the hole, just inside where the edge of the canvas will be. To anyone who has seen one at work, his movements, focused and crisply precise yet somehow flowing, may seem rather like those of an artist.

For the non-magical observers' benefit, the letters gleam briefly with visible light. At the corners, and halfway along the sides, he puts marks lightly burned into the surface of the wood. The rest of the runes become invisible, except to anyone with with the ability to see such power: with that sight, they are a growing mesh of symbols attached to and partly within the boards.

After a good ten minutes of this, he steps back, surveys the work, and gives a satisfied nod. Next, the sheet of canvas gets a similar treatment, except that he also puts runes across its whole surface. This takes a little longer, but finally he straightens up and rolls the tension out of his shoulders.

"Now," he says, "we put the two together." Bending down, he picks up a corner of the canvas with one hand, casually letting his fingers touch the runes. With the other hand (still holding the stylus), he beckons to a likely-looking sailor. "Take the other corner," he says. "It cannot hurt anyone."

A sailor with short, clipped hair, looks at the canvas. A moment of indecision and then with a growl of decision. He strides forward and grasps the corner, staring at the canvas as if challenging it to hurt him.

Together, they lift the canvas into place over the hole, lining the edges up with the charcoal line. Ederyn pins his corner in place, fingers curved out of the way like a man about to hammer a nail. In the corner, he inscribes another rune. It flares briefly to both mage and ordinary sight, and when he takes his hand away, the canvas stays affixed to the hull. He does the same thing at the middle of the top edge, and then at the corner the sailor is holding. Now a little nervous by the display of sorcery, the sailor stays put; the smith gives him a reassuring nod and adds the holding rune right next to the man's hand, to no ill effect on the sailor.

With the top edge fixed in place, it takes only a few more moments to pin the rest of it in place, and add a couple more closing runes to the center of it. When he is done, the canvas has a much stiffer, less flexible look. He runs his fingers along the edges, prying at them, and (as he expected) finds no gaps: the canvas is magically fused to the surface of the wood.

The sailor finally lets go of the canvas, as if he thought all this time that he would have to remain in place. He looks at it at wonder. The rest of the sailors are stunned into silence as well. The Weir are quiet, but Kezia has a full smile on her face.

"Now some of the tar, to smooth the outside of it," he tells the watching mate, having stepped back and put the stylus away. "I will have to take the canvas off myself, at Turku," he adds.

[OOC: Guess I shouldn't have put 'captain' in there. No worries, but is this guy the first mate?] [One of the second mates, actually.]

"And to keep it waterproof, yes." the bald haired sailor says. He looks at two of the nearby men. "Mal. Eichten. Go get some tar and brushes. The magician's done his part to fix our Vrijheid. Now we do ours, or else Captain Edwall will have our skin for leather."

The two men are a little slow off the mark, but soon the three men return to the canvas, with a pot of tar and three brushes, efficiently spreading tar evenly on the outside of the canvas. Spurred by this activity, other sailors have begun digging a trench from the water and others have prepared ropes so that the beaching of the ship can finally be undone.

With Yason remaining near Poole, Captain Edwall strolls over to Ederyn. "I do not profess to quite understand how you patched the ship, but we'll get her back in the water the old fashioned way, with ropes, trenches and hard labor. High Tide, from what the Navigator figures, is coming here, and that will speed the process greatly."

Captain Edwall pauses. "Thank you. Evidently." he looks first in the direction of the Weir, and then in the direction of Yason and Poole before looking at Ederyn and offering him his hand "traveling with you is never a dull affair."

Ederyn accepts the offered hand and shakes it firmly. "For myself, I would choose to be without the storm and the ship going on the beach," he says with a slightly crooked smile. "But no one asked me."

"I will help push or pull, when it is needed," Ederyn adds.

"Interdaad." The Captain responds. "As many that can wield muscle will be needed to bring my ship back to the water again."

Over the next half hour, sailors are set in position to pull on ropes, or push the rear of the ship. Ederyn is set to the rear, between a pair of sailors who have stripped to the waist.

"Good honest work here, Tovenaar!" one of the sailors says to Ederyn, his tone jocular. "You'll work up a fierce sweat in those clothes, though!"

"True," Ederyn says, and backs up a little, closer to the three Weir who have followed along. Unbuckling his sword belt, he tosses belt, sword and all to Boaz to hold on to. Then he strips off both his tunic and the shirt under it, then takes a moment to turn them right side out again, before folding them and laying them on the sand. The loose-fitting clothing has hidden, up to now, his well-muscled shoulders and torso; rather a lot of dark, curling hair contrasts with the untanned paleness of his chest.

Half-turning to glance at the water and the ship, he reaches a decision and takes off his boots, too, setting them beside his clothing, and rolls up the legs of his trousers. Satisfied, he returns to his assigned place.

Not long thereafter, at a signal from Captain Edwall, the 'honest work' begins in earnest. The ship is pushed, and pulled toward the waiting water. Its a slow project with success and progress measured by inches.

Once the prow reaches the water, however, progress goes rapidly, the ship quickly and rapidly sliding forward and floating free on the waters of the now high tide. A cheer goes up from the sailors as the Vrijheid bobs on the water. The patch seems to be holding nicely, and the ship placidly awaits the crew and passengers to board her from the relatively shallow water.

Ederyn cheers too, then returns to fetch his things, smiling. It seems that simple physical effort has put him in a particularly good mood.

As Ederyn fetches his things, he finally gets a view of what Yason has been up to. He hasn't been participating in the movement of the ship. Instead, he watched the proceedings, with the skeptical and wary Weir keeping an eye on him. From what Ederyn can tell, they are the only people who, in the end, did not participate in the movement of the ship. Even the not very physically oriented Daniel manned a rope.

Boarding the ship proves to be a matter of rope ladders. As the majority of the crew, and the passengers, are invited to board, a few of the crew set to work to tying a rowboat to the front of the ship in order to help row it out into deeper water.

"I spoke with the Captain while you were gone, about your lieges." Poole says. "There isn't room to accommodate them with us; they'll be in general crew steerage each night."

"One of us will not." Kezia says firmly. She stands nearby with her companions, and Yason. She continues "One of us will always sleep at the threshold of your door, milord Jarl." she says.

Ederyn stops settling his sword-belt into place and gives her a nonplussed look that shades into mild irritation. "That is not necessary. And there is not room for it, either."

Slowly, the ship starts to move away from the shore as the rowboat tugs it into deeper and deeper water.

Kezia regards Ederyn for about a second and a half. Then, she lowers her gaze, and her head, looking at a spot midway between Ederyn's feet. "It shall be as you say, milord Jarl. Forgive my presumption, and ignorance of the ways of life aboard a ship. I only meant it in the deepest respect."

Now Ederyn looks unsettled, and gropes unsuccessfully for an appropriate response.

She waits a moment, and presumably for Ederyn to respond, before raising her head. She then turns to speak to Boaz and Cyrus in the Weirmonken tongue. After about a minute of her speaking, and Cyrus responding in that tongue, the two of them replicate the same gesture that Kezia performed.

Ederyn nods once, sharply, in response.

"They are devoted to him." Yason says aloud to Poole.

"More than you could ever know." Daniel replies.

Ederyn turns away, then pauses and gestures for Kezia to follow him.

Kezia follows him, about three paces behind. Her footsteps pad behind him as Ederyn makes his way up the ship.

He makes his way toward the stern, and a vantage that lets him study the retreating shoreline without anyone else being near. After a few moments he urges the skald to stand beside him, where he can speak to her over the noise of wind, water, and wood. "Kezia," he says, still watching the land, "I am used to being alone. This traveling - all these people -" He breaks off and shrugs. "It's easier to say it's time for change than to live it."

A blast of spray from a swell of water prevents Kezia from answering immediately or impetuously, the water whipping diagonally across the bow. When the wind dies down enough for her to answer, she smiles slightly.

"We are each unused to the ways and natures of the other, milord Jarl." Kezia says. "As you said in the holding of the Queen, you have been thrust into a role unwittingly and unaware, but take up the mantle nevertheless."

"Long has it been since your father, may his after-life in Skai be prosperous, fruitful, and to his liking, has held the clans together. Now you stand as our Jarl. We, too, must need to live this change, as well as speak the words of it. I will endeavor to make the living of your change as easy as I can." She crosses her chest with an arm in salute.

"I thank you," Ederyn says. "And I also shall try."

"I daresay, milord Jarl" Kezia continues. "that the Realm of Amber will needs must adjust to these realities as well. If those in Skai can see us, as we Weir believe, then your father will watch our arrival, and mayhap be pleased that his son comes to take his birthright and all that implies, as well as honing the skills he has already learned."

"Ah, but what birthright is it?" Ederyn exclaims. "I know what that would mean at home, but you seem to intend something more than a place in the household."

Kezia suddenly looks a little wary, and perhaps defensive. She looks away for a moment, uncertain, before she finally turns to face Ederyn again. "We are uncertain." Kezia finally says. "It is easy to say that since you are son of the previous King of Amber, that you should be King of Amber as well as our Jarl. But Amber already has a King, the youngest brother of the previous King, Eric. We of the Weir do not understand how the succession occurred. There are those who say that Corwin of the Black and Silver Rose should be King, since he took the power from Eric as he died and ascended to Skai." Kezia rolls her shoulders in a gesture of uncertainty before she continues.

"All I know is that Amber must give you honor and due as the son of its previous King." Kezia says. "Even if we of the Weir know not what that should properly be."

Ederyn listens patiently, and considers for a moment when Kezia finishes. "I also know not what to expect or require," he says. "It will be interesting to see what they do."

The ship pitches again, with another blast of spray, and he gives a yearning glance toward the shore before going on. "As to the King - the Montenegrans have heard that this 'Random' was chosen by the Unicorn, and his brothers were not minded to argue with their god. Which seems a wise policy to me, as well," he adds dryly.

Kezia, too, gives what must be a longing gaze for the solidity of the solid ground of Weirmonken, before turning back to face Ederyn.

"Even if the She-Wolf of Winter and her Mate have not spoken to us in thousands of moons." she says. "We heed the teachings we have learned, and give honor and respect to them all the same." she says in an agreeing tone.

Kezia continues "But we know little of the god of the Amberites, the Unicorn. It was not revealed to us that their god selected Random as their next King. Such a naming is not lightly opposed, as you say, milord."

Ederyn nods and steps away from the rail, and turns back toward the center of the ship, making sure Kezia stays with him. "Let's show you the ship, and then you can tell me about the beginnings of the Weir, and what we should expect in Turku."

"Very well." Kezia says, and sets to follow Ederyn.

Ederyn and Kezia are unmolested as he gives her the tour of the Vrijheid from bow to stern, starting with the upper decks and cabins of the officers and the guests on the ship (himself and Daniel), and then a trip below decks is indicated.

Throughout the journey, Kezia asks the occasional question, turns her head around to take everything in, and occasionally audibly sniffs the air for some scent undetectable by Ederyn.

Back in the opposite direction, Ederyn leads Kezia through the storage holds, with the cargo that makes up the real profit motive of the Montenegran expedition to Amber. The cargo of wine, delftware and jewelry is not overly large in total quantity, but the sailors continually on guard already suggest how serious the Captain takes his shipment.

A few holds past the cargo is where the sailors live and sleep below decks. New hammocks have already been strung up for Kezia, Boaz, Cyrus and Yason. They have been given a small amount of privacy by means of a fabric partition, but its clear that the Captain has decided to keep the unexpected passengers all together. Coincidentally, this is not far away from the section of the ship that was holed and patched, making it easy for Ederyn to inspect his handiwork from the inside without much more trouble.

A feel with Ederyn's hand shows that the seal holds. The fact that his hand is on the far side of the wood from the sapping influence of seawater means that a more arcane test would be extremely difficult to perform. From a purely visual and tactile point of view, it looks like the seal is holding, and holding well. There is no sign of leakage.

Kezia watches with interest.

Ederyn nods with satisfaction. Then he leads the way back up into the light, and toward a spot he identified shortly after starting the journey on this ship. It is toward the center, where little spray can reach, and in the lee of part of the superstructure around the hatch allowing cargo access to the holds. He settles himself on the deck, in the sun, and gestures for Kezia to join him. "Now," he says, "tell me about Turku, and about the Weir."

Kezia settles herself against a barrel, sitting on her haunches. While her body language does not suggest tenseness, it does sense a potential for activity at any moment. Sailors pass by hither and yon. A few slow to regard Ederyn and the Weir, one or two stop now and again. There is no immediate sign of Ederyn's other associates.

Ederyn glances at the sailors who stop and gives them a slight nod, not hostile but not in a way that encourages them to stay for long.

"As I have mentioned before, to your discomfort." Kezia says. "the humans and Weir in Weirmonken live in a somewhat adversarial relationship, with the humans sometimes being culled to prevent them from asserting dominance." Kezia says. "The clans of the Weir tolerate only one truly large human settlement, and that is Turku. It is a rambunctious port, even by the standards of humans." she continues. "A haven for freebooters and pirates who know the routes into nearby shadows, it lies on an island just off of the coast from the mainland. Had we traveled overland to reach it, we would have gone to a small village nearby and taken passage on a boat to it."

"The leader of the city is styled a Sea Lord, claiming suzerainty only over the island the city sits upon and the waters. We Weir can accept such a limited claim of rulership as no threat to our control of the land." She pauses. "I understand that, unusually, the newest Sea Lord, only several years into the role, is a woman named Maegoran. I confess to not understanding the politics of the city and how anyone, of either gender, rises to the position."

"One other thing to know, milord Jarl." Kezia says. "As you might expect, my kind is not tolerated well in Turku."

Ederyn nods, unsurprised. "Boaz and Cyrus should change, then," he says.

Kezia nods in agreement.

"I'll worry more about trouble from their discovery than about their fighting strength." He pauses, sifting through the questions he could ask. "What is a 'freebooter'?"

"Ah, they are much the same as pirates, milord Jarl." Kezia explains. "Although a crew of freebooters is a force which can potentially be hired in return for a share plunder or spoils. It is said that the Sea Lord employs freebooters in order to fill the coffers of Turku on occasion."

"Pirates" she adds after a moment. "usually only work for themselves. Both types merit watching carefully."

Ederyn frowns a little.

"Perhaps, if this place is known as dangerous, the people will not be suspecti ... suspicious if we all stay close to the ship," he remarks. "I'll speak to the captain about this. And about how long the repairs will take."

He gazes ahead for a moment, toward the front of the ship, as if trying to see into the future. Then he returns his attention to Kezia. "The beginnings of the Weir, if you will," he says.

Kezia looks slightly surprised at Ederyn's request. "Thirsty work, to tell that tale." She rises, and with a gesture bids Ederyn to remain sitting. After a quick word with one of the sailors, she goes off, and soon returns with two wooden cups, almost bowls, of water. She offers one of these to Ederyn.

Once she does so, she resumes her place against the barrel, cradling her own cup. She drinks half of its contents in a long draught before she speaks again.

Ederyn takes the bowl with a word of thanks, and sips at it while she talks.

"We began in the Early Time, in the time when the worlds were young." Kezia says. "Our Gods, Togg and Fanderay, created us as replacement for the children they themselves could not have, according to the Tale."

"As powerful as the Wolves of Winter are, and much as they loved each other." she continues. "they found that Togg could not beget children upon his mate. This saddened the two Wolves, who wished for a pack worthy of their leadership."

"And so they journeyed across their Warren, their Hold, the Beast Hold. There they found small derivatives of themselves, the wolves. Together, they decided to breed with the wolves. The children that Togg sired on the she-wolves, and the pups that Fanderay bore that were sired upon her by the he-wolves, could walk as man or wolf. It was they who were the first of the Weir, milord Jarl."

"But the Beast Hold is a cold and unforgiving place, and the Wolves of Winter wished a new world where their children could thrive. And so the Weir were brought to a shadow, and given domain over it. That world is Weirmonken, the seas of which we now sail."

"We ruled this land for many thousands of moons with no opposition. We ran in the forests with our Gods. We hunted prey. We were happy." Kezia continues. "And then, our world changed and not for the better."

"Routes to other worlds appeared, and with those routes, came the Sidhe, whom you have met, and Man as well. And the Wolves of Winter ran in the forests with us less, and less often, and appeared less frequently in the dreams of the shamans."

"Until, one night, Togg and Fanderay were no longer to be seen, or heard in this world. And soon, even in the Beast Hold, where our greatest sorcerers reach, they were no longer to be found. They are, as I said before, now silent to us. Gone. And that is how the Weir that you know began."

Kezia sips more of her water.

Ederyn looks at her fixedly for a long moment. "A great loss," he finally says, and shakes his head.

"It is said by some of the wisest of the shamans." Kezia says "that a day will come when the Wolves of Winter will speak to us again. But when and how that day will occur, no one seems to be able to say."

Ederyn nods and turns partly away, finishing the last of his water, his gaze searching the ship's deck. "Now, the Captain," he says. "And then I need some real rest, for a little while."

Kezia rises, the cup placed on the barrel. She bows. "Of course, milord Jarl."

He climbs to his feet and goes in search of Captain Edwall.

The Captain, when Ederyn finds him, is at the bow of the ship, looking out at the horizon with a glass. It takes him a few moments to recognize Ederyn is there, or perhaps he simply waits to finish looking at what he is going to before closing his glass and turning to regard Ederyn.

"And what can I do for you, Ederyn Smith?" he asks. "I'll call you Sorcerer or what not if you like, after your patch of my ship, although I refuse to use that overweening title that those Weir have bestowed on you."

"It means a lot to them," Ederyn says. "For myself, I have been a smith for longer than any other thing, and that name means the most to me."

"The Smith." Captain Edwall replies agreeably. "Perhaps your friend the diplomat can thread the titles you seem to be collecting more effectively than I can. Or perhaps you should apply to him for a way to combine them all into your name. But a Smith you are, and a Smith you shall be. It is well that a man knows what he is."

"About Turku," Ederyn goes on. "Kezia tells me the Weir are disliked there. They all can look human, but I wonder, how long will the repairs take? How can we avoid trouble?"

"The repairs should not take long, especially if we use the magic of gold as an incentive for speedy work." Captain Edwall says. "I have found that strange ports where repairs are needed often appreciate the value of coin. I hope for three days, hopefully much less. This journey has been delayed long enough and I long for the open ocean."

"As far as avoiding trouble..." He rubs two fingers of his left hand against his chin and looks pensive for a moment. "Confining everyone to the ship would only change the nature of trouble. One does that to one's crew, and one's guest, only in extreme situations, Smith." The Captain explains. "No, it is simple. If and when the Weir must leave the ship, an escort of sailors, preferably one of the Mates included, will be mandated. Travel in large enough groups, and random trouble will likely not follow."

Ederyn nods, his expression attentive.

"I think that rule should also apply to you, Ambassador Poole, and most especially your new friend." Edwall adds. "His Highness the Duke would be most displeased if anything untoward happened to you or to Mr. Poole that I was able to prevent."

The Smith gives one of his restrained smiles, though he guesses the Captain is only partly joking. "That seems wise," he agrees. "But I would think keeping secret the Weirs' presence - and my new title - would also be of help."

Edwall gives a nod. "Agreed. Waltzing into Turku as the leader of the Weir would not only be dangerous to you, personally, but it might tempt action against me or my ship. I'd rather not have to hobble out of Turku with privateers chasing us down."

"Some of my crew." Edwall goes on "have an idea that you are important to the Weir. I don't think that most of them realize, though, just what that means and how important you really are."

"Important to them, at least," Ederyn says, then hesitates, remembering that if he understands even half of this 'Golden Circle' business Daniel has talked about, he may be more important than he ever imagined. But he pushes the thought aside. "I'll talk to my people," he says, and takes polite leave of the Captain.

"Until later, Smith." Captain Edwall says in passing.

He puts off that talk, though, in favor of a nap in the cabin he shares with the diplomat. And even when he wakes, he lies quite for a while, ignoring the unsettling motion of the ship with a modest effort of will. The encounter with Yason has reminded him of certain skills that he has mostly neglected for quite some time. Focusing himself, he spends long minutes re-building his mental defenses, warding against the kind of subtle suggestion Yason attempted and more direct assaults, for good measure. He intends to not be surprised by such things again.

There is evidence, when Ederyn awakens from his nap, that Daniel has been in, and out of the cabin, but has left Ederyn undisturbed.

When he's satisfied, he gets up and finds Daniel and Yason, to let them know that mentioning the Weir and his connection with them would be a bad idea in Turku.

Yason is found with Poole on the deck of the ship, and so Daniel can and does give his spiel and request. Both readily accede to the idea.

As previously promised, however, the journey to Turku itself, even in a patched ship, is a relatively short one. As the sun sinks toward the western horizon, the Vrijheid rounds a long, rocky peninsular like headland, and then there it is. An island off the coast, a narrow passage between. On the island, dominating the north portion of it, is the promised port city of Turku.

Night has fallen by the time the ship gets to and past a patrol ship of the Sea Lord, which stops the ship, inquiring about the goods, passengers and crew. Daniel Poole keeps Ederyn out of sight in their cabin, playing card games while that business is conducted. As far as Ederyn is aware, the Weir remain in human form, out of sight and deep within the hold.

As the ship heads toward dock in the city, and with one of the mates accompanying him, Captain Edwall returns to Poole and Ederyn's cabin and enters.

"I'd like you, Daniel, to help negotiate prices of repair with the representative of the Sea Lord tomorrow." Captain Edwall explains. He looks at Ederyn. "If you didn't want to remain onboard ship for the entire duration of the repairs, this would be the time to do it with minimum risk. I do understand that you landlubbers take shore leave chances when they come, even under weird situations like these."

Ederyn looks both interested and dubious. "In the dark?"

Daniel, too, looks confused at the Captain's request. The Captain looks from Daniel to Ederyn.

"No" Captain Edwall shakes his head. "Forgiving me for being unclear. Yes, we are arriving to port and dock in the dark, but the Sea Lord wishes to negotiate with us on the morrow, just before midday."

"The city." Captain Edwall adds. "is said to be especially dangerous during the night."

The smith clearly takes this remark in as new information.

Daniel Poole looks visibly relieved. "Now I understand." He then looks at Ederyn. "If there should be trouble, I'd rather have you at my elbow. And you did pretty well with the Fae Queen without my help. I don't know anything about how this Sea Lord does business, but we can find out together, Ja?"

Ederyn looks pleased by the request, in his quiet way. "Perhaps a walk around at dawn, then," he says, knowing the sailors are used to early hours. And he likes that time of day, even at sea.

"Then its decided." Captain Edwall says. "I'll have your escort ready before the sunrise, and you two can see to our hopefully short stay in this city." He bows his head. "I will leave the two of you to your evening rest and preparation for the new day."

He pauses a beat, turns and salutes with two fingers drawn from his forehead into the air before he departs. "And, thank you."

"It will be excellent practice for Amber." Daniel says, once the Captain is gone.

"How so?" Ederyn inquires.

Poole sits down and regards Ederyn. "The Seelie court was simply alien and beyond the bounds of what we believe and knew to be reality. The rules of precedence and procedure there derived as much from myth and story as it did any laws of conduct."

His companion looks reflective at this, but adds no comment.

"This, though" Poole continues in his easy pedagogical tone "is the court of a potentate of a human being. I ignore the reported magical powers of the Family of Amber, they seem to me for all of their powers very human in the stories. Like Amber, we don't quite know what to expect out of this Sea Lord and her court. And like Amber, they know little of us and what we mean. At least for the moment. But their motives, desires, and social makeup, in both situations will be very human."

"This." Poole's eyes light up. "is just the sort of thing I was born, raised and trained to do. And if you are going to succeed with honoring the legacy of your father, what you must learn, Ederyn Ericson Smith."

Ederyn smiles at Poole's assertion about his own training, but his pleasure falls away at the Montenegran's next statement. After a moment, he says, "I have bargained many times over the price of my hands' work. That is a beginning, I suppose."

"It is more than many have." Poole says in an agreeable tone of assent. "It is a good beginning at that. Now, Ederyn, I suppose the both of us should shortly see to rest and sleep, for we chase the morning's light if we spend more hours in conversation as we have had done so during our journey together."

"At least I will turn in now." he amends. "You are a younger and much haler man, it must be said, and I must be at my best for our duty and business."

Ederyn seems on the point of saying something, then shrugs and hands Poole the playing cards he's been holding on to since the Captain interrupted. "I will tell the Weir, and Yason, of my plans - then rest also."

"As you like." Poole says. "Sleep well, Ederyn."

The Weir and Yason are in their portion of the hold. Of the four, only Boaz is awake. Both the sleeping Cyrus and the awake Boaz are no longer in their wolf-man hybrid forms, instead, they now look remarkably human. Hirsute, with long hair, but human.

Boaz promises to tell Kezia and Cyrus what Ederyn intends. He also adds that one of the Weir will want to accompany him.

When that small task is done, he returns to the cabin and settles into his bunk, though not immediately into sleep. First there are the mental defense exercises that he means to make a nightly habit; then his much older tradition of reviewing a portion of the runes that he knows. Only then, some time after lying down, does he let himself drift into slumber.

And so, gratefully, Ederyn sleeps.

Morning comes as it inexorably does. Shipboard breakfast is easily gotten, in the company of the three Weir, and Yason, all four of whom are awake.

Over ship's biscuit and a bit of fried fish, the quartet talk.

"I'd prefer, milord Jarl." Kezia says "If two of us accompany you, and the other watches Yason here, on the ship. Is it not true." Kezia continues slowly "that Yason is as foreign to this world as you are? I think that such a foreigner should not be exposed to the denizens of this city, if at all possible."

Yason furrows his eyebrows, and looks at Ederyn.

The smith washes a mouthful of biscuit down with some tea. "I planned to ask Yason if he wishes to come on this walk," he says tranquilly, "as trade for staying here while we talk with the Sea Lord's people, later." He looks at some indefinite point between the two of them as he says this.

Kezia turns to look at Yason speculatively before looking at Ederyn again.

"I see. As my lord Jarl wishes of course." Kezia pauses a moment. "Would it not be better simply to confine him to the ship for the entirety of our stay here?" Kezia asks.

Yason stares back at Kezia for a long moment before regarding Ederyn. "Being confined to a ship in the midst of the sea is one thing, it cannot be helped. Being confined to a ship while in port, is a form of torture and punishment."

Even though he is now in a human form, Cyrus manages a growl. Boaz remains silent.

Ederyn puts his cup down on the table with a loud clack, then curls his heavy workman's hand over it. "We will go along well if you all remember that I mean what I say." His glance rakes over all of them impartially. "And I said this man will be as a guest in my house to me. Not a prisoner," he tells Kezia, "if it is unwise or not. But not," he informs Yason, "someone I'll stand for telling me my duty to a guest. That offends me."

[Ederyn] sits back again, tight-lipped with irritation.

Kezia, Boaz and Cyrus do not hesitate in bowing their heads in submission. Kezia speaks first.

"Forgive our impertinence and disrespect, milord Jarl. It shall be as you wish, of course." She goes to one knee and suddenly seems to find the deck near Ederyn's feet to be very much worth her gaze and attention.

A measured beat, and then Cyrus comes forward, head still lowered. He lowers it further as he kneels, exposing his neck in front of Ederyn.

"Milord Jarl, forgive my dishonor of your status, rank and authority. I did not intend and do not intend challenge to your position or words." Cyrus remains in that pose. Boaz, after a moment, comes and joins him.

The dominant component of Ederyn's expression would have to be called frustration. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. "I'll forgive if you all stand up again," he says, failing at his effort at a light tone. "Only �r�llar should act like this, which you are not," he adds.

The three stand up, in well-oiled concert.

Ederyn looks keenly at each of them, trying to discern their feelings. "Just 'yes, my lord' or 'I understand, my lord,' will be enough for me." He considers for a moment. "Till I say otherwise, at least."

"I understand, my lord." Kezia says. Her demeanor is slightly submissive, but there is trust in her eyes for Ederyn.

"Yes, my lord." Cyrus adds. His accent is a little thick, but it is recognizably Thari. His demeanor is a little warier than Kezia, but still clearly loyal.

"I comprehend, my lord." Boaz says. His accent is a little less polished than Cyrus' and much less than Kezia's. He seems less wary than Cyrus, but not completely as fully trusting as Kezia.

"What is a �r�llar, my lord?" Kezia asks after a moment. "A thrall or serf of some sort?"

Ederyn nods, his mood only a little improved, and looks toward Yason.

"Thank you, Ederyn." Yason says. "I still do want to stretch my legs in this city. It may be educational for all of us."

The smith's gaze rests on him for a long moment, and a skilled reader of his face might detect second (or third, or fourth) thoughts going on behind his eyes. Then he stands, leaving the rest of his breakfast sitting on the table. "I will walk on the deck," he says to them all. "Join me when you're ready."

"Yes milord." Kezia says, with nods of the head from Boaz and Cyrus suggesting that she is speaking for all three of the Weir. Yason bobs his head as well.

Ederyn has a little more than ten minutes to walk the deck, clear his head and allow the sparring to recede from his mind before the three Weir, and Yason appear as Ederyn rounds the deck for another lap. Behind them are a trio of sailors and a third mate, presumably the escort that Captain Edwall promised.

"We stand ready to follow you into this city, milord." Kezia says.

And so the tour can begin.

Down the gangplank and onto the dock, Ederyn can confidently lead the group into the heart of the city, given time he had to perfect the route from the view he had on the deck while waiting for his companions to finish breaking their fast. The city's topography is remarkably flat and undifferentiated, at least, so it appears in the early morning light. The center of the city seems to be higher, and a portion of the key shaped island beyond the city and its harbor appears to be higher still. A tower of some sort is visible in the early morning light, standing outside of the city, on what must be the highest point of the island, several hundred feet above the sea.

The route to the center of the city allows Ederyn and his companions to ramble along a long, relatively wide (compared to the alleys and streets that connect it) boulevard. The wideness of this boulevard is countered by the numerous people moving up and down the street, or standing still and hawking wares of all kinds to all and sundry.

This passage gives Ederyn a chance to sample some street cuisine, the tail of some sort of sea creature in a shell, roasted. It looks remarkably similar to a creature he saw in Montenegro and was served, but here its presentation and seasoning are simpler and much more 'rough and ready'.

Ederyn's eye also notes that after the dock area, there is definitely an inner core of the city that is the center .There are even old walls that must mark the original city that stood on this site. Beyond those walls, the center of the city is less dirty, but no less crowded. Streets intersect this one, and in fact this Boulevard ends at a junction that meets just below a walled area that is clearly the government buildings of Turku.

Rambling around from this center, Ederyn finds much more of the city to explore and see. A tout, for a few coppers supplied by one of the sailors, gives general directions and an overview of the city that serves Ederyn and his memory well. The so called Scurvytown is a large slum that offers little of interest, and is by far worse than anything he had ever seen in Montenegro. Too,there are other areas, called Bloodsalt, Drac's End, which are similarly dangerously run down. A few gangs of men eye up Ederyn and company very carefully in the former. Fortunately, nothing comes to blows.

The warehouse district is not as interesting as Ederyn might have hoped. Most of the buildings are closed to him and his party and seem to be holding areas for cargos. Probably illicit as well as legal items are behind the closed doors and wooden walls of the large buildings.

The Eastern District, just off of the center, appears to be for those who have made their wealth in the city. The streets here are lined with large estates, are well patrolled with armed guards, and Ederyn's party is stopped twice, and questioned by the constabulary as to their business. Ederyn is not encouraged to linger here.

The Temple District is a wonder, a riot of temple buildings of all shapes and sizes, with far more diversity than in Montenegro. It seems that the residents of Turku are syncretic, to say the least, in their beliefs.

The Merchant District, adjacent to the Temple district, though, is where Ederyn has real fun. There are plenty of stores, already open, and all manner of items are available. There is a street of blacksmiths, and the ringing of hammers on metal is music to Ederyn's ears.

Interestingly, in addition to a lot of forging of iron (as opposed to steel), there is a shop (and smith) or two who offer "silver dipped" weapons.

It takes an act of will for the Weir not to shudder when Ederyn and company encounter them. Interestingly, Yason doesn't seem to like the silver weapons much, either.

Besides this technology, though, its clear the craftsmanship is not as good as the Montengreans, and certainly not as good as Ederyn. There is no real evidence of the use of magic in the smithcraft, either.

Ederyn lingers here for a time - well away from the mysteriously distressing silver weapons - but not seeing any worker who seems worth talking shop with, eventually moves on.

In all, as Ederyn and his companions head toward their starting point, he is convinced that while this city is as interested in trade and commerce as Montenegro is, this city is far rougher and less polished. Its certainly a bustling, busy city, but there is a certain tension in the air. Living on the edge of hostile territory, this is a harsh and unforgiving city, with poverty and wealth living cheek by jowl.

On the way back, the smith reviews the mental map he has just built. He also pauses to quiz another food vendor about what a "tater" is, and then to buy from her a dough pocket full of hot potato, cheese, and bacon. He is still brushing crumbs out of his beard when they reach the ship once more.

"I do not understand the human taste for root vegetables." Kezia mentions casually. "However, it seems that this one is not only unfamiliar to you, my lord, but also you find favor with it."

"There was cured meat in it too, seemed to me." Yason says. "Although the only meat worth curing and smoking is that of the Zhind."

"What is a Zhind? Are they hunted?" Cyrus demands.

"As a matter of fact, they are. Good sport, too." Yason says.

At this point, the group is at the bottom of the gangplank of the ship. At the top, Daniel waves Ederyn to come up and join him.

Daniel does insist on Ederyn changing into finery (or his finest, anyway), before the two of them, with the sailor escort, return to the streets of the city. With Ederyn's prior reconnaissance, as well as the knowledge of the sailors, the trip up the boulevard to the center of the city is reasonable quick, as quick as can be managed.

The smith is now freshly combed and resplendent, by his standards, in a dark blue linen tunic edged with bands of geometric embroidery, and a tooled leather sword-belt with a buckle of gold and colored inlay. Not much can be done for his boots, but around his neck is a wide torc of hammered gold, also with elaborate designs on it, and from which is suspended a length of heavy crimson silk that falls down his back to just below his knees.

The diplomat strides through Turku confidently besides Ederyn. He slows his gait now and again to take in the sights, and especially the sounds of the city. Even to Ederyn, who has been up and down this street already, the time of day has caused the character of the street to be subtly different. A little more crowded, a little more rambunctious, a little more colorful.

Ederyn takes this opportunity to establish a light rapport with the Earth of this sea-girt patch of Weirmonken, now that he'll be less distracted by its surface appearance.

The Earth here is infused with Water, of course, and strongly so. But there is something primal about a piece of Earth that resists the water around it, and remains resistant to its wearing away. Ederyn can feel that strength.

However, once the group reaches the walled area, and through a gate, does Ederyn see something new. Once again, the government buildings here are not anywhere near as ornate as the ones in Montenegro. They aren't the rough wooden construction of buildings in Ederyn's home, either, however. These buildings are large, of white stone, and imposing. The largest of these buildings is octagonal and five stories tall.

Ederyn catches Daniel give the buildings a nod of confidence before they are escorted, by guards in light scale armor, into the octagonal building. Through a wide hall filled with portraits of men (and a few women) mostly dressed in naval uniforms, Ederyn and Daniel finally are led to a large audience room.

In this room, with black veined white marble floors, tapestries of views of the city, and high windows, sits a statuesque woman with a sword by her side.

A herald in the room speaks aloud as Daniel and Ederyn draw near to the seated woman.

"Visitors. Show respect to Marilise Maeorgan, Sea Lord of Turku!"

"Come forward and introduce yourselves." the woman says. "And then we can set to business."

"You should go first." Daniel murmurs sotto voce. "And lead into introducing me in the bargain."

Ederyn stops looking at (and 'listening' to) the marble and steps forward to give the bow that Daniel insists is appropriate for most circumstances, though he still isn't comfortable with it. "Sea Lord," he says, "I am Ederyn Smith, envoy from King Aren of Norwend to the King of Amber. This is Daniel Poole, envoy from the Duke of Montenegro to the King of Amber." He speaks firmly but without any particular style or flair, and looks that the Sea Lord with an interest that is almost clinical.

On the swimming periphery of his vision, Ederyn can see that Daniel bows as Ederyn introduces him. The Sea Lord cages her fingers together as Ederyn speaks.

"Here is a wonder that is rare to the city of Turku. Not an envoy to the Kingdom of Amber, although visitors to that realm who pass through my waters are rare enough. No, two envoys, from two different realms, to the Kingdom of Amber, passing through together."

"Surely." she continues "some great reason would bring two envoys together, and before me. I know of Montenegro and its waters." she inclines her head toward Daniel, who bobs his head in response. "As far as this realm of Norwend..." The Sea Lord looks at a tall man standing some distance away. Ederyn catches a slight shake of the head from the brown haired man.

"This realm and its monarch are unfamiliar to our Court. What brings an envoy of that Court, as well as an envoy from the Dukedom here." Marilise asks.

"Repairs and supplies, your august grace. We seek purchase of repairs for our vessel, and resupply, before we continue on. We mean only peace and trade with the freeport of Turku." Daniel says confidently.

The Sea Lord cages her fingers again for a moment. Her eyes slide from regarding Daniel, to regarding Ederyn. "A bargain. I will provide for the hiring of shipwrights and carpenters needed, as well as the supplies. In return..." she looks at Ederyn. "My power and strength and the maintaining of my position here depend on knowledge of the seas of the Golden Circle. Unless it is a tiny kingdom in an established shadow, we find that we know not of Norwend. We would, if you consent, rectify this gap in our knowledge, Ederyn Smith."

"We knew not of this Golden Circle before the Montenegrans found us," Ederyn confirms, his accent definitely stronger now that he's not repeating titles and names. "I will tell you of my home, Sea Lord, so far as I can."

"Good. Then we shall carve the details of your request, so that the repairs to your ship can begin promptly. And then we shall then enjoy our noontime meal together and you shall keep your end of the bargain." The Sea Lord replies with a clap of her hands.

"This suits, your Grace." Ambassador Poole replies with a bow of his head.

Ederyn gives a deep nod as well.

The Sea Lord waits for Ederyn's response before the negotiations begin in earnest. Over the next fifteen minutes, Daniel and the Sea Lord go back and forth on prices and requirements. While Daniel is an eager and enthusiastic bargainer, it is clear to Ederyn that the Sea Lord herself is used to this sort of give and take as well, and does not allow herself to be bowled over.

With a bow, agreement is finally made, and two guards depart with the sailors who escorted Ederyn and Daniel to see to the arrangements.

"Now" The Sea Lord rises from her chair, bringing everyone to attention. "Shall we see to our meal and the tale of your homeland?" she says, regarding Ederyn.

"Of course, your Grace," he says calmly.

"Good" the ruler of Turku replies. "I am not accustomed to being thwarted."

Ederyn's only response to this is a look of slight perplexity.

There is surprisingly little formality, as far as Ederyn can see, to the exit from the audience hall. Marilise simply picks up that sword by her side and walks in the direction of one of the rear doors. From the way she grasped and buckles on that sword, its obvious to Ederyn that the blade is not ornamental, and there is clearly a knowledge of its use in the way that she grasped and held it.

A trio of guards move smoothly to bracket Ederyn and Daniel, two between them and the Sea Lord, and one trailing behind. This bracketing of Ederyn and his companion continues through the hallways that the Sea Lord chooses. In contrast to the portrait-lined impressive hallways that led from the entrance to the audience hall, these are thinner corridors, less ornate, simpler, and cleaner. Aside from the occasional patrolling guard, and a few servants, Ederyn has few opportunities for people watching. On the other hand, all that the group encounter, though, clearly engage in people watching Ederyn and Daniel.

The designated room for dining is as much a room for learning as it is for dining. A small dining table, which might hold eight at the most, is set off on one side of the rectangular room, closest to a bank of near ground-level windows that overlooks the harbor. The chairs are of a dark wood, with some sort of red fabric on the cushions. The other half of the room is a bank of bookshelves, with a small table and a pair of chairs on either side of the circular table. On this table is what appears to be an unfamiliar board game.

The furrowed eyebrows that Daniel shows when he glimpses the set suggests that he is not familiar with the game, either.

Ederyn gives shelves and game only a cursory glance, and far more attention to the view. He knows exactly where they are within the stone building, but seeing the harbor helps to orient him completely on the landscape.

There are two people here. A young woman, a maid of some kind, stands near the table. A young man, with a quill, a pot of ink and a piece of parchment before his spot at the table, stands to attention as the Sea Lord enters.

"You may have them serve us, Jessika." The Sea Lord says to the woman, who curtseys and hurriedly leaves by some sort of servants entrance near the bank of windows. The young man remains standing as Marilise walks over to the tallest of the chairs and sits down. The sword goes to her right. It is as if, to Ederyn's eye, that she cannot bear to be separated far from the sheathed blade.

"Be seated. What do you drink?" she says, turning to regard Ederyn and Daniel. "The main course will be of the sea, of course, if that matters to you."

"Whatever you suggest will be well, your Grace," Ederyn says, having found this to be a useful response to Montenegro's plethora of unfamiliar beverages, foods, and manners. He picks a chair across the table from the Sea Lord.

"I agree with Ederyn." Daniel says.

"The white then." Marilise declares. A few moments later, Jessika returns, behind her a trio of servers carrying covered plates. In a ballet of motion, they place these plates in front of the Sea Lord first, Ederyn second and Daniel in turn. The Sea Lord looks at Jessika.

"Bring us three glasses of the white." she commands, as the servers lift the covers of the plates, each plate revealing a pair of crabcakes, with spears of a long straight vegetable artfully arranged to orbit the cakes.

Jessika quickly appears with tall flutes of a white wine, placed in front of each of the diners. Marilise takes a forkful of the cake, eats it thoughtfully, smiles and regards Ederyn expectantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Ederyn can see the young man bring the inked quill to the parchment.

After a measurable moment, it dawns on Ederyn that she expects him just to start talking about his home. He swallows his own mouthful of the food, glancing uneasily at the young man, and tries to organize his thoughts.

"Norwend," he says, stalling. "It is ruled by King Aren Anderson. In the long way it is the Kingdom of Norwend, Eswel, and Dannisklund." A pause. "We hope to trade with the Golden Circle. We have fine furs, wood, and amber ..."

He comes to an irretrievable halt. "Sea Lord, I am not sure what you want to know."

On the edge of his vision, Ederyn can see Daniel favor him with a subtle nod and smile of obvious approval. The quill of the scribe stops.

"You may call me Marilise en suite." she replies after a sip of her wine. "You made a good beginning, if a dry one." she says. In no hurry to elucidate, she takes a bite of her crab cake and eats it before continuing. "It seems to be that for an emissary from this King Anderson, you are not necessarily a poet of words."

She points at Daniel. "If I asked your companion about Montenegro, I suspect he would tell me of the wonders of the Duchy. The sea walls and dikes, or perhaps the endless fields of tulips. Or the strange and wondrous devices his crafty people make. He might mention what the Duchy buys and sells in the process of course."

"Paint me a picture with your words, is what I want, Ederyn Smith." The Sea Lord says. "Paint me a picture of this Norwend."

"I see," Ederyn replies. But he does not immediately try again; instead he cuts one of the green vegetables into pieces and eats it, his brow slightly creased in thought. Another piece of the crab cake goes the same way.

Then he sets down his fork and begins speaking, staring at his plate as if he describes a scene unfolding there. He speaks quietly, but can easily be heard by those at the table, and finds his speech falling into something like the stately rhythm of a skald reciting poetry.

Even though Daniel has heard some of this in Court and on their journey, he turns to listen as attentively as the Sea Lord does. The only sound besides the skaldic intonation of Ederyn's voice is the scratching of the scribe's quill.

"The town of Drengrheim where I was born stands at the meeting of the river Vinr and the good harbor, the sheltered harbor, on the great fjord that opens to the Western Sea. In winter the town holds more than two thousand souls. The houses are made of trees, cut to lie on top one another and make walls, with roofs of �ekja, that is grass dried and put on in bundles. Only the king�s hall is made of stone up to a man�s height, with wood above, and is three times high as all other buildings.

"And my forge is partly stone also, because of the fire, but smaller. It, my forge, stands near the edge of the town, on the road south, away from the water. In my doorway I can look and see the hills rising on the east side, with their tall trees that stay green all winter, and also the low ground to the south. There will be goats in the hills, and sheep to the south, and cows, and the fields of growing things � crops. That way, there are several kinds of trees that drop their leaves in winter, and in autumn many of the fields are golden and those trees are like fires against the green and gold. I like to see that in the early morning, when a mist lies over the fields and the light grows and brings it all into sight, as if it is a world new-made."

He stops, because his own words have opened a way for the homesickness that he usually suppresses, at least in public.

The Sea Lord frowns slightly at Ederyn's clear discomfort, giving a small nod. Daniel briefly puts a hand on Ederyn's shoulder. Once the gesture is completed and he withdraws his hand, Marilise decides to speak.

"That was beautifully spoken." she replies. "I should have realized this was your first real trip away from your land. Is that not true?"

Ederyn masters his distress and nods, meeting her gaze again. "Thank you, y-- Marilise. I have traveled widely before, or I thought I had," he says. "But in Norwend and thereabouts ..." He glances around the room. "Most was not different - was familiar - to look at. One town is much like another, though smaller than Drengrheim." He shrugs, a little uncomfortable. "And I always knew which way was home, and how to get there, and could speak to people in my own tongue."

"I wished to make this journey," Ederyn adds quickly, "and to see these other worlds and peoples - but sometimes it seems so far, and all that is around me so strange."

Her plate finished, the Sea Lord looks at Jessika, who quickly clears her plate with a curtsey, and rushes out of the room bearing it. without even stopping to look at Ederyn or Daniel's.

Marilise returns her attention to Ederyn "You are indeed far from home. And while only some of the Sea Captains of Turku have been to Montenegro, I know of its wonders are familiar here. And Amber, which I have seen, is even more so. To be tied to forge and hearth, and then decide on a wanderlust to take you from your very world is a fearsome and strong thing. Do you find that Wyrd so taxing?" She takes a sip of the wine. "Perhaps one of your Gods marked you so, so that your King Aren chose you? I find a maker of metal an unusual choice for an envoy."

Ederyn lets his attention to his own plate give him a moment to think; at least he has dealt with similar questions before, at the Duke's court. "Among my people," he finally says, "a smith is 'a person of some consequence,' as they say in Montenegro. All have some knowledge of magic, but, I have more than any other I know. And, too, I am a cousin to the King."

He takes up his wine glass and sits back, regarding Marilise with a slight, wry smile. "It is true that my heart is divided: as if I love my home best when I am away. When I am there, often it feels too small for me. I'll not pretend to be ... 'consistent,' is the word, I think."

"Ah, a cousin of the King, a smith, whose heart is divided. Interesting." Marilise replies. She returns the smile, and says nothing for a few moments. In the interim, Jessika returns with three plates with a fillet of fish and some root vegetables. These are placed, and the remnants of the crabcakes removed from in front of Ederyn and Daniel at last.

"One should not think, though." Daniel puts in "that patronage was solely the issue. I have seen Ederyn's arcane skills displayed, and they are most polished, milady. I can see what King Aren would choose him on those grounds alone."

"Indeed?" Marilise says, poking at the pink colored fish fillet before cutting a piece and eating it. "So now that you are far away from your home, Ederyn Smith, what do you make of the greater world outside Norwend?" she asks. "Besides it being, as you say, strange."

"That I have much to learn of it," Ederyn replies. "I have now seen two cities, Montenegro and Turku, and how so many people can find means to live all together, without farms, is not a thing I understand. Though some have tried to explain." He looks apologetically at Daniel.

Daniel shakes his head slightly, as if to suggest that it is he who should apologize.

"And I wonder what I might bring back to Norwend. I am told the Montenegran 'clocks' could not function, when they came there on their ship. What else might be useless there, it seems I must guess at."

"It is very true that the shadows vary in terms of what will and what will not work." Marilise says, cutting a piece of fish and chewing it for a few moments. She looks at Daniel. "I am surprised that you have not done better, in educating the Smith on such things."

"I have tried to explain some matters to my traveling companion." Daniel says. "However, as your Grace no doubt can attest, sometimes seeing is believing."

Ederyn gives a slight shrug that suggests agreement.

"Aye" Marilise says. "Although the shadows in the Golden Circle are much more alike to each other than they are to shadows outside of it. I think you will find, Ederyn, that the changes in functioning items will be lessened on the remainder of your journey. I understand the more scholarly of the Royal Family of Amber have made studies of these differences, especially in the matters of the arcane."

She waves a hand. "That, however, is not my field. As long as the ships of Turku will sail in the worlds around Weirmonken, and the Captains can bring their cargoes home safely, I care little of these differences."

"But, since my modest city is only the second you have seen in your life, besides the feeding of our population, you might have a question or three of my city and world. I would be most ungracious if I solely asked all of the questions."

She spears a piece of a root vegetable and eats it before regarding Ederyn.

The smith smiles, acknowledging her courtesy, and thinks for a moment. "They tell me this shadow is large, much larger than Montenegro, but Turku is the only notable city, and the rest is lived in by wolf people of some kind. Is this a thing you can explain to me?"

"You mean the Weir." A dark look crosses her face. She looks at Ederyn with a severe look that softens after a moment. "It is a sore subject amongst the people of Turku, but you had little way to know that."

Ederyn bows his head slightly and looks apologetic.

"There are other things that live on the mainland as well." Marilise continues. "Faerie and other dark powers that slumber and are best left alone. They dominate the continent. Oh, there are folk who live there, but it is a tenuous existence."

"I have heard, Ederyn." Marilise continues "that there are shadows where wolves are driven and hunted by man relentlessly, so that their existence is always threatened. In Weirmonken, save for Turku, it is man who fears the Wolf in this way. But, my good Smith, Weir are not fond of water and build no ships."

"Thus my people, the people of Turku, look to the Sea, and the worlds beyond, for their sustenance, and their living. Certainly, if we so wished, we could try and extend our suzerainty over a swath of the mainland. However, Ederyn, the costs and effort would not be worth the benefits."

"Thank you," the smith says. "But - has it always been this way?"

Daniel cocks his head, clearly interested in the response to Ederyn's follow up question.

"You speak of times more covered by myth than history." Marilise replies, after a bite of a vegetable on her plate. "Although we pride ourselves somewhat here in Turku, Weirmonken does not have a tradition of numerous centers of learning that, say, Montenegro boasts."

Daniel inclines his head at the mention, and Marilise continues.

"From what I am given to understand." she says. "Long ago, in ages gone by, Man came to Weirmonken from some distant land whose name is lost to time. We came by ship, of course." The Sea Lord smiles, briefly. "We found this a harsh land, inhabited only by faerie and shadows. Man spread, prospered."

Her mien changes to a more serious one. "Then the Weir came. Seemingly from nowhere, they appeared. Hunting children who went into the forests alone at first, slowly becoming bolder, and stronger . Weir are difficult to kill, Ederyn, as we learned when the villages and towns tried to fight back. They only grew in strength, pushing us to the coasts, raiding us whenever a village or town reached a certain size."

"Finally." Marilise says. "the only large town they did not touch, could not touch, was a town on an island off of the coast. Many from the villages and towns took shelter here, to build a fastness and holding the Weir would leave alone."

"Turku" she says, taking a last bite of her fish.

"I see," Ederyn says thoughtfully, having finished his own dish while she talked. And he says nothing more, offering her the opportunity to ask him another question of her own, if she wishes.

Marilise smiles. She says nothing for a few moments and then finally inclines her head.

"I do hope that the meal will make the discomfort of the interview somewhat less. Your acquaintance may be far more polished in such matters." she gives a glance to Ambassador Poole "but this is all very new to you."

"I've one last thing to ask, and it may not be something you can answer." Marilise asks. "But I would know you better if you have one. From here, once your ship is repaired, you and the ambassador sail to Amber. Perhaps never to see these shores again."

"When your embassy is done, where will you go, Ederyn Smith? Home? Elsewhere? Where do you *want* to go?"

Ederyn considers the question for a moment. "I am, as the sailors would say, being carried on a strong current," he says. "So far, I think only to see where it takes me. I know I must go to Amber; I know I must bring word of what happens there - or send it - to Norwend. Otherwise ..." He shrugs, open-handed. "There is so much of these worlds, and I know of them so little, that to make plans seems foolish."

"And to fight a strong current, a strong destiny is foolish. Possible, but foolish." Marilise says. She takes a sip of her wine and regards Ederyn. "I find myself sitting in this very chair, rather than elsewhere, because I took hold of a strong current and rode it as far as it would take me. It has taken me here."

"May yours, Ederyn Smith." The Sea Lord finishes. "take you to equal success. If your current returns you to Turku, you will be welcome again." She rises from her seat, and Jessika hurries to clear her spot of the table. At its far end, the young man who has been busily writing stops and looks up, attentively.

"Thank you, your Highness, for your hospitality and your aid in the repair of our ship." Daniel says, rising and bowing in turn to her.

"Yes, thank you," Ederyn agrees, copying Daniel's bow, his expression still thoughtful. "I will remember your invitation."

The passage out of the Sea Lord's palace is quiet. Not precisely somber, as Daniel does ask the escorting guards now and again about a particular piece of art, a particular hung map, the meaning of a banner. But its clear to Ederyn that Daniel is holding back from any serious discussion of topics with him while in the Palace.

For his part, Ederyn only listens to these questions' answers, offering no questions of his own at this point.

Perhaps picking up on Ederyn's continued reticence, even when the escorts re-join Daniel and Ederyn for the trip down to the ship, Daniel carefully says little. Oh, there is an observation about a stall here, a comment about a building there. But nothing about the events within the Palace on the long, slow walk back. Not a word.

However, the sight of a small army of shipwrights and carpenters swarming around the Vrijheid is enough for Daniel to finally broach the topic.

"Well, she has kept her word, it seems." Daniel says.

"It is well," Ederyn says. "I suppose the ship will have to move." He has seen longboats hauled out of the water for major repairs, and expects approximately the same principles to apply. The wharf they first moored at does not seem like the right kind of place for that.

"Just as the Captain beached the ship for your temporary repairs." Daniel murmurs, watching the frenzy of activity. "I suspect they are inspecting it prior to such a procedure." The diplomat shrugs. "At least the repairs will occur and our journey will continue."

From their vantage point, the disembarking of men from the ship is apparent, as well as some activity with the mates and the sailors.

Daniel continues as the activity provides a backdrop. "It gives us a little time at loose ends, once we speak with the Captain. He'll want our impressions of our local potentate." Daniel pauses. "With that in mind, Ederyn, what are your thoughts? While the Captain may rely on my impressions,he'll certainly want yours as well."

The smith turns his attention from the ship to his companion. "I think," he says slowly, "she is used to ... control? Command. Not one to back into a corner. Or one to try to, I know not the word, to treat like a coward, or to push into something."

Daniel gives a nod. "She is not to be cajoled or cowed. It is well we spoke plainly and forthrightly to her. And may we never find in her an enemy."

Ederyn nods and tugs at the ornate torc around his neck, which does not look terribly comfortable, and glances back toward the ship. "I would like to put away this thing," he notes.

"Being unused to wearing such adornments overlong is a hazard." Daniel says. "Come, Ederyn, if we hurry, we can get aboard and change into plainer and easier clothes before the ship is moved to dry dock. Then we can make report to the Captain without such discomfort."

"Come" Daniel urges.

Ederyn follows willingly, ready to pack his court garb away as efficiently as he unpacked it.

Thirty minutes later, Ederyn has managed to change out of his court garb (as has Daniel), and is standing on the wharf, along with most of the crew. The ship only has a skeleton crew aboard, and a few others, including the three Weir and Yason.

The smith checks on the four of them for long enough to be sure that they're still in a reasonably peaceable mood with one another, and to reassure the Weir that he's back unharmed.

Ederyn and Daniel learn that the ship is now being moved to drydock for the repairs to be done in earnest.

As the ship is moved, Captain Edwall strolls up to Ederyn and his companion.

"Now, as they get to work, perhaps you might tell me of the negotiations. At the very least, they seem to have gone well enough, at a minimum." he gestures with a chopping motion toward the ship, slowly being steered toward its new berth. Carpenters and repairers are congregating there, awaiting the ship's approach with anticipation.

Ederyn peers at the ship. "I thought I need to take off the patch?" he says.

"You do." Captain Edwall confirms. "However, it wouldn't do to remove the patch while my ship is still in the water, now would it? It would undo all the good work your temporary fix has done in keeping the ship from being flooded on our journey here."

"Come." Captain Edwall says. "We can meet the ship at the drydock. There are things the repair crew can do before the patch is removed anyway. I was surprised at the speed at which this crew arrived."

"Ah, yes, Captain." Daniel says, falling in line so that he will walk between Ederyn and the Captain. He begins to explain the minutae of the costs of the repair and resupply operation.

. "In addition to those costs, Captain" Daniel continues after the dry details "the Sea Lord wanted to know more about the two of us and what had led the ship to Turku. We were invited to lunch to talk to her at length about it."

"Actually" Daniel amends. "It was the origins, journey and nature of Ederyn that the Sea Lord was much more interested in. I suspect that Ederyn's charm was instrumental in keeping the rates lower than they might be."

The smith looks surprised by this last remark, and eyes Daniel, trying to determine whether he was joking.

The expression on Daniel's face seems that he is entirely serious about his remark. He returns Ederyn's look with one that is akin to one apologizing for revealing some dread secret.

This seems to puzzle Ederyn even more, but he chooses to drop the subject, turning his attention back to the ship they are approaching.

Captain Edwall gives a long look at Ederyn, as the group approaches the drydock where the ship is being moved up and out of the water by pulleys, ropes, block and tackle, and lots of muscle.

"I suspect that you will be able to remove the patch shortly, Ederyn." Edwall says.

Ederyn nods absently, studying the collection of ropes and workers until he's figured out how the arrangement works.

With the unfamiliar technology at work, it takes a little bit for Ederyn to actually figure out what the Turku workers are doing. As they progress, though, it becomes clear why they were swarming over the ship earlier, before the ship was moved to this spot.

As the ship is lifted, its clear to Ederyn that the workers aren't really lifting the ship, but some sort of wooden platform. It was apparently installed underwater, and as the ship rises higher, its clearly now is visible as it sits underneath the vessel. The pulleys lift the platform, and thus, the ship that sits upon and within it.

"The Sea Lord," Ederyn says then, "would be dangerous to cross."

"Then we will have my beloved ship repaired, and sail out of the waters that she controls with alacrity." Captain Edwall says. He lowers his voice "As it stands, the sooner we are away from here, the happier your friends will be, eh?"

"And I," Ederyn replies, filing 'alacrity' away in his memory.

The ship and platform combination continues to be hauled out of the water until, finally, the men stop and the ship comes to a halt. It now sits free and clear on the platform, only the very bottom of the vessel not accessible from the outside. A cheer goes up from the dockworkers.

Daniel gives off a whistle of appreciation.

One of the midshipmen at this point rushes up to the Captain and speaks quietly to him. The Captain nods, dismisses the boy with a single word, "Goed" and turns to Ederyn.

"We are ready for you now, good Smith." Captain Edwall says, gesturing toward the vessel.

Ederyn smiles and moves forward, excusing himself through the crowd and activating the Sight. He works his way over to a point close to the tar-covered patch, his stylus already in his hand, and steps up onto the platform with perfect confidence.

The runes have held nicely, he sees, though of course all traces of the Fire he used for effect have been washed away by the water. Conscious of the watching crowd, he pauses for a moment, thinking mostly of how certain of his past acquaintances would laugh to see him 'performing' like this.

Then he thinks of the rune he needs, with intent, and with the stylus sketches it in the air an inch or two from the bottom edge of the patch. It gleams with the added bit of Fire and, as he wills it, moves to meet the runes inscribed on the patch and the side of the ship. As he intended, the power in the older runes unravels when this particular breaking rune touches them.

There is conversation and chatter, low in volume, from the assembled people as Ederyn sets to work. It turns into an indistinct sort of background noise to Ederyn's ministrations.

Out of an abundance of caution, he used multiple clusters of runes to affix the patch rather than a single group; each has to be broken separately. He moves along the bottom edge of the patch first, then up the sides. The presence of the layer of sticky tar on the canvas means that it stays in place even after he has canceled the last of the runes.

Ederyn steps back and pauses again before reaching up with his free hand and seizing the top edge of the patch. With a single movement he pulls the stiffened canvas free of the side of the ship - revealing the tangle of rune-marks on the wood and on the clean edge of the canvas, and the total absence of nails or anything else physical that might have held it in place. He drops the canvas on the platform, tucks his stylus away, and hops down to rejoin Edwall and Daniel. "All ready for repairs, Captain," he says.

The crowd says nothing for a few moments. Then, one of the midshipmen from the ship applauds. Two join him, and then the shipwrights and carpenters from Turku join them. There is a round of applause from everyone, including a clap of the hands from Captain Edwall. His clap brings the clapping and applause to a definite conclusion. He gives a nod of the head to Ederyn.

The sorceror-smith looks a little surprised at this audible display of approval, and glances around uncertainly, with a slight, reflexive smile.

"That will do very nicely, Smith. Very nicely." Edwall says. "Thank you."

"To work!" he then calls, projecting his voice further. Like a swarm of mosquitoes seeking prey, the workers surge forward toward the ship, many carrying tools, others carrying pieces of wood, joints, buckets of sealant, and other needed materials to make a proper repair of the hull.

Ederyn gladly allows them to wash past him, and takes the opportunity to rejoin Daniel.

"It is fortunate." Daniel observes "that your arcane workings, Ederyn, have been received with enthusiastic approval rather than some of the more unpleasant alternatives."

"Sea-faring folk like to see a ship come safe to port," the descendant of Norwendian sailors points out. "But, you make me wonder how sorcerors in these other worlds usually behave."

"Granted, I am dealing with knowledge somewhat out of date because Montenegro has been closed for so long. However, human nature doesn't change." Daniel pauses and then continues.

"You must understand." Daniel says, patiently. "In some Shadows in the Golden Circle, sorcery is the province of one race. In others, its the province of a particular class, sometimes one which is feared or distrusted. And in general, Ederyn, people sometimes hate or fear those with powers they cannot use themselves."

Ederyn's expression suggests that he already knows this, but he only nods.

"Now, mind, I understand, in a few Golden Circle shadows, its different. Arcanus, for example, Ederyn is a magocracy. If you don't know any magic, you're less than nothing in their eyes and even their laws, foreigners included. I understand previous Dukes of Montenegro found it difficult to find Ambassadors that were qualified enough in that arena."

Interested, Ederyn asks, "How can they know which of them is a sorceror or not, or if they are qualified?"

"There *are* a few sorcerers in Montenegro." Daniel replies. "Or, I should be more precise, forgive me." He pauses a moment. "Magic works in Montenegro, even though there are not that many native practitioners. Its an unusual skill to have, to say the least."

"Arcanus has a system of grading the skills of its mages, based on what powers they command. In centuries past, they asked that any Ambassador to them from other realms have a certain grade or rank. Always, from what I have read, they explained it in terms that the populace would not respect an Ambassador who did not command a minimum amount of magic."

"Would the Smith qualify?" Captain Edwall, listening nearby, interjects.

Daniel shrugs slightly. "I don't know. After all, its been a century since we've had contact with Arcanus. If the King of Norwend sent Ederyn to Arcanus, I have little idea on how it would work in practice."

Ederyn gives a shrug of his own. "I am curious about this place, now," he admits. "But I have other things to do."

(Continued in Set The Seas On Fire)

Backlinks