PartingIsSuchSweetSorrowIndex SB: Kenning: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow Kenning spends the next week in seclusion, taking meals with him to the family library, only setting his alarms to remind him of the devotions he had promised. The royal blue tomes and several others have been finished and many skimmed for pertinent points when referenced in the first. The archivist has begun his own cataloging system based on topic by the time he locks the door the last day before the guide's planned arrival. The afternoon is occupied by sorceries, leaving suitable wards on the small cell that he has arranged to leave some of his meager possessions within. He also takes time to leave a few runes for Reynard and Mathiyas to be triggered sometime in the future. A full night's sleep and after the next morning's devotions he's ready to go, reading one of the unfinished tomes, and awaiting his mother's guide. A sheaf of information is juggled in Kenning's head, gleaned from the books that he has looked over in the week that he has had to prepare. The act of sorting and cataloging the books, too, has in itself given Kennard a great deal of information as well. As Mother promised, the first six of the seven volumes threat on the place called Amber, its Royal Family, and its history. The authorship of these volumes is not clear and not attributed. The seventh of the blue volumes, however, is clearly attributed to Prince Osric of Amber. While the details of the esoteric information is new to Kenning, the information is alarming. Apparently, in the time before Amber (a very slippery concept to be sure), certain arcane powers arose and were bound or took forms to stabilize their power and become useful. Osric speculates that some of the powers are sentient in and of themselves, and others merely tools. These powers, collectively, Osric dubs 'The Spikards'. Kenning's also taken a bit of time to read what he can on the Dragon Deck and the Trumps. He hasn't tried to activate either of them, but he's looking for instruction on their use and purpose. Interestingly, there is little information on the Dragon Deck, except as mentioned in a treatise on the Trumps as being "part of the inspiration" for their initial creation. As far as Trumps, once again, Kenning finds the information in the volume penned by Osric. Trumps apparently create, by means of art, a metaphysical connection to a person or a place, allowing a psychic contact that can turn into an esoteric bridge for travel. According to Osric, the wizard of Amber,Dworkin, created the Amber Trumps although it is clear from the text that he did not invent the concept himself. It is one of the other tomes,a primer on the history of a place in the Golden Circle called 'Begma', when Kenning's study is interrupted, by Reynard. "Brother Kenning." he interrupts. "The Abbot wished me to tell you that a visitor has come to the Abbey seeking you. She awaits you in his office." Reynard regards Kenning and whispers, as if it were a scandalous secret. "A woman!" "A woman?" the archivist says as he stows the history in his shoulderbag. "I've heard that there are many of them outside the doors." "Far away, so I've heard." Reynard replies. Kenning rises and heads toward the door and eventually the Abbot's office. "I suppose I should start getting used to them, eh?" "You do?" Reynard says, skeptically, as he trails along, spurred on by curiosity. He pauses a moment, in sudden reflection. "Why, Kenning?" By the time Kenning reaches the staircase that lead up to the Abbot's office, a number of his fellow monks are milling around its base. Although their conversations are with each other, all of them cast furtive glances now and again up the staircase. Kenning smiles and speads his arms wide. "Brothers, my apologies for bringing this upon you. I shall leave you with my promise to dispatch this oddity as quickly as possible." Without further preamble he mounts the steps to the Abbot's office. "Um, thank you, Kenning..." trails the voice of one of the monks, Woode, as Kenning goes up the staircase, and with a knock and a word from the Abbot, is soon admitted inside. The Abbot is there, of course, with folded hands. Sitting in the seat across the desk from the Abbot is, indeed, a woman. Middle-aged, with auburn hair, and dressed in a heavy kirtle, with a cloak, she turns neatly in her chair when Kenning enters. "You must be Kenning." she says warmly. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dejah. I understand we have a mutual acquaintance." She smiles slightly. "Her Ladyship, your Mother." He smoothes his cerulean blue archivist's robes and offers her a slight bow from the waist. "It is my pleasure as well," Kenning replies. "Her Ladyship told me to expect you." "Good" she says crisply, and then lets Kenning continue. The Abbot watches, silently. "I fear that beyond that, I am very much in the dark about the rest of our journey. Is there anything you might tell me that I could use to comfort my brothers here at the monesterium?" he asks as he comes around the side of the desk, standing between the Abbot and Dejah. "Comfort?" Dejah furrows her eyebrows for a moment. After a few moments more, enlightenment crosses her face. "I see." she says. "You are seeking something that might be told your compatriots to allay their curiosity and concerns about your journey. Very well. Of course, telling the bald truth would not be suitable." She raises a finger to her lower lip and presses the nail against it, and adopts a thoughtful look "You will tell them this." Dejah says. "You will tell them that Royalty from behind the Shieldwall mountains seek a replacement archivist to manage and improve their library, and have sent me to collect a candidate. His grace the Abbot..." she turns her head to the Abbot, listening and watching carefully "decided to select you for this singular request." "Will that suit?" Dejah says. "I confess my knowledge of the internal culture of your Abbey puts me at a disadvantage in these matters." Kenning smiles. "Wonderfully. Mathiyas will be distressed, Father, as I may have intimated my departure previously, but his reactions will be balanced by Brother Reynard's." He offers a slight smile. "If there is nothing else, my bag is prepared at the Corinno Gate," he offers. "I should have expected Mathiyas' reactions, as well as Reynard's." The Abbot responds. He looks from Kenning to Dejah and back again. "I approve of the story that you will set out. You will leave the office immediately, of course, Kenning, and your fellow traveler will join you as soon as some particulars are completed here." The auburn haired woman nods, and looks toward Kenning. "Our business here should be concluded within an hour. I will meet you at the Corrino Gate, then, and we shall depart promptly. It would not do to dawdle. The pass can be difficult in the dark, as you possibly know." "Until then." Dejah adds, and offers a small smile. Behind her, the Abbot gives a final, serious nod, and a long lingering gaze, as if making sure that Kenning is fixed and remembered in his mind's eye forever, at a final parting. Kenning offers his own solemn nod, dark eyes meeting the Abbot's. "Until then," Kenning replies. He allows the door to close behind him before removing his pen and ink, hammer and chisel. *An hour?* he thought. He tapped delicately at the wall that surrounded the Abbot's office just one mark to conduct the sounds that reverberated off the other side. He linked it to the pen and ink, so they might transcribe for him, something to read as he waited at the Corinno Gate. Kenning has, of course, a flurry of questions and inquiries from his fellow monks once he reaches the Gate. Dejah's answer, once given, provokes reactions ranging from awe to surprise to curiosity. He makes it to the Gate in plenty of time, and by the time he does, he has a still-continuing transcript of the conversation between the Abbot and his soon-to-be companion. Given the quietness of the area around the Corinno Gate, Kenning can read his book without much chance of interruption. The major subject, perhaps no surprise, is Kenning himself. Much of it is dry inquiry about Kenning's education and knowledge base. It does grow more interesting, however: Dejah: "So am I the first agent of the Family to come here, Abbot?" Abbot: "As far as I am aware, you are the first. Of course, I am given to understand that certain protections are in place here." Dejah: "Just because there are protections does not mean these things occur. I am informed that the members of the Family run into each other naturally. It takes effort to sequester one for a long time." Abbot: "I see. Well, we get precious few visitors as it is. I do recall, once, a strange pair. A short red haired woman and her son. They claimed to be scholars from some duchy from beyond the shieldwall. They seemed quite interested in the Monasterium, although they professed no interest in Kenning in particular. I let them do research. I have no idea if Kenning even met them." Dejah: "The rooms are intact, however?" Abbot: "As far as I can tell, Kenning is the first to disturb any of them during my tenure as Abbot, and none of the records of my predecessors suggests any different." "Now" he continues. "let me ask you a question. Just how bad have things become?" Dejah: "Bad enough that she is willing to risk contact with the Family. My twin is making arrangements to broach contact with one or more likely candidates to meet with Kenning." Dejah. "Excuse me, Abbot. I think...I think I should make arrangements to..." And the transcript abruptly stops. Kenning immediately feels guilt at his eavesdropping, scratching the triad codon of fire-light-fire across the center of the page, watching the paper twist and shrivel in the flames, breaking the connection to the rune outside the Abbot's office. A conjured zephyr, air-light-air, the runes drawn in a midair shimmer with Curtana, currently a belt dagger, disperses the remaining ash. Simple, elementary magic, even compared to the transcription spell. It would be interesting to see what his mother's agent's made of it. Even if he had erred, he would learn something of her from the resulting interactions. While he awaited the last moments until their departure, he further delved into what his books told him of the royal family. [What's the family tree he can create based on the histories, and was he able to make any correlations to pictures in his Trump Deck?] The genealogical puzzle of the Royal Family of Amber is a subject that can fill much more than Kenning's limited time before Dejah arrives at the Corinno Gate. . Oberon, the King of Amber, has had a surprising number of wives, lovers and children. By Cymnea, he has had three children Finndo, the oldest child, a son Osric, second son Cyneburh, first daughter, his mother. Kenning seems to have trumps of all three of these, as well as Cymnea herself. There are some references in the history, early on, to a sister of Oberon named Titania. There are no trumps that seem to correspond to her, however, and Kenning notes that she is not mentioned in later portions of the history. The histories also seem to suggest Oberon annulled his marriage to Cymnea. Making Kenning the grandson of a king with no claim on the crown being the son of a not-even-disinherited daughter, with questionable motives and a likely grudge for her mother's treatment. A convenient but possibly dangerous position. He would have to tread carefully when presented with Family. Oberon's second wife is Faiella By Faiella he had three children: Eric Corwin Deirdre (the histories say that Faiella died in childbirth to her). Deirdre is listed as having one son, Percival. There are trumps for the three children, and Percival. By Nella, he had two children: Arawn Xavier. There are no trumps of any of them. The histories on their subject are terse, and for lack of a better word, tense. By Clarissa, he had four children: Vanyel Fiona Bleys Brand Fiona has one son, Lorius. There are trumps of the four children in the deck, and Lorius. A petite redhead and her son... Hmm. Clarissa's fate is not clear. By Rilga, he had three children: Caine Gerard Julian Gerard has two children, Castor and Pollux Julian has one child, Carl There are trumps of all of these. Rilga is dead. By Moins of Rebma, he had one daughter, LLewella There is a trump of Llewella. Kenning has never seen a picture of a woman so clothed...and yet not very clothed... By Harla, he had two children Sand Delwin There are no trumps of either of these. It's suggested Harla 'retired' to shadow. And there the history that Kenning has, stops. He is certain, though, that this is not the "present" of Amber by any means. Kenning jots some notes in his notebook and stores it before Dejah returns. About ten minutes after Kenning finishes his note taking, Dejah does return, with a small cloud of curious monks following her at discreet (and slightly less than that in a couple of cases) This group does break following Dejah just short of reaching Kenning. She gives a smile as she strolls up to him. She is now outfitted with a pack on her back. "Now, shall we begin our road?" Dejah offers by way of greeting, starting past Kenning, walking to the threshold of the (opened) gate, turning and looking to him. "It's a long road, and we have much to catch you up on. And vice versa. Don't we?" She gestures for Kenning to walk alongside her. "For starters, I understand that this is your first real trip outside of the Monasterium? Kenning shoulders his own pack, canvas built on a lightweight frame, conjured using descriptions in _Ellelle Beene's Catalogue of Outdoors Acoutriments_. "True. I've been to the village in the valley as part of the trading deligation once, but that was only a day trip." Dejah gives a nod of the head. "Is this your first trip to the Monestarium, Dejah?" he asks in return, expecting that the conversation will fall into a casual rhythm until either one wishes to share something of import. "I suppose Family would watch their rivals' agents movements as well, hence her Ladyship would have been sparing in how often she sent someone here, yes?" Dejah only pauses a beat from Kenning's question before answering. "I had wondered." she begins "how much of the volumes that the Lady left you was read in the time you had." She looks thoughtful. "You seem to have a good sense of how the Family into which you were born actually works." Kenning offers a knowing smile, more sure than it's own truely feels. "This IS my second visit to the Monasterium." Dejah replies. "However, there was also an an additional visit from my sister. We both used the same use-name each time." The path curves and Dejah lets her feet and Kenning's eat up a few more yards on the curve before continuing her answer. "Her Ladyship employs a number of agents, and precious few of us are aware of the others." "I, for instance." she continues "am only aware, to a high degree of confidence, of the doings of my sister." She stops and slips into a space in the conversation that allows Kenning the chance to extend it. "I see the wisdom in the compartmentalization, but it assumes that her organization is prone to attack or infiltration by enemy agents. Such collapsing structures anticipate destruction, and are built to do just that, collapse," Kenning muses. Dejah makes a polite noise for Kenning to continue. "So her information structure is disposable, she hides assets, even such as myself, in secluded niches, to be drawn into some baroque design at her whim, which currently is to help a family, that seem bound by no natural mores and would wish her harm as likely as health, to puzzle out the reawakening of a lost item of power," the archivist excerpts. He sighs, adjusts a strap on his framepack and steps up his pace. "So, why the trek over the shieldwall? Why not a Trump to Her Ladyship, or your sister?" "A perceptive question." Dejah replies. "You clearly have studied well, to pose such an alternative to our current journey." She pauses a beat and then continues. "We might trump to my sister. However, that would place us, at the moment, in Amber City, far away from the destination her Ladyship wishes you to go. That would not be efficient." "Similarly, Kenning." Dejah says "A trump to her Ladyship would place us even further from our eventual destination. And, I would surmise, her Ladyship has her own reasons for you to neither visit Amber nor her at this juncture." "Finally, though." Dejah gestures to the shieldwall. "there are positive reasons for this route. First, this will provide me the opportunity to answer your questions, and educate you. Not all learning, Kenning, comes solely from reading and reflection on same. Second, Kenning, it emerges that a shadowpath that we can follow to our destination has a node at a city on the far side of the shieldwall. A city named Vandais, if your education in the Monasterium has extended to it." "I know little of it, as those out of doors are more topics of gossip than truth at the Monestarium," Kenning answers. "Gossip is unreliable, hence I eshew it in most of its forms." The corner of his mouth quirks, giving a hint at his sarcasm. His gaze followed her to the shieldwall. "Although, I suppose reflections of truth can sometimes be more telling than first hand observations, such as viewing astronomical observations." "What truths can you share about Vandais?" "I could relate many truths about Vandais." Dejah replies. The path has slowly started to gain a bit of elevation at this point as the road away from the Monasterium heads implacably toward the ever taller foothills and mountains. "I suspect that many of them would be of little interest to you. Or at the very least, applicability." she adds. "So let me relate a few things on what would be of pertinent and useful interest to you." "Vandais is a city state, ruled by a Markiz, Gregor, the fourth of his line. As you might surmise from the title, Kenning, indeed, Vandais was once a border province of the Teruel Empire. However, as the Empire has long since retreated and shrunk to only a few pitful provinces in these times, the Markiz is now an independent hereditary title. The symbol of the city is a black eagle on a yellow field." Dejah pauses and continues. "Vandais is the closest city of any size to the Monasterium. I know little of the great plains that lie on the opposite side of the shieldwall, to the west, but I would not find it likely to find great cities on such land." "Lastly, Vandais is a river port, at the conjunction of the river which we will follow once we reach its headwaters, the Palafox, and the Ebro, which meets it from the south at Vandais. As such, it makes much of its trade from the rivers and their conjunction. And in times of war, the peninsula upon which it sits can be cut off and turned into an island." "Will that satisfy? What do your rumors say in relation to what I have told you?" she enquires. "Vandais, named for the platform in the central plaza from which Blasco Garcés gave speech to the vanguard of the Teruel army as he chose to halt their expansionist policies," Kenning begins. "As to the rumors, they mostly concern the women of Vandais, as while my brothers are monks, they are still men." "It's a haven for the mercenaries that serve as merchant guards beyond the borders of the surviving Empire, and supposedly attracts the elements that adapt well to such a chaotic lifestyle." "That is substantially correct." Dejah replies. A tall roundish boulder, tumbled down long ago from the mountains, casts a shadow over the travelers as they pass it on the road. She runs a hand on her blue kirtle. "The city attracts all sorts, and will be useful for resupplying before we leave the bounds of this shadow." Dejah stops a moment and looks up the road toward the peaks of the mountains. With a sound of satisfaction, she continues walking. "Your books clearly taught you about Trump, and the Royal Family of Amber." Dejah says. "I have not read your tomes. I am curious what they have told you about shadow paths." It's verbatim from the text, "Imposition of Ordered Reality upon the Shadows, as laid down by the Scions of Amber, providing passage of those without the Blood between endpoints." "I am interested in learning more about the Pattern that allows such abilities, It must be a conjunction of Primal Runes, but I can find no drawing or further description, save vaugueries about glowing traceries," Kenning admits. "Ah, the Pattern." Dejah says. "That's a complicated subject, Kenning?" Dejah says, picking up her pace just a little as the path reaches a plateau and becomes easier to trot along. "I am not of your family, Kenning." she replies. "So my knowledge of the Pattern is something of which I know only from observation. Your mother would be far more adept and useful at explaining the Pattern to you." "Though I have never seen it with my own eyes, the Pattern is said to be a spiral like sigil of power that lies at the heart of Amber. Two reflections of this sigil also exist, with equal power." Dejah explains. "For any not of the blood of Amber to attempt to walk along the lines of the Pattern is a death sentence." Dejah says. "It is said that it is dangerous to the Family as well, although not immediately fatal." "So, a true test of my maternity, eh?" Kenning jests, matching her pace, stride for stride. "Who currently controls access to these sigils, should I find the time to... examine it?" "Your mother suspected that you might ask, so she briefed me fully." Dejah explains. "The original Pattern, some might say the true one, lies in the basement of Castle Amber." Dejah explains. "That one is strictly controlled by Random, King of Amber. His permission would be needed to gain access to it and try it." "The first of the reflections lies in the reflection of Castle Amber beneath the waves, in the City of Rebma." Dejah continues. "The city beneath the waves lies in a zone which is breathable by ordinary humans, although I understand many of the Rebmans can breath water naturally. That city is ruled by Queen Moire and her control over the Pattern is ironclad. It is said that she will not permit access to anyone, since none from her realm save those get of the Amberite royal family can walk the Pattern in their midst." "The third, Kenning." Dejah says "your mother has forbid me to tell you how to access, due to the inherent dangers in its very location, to say nothing of navigating it." Kenning chuckles. "Which suggests that I'm an only child, because such a prohibition almost dares one to disobey." "Or she supposes I'm above such things after seven decades in the Monestarium." Dejah shakes her head. "Or, it suggests that it would be better if you were to find a way to walk one of the other Patterns, Kenning." Dejah says. Its only a slightly chiding tone of voice, but the tone is unmistakable. "The third Pattern is far too perilous to risk. The lady does not wish you to die in the attempt." Kenning's chuckles grow deeper. "But the risk is *so* alluring." He hikes closer to the edge as their path begins to ascend again. "So many years of relative seclusion makes me reckless and thoughtless. Dealing with ancient artifacts themselves isn't really dangerous enough." His sarcasm is obvious even to the rock face rising beside them. Dejah says nothing, prefering a pensive mien to cross her face. He shuffles his pack on his shoulders and regards Dejah again. "You didn't answer the unasked question. Am I an only child? And as an aside, did the lady mention anything of import about my father?" Dejah relaxes slightly and readjusts her pace as the path starts another climb, mild this time at best. "I am given to understand that even with hundreds or thousands of years of trying, the population of children of your Family is astonishingly low. The ordered nature of reality leads to relative infertility." Dejah pauses a beat. "I do not know all of her Ladyship's doings, of course. However, my sister and I do rank highly amongst her servitors. I would like to think, Kenning, that if her Ladyship had additional children beyond you, I would know if it. And I know of none." She waits a couple of minutes before continuing. "As far as the matter of your father, Kenning, her ladyship has not told me much. Only enough to give you some sort of answer if you should ask." "He was from far away from Amber and this entire region of Shadow, Kenning. Very far away." The disappointment doesn't show on the archivist's face. "For another time, one supposes. One supposes my current focus should be this spikard." *For now.* "For now." Dejah agrees. "My research has only unearthed vague references and mythological legends. Has her ladyship offered something more concrete?" "Yes. As much as she was willing to tell me, which was an ample amount of information." Dejah says. She pauses a moment, looks at the path leading upward, adjusts her pack and continues walking. And after a moment, continues speaking. "I'm sure that the books left you speak of the time before the Pattern and of the Empire of Chaos." Dejah begins. "A time of savage adventure, of wild shadows, and wilder magic and powers. Elder races contending for power, Worldbuilders forging together realms knitted out of the fabric of shadow. Kenning nods, but doesn't interrupt. "After Chaos was born, and especially after Amber was born, Kenning, many of these wild powers, these sorcerous entities, were still unbound and free. And, understandably, these powers are, loose, inimical to the way things ago, seeking a return of matters to their Age." "Thus the spikards were created, Kenning. To bind, control and harness these powers. To be able to not only use them, but to keep them from using themselves in ways inimical to the way things are." "While matters have sat well for thousands of years, with the severe disruptions in Shadow as of late, your mother fears that the disruptions have, as a side effect, allowed certain of the Spikards the capacity of stirring themselves." "Which, as you may have surmised." Dejah says with a smile "brings us to the mission at hand." "And, the Lady hopes that my knowledge of primal marks and their language will allow me to secure the loosed bindings, or at least identify where such ties have come undone," Kenning presumes. "Among other talents." Dejah replies. "Tell me more of these 'severe' disruptions in Shadow, if you please. Much of the histories left for my education were just that, while not dusty, older tomes. I have no knowledge of 'as of late'." "Things are still in flux and the situation continues to change." Dejah says. "However, I do have a fair amount of knowledge dating from my departure for your shadow." "A few weeks ago, as I measure time, things began to occur on a multishadow wide scale." Dejah explains. "Apperances of trans-shadow esoteric doorways in key locations, followed by apparent incursions by forces that the Lady is still gathering information about. Then there was the God." "I told you about the wild powers, Kenning. Some of them considered themselves, or stylized themselves as deities of various sorts. Most of those are gone, faded to single-shadow reflections or just memories. Some went to sleep, others to more rarefied levels of reality." "One of those, recently, made a sudden fulminating reappearance. Phoebus made a sudden impact, wrapping his fate with the Amber Royal Family and threatened to fully manifest himself before his presence was, for the lack of a better term, was exorcised." "That exorcism, Kenning, is the source of much of the severe disruptions. Many shadows from pole to pole were impacted in one way or another. Only highly protected shadows, such as this one, probably avoided the worst of the manifestations and impacts. But, I suspect, you had at the very least some unexpected 'once in a century' weather...several months ago, it would have been here. Didn't you?" She looks at Kenning expectantly. "Once in a century?" He climbs a few steps ahead and looks back on the Monesterium's receding valley and the thick growth of deciduous tree cover. "We had a sandstorm that dropped lizards in the courtyard. Komodo's treatise on herpetology, written over seven hundred years ago, suggested that they were of a species never before catalogued. I think it's rarer than a century." "It's a turn of phrase." Dejah says a few moments after Kenning relates his tale. "An expression meaning an event that does not occur in the natural run of seasons, and cannot be expected to do so." "It does sound like this sandstorm crossed shadow boundaries and was a true shadowstorm." Dejah says. "No doubt the wards placed by the Lady were temporarily breached by it, but in addition, those wards kept the worse of the damage and effects away." "I can anticipate your next question." Dejah says. "To answer, some of the effects reported range from a lightning strike on Castle Amber itself to a spectral fight between large than life demigods in the skies over Begma." "It makes one feel rather small and limited to think I might square off with a god," he muses. "Exciting as well." "Anything specific to this particular instance of unbound eldritch power that might help me anticipate it?" Dejah shakes her head. "Alas, I do not know enough to be able to tell you more. As always, Kenning, I find that a healthy dollop of improvisation is useful along with carefully laid plans. Especially with dealing with such beings." "And it must be said." Dejah adds. "To some shadows, and some beings, Kenning, *you* are a god. Or will be." "And as with most systems, even open ones, we have returned circumferentially to this anchor of Order, this Pattern," he answers. "The operative phrase there is 'will be', and until then I am just an archivist out of doors." He hikes on a few moments, contemplating who he is becoming, in silence before asking, "You mentioned that your sister was liasing with Family, or perhaps recruiting. Have we any idea who the Lady has drawn into the fold?" "Only in the most general sense." Dejah replies. "Given the canniness and the danger presented by revealing the Lady's hand to certain members of the Royal Family, I am certain that my sister will rely on contacting your cousins rather than your aunts and uncles. I have suspicions on who she will contact first, but whether she will be able to convince them to participate, I do not truly know." Kenning nods. "And beginning with conjecture as to variables will only result in an incomplete and unbalanced equation." He runs a kerchief over the light sheen of sweat developing on his bald pate. "So which questions have you or the Lady anticipated that I have overlooked?" Dejah considers this for a few moments. "There are many possible things that the Lady instructed me to answer you about. It is difficult to pinpoint anything in particular. However, a few moments of thought..." Dejah's footsteps crunch along the path as a sound of temporizing until she speaks again. "I think she expected me to be quizzed more of my impressions of her, for one thing." Dejah offers. "And what I know of the Royal Family. Or what my sister knows, to be precise. Then there is the matter of the worlds outside this shadow. Not everything is found in books, you know." Dejah smiles slightly. Kenning nods. "Nor can subjective observations shared by even the well-trained and well-trusted embody truths over-inflated by years of wonder and mystery." "As to the Lady, I can only assume that you would commend her to me, and having no particular clues as to which of the cousins I will be interacting with, I am unsure where to begin." He shrugs. "As to other Shadows, I will experience them soon enough I expect." "As soon as we are able, you will get that experience." Dejah gestures toward the towering mountains. Now that they have gained some distance on the Monasterium, both laterally and vertically, the mountains are a little less towering than from the grounds of Kenning's old home. "And that is the point of this journey. Part of it, in any event." she adds after a moment. "And we return to my own short-coming, temporary as it must be. Reliance upon the Shadowpaths instead of blazing a trail for us. How immature I will appear to my cousins," he chuckles, self-depreciatingly. His tone suggests that he's not bothered by the idea of being underestimated by others. "As immature in that sense as any of them who were born or fostered outside of Amber." Dejah replies. "More fool, they, if they forget their origins in sizing up your talents." The next few days are a testament to the physical barriers around the Monasterium. The path rises and rises into the Shieldwall. The temperature drops, especially at night, breath visible in the air after the third day of climbing through the pass. The days, when not spent in simple walking , consist of Dejah exchanging questions with Kenning on a variety of topics. When simple information exchange becomes stale, Dejah proposes word games and puzzles instead. Everything from Twenty Questions to improvised metered responses to the other's lines, Dejah certainly has an arsenal of suggestions to occupy the long hours in trek. The trek itself, aside from climbing, does not have anything to commend it save for two incidents. At one point, Dejah stops, placing a hand on a rock and leaning over. "This is the Divide." she says, clearly discomfited by the thin air. "The halfway point of the shieldwall, too." The second incident is more problematic, a couple of days later. Ahead on the path, the sound of rushing and flowing water is audible even with the river out of sight. Dejah smiles, as if they have reached yet another milestone, but her happiness is short lived. For when the pair reach the river, the bridge that was there, and presumably intact, is now in tatters. The foundations on each other are there, but the rest of the bridge has been washed away by what Kenning recognizes as a river running far faster and harder than it normally should. The overflowing river rushes past in a roar. Wading across the river here would be perilous to say the least. "There are some animal and herder paths, mostly disused, that lead to fords." Dejah says. "I might suggest going upstream. Downstream it is likely to be even more swollen than here." Kenning kneels at the edge, examining the rock remaining on this shore. "Or we can cross here." He tosses a chip into the roaring waters. "How?" Dejah asks. "Even a Rebman would find this difficult." The archivist removes his pack and produces a small hammer and chisel. "I may not be able to cross Shadows, but I believe I can at least cross a river." "All right." Dejah says, and listens. "I will need a watch or so to design the codons, but I believe I can use the existing pylon to anchor the sorcery. Perhaps ice..." he mutters to himself, already engrossed in the runes. "It would take far longer than a watch to reach the nearest place to ford the stream." Dejah says after a moment's thought. Her words are already fading from Kenning's attention as he turns toward his task. He may not even be aware of Dejah sitting down on a nearby rock, folding her hands, and watching Kenning with a rapt expression. And Dejah awaits what Kenning will esoterically create. It's the geometry of the puzzle that's almost harder than the actual sorcery. The elements are plentiful, as is the bounding energy they reflect. The foundation codons draw on the the low energy inherent to the spray of mist over the submerged remains of the bridge, at least those that haven't been swept downstream. He calls on the elements of water and air and binds it through the primal water, keeping the low energy to resist the surging waters, trapping it as ice. Slowly the mist crystalizes, finding form defined by Kenning's directed focus and the geometry of the original supports as well as the intricate movements and direction of Curtana. The path is intended to be wide enough for them to cross abreast, the archivist disdaining elegance and design, satisfied that the act itself leaves an impression. "I figure ice will melt and leave a minimal imprint," he explains. "An ice bridge." Dejah says in slight awe, once the bridge is complete and Kenning finishes his explanation. She walks up to the foot of the bridge and places her hand on the edge. After a few seconds, she withdraws it, satisfied. "Would you have been able to make something more permanent?" Dejah asks, as she takes a ginger, but then more confident steps onto the curve of the bridge. She chooses the left side of the ice bridge. "Was it simpler and easier to do something of less permanence?" Kenning strides along her side, Curtana having lost her blade and looking like an ordinary walking stick in his left hand. "Yes, there is something of self that enters a more permanant creation, a reality that is lent by conjury as opposed to sorcery. At the moment, the primary investment here would have been time. If the support pylons are adequate, I might have raised the riverbed to where the previous bridge was, and relieved the next traveller of such decisions as we faced. With enough time and proper materials, I might have then inscribed the structure with runes for support and protection from the elements, so as to engender even more permanence to it." He smiles gently at Dejah, offering his walking stick, so they might hold it between them for added suppot as they continue. "I suppose this is a suitable middle ground for our purposes. More than the proverbial tightrope over the tiger pit, less than the fabled Londoun Bridge. Balance is important, my fair lady." The archivist regards his creation as he walks, watching for weaknesses, expecting none, but prepared. He is sure that he would have preferred to have inscribed anchors on the far shore if he had wished something more lasting, but has faith in his creation. "Walking on ice should be done carefully." Dejah agrees. While an ice bridge has an elegant simplicity and undeniable impermanence, both he and Dejah learn, as they walk across the creation, that it is somewhat less than perfectly practical. It's sound from an engineering standpoint, but a poor surface to walk upon. Slow and careful steps, especially on the downward arc of the bridge, are necessary to keep both Kenning and Dejah from having their legs go out from under them. In fact, at the most sloping portion of the bridge, the progress is slow and extremely ginger. However, Kenning's own balance is better than he expects, once he puts his mind to it. "I have been in a number of shadows." Dejah says, once the pair are on solid earth "that have magicians that can create objects out of thin air like that." She gestures back at the bridge, glistening in the sunlight. "In these shadows, though, almost uniformly, if you take an item they have created, no matter how permanent it seems, out of the shadow itself and into another, the item disappears, and is lost forever." "Surely in your library." she adds. "You've read or heard of tales of Faerie gold and of the gifts of Djinn?" "So I should never try to bridge between two Shadows?" Kenning muses. "I wonder how the interactions will change once I have assayed the Pattern." "Indeed." Dejah replies. The level and availability of sorcery varies from Shadow to Shadow. That alone would make a trans-shadow working difficult, without at the very least knowing the particulars of each shadow's mana content." she explains. "As far as the latter question, The Lady would be a better person to put such a question." Dejah replies. "I do not truly know." "So, many myths and legends are associated with the scions of Amber?" he asks. "Many." Dejah confirms as she leads Kenning away from the Bridge. "Both in the sense that I think that you mean and in a broader sense. The doings of the scions of Amber are well known, by reputation as well as distorted retellings, throughout the Golden Circle. A family of long lived powerful beings, at a seat of power for hundreds and thousands of years, will do that." Dejah says wryly. "But there is something else, too." Dejah says. "It is said by the Lady, and from what I have seen, it is true, the scions of Amber have an impression upon shadows that they themselves have never trod. Versions, both accurate and distorted of their trials, tribulations, adventures, successes and defeats appear, in various versions, under novel names, throughout shadows." "It would not surprise me." she says "that even your modest life here thus far has been similarly reflected already." "I had noticed some of the... correllations... reflections in the stories of the Golden Circle. How strong are these reflections? Are they similar in disposition to the sorcery you mentioned, being confined to their own Shadows?" At his own question, Kenning gives an appraising look to his guide, as if another unasked question has come to mind. "Now that is a matter of debate. I am given to understand that the Lady argued and discussed such matters with her siblings, in the days when all lived together in the Castle. By treading into Shadow, I am told, it is changed. By looking into a shadow where one has a reflection, that reflection may change, grow stronger." "For the most part, without access to a Greater Power." the capitalization in her words is obvious "the limits of the power of a reflection is limited in scope. Just how limited, again, is a matter of debate." "But to answer your other point, these correlations can often be no more than a similar name, or a visage, or a stray thread of paralleling history. Or a thematic correlation." "You seem to wish to ask something else." Dejah prompts, guiding her horse past a stray boulder that has planted itself in the middle of the descending path. He doesn't hesitate when she calls him out on it. "Do your travels limit you to Shadowpaths, or are you more than my mother's agent?" "You're a clever one." Dejah says. It sounds like a compliment. She doesn't say anything for a few moments, but finally responds. "I'm not a relative, if that is what you are asking." she says. "I trace no descent from the lines of Amber. That said..." she looks at Kenning speculatively "both my sister and myself have access to a certain suite of abilities more than the ordinary mortal man. We do not like to use those powers, and remain with the simple use of Shadowpaths for a number of reasons." She pauses a beat and regards Kenning speculatively, as if sizing him up to see if this was enough. She shakes her head and continues. "Chief amongst these reasons, Kenning, is that the use of our powers may draw unwarranted and unwanted attention." "You draw upon one of these powers then, do you not? A spikard or godhead. or..." he smiles, considering and speculating, watching for reactions. There is bemusement and a focus on Kenning as he starts making guesses. Neither guess seems to provoke a reaction. "A Dragon, powers from before the foundation of Order." At the word Dragon, just for a moment, her eyes widen and scrutinize Kenning a little more carefully. She hesitates, more than pauses, before speaking. "A power much older than the foundation of Order, yes." Dejah says. Kenning seems satisfied enough for now and continues their ride, (Although he missed when they acquired the horses. Perhaps it's what made him suspicious in the first place,) as the terrain flattens out, the shimmer of a great body of water in the distance. He busies himself within his vest and produces the Dragon Deck, flipping through the images instinctively until something jogs his memory or replacing them uncommented upon if nothing does. Thinking back on it, once Kenning does, its not quite clear to him just when they acquired the horses. After the ice bridge, most certainly. Kenning doesn't remember riding the horses over it. After that...it just seems sort of natural that he is now riding a horse. However it happened, it was subtle. Very subtle. Flipping through the deck of dragons gets Kenning a sidewise glance from Dejah but no comment. As far as Kenning's flip through the deck, after a while, it takes on the dimensions of a scrying, of sort. Images of people, of places, of things slide past Kenning like water. And then one causes him to stop. The card is dark bordered and dark themed. Kenning's previous forays have mentally placed this card in the same group as a few of the other cards that he has seen with the same styling. In this image is a woman, a middle aged woman, weaving a tapestry. The tapestry that the woman is calmly weaving, this Weaver of the Dark appears to depict the head of a blue scaled dragon. Kenning most definitely feels a resonance between the card...and Dejah. "Ancient," he says eyeing the woman. "What tapestry do you weave, what warp and weft, of who's design? What hold would Her Ladyship have over such as you and your sister?" The questions are not spoken as if he expects any answer, but they are definitely pitched loud enough for her hearing. "How long have you served?" he asks bluntly. Dejah stops her horse. The mount gives off a grunt as he regards Kenning. "I should not have conjured the horses. You're more sensitive than I guessed." Dejah says. "I wished to get to the port faster. A small change in the warp and weft." "I have held a position worthy of being included in the Deck of Dragons for several centuries, Kenning." Dejah says. "And it is not for me to say what rank she holds, but my sister holds a different one than I." "In scrying with the deck." Dejah says "people you know, or important people, might be represented by figures from the deck. People who might not even know of the existence of the Deck of Dragons can be represented by images in the deck during a reading. Tarot decks can be used for this approach. Trumps, too. "But, then, Kenning, there are people who *embody* the figures in the Deck, hold the positions depicted. I, Kenning, am the Weaver of High House Dark." "Your mother is my House's Queen. That is the hold she holds over me, and my sister." Kenning listens, without interruption. He pats his horse on the neck, soothing. "Hence the natural curiosity of my conjuration as opposed your own," he finally answers. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Where will that place me in relation to the High House of Dark?" the former archivist asks, mopping the sweat from his brow. "An interesting question." Dejah says. "Once someone is defined as a card within the Deck, they usually keep that position until death or other transformation. Certain roles have existed in the Houses for millennia. Other roles seem to be created out of nothing. Only the Master of the Deck is said tp fully understand this process, and I have never met one such, and in fact there may not be a Master of the Deck at present." "The traditional roles, within House Dark are, as you have seen in your deck, the Queen, the Knight, the Sorcerer, the Captain, the Herald, the Soldier, the Weaver, the Mason and the Concubine." "As a general rule." Dejah adds. "Those who become these ascendants within the House, or in another House, or Unaligned have or soon obtain mastery over a Warren or one of the other old Powers." Kenning nods, absorbing the new information. "So, positions are not hereditary, but based on accumen?" "There are other Houses where the Lady reigns?" he asks. "One of these Warrens?" "Positions are definitely not hereditary. Not within the Dragon Deck. Or else the deck would have long since been depleted." Dejah says wryly. Dejah looks at the water in the distance, looks thoughtful and then regards Kenning. "Warrens might be thought of as physical manifestations of the Old Magic." Dejah says. "Old magic that is not only an ability to cast spells, but is also a realm where the mana to cast those spells is prevalent. There are a number of Warrens, although in this Age, there are few who employ their magic." "Houses are simply arrangements of those who have ascended into the Deck." "It's about time for a meal." Dejah says. "Let's stop to eat, and I shall show you how the deck is arranged, and how Warrens work." Kenning dismounts, leading the horse toward a likely clearing beside the trail. He whistles the resonances of a codon for dead dry wood and then the energy to ivoke fire at its center after tying the horse to a tree. "There are several Houses I take it, thus finding those that have resonances to the Deck, a Weaver of the House of Light, or some-such. Yes?" "Food first" Dejah says, and remains remarkably tight lipped on the subject until the simple vegetable stew is prepared, cooked and eaten. It is when the dishes are clean that Dejah gestures to Kenning. "There are several Houses." Dejah picks up. "Life, Death, Dark, Light, Shadow, Chains and War are the current ones, at least the last time I scryed the deck." Dejah explains. "Let me have the Deck, Kenning, and I will show you how to use it in that fashion, and how things are arranged." Kenning seems to consider for a moment before producing the Deck again. He produces a small notebook, out of habit more than need, and a pencil to take notes. "Please, I would be greatly appreciative to gain some understanding of the tools left me by the Lady." "Well." Dejah says. "then let us begin your education in earnest. Clearly you've looked through the deck a couple of times, or information about it, to know so much already." she begins, sitting down on the ground. "This is not an ideal place, but there is at least only the gentlest of breezes and nothing to disturb us." She holds up the deck and shuffles it. "The shuffling is idiosyncratic." Dejah comments to Kenning as she continues to play with the cards. "Given how this works, its not strictly necessary." She stops and then starts to deal out.
The first card out is the dark bordered card that precipitated the entire conversation. The weaver of High House Dark. Dejah herself. As if drawn by a lodestone, Dejah carefully places the card in the center of the open space and looks up at Kenning. She then draws another card. In this case, its dark bordered again, a female figure enthroned. She places this card above the Weaver in what, to Kenning, clearly looks like a building tableau of some kind. "Your mother, the Lady." Dejah says. "I was drawn to put her above me, because of our relationship. Unless you are trying to scry or find something else, the process of dealing out a deck often just shows the web of conflicts and relationships." She continues to deal out more cards. A third card. A king, crowed in light. This card only has a tangential position as regards Cyneburh's Queen of Dark. "King of High House Light. Amber, in the modern interpretation. This must be Random." Dejah says. Two more cards rapidly come out. A Queen, similarly light, closely placed next to the King. "Amber's Queen, Vialle." Dejah explains. A dashing swordsman goes underneath the King but at a jaunty angle that suggests to Kenning somehow that the swordsman does not always obey the King. "The Champion of Amber. The Flamboyant one." Dejah says.
"This is new." Dejah says, as she puts a young woman, innocent, underneath the King. "I don't know who this is, the position is recently filled."
Another card, a man in plain clothes, with roughly made statues all around him, carrying tools. He goes underneath the King and Queen equally. "The Builder of Amber. A creator." Dejah stops a moment and taps the deck with a nail. "Any questions thus far? There is still much to unearth from the Deck." He looks up, questioning, "Champion? A corrollary to the Knight or Captain?" Kenning taps the innocent woman beneath the King, guessing, "Concubine?" "Yes and No." Dejah says. "House light has a Maiden, not a Concubine as in House Dark. The feudal level is the same, even if the particulars and the accent are different." she explains. "Shadow has a Mistress, Death has a Virgin, Life has none right now." "Light's Champion is corollary to Dark's Knight." Dejah explains. Both Houses have Captains, and Soldiers. A Champion or Knight usually fights alone, Captains lead forces, and Soldiers usually serve them." Dejah turns over another Light card. This one, Kenning saw when he flipped through on his try in the strange room, is dressed as a leader of men, with a host behind him. "This is Light's Captain. Your full uncle, Benedict." Dejah places his card beneath the Light's King. "Amber does seem to spread across a couple of Houses." Dejah continues. "Like its adversary, since they dominate the multiverse between them, it is logical they would take significant roles within the Deck. Even if they never see or even hear of a Deck." The next card Dejah places is a card that depicts a hooded figure, a sorceress, but the implication here is Darkness and Ancient Power. Dejah places her underneath Random, but Kenning gets the sense from the subtle placement that she is rather independent of the King. It's also clear she is placed in close alliance with Light's Champion. "Amber's sorceress." Dejah says. "Fiona, The daughter of Clarissa. I would be surprised if she did *not* know who she was in this deck."
"Let's put out another before you ask more questions." Dejah adds. She turns over another card. It's a Queen, like Cyneburh, but one of Shadow, not Darkness. She is in clear opposition to the King and Queen of Light, and yet has a relationship with both the Queen, and the Builder.
Shadow - Between? That dark which results from the obstruction of light? *scritch, scritch* "This is Rebma's Queen Moire." Dejah says. "Your books have told you of Rebma, yes?" Kenning nods in the afirmative. "The Mason of Light, how is he connected to Rebma as well as Amber. Is it due their reflective interactions?" "This is where." Dejah says, glancing at the arrangement of cards from the Deck. "that this is art and magic, more than an exact science. A truly skilled student of the cards, like the Master if there is one, would be able to tell you all. But let me show you what I can figure, and perhaps you can see for yourself." "Relationships of cards to each other can be by alliance, by relationship of power, fealty or even of blood." Dejah taps Light's king, and Light's builder, and then taps Moire's card. "Hmmm. There are many layers to this but one of the layers seems clear to me, based on placement. There is a once-removed tie of blood between the Mason and Shadow's Queen, and a close tie of blood between the Mason and the Light King." She taps the three cards again. "That suggests the Mason is the child of the Light King, and the nephew, cousin or perhaps grandchild, of the Shadow Queen." She looks thoughtful. "Before we add more and clutter the resonances, why don't you try to explore these relationships, Kenning?" she suggests. "Explore them?" he asks, leaning closer. "Is it a matter of being receptive to the cards, as in divination with the Trumps, or something else? Will my limited preconceptions color the interpretation?" Slowly the dark man quiets himself, listening with his whole body, his focus on Light's Captain and Dark's Queen initially. "It is a matter of working the cards and feeling out the resonances." Dejah confirms. "Placing cards, seeing how they fit together, seeing how they dominate, relate and suborn each other. Who are bound to each other, and whose courses are on divergent or convergent courses. This is a skill that grows over a lifetime." "In the case of you and your knowledge." she adds. "Your limited preconceptions are for the moment an advantage. You do not know the principals enough to be blind to or willfully reject some of these resonances and relationships that you might find. I suspect." Dejah looks at Kenning speculatively "that if I understand the Lady's long term game, your training here as an archivist has been partially designed so that you can be as objective as possible even after exposure to the Amber Family." Even as Dejah speaks, Kenning's listening slowly starts to reveal. Its something like whispers, feelings, intimations. Nothing verbal, nothing overt. Subtlety is clearly the name of how to read, interpret and be receptive to the cards. Dark's Queen. Kenning's Mother. Although the relationship between her and Light's Captain has nothing to do with that, that piece of knowledge comes first, and of course, must be shunt aside, irrelevant to the reading. Or is it? When he explores the relationship, feels the resonance between Light's Captain and Dark's Queen, he gets a sense of kinship, strong kinship there. Brother and Sister. A relationship hidden, clearly the Brother has protected the Sister in some manner. The relationship is clearly positive between them, and always has been. But that relationship not only extends into the past, but into the present, they have met, spoken, not only untold ages ago, but recently. Kenning follows Benedict's thread back to the House of Light, looking for substance, a hint at what members of the House have connections to his mother, something more than blood ties. Kenning can see the shadow of Dejah shift slightly as she watches with interest as Kenning continues his manipulations. The shadow shift breaks his concentration for a moment, but only for a moment, before he comes back strong. Tracing bloodlines and relationships and connections, its clear his mother does not have much strong connection to the family members already present on the field. Beyond blood, Kenning gets little resonance at alliance or even overt opposition. Benedict is much more fruitful in gathering that sort of information. Patronage and protection for the King and Queen of Amber. Some sort of mentorship in the past for the Builder, although the relationship is not completely done. There is a known, but cool relationship between the Soldier and the Champion, too. Similarly between Benedict and Fiona, a cool relationship. A check of this, and back again suggests that someone related to Fiona, but not Fiona, has or has had a relatively strong relationship with Cyneburh. His or her card, though, is not currently on the tableau. Kenning instinctively reaches for the Deck to reveal the next card. "Can you mix Trumps and the Deck and further explore the connections?" "I have never heard of anything like that, Kenning." Dejah says. "I am not as well versed in the art of Trump as I am with this. I should think at a guess it would take someone initiated to both Trumps and the Deck of Dragons in order to combine their cards and uses. Beyond that..." Dejah makes a slight shrugging motion. The next card that Kenning reveals is a card with a border that suggests dark. The card is of a young woman, carrying a scroll. The Herald of Dark. Kenning notes that the card seems to suggest that the woman is more interested in the contents of her scroll than in, perhaps, her duty as a herald. In the tableau, it clearly goes with Fiona in a close and direct relationship. And, perhaps because Kenning was questing for it, this person is the one with a relationship with Cyneburh that he felt in the card reading some moments before. "An archivist, like myself," Kenning muses. "I wonder if the connection is as simple that she's Fiona's archivist. She has only the one child, Lorius, correct?" "One supposes that if she divined my mother's reasons for my seclusion, she may have developed such a contact herself. Intriguing that she's also a member of the Lady's high house." "Lorius is her eldest." Dejah says, shaking her head slightly. "I do know that Fiona has at least one other child, a daughter, and I suspect at least one, possibly two more, sequestered and fostered in shadow. This could be her daughter, of which I know little. Not all of the Royal Family of Amber are as visible as others." "That said." Dejah says, looking at the Herald card, running her finger in the dirt next to where it lies. "it is entirely possible that a child of an Elder, even Fiona, might have developed methods of contacting your mother with the knowledge of few, if any others. Possibly not even with her mother's full knowledge." "As far as placement, that's a function of the deck, and the master of the deck." she adds. "I'm interested to meet some family, and this master of the deck, if there be such currently," he agrees. Rolling his neck, he looks toward the fire's embers. "Are there some rituals or.. um... abulations... you need to perform before we turn in for the evening?" Kenning asks awkwardly. "Well, we should clear this up, certainly." Dejah gestures toward the cards on the ground. "It would not do to leave this as it is. We should pick this up, make sure the reading is complete." "The importance of care in dealing with a space used for arcane workings, even the reading of the Deck, should not be understated." she continues. Dejah begins picking up the cards. Kenning notes she is picking them up, generally in the order of last placed, and seems to be shuffling the cards into the deck each time. "Or were you thinking of something else?" she says, looking up at him. Kenning's blush is hidden by the darkness of the evening and his own skin. "I am unfamiliar with the customs of women," he says plainly. Dejah dimples slightly. "A lacunae in your education." "As to workspaces, I understand much of that. In my finer conjuries I have a tendancy to be meticulous, if I might admit," he adds, obviously happy to change topics. Dejah finishes restoring all of the cards to the deck, and glances at it briefly as she does so before answering. "A wise precaution. There is a word for workers of magic who are careless with their tools, conjuries, incantations and other workings." Dejah pauses. "Dead" "True enough," Kenning smiles. He extends a hand for the deck. "What are our plans tomorrow?" he asks, nonchalantly. "Our plans are to continue the good pace and progress we have set." Dejah says. "If we are to move at an acceptable pace, tomorrow we should reach and pass the headwaters of the Palafox river, the so called Six Springs." "If we move at an especially favorable pace." Dejah continues, in a tone of voice that suggests that it is to be desired. "We will follow the road that follows the Palafox and reach Vandais and the shadow path node within 4 days." "With your conjury and my runes, I see no reason why that cannot happen. That suggests that we aren't lost to the spirits of Six Springs of course." "We already managed that tricky ford with your help." Dejah replies. "As far as setting a pace, I have been holding our pace back somewhat, out of care for your upbringing. And I saw no sense in giving you an excess of blisters and foot pain. We must needs keep that pace, however, to meet my targets." "I forsee no obstacles of greater difficulty than that that lie before us" she continues "at least until we reach the environs of the city. That is when we might come across obstacles of a more human nature." Kenning nods, "I will admit to being intrigued and concerned over such interactions. Sheltered is often the term used for upbringing such as mine, and now I am asked not to help save the world, but multiple worlds across Reality." The corner of his mouth quirks into a wry smile. "Staying to topics that I am familiar with, I have a suggestion on how to speed our pace, a sound, yet untested theory. But, for a last resort, I think." He turns and begins arranging his bedroll near the fire. "For a last resort" Dejah confirms. The night goes quietly, the morning camp breaking, and the morning leg of the trip goes with relative smoothness. It is not until an hour's walk past the midday rest and meal that the sound of rushing water first comes to Kenning's ears. Around a bend, and Kenning can see, amid the low hills, there are two crystal pools of water, a brook connecting them, and another brook leading off from these two away, and around one of the hills. The first pool has a small column of water, about 6 or 7 feet tall, continuously erupting from its center. "The first two of the springs." "This one, in particular, is a minor node of esoteric power." Dejah says, gesturing to the fountain. "Water aspected, of course." "And the other four springs? Is this based upon the similar to the Cin Wu Xing system of tree, fire, earth, metal, and water, or more like the Nihon Godai's earth, water, fire, air, and void?" Kenning asks, looking carefully at the fountain with his Sight. "Traditional runics often include aether where void is concerned, but then sulphur, mercury, and salt. Which I admit, would make for interesting fountains." "Not so much here, unfortunately." Dejah says. "the other four springs aren't quite as artesial, lie downstream..." she gestures toward the hill "and don't serve as a node of any sort of arcane power. If they did, then this site would long have been claimed by some force or another. Being that its just a single element, its not as potentially powerful or important." Indeed, as Dejah speaks, Kenning can see that the first spring does resonate strongly with water aspected magic. If he tried his ice bridge working here, it would definitely be stronger, more powerful, more long lasting. Or, potentially, larger scale workings using water might be attempted, if Kenning tapped the power here and now. "There are a couple of other nodes scattered in the mountains and hills." Dejah continues. "We'll pass near two of them, although they won't exactly be along our route. And to answer your question, I am not certain enough about the esoteric makeup of this shadow to know whether Godai or Xing's system is the correct esoteric matrix this shadow uses." Kenning keeps the pace, only fiddling with Curtana in his belt, not trying anything. "How common are nodes among the other Shadows?" he asks. "I had been led to believe by my reading that each Shadow's elemental-mana convergance was unique, despite similarities between Shadows." "Not terribly common." Dejah admits, walking past the first of the six springs and briskly continuing along. "In fact, many of the shadows in the Golden Circle, particularly, have their mana expressed in terms of more general field strengths, rather than actual nodes that one can tap into." Dejah looks over at Kenning speculatively. "I suppose that your reading and studies into the esoteric will have included something on set field theory." Kenning thinks for a while. "Lewin's concept of lifespace matrix interactions? The idea that the social environment is a dynamic field interactive with local consciousness. Adjust one and the other is influenced, and the unchangable person in the unchangeable situation can be represented mathematically." Dejah listens attentively and nods in knowing agreement as the conversation and course continues to take her and Kenning past the next, quieter springs. "The scholar once stated that learning is more effective when it is an active, rather than a passive process." The archivist smiles. "I think I would have to agree." "I am fairly sure." Dejah says "that your knowledge of pure written theory of such matters exceeds mine at this point. However, I do agree in a practical approach to education, rather than a purely theory based one." "But to return to the question at hand, set field theory, as Lewin suggests, is applicable across a rather large swath of shadow. It would be difficult to take a path, or series of paths, in fact, that leads to a region of shadow where it does not hold." "Which would especially hold true for a Pattern initiate as he has a stronger impact on the environment or matrix by sheer force of will, if I understand what I've read of Pattern Theory itself," Kenning agrees. "But you suggest that it holds true for even denizens of Shadow?" "Well." Dejah says. "Denizens of shadow who are not Pattern Initiates and are not initiates of Greater Powers do not have large passive impacts on the environment and matrix. At least, not much more than any one person has on an environment. A grain of wheat on the chessboard, as the old tale goes, only powerful when multiplied to a large number further down the board." "The more power one is initiated to, the greater their passive, unknowing impact on that matrix, Kenning." Dejah continues. "Of course, for both the minor and major powers, a direct impact is always possible and usually more practical than relying on passive effects." Dejah looks back at the sixth and final spring. "And so, here, our journey becomes less interesting, in an esoteric sense, for the balance of our time in this shadow." "I'm looking forward to meeting other people in other environments," Kenning admits. "Probably more than I'm possibly interested in nodes and flux." Dejah laughs slightly. "We will definitely have that opportunity, and perhaps sooner rather than later." It's about two minutes of travel when Dejah slows the progress of her horse to a crawl and indicates for Kenning to do the same Ahead, the roads wends between two hillocks, the right one separating it "I assume you have a rudimentary life sense working that you can make, Kenning? Something that is relatively quick and subtle? We may find it useful right about now." Kenning nods, looking toward the hills, a wary hand on his hip where Curtana sits below his robe. "Is this a brigand thing?" "I have a suspicion, yes." Dejah says quietly. His mind's eye fills with the runes that represent the land and the plants, carefully filtering for the animals. Flitering for the animals reveals a hierarchy of life in the area, more life than anywhere within the library when Kenning has tried this there. The smallest members of life here, the insects, the annelids, the toad in a dollop of mud nearby. None of these are the threat, of course. It is the humans that are more interesting to Kenning, naturally. And there are five of them. All are male, their life force beating with relatively youthful age. Three of them stand behind the hill to the right, and two are crouched behind the hill to the left. Kenning unconsciously labels the men by their aspects and aptitudes, speaking of them in whispers to Curtana. He rolls his head, loosening his neck, as if bored with the long ride. The sorcerer watches for hints of magick, even as he comments to Dejah, "I suppose some sort of plan, one that will be discarded for expediency as soon as we are engaged, is in order? Are you capable martially, or should we avoid force?" "Having at least an ampule of martial talent is a useful thing to have." Dejah replies. "And the exercise of that martial talent can be...liberating." There is, as far as Kenning can tell, no sense of magic, anything more than a possibly latently enchanted blade, borne by the putative leader, amongst the would be bandits. e "The plan is simple." Dejah says. "We do not ride straight into the trap. We instead roll up one of the two subgroups, and take them by surprise." "How martially capable are *you*?" Dejah asks Kenning "A monk keeps himself fit enough," Kenning answers with a smile. Curtana spins in his hand before expanding into a polearm. "I begin to see." Dejah comments, glancing at the transformed Curtana. "I begin to see much." "We roll up on the two, and... liberate ourselves, first. Better that we take out two and face the three than overextend ourselves with the three and end up facing five," he suggests. "Yes." Dejah says. "That provides us, to begin with, with one adversary each. And a quick defeat of the two may cause the three to reconsider engaging us." Her slow pace on her horse stops completely. The two hills now loom large before Kenning and Dejah. Kenning's lifesense still shows the ambushers, patiently waiting. "Unless you are unexpectedly trained in combat on top of a horse, we'll have to dismount. I didn't choose these horses for their skills in combat, and a spooked horse is dangerous to the rider as well as others." Dejah adds. "Agreed. This is only the sixth time I've ever been horseback," Kenning agrees. "It will also allow us to approach with more discretion." The archivist dismounts and lifts the back of his blue robes, drawing it up between his legs and into the belt. "Shall we?" "Yes" Dejah says with a gleam. Dismounted, and the horses tied to one of the trees, Dejah and Kenning manage to approach the trans-road side of the left hill without the bandits there noticing. Now that Kenning has a more up close and personal look at them, he can see the bored looks on their faces that he noted during his scan. They are armed, though. The one on the right has a long, curved blade, while his counterpart has two shorter blades, one in each hand. "Pick your target, and we'll begin." Dejah says.She now carries, readied, in her right hand what Kenning has seen in books previously. A relatively small, mace-sized war hammer. "I'll take the one with the longer blade, as I'll still have reach," he answers twirling Curtana experimentally. His steps are slow and quiet as only a monk accustomed to sneaking through the Abbot's cell can be. And so Grace moves in, toward the man with the twin blades. Their quiet approach pays dividends, and neither man seems to recognize their approach, not as his steps and Dejah's carry them to the threshold of attack. Kenning is aware dimly of Dejah moving in ahead of him, fast and low toward her target. His target, though, his real focus is the true center of his attentions. The thinning black hair, the sharpness of his blade, the readiness of his stance, the sound of his breathing ...and the fact that he slowly is starting to pivot at the waist, blade swinging in a slow arc toward Kenning. The archivist bends backward, arching himself under the plane of the swing even as he draws Curtana forward, aiming not for the opponent, but his blade, to deflect and begin the first tracing of a codon. Over the next minute, Kenning determines quickly that the brigand is no slouch in the ways of a blade. He pushes in, trying to get in under Kenning's guard on a number of occasions. The brigand has longer reach than his counterpart fighting Dejah. However, Kenning has an even better reach thanks to Curtana. Thus, it turns into a dance, as Kenning pushes out of the Brigand's range, clashing Curtana against the blade to draw the codons necessary. Kenning has to stop, once, during a flurry on the part of the Brigand, but he finally finishes inscribing the spell on the very blade of his opponent. The flash and sound of the transformation of the blade from metal to sound, and energy is immediate and impressive. He falls backwards onto his back, at least halfway to full unconsciousness by the force of the explosion. Kenning swings around with Curtana's haft to finish the man, hopefully not finally, but at least for the next hour or so... The fighter taking on Dejah, already nearly cowed by her efforts, drops his blades at the sound and sight of Kenning's spell and its effects on his compatriot. Kenning moves closer, not to support Dejah, but to give her the moment to disable him, so as to turn their attention to the compatriots that likely have noticed the disturbance by now. Dejah's disabling of the second flghter, one he has dropped his blades is quick, brutal, and effective. He falls in a heap next to the man that Kenning has knocked out with the butt end. The next group of men, who quickly come to the aid of their fallen fellows prove to be even easier than these two to deal with. Kenning doesn't even need to use runic magic, as work with Curtana and Dejah's swordplay is more than enough to knock the three of them out in good order. "Now that" Dejah says with satisfaction "Was better than exercising in a training courtyard. She rubs her shoulder, a small bruise from a careless moment when caught between two of the last three men. Wouldn't you agree?" She looks at the five unconscious men. "I suppose, if we were truly mercenary, we could look through their pockets for loose change." "I'm not sure we need it, do we?" he asks. "I'll admit, conjury seems to lessen my dependence on coinage." ""It does at that." Dejah says. "And I have been given sufficient funds by your mother to see us through most situations. I do understand that it is sometimes customary to turn the tables on would-be robbers..." "I'd be more interested in their motivations, if it were anything other than money, because I don't think we look that prosperous." "No, we definitely do not. Well..." she pokes a toe at one of the semi conscious men, the one whose sword Kenning destroyed with his rune. "This one might be best inclined to answer your questions, given that you overawed him." Dejah says. "Shall we take him along until he rouses? We can tie him up on one of the horses." "I can't say that I've ever considered taking a prisoner, in any capacity," Kenning admits. He walks behind the man and lifts him from the ground without much effort. "Of course, I've never been beset with true intent to cause harm, no more than a young student might need or a training form might demand. "The wider world" Dejah says "is more surprising that you might think." She watches Kenning for a moment. "Certainly, your physical skills, with a blade as well as raw strength suggest that you do have special ancestry." Dejah says. "Although some shadows do have denizens that are well above average." "So how atypical were your skills amongst the other monks?" Dejah asks, helping to secure the prisoner on the horse once Kenning gets him set. The archivist mounts and shrugs his shoulders. "I was not the most agile nor talented with weapons, but when I applied myself there were few that would best me, more so once I... found... Curtana." "None could best me in bare strength, that I know of, but I also kept to the ethic encouraged and kept challenging myself when my brothers could not." His words are an honesty, not a boast. "I am given to understand" Dejah says, taking the reins of the horse with the prisoner and beginning a regular gait "that members of your family only are truly challenged and reach the full measure of their potential when they face opponents and challenges equal to their skills. So I had wondered what the lady had wrought here." "How did the monks feel about your skills?" she adds, giving a glance at the still unconscious mercenary. Kenning considers for a moment before answering. "One supposes that they were not surprised. While I excelled in one arena I failed in others. As would any man of any birth." He seems philosophic about his own measure. "Or perhaps more were in on the secret than I first supposed." Dejah looks thoughtful. "Besides the Abbot, you mean, of course. He has known, as did his predecessor. And although a place often punctuated by vows of silence can slow the spread of rumor or gossip, I have never found a place where it is completely held in check." "Neither have I, but my list of places is very limited," Kenning chuckles. "It's doubling almost every hour or so it seems." Dejah chuckles. "Travel broadens the Mind, Kenning." A few minutes later, she stops walking. "I suspect that our prisoner is now rousing, perhaps enough to be questioned." she responds, gesturing toward the bound mercenary. Said prisoner is now clearly awake, even if his eyes are closed and he is feigning being more asleep than he is. "Interesting that he's cautious enough to listen to our conversation," Kenning notes. "One reason to bring things to a head now" Dejah agrees. "You there," [Kenning] addresses the horse's burden with some bravado. "Shall we dispose of you as we did your companions, or do you feel like answering the questions they did not?" The Mercenary opens an eye, carefully, at Kenning and Dejah. He seems to consider Kenning's question for a moment before he opens his eyes fully, and then gives a curt nod. "If you will free me, without prejudice,afterward, I will answer any questions that I can." he says. "I hight Vitorian" Kenning raises a dark eyebrow, as if considering. He shakes his head, "I cannot make such a promise, not without the knowledge that might be gained from your answers, Vitorian." Vitorian makes a grimace. "I might convince my companion to agree to such a parole if you give your word that you will persue no vendetta against us, nor report our passage to whatever agent or agency led you to fall upon you." He shares a look with Dejah, away from the prisoner's gaze, looking for suggestions or approval. Dejah's gesture is subtle and clearly meant to be hidden from Vitorian. She gives a small and quick nod of the head at Kenning's suggestion. Outwardly, though, she frowns as she regards Vitorian. "I do not know, Kenning." Dejah says, looking from Vitorian to Kenning. " I should think that dealing with him in a more bloody fashion would be far more effective than showing mercy to bandits." Vitorian's look of alarm grows on his face. "Despite what you believe, I make the decisions around here," Kenning growls at his companion. "It's a simple enough matter to scatter him to the wind as I did with his blade if he betrays us." He reaches within his tunic and produces a piece of charcoal and moves toward the mercenary. A few deft strokes trace an elaborate K upon the man's forehead. "There, his word will seal him to me, and ensure his silence," Kenning bluffs, having put no energy into the writing, nor having ever considered harmful runes attached to organic forms. "Now, Vitorian, what say you?" he asks, brushing the last bits of charcoal from his fingers after replacing the stick. "Who set you upon us?" Vitorian makes a shake of the head, as if trying to remove the unactivated rune. He finally bows his head and looks downcast, defeated, and despaired. "We work for one of the factions in the city, see?" Vitorian replies. "There are many mercenary companies who supplement their income between campaigns. We have to. People gotta eat. Swords have to keep sharp. My companions and I work for the Windhawks." Vitorian pauses a beat. Our captain's name is Captain Denerim." "And your Windhawks hold that particular pass, or were set to wait for us specifically?" Kenning asks. Vitorian shrugs. "Its a fund collecting operation, mostly..." he glances at Dejah. Dejah, unperturbed, glances back at him. Vitorian then focuses on Kenning. "Mostly. We were told that there might be travelers coming down the road from the mountains. Never took that aspect of our overwatch seriously. Who'd go over the mountains?" He narrows his eyes at Kenning. "Your accent is strange, though, come to think of it." Kenning chuckles. "And your city is unaccustomed to travelers with... strange... accents?" He smiles at Dejah. "Odd for such a cosmopolitan locale. But I suppose the mountains are unlikely enough a path." "Odd enough that I have not heard the accent, and it has a bookish tone to it." Vitorian says. "The Cap'n never said, but I wondered if he was looking for someone who had gone to talk with the monks who live beyond the mountains, or someone who passed through their valley, coming from the Far shore." Kenning nods knowingly. "And where might I find Denerim to discuss who might have commissioned such an... what did you call it... overwatch?" "Perhaps his intentions were wholesome and we might be of service to each other," he chuckles, wiping a few beads of sweat from his bald pate. "The Captain doesn't say much. He keeps his counsel pretty tight." Vitorian says. "Whether or not you can convince him of such is no coin of mine to spend." "You can generally find him and the rest of the Windhawks at the city home of Arlessa Aranai." the mercenary continues. "She hires us on retainer on a regular basis." Vitorian explains. "There is no mistaking her home, with its gothic, expansive monstrousness." "He is not precisely kidding." Dejah observes. "I've passed by the place, Kenning. It will be no difficulty to find." Kenning nods. He walks back to his mount, and removes a water skin. The archivist pours a bit of water into his hand and sketches a codon on the outside, dark against the dry and willing the skin to swell. "How far do you judge the journey for a man on foot?" he asks Dejah as he returns to the bandit. "Will one skin serve him?" "We're two days away by horse, Kenning." Dejah says. "Less than a week on foot, if our friend here knows the terrain well enough not to have to follow the road slavishly." "I do know the terrain." Vitorian pipes up, tearing his eyes from watching Kenning's arcane actions to look at Kenning's face. "And I could reach Vandais in six days. Seven, perhaps, if it rains on the journey." "And a resourceful man such as yourself might have horses stashed someplace about, or even foodstuffs if you were set to watch for travellers for some time." Kenning nods, his brow tight with contemplation. He tilts his head to the right, unaware of the tick when he asks, "When were you due for relief from the city, and how were you to contact them with your catch?" "The Captain said we were to wait three days more, and then more of the Windhawks, led by his second in command, were to relieve us." Vitorian replies. "And the stashed supplies?" Dejah enquires. "You do see very clearly" Vitorian says. "We have a camp with supplies a half mile off of the road in the west hills, in a small box canyon. Our supplies and horses are there, warded against detection." Kenning nods, as if he expected just such an answer. "Any birds or devices for correspondence?" "I would hate for The Captain to be prepared for our arrival before I was prepared to meet him," the sorcerer explains with a little edge of malice creeping into the tone. Vitorian stutters a moment. He looks at Dejah, who schools her look to a simple shrug and a glance back at Kenning. Kenning is rewarded with a half quirk of a smile from her when the captured mercenary His voice turns glum. "We have one of a pair of D'Hara books. The Captain has the other." Vitorian says. "A magic they use here." Dejah explains. "Two books are created and linked together by a sympathetic magic. What is written in one book appears in the other book." "I hesitate to detour, but I'd hate to be announced before we arrive. We'll have to drag him along with us, or acquire this book for ourselves," Kenning scratches at the nape of his neck, considering. "I have no desire to share your attentions with another man," he jests. "Vitorian," the sorcerer addresses the bandit. "I will grant you parole and remove my mark from your soul once you have delivered this D'Hara book, else I will have no recourse but to leave you bound." "You are going to remain here, and I am going to fetch the Book for you?" Vitorian enquires. "Or are you intending to make time along the road, trusting me to catch up as you progress toward the City?" "What do you think, Kenning?" Dejah says. "I have to say, the sooner we are done with this business, the better." Kenning chuckles deeply. "Vitorian, do you think I was raised by monks or something?" An edge of anger cuts the question as his brows knit together. "You'd try to defy my mark," the sorcerer stabs at the bandit's forehead and the unactivated rune there, "and attempt to contact your Captain, possibly warning him and definitely crippling yourself, if not dying outright." Vitorian flinches as Kenning pokes at him. Once Kenning stops doing so, he looks at Kenning with a mixture of sullenness, defiance, and smoldering anger. "Dejah, we ride for his camp, recover the book and horses and leave the supplies for him," he commands. "If he can make it on the one skin to them, he can count himself lucky. Else his shade will serve me that much sooner." He shrugs as if either eventuality will suit his needs. "Agreed, let's go, now and quickly." Dejah says. This is enough to break Vitorian's silence. "Wait. Wait" He holds up a hand. "Perhaps our bargain might still be struck, if I lead you to the campsite. So that you trust me, and simply decide not to return." Kenning considers for a moment before nodding once sharply. "Then let us not waste anymore daylight." Vitorian shoots Kenning a look of relief. Less than ten minutes later, he is leading Kenning and Dejah into the brush, along a thin and light trail, nothing much more than an animal track. As he promised, a half mile of this track leads Kenning and Dejah to the hills, and a canyon within those hills. A few tents and a small wooden lean-to quickly and easily mark the site of the Windhawks' camp. Vitorian leads Kenning and Dejah to the lean-to. Next to it is a primitive corral in which several bay horses graze placidly. They make little reaction to Vitorian and his guests. "Here is the book" Vitorian says, leading Kenning and Dejah inside the lean to and to a rough-hewn, primitive desk. The closed book, bound in some sort of leather or skin, is relatively large, equal to the size of many of the crown octavos in the Library. "The sympathetic connection should make it easy for us to navigate to its mate," Kenning declares, still not touching the D'Hara. He scans the lean to and grabs one of the bandits' bedrolls keeping it between his own hand and the cover. Scooping it into the bedroll he turns to the others. "He has treated with us fairly, Dejah," the sorcerer begins. "I believe we should accept his parole, but you are more versed with this particular culture." "Although it took effort, we did get what was needed and agreed to from him." Dejah says. "We can conclude that our agreement is in force and valid, and give him the parole that he deserves. We will likely never see or hear from him again." "Yes!" Vitorian exclaims. "I have done all that you ask." "Gather the horses to us," Kenning commands. "We will take them as remounts to prevent your following and their aid to your relief in pursuing us." He waves the bandit into motion, promising, "Do that and I will write out the incantation that will allow you to remove my mark." Vitorian starts to speak, stops and nods, heading toward the fenced in area. As the bandit gathers the bays, the archivist produces a line of script on parchment, crude by the monk's standards, but easy enough for the bandit to read. He folds it in half and scrawls a semblance of a rune on the outside. "Vitorian, tonight, you need to anoint your forehead with the musk of a striped red squirrel. Then, open this at dawn tomorrow, and repeat the phrase three times. Then you can wash the musk and mark, but remember, once marked by a sorcerer, it will be that much easier the next time." "The musk of a striped red squirrel" Vitorian says. "Speak the phrase three times." His eyes blaze with dark mirth. "Not that it was that hard the first time." He hands the paper to the bandit and mounts, ready to be on their way. Dejah has the bays ready to be led by Kenning and Dejah's horses, and in short order, both of them are far away from Vitorian, who has remained stock still, rooted in place. A quarter of the mile away, Dejah finally says. "How much of what you told him is true, Kenning?" Kenning turns woodenly in his saddle, allowing his shoulders to relax slightly. If Dejah felt it was safe to speak openly, one supposed she had the right of it. His face is pale and concerned, perhaps fearful as he hadn't shown the bandits or since. Her question brings no more than a hint of a smile to the practical joker's lips. "Well, after he's read, 'You smell like squirrel,' three times, I'm sure that he'll try to wash the musk and the mark off. I didn't actually trace a codon on him, just played upon his own fears." The archivist's words are without emotion, as if he is trying to explain his actions even to himself and make sense of this afternoon. "I thought so." Dejah says with a smile "I daresay you partially convinced me that it was all necessary. It certainly had the patina of believability and truth. Any true worker of magic would have seen through it all at once, but he was gullible enough to allow you to use psychology to bind his actions." "You know, I've never been in a true battle before," he says, abruptly changing the subject. "Just sparring with the monks, and this was nothing of that. Even when things got out of hand, there were safeties and the knowledge that the Abbot would not let anything go too far." His knuckles are white on the reins as he looks down at the hands that had earlier done such violent things. "Curtana remembers true battle though." "Curtana remembers." Dejah says with a nod. "Tell me of your weapon, if you would." Kenning nods, considering for a moment. "Of what I know, of what I suspect, of what the history supports, or what the myths seem to suggest?" he asks rhetorically. "Her past is shrouded in legends, her future and fated tied to prophesy, forged of metals not of this world," he whispers in a reverent tone. "More likely just not of this Shadow,” the sorcerer chuckles. Dejah nods at Kenning's jest. “She is curt, like her name, short and to the point, and that is how I found her in the second sub-basement of the fourth core level of the Archives, which isn't the sixth core level despite what you might think, almost four years ago.” Dejah furrows her eyebrows a bit. He draws the artifact from his non-descript robe, a short sword in contrast with the knife he had worn or the spetum with which he had fought the bandits. Blue-white runes decorate the weapon’s blade; the sun’s lengthening rays setting them to scintillating colors. “Paulson’s _The Triad of Hearts and Lions_ claims that she was once the weapon of a paladin who revenged himself upon his son’s killer, only to eventually ride at the side of that man’s father. Of course, Paulson also relates the story of the paladin’s rebirth as a soldier, and the eventual realization of his true self.” He shrugs, obviously a fan of Paulson’s but unwilling to lend full credence to the tale. “She counts Brehus the Giant among her vanquished foes, but dislikes when I remind her that her sisters Caliburn and Mourngloom both had hands in that victory, by her own voice,” he adds. “The stories she might tell you herself if she has the inclination.” “As for our relationship, I have freed her from the Archives and it suits her purposes to travel with me, carry and carve my codons, warn me of danger, and berate my lack of true martial experience,” he finishes with a smile. The blade flashes with light as a voice resonates from it, “You over estimate your use, once again, archivist.” "She is sentient, and one of a set of three." Dejah says, thoughtfully. She regards the blade and giving a glance at Kenning, regards Curtana. "I have heard of a set of three blades forged by a smith named Kunrad. I never learned their names, but it is said that the blades were mighty, hellforged some say, forged in the heart of a volcano, and cooled by the ice of a glacier others say." "Curtana, are you one of Kunrad's weapons?" "My sisters are legion and yet none, but Kunrad drew me forth and formed me of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal, or as the archivist named them,” the words ring clearly. “Such arbitrary things as names are important for particular ages or events tied to mortal lives. Who can explain which brought the final storm when the horn has been blown? What matter if I was wrathful Gram, slayer of serpents, destroyed as Balmung, reforged as Nothung, or it was one of the others?" "Mighty weapons, all with history." Dejah comments. “Or as Nothing,” Kenning chides. “And I thought that was the smith Velentr.” “Names matter to mortals,” the weapon answers. “Being. Reality. Those are what it means to be immortal.” “Which I may be, if my mother is to be believed,” her bearer chuckles. "So it is your mother who informed you of the lore of Amber and its immortality?" Dejah asks. "Via a Trump, yes," Kenning answers, twisting Curtana the air, her form becoming smaller as she spins until it seems circular, and then it is. He slides the silver bracelet upon his right wrist. "It was a test, perhaps one I had attempted before. The moment seemed familiar, a deja vu, Once I had unlocked the chamber, there were the decks as we discussed, and the lores. I've brought only a few with me, but the room held a great deal of information, much... not most... now stored within my head," he says, tapping his temple. Only a day has passed and already there is the hint of stubble on his head. "Stored, not processed... yet." Dejah gives a nod. "Reflection on what you have learned is important. As an archivist, you no doubt already know this." "How did you come into the knowledge of Amber?" he asks innocently. "From my sister" Dejah replies. "My sister spends much of her time in the City, and overhears much. She also has some small amount of arcane skill that she uses in the pursuit of knowledge of the Royal Family on behalf of your mother." "I can imagine" Dejah says "that she only tells me a third, if that, of what she tells your mother of the doings of her, your family. But some things.' she adds, brightly "I am permitted to know and some things my sister tells me any road." "I have only been to the city once, to meet and exchange information with my sister there. Your mother does not like to concentrate her agents in one place, it was under extraordinary circumstances." (Continued in The City and the City) |
