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The women appeared to be mirror twins and moved with fluid grace, taking up positions that allowed them good views of both the visible entrances to the room and the Amberite. Neither carried any apparent weapons.

The man that accompanied them lowered his weapon. He was perhaps of medium height and build beneath the black wyrmskin duster he wore. Deep blue eyes appraised the woman from beneath blue-black locks. He passed a sign to his guards with his off hand and smiled gently.

"I am Lord Jurt of House Sawall, Keeper of the Keys and Steward of The Vault of Gadrehin. I am here to negotiate the surrender of Amber," he stated boldly. "Do I have the honor of addressing one of the daughters of King Eric?"

The dark-haired woman had an appearance that was a study in contradictions. She wore a perfect pastel morning dress, light jewelry, soft and flawless makeup, and her raven hair was coiffured in elegant simplicity, falling loose but without a hint of a hair out of place. Her eyes were pale green, the color of finest jade, and her lips were full and painted red. The look on her face and in those eyes, however, matched the impressive array of knives which decorated her gown, and the crossbow looped lightly over her shoulder. As soon as they entered, a thin, glass knife whose transparent blade showed some bluish substance within its material, slipped into her long graceful hand without a sound or any change of her facial expression.

The woman nodded her head slowly. "I am Princess Islain, daughter of King Eric of Amber and Queen Moire of Rebma. I have other titles but I doubt you would be interested in hearing them. But tell me, Lord Jurt, why I should negotiate at all, with you or your friends?"

"Because you cause is lost, Princess," Jurt explained simply as he mounted the steps to the throne that he had just entered from behind. "Our wyverns have breached your defenses and the Regent is dead. Your King has failed in his attempt to correct the damage done to your Power and even now his funeral train proceeds to its ultimate end in the Void. The same Void that has already devoured today, as you would measure it, Princes and Princesses of this failed experiment."

He turns back to smile at her. "Because you can still win, if only your life."

She returned the smile with no hint of anything save a certain predatory interest. "If what you say is true - and I know the truth of some and doubt other kernels that make up the whole - then the life of a Princess of Amber seems quite cheap. Certainly nothing worth the throne of the greatest city in all the worlds." Her eyes flicked toward the twins, then back to Jurt.

The twins seemed wary, Nadia watching the entrances as Diana secured the doors as best they could.

"Don't bore me now, precious. Offer me something else or be so kind as to go out the way you came. I'd hate to damage such lovely artwork."

Jurt chuckled as he came face to face with her before the throne. "But you do me a diservice, Princess," he said, his tone matching her 'precious'. "I've offered you nothing but the reasons you asked for. If you wish something more complete, I may be able to offer that as well, but that isn't the real question, is it?"

He shrugged his shoulders in a lazy, almost carefree manner. "The question is, what *do* you wish? What excites this Princess?"

"A dangerous question," she said, one corner of her mouth quirking upward in a smirking smile. "Most of the answers that spring immediately to mind would be highly uncomplimentary to my guests, and therefore I shall consider before blurting out the more obvious of choices." On the word 'guests' she gestured gracefully to Jurt and the twins with her empty hand. "But before we begin this negotiation in earnest, I suppose you have some proof of your earlier statements: particularly the deaths of Gerard and Oberon."

Jurt winks. "Not at hand, but I'm sure that your own people can confirm Gerard's passing. Of course as to Oberon's funeral train, all I can tell you is that there was a sending of his image, proceeding the great Shadow Storm that followed, the traitor Dworkin Barimen riding the hearse."

"It would've been rude for me to have asked to examine the casket. As to Prince Brand and Princess Dierdre's deaths, well, it's the nature of the Void to not leave much evidence." Jurt sighed. "If you need to send servants to confirm what you might, I can wait."

"Or if you need to send for someone that can actually agree to a cessation of hostilities..."

"If your friends have in fact murdered Prince Gerard, then my sister and I are the only persons left in Amber with the right and power to negotiate." Islain looked at the door. "Are any of my servants still alive, do you think?"

"Murder's such an ugly word," Jurt dismisses her concerns out of hand. "People die. It is the nature of war. The strong and the smart survive."

She considered him for a moment, tongue teasing the tip of her teeth. And then quite slowly, she sat on the throne. "You seem a reasonable and eloquent gentleman. Perhaps you can explain to me why you seek a surrender? When Chaos attacked my father, its purpose seemed to be the complete destruction of Amber and all her scions."

A slight grin quirked his lips at the flattery. "Destruction is never a worthy purpose. There might be factions in the Courts that desire such, but they aren't here, are they?"

"Are they not? That is, in point of fact, exactly the question I was asking," Islain replied coolly.

"And it's what I answered."

"It's a truism of war that they should be as quick and genial as possible, because once done, we'll have to live together as neighbors," he espoused. "Do you truly wish me to *destroy* you or your sister?" Jurt's brow furrowed. "I can't believe that."

"Surrender lets me call off the wyverns and hellmaidens and lets you appear the people's advocate. We will need help in acclimating the populace and you'll find that we can be strong allies," he commented.

"As some of your family has already learned."

Islain ignored the final statement and raised her eyebrows at Jurt.

"Did my question suggest to you that I preferred destruction to surrender? It was certainly not intended to do so. But I want to know what you want - if you seek only an end to hostilities, as you have suggested, or if you require the throne of Amber. If it is the former, we can deal right now. If it is the latter, our negotiations will be complicated by my own ambitions in that regard - and by the death of my father, the last true King of Amber, in this same war. You would have to offer me a good deal more than a loss of power and a job as a public relations officer if you expect my support of a foreign King."

"Assuming that those bent on destruction wish the first as they expect there to be no throne left at the end, and that I represent other interests, I suppose we should consider what would sound attractive to you?" Jurt asked, obvious amusement at her frankness.

"I doubt I can offer you a throne, at least not this one, regretfully. It does seem to suit you."

Islain smiled at the compliment, tossing a long curl back over her shoulder. She was, quite literally toying with the glass dagger, though in a way that was more absentminded than flashy or threatening. "Then what can you offer me? I appreciate that you wish to play close to the cuff, but these are not typical negotiations. On the other hand, you have had some time to think what you might say today. I do not typically hear that I've won a war and then that I've lost it in the same day."

"A hazard of short-sighted commanders," Jurt agreed, sounding sympathetic. "Thinking that one battle settles the war. But I wonder. Who would've suggested that you won the war?"

"A dead man." She rose slowly, sheathing her weapon and moved closer to him. "Apparently your kin in your homeland didn't fare much better than we few here in Amber. Which makes your attack now especially brilliant." She offered a sinuous curtsy with all the grace of a snake. "Now, are you going to offer me something or are we going to fight? The timetable seems to be somewhat strained."

"Perhaps a position in the martial arena? Name your pleasure. I'll grant you control of the Navy or perhaps what Ranger are left in that once glorious Arden." Jurt seemed to relax as they began discussing terms. "You seem to have some skill at arms."

Islain laughed. "I do like you, Lord Sawall. But perhaps we ought to take a walk and see just how bad things truly are in the city. If they are to the point now that I should take a position that not only demotes me but effectively exiles me from my home for at least part of the year, I will have to see it to believe it."

She strode toward the door.

"I don't like that idea," he said as he walked up the steps and took her place on the throne. "As to demotions, I suppose I need to ascertain your current position before knowing how to better your station."

"What do you do for Amber, Princess?"

Islain turned at the door and raised an eyebrow at him. "For one thing, I am a Princess. I should probably by all rights be the next Queen of Amber. I won't settle for less than a key advisory position in the castle itself.

"As for what you like and do not like, I find myself not particularly moved in that regard."

But she did not exit the room.

Jurt smiled as his gazed swept past her and to his twin bodyguards before deciding that he didn't like either ending of such a confrontation.

He unbuttoned his jacket and settled back against the throne. "Would you consider an alliance that might make you the next Queen?" he wondered aloud. "As you alluded to previously, we do have our own candidate for this uncomfortable chair. As of this time, he is unbetrothed."

"Ooh, very good," Islain said, sweeping past the twins again as she reapproached, taking a position similar to the one Jurt had been occupying before. "I did not even have to drop more than a hint or two. If you make that "might" into "will make you the next Queen," we have a deal."

She extended her right hand, removing a slim jagged blade with her left. "I customarily swear in blood, Lord Sawall, at least in Amber, where more magical ways to keep a deal seldom work. Blood seems... compulsory."

The twins had become more alert if such a thing were possible when she drew the blade, but made no overt move against her.

Jurt smiled. "What about your sister's place. Wouldn't she be just as suitable a candidate?"

Islain's smile died as if it had never been. The knife clicked back into its sheath and she turned away for the door. "If you wish to play games, Lord Jurt, be my guest, but I have neither the time nor inclination. Perhaps you *should* try your negotiations with Larissa, if you feel she will hear you. I shall see if Gerard is truly dead."

There might have been the barest hint of a catch in her voice at the last few words.

"Perhaps I'm missing something, Princess Islain, but in Amber it's always seemed that any tie to the throne was enough," Jurt commented.

"Can you give me sureties on her actions? That she wouldn't try to press her claim instead of Prince Merlin's?" he wondered aloud. "I would hate to see complications with your ascension."

Islain's laughter was dry and ugly. "Complications? Sureties? No, my friend, I can offer no sureties on another person's actions, especially on the day her uncle has been murdered. What I can tell you is that Larissa is generally pragmatic, and that she would rather see Amber whole than burned to ashes." She shrugged. "Beyond that, I hope you believe me when I say you ought to worry about the sister in front of you now. If I don't receive assurances, beyond your suppositions and possibilities, that I will be the next Queen of Amber beside your next King - your Prince Merlin, I *will* push forward my claim to be Queen of Amber alone. So do we have a deal or do we not?"

Jurt looked at her apraising her. "I worry that you might be a bit too aggressive for my brother, but..." He stands again, only taller due to the steps. "Done."

"Any other terms before you have the troops stand down?"

"No, but I will need more than assurances, Lord Jurt. An oath, a blood mingling, or something in writing. I can order the troops in Amber down, but I'll need to confer with Larissa to get to the ones in the field. It may be simpler to cut to the chase and get to her first. She has more experience with military command, after all." Islain smiled and raised one slender finger. "And I'll do all that, *after* I get proof you have the authority to make this deal with me, whatever type of woman your brother prefers."

Jurt looked back over his shoulder. "I suppose you've the appropriate parchments and seals back there, yes?" he asked. He nodded to one of the twins and they went to appropriate things. "We'll scratch something out here and then go find your lovely sister."

"Your ladies will find parchments and pens and ink in the adjoining alcove. I know where the Regent's seal is kept, but it would hardly be legal if I were to use it. In the interim, I think my personal one will be sufficient. I trust you have something similar which will bind Chaos - or at the very least, your family, to this deal." Islain gestured to the alcove she had mentioned earlier.

When they returned, Jurt quickly drafted said document in the court language of the Courts, pointing out the similarities of this document to the Writ of Handfasting that sealed House Tudela to House Sawall over an Orderly millenia ago. He sealed it with wax mixed with a drop of his blood and impressed with the signet ring he wore on his left hand.

Islain watched these proceedings, and duplicated them, signing on the line required and sealing the document with a drop of her own blood in silvery green wax impressed with her own ring, which bore the symbol of two crowns, one larger than the other, over an eight pointed star.

Then she slid the knife across her palm lightly and held the hand out to Jurt. "Because paper burns," she said quietly, as neutrally as she could manage.

Jurt shrugged and mirrored her action. A smirk lit his face. "A pity this seat isn't any more comfortable, else I would've had better suggestions for consumating the agreement."

Islain's eyebrows threatened to climb into her hair. "Is that truly how things are done in the Courts? How does it... settle... anything besides affording the ambassadors some pleasure?"

Jurt turned her hand palm upward and snaked his tongue across it, tasting their mingled life. "Not all bloodletting need be painful." He shrugged and produced a handkerchief to clean the rest of his palm that no longer showed any sign of the wound.

"So, your sister?" he asked, handing the completed documents to her.

"Is in my hands," said another voice, from the far side of the room.

A tall, slender man with white hair and strange, parti-coloured eyes - and beautiful bone structure. He was smiling slightly.

"Giving away Merlin's kingdom already, Brother?"

"Of course not, Brother," Jurt answered with a smile. "Just Merlin himself."

"I see," said Mandor, strolling forwards, watching Islain all the time. "So you place little value on Merlin ... and the Princess Islain places just as little on her sister ... "

Islain had been regarding the stranger with a look of cool interest, much as she might a particularly venomous but also extraordinarily beautiful snake who slithered into her garden. At his last two sentences her eyes opened a bit wider, her lips curved upwards dangerously and she said, "The courtesy of your house seems to fall short after yourself, Lord Jurt."

To Mandor she said, "If you're going to be rude, my lord, at the very least don't be mealy-mouthed. What about Larissa?"

"I am the very epitome of courtesy," protested Mandor. "So much so that instead of killing your sister out of hand, I'm quite willing to spare her life ... in return for the surrender paper you were handing my brother - without any tedious conditions.

"And I presume you would prefer her returned unmodified? I have, you see, long wanted to understand what effect some of the more arcane spells might have on the Amberite form. Yet ... all this I am willing to forgo. For you. And for Amber."

He smiled.

Islain felt her blood turn to ice in her veins, but was unable to tell that just as suddenly, coldness seemed to radiate from her every pore and out of the corners of her eyes. *Larissa....* Could she sacrifice her sister to keep this demon with his hard eyes from controlling her father's throne? She ought to... and yet...

She held herself purposely upright and said in even, completely controlled tones, "It's far too late for that, dearling. Unless you wish to make your brother an oathbreaker, accursed and distrusted for the remainder of his existence, you will take the arrangement we have made to your own heart, accept it, and return your Queen's sister to her without the addition of any nonelective sorcery."

Mandor gazed at her, and then smiled. "My dear, you are going to need an education in the political morality of your new masters. Inform any Chaosian you care to that my brother Jurt is an oathbreaker, accursed and distrusted for the remainder of his existence, and he will increase in their esteem quite appreciably, for he has clearly succeeding in out-manoeuvring you. As for Queen of Amber ... well, that's a worthy ambition for any girl to hold, but you would need to prove your worth by loyal service to the throne ... and I think you may not yet be willing to offer that. No, I think your sister's life will be sufficient. Unharmed." He examined his nails. "And if a decision is not speedily forthcoming, she will be returned with the charming addition of a tail."

"Now, brother, I think you're pressing this," Jurt interrupted. "A claim to the throne like Islain's would help solidify the natives outlook on Merlin's ascension as well. I believe that you're being a bit hasty in dismissing her."

"It's possible," said Mandor, as though considering the issue dispassionately. "But I have an aversion to having my hand forced on such issues."

"You do?" Islain was equally dispassionate as her cold eyes ran the gamut of the room, taking in the brothers and the twin girls. She came to the final and despicable conclusion that she could not take all four. "And do you suppose I might have an aversion to being forced to negotiate with those who have murdered my father and now my dearest and kindest uncle? And can you imagine, perhaps, that now that you have told me how little a Chaos demon's word is worth, that I will sign any other scrap of paper or make any other deal with you? For all that I know or believe, Larissa, too, is dead already, another casualty of your honorless hordes. You will have to prove otherwise, or you can tell your fine stories of besting Princess Islain while my ghost laughs... and perhaps I take with me someone you *do* care for, Lord Sawall."

Jurt chuckled, a deep and genuine thing. "I appreciate your flattery Princess, but the idea that my brother wouldn't sacrifice me to put a final end to this war is pure fantasy."

Turning to his eldest brother, he cocked his head quizically. "Did you or did you not send me to negotiate here, brother? I think I know Merlin well enough to understand his tastes, in most things." He appraised Islain frankly. "She's as likely as any other Amber woman he might bed to slip a knife in his ribs and possibly safer than some of House Hendrake. If the lesson is kept close to hand then perhaps he will learn it well enough to stay alive."

"I'm sure that the Princess understands that it's in her best interests to protect her betrothed, as she'll never sit the throne without him." He waves to the parchment. "Should he fall to foul play, I promise that she will be interred in the Void along with him, falling forever into nothingness like her aunt and uncle, undying eternal death."

Islain began to add her assurances but stopped as Mandor spoke.

"What the Princess and you don't seem to realise is that it's not about whether she waggles her pretty little bum onto the throne of Amber or not. It's whether I can hold the Hendrakes back from laying waste to the city," said Mandor. "And at the moment, an unattached Merlin is the only card I have. And the market in Merlin will drop through the floor if I suddenly announce that he comes with a side order from the loins of the last King of Amber. I need a surrender - not a peace treaty."

Islain felt as though, just on the verge of her most pleasant dream, it had been ripped from her. She knew without a doubt, looking into those dark eyes, that she would not sit the throne of Amber while this man was loose in the city. She kept her focus cool and her face even, however. Losing a dream was not the same as losing a war.

He made a gesture with his right hand - and suddenly a red bubble was in the air between them. Slowly it began to explanded, and the mist feeling it began to clear.

"Take a look, your Highness," he suggested.

Inside, it seemed, was Larissa, tiny and distant as at the far side of a telescope, slumped unconscious at the bottom of the bubble. Even in the glowing red light, her colour seemed waxen - but it was undoubtedly Larissa.

Islain's own face became equally ashen, her normally healthy complexion fading to a sickly greenish yellow. Her teeth closed tighter, her lips pressed to a tight line. "That is a very pretty magic trick, Lord Sawall. So you know what my sister looks like, do you? But illusions notwithstanding, I asked to see her in person, alive and unharmed, and our negotiations will go no further until I do."

She took a breath and let it out raggedly. "And *if* what you show me is indeed her state, I shall require medical attention paid to the Princess before I *consider* signing anything."

"Firstly, I am not Lord Sawall," said Mandor. "That title belongs to my father. Secondly, medical attention would do little for her. Well, it might be good for the bruise on her head, but that is hardly serious. It is sorcery that afflicts her, your Highness. Perhaps you have forgotten the power of sorcery and what it might do, here in Amber, once the Pattern has fallen.

"Do you desire a demonstration? For that is your sister before you - and I think you know it all too well."

Islain's whole body shook and her eyes lit with a terrible deep fire. She had not been so angry, so completely not in control of her anger since she was thirteen years old. Since Morganthe had died.

"Whatever your name is," she snarled at the white-haired man, "do not dare to threaten me. I will *show* you demons... I..." She closed her eyes, shook her head, tried to see her father's face. He would be so disappointed in her now. She had not only lost his kingdom, she was about to lose his daughter, too.

"Please forgive my outburst." She took a breath, looked up, raising her chin and meeting Mandor's eyes. "I am not myself. If you will remove my sister from your sorcery and allow her to be transported safely to Rebma, and if on top of that you will guarantee her safe passage and immunity from any repercussions your soldiers, your relatives or your... Hendrakes... may seek against her for her part in this conflict, I will give you your surrender."

Jurt looked concerned, but made no move from the throne.

"Agreed," said Mandor, "although she may choose whether she leaves for Rebma or stays here. It may be that she has a love of Amber greater than her love for power. Whereas your reputation, your Highness, is ... different.

In her state of complete disillusionment, the rage which mixed with fear and despair and other emotions for which Islain did not have names, this simple statement somehow felt like a slap in the face. Her eyes closed involuntarily, almost flinching. "If I... Of course she may do as she likes, as long as you guarantee her safety. I... would also like safe passage to Rebma, but beyond that I ask nothing."

Mandor bowed. "Of course, your Highness," he said with great courtesy.

"Jurt - do you have the surrender document?"

Jurt offered the parchment with a little bow. "I will gladly accompany the Princess to guarantee her surety to Rebma, Brother."

"Certainly, if she consents," said Mandor, taking the document. "I suggest, your Highness, that you might wish to retire before our ... ah ... victory celebrations commence."

He bowed to her.

"If you'll excuse me - I should attend to your sister - and to Amber."

Even those little words were enough to send new shivers and iceknifes of rage into Islain. She forced herself to reply evenly. "If you are... "attending"... to Larissa, I would like to be present. Afterwards, I shall accept Lord Jurt's kind offer and retire to Rebma. You are quite correct. I find myself fatigued and heartsore, and shall have no stomach for celebration today. If there is to be a funeral for Prince Gerard, I wish permission to attend. After that, our business will be concluded."

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