Episode 51

"Your Humble Servant"

They walked up the Grand Promenade from Ambertown. It was a beautiful day in Amber. Edward found an odd peace to be there with his father. Ah, his father. And his mother, back – someplace. His questions were all answered, his dissatisfaction over his parentage resolved. He wasn’t sure quite how – the specifics seemed to slip away from him when he thought about it. But, then, it wasn’t worth dwelling upon. There were enough matters he needed to concern himself with.

That having been said, he was ever-so-grateful that he had accepted his father’s invitation through the Trump call. He might have gotten a lot of trouble if he had let his suspicions run away with him. And once through – well, it was all a blur of parties, bubble-baths, good food, and good clothes.

And now, here he was. How wonderful. Life was – good. And now that everything was settled with his father and his mother, it was time to return to Amber – and "make nice." He had half an urge to swear his life, his fortune and his sacred honor to the place – but sensed that might be over-doing it.

"Well," said Bleys, "where are you off to?"

"I should report to Deirdre."

"Well, I’m going to touch bases with my sister. Take care, Edward."

"You, too, Dad." A strange warmth filled him. Filial affection? Well, why the hell not?

They both headed to the Great Hall, Bleys in the lead. His father had already entered the Hall, and Edward was in its entrance, when he sensed something Trumplike going on, and a Trump effect began to manifest.

"Gaaah! Dad, look out!" Edward shouted, leaping back and drawing his sword.

After a moment, the effect transformed itself into some strange, aquatic creature whose face resembled Megan's, holding some great, translucent sack over its shoulder. A large quantity of seawater and other fluids washed across the floor to Edward’s ankles.

Edward cursed. Those boots had been a gift from his mother. He thought. He wasn’t altogether sure …

The creature changed its form until it was, once again, Megan, in all her unclothed glory. The sack opened up, and out rolled a smallish chap with dishwater blond hair. Megan picked him up and turned away, heading toward (no doubt) the infirmary.

Edward couldn’t resist. He was not obsessed with female pulchritude, mind you, but he could well appreciate it. And Megan, his cousin, was – was – quite female.  And pulchritudinous.

"Megan! A moment!"

Megan turned around again.

"Thank you, that’s fine."

Megan rolled her eyes and turned away, heading onward. Though her front was exemplary, there was, in fact, very little wrong with the departing undulations of her rear.

Edward waggled his eyebrows at his father, who was also watching.

Bleys frowned. "Was that Random?"

Edward eyes went slightly round. "If it happens on a regular schedule, I want to be here."

Bleys stared for a moment, then said, with an amused smile, "Never mind."

* * *

When he got to Deirdre’s office, he saw Breann was there, looking battered and torn. "Bree, you look terrible."

Bree didn’t seem pleased by his solicitude. "It’s a good thing I’m going to need you."

Deirdre opened the door, and was surprised to see both of them there. She ushered them into her office, and ascertained that they were there for separate reasons. "Any reason you can’t tell your reasons in front of the other?"

Edward smiled. "I have no secrets …"

So he got to go first. "I have very little to say. I’m back, and just wanted to place myself at your service, Your Highness."

"And your quest about your mother?"

"Everything is just fine. It was all concluded to my satisfaction." Oddly, Edward could hear some sort of echo of those words in his head, though in a female voice. He dismissed it.

Deirdre clapped her hands. "Well, it’s good to hear good news. Speaking of which … Breann?"

Breann’s news was less sanguine. Something about Ander being out of touch, and his daughter, Lora, being somehow captured by the Baron, or being deep in the Baron’s territory.

Edward looked on, intently, trying to radiate concern.

"I thought Edward could help."

Edward averted his eyes, looking alarmed. "Edward Who?"

Breann didn’t think it was funny. For that matter, neither did Edward.

Bree and Deirdre then got into something of a tiff over her intent to go to the Baron’s realm, let alone what mode (i.e., magical) she was panning to use to do so. Edward tried to slide his chair back, so as to be out of the focus of attention.

At last, Deirdre announced, "Breann, I need you to go clean up, patch up those wounds, and then come back here to sign some papers. Edward – go do whatever. But keep yourself available. We may need your help."

Edward stood, and bowed. "I am, of course, your humble servant."

* * *

They contemplated in the rose garden.

That is to say, Edward contemplated, Breann fumed.

"So, how hard was it to get into Ys?"

Edward smelled a lovely yellow-orange floribunda. He looked up and smiled. "It took discretion, hiking, and hard work."

"So how did you get in?"

So that was how it was going to be. Fine. "Well, the approach is obvious. I’ll reassume my guise as an Ysian soldier, you’ll be my ‘sacrifice’ to attract the Walkyr."

He had assumed Breann would reject this with a huff and a great deal of offense. To his shock, she took him seriously.

Never one to miss such an opportunity, he went with her to her chambers, where she tried on one white diaphanous gown after another. "No, no, no, more sheer. You want to attract an evil, bloodthirsty demon, not imitate a ghost." He added. "And, of course, no weapons." He cleared his throat, smiling. "They’d show."

* * *

Preparations continued through the afternoon. He’d given up on the "no weapons" decree. After all, as fun as it was to strip Breann to her – most despondent, the fact was, in case of trouble, he definitely wanted her to have access to something to poke into the opposition.

They’d carry her sword bundled up in the saddle bags of her horse – which would need to be covered with mud, of course, so that it would not stand out. He smiled at her dismay over this.  She also planted some bespelled daggers at places where she could get to them.

Clearly, though, she wanted more time to prepare, to screw her courage up. "So when should we leave?"

Edward smiled at her. "How urgent is your quest?"

Breann frowned.

* * *

"I’ll need to know how to get there," Edward said.  "Specifically to where you, ah, misplaced Lola."

Breann was unhappy over the implications. She knew the way.

"And if we get separated? Or you’re rendered unconscious? Do you want to risk Lenore’s well-being on that?"

"Oh, all right." She closed her eyes, opened her mind to him …

He could feel that she was trying to restrict his psychic contact to just the minimum needed to give him the path Lora had taken. He could also feel that his mind was significantly stronger than hers. He was tempted to riffle through her brain, but that might be impolitic. And take too long. And annoy – Deirdre.

But he could tell that she was quite insecure about the whole thing. Good.

* * *

And, of course, the greatest prize of all. Breann gave him one of her Trumps. He smiled.  How good it felt to be trusted.  It made his life so much easier, especially if he found he had to betray them all.

Episode 52

"I Am the Planner"

"So, do you have a decent sword?" Breann asked.

Edward gave her a plaintive look.  "No," he said, sadly.

"All right," she said in a disgusted tone, "you can take this one." She handed him the sword she had taken from Irenian. It longer than the blades he was used to, a slender, slightly curved blade, sheathed in wood. "Why thank you," Edward replied, graciously. He wondered how it would look slid between her ribs. Not that he planned to put it there any time soon. Just academic curiosity.

The two of them mounted their horses, and began to ride. As they curved away from the castle, a loud crash of glass drew their attention back to one of the third floor windows, where Megan and another, smallish chap were falling outward, locked in struggle.

"Does she still look naked to you?" Edward asked Breann. She made a noise, and rode onward.

They trotted on in silence into the woods of Arden.

"I must confess -- " Edward commented.

Breann looked back with skeptical anticipation.

"—that you do look lovely in that shift.  I'm sure you'll be radiant when you get that long cloak off of you."

"Just pretend you aren’t enjoying this."

Edward put on his most sincere face. "I shall truly endeavor to do so."

They rode a while longer.

"Oh, hell," Breann said.

"I told you to go before we left."

"We don’t have to ride all the way there. We can just walk the Pattern and have it take us to Lora."

"Well, duh."

Breann gave him a look.

"Well, you have been around here longer than I.  You can't expect me to plan things properly when you fail to give me the information I need."

They Trumped back to the courtyard, then, leaving their horses behind, walked down to the Pattern Chamber. Edward was somewhat concerned about being without mounts on the other end, but Breann assured him that her horse would find them. "Besides, you can shift Shadow."

"So, after you walk the Pattern," said Edward, sitting down and leaning back against one of the walls of the chamber, "you can Trump me through to the center, and we can go after Lori."

Breann looked offended at the suggestion that she do all the work. "And what exactly will you be doing?"

"Planning. I am the planner of the expedition, after all."

Breann considered. "It won’t work," she said. She ought never to play poker. Edward made it clear that she wasn’t convincing anybody.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Breann suggested.

Edward coughed. "And whose niece is it who is lost? And who lost Lana --?"

Edward could see that he had scored – and that he would remain on her shit list for a long time. Of course, he always would be, so why not push it.

She clarified the latter question, by resorting to violence.  He tried to duck, and failed. She smiled at him as he rubbed his jaw. "You win," she said, cheerfully, then began to walk the Pattern.

He went through his traveling supplies, and poured himself a small glass of wine. After a time, he saw that Breann had finished, and was resting. "Hello?" he called out to her. "Oughtn’t we be going after Linda?"

Breann made huffing noises, then brought him through to the center of the Pattern.

"So, then, we need to hold hands." Edward smiled at her.

"We are not holding hands."

"Don’t look down on me, cousin. I’m not the one who misplaced Lulu."

"Her name is Lora. And I –"

A small, hunchbacked dwarf appeared behind the two of them. "Play nice!" he snapped. He vanished with the sound of a door slamming.

Breann, of a sudden, grew very quiet.

"Who was that?" Edward demanded.

"Someone you don’t want to screw with," Breann said, clearly cowed.

Edward considered what would actually manage to get Breann to shut up. He decided it might be worth not screwing with.

So it was agreed that Breann would go first – without holding hands – and that Edward would then follow.

"Take me to Ander’s daughter, my niece, Lora." Breann disappeared.

Edward started to send himself to Breann, but decided he wouldn’t give her the pleasure. "Take me to Lora," he said.

And, as the room faded out around him, it occurred to him that was, perhaps, a bit vague of a command …

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Edward's Journal -- 53

[No log for Episode 53 -- player cowering at home in the face of impending
blizzard]

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Trees. Dirt. In theory, it could have been a dank, slimy swamp, full of festering, algae-ridden pools. Save that there were no pools.

"Breann?" Edward called out, tentatively. "Lora?"

No response. Save for the crickets reep-a-cheeping. Crickets, which looked to Edward’s eyes to be about the size of attack dogs. They sawed their legs menacingly.

He was at the end of a path. "End" insofar as it did not seem to go on from there in any but one direction, forward. "Path" insofar as there were a semi-random assemblage of large paving stones extending in that one direction, about every two to three feet. Of the rest of the stones there was no sign, and the ones that were left did not look long for this world.

About twenty feet ahead was an archway. Everything seemed to indicate that was the direction to go, by which one could say that there was no other obvious direction to travel.

He reached the archway and looked through. The path went to the center of a circle of small, pointed stones. In the middle, at the end of the path, was a large stone plinth, or perhaps a sarcophagus, square. That was less interesting, in its own way, than the person down on one knee before that monument. Though he could see very little of said person, due to the large cloak draping his or her frame.

Edward stepped through the archway, though no further. He cleared his throat.  "Ahem."

The gentleman – for that is what he was – swirled to his feet in one smooth, swift motion, the cloak waving about him in a way that Edward had to admit was rather striking. And the man’s gaze was – well, striking, too. A large man, rangy, not bulky, a greying moustache and a bit of grey upon his dark auburn temples.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Edward," he replied, bowing.

"What are you doing here?"

It didn’t feel particularly odd to Edward to be interrogated, and he thought he’d answer questions before asking them.  Not that he'd give away any information of obvious value.  "I was looking for a young woman, in a white, diaphanous robe."

"Does she have a name?"

No point in lying, except on general principles.  Still, also no point in being potentially caught out in a lie.  And he was a touch concerned about finding her. "Breann."

The man’s left eyebrow briefly twitched.

"Or not."

The man casually began to saunter over. Edward casually leaned against the archway, putting his hands in his pockets, each on grasping a dagger.

"And you were both traveling here?"

"Well," said Edward, as the man came to a halt, striking a pose of crossed arms and slightly uplifted chin. Vaguely familiar. Odd. He was a comfortable distance away, that is to say, beyond sword's reach.  "Well, not exactly. I was following her, and somehow … she got lost."

"So why did you come here?

"We were coming to, er, visit a woman named Lora."

A more distinct raising of the brow in return. "I doubt this is the one you were looking for," he said, gesturing at the monument.

"Ah." Edward walked with studied casualness toward the monument, passing near – but not too near – the man.

The monument was perhaps indeed a sarcophagus. A bas relief of a woman, surrounded by text that he could almost read, some sort of a benediction, but the one word clearly graven … "Lora."

It did not look like the Lora he was looking for. Mercifully. He wouldn’t have cared to be the one to report that back to Deirdre. "It’s not her," he began, turning around.

The man was gone.

He rapidly pirouetted in place. The man was still gone, in all directions.

"Thank you," he called into thin air. He walked back over to the archway. Well, might as well get back on track. He pulled out Breann’s Trump. It did not get cold.

Well. He pulled out another Trump, this one of Castle Amber. He considered trying to call his Dad. But even though is Dad was, indeed, a great guy, he decided against it.

The Trump of the Castle was a long time in growing cold. Slowly … slowly … and when it felt solid enough to pass through, he looked about and committed the place to memory. Then he stepped through.

* * *

Cold. So … cold …

Endless time, all of five, ten seconds, passing through. Never had it taken this long (in your vast experience), and never … this … cold …

And he stood in the courtyard of Castle Amber. He shivered in the bright sunlight. Then immediately began evaluating his options.

Which seemed to be two. Continue the mission. Or abort and report back to Deirdre. Sorry, Your Majesty – not only didn’t I find your niece, I lost your daughter. Ahem.

He shook his head and hightailed it – as quietly and stealthily as possible – into the castle, thence down to the Pattern once more …

* * *

Edward opened the door to the Great Hall. And ran straight into Deirdre. "Edward, are you coming to the Family Meeti -- Edward?  What are you doing here?"

Edward thought fast. "Forgot something. Can’t stop. Gotta run. Kids on the stove." He hustled away, before she could protest or inquire further, up the main stair – and down the back, to the stairway leading down to the Pattern.

Though … as he reached the first landing, he found himself facing an large, old painting. And the subject was the man at that other Lora’s tomb. He remembered the painting now – and knew that Quinn had told him about it. The name was on the tip of his tongue –

Briefly he considered returning to see Deirdre to ask. Yeah, right. He continued onward.

* * *

Breann ought to be thankful that I made her walk the Pattern before.

Light sparkled and splashed. Memory pounded against rocky shores. Edward felt something – a reaffirmation, perhaps, that this was his home, that this place was part of him. Sentimental twaddle.

Achieving the center, he shook off his fatigue, and wished himself to where Breann was.

* * *

Disorientation. Wind whipping, great movement beneath him –

A sharp pain in his gut –

"Edward!" Breann reeled in her elbow, and grabbed him before he fell off the back of her horse. Which was flying. Up. High up. A thousand feet or so.

"Gaaah!"

After he’d more or less caught his breath, Breann called over her shoulder, "Nice of you to join me."

"Well, if you’d just held my hand --!"

And they were off and running.

He began to notice that they were descending, as the horse’s wings strained at the air. "Can’t you make this thing go any higher?" he asked. She brandished her elbow at him again.

Changing the subject. "So where is she?"

"Elsewhere," was all Breann answered.

"So didn’t the Pattern work for you?" Edward snapped. "Or did you lose her again?"

Breann turned, and Edward thought he could see little flames leaping in her eyes. He dropped the subject. For the moment.

They landed, the horse obviously unable to bear both their weights. Useless creature.

Breann described where they were going. With a sinking feeling, Edward abruptly realized that they were in the realm where the Pillar resided. And within the Pillar –

He shifted his thoughts. Breann began to inquire about his magical abilities. Edward prevaricated. Breann insisted on honest. Oh, but of course, you need merely ask, cousin. But he confessed to knowing little more than a few cantrips.

"We’re about to go where there are lots of people who will be slinging spells at us," she observed, as though it were his fault.

"Then I suggest we avoid them."

The two chatted for a time longer, in much the same acrimonious vein. It soon became clear to Edward that Breann thought he had just been dawdling around, either in the center of the Pattern or elsewhere, clearly waiting for her to resolve the problem. Edward was mildly offended. Not that he wouldn’t have done such if he could, but he had sort of accepted the contract from Deirdre. And it would have been so -- obvious.

"I’ll regale you with the tale around the campfire tonight," he snapped.

It was mid-afternoon. It was clear that they needed to find a horse for Edward. Bree tried for a while to manipulate probabilities to find some sort of mount. Doubtless one that was ugly, ill-tempered and unreliable. Just like her, Edward thought to himself. After an hour, Edward decided to try, and, recalling that he had left Muerte free before sneaking into the castle. After a short time, he found him. So there.

As they rode along, Edward explained that he had been in this area during his previous expedition. He was steering them around a large concentration of particularly unpleasant individuals.

He glanced over at her. "So, what happened to your shift?"

She returned his look with far more fury than he would have expected. "Funny you should ask," she replied, in a very unamused tone.

Edward laughed, a tad nervously. "Well, I thought that was the plan. You know, I dress up as the Bad Guy, you dress up as the nubile young virginal sacrifice."

"I’m not sure both of us were just dressing up."

"Well, I didn’t think you qualified, but I wasn’t going to pry …"

Breann made a disgusted noise, and rode onward. For some reason, Edward felt that bringing up the disguise bit again would be counterproductive.

He did have a great deal amusement that evening, though, when, around the small fire they allowed themselves, he regaled her with the tale of his doings during the interval he’d been "absent.  A visit to a wonderful café back home ("The veal piccata was to die for"), followed by an afternoon’s dalliance with a favorite mistress ("And you should see how she fills out a diaphanous gown"), a long game of whist with the boys at the club, and, glancing at his pocket watch, his sad realization Bree had probably gotten into some kind of trouble by then, and he’d best bail her out.

His only concern was, she didn’t seem to be taking it with the good humor he’d expected. Ah, well. Nothing for it if the cretin can’t take a joke.

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Edward's Journal -- 55

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56

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Chapter 57.1 (18 Jan 99)

"Let’s Show Them What Amberites are Made Of!"

"For the Unicorn!" I cried. "And the Queen!"

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Chapter 58 (25 Jan 99)

"The News Is Not Good"

She was so strong. I could not fail her now.

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Edward's Journal, Session 59

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Edward's Journal, Session 60

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