"Your orders?"

"We continue on."

"And your feelings?"

She felt his mirth, that undying optimism, even in the face of possible failure - even in the face of death. Even a slight amusment, like sunlight filtered through falling leaves.

"We're not dead. The desire still remains. We must seek it, for your reasons and mine, and for so many others."

"...their comments are on your mind."

Now she felt true amusement, and heard him laugh. The sunlight gained strength.

"We must continue. Amber awaits. The Pattern awaits. Not only that, but I eventually intend to take Cyan up on something that's been waiting for a long, long time."

Arianne was confused on that part for a moment as he readied himself, but the answer came soon enough.

"But Aaron... Ilse's blade?"

"...will not be needed. Now is not the time, anyway. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, after we reach Amber and we're relatively ensconsed, there may be time. We shall see."

And then he was silent.

Jonnee stands before Parcifal and Gawain, flanked by two of the brintizzi.  To Parcifal, the reptile warriors are nothing new, to Gawain and the nearby troops though, they are... unsettling.

"First off, don't worry, I left the ones with all the ray guns a little ways off, so we aren't going to see any reaction from the crystals." Jonnee explains, still smiling.

"But... I do have around four thousand of my boys, about a mile over... that way, with stuff from the other Charyk.  I've got grain, canvas, barrels of salted meat, ingots of copper and steel, tools... all kinds of things, and you can have it all.  I sorta figured you might need some help with some of that stuff.  I reckon that what we brought might give you about two weeks, maybe three, to adjust and get the new guys settled in, without having to stress over food.  That should give you a start on sorting out your own supplies."

"So... where do you need it putting?"

Roman looks at Tahirah And how would you know that ?  "Perhaps.  It might explain why I did not see this 'Broken God' weapon deployed.  But politics and military matters are not so simple.  Can this Harbonah explain to its followers among the Archons that their hurts and the deaths of their comrades and their ignominous retreat were acceptable in the light of its success in treacherously ridding itself of a subordinate ?"

"I think not.  If Harbonah simply wished to have rid itself of its general it could have had it done easily enough.  To lose a general in battle is a political trick intended to hide responsibility.  And even if the outcome is acceptable to Harbonah - and I doubt it" I would not like an enemy to possess that blade. "it still appears to be a defeat."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:48, Thu 15 Mar 2007.

Dorian lowers his utensil back to his plate. His head shook just slightly, not even enough to make the hair hanging about his face bend. This wasn't right. His features fell, looking defeated. "Forgive me," he says. "I made an error."

He stands. The imperial manner returned, sloughing off the smidgeon of casual posture he had adopted. His features hardened. The old Dorian had returned. Without looking at anyone in particular, he adds, "Have a servant fetch me when it is time."

He pulls the cloak about him, tight, a shield against such foolish closeness, and stalks off towards his room. He leaves his plate, barely touched.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:24, Thu 15 Mar 2007.

Cyan's answering smile to Dorian's words - 'Good morning, indeed' - freezes slightly as she catches Roman's slanted look in her direction.  She doesn't understand the point, not entirely; Cyan has always been poor at following the subtlties of misdirective language.  She raises an eyebrow.  Was he asking her something, what Harbonah would do?  Or speaking to others, regarding her?

Tahirah jumps in just then with a theory about Harbonah, and it strikes Cyan deeply.  How can the woman be certain Cyan was meant to fail?  Had she been meant to fail?  If so, why?  Almost, she asks Left and Right, but those two would not know.  Harbonah would not have told them.

And the woman ends where it would have been best to begin.

"What, then, was Harbonah's desire?" she asks Tahirah.  "What did he wish from this?"  She turns to Roman.  "Sir Roman, the Broken God was deployed.  The Broken God was the reason people lost the use of their power for a portion of the battle.  Perhaps you fought upon the periphery, and were not affected.  But the Broken God, I am informed, was destroyed by the concentrated force of the weapons of Charyk."

That stops her.  The weapons of Charyk destroyed the Broken God - Berd showed her that.  Why?  How?  She glances to Parcifal and Gawain, and her face lights up.  There stands Jonnee Kay, but the trio are deep in concentration.  She will not interrupt.

Cyan returns to the conversation, her emerald eyes concerned.  "Roman is correct.  I would hear what you believe Harbonah's gain was to be by eliminating the...General in such a fashion, Tahirah."

But then Dorian chooses that moment to close off.  To leave.  Baffled, Cyan stares after the dark man as he sweeps from the room like a shadow escaping the sun.  "Berd?" she inquires, but the little drake, his head stuck out from under Trista's chair, offers no answer to her question.

Morgan stares, confused, at Tahirah.  "Please do enlighten us, fair lady, with your views of their plans."  Given the setting and Tahirah's reputation, the lilting phrases of court speech seemed apropos. "Their objective, I had thought, was to conquer your city, and use its weapons, but I would not call myself well-informed."

Following the two warriors back to the castle, while giving them a rundown of the supplies, Jonnee and his attendant pair of brintizzi find themselves in a corridor running past the entrance to the Great Hall.  Inside, he can see his friends, but he has no chance to speak to them just yet.

A third man is summoned to speak to him, and introduced as Caesius, the Castelain of this Charyk.  Again, Jonnee runs through the list, while Caesius takes notes and asks questions, many of which Jonnee is unable to answer.  He knows he has meat, for instance, packed in casks of salt, but he has no idea what manner of animal it came from.  Likewise, he has no real idea what many of the more... exotic tools are called.  "Sorry, man, if it isn't a hammer, a screwdriver, or a saw, then I'm way out of my depth."

Another glance into the hall, where they have food.  The Castelain, while more than grateful for the supplies, but seems a little annoyed that Jonnee never kept a more detailed list.

"No, I don't know what sort of fruit they are.  They're dark blue, and about... this big, with a skin like leather."

Slowly the list is compiled, and locations carefully noted alongside each item.  A somewhat sour thought bubbles to the surface of his mind, If Caine'd told me I'd be dealing with accountants, I'd have told him where he could shove his mission, and gone back to catching waves at Cabra.

He shoots a quick glance at Cyan.  Was she just looking at him?  Well, she isn't now... but she looks better, for some sleep.  More like her old self.

Tahirah is quiet for a moment.  Safe within the shrouded depths of her hood, she's biting her lip anxiously.  She wasn't given to explaining her pronouncements.  Noone asked.  She said what she knew, and people worked with that.  She was Tahirah.  Her name, of course, but it had grown to be something of a title, as well...

She had said what she had said because she knew.  Because it felt right.  To be asked to explain how she knew...where it came from, what it meant... How was she supposed to know that?  There were any number of good - even accurate - fallback answers that explained little, but she had the feeling that in this case, with these people, those would only result in her advice being discarded.

If she had anything, truly, to offer these people...it wasn't her ability to read the cards.  Not alone.  It was her ability to read the world that shaped them.  To take too little information, and find a pattern within it.  To, as Ferenc once put it, be given X+2, and know it equalled five.  Much as she was confidant that though he left the table, Dorian would still hear everything that was said there...

So she sat quietly for a moment as she was questioned, and let more attention than she liked gather around her.  She could feel it, almost like static.  How did she know?  What, in fact, did she know?

"Their outer purpose in seeking Charyk - our Charyk - was given to you by the message," she replies, remembering.  "`Harbonah has a tracker', hunting for you.  Whatever the General was told, her purpose there was you.  Had the weapons been the target, they'd have come here.  Or to any other Charyk, apparently, where the Sword and the Staff remained.  Not ours, where one was missing, the other shattered.  To conquer, or to quell?  Again, they'd have begun elsewhere.  Our Charyk looked inward, not out.  To defense, not conquest.  There was time, yet.  It could not have been a more important target than, perhaps, here - a Charyk with the potential, and now the inclination, to become a powerful ally against them.  Indeed, this, and many other Charyk's, must be a better strategic target, in all ways save one."  She pauses a moment, and closes her eyes as she watches the threads tie themselves together.  She speaks almost without hearing herself.  "You, and the Army, were drawn to our Charyk by threads of fate long since woven, cinched tight in the passing of time.  Your Berd, the General's Broken God, our Staff shattered and reforged into many Rods.  Your Company - the Defenders of Worlds - one of your own stolen and turned...to be the General of your enemy.  All of these were once one.  All remained one.  It could not have happened in any other way."

"The battle at Charyk had to happen.  This is a truer purpose than that held by Harbonah.  Of his, I can only guess.  I would suppose that to have been distraction and delay; perhaps a hope for your downfall.  As a distraction from his hidden plan, his strike to this Amber, it could little fail.  Had she won, you would have been greatly weakened, perhaps scattered or destroyed.  Had she lost, you would have been left victorious, and victors wish to celebrate.  That she was recovered...I do not think can have been Harbonah's intention, but would have been even better distraction, if not for the chance falling of the news of the hidden plan.  I think there was no other choice; but in Harbonah's mind, I suspect it was nothing more than a feint."

"Harbonah's gain in the death of the General..."  The hooded figure turns slightly, to face towards Cyan.  "He could not trust her.  And how could he, when you lurked within?"

<backpost>
James spares a smile in return for Trista's gentle backhanded reassurance.  He is happy to see her in good humour.  Their meeting the day before had not been under terribly auspicious circumstances and James still hoped for the chance to talk to Trista at greater length.

"It would take more than a little bit of worrying to keep me awake, Cyan.  One of the more helpful legacies of my old work.  I could sleep standing up at a fireworks display if I needed to.  So no excuses.  But I'll be ready when we need to leave."
</backpost>

James looks up from his breakfast as the discussion turns to Harbonah's purposes in attacking Charyk.  "I agree with Tahirah.  We came to Charyk because Metatron told us to.  The General and the Army came because we were here.  There, whatever.  I still don't see how the place and the battle was all that Metatron wanted us to find here, but...  James shrugs, a characteristic gesture.

"As for Harbonah's goals.  Well, knowing what we do about Archon infighting, I find it quite plausible that Harbonah would throw away a thousand or more Archons if he thought it would achieve his purpose.  Get rid of Cyan, kill us, dispose of a few hundred factional rivals.  His allies, even his enemies, are probably applauding his cunning.  Of course, it didn't quite work out like that, but I doubt that worries him much.  The worst thing for Harbonah is that we know of the attack on Amber."

James stops.  He looks thoughtful, weighing up the implications of his conclusions even as he speaks.  So what?  If there are as many Archons as we think our presence at Amber will be like pissing in the sea.  What is there about Charyk that's different, that we need?  Wait a minute!  The smith, the one who made the weapons.  There are different accounts in each Charyk.  It must be a clue to the traitor.

James turns his attention to Tahirah, he looks strangely intense.  "Tahirah, could you repeat what you know about the man who made the twins' weapons, and stole the Sword, from your Charyk?"

Earlier, for Dorian, “For some reason there must be bad poetry floating around the Worlds to let us appreciate beautiful poetry that much more. I’m simply adding to that cycle.”

To Cyan, Trista responds with a surprised look, “Yes, I was out running. I try to get out every morning; it seems to be a good way to start the day. I have a thing about staying fit, for no other reason than to…” she halts, blinks, and shifts her train of thought, “to keep the doctors at bay.” There’s a slight awkwardness as she turns from those lavender eyes, but she recovers well, turning back to the food on her plate and listening to the conversation about her.


The conversation centers around Harbonah and Tahirah’s pronouncements. Dorian makes an abrupt departure and Jonnee appears in a doorway. Intrigued, Trista looks on with anticipation as the woman in white explains her theories. Food is forgotten as the woman absorbs and wonders at James’ last request, keeping her own incomplete thoughts to herself.

Tahirah nods towards James.  "Those of our Charyk were crafted by a man named Ganelon.  I've not heard him described physically, but he stayed there for some time.  He placed the curse upon the weapons, that they could not be used against each other, and told no one until he was convinced to do so after the Brothers fought."  She pauses briefly.

"The Sword was taken by a man called Carl Corey, a century ago.  He asked to see it, and was shown to it, and left alone in the room, from which he vanished."

"The Sword and Staff of this Charyk, of Parcifal and Gawain, we have been told were forged also by a man named Ganelon; he returned here, a century ago, and attempted to reclaim them, or to launch an attack upon Amber, but was driven away.  The vision Meredith saw of him and the description Ferenc gave to your friend Luke of Carl Corey match, but you have said that appearance means little."

"What is it that you seek in this?" she asks, curiously.

"The traitor." James answers.

"Some of us can do amazing things, but if Harbonah is serious about Amber we won't make much difference to the balance of forces in open battle.  I think our role there must be to find the traitor, which we've been asked to do anyway."

"And I think that Ganelon or Carl Corey or both, since they may be different people, is a clue to the traitor's identity.  The Sword and Staff may still be significant too, I haven't worked it out.  Just speculation, I'm afraid."

To James' mind, most of the jigsaw pieces were on the table now.  If he could just fit another edge together things might start falling into place.

"We shall try to avoid that eventuality, James.  While I do not doubt you, I daresay it would be more comfortable to sleep lying down, in a comfortable bed."  Cyan, still on edge from Dorian's abrupt departure, shoots James another quick grin, then, spotting Jonnee's movement from the corner of her eye, offers that one a quick wave.

Her eyes study Trista for a moment, and she nods uncertainly.  Something disturbs the woman - whether it is her question, or some memory, Cyan is uncertain.  "Keeping the Doctors at bay is a laudable effort," she notes, a hint of curiousity in her tone.  She looks Trista up and down.  "Your attempt seems to have succeeded splendidly."  The woman is certainly a paragon of health, at least to Cyan's unprofessional eye.  A fine fighter, too, from the look of her.

She grows more serious at Tahirah's words.  A grateful look to the Panther-knight, Morgan, for his question, twin to her own.  Then she replies.  "Oh, certs, my purpose was to find those gathered here and either turn them or destroy them.  Harbonah is...ill-pleased with this group."  Cyan considers, her topaz eyes faraway.  "It is possible he meant for me to destroy you," she murmurs, "then to have his people slay me once my purpose was complete.  I was certainly his best chance for locating and destroying you."  Then she snaps out of her consideration, a flush spreading across her cheeks.  "I...that is, I would have known best how to find you, and your strategies."

Berd shifts under Trista's chair, and his pokes out again; the drake is obviously concerned.

"Ganelon and Carl Corey.  One and the same, perhaps?  Or not?"  Cyan watches James, hoping for some kind of revelation.  Barring one of the people she does not know being from Amber (which seems more unlikely with every passing second), James is their best shot at enlightenment.  But...nothing.  At least, no sudden realization as to the identity.

"Yes, the traitor," she whispers.  "At this point, James, speculation may be both good and bad to share."  Good, because it might fire thoughts on the correct path.  Bad, because it might put peoples minds on the wrong road.

"So.  Amber it will be."

 

Playing catch with one another, the newest of the kittens stopped over towards one wall, near the edge of a large carpet while the one once rescued by Banglen-Yp hunted for pretend prey under the very edge of the rug, half disappearing under it.

Then something was different about the kitten on top of the rug, but what was impossible to tell.


                              _{Perhaps it was a trick of the light.}


A moment later the kitten was more different still.  Larger?  Shorter fur?

The other kitten continued to play, now with only the tail visible, trashing left and right as it chased its own imagination.


                                                                      _{Was the rug smaller?}


Meanwhile the kitten on the rug was a kitten no more.  It was something else, standing on all four, with the head bent downwards.

The kitten under the rug kept moving forward, chasing the very edge of the rug as it appeared to withdraw away from it.


                                                  _{The rug appeared to be... moving inwards... towards the one on top of it.}


A blink of an eye later and then there she was, Banglen-Yp, naked, one knee on the floor, both hands on the rug and with thick waves of hair falling around her face and over her back, offering part protection from any eyes aimed towards her bare form.


                              _{The rug was all but gone and the kitten chased the last remains.}


The head lifted and she glanced back towards the others and smiled as clothing kind of...

          ...fell out of her form...
                                                                                          _{The rug was no more.}
                                        ...to cover her as she rose...


...much to some spectator's disappointment.


Black leather jacket and blue jeans.  Not quite the fashion here, perhaps.

          But at least she was learning that people changed clothing, it seemed.


She approached the others, smiling and walking with a light and sensually feline gait, seemingly unaware of it.

Stopping nearby she tilted her head to one side and spoke.

•• I • know • lit•tle • of • this • ent•er•prise ••

A simple statement, still smiling.

•• I • may • be • wrong •• I • am • still • ve•ry • young ••

Another one.

•• The • Old • Char•yk's • wea•pons • de•fied • this • Bro•ken • God •• Per•haps • the • Ar•chon • Me•ta•tron • knew • this •• Might • not • that • be • use•ful • to • us ••

A mixture of a proposal and a question, followed by another smile before she turned to pick up the kitten that sat at her feet, looking for that elusive rug with a befuddled expression and mewled pitifully.

•• You • are • old•er ••

A strange statement to the little kitten who brightened up and put a paw at her lips as she lightly blew at his face.

 

And so, Aaron stood in the back of the group, listening to all of the considerations and plans. He would most likely assist with getting the group to Amber, splitting the duties of traversing the Myriad with James.

It was all in perspective for him, now. Once, it had been everything to him... but now? Now it was merely another cog turning the wheels of his existence, like the Pattern, his extended family, the many worlds he'd visted; like Arianne and his comrades here.

Yes. Perpsective. It was all in how you saw things for yourself.

Tahirah nods thoughtfully at James's response.  "The cards tell me that the one we know as Ganelon is not, himself, the traitor Harbonah houses in Amber," she notes, simply, that James might have the information to work with.

Roman waits an opportunity to reply, but then is distracted by Banglen-Yp's transformation, although he is not one of those greatly disappointed when she acquires clothing.

A traitor in Amber ?  No surprise there

"The defeat of this Broken God weapon is another blow to Harbonah.  And if 'Broken God' affects the powers of Amberites a counter-weapon might be needed there.  It is likely that any traitor working with the Seraphim planned to betray his - or her - allies.  But they may not have anticipated the 'Broken God'.  Even Amberites have their limits."

"I would advise against any involvement with Amberite politics.  While I would find it epecially awkward - and not just with the Amberites - it would be incredibly dangerous.  If you do expose the traitor - even if you have proof - you may find that the other royals find it more expedient to cover up the business and...eliminate...any loose ends."

The Brothers, seeing Jonnee is busy, and that most of their guests are present, excuse themselves and move into the hall.

"Look... " Jonnee raises his hands to quiet the Castelain, then indicates the brintizzi standing watch nearby, "My boys there know more about this stuff than I do.  Talk to them, they'll help you.  You'll need to do it quick though, 'cos they haven't eaten for hours, and it'd be good if I could get them out of here before they remember they're man-eaters."

The Castelain starts to speak, then shuts his mouth, and starts again, "It'll be a little more trouble, but I suppose you could just dump everything in the courtyard, and I could arrange to catalogue it all then, and have it stored away some... "

"Great.  Catchya later." not giving the man a chance to get into full flow again, Jonnee follows Parcifal and Gawain.  As he moves, he glances at the brints, "Fellah's... "

The two reptile warriors move into step behind him, sparing the Castelain a razor-toothed smile.


Gawain and Parcifal stop at the table, while Jonnee makes a beeline for the buffet.  "We trust that you all slept well?" Gawain asks, before adding, "You will be pleased to hear, no doubt, that work on the rehousing of the refugees from the other Charyk proceeds well.  There were no significant problems during the night, except for one man, who was bitten by a viper.  I'm assured that he is strong, and will live... which is more than can be said for the unfortunate serpent, which he killed."

"And your friend, there... " Jonnee waves with the hand which isn't holding a platter of food, grinning, as Parcifal indicates him, "... has arrived this morning with a delivery of supplies to help get people through this difficult period."

To Trista’s way of thinking, James makes sense. Amber is brimming with power, and certainly those in this group would add to its defenses in battle, but not to the degree as for Charyk. The traitor seems the right place to start. Cyan seems to agree and for some reason, that further strengthens Trista’s assessment.

In her peripheral vision, a kitten disappears to reveal a naked Banglen-Yp. Trista’s gaze turns to the woman who seems unabashed at her nudity. Then clothes appear, similar in time to what Trista wears. The woman sighs and turns back to the group as others, including Banglen-Yp, further contribute to the discussion.

After Roman’s concerns, Trista simply offers, “I agree the traitor should be discovered. What, precisely, we do with that information can be decided later as we get a feel for how things are in Amber.” A slight shudder racks her body; the thought of Amber still both entices and repels the woman.

Gawain stops to inform of the new settlers and Jonnee’s arrival. Trista smiles at the man who seems to have walked off some Hollywood horror-fantasy show. Turning back to Gawain, “That is good news; I’m sure you will take good care of the refugees and they will find themselves part of this Charyk’s life soon enough.”

Hope. For others, there is always hope. Perhaps even for herself.

Still disturbed by Dorian's sudden exit, Cyan notes Aaron's placement - just outside the group, watching.  Analyzing.  She recalls their discussion last night, and frowns.  For Aaron, she has concerns, deep ones.

Motion in the corner of her eye; Cyan glances toward Banglen-Yp, then looks away.  Shapeshifting has always been profoundly fascinating and profoundly disturbing to the young woman; she suspects she knows why, now.  Once the odd traveller is finished her alteration, she speaks, and Cyan considers her words.

"We know that in the Other Charyk, there was a connection between the Archons and the Brothers," she states with a significant glance at Gawain and Parsifal.  "They had...servants, who were depicted as rings of fire, before their falling-out.  Perhaps one of these Archons was Metatron himself, and that was how he knew of their weapons?"  Speculation, of course.  And yet, they knew Metatron was old.

"Connections," the bard muses, though how this may help them she does not yet see.  Perhaps another will.  "Tahirah - do you know anything of this, in the Other Charyk's history?"

Words of warning from Roman of Chaincut.  "I tend to agree." Cyan nods, leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped before her face.  "Politics are a morass in which I swim poorly and sink well.  But I see little other alternative - we must go to Amber to locate this traitor, we must be among the Court of Amber to hunt.  How to avoid politics?"  The word is filthy in her mouth.  Trista sums it up succinctly, and Cyan gives her a quick grin before going back to her pondering.

Jonnee Kay opts to join them, with his brintizzi guard, bringing with him good news from Gawain and Parsifal.  "Well, then.  Salvation once again at the hands of Jonnee Kay and the brintizzi.  I shall never be displeased to see you, Jonnee Kay, nor will Berd, should you continue to bring food."  Her amethyst eyes light up with her smile, and Cyan stands to bow to the brintizzi as they approach the group.

Berd hiccups from under Trista's chair then crawls out, his stomach massively distended.  He lets out a mournful warble, and gives Trista's leg a pathetic tug.

The irregular cadence of booted feet down the stairs announced Chance's belated arrival. Through bleary eyes, he looks at those gathered, but his eyes fall on the breakfast with resolve. Food is a good start on curing the headache throbbing away at the back of his skull. Uncharacteristically quiet, he moved to the end of the benches, sat and began to eat. Once he had a few bites in his belly, he seemed more amiable. "I guess it's off to save the universe again, today?"

Tahirah stirs slightly, turning towards Cyan, but is drawn away by the Brothers' approach.  She rises from her seat to listen to them, and bows deeply when they are done.  "You have our eternal thanks.  I trust that our people will soon become productive members of your society, and repay the difficulties that rescuing us has brought you now."  Turning towards Jonnee, she can't help but grin, and is glad the impulsive expression is well hidden.  "And my thanks to you, also," she continues, her tone smooth, giving no hint of the amusement she feels.

Her attention is drawn back to the table by Cyan's question, and she thinks quietly for a moment.  "There are...not records, but remembrances, of servants, called Demons and Fiends.  They are given a small role in the tales that contain them at all - portals through which the Brothers could obtain what tools they required, in the earliest years.  The histories mention them very little, and only in the very earliest."  She's quiet for another moment, and then adds, "Though they are not recorded to have been present when the Brothers fought, they are - or rather, were - depicted there in artworks.  If I may ask in return, what do you know of the Broken God?  Where did you obtain this, and was it destroyed?"

She makes a gentle gesture with one hand.  "I have worked long with the Lords of Charyk.  I have some small practice at politics.  If I might suggest, based solely upon the warnings here; Consult with those who care to be consulted upon the matter, and proceed upon paths they offer.  Allow the honor of the discovery to fall upon one, or perhaps more, of them.  Even a large part played can be made to seem small, if all of the players are agreed it should be so."

Gawain and Parcifal exchange a look.  "Ganelon offered to provide us with servants, when he first began working on the Sword and Staff.  We explained to him that the ones we already had were more than adequate.  It never occurred to us to question the nature of those servants."

Jonnee looks up from the dangerously overloaded plate, "Caine mentioned a Ganelon to me once.  It didn't sound like he was that much of a danger to Amber."

"And speaking of Caine... if you're headed for Amber, I need you to take him a message for me.  It might even be doing you a good turn, since it'll give you an excuse to talk to him.  Act as an introduction too.  That'll give you another angle on the stuff that's going on up there, 'cos, quite frankly, Julian spends too much time out in the woods to keep a close eye on things, and I never really trusted Fiona... she always acts like she's up to something really bogus."


"We too would ask that you carry a letter to Amber.  That was what we wanted to discuss with you before you left." adds Gawain, as soon as Jonnee resumes the important business of eating a breakfast equivalent in weight to all the food he has just delivered.

 

Cuddling the little kitten, Banglen-Yp walked over to the fireplace and looked into the flames.  It was impossible to tell that she still listened to what was being said as she continued to play with the little kitten who seemed to enjoy it still although it was also getting tired.

A few moments later is was laying still in her arms and a moment after that is was fast asleep, its round and pink little belly displayed upwards for all to see.  Banglen-Yp smiled down at it and gently blow at the tummy, making the kittens paw flip a little as it no doubt chased some fat prey in its dreams.

 

Roman looks around, just a little nervously.  "I suppose it is only fair to warn you that I will want to keep a low profile.  For those who are not aware there are those at my end of reality who still resent the creation of Amber, even now, and would be happy to see it destroyed.  Some time ago an Amberite traitor approached them and made a deal to weaken Amber in return for support for his own schemes.  Of course he planned to betray his new allies as well.... "

He sighs "There was a war and Amber won.  Thus I do not expect my presence to be welcome in Amber.  Worse, if it becomes known back home I have played any significant role in helping or harming Amber I would acquire new enemies.  Those who wish Amber to be weakened or destroyed would not take kindly to anyone who helped Amber.  Those who wish to avoid another war would not be pleased if tensions were created between Amber and the Courts.  I like neither prospect."