"It was discovered when they came to my home and accused me of spying." Beldrin replies with a sigh, followed by a rasping cough.  When he recovers his breath a little, he continues, "To the best of my knowledge... it's still somewhere in the castle.  It was about the only piece of evidence they had against me."

"Which is stupid, because it's only evidence against me if you misinterpret it.  Which their investigators did, of course, because they didn't have any other explanation for it.  And while they were trying me as a spy, they thought that they might just as well try me as an assassin too."

It is unclear whether Beldrin is more annoyed about being accused as an assassin, or as a spy.  "The irony is, of course, that I am a spy, but the evidence they used in my trial has nothing to do with my being a spy."

The description Cyan gives of the cube is enough to make Devlin curious. If he'd know he may have... no use thinking about that now. Likely they'd give the thing to Corwin.

Belrin's tale is interesting, but the one thing that caught Devlin's attention was the fact that Cyan said they were headed for Amber.

"I was trying to get to Amber myself." He says "I was going to try and see if I could secure passage on the ship in the harbor. Didn't even know who to ask. The I ran into an old friend," He looks at Berd, "and a new one." and here he nods in Trista's direction.

"It seems once again that I should indeed remain with you. I arrived in time to help you with your task and perhaps you can aid me in archiving my goal."

The man's head tips and he contemplates Trista who seems to still be giving her attention to the man on the floor. After a moment he speaks to her, "Trista, when you have rested we should talk privately. I must... well, we'll talk about that then."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Fri 22 June 2007.

The Cube’s image glimmers in Trista’s mind, reminding her of an M.C. Escher painting. It’s really a thing of beauty, if one can ignore the purposes it served.

She intently listens to the others; with each new telling, more of the puzzle completes, though it’s far from a finished picture in Trista’s mind. An eyebrow quirks at the man’s ironic spy comments. “What will you do now that you are no longer held in their prison?” That is, supposing Cyan does not send him back.

With Devlin’s further comments, it seems everyone strives for Amber, by one route or another. Her lips slightly curve with a nod of the head at the mention of ‘new friend.’ “Some of the others – it’s a rather large group – have gone to seek passage. Perhaps they will be back with news by now. Dorian was actually one of them.” Beldrin’s health had certainly kept them busy enough to not question Dorian about the ship. But since the man has taken refuge in his cabin, it’s unlikely the group was successful. “Of course, this storm could prevent any leavings tonight.”

When the man addresses her, Trista’s eyes reveal a concerned curiosity. She takes a moment to answer, slightly nervous over what the man has to say. Finally, she nods, “Certainly, I’m not really tired, but of course, you’ve no doubt had a long journey.” The woman pauses in thought as if just realizing something before turning dark eyes back to Devlin, “Although it would appear I’m quite hungry; it’s been some time since I last ate. I don’t have local currency, but perhaps Donovan will have some work for me in exchange for room and board. But if you cared to share a meal… we could talk then. Unless you are going to sleep, of course.”

She turns to the redhead, “Cyan, do you know how to use these syringes Dorian left? If not, I will stay to perform that task. But if you know how, then perhaps I’ll find my way back to the Inn with Devlin if he wishes.”

Cyan closes her eyes, wonders why people leap to these conclusions.  Why they are so eager to point a finger, find a scapegoat, and then....  "They fear," she whispers, and squeezes Beldrin's hand.  Gently.  "They fear, and they seize the first person who appears suspicious.  It may be they were guided to you, but it was their fear that led them to this."  She stares down at him with her topaz eyes.  "I am sorry you bore the brunt of it."

She looks from her crouch at Devlin's words, and her smile reappears - slowly, but it is there.  Even at the worst times, there are silver linings to be found.  "I had hoped you would...I know not how Aaron will take this, for he is still our leader.  But I suspect he will not be altogether displeased, Devlin."  The smile fades a touch.  "I think, though, that we should be appraised at some point of your goal, whatever that might be.  It is only fair, yes?"

Devlin and Trista exchange a quick set of words, and Cyan's eyebrows rise slightly.  She glances at Berd for a moment, then back to Trista.  Apparantly something has transpired, something important.  Perhaps regarding...well, she must still speak with Devlin regarding Nightbrand at some point, herself.  But this seems to be a trifle more than that.  When Trista returns to her, Cyan glances down at the syringes.  "I have...used these things in the past.  I am certain I can do so again.  If not, I will awaken Dorian."  She offers a sunny smile, despite the rain without.  "By all means - go, should you desire."  The smile fades a touch.

"My goal is simple.? Devlin says in response to Cyan's wish to know what it is, "It is the same as it was when I first met..." there is a pause. What he thinks is Serena and there is something about his face that says he's remembering something he would rather not. What he says is, "...you. I was told that my father is a prince of Amber. I would simply like to know if that is true."

Devlin does not miss Cyan's fading smile when talk turns to leaving. He would not mind having the discussion with Trista here and including Cyan and Berd, but Beldrin he does not know. Cyan seems to regard him highly, but still...

The man thinks it over for a moment and then says, "If we can light a fire in here I could perhaps do a little hunting. I’m sure that even in this weather I could sniff out a rabbit or three."

Beldrin sighs, and fidgets about a little, in an attempt to make himself a bit more comfortable.  "I suspected that somebody might have pointed the locals in my direction.  It all seemed a mite too coincidental.  I have a list of possible suspects... he taps at his temple, "... in here."

"Unfortunately, as lists go, it's a little too long to be really useful.  Just lately, it seems as if everybody in Cadiniagart is working for outsiders."

The man laughs then, but it soon devolves into a cough.  When his breathing returns to normal again, he continues, "When the city was on the verge of joining the Circle, everybody wanted to learn more about the place.  Amber's continuing problems there have only increased that desire for knowledge.  Sometimes I think that, if I weren't a spy, I'd be the only man in the city who wasn't."

"But if I'm becoming known, it might be time to move on, and hand the post over to another.  Pity, I've been here a long time, and I rather like the place...  Even if the weather is abysmal at certain times of year."

Before Devlin offered to remain in the shelter, Trista had decided to stay with Cyan and Beldrin, too. Between glimpses of Berd’s mind and Cyan’s faltering smile, it was the right decision. Of course, Trista doesn’t know Cyan very well (and Beldrin not at all) and so will not speak of… what exactly? Painful pasts? A third voice inside her head? Whatever Devlin wished to speak of will have to wait if he wishes for Trista’s participation. There will come a more prudent time. Hopefully.

Not wanting Cyan to feel uncomfortable with her sudden decision to stay, Trista’s lips quirk into a lopsided smile, “This would be as good a place as any to eat. If you could bring back something, I can help with the cooking.” Trista sits down with legs crossed on the other side of Beldrin as he speaks. She moves the medical bag closer to her, clearly indicating she’ll be responsible for the syringes. Or at least, help.

She smiles again at Cyan, warmly with no hint of regret, “If you and Berd wish to join in the hunting expedition, please do so. I know you haven’t had a chance to catch up on things yet.” Devlin is, after all, an old friend of theirs.

Trista again offers the bottled water to the reclining Beldrin when he spasms with a cough. His tale adds more details and conjures images of third world espionage; spies everywhere. “Well, you certainly can’t go back into Cadiniagart in the near future. Not when we just went and broke several laws to get you out of that prison.” Her tone is light, as is her strange mood.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:16, Mon 25 June 2007.

"You seem well-placed to discover what you desire, Devlin."  Cyan settles herself back down, relieved that the others do not plan on leaving quite yet.  They have things to discuss, but...  "With luck, we shall finally be at Amber."  Her smile is wistful as she reminisces.  Three times they have come to Cadinigart, her and Berd, and perhaps the third time is the charm.

A dozen years.  More.  How long ago did she decide to travel to Amber?

"Should you wish, hunt away," Cyan offers.  Her smile dips a touch.  "I have some food of my own - that should make the hunt easier for you."  Her smile grows more relieved at Trista's offer, and she shoots the woman a quick, grateful look.  In the past, Cyan served as the group's cook many a night.  Now, though....

...the stench of burned flesh fills the darkness, and her fingers slip and slide in the blood as she struggles to drag herself...

Cyan bites down on her nausea, shrugs it off.  "No, hunting is not for me.  I have lost my taste, I believe.  I will remain here, and should you wish solitude, Trista, I can leave you to your tasks."  Blunt, as always.  "On the other hand, I would be most curious to hear of whatever World from which you hail.  The World, its history...I have heard it is similar to Jonnee's, and James'."  Another shrug.  "Or anything of which you desire to speak.  Even that fat one, there."  A jab of the finger at Berd.

She pats Beldrin on the shin...gently.  "Listen to Trista.  She makes fine sense - now is the time for you to take a vacation, Beldrin.  Perhaps in Amber itself, or on a beach somewhere.  Preferably without being tied to a chair."  She flashes a smile at Trista.  "A sad occurance when last we met."

"Amber," she muses, "becomes quite well-known, now."

Berd settles down again, looking faintly piqued.  Coming, going, staying...people are so hasty.

Devlin does not hesitate long before he is on his way toward the door. He almost thought of asking Trista if she would like to join him, but his method of hunting pretty much eliminated that possibility. "I should not be long." is all he says before he moves through the door and outside.

Devlin notices Dorian concentrating on the hut and decides not to disturb him.

Slipping behind the hut into an area of more shadow he one again changes. This an easy change to that of D'Ombra. Once the transformation is complete the wolf disappears into the shadows, becoming one with them, and then begins sniffing the air for anything that would make a decent meal. Rabbit would be preferable, or perhaps some pheasant. If it were just himself he would be less choosy, but he doubts that the women would take kindly to a meal of field mouse or rat...

Outside, the storm stil rages over the port city, as Devlin moves out into the darkness, searching for small lives, cowering in the chaos-filled night.  Nearby, there is a house that hadn't been there earlier, and light pours from its windows, spilling only a short distance across the hillside, before the rain washes it away...

Beldrin acceptss the water, and drinks.  "Yes, I agree.  Things were a little too warm in the city, the last few weeks before my arrest.  Still, I stuck it out.  I've been here for years... people knew I came from Amber originally, but nobody thought I was a spy.  That's all changed now, of course."

"I need to find a way to get home now.  To Amber, I mean.  My home in Cadiniagart is probably overrun with troops by now, or it will be as soon as they notice I'm gone."

Amother swallow of water, and then he hands the bottle back to Trista, "Thanks.  It's a pity really, I had some nice things there, picked up over the years.  They'll likely be stolen, or damaged, I suppose."

"I hope it's the former.  At least then I stand a chance of getting them back."

Dorian steps into the hut, giving it a quick look over. It's exactly as he wanted, of course. The cot in the corner was a little longer than usual to accommodate his height, a warm fire crackled in the center, with smoke wafting out the hole above it. A shelf displayed a variety of fruits: dates, figs, raisins and almonds.

So why did it feel so empty?

Kind of foolish, in retrospect, to conjure up an entire separate hut just for himself. Had he really wanted to give everyone some extra space--or just one of them?

He nodded. That was the problem.

His work on Beldrin had given him time to think. His initial reaction to Cyan's words had cooled over time, as he went back to them--like a tongue to a sore tooth--every few minutes. Perhaps he had over thought the conversation, after all. All that meant is he wasn't sure what she had said, and he was left to wonder in a dark room groping around for furniture he knew should be there but couldn't find.

Would it always be like this, now that he had let so much be known?

At least he had thought to conjure a welcome mat outside the hut. It was an anachronism, made of heavy rubber, in contrast to the simple mudbrick and straw abode around him.

Before Devlin escapes, Trista calls after him, “Don’t forget the little dragon has quite the hearty appetite.” An eyebrow rises toward Berd as if in challenge to argue her point.

To Cyan, she responds, “I have no need for solitude, but you will find I am unused to talking at length. I have traveled alone many years; it’s a wonder I remember I have a tongue to speak with.” Self-mockery twists her lips, but unfriendly nonetheless.

Then Cyan moves on to Beldrin and Trista is saved from expounding on her past for the moment as the man speaks of items lost. “We might find a way to smuggle you on board whatever ship we take to Amber; with this group it should not be a problem. But what are these items you are missing? Perhaps we might find a way… I would offer to retrieve them for you, but my face is now known by some of the guard and I’d hate to have to hurt them needlessly.”

She looks about the tiny shelter and frowns, “I should start the fire, but it seems I forgot it’s raining; I doubt dry wood is to be found out there.”
This message was last edited by the player at 19:54, Tue 26 June 2007.

Before long there are several dead rabbits laying in a pile against the outside wall of the hut. The wolf had seen Dorian enter his own shelter and wonders why the man goes out of his way to avoid contact. Devlin understands the need isolation, and some of the reasons that one would wish to be alone, but...

The wolf goes back to his hunting, both remembering himself of Berd's ability to eat as well as Trista's reminder of that fact.

As he hunts he remembers the girl again... He'd allowed the meeting with Berd to dredge up unpleasant memories. Devlin was over that, he was sure. He'd spent a long time in a dark pit, but he was not about to go back to that now... He's seen entire lives now, his small life was nothing compared to...

After more than enough for a meal is piled against the outer wall of the hut the wolf returns to the form of Devlin. The band about his arm extends into the form of a short blade and he begins to clean what he has managed to find. He'd thought about eating the meat fresh as he usually would, but decides that having the discussion with Trista about what Nightbrand had shown him would be better over a meal, move into it slowly. He thought about this as he skinned and gutted the animals, also hoping that someone inside was preparing a fire to cook his gains.

Why did you show me Trista's private past the man asks the... whatever the hell it really was.... the thing on his forearm that called itself Nightbrand. Because you need to see that you're not the only one in the multiverse that has lived through pain... that know what being alone is all about... and you need someone other than me to speak with, someone that understands the things in your head, someone that can help you deal with those thoughts and maybe someone you can help in the process, someone still looking for a way to pull himself out of a deep dark pit.

When Devlin finally entered the hut he carried six, large, plump rabbits. There was a fire and the man quickly spitted the rabbits on sticks and place them over the fire.

The man looks at Trista. His head tilts to the right. "It seems... that Nightbrand has seen something of your thoughts. He should not have nosed in on... Nightbrand...?"

And then there is another voice, none that any save Devlin has ever heard before. At least it had obeyed him in that respect, but in this Nightbrand should speak for itself. The sound comes from the bracer about Devlin's wrist,... I apologize, Ms. Trista. But your thoughts of that night and of Christopher were so close to the surface when you touched me, I could not help but to see the events of as you relived them. I am sorry for invading your privacy. Do not blame Devlin, is was not his doing.

Devlin continues to turn the meat over the fire until they are cooked. Some a bit on the rare side. He chooses the rarest of the lot and rips off a hunk of nearly raw meet.

"I'm sorry that I did not try to find you sooner, Berd. I was gone.... a long time.... I cold not locate Serena..." There, he'd said it. The cause of so much time of despair and madness. I think I've found stability, I think I've come to terms with that.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:28, Fri 29 June 2007.

Trista's words provoke a quick gust of laughter from Cyan.  "And I have spent far too much time learning to speak, and discussing with yonder lazy reptile.  I shall speak for both of us, I expect, and you will pray for me to forget my tongue as well."  She studies the other woman, seeing the pain buried beneath the light words, and wonders what other pressures lie upon the woman.

Scars - those she sees, running deeply.

But Beldrin interjects, and Trista turns to reassure the man.  Cyan leans back, fumbling in her pack, hoping...

- Berd's head comes up, and his eyes flare for an instant -

...success.  The three-quarters full bottle hits the ground with a thump, and Cyan sighs with pleasure.  She pushes her pack back, closing the top to avoid unwanted guests (after the time in Cargach's homeworld, it has become a habit, even as the Warrior), and proffers the bottle to Beldrin.  "A drink may help in the short run...in the long, it is as Trista says.  We can bring you to Amber in one way or another, and perhaps assist in finding your treasures."  She shoots a look at the other woman, reclaiming the bottle when Beldrin is finished with it, and wiping off the lip.  Now Cyan offers it to Trista, her topaz eyes gauging.  '...needlessly.'  Confidence and concern.  For them.  The woman rises another rung on the ladder of her estimation, both of skill and character.

"I suspect Berd can supply the wood-" she begins, but then Devlin bursts back itno the shack with his catches.  Swift work is her first thought, then Cyan gets a good look at what he carries and turns away.  "Wood," she says, groping for her cloak.  "I shall find some for you, Trista..."  But too late, for a small pile lies in the corner already.

Berd grins.

One hand indicates the pile for Trista, and Cyan shuffles away from the cooking area, feeling ill.  Once the food is being prepared, she begins to pay more attention to the conversation, then abruptly sits up in shock as the cold, hard voice rings out through the hut.

Nightbrand finally speaks.

Her eyes blink in surprise, first at the bracer, then at Devlin.  Berd, still seated upon Trista's shoulder, slowly blinks at Devlin and drops his head in a nod.  Cyan, for her part, gives Devlin a small smile.  "It is a fine thing we have met, once again.  I hope, truly hope, that this time you will travel with us, Devlin."

She has lost too many friends over the last few years.  Cyan wishes to lose no more.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:42, Fri 29 June 2007.

Beldrin sighs, accepting the bottle from Cyan, "As long as they're not destroyed, I'll be able to get them back.  The men who located them for me, in the first place, are good at their job.  Amberites all, and expert at tracking down artworks and fine trinkets.  Say what you will of Amber... she pays her agents well, so I could afford the best factors."

He takes a sip from the bottle, at last, and promptly starts coughing again.  When it subsides, he speaks, somewhat hoarsely, "At the end of the day, a place is only a place, and things are only things.  Life is important, and I still have that, for which I'm grateful to you all."

"Are there any ships of Amber in the harbour?  I think I heard that there were, but it might have been a fever dream...  If I can get aboard a ship, I can get home with ease."

Cyan’s penetrating eyes seem to be judging Trista, though not with cruel intentions. The woman wonders how she stacks up to the bard’s, no doubt, high standards. Berd accepted Trista rather easily, and she him, oddly enough. Perhaps phase 2 of Trista’s life draws to a close and phase 3 will return her easier nature.

She accepts the bottle with a smile and takes a deep drink without attempting to gauge what it holds. The full-bodied, rich taste of brandy meets her taste buds and she remembers the old adage, A bad wine can make a great brandy. Much can be told by the chosen drink of a person. Cyan’s taste runs toward the refined and cultured, vastly different from the more visceral preference of Whiskey for Trista. In particular, Jack Daniels. Any will do, but Single Barrel if she has a choice.

She smiles and copies the woman by wiping off the lip before handing the bottle back to Cyan, “Thank you. I haven’t savored the taste of brandy in some time.”

Devlin’s quick entry brings the woman’s eyes, as well as Cyan’s before the other turned away just as quickly. The man takes care of cooking the rabbits himself, leaving Trista feeling somewhat useless.

Trista meets Devlin’s gaze, but stiffens at his words. Her eyes dart to Beldrin and then Cyan, uncomfortable that these things were being talked about in public.

Then it comes: the voice from her thoughts. Aloud for all to hear.

The woman blinks, once, twice. Her mouth opens and shuts. Again. Finally, she finds her voice, “I blame no one.” And that is all. She simply cannot bring herself to say more with so many in the room. But it would seem Devlin cares not to discuss further as he turns to speak with Berd and Cyan takes up the conversation. She, too, hopes Devlin will travel with them, but she isn’t certain why.

Trista sits back on the ground, and as Beldrin speaks, Trista softly mutters to the man, “It’s time for meds.” First, she cleanses an area on Beldrin’s arm. Then she checks the hypodermic syringe, draws liquid into it, turns it upside down, taps it, and expels a small amount. Her actions are quick and efficient; a sign this woman has done this so often, the motions are second nature.

At Beldrin’s question, she looks to Cyan, “I haven’t heard from the other group; have you or Berd?”

Her eyes glance to Berd on her shoulder, “And I’m guessing you’re close to famished, soon, very soon.”

"No matter.  If there's no ship, another way will turn up." Beldrin replies, with a somewhat skewed smile, "The way things are in Cadiniagart lately, I'd walk to Amber, barefoot, if need be."

"For now though, a little food, and some rest would be good."

For some reason Devlin believes that his words, and his allowing Nightbrand to speak aloud have upset Trista. He short quick answer was less than he expected. But then he is still pretty much a stranger to her, and her to him. Now he has information of her past that she would keep secret. He adds his own short comment, "Perhaps later then."

The man wants to say more, but at the same time he wants to say nothing. So he shakes his head deciding not to say anything and goes back to the rabbit. He's already said too much. Finding this group had brought things to the surface, caused him to think, caused him to speak when he should not. He'll wait until asked.

When Beldrin asks of food Devlin plucks some of the rabbit from the fire and move over by him. The man squats and holds it out. "You are a spy for Amber." A statement, not a question. Beldrin and Cyan had both said as much. "Have you ever heard of me? Devlin? I'm told my father is a prince of Amber. A spy such as yourself may have heard the name?"

"I am unsure myself, Beldrin - we shall have to contact the others, see how they do in their search," Cyan decides, taking the bottle back from Trista with a small nod of thanks.  The level is somewhat reduced, and she reduces it further.  "You are most welcome, Trista."

Hardly surprising the woman seems nonplussed at the discussion, though - Devlin and...Nightbrand speak of intrusions into thoughts, something private for most people, Cyan included.  She would be distressed, herself, had the being probed her own mind.  The bard turns away, giving Trista some space as she busies herself putting away some of her own gear.

Medication time, and Cyan moves to study Trista's exact movements with her topaz eyes, watching carefully as the woman uses the syringe upon the patient.  So.  That is how it is done.  She should try it herself, next time...under Trista's supervision, of course.  Likely as not, there were subtlties of which she remained unaware.

Berd, for his part, chirrups impatiently to Trista's question, and gazes at her with lambent eyes.

Devlin, it seems, has questions of his own for Beldrin - questions that could be terribly important, given their destination.  It falls upon her to discover what the others have found.  Cyan considers, then dives back into her pack for a moment.  The case of cards comes forth, and she selects one.  James, seated in a grassy glade, with trees around him, his heavy blade propped nearby, his pack behind him for support.  While the glade is sunlit, the trees behind lie in shadow.  The man himself seems expectant without tension, a slight smile on his lips and weary sadness in his eyes.

A soldier, awaiting the next call to duty.

Another card flips over - this one of a man, another traveller through strange lands.  He wears battered armor upon his breast, its unbreachable bulwark scarred and savaged.  A sword-hilt juts from behind his back, and his hair overshadows one of his eyes; the other gleams with nearly a fevered purpose, a driving determination.  Behind him, a wisp in the mist, is the form of a woman, transluscent, more hinted at than explicitly inked.  Aaron, pushing forward, as always.

"Palanquet."  Cyan grins.  "Shall we see what James and Aaron have to say?"  Her smile wavers.  "Would you like to attempt a calling?"  She glances to Devlin, then back to Trista.  "Berd and I might forge one of you, should you so consent.  We should, for everyone who agrees."

"I've never heard that name.  But then, I have only limited contact with Amber, for the most part through just one of the Princes.  It's entirely possible that, if your father is the particular Prince that I report to, he has never seen fit to discuss such a personal matter with me." Beldrin answers Devlin, thoughtfully.

"And if he is one of the other Princes, then the chances are that he may have kept the existence of you, his son, a secret, even from your aunts and uncles."

"I am sorry to say that the lords and ladies of Amber make much of secrecy, even among themselves."

"That's a pity," Devlin says as he stands, "But not unexpected. Mordan told me much the same. I don't think that even he knew exactly who he worked for. Why I want to know if I'm part of a family that seems to think its children need protection from that family..." The man shakes his head. I guess I just want the truth of it, and from what I know I may not even get the answers I seek if I manage to get to this place.

Devlin looks around at Cyan and Berd, "But I was told by... she told me... that the only way to know for sure was something she called a pattern. I don't know what it is but I gather there is some danger if I'm not part of this strange family. All that I know is that something draws me and I'd like to know what it is."

Trista half chuckles in reply to Beldrin’s quip about walking to Amber, for politeness’ sake. She watches Devlin as he asks about Amber, revealing his father may be of the royal house. Not just far down the lineage like Trista might be, but a son of a Prince. He fits in well with this group.

The woman picks up a skewered rabbit and begins to nibble on it, giving the little dragon a conspiratorial wink, “I think Devlin has taken good care to let you have your fill, here.”

Unfortunately, Beldrin has no information for Devlin, but with the travels there soon, no doubt, he will find his answers. She hopes so, for his sake. She seeks her own answers… but has grown reluctant to actually find the truth. Perhaps, for her, not knowing is best.

To Cyan’s question, Trista hesitates, but forges ahead. “Yes, I will be a part of that - bridging?” She looks Berd in the eye and gives a small nod.

At the mention of pattern, Trista looks up, “I’ve heard of such a thing in my travels. A great series of curves that those of the blood may walk, but to all else, it is death. But I don’t know what it grants the successful walker.”

Devlin and Beldrin discuss issues of parentage within the Amber Royal Family, and Cyan keeps her ears perked to ensure if any questions come her way, she is prepared for them.  But talk soon turns to the Great Pattern, and the bard considers her own knowledge of that mighty creation.

Her understanding, she realizes, is woefully incomplete.

"There are people close by who may be able to answer your questions regarding the Great Pattern," she notes, quietly.  "I shall point them out to you, that you may ask your questions of them.  My own knowledge is inadequate, and Berd...he prefers not to speak of the Pattern.  I know not why."

Berd's smile is as sharp as the teeth it exposes.

"Well, there is that.  Attention," Cyan admits.  She shrugs.  "In any case..."  The bard shuffles over to crouch beside Trista.  "It was not a bridging of which I spoke, but this."  She holds up the two cards.  "Palanqueti.  Artwork with which I can communicate and travel.  Shall we begin with James?"  Ruby eyes shine in the dim light.  "We might then pass on what James has discovered to Aaron."

Cyan holds up the card of the weary soldier.  "If you wish to speak with James, with me, simply touch the card.  Or my shoulder.  It matters not which."  Another small, quick smile, then Cyan focuses her attention upon the palanquet.

...James.  James of Amber, Walker of the Great Pattern....

Trista has heard of Trump, cards similar to Taro so many seem fond of where the woman once lived. Her father had mentioned them, though she has never seen one. With curious eyes, she admits, “I’ve never seen these but I’ve heard of them, though they were called ‘Trump,’ I believe.”

The woman raises a hand, hesitates a moment, and places her touch on Cyan’s shoulder, leaving the card alone for now. She hears the voice of Cyan and marvels at this newest of communication devices.

"You Walk this pattern? I had thought it was just some kind of recognition device."

This gives him something to think about. Mordan had failed to tell him anything of this pattern, just as he had failed to tell him the true nature of the cards he'd used to teach him about the members of This family. He wonders if the his teacher had any knowledge of these things to begin with and decides that likely he did not. The man had been very thorough in his teaching of shape shifting and Devlin believes that he would have been just as thorough with anything else he had knowledge of.

Cyan brings up those cards and making one of Devlin. She had done so once before, a very long time ago for Devlin. "I told you once, long ago, maybe for both of us, that you may create a likeness of myself. Perhaps you could also make one of yourself that I might carry." Likely, at this point, Cyan is the only one he'd trust to contact in such a fashion. He's not altogether sure why he trusts her, but there has always been something, even when it was believed she'd turned to the other side.

Devlin resumes his place sitting against the wall and watches as Cyan and Trista attempt to contact James.