Landon on Eorth

[TreyKincaide]

Landon finds himself lying in a small copse of overgrown weeds. "Off," he croaks to his dog. "I missed. Check to see if anything or one is around."

Landon lies there in the weeds numb and cold. He forces himself to sit up bringing a small run down cabin near a small pond surrounded by a thicket wood into view.

Just like I remember it from when Merlin brought me here to teach me Sorcery. A stone's throw away from Earth, but less real and more susceptible to Magic.

A spasm of coughing. A image of Deirdre with the dying woman's eyes stare recriminately from above. Landon hauls himself to his feet and makes for the Cabin as his mind goes away to do the things he must to survive.

Inside, he finds it much like they left it many years ago under a layer of dust and decay. His working fingers open the cabinet and rummage through old supplies finding the first aid kits he was looking for.

He first applies bandages to his bleeding wounds, and covers his burnt appendage in salve. He probes his head for trauma and satisfied that its not fatal, leaves it be.

Landon's body grows heavy, but he pushes on to his final task before surrending to a black release. With the last of his energy he sets to walking in circles around the cabin. He uses the tricks that Corwin taught him to pull on the Shadow's metaphysical levers to switch off Trump and speed relative time up.

Spent, Landon collapses face down on a ratty old couch out before his head hits the pillow.

[Wired*Nun]

"Missed? Missed what, boss? Looked like you hit them both pretty good." Arthur looks around, then sniffs around, making sure there is nothing that poses a threat.

The cabin is much as he expected and desired it. Landon treats his injuries, and wraps a cocoon of interference as well as he can around a shadow he hasn't invested in in some time. Finally spent, he drinks water from dusty bottles and eats some biscuits from an easy-open tin, and sleeps the sleep of the dead, to dream of death and despair.

Coming around after who knows how long, he stumbles to the toilet to relieve himself, then quenches a ravening thirst again from a bottle.

Seeing him awake, Arthur reports, "There's a family living about a mile away, downhill by the road. That's the nearest anything around here. There's a young deer on the porch if you want some fresh meat...or part of one anyway." He grins a canine grin, and thumps his tail against the floor. Landon can now see he has a full belly and a few fresh scratches.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon grunts and redresses his injuries pausing now and again to sip from a musty water bottle. Freshly bandaged, he fishes a cigarette from his rumpled and torn jacket and steps out on the porch to survey his meal.

A long satisfying drag later finds him leaned against the railing looking out over the pond trying to place where exactly he went wrong. Phantoms of Mrs. Hendrick's barge land upon the embankment, but the pretty young stranger walks on the bough instead of the cronish heavy set woman.

He flicks the cigarette away disturbing welling unpleasant shadows away for a little longer. Landon sets upon cleaning what's left of Arthur's trophy. He takes what can inside and fries it all on a small gas stove. A little water and a little meat later, and he returns to sleep falling into a routine to convalesce.

[Wired*Nun]

Landon's physical injuries heal in a couple of days. The other ones...he feels the walls in his mind shifting, crumbling, being rebuilt or shoved around, trying to make some sense. A moral center, that's what I lack, he thinks to himself. Right...cliches from pop psychology is all I need. Still, I've been dicked around so much I'm not sure where to start or end.

[TreyKincaide]

A moral center? What the hell does that mean anyway?

Landon sits on the porch watching the sun set on the little pond.

Anger. Even Martin--the poster child of boys acting out--commented on it. What/Who am I angry at? Am I my father's son ruled by my passions, my arrogance...my ignorance?

A long pause and an enjoyable breeze blows in the late dusk.

Face it. You're not the hero type. Hell, you haven't been much of anything...

If Aurora's brain washing couldn't help me, what can? What the hell am I looking for?

Control the word comes until unbidden from the depths of Landon's mind.

Eric...Father... It was his lack of control that lead to his ruin, my birth, and Gray's curse. Is it possible to lack morality, even an articial one, and maintain mastery over one's self?

How do Benedict and Julian manage?

Landon stands and whistles, "Up. We're leaving." He holds Arthur in his arms as he speaks the Words of Power. His vision shifts and he feels the Spell exact a measure of equivalent exchange as a wave of fatigue washes over him.

Landon's feet hit the familiar stone path facing three stone stairs that reach up towards the spectral city in the clouds. He glances over his shoulder down Kolvir and bathes in a bittersweet moment of Amber City's splendor. He lefts Arthur hop down as he prepares himself to ascend.

It's not much of one, but it's a start.

[Wired*Nun]

How do Benedict and Julian manage?

The concept of a personal code comes to mind. A set of rules I choose to follow because I believe they are right, even if inconvenient at times. Limits beyond I will not go. "It is our sufferings that define us," I remember reading so long ago in a book by C. S. Lewis. Something and someone to be loyal to, even if they let me down. Some kind of faith, here in a world whose gods are silent or corrupt. Faith in Amber, in themselves, in...something. Maybe I should ask them.

Soon he is standing at the place where so many have stood, staring at the stones upon which Greyswandir was forged so long ago.

A Trump call comes knocking at his mind's door.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon blocks the call. Should the caller press the issue, Landon'll bring up Pattern Defense to bulster his mental defenses.

When the sensation subsides, Landon looks up using his hand as a visor to block the sun's rays.

Eh. It'll be a while yet until the sun sets. No need to sit here and waste the afternoon.

He shuffles out his Trumps.

Who should I ask, I wonder? Benedict with his martial devotion or Julian with his uncracking cold demeanor? I doubt either would refuse a plea to assist my efforts in self-mastery.

"Bah. I'll probably be put to drills either way." He mixes the two cards up and holds them out to Arthur, "Pick a card. Any card."

Landon will concentrate on 'the winner' and hold the other in reserve.

[Wired*Nun]

The call is easily blocked.

Benedict turns up in Arthur's paw, and soon stands before him, blade in hand. It is a practice blade, blunted but well-balanced, and he appears to be engaged in sparring with several men. The sword blurs up, then back and sideways, parring the strokes of four, beating them aside and striking out, back. His right arm - or stump? is beneath his armor, bound down.

Without breaking stride or sweat, Benedict addresses Landon flatly.

"Landon. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

[TreyKincaide]

"Prince Benedict. I...I have an issue of a somewhat personal matter that I would ask your advice on. I have a problem uncle, and I ask for your help if you'd spare me some time."

Landon keeps it short and sweet departing from his usual cumbersome speech. His tone conveys a sense of sincerely, but lacks urgency one has when in mortal peril. More than a little afraid of the man, Landon is polite and to the point.

[Wired*Nun]

Stepping suddenly back between two men, Benedict raises his sword to salute, then hands it off. He reaches out his gauntleted hand toward Landon.

"Come."

Landon stands before the tall man, surrounded by the sounds of practice, the cry of the axeman, the thwock of bow and shaft.

Removing his gloves and vambraces, Benedict wipes his hands with a towel and drinks from the water barrel. He turns with an incline of his head, this way, and leads Landon and Arthur into his wardroom. Scratching Arthur on the head absently, he folds himself into a large leather chair and motions for Landon to sit in another.

"Speak."

[TreyKincaide]

Landon settles into the chair with a nod. Slowly he speaks, "I've made many mistakes. I've lashed out at those that would help me, fell victim to my lusts, and mired myself in my own petty paranoid arrogance.

"I thought I had changed, but I was wrong." Another brief pause, "A few days ago I saw first hand what I'm capable of. I...hurt someone in anger. Someone I didn't mean to.

"I've been dicked around so much I'm not sure where to start or end anymore. I feel like I'm standing on the Rim looking out over the Abyss and the ground is giving out from beneath me.

"Uncle, I'm not in control of myself and I need help. I can't afford to be a slave to my passions any longer, but I...I don't know how."

[Wired*Nun]

Benedict contemplates Landon's statement for a few moments. Intertwining his long fingers in front of him and tapping his chin with one forefinger, he gazes across at Landon, as if to gauge the sincerity of this confession.

"It is axiomatic," he finally begins, "that recognizing your mistakes is the first step in fixing them. What you are talking about is part of passing beyond adolescence. Life 'dicks around' everyone, especially those in positions of power. Like it or not, that is what you were born to."

"I can't give you any magic answers. Every one of us used to be like you, or like others you might know - Elress comes to mind. We've all made terrible mistakes. Some of us have learned from them, and resolved not to make them again."

"Every enduring religion or philosophy I have ever encountered comes up with the same basic answers. Don't be selfish. Face your fears and responsibilities. Show mercy to your enemies, kindness to those weaker than yourself. Don't piss in your own pool, and fix the mistakes you make. Serve something greater than yourself, to improve the world around you. Control your passions, or they control you."

He pauses, looks at Landon to see what his reaction is.

"But I don't think you came here for a lecture. I think deep down you know all this. If you agree with these goals, then I think the first thing you need to do is reconcile your own internal conflicts. Come to terms with the evil you have done. Forgive those who have done you harm. There is no need to forgo justice - merely vengeance. There are those who deserve to die, but you must be certain of the difference."

"To decide the wrong or right of a thing, you must first be dispassionate, and you cannot be dispassionate with rage and hurt and fear hidden inside you."

He leans forward, his eyes boring into Landon's.

"You have to clean out the corruption in your own soul. Do you want to do that?"

[TreyKincaide]

Landon resists the urge to look down, to the side, anywhere but directly into his uncle's cold eyes. As he expects he finds himself back in that moment her pleading gaze locked in his own. A phantom pain burns in his favored hand.

A dry swallow later and Landon hears himself respond, "Yes sir."

[Wired*Nun]

He sits back, poker-faced, but somehow, Landon thinks he is pleased by this answer.

"I cannot do it for you. It's a hard road you will travel. The best answer is the one a man gives to himself, but I will get you started."

"First, you must rid yourself of pain and hate and fear. That means confronting anyone who caused you pain, or whom you hate, whom you fear."

"Confront each person, forgive them the pain, let go of the hate, and decide not to fear."

"When you have done this, come back to me you will have taken the first step toward being the man you wish to be." His gaze softens.

"And if you need to prepare yourself, if you're not ready yet, I know a place where you can."

[TreyKincaide]

"Please show me to this place. I have alot to think on."

A long list in the making, certes. If this were coming from anyone else, I'd chalk it up to self-help nonsense. Regardless, a place to lay low until I get my head on straight doesn't sound half bad.

[Wired*Nun]

But, hell, I asked for a solution. At least this isn't a bunch of mystical mumbo-jumbo...and maybe there is some crap swept under my mental rug to get cleaned out...

"I'm going to send you to a place. When you arrive, you will see a monastery. Present yourself to the Father Superior there. His name is Tibrone. Tell him I sent you. Place yourself under his authority in all things, until you decide to leave. I say this again - if he tells you to do something, you have two choices - comply, or depart. Do you agree to this?"

If Landon does, Benedict shuffles out a Trump, of an artesian well-pipe and cistern.

A moment and a "Fare thee well, nephew," later, Landon arrives on a wildflower-covered mountainside, next to the gushing pipe and overlooking an enormous walled compound. He can see simply-garbed men working in the garden, tending animals, and doing exercises in the yard.

In the deep distance he can see the valley and a river, and the smell of fresh plants and the buzz of bees are all he can hear.

[TreyKincaide]

A monastery. It had to be a monastery. Not a bad looking Shadow, though. Serene even.

Landon looks down at Arthur, "This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but what the hell." Landon makes his way up to the walled compound.

[Wired*Nun]

"Well, at least it looks prosperous. I hope they're not vegetarians," replies Arthur with a shrug.

There is no guard or watcher at the front gate to the monastery, so Landon and Arthur go on in. A moment later, a portly fellow walks up to Landon. He is dressed in simple clothing that matches his fellows, homespun trousers and tunic, work boots and a hat to shade him from the sun.

"Blessed be," he intones, placing his fist into his palm and bowing slightly, never taking his eyes off Landon. "How may I be of service?"

[TreyKincaide]

Aesthetics. Poverty. Piety. Chastity. That third one's going to be a killer.

Landon regards the monk with a somewhat uncertain eye, "I'm to present myself to Father Superior Tibrone. Will you take me to him?"

[Wired*Nun]

"Of course. Follow me." He turns, leading Landon past working men, all seeming to be calm and content - and fit, even his portly guide. Landon glimpses a section of the yard where men seem to be wrestling or performing exercises.

Through cool corridors, they soon enter a large but spartan room full of scribes, writing or illuminating words upon parchment. The monastery smells of food, wood, smoke and flowers.

Landon's guide walks up to a door and knocks. "Enter," is the simple reply.

As they do, a slim, spare man in his forties rises from behind his heavy wooden desk. The office is lined with bookshelves, and there is a space with a cloth and leather mat in the corner. A well-worn wooden staff leans against the wall.

"This man wishes to see you, Father Superior."

"Thank you , Brother James. You may go." The man bows and leaves.

Father Tibrone's serene gaze holds Landon pinned like a butterfly on cork. The force of his personality echoes Benedict's own, yet Landon is certain they are unrelated. By birth, anyway. Still, there is no hostility or suspicion here, only intense interest and...caring.

"Blessed be. What can I help you with, brother?"

[TreyKincaide]

If it weren't for the surroundings, I'd peg the man for a noble blood or not. I don't feel as if I am lowering myself. Maybe this won't be so bad.

"I am Landon, Father Superior Tibrone. My uncle, Prince Benedict, sent me here under instruction to place myself in your authority until such time as I decide to leave or refuse to comply with your wishes."

[Wired*Nun]

"Excellent. I like a straightforward answer. You are welcome to stay as long as you like, for as long as the Brotherhood accepts you. You will find we value strength - through work, meditation, and honorable combat." He smiles.

"We live by simple principles here. First is, do no harm to another, except as necessary to defend yourself, the Brotherhood, or the innocent. Second, you are under my authority and that of all the Fathers here, as is any other Brother. If you cannot accept instruction, you may leave at any time. Third, strive to better yourself and everything around you. If you do these things, you will always be a part of us."

[TreyKincaide]

"I believe I can abide for awhile." Landon responds with the confidence of a man who's endured much worse. "Where exactly am I, what is the Brotherhood, and what am I supposed to do now?"

[Wired*Nun]

"This is Foundation. It is the original monastery of the Brotherhood of the Rock. We occupy land granted to us by Lord Tecys from ancient times. Our order was founded long ago as a refuge for those with no other, as a help in time of trouble...and frankly, as a place for fathers to send their wayward and rebellious sons. We strive to better all around us. So shall you too, or choose to seek yourself elsewhere. Come."

Father Tibrone puts a friendly hand on Landon's shoulder, steering him out of his office.

Soon, Landon finds himself in a doorless cell, with a bed, a desk, a lamp, writing utensils, a wardrobe and little else. "The bells ring the hours of meals, one, two, three. You may bathe in the evening before you sleep. There are garments in the wardrobe, In the morning, come to me with every material thing you have with you, and I will store them until you decide to leave. Change clothing now, and I will send you a guide."

[TreyKincaide]

Not an uncommon practice to send younger heirs to live lives of seclusion preventing threats to inheritence.

Landon looks over the cell without automatically scanning for anything out of the norm.

Even the Spartans made do with more than this.

Landon numbly mumbles a thanks and walks to the wardrobe expecting to find simple brown robes. Not really my style, but I doubt I'll have to withstand ridicule. He shucks out of his less than modest attair and puts on simpler faire.

[Wired*Nun]

Two sets of trousers and tunic, surprisingly comfortable boots, socks, undergarments, a leather jacket apparently for colder weather, worn leather gloves are inside the wardrobe. After dressing, he doesn't feel half bad.

A cough at the door heralds the arrival of one of the Brothers. A young man of perhaps twenty, he gives the fist-in-palm greeting. "Blessed be," he says with a smile. "I'm Hirsch. Are you well? Father Tibrone said you could wait until tomorrow to work, but I thought a show-around would do you good...unless you want to rest or meditate. Oh, hello there. I didn't know you had a vassal! Is that a real wolfhound?" Hirsch holds his hand out for a sniff, unafraid.

Arthur for his part glances at Landon, then sniffs politely and wuffs, "He's all right," under his breath.

Hirsch shows them around the monastery's graden, barn, granary, workshops for shoes, looms for cloth and clothing, the mill, on and on. It's a small town, and largely self-sufficient. Defensible, too, and everything is well-kept, even to the piles of rocks, barrels of oil and two light seige engines in the corner towers. They end up somewhere interesting.

In one separated courtyard, men practice combat with their hands, and with the sword. The skill levels range from beginner to...amazing. Hirsch lights up at Landon's wondering expression.

"What, did you think we were a bunch of shrinking violets? We have a saying here - 'peace is not pacifism.' Actually we have a lot of sayings. You'll hear them more often than you can stand."

[TreyKincaide]

"No. Makes sense if one knows who sent me here."

They do call Benedict 'the General' after all, and I'd wager that Father Tibrone served with Benedict on at least one campaign.

Landon quietly watches the training.

[Wired*Nun]

"Well, that's about the whole thing. Everyone trains every day, two hours. You can train more off your duty schedule if you want. You will also have eight hours of work, which you may choose for yourself. If you have a skill, you can do it or teach others. If not, you can learn one - everything from smithing to stitching, armory to arbory. One bell is awakening, ablutions and morning meds - meditation - two bells is breakfast, half hour later starts work, work until lunch at four bells, half hour later starts work again, eight bells ends work for dinner. After dinner the time is your own. We study, talk, play games, do crafts, whatever your interests are. Training subs for two hours of work. Some men train in the evenings, too, or spar. Sundays we have free."

Hirsch laughs, punching Landon in the shoulder. "Come on, let's take a quick trip into town. Giving you the tour is a good excuse, we can talk to the girls."

[TreyKincaide]

Seems fairly secular. Not half bad so far. Pretty much a 'do as you will' kinda thing.

Landon chuckles at Hirsch. A callow youth. I bet he was one of those sent here to settle down. "All right then. Lead on. I'm sure I'll need to learn how town is laid out." He winks and follows his exuberant new friend. Genial sort. Kinda of reminds me of Arrotel.

[Wired*Nun]

Down the hill to the town they go, about a mile. "This is Stilltown, so named for the the distillery that helped found it a few hundred years back. Lord Tecys' castle is up there," he says, pointing to the brooding structure on top of a nearby hill, "and here's the town square."

About half of it seemed to be given over to market, the other half kept clear by the constabulary for no apparent reason. Hirsch wends his way among the market stalls, chatting up pretty lasses and greeting the sellers. Apparently he is well-known and like, and Landon is introduced to more people than he can remember. The uniform of the Brotherhood seems unremarkable among the simple clothing of the people here, and they see others of their order here as well. Each time Hisch greets them with "Blessed be" and the fist-in-palm salute, urging Landon to do the same. "You will blend in faster if you do it until it comes naturally," he says.

After the tour of the town, they head back up the hill, loaded with two cases of fine brandy that one of the merchants asked to have them deliver to Father Tibrone. Everyone smiles and greets them.

After dropping off their load, Hirsch shows him around some of the back rooms and spaces until the eighth bell is rung. "Dinnertime!" he exclaims, clapping his hands. Soon they are sitting at communal tables, eating simple fare and listening to talk about their day, the ordinary things of life, with a heavy dose of martial talk of tactics and techniques.

After dinner, the gaggle breaks up, but many of the men break out game boards of various types - Chess, Go, Shoji, and other games he is less familiar with.

A hand falls on Landon's shoulder. It is Father Tibrone. "Getting on, I see. How about a game of something you play?"

[TreyKincaide]

Excitable fellow that Hirsch. What would it be to hold such joy for simple fare such as this? Not a wonder that, like Arrotel, he's well thought of. He has an innocence about him that others find appealing--a simple honesty that most lack.

Landon pauses from collecting his dinner belongings to answer. The languid high society youth had spent many a lazy afternoon gaming with his aristrocratic chums back in the day. Somehow I doubt the padre draws 5 card or plays the ponies. "I know chess and go as you wish Father Tibrone."

[Wired*Nun]

"Chess, then. Here is a board. Let us begin."

Setting up the board, the Father chooses black to give Landon the advantage.

The game is absorbing for about sixteen moves. After that, Tibrone methodically demolishes Landon, piece by piece, until he corners Landon's king.

"Mate," he states evenly. "Again?"

He could have mated me much earlier...is this a metaphor, or a demonstration? Trying to provoke, some kind of test?

[TreyKincaide]

Landon furrows his brows as his mentally runs through the game to see where exactly he had lost the match.

A test or a lesson. Maybe its both. He wanted me to know that he's good enough to toy with me even though I have the advantage. Still. I'm not about to lose my temper over a silly game.

"Very well," Landon says stoically. He resets the pieces and plays again in earnest.

[Wired*Nun]

In earnest he is beaten again, this time elegantly, on the twenty-second move. When Landon tips his king, Tibrone tables his hands and looks over them with hawklike eyes. "You will improve your chess while you are here, never fear, as well as other skills and talents. I enjoyed our matches. Until tomorrow, then."

Tibrone takes his leave.

"Board free?" asks another man of about thirty. "Game, or shall I find another?"

[TreyKincaide]

I might as well.

"Sure. Have a seat." He gestures and rights the board giving white to his new opponent and taking black.

Several games later and Landon retires to his room. He reracks the used spell and settles to bed.

[Wired*Nun]

This time Landon is able to win three of five, and his opponent shakes his hand in pleasure at the end.

Landon is able to raise the Pattern, but his spells are frozen, in accessible. When he attempts to hang a new one, his words are empty, the magic absent.

A zero-sorcery shadow, then...sensible precaution, for Benedict. Have to remain pedestrian, then.

Sleep is wracked by dreams, and Landon wakens in a sweat more than once. Arthur's nose under his hand. "You all right?" comes the inevitable question before he settles back to guard.

The next morning comes too early at One Bell. He follows the rest to wash and change, shave and mumble greetings. Almost like being at summer camp, back on Earth, he thinks.

Not certain what meditation involves, he follows a group that seat themselves on mats on the floor in lotus or judo position, close their eyes and breathe. Trying to recall the martial arts classes Flora insisted he take as a youth, he tries to settle into the rhythm. Still, he is relieved when the hour is up and he can go to breakfast.

[Wired*Nun]

The days soon fall into a rhythm of work, training, meditation and mental stimulation. He finds discussion groups about tactics, philosophy, theology, literature, art, the sciences, and almost everything else in an informal university format. Every Saturday morning, Father Tibrone addresses the assembly, usually teaching and touching on moral and ethical subjects. He titles these talks, "How Shall We Then Live?"

From time to time Tibrone comes to check up on Landon, engaging him in a game of Chess or Go, watching his steady improvement in the game. "Your Chess will improve as your mind and spirit settle," he says one time, and Landon finds it is true.

Still, the unresolved conflicts within him bubble, and his dreams are ofttimes haunted with the images of past regrets. This is a waystation, a launching pad for my future. Now I just have to figure out what my next step will be.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon rises at One Bell and washes and changes into fresh robes as it were simply another day. A round of "Blessed Be's" later finds him sitting on his woven mat struggling once again to find center. Although trying every day to meditate Landon usually busied himself with mental excercises such as Summoning the Pattern and imagining himself walking it over and over. Today, he uses the hour to plan.

Amber, Eric's Amber, The Keep, Kashfa, Aurora, and Brand's Prison all require attention and involve confrontation. Dispassion. What needs be done?

I shouldn't travel to Kashfa. Others will look to there now and right the situation one way or another. Recognizing that I don't have to do everything myself is important. Allowing interested parties to use their strengths conserves my own.

Amber means another confrontation with Mom. That can wait a bit. Too soon after the last one. Blaming her for how fucked up I am wears a bit thin. Certes, she has a hand, but if she didn't I wouldn't be here.

Corwin and Aurora can wait too. For all I know, he might be engaged in a never ending struggle with the Nightmare or dead.

The Keep is a petty one sided grudge nursed in battle. I killed their troops, so she tried to kill me. An easy spite to let go of, but one I should settle. Perhaps, their peculiar brand of honor might do me a bit of good, eh? Not especially pressing at present, though.

That leaves Eric's Amber and the Prison. I need to confront Eric and the Pattern. I'm angry at Eric, and I fear the Pattern. Gray deserves an explanation why...I...killed her friend. Helena...I haven't done right by her. Now would be the time to start...if its not too late.

Hmmmm. Not too hard a decision when I think about it. Besides, Heldrik might show up and we can see to Martin.

The hour winds down and Landon sees to breakfast the simple fare bitter sweet in its finality. He smiles and laughs at Hirsch's boisterousness strangely sad to be leaving the fun fellow behind. Finishing, he stands and makes his way to Father Tibrone's office. He knocks and enters. "Blessed be," the rote fist in palm greeting.

"I'm here for my things, Father Tibrone. I'm leaving."

[Wired*Nun]

"I knew you would, soon. You are not ready for this life, nor perhaps will you ever be. Go with my blessing. You are always welcome here. You are a part of us, now."

Tibrone opens the locked iron cabinet, placing box with Landon's small things and Trumps in front of him, then his clothing, washed and mended. "Take your satchel too, and fill it with whatever you need."

He waves Arthur over to him to give him a good ear-scratching. "We will miss you too, you oversize rat-terrier," he says with a sparkle in his eyes. "If he ever has pups, I'd be grateful to have one or two," Tibrone says to Landon as he reaches to shake his hand, then bows in ritual greeting.

"Blessed be." He watches Landon walk out with a thoughtful expression, sitting back down behind his desk slowly.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon and Arthur leave the Monastary with full bellies and a fully provisioned satchel slung over his shoulder stopping only briefly to change.

"Just you and me, Arthur. Just you and me. What say we find a place to call home again?"

The short trail to town lay out before him. Landon began Walking slowly until he got to a town that was slightly different than the one he had visited with Hirsch. It that just so happened to have a spirited grey mare Landon bought on the cheap luckily having enough coin to purchase the animal and tack to ride her.

Landon left the hamlet behind him on the long road to the place the Werren called Amber.

[Wired*Nun]

"I kinda liked it here, boss. But you're the boss. Don't we have a home where our bitches are, anyway?" Arthur shakes his head, then his whole body, as if to say, ready to go.

Walking to Amber is easy. Landon only has to choose which way to approach from - from the north through the Pass, from the west through Arden, along the coast by the Oisen, Garnath and Faiella-Bionin, or by sea.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon decides to cut to the coastline and rides along with the sea always on his left. He travels at fair clip breaking the grey evenly.

[Wired*Nun]

A few hours bring him near to the center of things. By the time he achieves Amber's terrain, sea and sky, he finds himself walking southwest, away from the city. He must turn northeast, putting the sea on his right, the Vale of Garnath on his left, to proceed toward the golden towers.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon reigns in the grey mare coming to a stop. He jumps down and sets the horse to grazing before stretching his legs. He scans his surroundings looking out of over the great valley.

He gets into his pack and pulls out a wineskin and a hunk of salted meat. He splits the meat in twain and throws half to Arthur and chews on the other sipping from the skin on occasion. Ten minutes later rested and refreshed from the brief respite, Landon remounts and wheels the grey towards the golden towers the Garrow, Eric, and his sister call 'home.'

[Wired*Nun]

Ranging on ahead, Arthur soon is following ahead to Landon as he makes his way to the city, so like the Real. People make way, point and bow as he goes by. Soon, and honor guard of Garrow escort him to the palace, assuming that's his destination.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon dismounts and slings his pack over a shoulder handing the horse's reigns off to a nearby guardsman. "Arthur, go on and track down your bitches. I'll be with Helena and you after I have a few words with Eric."

He looks at a Garrow. "Do me the honor of escorting me to my father."

[Wired*Nun]

"Right!" barks Arthur sharply, and bounds away like the puppy Landon remembers. The guard hands the reins to a groom that hurries up, and the Garrow-man answers, "Yes, my lord," and wends his way through the palace.

The man brings Landon to the throne room, where he can see Eric, crowned and regal, listening to a line of petitioners. Upon seeing Landon, he raises a finger, bide, and finishes with the woman in front of him. Turning to his majordomo, he says, "Have her granary looked at, and arrange a crown grant for the repairs if it is as she says. See why her original petition was denied, and bring me a report."

He rises, and everyone else bows, except the guards. "My son is arrived. Expect to reconvene after lunch." He steps forward to embrace Landon, and they turn to go out a door in the back of the throne room.

"It's good to see you, Landon. You look, well, and fit."

[TreyKincaide]

Words and feelings leap to Landon's mouth from his belly but catch in his throat. A deep breath to clear the airway of clutter, "As do you, Father. You sit well on the throne."

What angers me? What am I afraid of? I'm afraid that I'll slip and the Pattern will learn about Corwin's plan--which may or may not be called off by now--for starters. I'm angry that you fathered a child upon a woman that didn't want it and then foistered it off on a woman that wanted you rather than it. I'm angry that you never tried to tell me. I'm angry you were a beastly king. I'm angry that either you or the Pattern lied about my biological mother. I'm angry that you died...

Okay. I've named them. Now to face them. First my fear--caution's ugly stepchild. The Pattern is powerful and amoral alien in its sensibilities. It looks upon us as children when in many ways it's the one that won't, can't grow up as prone to tantrums as any tod...any of us. It deserves respect, but have I a reason to be afraid unless I give it cause? The answer is not to slip.

Fueled by that revelation, Landon breaks his pause, "We need to talk, and it won't be easy for either of us, I suspect. You've done alot to try to put things right and I'm thankful, but I need to say a few words to give voice to wounds that I didn't realize were festering. Some of its rational. Some of its not. All of it needs out so we can move on, so here goes: I love you, but I'm angry at you Dad."

[Wired*Nun]

They end up in Eric's office-cum-study, so similar to that in which Bleys recently hosted Landon. How can I be sure? Should I run a Pattern check, make sure this one is really him?

Eric tosses the crown lightly onto a plush chair in the corner, and unfastens the robes of state, laying them on top of it. He plops down on a big leather couch, motioning to the other end for Landon, and sits leaning half-forward, forearms on his knees.


Fueled by that revelation, Landon breaks his pause, "We need to talk, and it won't be easy for either of us, I suspect. You've done alot to try to put things right and I'm thankful, but I need to say a few words to give voice to wounds that I didn't realize were festering. Some of its rational. Some of its not. All of it needs out so we can move on, so here goes: I love you, but I'm angry at you Dad."


"Yeah...well you have a right to be. I did some selfish stupid things, and I'm sorry about them all. I don't think this form has the same ability to deny unpleasant truths as my first one. Must be an aspect of Order. But it looks like you need to talk about it, so go ahead. I'm big, I can take it."

He looks down at his hands, rubbing them flat together for a moment, than examining them, as if to see what has attached itself.

[TreyKincaide]

Does it really matter? Either someone is manipulating me or isn't. This really isn't but a facsimile of the one who I'm angry at, but I'm here for closure and even an imposter can grant that. Yet while peace is not pacivity, caution is not fear.

Landon takes a seat on the big leather couch feeling deja vu. "Deirdre."

[Wired*Nun]

"What do you want to know? Really, it's just the kind of dirty little secret that families sometimes have. I lusted after her, we were both adults...she made capital out of it. It wasn't some grand conspiracy. It was infatuation...maybe there was some kind of magic in it, I don't know. Maybe that's just an excuse. The lure of the forbidden, the thrill of getting away with it. Dad encouraged us to go out in shadow and find whatever we wanted...do you think I didn't? But Shadow isn't Substance."

[TreyKincaide]

Landon regards Eric with a stoic expression. He speaks with an even tone, "Passion rules reason. I know a bit about it myself and how sometimes those indulgences sour."

"Dad, I'm angry to be the "little worm" of a catspaw between you and your sisters. I'm mad that you knew and went your grave with the truth not because it was the right thing to do, or because it best for those involved. I'm mad that you treated Mom like dirt even though she loved you. I'm mad that even after your death, I was lied to. I'm mad that you died. I'm mad that I wasn't wanted...I'm mad..."

Landon's voice chokes off.

[Wired*Nun]

"Oh, son. Son. You have every right to be angry. I was so wrapped up in hatred and...and that's no excuse. I was selfish, and I sure didn't do the best thing, but I made the best of a bad situation. Dierdre held you hostage. I had to do something, and I suddenly realized I wanted you more than anything except the Throne. I thought I was clever enough to have both." He reaches over to grasp Landon's forearm.

"I bullied Flora into bearing you. Still, she extracted her price too, but I got you born, and protected under her cover. I did want you...I just...hated Corwin, and wanted the throne because of it. And thought I was doing the right thing for Amber. You were a secret within a secret. Later...I got over Dierdre, and you know, I gave Flora everything she ever wanted, too. Everything...which might have been a mistake. Bad decisions, short-term decisions...and by then, I guess Flora had decided that Eric's son shouldn't surface. But she wanted you, and I wanted you. You were - are - my only son. My son..."

Leaning over, Eric takes Landon in his arms, for all the world feeling like flesh and blood instead of a construct of energy. Tears run down his face as well. "And now I get a second chance...and maybe, so do you. You rescued Agraynel, led there by your friend...and I was brought back for you, and for her. We're a family, now, and you have a wife, and a child on the way...and Gray as well. No matter what the problems, no matter what my sins or yours, we are a family, and we love each other. We have to."

[TreyKincaide]

Landon returns the hug allowing the flickery flames of anger and spite wither and die. He says quietly, "Thanks Dad. I needed to hear that." He slightly stiffens when Eric mentions Asmundson that pain very fresh and the reality that the majority of his tasks lay undone seeps in.

"I'm trying to temper my temper before I come to a bad end. I made a terrible mistake recently, and now I have to live with it. Woke me up, so I went and got some help. The road to self mastery can be a bitch."

[Wired*Nun]

"I understand, I think. You're not the first to make mistakes, and you won't be the last. I hope you don't take as long as I did to correct them. And speaking of self-mastery..." He releases Landon, to sit back.

"At some point I really want to...become me again. Physically. I think it will go a long way toward ridding me of any influence by Aurora or the Primal. To do that, I need to either find a shadow of me that still lingers somewhere - hard to do, since my death would have triggered the probabilistic deaths of many of my shadows - or accept a different flesh. I want to find a body that is on the point of death or which has somehow lost its anima. I don't want to just seize someone's body. For that, I need your help. Gray can rule in my absence, while you and I go searching."

He holds up a hand. "It doesn't have to be now, or even soon. I think you have some more things to do first...but put it on your list, all right? Along with finding someone who has some skill in this type of transfer, if you know someone."

"Also, if you need any more information about your...basic training, I will tell you all I can. The prohibitions are breaking down, and those who made them aren't here to renew them. Every day, I am freer."

[TreyKincaide]

"It's been on that list since we met. I have a couple possibilities in mind. Basic training? I'm afraid you lost me there."

[Wired*Nun]

"Your time underground, your trauma, your cognitive rearrangement..."

[TreyKincaide]

"My imprisonment and psychological conditioning." Landon finishes flatly arching an eyebrow. "Please tell me."

[Wired*Nun]

"Some of it I gleaned, and am pretty confident in. Some of it I think I know. I'll tell you all that as if I'm sure, though you can take everything with a grain of salt...I can't always tell implanted memories from the real thing."

"I'm pretty sure you were an experiment, more or less successful depending on your viewpoint. Aurora wanted another agent, and convinced Corwin that you would be - could become - a good one. She knew you might end up as a Maze initiate and under the influence of the Maze cabal, and also knew you weren't likely to just acceed to the program voluntarily. Corwin more or less handled the planning, based on his own experiences in prison - he thought it made him a stronger, better, less selfish person. That might be true...and it sure beats some other methods I can think of, like direct mental surgery."

"Corwin was going to just use some of Luke's old haunts, the blue crystal cave complex, but somehow ended up subcontracting things to Luke himself...which didn't add up to me, as Luke seemed to be pushing the whole Maze thing. He ended up making the direct deal with Nayda, which makes a little more sense, in a funny kind of way, who delegated the actual prep to her chief of security and intelligence, a guy named Farriq."

"Now here are some funny parts and loose ends. I don't think Luke is himself...but I'm not sure what that means. He might be under influence, or posessed, or an imposter. He's sure not acting like I expect a King to act. I'm also not sure who you were the experiment for, but I suspect it was for Martin, Elress, and maybe any other troublemaking younger generations - a semiofficial "program," if you will. I'm just not sure who might be behind it - almost any one of the elders might see it as beneficial. I could list them in likely order, but I'm sure you could too. I've got a few other suspicions, but no need to throw them out just yet."

[TreyKincaide]

"All of it stands to reason and mirrors my own theories." Landon strokes his beard weighing exchange. "Farriq is likely dead or wishes to be. Him and his little cabal of Shadow Sorcerors assaulted me via Trump."

He rubs his ear, "Would have succeeded too if it weren't for Heldrik. With further help we managed to bloody their nose a bit. I doubt Luke's in charge of Kashfa anymore. Not if they were ballsy enough to try something like that. Or maybe I'm not out of 'the program' yet." Negative reinforcement for cheating on my wife, perhaps? Its still possible that it was meant to be Martin. His initiation into the program. Maybe they believed me to have allied myself with an opposing faction. If we're any indication, the Maze folk could be a fractious lot and Martin does have connections in the Courts...

Landon stops for a drink, "They're wrong, you know. They might have steered me from the Maze, but they only succeeded in directing my anger. An illusion, and when that anger boiled over I lashed out. It was only after I fucked up..."

He pauses again and looks over the study, "Beware of Bleys. He's another that's not himself."

[Wired*Nun]

Farriq is likely dead or wishes to be. Him and his little cabal of Shadow Sorcerors assaulted me via Trump."


At this, Eric looks surprised. "That's a bold move. It really tips their hand, and could mean they are getting desperate about something, or thought you were a more imminent threat than you are. It also gives you - us, Amber, whatever - just cause to move directly against him and sort things out in Kashfa. I think Random would probably like to go in there and clean up. Kashfa has been an irritant ever since Luke and his mother took over. Maybe several birds with one stone..." Eric looks musingly into space for a moment.

He pauses again and looks over the study, "Beware of Bleys. He's another that's not himself."

"Up to his usual tricks? I thought he had reformed, at least somewhat. Still, he's always been a maverick. We can only hope his intentions are honorable even if his methods aren't. Don't cross him directly, though. He's very dangerous." Eric chuckles. "Then again, so are we."

"So, son, what do you want to do next? Continue with..whatever it is you are doing there, cleaning mental house? Or set up a strike on the shadow government of Kashfa? I'd normally say sooner is better."

[TreyKincaide]

"Politicially, it's very convenient," Landon nods his agreement. "Next? Well, I had thought about spending some time with Helena. After that there's a number of things left undone that I should work at resolving. I'm not sure I'm ready for what needs to be done in Kashfa." He taps his temple, "Up here. I mean."

"Give me a couple of fast days with Helena. By then I should have cemented my plans."

[Wired*Nun]

"I'm sure Helena would be thrilled to have her demigod of a husband back home. Unicorn help you if she ever starts to get cynical. Take some time with her. She's not just a shadow, you know. Corwin strengthened her, back in Rome, when it was clear you had made your choice. She's special."

[TreyKincaide]

"I've never treated her less," Landon says honestly, "although I've all but given up on trying to dissuade her notions of divinity."

He slowly rises from the couch, "I shouldn't keep you from your Kingly duties. Thanks Dad."

[Wired*Nun]

Standing too, Eric says, "Sure, son. Wish I could do more. I'm kind of stuck with responsibilities, here, trying to make up for old transgressions. It's all right," he says at Landon's look. "It's my penance, and my repayment. Maybe I can be better here than I was there. Just...don't wait too long. you and I have a lot to do together."

One embrace later, and Eric picks up the crown and robes of state again.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon watches Eric doff his stately garb. He replies softly, "I won't," before taking his leave. Outside the private chambers, Landon walks quietly down the rebuilt halls meandering in thought and step as he looks for his wife.

[Wired*Nun]

Because he is looking for her, he finds her soon enough. She looks more lovely than he remembers, sending blood surging to his heart, his loins and his face. She gasps, running up to him in the hall to throw herself into his arms and wrap herself around him in lovely sweet smellingness. Her dark hair tickles his face and her lips are warm on his neck. "Welcome back, my husband," she whispers through tears of joy.

[TreyKincaide]

"It's been a long time, my wife," Landon's hoarse voice responds. A dampening of his cheeks makes the prince realize that he too is crying. Landon draws Helena close and forgets that anything aside from the two of them exist for awhile.

[Wired*Nun]

"Your hound is back enjoying his return. Come back with me and I shall have you do the same," she breathes in his ear.

The goodness, the rightness of her embrace remind him perversely of the last, most recent time a witchy woman mouthed smoky sweetness to him, poisoning what should have been the joy of his homecoming.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon stiffens and knows that when he rides out, Kashfa'll be his destination.

Helena deserves better than a bittersweet reunion. Already she's doubting herself. That's why I must go.

He whispers, "I've done terrible things, Helena, that haunt me. I can only promise not to do them again, beloved. They injure this moment, and for that I'm sorry. I have restitution to give, and I owe no one greater than you."

He picks her up in his arms and carries her back to whereever she leads him.

[Wired*Nun]

Pointing the way back to their apartments, Helena giggles as she is carried like a new bride back across the threshold.

When she is set down, she holds on to him. "It's all right, my darling. Nothing you could do could change my love for you. I don't want to know, and you don't have to think. Just stay with me here, for a while, then go make things right. I know you can, and I know you will."

[TreyKincaide]

"Thank you," Landon whispers in that wonderful floating space looking down into the eyes of a selfless loving woman. "In all of Reality, you alone are special." Eager to share Helena's breath, Landon presses his lips to hers.

[Wired*Nun]

Lips press on lips, and Landon is wrapped once more in goodness, oh so right. The love they make isn't anything acrobatic, yet so much more meaningful than anything Landon has had until now.

Why didn't I see this before? Why should I be more comfortable in the dark and the sleaze than the clean light? Is this Flora's cynical upbringing, or something in myself that can't believe?

[TreyKincaide]

Maybe a bit of both. Landon decides as he lay there spent spooned around Helena basking in the afterglow.

A genetic predisposition towards being a suspicious bastard coupled with an orphan complex, an absentee socialite mother, and a touch of Oedipal for color.

Landon pulls the sheets up over their naked flesh.

Likely, I was just scared to really be intimate with anyone. Taudry sex with debutantes meant no commitment. No complications. No chance of rejection. However, I'm not afraid anymore. Because of her, I've shed some mental baggage that I didn't even realize I had, and found something undescribably wonderful. Helena will always accept me, and she deserves the same acceptance in return.

Passion and dispassion aren't mutually exclusive it seems.

Landon closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep one step closer to being at peace with himself.

[Wired*Nun]

When Landon wakes, he finds Helena sitting at her vanity, brushing her dark hair. Seeing his movement, she turns with a smile. "Brighten up, sunshine. Time to face the day."

As he sits up, he sees a card lying on the vanity next to her makeup - a familiar card with a staring eye.

[TreyKincaide]

"Couldn't be brighter," Landon replies with a smile as he swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

A mistake? My Helena is incapable of guile.

He wrestles with rising emotion--a slip into paranoia--as he slips on pants.

I need a shower.

The realizatoin brings with it a return to rationality. He crosses around the bedside slipping up behind his sitting wife. He rest his hands on her shoulders gently kneading her muscles and bends down to kiss her good morning. "How came you by the Trump, babe?"

[Wired*Nun]

She stops brushing and leans into his massage. "Ahhh, thank you, that feels good. Trump? Oh, that card, it was slipped under the door when I woke. I thought it was something for you."

[TreyKincaide]

"It's a message." Landon continues massaging, maintaining his cool, and keeping a casual tone, "and likely a trap."

He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully,"But I'm not positive it was intended for me directly," as the Lord of Shadow speaks, he brings up his Pattern Lens. "Association makes you a potential Player in the Great Game."

He glances down at the offending Trump and then at his wife. Unless he happens upon something out of the norm, he'll stop his hands resting them lightly upon Helena's shoulders. "Regardless, it must be dealt with." Landon pauses to gather his clothing. He reaches into his pocket to finger Luke's bracelet to make sure it's still there. Returning, Landon pockets the Trump. "It can wait for a bath and a meal, though."

[Wired*Nun]

The bracelet is still there, and the Trump is just a Trump as far as he can tell...not dangerous unless activated, presumaby.

"I have no time for games," she says lightly, "and have no desire to play them if I did. I will leave them to you and the other lords and ladies...unless you need me." She puts down the brush and takes both of his hands in hers, pulling them down to her belly, bringing his head to hers in the process.

"I'd really like to go home, soon, too, especially if you are going to be away again. This place is nice, but...it's not home to me. Not without you. I need to prepare a place for our son to grow."

[TreyKincaide]

"The Game is a euphemism for life. Family squabbles that span Reality. You're part of that family now, and whether you intrique or not, you draw attention by proximity. An attack upon you is an attack upon me.

"So be it. I shall return you to Rome. If that is where you wish to raise our child, then it will be Home." He kisses her before standing straight. Hands in hers, he gently pulls her to her feet. "Come then. Take me to the baths. Afterwards, we'll speak to Father and I shall magic you to our Estate."

[Wired*Nun]

The baths are soon over, and Landon is girded and ready, Trump and Spell, missing only a blade of some sort. Helena has packed the few things she cares to take with her, and soon escorts Landon to the waiting King.

Eric sits alone in the throne room, having cleared his audiences for his son and daughter-in-law. He rises to embrace first Landon, then Helena. He seems more regal every day.

I wonder if this is a change to or not to Aurora or the Primal's liking, or something else entirely, like a learning computer adjusting to its environment. How much is sentient, how much is simulation? We need to get him an organic body, or risk him becoming unhuman.

"Time to go again, I see. I wish you well. Before you go, though, we have certain things to discuss."

[Wired*Nun]

Landon receives a Trump call. Eric seems to sense this, and nods permission to Landon, drawing Helena away for a moment. It turns out to be Raevyn.

[TreyKincaide]

"Hon," he palms Helena the recently acquired Eye Trump, "please show this to Dad and explain how to it came into our possession while I take this? Thanks."

Once his wife and Eric are out of viewshot Landon accepts the call. He appears well groomed and fit. He wears an overal neutral look save a hint of resignation that creeps in, "Hello Raevyn. How may I be of service?"

[LynMars]

Raevyn smiles when she's sees how Landon's doing. "Oh good; you're all right. I was worried when you leapt out of the cathedral like that--though probably better you did. The woman was Josh's mother, Vela. We've gotten her to medical aid, but...It wasn't good last I saw. Still very touch-and-go.

"In the meantime, Random is gathering folks up for another family meeting, about the Nightmare and what we learned at the cathedral. He wants as many of the 'reliable' relatives in on it that we can gather, if possible. I've talked to Gray, but Heldrik was already gone and blocking again when I tried him next."

[TreyKincaide]

Pain reflects in Landons eyes, "I had gathered from Josh's reaction..." He breaks off regaining his composure. Landon's eyebrow quirks when Raevyn counts him among the more 'reliable' of relatives but other than that he remains neutral.

"I see. Very well. I will attend Random's meeting, but I will need prepare my leave. May I call you back shortly?"

[LynMars]

Raevyn nods. "Or just come to Amber. I have others to contact, and things to get done before this evening, which is when Random plans to have this happen."

[TreyKincaide]

Landon looks thoughtful for a moment as he considers the time differential, "Thank you, Raevyn. I shall arrive promptly."

A pause, "It doesn't mean much, but I am sorry. For everything."

He politely waits for his cousin to break contact before looking to Eric, "I am summoned to Amber. What did you wish to discuss?"

[LynMars]

Raevyn blinks a little at the apology, then recovers quickly, smiling. "It'll be all right, Landon. Somehow. See you soon, cousin." Then she breaks the contact, and considers her next course.

[Wired*Nun]

"Yes, I expected you would be. Random called me and filled me in on some things, but told me pointedly that he still isn't sure what I am or how he should treat me, so he wasn't inviting me. Fair enough...events are moving, and your and my petty concerns may have to wait. Still, keep our possible quest in mind, will you? No one will see me as Eric until I bleed Amberite blood, until I can walk the Pattern, until I'm 'real' again." He sits down again, gesturing for them to sit also if they so desire.

Holding up the card, Eric glances sidelong at Helena. "I think I should hold on to this for now...as soon as you are done with the meeting in Amber, come back and we can talk about it. I take it you are returning Helena to Rome? Do you want to notify Corwin, or shall I? Or not at all? I would not advise that last...she and your unborn son are potential hostages, and Corwin at least will not overtly coerce or harm them, whereas this group that wishes you ill...she needs protection."

[TreyKincaide]

Landon takes the proffered seat, "A valid concern. Please let Corwin know. While I'm there, I'll do what I can to strengthen the Shadow from intrusion."

"I had planned on returning here from Rome prior to the summons in order to form our own offensive. Instead, I will do as you suggest and attend Random's meeting in the interim. Following this," he pauses, "campaign, for lack of a better word, we will take that Walk you and I. If no suitable Shadows of you exist, perhaps, one of mine will serve in its stead."

[Wired*Nun]

Eric looks startled at this last suggestion, and smiles. "No offense, but I'd like my own face back if possible. And if you think you can get back soon enough to formulate plans, all well and good. I suspect, though, that after the meeting you will be quite busy with Random's assignments. In either case...we have plenty to occupy us here."

[TreyKincaide]

How will a Shadow bleed Amberite blood?

"None taken. It is a less optimal solution to an earlier concern of yours. The chances of finding a suitable candidate that meets our moral requirements surviving your demise seems slim. Failing that, a close genetic alternative may suffice. The body is a clay vessel to house the spirit. A vessel that responds to Gray's desire."

He reaches forward and gives Eric a clasp on the shoulder. "Fare you well, Dad." He rises and takes Helena by hand. He leads her out of the Courtroom to their awaiting canine entourage, "We are off." Lacking an area Trump he pulls out Coral's and gives it a try. Failing that, he'll pick up the lot awkwardly letting Helena dangle on his back and Spell them to their holdings.

[Wired*Nun]

The reach is long but eventually Coral opens the contact. She is dressed semiformally, as if for a meeting or event.

"Hello Landon - are you calling about the meeting?"

[TreyKincaide]

"Hello Aunt. No, Helena wishes to return to Rome. I was hoping that you were nearabouts or had a Trump."

A coming out then. No Jewel. No need for seclusion.

[Wired*Nun]

She glances sideways, then back at Landon. "Corwin can send her back, I am sure, if you want to pass her to me. I'm afraid it will have to be a quick trip, though. Tempus fugit, et. al." She steps back and assumes a waiting posture.

[TreyKincaide]

"Thank you."

Landon reaches out a hand to his wife, "I'll see you soon." He gives a small affectionate squeeze before sending her and the female dogs through ostensibly to Corwin.

"Until later this evening, Coral..." He pauses in politeness before severing the link. He replaces the card and draws another.

A moment's concentration later finds Landon and Arthur in his Amber castle suite. He gives the apartment a once over before heading down to the King's office.

[Wired*Nun]

Nothing seems amiss in Landon's apartment, though there is a note on his desk in an elegant hand. "Love to see you before the meeting," it says, and is signed simply "F". Though there are a number of "Fs" around, this one is definitely Flora.

Guess she wasn't sure how long I'd be.

Landon is let in to see Random after a moment's delay. One of the castle couriers slides politely past him in the doorway, clutching a leather pouch. Random grimaces in good-humored irritation as he sees Landon, and pushes a pile of papers away.

"Come in, Landon. What's the story?"

[TreyKincaide]

"That's a loaded question," Landon steps inside closing the door behind him.

"It's good to see you Uncle," he smiles briefly and finds a seat.

"I assume someone reported recent events. I'm prepared to take full responsibility for my actions. Ask me what you will, but that's not why I'm here. There's another matter that needs brought to your attention.

"I've been asked to petition on behalf of a rebel faction in the Courts. They wish to request Amber's assistance to ensure the fair treatment of demonkind. Their leader's, Canthus's, argument is compelling, but I'll skip the hard sell.

"The bottom line is that Merle's going to have a civil war on his hands."

[Wired*Nun]

"I've got more important things to worry about than dispensing justice for unfortunate misunderstandings. In fact, I can't have vendettas cluttering things up right now. I may have to suspend them for the duration of the crisis. Consider that matter under review until I get to it." He scratches with one finger between his wrinkled brows, and sits back musingly as Landon tells him about Canthus' complaint.

"I hadn't had the impression that things were getting that bad. After all, this has been going on for probably thousands of years. What has changed now?" He slaps his head gently but theatrically.

"Of course. The Maze. It's given them hope. Did he tell you of that part of the equation? Without the Maze, they have no hope of Power. With it...it must seem a godsend. I wonder about the timing of Maze's creation and the rebellion that finally drove Hendrake off Doracus..."

Random jumps up, to pace out from behind the massive royal desk. "I've heard this before, secondhand. They want an end to the practice of the binding of demons, both physically and spiritually, except with consent. We can't really enforce that outside of the Golden Circle, there is infinite shadow out there. And it's really Chaos that are the main offenders. So he wants me to lobby Merlin to make the change in Chaos, which will probably precipitate the very civil war that threatens. Do you remember your Earth history, Landon, from your time there and nearby? The American Civil War? Brother slaughtering brother over rights, freedoms and slavery. The parallels are plain. It's a tough issue...what would you do if you were me?" His smile is openly challenging, a difficult problem to a prized pupil.

[TreyKincaide]

Landon sits quietly for a moment as he chews upon his uncle's challenge, "We don't have the luxury of being Britain or France to Merlin's North and Canthus's South. Kashfa proves the rule. Shadow makes less a barrier than the Atlantic it seems.

"Tonight I'd clean house to make sure we don't splinter. The threat isn't as clear cut as Patternfall.

"Tomorrow, I'd kick Kashfa's ass. Loudly so that everyone know's that they can't shit in our backyard.

"Then, well, then I'd raise token political and economic sanctions on the Courts expressing our displeasure at their treatment of their slaves. Amber can afford to play the heavy. Hell, we might even profit if we subsidize smugglers. Anything to buy time and make Merle look less the bad guy to his Lords. Molify the demons so that political change can happen slowly over time rather than violently.

"As I keep hearing, multi-polar systems are inherently unstable. Soon everyone's going to want their own pet power. Even though I helped move the thing, I still don't know how Luke created the Maze and I'd like to find out so it doesn't happen again.

"The real issue is the decline of an empire. Staying true to Earth analogies, take Britain. Like the American Revolution, Patternfall proved that exiles could withstand the might of the Courts. For the first time, they tasted defeat and someone else finally had "their time in the Sun." Like Britain, Chaos is buckling under the strain: losing colonies, withering in its decadence, and watching its influence dwindle. In a way, by surviving, we share a small amount of blame for this mess. How we face their decline will mark our own."

[Wired*Nun]

He continues pacing, head down, the picture of thought.

"That offers interesting insight -and I agree with the first part. We need to get Amber focused for a while, lay out some policy, separate the problems from the solutions. That's what the meeting is about."

"Next - I've allowed Rinaldo enough time to get his own house in order, and it's not working. It's time to clean that one up...who would you suggest to place on the throne of Kashfa? Aha, didn't think that far ahead, did you? Well, that's why they pay me the big money. At the very least there would need to be a reagent, but a King is better. One that everyone can accept, one strong enough to rule but not likely to challenge Amber."

"Then we continue to support Merlin's rule while expressing disapproval of his policies...which makes him look like he is weak in two ways, that he needs our support but that we call the shots. Sorry, but that won't work. It has to come from him first, which means I have to convince him to gamble on an emancipation proclamation. Lincoln said he would leave every negro a slave if it would preserve the Union. Merlin grew up on Earth, I think he will understand that lesson. So what do we have to offer him or convince him to risk his kingdom? A principle?" He shakes his head. "Good idea, but I don't think so.It has to be behind the scenes, but that means, as you said, getting our own house in order, prsenting an appearance of strength, and then back Merlin to the hilt when he makes his play."


The real issue is the decline of an empire. Staying true to Earth analogies, take Britain. Like the American Revolution, Patternfall proved that exiles could withstand the might of the Courts. For the first time, they tasted defeat and someone else finally had "their time in the Sun." Like Britain, Chaos is buckling under the strain: losing colonies, withering in its decadence, and watching its influence dwindle. In a way, by surviving, we share a small amount of blame for this mess. How we face their decline will mark our own."


"Yes, Barimen were that first defection, and now Hendrake is driven out. Each House is wondering who or what is next. Some are probably looking right now for fallback positions and opportunities. Some would try coup on Merlin. Perhaps the best thing for Merlin to do is to...facilitate his biggest opposition's move outward. So how can we help him do that?"

[TreyKincaide]

...At the very least there would need to be a reagent, but a King is better. One that everyone can accept, one strong enough to rule but not likely to challenge Amber.
Landon sits calmly his hands resting on the leather chair arms, "It's possible that Luke's not able to clean house. Rinaldo's, well, Rinaldo, but its not logical that he'd approve on the attempt on my life. I believe that he didn't know about the Nightmare and when I warned him, I precipitated a coup. Maybe one made possible by his own consort. Hell, maybe all the demon possessed there causing problems are slaves themeselves of a bigger Player.

"If you're looking at this as an oppurtunity to curtail Brand's legacy and their ambitions, then, possibly, when the dust clears find a Kashfan belonging to the family they dispossessed, but make damn sure they know not to bite the hand that fed them," the prince shrugs less concerned with the political aftermath than righting the current regime.

"Regardless, I'd prefer a Kashfa that didn't try to kill members of Amber's royal family. That's not vendetta talking either, but rather familial concern and just common sense."

So how can we help him do that?
Landon listens as Random expresses his thoughts appreciating the exchange as another lesson. "Well, they're not going to get a better deal anywhere else. Hendrake accepted exile as they did because they counted on taking the Maze and the Keep both for themselves. I don't know if creating another pole is a desirable outcome.

A pause, "Maybe a common enemy. A war with someone else to preclude a war amongst themselves? Or some way of weakening his opposition's position without crippling the empire?"