ACT THREE
Scene Four - Unfinished Business

VILT & JUSTIN

    "I believe that a number of strange events in and around Amber and regarding her royal family may be behind the reason for your visit," says Justin, regarding the other man.  "You see, I was in the Courts not long ago in regard to a disturbing bit of news brought to us and the fellow who delivered it said nothing about any such attack, so I can only assume that it has happened quite recently.
Is there anything more you can tell me about what actually happened or are you...forbidden from doing so?"
    "Might I first ask what this 'disturbing bit of news' was ?"  The Chaosian counters.
    "He said that he had seen Prince Corwin in the Courts," says Justin.  "In the custody of a House that has little but ill feelings toward Amber."
    Vilt:  The man with Justin laughs.   "That could be almost any House!"
    "More ill than most, he seemed to think," amends Justin.
    "I know nothing of this." the Chaosian shrugs.  "I know only that an army of Amber has been defeated, and soundly."
    "Well, then it certainly didn't come from here," frowns Justin.  "We have no reason.  What makes your king so certain that the army was ours?"
    Vilt:  The messenger stiffens.  "I saw this army with all my eyes."
    Justin:  Blinking a bit at the disturbing possibilities that that statement has for a shapeshifter...  "What exactly *did* you see?"
    Vilt:  "An army in Amber's colors and standards.  I was in the ranks of the forward scouts."
    "Did you see anyone that..?" Justin pauses, frowning.  "Did you see anyone that you might recognize?  A member of the royal family perhaps?"
    Vilt:  "Have you any pictures of them to match names to?"
    Justin stops walking, pulls out his trumps and flips through them slowly.
    Vilt moves closer to him to look over Justin's shoulder at the cards.  He indicates 3 men in turn: Caine, Random and Julian.
    "That's impossible," says Justin, shaking his head.  "They've been  here, in Amber.  Were any of them killed, wounded or taken prisoner  that you are aware of?"
    Vilt:  "If this is true then they have been impersonated....at one end or the other."
    GM:  Before Justinian can reply, a body appears from a chromatic shimmer on the ground between he and Vil.
    It is Rhiannon. She is dirty and smells bad. There are bruises on her wrists and ankles, as well as on her face. Her lip is split, and there are dried trickles of blood which ran from her eyes, her nose, her ears and her split lip.  What'cha doin'?
    Justin continues to concentrate on the card, though he does take an instant to flash Vil a dirty look.
    "Son of a bitch!"  Justin snarls, gathering up Rhiannon and standing.   "Looks like I'll have to forego the pleasure," he says to Vil as he heads back into the palace.
    Vilt nods and stands.  Watching him...them... leave.
    Justin is hauling ass up to the infirmary with Rhiannon.  Anybody that gets in his way is going to get flattened.

JUSTIN

    GM:  You get her to the infirmary. No one is there, so you'll have to work on her yourself.
    Justin:  Well, then, I guess I'll be doing that.  <grumble grumble -- somebody's getting their ass kicked...>
    GM:  You patch her up and stabilize her fairly quickly. She's still unconscious.  Waiting with her or doing something else?
    Justin:  Hanging around until she wakes up.  Screw that, I'm not leaving anyone alone with anyone anymore.  Dammit.
    Justin:  If there's a cord to pull or something in the infirmary that will get me a valet, then I'll do it.  Otherwise, I'll stick my head out the door and see if I can find anybody.  If not, I'll plant my ass and sit there until she wakes up or somebody else comes in here.  If so, I'll send them to go get Gerard.  Grumble, grumble.
    As you sit with Rhiannon, you hear someone approach. The heavy bootfalls seem to indicate your Dad is kinda upset.
    You turn to watch him enter the room. As he does so, you hear Rhiannon gasp for air. Turning back to her, you see her eyes open, focusing.

RHIANNON

    The real Rhiannon wakes up.  She is in a dark room, shackles around her neck, wrists and ankles. The shackles are metal and very tight.  You can feel bruises under them.  You've apparently been drugged because your mind is a little sluggish.
    Your eyes adjust a bit and you realize there is a beam of light coming in from under the door.  Your room is featureless, save for the shackles and the rings they are attached to.
    You sit for several hours before you finally fall asleep. And...
    Alone.  Dark.  The weak tingle of a Trump call playing at your mind.
    Reach for it.  Grab it.  Threaten to throttle it until it tells me who it is.  Puzzle over the whole dreaming thing *later.*
    GM:  You grab a hand and it pulls. You can plainly see Corwin's face, smiling, Then he's gone.  You start drifting into unconsciousness...
    Rhiannon:  Shit! Reach out...for him, for the traces of the contact before they fade, for any source of raw sorcerous power or anything else I can  infuse myself in to keep my mind afloat just a little longer.....
    Darkness overcame you. Then: a dream.
    Walking the halls of Amber. They shine silvery blue. Servants buzz  around to and fro, yet the place seems empty.
    In your wanderings, every door is open, though you don't find a single member of the family. You search the second floor with no success. Heading downstairs, you find a closed door: the dining hall.
    The door is hard to open, nearly rusted shut. There is a layer of dust on everything. Sitting at the head of the table is Corwin, frowning and resting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand.  When you enter, he looks up at you with a look of concern. He points to an open window. Looking outside, you can see clouds. Between them and way, way below. You can barely make out the
scene: a war is raging in Amber.
    And you wake up. You are in the infirmary. Justinian is sitting with you. Gerard is entering the room. You feel sore, but your mind is fairly clear.

RHIANNON & JUSTIN

    GM (to Rhiannon):  And you wake up.  You are in the infirmary. Justinian is sitting with you.  Gerard is entering the room.  You feel sore, but your mind is fairly clear.
    GM (to Justinian):  You turn to watch him enter the room.  As he does so, you hear Rhiannon gasp for air.  Turning back to her, you see her eyes open, focusing.
    Justin:  Head over to Rhiannon, check on her real quick, make sure she doesn't move in a way that's going to make anything worse. As I do...  "Dad, I think there's alot more going on here than we could have imagined.   I was going to talk to you after I escorted Vil...  the Herald from
the Courts out of Amber, but... something sort of... came up."  Nod at Rhiannon.
    GM:  "I see.  You sort of left the herald wandering the halls.  He's..."  He looks over his shoulder, "not here.  I'll be right back."
    "Dad, I..."  Justin begins, then thinks the better of it.  "Never mind."
    Blinking, Rhi's eyes half-open and regard the fuzzy image of Justin.  "Back," she croaks, swallows.  "Amber."  Her eyes begin to clear a little.  "Where's my -- where's Corwin?" she manages.
    Justin lays his hand on hers.  "Take it easy," he says softly.  "You were alone when you...came back.  Do you remember what happened?"
    "Slept," she half whispers. "Last night?  Two nights ago?"  Her voice cracks a bit. "Water."
    Justin:  Assuming that there's water somewhere in the infirmary, he'll fill a pitcher and pour her a glass, then help her sit up to drink it.
    She drinks deeply, then breathes a moment.  "Woke in a cell," she continues clearly if softly.  "Very well chained, thank you.  And very low on energy.  Slept more.  *Dreamed,* wonderful in a ghastly sort of way."  She reaches for the glass again, finishes emptying it.  "Corwin tried to Trump me out, I think. Definitely Corwin.  Maybe Trump.  Ended up....."  Rhi shrugs, looking vague.
"Wherever you found me, I guess."
    "Woke?"  he frowns.  "You don't remember how you got there?  What's the last thing you remember before that?"
    "Going to bed,"  Rhi answers crankily, with no elaboration.
    Justin opens his mouth to speak, closes it again, glances toward the door.  "You didn't happen to see anyone else, did you?"
    "Contrary to what you may hear, cousin, I sleep alone somewhat more often than not. In my own Shadow, on this occasion.  Which pisses me off more; whatever happened slid right through my barriers around the place."
    "That's not what I meant," he says, shaking his head.  "When you were imprisoned, did anyone speak to you?  Anyone that might have looked like... family?"
    "No," she answers, starting to shake her head, then deciding it's a bad idea.  "I didn't see anybody until Corwin tried, I think, to Trump me."
    Justin nods thoughtfully.  "Just get some rest," he says.  "I'm sure Father will have questions for you when he returns... and finishes pounding me into paste."
    Rhi starts to laugh and stops with a grimace, deciding it's a bad idea.  "What'd you do this time?"
    "I don't know," he says, shaking his head.  "Well, okay, I left the Chaosian herald wandering the grounds when I brought you here, which normally wouldn't have pissed him off that much, but other events have conspired to make things suck in general and, well, by the time he gets back in here, he's likely to have worked himself up enough to take it out on me, anyway."
    "Poor sweet boy," Rhiannon sighs, reaching up to stroke Justin's cheek.  "The world just seems to have it in for you, huh?  And here I haven't even thanked you for getting me back."  She smiles gently, her hand a gentle pressure on the back of his neck.
    He leans forward a little, but shakes his head.  "I didn't," he shrugs.  "In fact, I don't know *how* you got here.  You just appeared in front of me.  Perhaps that's what Corwin was trying to do."
    "Well, I'll have to thank him, later."  She nods, pushes herself up a little, and kisses Justin.  Considerably more than sisterly, considerably less than get-your-ass-in-this-bed-right-NOW.
    He returns the kiss, then smiles.  "Wouldn't it have been my day if Dad had chosen that particular moment to walk back through the door?"
    "Oh, lawdy," she exclaims in a mock Southern accent, rolling her  eyes.  "He wouldn't be on you about a certain *other* kissin' cousin  of our acquaintance?"
    Justin pulls away a little, his cheeks coloring.  "I, uh...." he begins.  Then he sighs heavily.  "Yeah, I suppose he is.  Didn't help any when she volunteered to ride out to the Courts with me, either.  He probably thinks the whole thing was for the express purpose of getting out from under his nose."
    "Certainly not express," Rhi smiles.  "Implied, maybe.  Touchy enough area, the whole thing.  The two of you only have one grandparent in common, you know, it's not like your father and Eric were full brothers.  Puts things right on the edge, most places where the law tries to deal with such things."  She sighs, adding, "of course, we don't have the equipment to do a genetic scan to determine by the
only standard that matters...."
    Justin frowns, looking decidedly uncomfortable, then he cocks an eyebrow. "What is that?"
    Rhiannon gives Justin a look like he's just been dumb in class.  "Whether or not you two would likely reinforce a dangerous recessive, of course."
    "Well, yes, now you mention," Rhi smirks.  "Long as your genes don't mix lethally, you ought to have your fun.  Right?  Not that I'd ever encourage speculation on darling Alex's likely level of parenting skills."
    His big arms cross and his eyes narrow.  "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
    "It means that the likelihood of *any* of us managing not to utterly screw up a child in our care isn't that strong.  I wouldn't encourage speculation on my own parenting ability, and I was one of the better-off among us."
    Justin's frown deepens, but he says nothing.
    Rhiannon sighs, leans back and stares at the ceiling.  "Not to mention," she can't help adding, "that no matter how sharp she is in the sciences, I've noticed she can be a bit clueless in the people-skills department.  Rather like the rest of us, again."
     Justin 'hmphfs'.  "But some more than others, right?  Just because she hasn't turned into a paranoid cynic like everyone else doesn't mean she's clueless, Rhi. She just doesn't spend her conversations looking for sensitive places to poke people and expects that they don't either."
    "Maybe," Rhiannon sighs again. "I suppose the lack of perceptiveness I've noticed from time to time could be affected, to avoid unconstructive reactions. An effort to maintain emotional maturity, rather than its opposite." She shrugs, with a weary look about her.
    "I see you did not escape inheriting the overanalyzation gene," he says.
    "Overanalysis," Rhi ripostes.  "And anal retentive does not have a  hyphen.  But thank you, Captain Obvious.  I'm sure I needed reminding I  was raised by a sorceress."  The tone starts light and humorous, but ends on a wistful note.
    "So, darling, what developments have there been since I've been on ice?"
    "Probably alot more than I'm aware of," he says.  "Other than the fact that the armies of Chaos are about to ride down our throat, that is.  They claim that we attacked them first, which of course, we didn't.  Looks like that doppelganger problem has gotten alot bigger, huh?"
    "So it would appear," she nods wearily. "Though something else has changed as well, since I was able to dream yesterday. I've got to spend some time finding out what the hell's going on at the Pattern,  and whether there really is another of the damn things now...."
    Justin:  "Another Pattern?  Wha..?  What the hell *is* going on at the Pattern?"

DANA & ALEX

    Dana waits until Justin and Viltarmiranius are out of the room, then exhales briefly.  "So what else has happened since we left?" she asks Gerard.  "You didn't even seem surprised." She looks less tense than she did a moment ago, but she's still far from relaxed.
    Alex looks intently in Gerard's direction, curious for his answer to Dana's question...
    "I've known there was an army marching towards us for about half an hour now.  They're about two days away, so the forces we have should  be organized by then.  Unfortunately, they outnumber us something like  8 to 1.  Damn, I wish Benedict were here."
    "Don't we all?"  Alex mutters.  "However that doesn't mean that we can assemble something, how could they outnumber us 8 to 1?  Are we that short-handed?  I know this probably isn't my place but, couldn't we recruit more men?"
    Gerard: "We will.  Currently, our 4,000 men pales to their 35,000.  And that's only their first wave.  I don't know what they have behind that.  This was supposed to be peace-time, so no one felt the need to garrison tens of thousands of soldiers.  I'm sure we can raise more men to help even up our sides, but it is going to take some doing."
    Gerard:  "We are, niece, we are.  The odds shouldn't be as bad when all is said and done..."  A valet walks in and looks at Gerard.
    "Hold on a moment," he instructs the two of you.  He walks over to the valet, who whispers something to him.
    "Godda..."  He sighs and unclenches his fist.  He returns his attention to Dana and Alexandria. "I hope things will be resolved before our armies meet, but I would suggest the two of you prepare for the possibility.  Now, if you will excuse, there's something I need to attend to."  His tone indicates he's not going to explain, nor does he want to continue the conversation.
    He turns and walks out the sitting room.
    GM:  What *exactly* are the two of you doing once Gerard leaves?
    Alex:  [we are going to the infirmary to prepare for casualties in the war since neither of us want to fight....]
    GM:  I don't know if I told you guys this, but the castle infirmary is always well-staffed during battles.  Help would be needed in the field.  Are you going to the infirmary anyway?
    As we're walking to the infirmary to check supplies, Dana says to Alex, "You know, while it's nice to be volunteering for something useful, my medical training isn't very impressive.  Maybe we ought to set our field unit up as primarily a triage station, and I'll concentrate my efforts on maintaining a Trump link to the castle infirmary for those who need more focused attention than what's available in the field?"
    "That sounds like an excellent idea, where shall we set up the field infirmary?"  Alex replies.
    "Maybe the regular infirmary staff will have a suggestion on that," Dana replies.
    "Well then, lets go to the infirmary." Alex says shrugging.

DANA, ALEX, JUSTIN & RHIANNON

    Alexandria and Dana walk into the infirmary to find a now-conscious Rhiannon banged and bruised, lying (did she get up???) on a cot. Justinian is sitting beside her with a very disturbed look on his face.
    Alex with a worried look on her face exclaims, "What happened?"
    "We'll get back to you on that when we figure it out," says Justin with a sigh. Then the look on his face becomes even *more* disturbed.  He turns back to Rhiannon.  "What was the last thing you did before you went to bed, before this happened.  Do you remember when it was?"
    "Oh, hell," Rhi replies, furrowing her brow, sitting up a little in bed and reaching for her water glass.  "I don't think it was more than two nights, subjective.  But I did spend a fair amount of that time unconscious or nearly so.  Last thing I did was take my clothes off.  Of course you'd be interested in that, ya pre-vert," she teases.  "Thing before that was make an extra effort to insulate myself from outside energies, including the Pattern.  I was thinking that the barrier around it
currently might be throwing up some interference that was affecting my sleep patterns, among other things."
    "When was the last time you saw *me* before you went to bed?" he asks.  "I know this sounds a little nuts, but just humor me, okay?"
    "Darling boy, there's no way I'd think you sound a little nuts. A *lot* nuts, maybe." Rhi starts to chuckle, then puts a hand to her head, deciding it was a bad idea. "Dinner, and Tameetha's introduction. I believe that was the last time."
    Justin's jaw drops, though he very nearly succeeds in making it look as though his mouth opened only because he was about to speak,  because he does.
    "That was a week or so ago here in Amber, I  believe," he says.
    "Oh," Rhi says simply, and pauses a moment. "The shadow where I was abducted is pretty fast, so I must have been taken out of there and into a slow-time shadow fairly quickly. That, or I lost a *lot* more  time than I thought while unconscious." She shakes her head, grimacing a little, as if it hurts to do so.
    His big arms tense the slightest bit, as though he expects to use them in a hurry. "More importantly," he says.  "There are folks, I believe, who have seen you since then."
    "Why," she groans, "am I not surprised? So, of what does my double accuse me, lightning bolts at ten paces? Conjured demons in the privies?"
    "Actually, I don't believe she's done anything to indicate that she was anything but the genuine article.  That is, as far as I know," he shrugs.  "We'll see about locating her when Dad gets back, then maybe we can clear some of this mess up."
     "Forgive the stupidity of this remark," Alex says, "But with all due respect, how do *we* know that you are the real thing and not an imposter?"
    Justin winces ever-so-slightly.  "We don't," he says simply.
    "With the way things have been going lately, we cannot be absolutely sure anybody is who they say they are.." Alex states.
    Rhiannon sighs. "If it hasn't been tampered with, there's an alarm spell on my apartment door. I seriously doubt any fake is good enough to fool it. When I'm feeling well enough to stand, we can go see if I set it off, OK?"
    Justin nods.
    "Well, now I *know* it's got to be you, same old wry sense of humor.." Alex replies winking at Rhi and examining Rhi's wounds, knowing full well that the clinic's staff is fully capable.
    "Besides, we *did* come in here with another purpose in mind... we  were going to ask whoever's in charge here where we ought to go to  set up a triage-and-transfer station out in the field.  Alexandria  can patch, I can Trump," Dana adds.
    "Shit," Rhi groans. "Where's the field, why the hell do we need a  triage, and what is going on? I'm out of it for a few days and  everybody goes ballistic...."   She sits back up again with an effort  and appears to consider her odds vis a vis getting out of bed.
    "Where the hell is Dad?" he mutters, heading for the door and peeking out.
    "I would like to know that myself," says Justin as he helps Rhiannon sit up.  "I was under the impression that we were still trying to *avert* a war."
    "I believe that is the general idea, however your father seems quite worried about our lack of infantry."  Alex replies, "In case of a war," she says looking at Dana for reassurance, "I think that's what he meant."
    "Great," mutters Justin.
    "Shit again," Rhi groans, letting her head hang and breathing deep.  "Something for seasickness please? And food, light but with protein -- miso soup would be good."
    Justin looks back at Alex and Dana.  "Can you guys take care of that stuff?  I *really* need to talk to my dad."  With that, he slips out the door.

VILT

    Vilt:  Since I've been left behind by the Orderling I'll go wandering the castle memorizing it's Ways.  I, of course, have no idea how to exit such a linear place as this.   Jack all my senses up so as to avoid inhabitants.
    GM:  Do you need me to explain what you see?  You wander the halls until I figure out who you bump into.
    Vilt:  Works for me!
    GM:  Wandering, you find some stairs going up.  As you contemplate using them, you see Gerard approaching you. He seems a bit upset.  He sees you and his expression hardens to neutral.  "Herald.  Are you finding everything alright?  Did you need directions or a room or something?"
    Vilt:  Bow to him.  "Lord Gerard.  The man returning me to my men was called away rather suddenly.  I'm afraid I find the linearity disconcerting.  I have lost my way."
    GM:  He nods, "Come with me.  I will find you an escort,"  and leads you up the stairs.  Almost at the top, you feel the twinge of a Trump call.  What are you  doing?
    Vilt:  Halt at the top.  "A moment Lord......I have a Trump."  Take it.
    As Gerard speaks, the image in your mind materializes.  It is Swayvill.  "Are you alone?" is the first thing he asks.
     Drop into Chaosian Thari, an older style at that.  "In but a moment, My Liege." Watching Gerard disappear around a corner....after a short while and a look around say very quietly:  "There.  Now I am alone."  Bow deeply to Swayvil.
    "Good.  What have you to report?"
    "My Lord King...... they claim to not know of any War with us.  Convincingly so."
    "Possibly in an attempt to buy themselves more time.  What was their responseto my demand?"
    Vilt looks distinctly uncomfortable.  "Prince Gerard could barely manage to keep a straight face."
    "What do you mean?"
    He shifts weight uncomfortably.  "My message was found to be...amusing.  He too said that we were not at war."
    "Amusing?  We shall see who is laughing when we grind them into the ground. Is that all?"
    Vilt employs the specialty of his House and recites from memory:  "Generals are only named in times of war.  Since our business with Chaos has long since concluded, there is no General." Having to explain this is obviously trying his patience.  "However, I received word that your army is
approaching not five minutes ago.  I was about to begin the organization of the army.  So yes, I am the General.  Now give me your message."
    "I will take back any message to my Liege."
    Swayvil takes in the message and nods.  "Excellent. Tell the 'Acting Regent' that there will be no discussion.  This has been your last  offense.  You will be destroyed."
    Vilt goes to both knees, head bowed.  "My Liege."
    GM:  [[ Just to let you know, standard war practices dictate that Swayvil give Gerard audience. ]]
    Vilt:  [Who am I to question?]
    GM:  You find Gerard walking out of what is apparently an infirmary.  He looks at you and attempts to smile.  "Sorry. As you can well imagine, things are rather... hectic."
    Pulling himself to full height Viltar delivers unto Prince Gerard his King's message of no meeting granted, no quarter given.
    Gerard's face shows how disturbed he is by this, "I see." His eyes narrow, then relax. "Is that all?"
    "Entirely so Prince Gerard."
    "There is something else we must discuss, Herald," Swayvil whispers to you in the back of your mind.
    "My Liege."

DOUGAL & LUCINDA

    GM:  Summary: The group wander Shadow for a while, collecting and gathering men, encamping them in a Shadow just outside the Golden Circle.  Attempts to Trump Amber fail. Feel free to talk to one another, as getting the others to this point may take some doing.
    Dougal will spend some time at the encampment gathering up a variety of materials, clays, metal, etc...
    As he starts to work on something, he checks in with Lucinda. "I'm not too comfortable with the situation here.  We're definitely out of the loop.  I'm going to put together some surprises, anything you want while I'm at it?"
    "Can't think of anything" Lucinda says. "What sort of surprises have you in mind?"
    After a moment, she continues "You think these guys have some agenda of their own? Something we ought to be worried about?"
    "Oh, absolutely. On the other hand, if they are who they claim to be, and we have no real evidence otherwise other than instinct and the fact that some LLewella is dead, they are at least on the right side of things. I would imagine that if they were really adverse to our side of things we wouldn't be having this discussion." Dougal shrugs, "As for surprises, I haven't worked out all the details, but I have been paying attention to where we have been picking up troops and I want to have some related surprises either way."
    "Yeah" Lucinda says, "it looks that way. You're right though; something doesn't feel right. I'd be happier if we could contact Rhiannon; the real one, supposedly back in Amber. Or Dana, or Justin, or one of the others. Something about this... I dunno."
    "Hopefully, LLewella isn't the only one who'll be on our side in this.  Garrett is Benedict's man and we'll see soon enough who else is involved."  Dougal manipulates several lumps of what looks like clay and tangles himself up briefly. Extricating himself, he asks, "Can you hold this for a moment, just right here..."
    "Uh... yeah, sure" Lucinda says, looking at the stuff.  "Umm... what is it?"
    "A mixture of pigments and certain substances of known potency, combined with soils from all the shadows where we got troops and from the slopes of Kolvir.  It won't be as good as if I could tailor it for each, but it saves time at this end and removes the risk of using the wrong one.  I'm making three separate blends, one augmentative, one deteriorative and one which will counter the others."
    Dougal continues mixing his slops into three receptacles, mixing slightly different ingredients into each.  After a short time, he stops and washes his hands, offering clean water to Lucinda as well, then uses a scoop and a putty knife to lay out small bits of each onto a plank on which mystical symbols have been
drawn and painted in layers.
    "Umm... yeah" Lucinda says, still looking puzzled. "Whatever you say." Shrugging, she cleans her hands, and continues to help if she can.

*** Posts Missing ***

    Turning to Dougal, Lucinda says sourly "It's from Justin. As usual, he's several days behind the plot." She shows Dougal the letter.
 
  The letter reads:
         Lucinda,
         The Rhiannon that travels with you may be an imposter.  Watch her with care.
         Justin

    "Indeed, it would seem a tardy missive. Who's to say when it was sent, however. What it really lacks is any sort of useful information whatsoever. I believe we should send the bird back on its merry way with a letter attached which reads solely 'duh'."
    Dougal smiles and shrugs.
    "No" says Lucinda, "that would be unnecessarily cruel. Justin was not to know that we had already been made aware of the impostor. A more detailed summary of our situation might be more relevant. Except for the risk of it being intercepted. Best perhaps to leave any reply until we see him in person again."
    Dougal sticks his tongue out, "Spoilsport..."
    Lucinda chuckles a moment at Dougal's antics.
     After a moment he resumes a more somber tone. "One presumes that if anything were to track this bird, it already knows where we are and that we yet live and all that, so a brief acknowledgement affords little risk. More diplomatically put and ambiguous to anyone who didn't read the first note.
Perhaps simply 'nevermore.'"
    At hearing it's name, the bird cocks his head, then flies down near the duo.
    "Yes" she says, "that would be appropriate." Searching her pockets, she pulls out notepad and pencil, scribbles the suggested reply, and looks up to the raven, beckoning it down. If it comes, she attaches the message to its leg, and sends it back home.
    Attaching her reply to the bird's leg, Lucinda says "Fly home in safety, little one. Carry our message to your master."

***

TAMEETHA

GM:  Five days is going to pass before anything else happens.  Wha'cha doing?

    Tameetha will spend her time exploring the hospital room -- getting familiar with the machines, the fabrics, the tools and the materials around herself, and the concept of electricity.  She'll also spend a part of each day examining Bleys' Trumps, memorizing each card and trying to see if there's a resemblance between herself and any of the people represented on them.  At least once a day, she'll try to contact Julian.  If that fails, she'll try to contact Justinian.
    After a day or so, she will figure out the TV and set herself to learning about the culture and place she's found herself in.  (20th Century America-esque?)  She won't actually like the way the images move or the jumping camera angles of the visual media, so she'll stick with the equivalent of CNN or C-span, with the volume way turned down.  (If she does get some exposure to the concept of firearms, she will definitely mark that. :)
    Tameetha will hang out of the open window alot as well.  Again marking the lay of the land around her and being fascinated by its nature.  She won't try to make any friends among the hospital staff or patients, though she'll mark who is a regular, what their shifts are, etc.  She will also ask questions while trying hard to hide the fact that she's clueless.  Eventually she'll realize that most people here don't walk around with knives on their thighs and will switch the blade to her boot.
    She will occasionally talk to Bleys, but it will be along the lines of, 'You were more fun when you were dead.' & 'So, Prince of Amber, I get the feeling that you're avoiding me.' :)
    If she spends another two nights dreamless, she'll see if she can get the orderlies (or someone) to bring her the supplies for another dream-catcher. She'll catch her own spider. :)  And see if the theory works on herself.
 
GM:  You build the second dream catcher, but it does little to help the lack of dreams.

    As the dream catcher proves itself useless, Tameetha will release the spider with much thanks, and carefully burn both the dream catcher and the bandage with her blood on it.
    Tameetha will leave Bleys alone as little as possible.  She'll also eat like a horse at the beginning of her stay and then taper off to normal as her systems settle down(?).

GM:  After three days, he breaks out of his coma for about two minutes.  A day later, and he is out of it.
 The fifth day, at about 2 A.M., he lets out a little moan.  His eyes flutter open, look around briefly, then slowly focus on you. He smiles.  "Thanks. So, who are you?"  he asks weakly. (In a nice way)

    The young woman smiles tentatively back.  "You are ... welcome.  I am Tameetha.  And yourself?"  She is a little edgy but it seems more like shyness than wariness.
    "Last I checked, my name was Bleys.  I wanted to... thank you for getting me here.  Do you know what happened?"
    Tameetha shakes her head lightly but speaks solemnly.  "No debt, Prince of Amber."
    "I have only hearsay as to what happened.  Until we met within the chamber at Amber.  What do you remember?"  She hops up onto the window ledge and settles herself comfortably.  Black eyes look frankly toward Bleys.  No hostility, but much curiosity.
    "Not much. I was in bed... with someone.  Nothing seemed unusual.  But I woke up here, so something must have gone horribly wrong."
    Tameetha raises an eyebrow as she considers.  Then her postures straightens and she carries herself as though she were a larger man, specifically Caine. Her voice shifts slightly lower as she unconsciously mimics the piratical Prince of Amber.  "Caine speaks such -- 'My  brother, Bleys, victim to a knife in the chest while he slept or debauched.  The knife also left behind.'"
    Bleys kinda chuckles. (Don't know how else to say that)
    The girl relaxes back onto the window sill.  "I met you firstly some two weeks after that.  You were definitely deceased, though well preserved."  A slight self-ironic smile darts across her lips.  "And I'm usually not mistaken about such things."
    Bleys grunts an affirmative, frowning slightly.
    Another raised eyebrow and a warmer smile.  "You've recovered admirably."
    "Yeah... Yeah, I guess I did.  However, coming back from the dead...  that's a little unheard of."
    Tameetha keeps a straight face but there is a glint of humor in her eye as she speaks.  "This is unusual, then, for your Family?  When I asked earlier, Dougal was unable to tell me if you were men or gods.  Or demons.  Evidence is mounting against 'men'."  Her  peach colored lips quirk slightly.
    "We often think we're gods.  In actuality, we are slightly more than men.  Long lived, yet not invincible.  With powers beyond the comprehension of many."
    She slowly reaches into an interior pocket of her black shirt and removes the wooden box of Trumps -- all the cards that it originally held safely within its confines once more.  Tameetha holds it aloft so that Bleys can see what it is. Then she gently tosses the box to the recumbent prince, carefully marking his reflexes and coordination.
    They land on his chest with a thump.  You can guess his coordination. =)
    "These, I believe, are yours."  She smiles, though she is not exactly happy about returning the Trumps.
    "Thanks.  Are you... related?"
    Tameetha stands with a purposely casual shrug.  "Again, hearsay can be my only answer."  As she continues to speak, the black clothed girl paces a little restlessly.  "Julian states that I am ... Real.  Whether of Amber or Chaos, he could not say."
    Tameetha's mind drifts a little as she remembers that Julian also called her "my dear".  She can't help but wonder if Julian chooses his words as carefully as she does.  Tameetha suspects that it is so.  Confusing.
    Then, the girl looks over to Bleys with a wicked gleam in her eye and twisted smile on her lips.  "The Lady Rhiannon was quite adamant that I was Family, though she may not be pleased with that assumption."
    "As for myself,"  Tameetha shrugs again as she stands and looks out the window, her back to Bleys.  Her voice grows a little hollow.  "I, too, am slightly more than a man.  Not invincible, yet with powers beyond the comprehension of many."  There is a wry note to her voice on the last line.
    Tameetha shrugs a third time and turns back to Bleys with a slight smile.  " But my lineage .... unknown to me."
    "In the end, it seems the only thing that really matters is who you love and care for, not who gave birth to you.  It is ideal for these two to be the same, but that's not always so."
    Tameetha pauses as though startled.  She gets a very confused look in her eyes.  Her brow furrows and the slight tip of her tongue touches her upper lip. When she speaks, it is with hesitation and uncertainty.  "You... You truly believe that the only thing that matters is who... one... loves and cares for."
    Tameetha shakes her head.  Her expression one of complete befuddlement. She turns away from Bleys and begins to pace as she mulls *that* one over. Dark eyes occasionally glance at the man in the hospital bed, as if expecting him to make a sudden 'Ha, Gotcha!' face.
    "I don't know.  Sometimes.  I'm not going to say that family is not important, but... this family is so disjointed it isn't really a family.  Not in any good sense, anyway."
    Tameetha's eyes focus on Bleys.  "You seem to speak of family in two different ways.  'Family' as in species -- 'we are not gods', and then 'family' as in related persons -- 'this family is so disjointed'.  Why is that?"  The girl cocks her head and listens closely.
    "We are a species unto our own, but I was speaking of my family in two different ways: the first being how we relate to the other beings of the universe, the second how we relate to one another.  I'm not sure I understand exactly what you are asking."
    Tameetha's expression turns inward.  "I am not sure either." She says quietly. Dark eyes stare off into the distance and her brow furrows.  "Perhaps I merely seek to know the shape of the snare before me.  Perhaps ... I feel ...."
    Then she shakes her head and smiles to the man.  "Regardless.  Harbor your strength, Bleys of Amber.  When you are able to wield your own blades and spells once more, I return to Amber."
    Tameetha's smile twists maliciously.  "I have a dream-stealer to catch.  Or perhaps a wall to break.  And I am better at catching and breaking than I am at puzzling out words, ne?"
    The girl hops back onto the window ledge and settles herself to wait.
    "What did you mean by 'snare'? Finish that sentence."
    The girl's eyes stare off into space.  She wets her lips and it is a moment before she speaks.  "Why, the snare that is Amber, of course."
    "At the center lies the Land, itself -- as beautifully hypnotizing as a lure.  A sky you could drink.  Winds that carry the scent of sea and woodland -- and wonders beyond imagining.  People alive with fire even in the midst of their present turmoils.  And yet, *there* are the strands that bind."
    Dark eyes look back to Bleys.  "Ties of a desire I did not own before I came to your home.  Feelings I thought I was incapable or well rid of.  Emotions I did not know existed a fortnight ago."
    Tameetha's face starts to undergo a rapid change of expressions.  "I walked the halls of Amber for just two days." wonder -- "And in that time, promises were made," anger -- "people offended," a darting smile -- "people respected," a look of puzzlement -- "and deeds done that cannot be turned away from."  Tameetha
directs an airy wave toward the recumbent prince.
    A grim smile lines her lips.  "Every rational sense I have tells me that I am a pawn, brought late into a losing game.  Amber is besieged.  Her people near defeat.  What purpose my presence?  Whom does it serve?  How can I best make my way through the deep and treacherous waters I find myself in?"
    Tameetha's eyes unfocus once again and the look of wonder returns.  "And yet, like a child, I keep reaching into the flames.  Called by the light therein."
    Dark eyes sharpen suddenly on Bleys and wariness shapes her posture."Sufficient, lord?  Now, that you've seen the shape of my vision -- what is your intent?"
    "Amber... beseiged?  What's gone on since I've been... err... dead."
    Tameetha smiles, actually warmly.  Bleys' responses is what she hoped it would be.  She turns to face him from where she sits on the window sill.  And clears her throat.
    "Dougal speaks thus -- "  Tameetha's gestures and posture become that of the flamboyant yet hesitant son of Caine, " 'we do not truly know our enemy.  By all accounts, our enemy is us, though we know that not to be true.  Know this much, several members of this family are dead in a short span, all violent deaths with
no warning.' "
    The girl shifts once more to the patterns of the father.  "Caine elaborates -- 'My father, Oberon, killed by a knife to the back of the head.  The knife left behind. The kill occurred there,' " Tameetha copies Caine's gesture, " 'whilst we dined in this very room.  My  brother, Bleys, victim to a knife in the chest while he slept or
debauched.  The knife also left behind.  My sister, Llewella, stabbed in her bedchamber while she was speaking to her daughter using the Trumps.  She died slowly.  My nephew, Merlin.  He was dismembered and  parts of his body were found across several worlds.' "
    Tameetha returns to the present once more.  "Also, all of the Castle -- high minds and low -- have suffered from a lack of dreaming for an unspecified number of days.  Rhiannon attributes it so --"
    The girl mimics the weary, grief-ridden and ... cranky nature of the Rebmian sorceress.  "'I'm thinking it's more of an environmental effect.  There's a barrier around the Primal Pattern; had I not been distracted by several people trying to capture or kill me, I'd have told you sooner.  Brand's work, no question,'" Tameetha copies Rhiannon's look of mixed emotions toward Lucinda, then rubs her eyes.
    'My attempts to probe it only made it stronger.  I haven't yet determined exactly what it's designed to do, as I still have contact with the Pattern and its power, but it can't be meaningless that this malady struck the
adepts first, then the sorcerers, then the Pattern-attuned, and last the unattuned who have lived in the Pattern's proximity.' "
    "Julian and Justinian speak of dopplegangers within the halls who attack but leave their prey alive.  Dougal and Random speak of attempting without success to find a missing 'Corwin.'  But all disagree as to whether these elements are isolate or concerted... and all disagree as to what should be done."  Tameetha finishes and leans back against the glass -- arms crossed over her chest, a slight smile on lips -- and waits.
    Bleys pulls one of the Trumps from his pack.  His face stiffens as he concentrates into it.  Two minutes perhaps, then he stops and looks at you.  "I've got an army to raise, are you busy?"
    A dark, dark smile spreads across Tameetha's face and her eyes light.  She speaks in a low, slow voice.  "Ohhhh, you sorely tempt me, lord.  What purpose this army?  And whom the opponent?"
    "There is a rather sizable force marching upon Amber as we speak.  Amber's current defenses are vastly outnumbered by the first wave alone.  I think helping with the defenses is in order."
    "Hmmmm."  The dark girl rubs her chin.  "My thoughts run thus, lord.  This strike, while formidable and not to be ignored, may be a distraction."
    Tameetha stands and begins to pace once more.  "It is true that should Amber be overrun by mere military might -- all subsequent actions are meaningless.  Bu-ut, I still feel that the key to Amber's plight lies within
Rhiannon's words.  This 'Primal Pattern' holds something... necessary to Amber, does it not?  And it is sealed away from those who would use it.  Those who could best aid your home... suffer from its lack, ne?"
    "Therefore, an army to be raised, yes.  An army brought to Amber's defense, yes.  And I will lend my strength to that defense, even though it clearly mark which side I stand on."  She nods seriously.  "But once within the confines of Amber -- my purpose can not be the leading of men.  My purpose would be to find and undermine the barrier that hinders Amber's heroes.  Agreed?"
    "Fine by me.  Are you ready?"
    "*I* am, Lord."  Tameetha raises an eyebrow at the prone sorcerer prince, clothed in a paper hospital gown, who can barely wield his own Trump.
    He smiles and stands.  Slowly, yes.  Tenderly, certainly.  But alone and sturdy enough.  "As will I be... once I get some clothes."  He arches an eyebrow at Tameetha.
    Tameetha gives a little snort of amusement and her eyes sparkle a little.  She removes the entire bottom drawer from a nearby dresser.  In it, neatly folded and organized, is Bleys' burial raiment.  She places the drawer on the bed with an answering raised eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly.
    He looks at the garments in the drawer and shivers uncomfortably.  He sits on the bed. "There should be clothes in the closet."  He points at the door next to the restroom door.   In the closet, you find brown pants, a rust-colored shirt, socks, boots, a belt, a rapier, a dagger and a pistol.
    Tameetha carefully blanks her face at Bleys' reaction to the drawer and its contents.  She gives him a suspicious glance and opens the closet door.  Her eyes open wide with surprise at finding garments in there.  Then, her teeth will bare in an ironic grin at herself.
    The girl will lay the clothes on the bed beside the prince of Amber, chuckling to herself.  But she'll be unable to resist casting curious glances at the pistol.
    "It's a pistol.  It is a weapon which launches metal projectiles.  Very loud and very damaging."
    Tameetha nods, a little frown of concentration on her face.  "I saw images on the ... TV?  Small 'bullets' -- relies on velocity to kill.  What is it's range?"  Her eyes track over the weapon, practically afire - though there is no desire or avariciousness in her look.  It is though she were enjoying a good sunset.
    She casts glances at the rapier and dagger as well, but comes to conclusions about them more quickly.
    Bleys dresses under the hospital robe, then removes it.  He smiles at Tameetha.  "Shall we?"
    Tameetha raises an eyebrow at Bleys' strange dressing behavior.  But answers his question with a feral grin.  "Definitely."
    "Good."  Bleys says as he pulls another card.  He concentrates on it,  and a chromatic Trump portal opens up.  He gestures towards it, "After  you."
    With a wry grin to Bleys, Tameetha steps boldly thru the portal.  However, she is being *exceedingly* wary while trying not to show it.  She's alert to attack both from in front of her... and from her back.
    But she also can't keep a fierce grin off of her face and the thrill out of her eyes.

GM:  He escorts you through the prismatic doorway and into a barren landscape.  You are standing on a rampart of a fort.  There are dirty men and women walking around, gearing themselves to fight.
    "This is as good a place as any to start, I suppose." he says with a grin.  [[Imagine medieval Mad Max]]
    Tameetha snorts in amusement.  Her grin widens and her eyes glimmer as she looks around, taking it all in -- the color of the sky, the feel of the sun on her skin, the scents on the wind.  Then her eyes come down and she *clicks* into tactical thought.  Number of people, weapons, fortification, weaknesses, strengths -- all run through her mind at a feverish pace.
    Once she feels like she's got an understanding, she smiles at Bleys and nods sharply once. "It will do," she confirms.
    He watches you watch them, then smiles, "They are good stock, at least. They'll need lots of training, but they can start building the camp as we seek more." He starts climbing down a nearby set of stairs, "Of course, we will have to move them somewhere closer. This place is too far from Amber."
    Tameetha follows Bleys down the stairway -- Dougal's words about 'how our family relates to the place' echoing in her mind.  She marks Bleys' casual assumptions about these people.  A Prince, once more.
    "So," she says, "what is your purpose and schedule?  Do we start with seeking, training or moving?"  Though Tameetha's voice and words are business like, there is an undeniably enthusiastic air about her.
    "Moving.  Let me go talk to someone.  I'll be right back."
    He walks off and returns fifteen minutes later.  An alarm sounds and the people gather in the center courtyard.  Their leader announces they are moving camp, and they organize.
    An hour later, you are on the march.  Six hours later, you arrive.  Clean skies, grassy fields, fertile soil, no inhabitants.  "Perfect," Bleys says.  And you start making camp.
    Bleys will put you in charge of getting camp organized and built as he starts bringing more men and resources.
    Are there any specific conversations you want to have with him?
    Mostly just tactical stuff -- though Tameetha will pay particular attention if Bleys does any shadow walking as the army moves along.
    Tameetha will be primarily concerned with Bleys' army in terms of length of time available for training and organization and how many more fighters (all human?) Bleys expects to raise.  The concept of air support (dragons? wyverns? wraiths?) will likely come up.  She'll also ask if their army will be coordinating
with any other forces, Amberite or otherwise.
    Next she'll ask about the enemy.  How large the opposing force will be. The most likely conditions of the battle area.  Technology level and resources of the opposing force.  She'll be thinking in terms of scouts/spies almost immediately.  And if Bleys' doesn't react too badly, terrorists and assassins.
    Obviously, Tameetha's tendency is toward guerrilla warfare -- small groups of hit-and-run dirty fighters.  .  She also expects everyone to fight -- no non-combatants.  Camp followers and medical/support personnel are all well and good but they should be able to fight and should not require fighters designated to defend them.
    Tameetha will be careful to make sure that the camp is both easily defendable (sic?) and flexible enough to accommodate a *LOT* more personnel. She'll make sure that supply and sanitation situations are equally flexible.
    Since Tameetha herself is only familiar with staff, knife and sling -- she'll organize and participate in sword and bow drills (and any other common but unfamiliar weapons Bleys cares to introduce to the army.)
    Tameetha will also be paying attention to whom the leaders in the army already are.  And whom they should be. :)
    Obviously, Tameetha has been looking for something to do after being cooped up in various infirmaries for most of the week.  She'll tear into this job enthusiastically and completely.  Though she will take small breaks to disappear into the surrounding wilderness for a while -- just to play pounce with any hapless rodent that comes her way and to enjoy the space away from... ick, humans . :)  If she meets any interesting wildlife on her excursions, she'll take a quick moment to familiarize herself with them.
 
    One night, after Tameetha and Bleys finish a planning session, Tameetha waits until the two are alone.  While rolling up a map, the girl wets her lips and looks over at Bleys, consideringly.
    "Bleys," she says,  "You know my intention once we reach the gates of Amber."  Her eyes fall, almost in embarrassment.  "But now, it crosses my mind to ask you."
    Dark eyes look back up.  "Should it be that I *do* need to break a wall, instead of hunt a stealer .... What and where *is* the 'Primal Pattern'?"   Tameetha looks trepidatious.  She doesn't like revealing that she is ignorant.
    "My," he says with a smile, "you've heard some interesting stories.  The Primal Pattern is the source of our power.  The only known way to reach it is to walk the Pattern of Amber.  From what I understand, access to it has been cut off somehow.  Magick of some sort, if I remember correctly."
    Tameetha shakes her head.  "I only hear what is said in my presence.  Rhiannon spoke of it -- only she and only once."
    She looks off into a corner.  Dark eyes spark a little and a grin lines her lips when she meets Bleys' eyes once more.  "However I *do* hear what is said in my presence.  'Walk the Pattern of Amber'.  So-o, the 'Primal Pattern' and the 'Pattern of Amber' are different ... and both blocked by magical barriers?"
    While she doesn't say anything about it -- the 'source of our power' line rings through her.  Then, she distracts herself.  "T-chaa!  It is the lack of dreams I should concern myself with.  Have you noticed such an absence since your ... return?"
    "I have.  I'm not quite sure what to make of them just yet.  But to answer your question, I only know of the Primal Pattern being blocked."
    Tameetha perches on a nearby stool, her eyes turned inward, "Hmmm.  The only know way to get to the Primal Pattern is to walk the Pattern of Amber and yet the way is blocked by a magickal barrier. . .  therefore one must take an *unknown* way to the Primal Pattern."  She looks over to Bleys and grins wryly, "Preferably
one that is not blocked by a magical barrier."
    Tameetha cocks her head,  "Bleys, how would one go about discovering a different way to the Primal Pattern?"  Her eyes are sincere and curious. Tameetha is just solving a puzzle, she has no ulterior motives.
    "And ... is *this* the right puzzle?  Do you think that it is the barrier that causes the dreamlessness -- or do I hunt the wrong prey?"
     "There is a physical... 'bubble'," Bleys says while gesturing, "over the thing. The way to it is not blocked."  He sighs. "Let me start over. After walking the Pattern, it can transport you pretty much anywhere except for directly onto the Primal Pattern.  You can reach the... land, Shadow, place... wherever the Primal Pattern is, but there is no space between the Pattern and the barrier. We have not been able to pierce the barrier.  Thus, it is inaccessible."
    He smiles, "And to answer your last question, no.  It is not the right puzzle.  Priority one is defending Amber.  I'm sure the invasion and the dreamlessness are somehow connected."
     Tameetha crosses her arms and sits back, brows furrowed in thought. "You didn't mention that earlier -- in the 'hospital' -- when I spoke of breaking the barrier and diversionary attacks."  She isn't hostile, just trying to figure it.
    "You'll have to forgive my mental state, as I had only recently woken from the dead," he says with an odd smile.
    Tameetha grants that point with a wry grin.
     The girl rubs her chin with one hand.  "How do you connect the invasion with the dreamlessness?" she asks, genuinely curious.
    "Timing, honestly. I don't really have proof or anything."
     "There is much co-incidental timing of events lately.  But as to whether they are truly cause and effect, related enemy strategies, or some other weaving of destiny, I too have no knowledge."
    Tameetha stands.  "But as -- so far -- the dreamlessness is the only insult to my person I have endured, it is that which will continue to occupy my focus. Defending Amber strikes me as a worthwhile occupation, but ... primary?"  The girl shrugs.
    "I can see how it would be primary for you, Bleys, Prince of Amber.  But until -- and *if* -- Amber becomes anything other to me than ... "  Tameetha searches for words and gives up shrugging.  She looks over to Bleys with eyes that ask him to understand.