PROLOGUE

One year after the end of the great Patternfall War...

The Captain turned about from watching the helmsman as the sound of footsteps coming up the gangway sounded behind him. "You may want a hat or some cover, your Highness," he suggested as Prince Gerard of Amber came into view, his face and hair already damp from the cold wind driven rain. "I think the storm is actually getting worse," the Captain continued, his tone indicating his surprise at this observation. The seas around Amber, especially those off the southeast coast near the wide Strait of Cabra which they were approaching, were never subject to such weather -- at least not when the Jewel of Judgement was being employed.

The hulking Prince actually hunched slightly from the chill and uttered a non-committal grunt of a reply as lightning flashed off to the distance and the crack of thunder followed after a pair of heartbeats, rolling over the waves. "Have you seen my brother?"

"Over here, Gerard," came the reply of Prince Caine, his face illuminated where he leaned against the mizzen seeking its very minimal shelter from the elements as he lit a small pipe clenched between his teeth. Puffing quickly as he touched the flint to spark the pipe, he nodded past Gerard at the Captain. "He's right, you know... What the devil is Random doing? Can't he use the Jewel properly?"

Gerard shrugged, "It's annoying maybe, but I think, given who our passenger, is it is of little consequence."

Caine chuckled, "Brother, you've a gift for stating the very simplest of truths."

Gerard reddened, "And you for not holding back every flippant remark that occurs to mind."

"Touché, brother, touché." Caine smiled slightly and nodded as he returned to the subject of their "passenger" and remarked, "I had always heard the bugger was dead long ago, and I cannot say that his return brings tidings of joy."

"Now who is stating simple truths?"

"Just so..." Caine inclined his head a fraction, a wisp of smoke curling from the pipe bowl past his eyes obscuring them for a second. "Ergo I must wonder at the reason, or reasons... Why does he return now? Why has Random agreed to it? Where has he been all these years? Why did Father send him off in the first place? Why – "

"-It is raining and storming in the Straits of Cabra?" Gerard interjected.

Caine looked taken aback. "You aren't saying that has anything to do with anything, are you?"

Gerard shook his head, "Not exactly, but I don't like questions... especially questions with no answers."

"Then why not Trump Random and ask him to do something about it?" Caine suggested matter-of-factly.

Gerard looked pained, as if slighted somehow. "It is not the rain that bothers me, it is the cause of it that does."

The two stood unspeaking, listening to the surf crashing against the hull, the sheeting rain and the howling of the wind as the Narwhal, flag ship of the Amber navy, plowed forward through the Strait of Cabra. Off the starboard side, somewhere in the rain to the south, lay the small rocky islet housing the Lighthouse of Cabra.

As the two stood silently, a seaman approached the Captain who remained standing next to the helmsman just forward of the two princes. The seaman spoke but the brothers could not hear what he said to the Captain over the gusting wind but the Captain nodded and dismissed him. Stepping back to speak to the princes the Captain spoke, "Your pardon, your Highnesses, but the passenger requests a word in his cabin with the two of you."

Caine and Gerard exchanged glances.

"Thank you Captain; maintain course and advise us when we have cleared the White Point," Caine replied. The Captain nodded. Turning to Gerard, Caine inquired, "Shall we?"

Gerard and Caine headed belowdecks, taking a moment to brush the droplets of rain and sea spray that had beaded on their overcloaks, they approached the rear cabin, the one which under normal circumstances would have served as the Captain's cabin but was currently occupied by their passenger. Caine, leading the way down the passage, did not make any pretense at civility by knocking but instead simply pushed the hatch open and entered the cabin with Gerard on his heels.

"Close it behind you," a voice, soft yet authoritative, issued from the lone occupant of the cabin who sat at a small shelf board which served as a crude desk. With his back to them, the man continued, "Are we through the Straits yet?" He turned as he finished speaking. He was a thin man, cadaverously so, with short gray-white hair that showed little hint of its original light brown color. The eyes were deep set dark brown above a sharp nose and well-trimmed moustache. Dressed in a heavy tunic, pants and boots all of a uniform shade of dark green that was barely distinguishable from black. His tunic bore a device rendered over the left breast, a gold colored serpent entwined around a blade a blade of white. His expression was blank as he regarded them awaiting an answer.

"Almost," Gerard replied a hint of wariness in his tone.

The man nodded and smiled slightly and with a vaguely dismissive gesture and arch of an eyebrow noted, "Ah, I can see it in your eyes – both of you-have questions," he glanced from Caine to Gerard and back, "...But I am afraid that as of yet I cannot answer them...at least not until I speak with my favorite usurper, brother Random. I am so looking forward to meeting the man the Unicorn deemed worthy to sit the Unicorn Throne. It has been pleasurable, and I suppose I must thank you for acting as my...ah...escorts...for the journey. That gratitude might otherwise incline me to answer questions but seeing as we will soon arrive in Amber and neither of you have seen fit yet to ask...." He trailed off shrugging.

Gerard's jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth and barely held back from spitting his words at the man whom he did not know but was his brother, "Why then did you call us down here like servants?"

"Pshaw," the man made a dismissive noise, "I thought to offer you one last chance to impress me with some sign of the blood we share but alas apparently Dad's choice of breeding partners went down hill after I left. It doesn't appear as if either of you has anything useful to tell me and even if you did I suppose now that you would hardly do it in front of one another would you?" His smile was broad but as shallow as the shoals of Cabra. "Now if you don't mind I'd like to get a little rest before we arrive." He turned his back to them in a clear sign of dismissal.

Caine laid a hand on Gerard's thick forearm and silently shook his head to discourage Gerard from retorting, or more possibly, pummelling their guest within an inch of his long life. As they exited the cabin shutting the hatch behind them Caine commented drily, "It appears that Brother Osric returns to Amber as defiant and arrogant a prick as the legends say he left."

The window was open slightly, the rain falling hard and Vialle stood before it, taking a deep breath. "It has a wonderful smell."

Random, sitting before the fireplace in the sitting room of the Royal suite, reading dispatches and paperwork, turned his head slightly, his eyes not leaving the page. "Hmmm? What was that you said?"

Vialle repeatedly herself patiently, "I said the rain smells pleasant this evening."

"It smells good?" Random said with a mixture of distraction and disbelief. He had barely realized it was raining and even now that he was aware of it, he hadn't done anything to change it -- not because he knew Vialle enjoyed it but because he simply had not given it any thought.

"Yes dear," Vialle said with a smile moving toward the sound of his voice. "Are you worried about tomorrow?" She moved steadily and gracefully across the room, remarkable not so much because of her condition but more by the fact that she was born and raised in Rebma – where the environment dictated that walking and grace were a considerably more complicated matter.

"Always," he replied, "since the day last year when I became King."

She stood behind his chair and reached forward, caressing the lobe of his ear, a absent minded sign of affection, as she asked, "Is there news from Benedict and the others?"

Random gave a slight shake of his head, "Not since earlier... which of course is worrisome in and of itself. He indicated they would be addressing the Regency Council before he returned."

Vialle nodded, "I don't envy him that task, the message isn't a pleasant one for some members of the Council."

Random sighed, "Very true, the Council by its very composition is in a precarious position, the news will make it impossible for them all but I don't have much choice. The wild card here is the emissary... the Church of the Serpent means to make its power felt."

Vialle nodded again, but was interrupted from replying as a yawn escaped her lips. She noted, "I believe it is past time for me to retire and leave you to your work - but pray do not stay up too long now... tomorrow will be a long and taxing day, you need to be rested and ready for it, so come to bed soon."

Random turned to gaze upon her visage as he replied, "As you wish, my Queen."

"Do not mock me, your Majesty," Vialle's expression of amusement belied the harder tone of her words. She withdrew to the bedroom closing the double doors behind her as she withdrew.

Random returned his attention to the reports in his lap, taking up the topmost and reviewing it for at least the fifth time. Upon re-reading the news was little better; as if the Occupation and the envoy en route didn't pose enough difficulties, the home front was becoming impossible to manage. Random held out hope that tomorrow's announcements would go a long way to improving matters on that score. A soft knock on the door to the outer receiving room roused him from his thoughts. He lay the reports aside and rose striding to the door, his face pulled a sour grimace when he beheld his visitor.

"Now that's hardly a fair greeting," his guest remarked noting the look on Random's face. Random stepped aside allowing the individual to enter.

"I didn't expect you at this hour," Random replied.

"You cannot be serious," Random gasped in amazement. "How can anyone expect to be ready with this lot and under these circumstances? It's going to be a circus."

A soft laugh was the initial reply, "I suppose we have earned that reputation fairly or unfairly in some cases. The younger ones though, they may surprise you, they aren't yet as cynical or burdened by the baggage of our history. I think you should use them and rely upon them, they just may be the key to all this working out correctly."

Random nodded, "True enough, I can hardly manage this brood all alone however."

"Who says you are alone?"

It was Random's turn to laugh slightly, "You aren't suggesting I trust *you* I hope."

"Perhaps, perhaps not; after all, if I had all the answers, the Unicorn would have chosen me with her horn, wouldn't she?"

Random chose not to reply, reflecting that regardless of the current mess, things would be considerably worse had the Unicorn taken leave of its senses and chosen his visitor as fit for the Crown. The conversation lapsed into a momentary silence.

Glancing across at the blank visage beside him, a poker face if ever there were one, Random asked, "What is your stake here? I mean, what gain do you hope to achieve, a regency perhaps?"

His visitor's head titled in reply regarding Random, "Nothing so mundane - and I am sure you have come to some conclusion on that question already, yes?"

Random bit back a retort about answering a question with a question and merely nodded, "Aye." His visitor was not so subtle as all that.

"Ah see there you have it, not so complicated for all that really... as always, I have nothing but honorable intentions for the good of Amber and my brethren."

"Some would disagree with your characterization of Amber's, not to mention their, best interests."

A shrug and reply, "Some things cannot be helped, but my loyalty as is constant as the rising of the sun – granted we each perceive loyalty and duty differently. There is no reality after all, just perceptions."

His visitor gazed into the fire for a long moment before rising, "Remember that truism; it will serve you well on the morrow. But enough, I shall leave you to your rest; you will need it." Turning at the door, "You have sought someone else's advice, have you not? Besides mine I mean."

Random was caught off-guard slightly by the question and shook his head, "Not really, who would I ask?"

His visitor looked at him, lips quirking to a mischievous smile, "Who is left that knows anything about anything?" This enigmatic answer was punctuated by the quick closing of the door leaving random alone to ponder that reply. Random shook his head, turned back to the reports once more as the rain continued and belied the more figuratively gathering storm.

"We couldn't have just Trumped there?" came the question in an irritated tone from behind Corwin as he wound his way down the narrow muddy path in the gray and murky gloom of the forest. While the canopy of Arden provided much cover, clearly the rain had been several days at its work because the trail was muddy and the droplets of water came steadily down as if as much a part of the landscape as the ancient oaks they strode between.

Corwin glance back over his shoulder at the younger version of himself, "You know me: I never take the easy way into Amber."

Merlin, clearly out of his element in the rugged outdoors, and in no good humor because of it, moved steadily forward following his father, "Yes but did you have to pick one of the most unpleasant ways to get there?"

Corwin demurred, "Call it the romantic side of me, I like to take my time and enjoy the scenic route."

"This is the scenic route?" Merlin asked incredulously, "Don't tell me you are composing your next ballad, something along the lines of 'Ballad of the Forest Crossers'."

Before Corwin could do more than chuckle at the jest, the baying of hounds was heard in the distance, "That would be Julian, good old Julian, predictable as ever," Corwin shook his head slightly in wonder and modest disdain at his brother's steadfast and monotonous predictability.

Merlin paused, his breath coming slightly harder than normal, creating wisps of mist as it met the cool air of the darkening forest, "What is it with you two anyway? It seems like you don't even try to keep a pretense of liking one another."

Corwin grunted, "I never deemed him worthy of such an effort, though I suppose I should allow for the possibility he isn't the completely useless brat he once was."

Merlin's reply was drier that the rain was wet, "Consider it.... while the hounds rip us limb from limb."

Corwin grinned back, "Don't have to worry about that, Random made the rules of this gathering quite clear – we all get to make it there alive...leaving is a different matter of course but for now Julian will have to keep the hounds at bay."

Merlin did not seem overly reassured as the hounds grew closer.

"Keep moving," Corwin advised, "he'll catch up with us sooner and the further along we are, the less time we have to endure his company on the way to Amber."

Merlin moved along behind his father, unable to resist glancing over his shoulder from time to time. After another five minutes the hounds could be glimpsed as shadows moving in the gloom behind them. A horn sounded and the shadows grew still as a rider was heard coming up the trail at a decent pace.

Corwin and Merlin pulled up as Julian came into view riding the great beast-horse Morgenstern.

Julian reined in alongside them. "Corwin," Julian acknowledged with a modest incline of his head, his gaze turned to Merlin assessing, "and the young Prince Merlin, an honor to be sure that you would choose to pass through Arden on your way home, I always thought you preferred the stairs," Julian smiled slightly, coldly with a look at Corwin.

"They get slippery at times," Corwin replied easily ignoring the jibe at his and Bley's failed attack on Amber up the eastern staircase on Kolvir years ago.

Julian turned his attention to Merlin and asked, "He dragged you along, did he?"

Merlin shook his head, "No, I got a personal invitation from the King."

Julian raised one eyebrow slightly, "Indeed, so its everybody and their cousin, or son is it? I had no idea... I wonder why all the fuss and secrecy."

Corwin grunted, "Knowing Random, it could all be just a ruse to bring us together as a family."

"How very, what's the guy's name again... oh yes, how very Norman Rockwell of him," Julian stated archly.

Merlin and Corwin exchanged glances.

"Humor from Julian?" Corwin remarked. "Times have changed indeed. But as fascinating as the topic of speculating on the reasons for this little party is, perhaps we can do it somewhere besides a rainy dank forest?"

Julian nods, "Of course... I do have horses nearby if you'd care to ride."

Before Corwin could reply, Merlin interjected, "Most kind Uncle, I believe we should thank you for what is a very generous offer."

Julian nodded and taking the horn from his belt blew three short blasts. Before long a pair of rangers leading horses emerged from the darkness of the trees and provided Corwin and Merlin with suitable mounts.

The trio then turned, silently riding toward Amber, each lost in his own personal speculations about what the next day would bring.

The rain in Arden might be wet, but not nearly so wet as the City Beneath the Sea. In the Coral Palace of Rebma, the Queen regarded Llewella with a gaze across the dinner table, "What do you think he is about?"

The green haired Princess of Amber, in typical fashion, shrugged and demurred, "I wish I knew, Random is hard to fathom at times.... he takes living up to his name seriously."

Moire made a sound of frustration, "Yes, he's rather more difficult to read than his last predecessor; Eric was rather without subtlety."

Llewella's voice was soft, with a slight smile of fond memory upon her face, in reply, "I always thought that one of his best qualities."

"That's because he never tried to get you in his bed."

Llewella made a grimace of disgust at the thought.

Moire was silent for a moment pondering and then spoke again, "When will you leave?"

"In the morning, no need to spend too much time there... especially since it appears its going to be a large gathering and likely a tiresome affair, the usual arguments and posturing and such. All claiming to be loyal and for the good of Amber yet willing to wreak havoc to achieve their views."

At that moment the door opened and a head popped around it, "Is this ladies only?"

"Martin!" Llewella exclaimed with pleasure.

Moire beckoned him to enter the private dining room of her chambers and he did so, approaching her he bowed and kissed her hand in acknowledgement before turning to hug his Aunt Llewella with a fierce grip. Her gasp at his strength released a series of air bubbles that swirled toward the ceiling of the chamber.

He released her and took between them, "You couldn't wait for me?" Martin teased indicating the half eaten meal.

Moire spoke, "We had no idea you were coming; why should we wait? You should have more respect for your elders before barging in here and criticizing." Her tone making it difficult to determine whether she spoke in earnest or in jest.

Martin looked suitably abashed, "Of course, your Majesty; forgive me for the unannounced arrival, but I wasn't ready to walk into the lion's den just yet." He turned to Llewella without further discourse, "What is my father up to?"

"That's the question on everyone's mind, we were just discussing it and earlier Flora Trumped to talk about, or rather more like... around, that same topic," she smiled.

Martin rolled his eyes, "Is trust a completely foreign concept for all my relatives?"

Llewella considered this question seriously for a moment, "Amongst my generation, yes I am afraid so but your generation may be different. You, Merlin, Cierra and the rest seem more willing to listen, consider and extend a measure of faith and reliance that the older of us cannot."

Martin nods and demurred on offering any commentary on this observation.

"Do you have any idea what your father is doing?" Llewella reversed the inquiry back on Martin.

Martin shook his head, "My best guess is that it has something to do with the Occupation in Chaos, I was trying to get some info from Merle but he hasn't been answering his Trump."

"Isn't he coming to this gathering as well?" Llewella asked.

Martin shrugged, "I presume so, Dad did say it would be all of us...or all of us left alive that is."

Llewella looked at him with a look of vague concern, "A rather melancholy note that is."

Martin reached forward taking a piece of treyo fish from the chafing dish upon the table and took a bite without responding. His expression appeared to be a poorly veiled attempt to hold back emotions welling within. Llewella regarded him with careful consideration, realizing that like Moire had observed of Eric, Martin was not as guarded and subtle as most of the family, but before she could ask him anything more, Moire interrupted the uneasy silence with a stern comment, "Random keeps his own counsel; he cares little for input from those whom he should treat with. Perhaps you can forebear upon him to consider engaging in more dialogue with Lord Silas."

Silas was the Rebman ambassador to Amber, fairly recently appointed, just after Random's own ascension. Silas's appointment by Moire had been somewhat of a surprise; he was not well known or particularly influential in Rebma. His appointment had followed the untimely death in a hunting accident of Lord Javan, a long time diplomat and elder statesman of Rebma.

"Randon will call upon Silas if there is need," Llewella replied, "but perhaps I can have Random take some time to speak with him if it will help you feel Rebma is getting due favor from Amber."

Moire nodded her appreciation. "Will either of you require transport to Amber in the morning?"

Martin came out of his brief reverie, "No, I was just planning on Trumping in; what about you Aunt?" He turned questioningly to Llewella.

"I have made suitable arrangements," she replied, "I think for now I shall retire and get some rest before tomorrow, I'd suggest you do the same, Martin."

She rose, nodding to Moire; Martin came to his feet and bowed slightly as Llewella left the room.

As the entry closed behind her, Martin resumed his seat and picked at the food without much enthusiasm.

"Your thoughts are far from here, Prince Martin." Moire spoke the statement with the barest hint of inquiry.

He smiled slightly, "Yes... I was thinking about my mother."

A pained look passed across Moire's face, "Indeed?"

"I wonder if had she lived, she would be Queen in Amber... and Heir here in Rebma – an interesting scenario."

Moire shrugged, "Who is to say? That is a different set of events, in a different shadow, much might have occurred very differently. Chance events change history. Much has passed since your birth."

Martin looked at her steadily, "When it comes to Amber there are no chance events."

Moire regarded him, "What do you mean?"

"I cannot help think my very existence is a ploy in the great game our family plays."

Moire looked at him in surprise, "Are you saying someone arranged the death of my daughter to maneuver subsequent events? That's impossible – she died of natural caused in childbirth."

Martin looked nonplussed, "That someone manipulated events should hardly be a surprising possibility to you, and as for natural causes - again, in Amber, nothing is quite natural... or impossible with Amber."

Moire leaned forward hissing, "You know something don't you?"

Martin looked away. "Not enough, not yet; I have only suspicions," was his only reply. He stood abruptly. "I too need rest; thanks for the repast. I will speak to you soon I hope your Majesty."

Moire came to her feet and grabbed his arm before he could turn away, "If you learn anything you must tell me – as soon as you can." She released him, reaching into the sleeve of her outfit she withdrew a Trump, her Trump, in a style unfamiliar to him and handed it to him, "Contact me any time you learn anything about my daughter's death."

"Where did you get this?" Martin asked flipping it over observing the white dolphin leaping from stylized waves on the back of the card.

"Never mind, just use it when you have something more to tell me."

Martin nodded, bowed low, "Good Night, your Majesty."

He withdrew and exited the room, pausing in the corridor outside the room to turn the Trump thoughtfully in his hand before pocketing it and heading to find some sleep.

The rain scattered the moonlight and despite the brightness of the full moon, it seemed too dark for a journey upward - but the figure in a cloak moved steadily toward the three stone steps just ahead, determined to try and ascend to the ghost city that would shortly appear in the skies above.

The shimmering staircase took form, its eerie ethereal risers taking form, though not seemingly very solid form. This gave the figure pause but she steeled herself and gingerly placed a step on the first of the phantom stairs. Reassured that it would support her weight, she moved up the staircase quickly.

"They couldn't have included a handrail," she cursed breathlessly as she took a quick glance down at the receding ground. Not knowing who 'they' might be Princess Florimel had no one to directly lodge this complaint with. She made a mental note to ask someone about it at a later time. In the meantime she resolved to make her ascent to the ghostly city above as rapidly as possible.

Unlike the staircase that criss-crossed Mount Kolvir toward the Castle of Amber, these stairs ascended directly up to the shadowy reflection of the Castle and City of Amber that now lay well below Flora's feet. As she reached the apex of the staircase, Flora recalled, between pants of breath and her pounding heartbeat, why she had rarely chosen to visit Tir Na'Ngoth, the shadow city of portents and omens.

After catching her breath she stepped forward through the archway that lay a few feet from the landing and moved toward the misty shadow of the Castle. She had considered whether to venture into the Tir version of the city proper but had discarded the notion as unlikely to reveal the answers she sought. She proceeded directly toward the Castle in her quest for knowledge.

She followed the pathway that led her to one of the side entrances through the outer wall of the great shadow citadel. Ghostly sentinels patrolled the wall and guarded the gate she approached but none paid her heed or even seemed cognizant of her presence. As she passed through the gateway she pulled her cloak more tightly about her, the air seemed more chill than before.

As she passed through the gate, a figure stepped from the periphery of her vision to the right, shaded by the walls. As the figure stepped more clearly into her vision she turned and her scream caught in her throat. Her brother Brand stood before her.

"Always a pleasure, dear sister, but please spare me the hysterical screaming; surely you expected to see me here?" Brand asked with a mocking grin on his face. He was not truly here, she realized, as he appeared not fully 'solid' but more as an apparition. The apparition, though, appeared exactly as she had last seen Brand, as he toppled over the edge of the Abyss at the last battle of the Patternfall conflict, complete with the three arrows, fletched with the green and black of her brother Caine, protruding from the chest of his blood soaked tunic.

Recovering her voice slightly she managed to stammer, "N-no, n-not exactly."

"Ah well this is Tir, you should at least expect the unexpected – and I am nothing if not unexpected. Besides you were not exactly who I expected here either." He shrugged as if the matter was of little import.

Flora, recovering her wits inquired, "Whom did you expect?"

"Not really sure, to be honest... not you leastwise," he replied straightforwardly. "Look, I haven't much time and this takes a great deal of effort."

"What does?"

"Projecting, dear sister, you realize I am not really here don't you?" Brand's tone was one of exasperation.

"Of course, you aren't really Brand; you are some shadow of him." Flora gave a dismissive wave as she replied.

"Actually, sister, I am Brand, just not in the flesh. Unfortunately, I remain in stasis trapped in the Abyss - but I have some ability to project myself out and appear in other locations. Tir is easier to project into than most places, for reasons not entirely clear."

Flora's look was one of surprise and awe tinged with fear, "So-so you're alive?"

Brand's laugh was enough to make blood run cold, "Technically yes, if you call being frozen in limbo a life."

Flora recovered and natural curiosity took it course, "And what of Deirdre?"

Brand looked at her oddly and with a slight look of guilt, "I honestly do not know; we were separated in our fall. I wasn't aware you cared."

Flora raised her chin, "Someone once told me to love all my family - just not to trust them."

Brand shook his head and raised his hand to forestall her, "I don't really have time to chat; I can already feel the connection slipping. Tell me, what of Amber?" He looked at her in earnest. As he spoke his image seemed to fade slightly and then strengthen again.

"Amber is at it was," Flora replied, "Random rules; Chaos is defeated and occupied."

Brand's eyes widened, "What happened to Corwin? Why is Random on the throne?"

"Nothing, he yet lives and Random was chosen by the Unicorn."

Brand's image 'flickered' again, "I have little time, I need help, you must come for me." His voice cracked as well.

Flora reached out but her hand went through air, "How?" she cried out louder than she intended.

"I... I don't know... but... this is important... the seven heralds are here... or there rather... tell... tell Dworkin." Brand's voice and image faded.

Flora stood silent and still for a moment pondering before pulling her Trumps out and shuffling out a card she focused upon it.

"This is outrageous!" the speaker pounded the table with his fist for emphasis as he looked up the length of the table at the other regents. His remark brought several murmurs of assent as the heads turned toward where Prince Bleys stood. Bleys glanced back down the table, taking in the thirty-odd hostile faces and thinking to himself that next time he'd make sure somehow Benedict drew the short straw.

"Lord Vardyn," Bleys smiled his most disarming smile, "I could not agree with you more but the matter is a fait accompli and all the shouting and pounding on this fine table will not undo the King's decision." On either side of Bleys, Fiona and Benedict sat with studiously calm expressions. Benedict, in fact, looked distinctly bored.

"Your King," the reply came from halfway down the right side of the table in a soft and slow but firm tone that carried far beyond its volume, "is a fool." The man who spoke was tall and lanky but he hunched back in his chair in a posture of contempt. Bleys took a moment to put the name to the dark countenance, Lord Derok of Hendrake, heir to Borel.

Bleys replied in a cool tone, "You are entitled to your opinion, of course, Hendrake, but the fact of the matter remains that you lot have brought this all on yourselves. The King is resolute, Amber will withdraw the Occupation of the Courts and the Regency Council will assume governance of the Courts. Lord Swayvill," a brief interruption of muttering occurred with the words 'King Swayvill' being heard repeatedly before Bleys continued, "LORD Swayvill will remain in exile."

Hendrake looked about at his fellows, "This Council will not last a fortnight," he looked back at three Amberites, "You are plunging us into civil war."

Bleys opened his mouth to reply but Benedict interrupted, "That is your problem, not ours; we have wasted enough time and effort on this morass." He stood smoothly with an economy of motion. "This meeting is adjourned." He turned and walked quickly across the room and out the door without pause, his boots clicking on the stone of the floor which this turning resembled a smooth pinkish granite.

Bleys looked briefly at Fiona who simply shrugged, "Well, as my brother said there is really nothing further to discuss." He offered his arm to his sister and they made their way across the floor while the Council looked on in stunned silence. As the door shut behind them the room erupted in a display that exemplified the name of the Courts.

On the other side of the door Benedict waited for his siblings, "Come along; we haven't much time."

"That is all you have to say?" Bleys asked.

"What else is there to say? We knew they wouldn't like it," Fiona observed as she fell into step with her brothers.

"Don't start, Fi... I knew we should have arm wrestled to see who told them," Bleys replied sourly as the three walked through the corridors of the great Citadel of Thelbane, "I cannot wait to be quit of this place."

Thus begins Revelations...

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