Umber

Crises both orchestrated and coincident create a headache for Dryden, the new commander of the Dispatch.

Back in Greyhawk after an abrupt departure at Dryden’s behest, Brin was wandering the streets waiting for news on Corwin’s twenty-five thousand gold meeting with the anonymous seller of a powerful and peculiarly vicious weapon when she was distracted by raucous laughter coming from the Phoenix. She was going so far as to cross the street when Willie chittered at her. “I know it’s almost certainly Meepo,” she said. “Why do you think I’m avoiding the place?” He chattered again as the double doors swung open and a pair of rather drunk young wizards spilled out. “You just saw him yesterday. Don’t tell me it’s been like a lifetime since then, you know I don’t – ”

Willie chirped in a different tone, and she noticed that the two mages had retraced their wobbly trajectory away from the bar and were approaching her. “Hey there,” one of them said with a slur, “wha’sh a pretty young thing like you doing alone on the sh–shidewalk?”

“Obviously your afternoon’s refreshment has affected your vision,” she replied, unsmiling.

“Looking for shomeone to brighten her day,” the other suggested, if not soberly then with as much gravity as he could muster in his impaired state, “jusht as she brightens it with the shun reflecting off her – ” peering at her shoulder through eyes that didn’t quite focus, he reached out and poked at her armor, “ish that mithril?”

“We could shpare a few hoursh more,” the first said, laying a hand on her arm, “for a good caushe and a pretty girl.”

She stiffened at his touch. “I’d remove that,” she said between clenched teeth, “if you’d like it to be something other than a withered claw.”

“No need to get teshty, little lady, we’re jusht trying to be – ” Suddenly they straightened up, utterly sober and apparently indifferent to her presence. “We should get back,” one of them said.

“We’re already late, Jallarzi will kill us,” the other agreed.

Brin turned to find Meepo standing in the doorway, watching with satisfaction as the newly sober and upright citizens of Greyhawk hurried away. “I could have handled myself,” she grumbled.

He waggled a finger at her. “Bleeding eyeballs on the street are bad for business. Scarred, grumpy Jasians on the street are bad for business too. Come in!”

“No, thank you, I – Willie!” she exclaimed as the weasel jumped down and ran in the open door. Annoyed, she followed him inside, where she saw him perched on a chair back next to a tall, older man whose air of dignity was only slightly diminished by the tin hat perched on his grey hair. He was laughing and talking with a man and a woman who from their dress appeared to be mages, and his smile broadened when he glanced toward the door and saw Brin. He gestured her over and, not without a sigh, she impelled herself deeper into the jovial maw of the kobold. “Where’s your hat?” Sir Geoffrey Lang asked as she reached the table.

“I tell her it’s for her own safety,” Meepo said gravely, “but these brave hero types like to live dangerously.”

Willie chittered, and Brin snapped at him, “It’s not funny, and don’t call me hopeless.” When Meepo laughed she said, “Why don’t you go find Ammitai and play with your rod of wonder again?”

“I have that here,” he grinned, pulling it out, “if you’d like to – ”

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. A crafty look crossed her face. “By the way, we left something for you at the store.”

The kobold’s eyes lit up. “A present?”

“A present, indeed,” she said. “A little something we picked up on a recent extraplanar jaunt.”

She smiled with satisfaction as he darted out of the tavern and down the street toward his shop. “It’s probably rearranging all of his shelves even as we speak,” she said to Geoffrey.

“What is it?” he laughed with only a hint of apprehension.

“A modron we found hiding from its superiors on the Plane of Earth. A bit of a renegade, wants to see the world. Greyhawk didn’t seem a bad place to start.”

“Who are you punishing by the ‘gift’, the modron or Meepo?”

“A little of both, I think.” She shifted uncomfortably; the wizards had been watching her intently ever since she mentioned Ammitai’s name, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t.

“I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Geoffrey said casually, notably failing to introduce her to his companions.

“Nor I you,” she replied in a formal tone, “although it’s a pleasant surprise.”

“Do you have a few minutes?” he asked.

“I think so. We’re in a bit of a holding pattern, waiting on – this and that.”

He rose and bowed to the two wizards. “Delightful, as always.” They said their goodbyes and Geoffrey steered her out of the tavern and down the street. “A quieter place, perhaps, to sift through unquiet times? There is an inn a few blocks away with a few more amenities than, begging your pardon, the Jasian temple, and more disinterested eyes than the Phoenix.” They chatted amiably about nothing in particular until Geoffrey veered off into a narrow alley next to a sturdy, three story stone building. An elegant wooden sign out front boasted a carving of a grey pelican so lifelike it looked ready at any moment to fly away. Around the side a single stone somewhat larger than the rest depicted the same pelican in bas-relief; Geoffrey touched his hand to it and a portal shimmered into view, accompanied by the distant ring of a chime. “The fourth floor of the Grey Pelican,” he said, adding at Brin’s momentary puzzlement, “built after the restoration of the multiverse.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “This place has its own demiplane?”

“Nearly a dozen at the moment, I think. The proprietor is a well-traveled man of some wealth, and I understand he has an extraordinarily powerful wizard for a partner, although I’ve never met him. The owners are the souls of discretion, the patrons keep to themselves as they want to be kept, and,” he winked at her, “it’s a guaranteed Meepo-free zone, as membership is required and he will, for various reasons, never be able to attain it.”

“That alone is worth the price of admission,” she murmured as they entered a hushed, thickly carpeted room dotted with oversized leather armchairs and sofas, expensive dark mahogany tables and lamps with shades all the colors of the forest casting small circles of warm light throughout. A number of doors spanned the side walls. The wall facing the door was dominated by a massive stone fireplace and, over the mantle, a large portrait of a young and hale Mordenkainen, depicted striding through Greyhawk before both he and it were destroyed. Brin stared at it for a long moment, then with an effort of will tore her eyes away, attending to the still-talking Geoffrey.

“Tact isn’t Meepo’s strong suit, I’ll grant you. But he’s good-hearted, in fact, and a little irreverence strikes me as just what Greyhawk needs right now.”

“A little irreverence, but not here.” Someone spoke behind them, a voice that sounded oddly familiar to Brin but that she couldn’t quite place.

“You just don’t want to risk being out-charmed by a kobold, Hanen,” Geoffrey laughed, and as Brin turned around she recognized the bard who with his odd and unpleasant companion Dr. Starton had removed her from Tikka Ti’Jarra to the Three Feathers Inn shortly after the multiverse returned. He was holding out his hand to the paladin, who shook it warmly.

“Sir Geoffrey,” he said. “Always a pleasure to see you. And Brin,” he bowed. “Rumor had it that the Storm Riders were abroad in Greyhawk once again. This humble establishment,” his voice held only perhaps a hint of amusement, “is honored by your presence.”

“Rumor?” she exclaimed. “Who cares whether we are – ” she broke off and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Corwin.”

“The growing number of bardic tales and songs about your exploits have certainly raised your profile, assuming anyone can associate you with them.” He waved a hand over her armor, and brushed the tip of a finger against her scarred cheek and her mechanical hand. “But unless you begin to take some care with your incognito you and your friends will attract attention regardless. Even in Greyhawk.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she sighed.

“You all should consider membership,” he said. “The entrance requirements are of necessity of a nature, shall we say, sufficiently formidable to suit our existing patrons, but you won’t find a more discreet clientele or a greater safeguard of your privacy in all of Greyhawk.”

Fairly confident of the identity of his ‘powerful wizard’ partner, she suppressed a shudder. She knew little enough about Dr. Starton, but what she did know made her uncomfortable. “I’ll be sure to mention it to them.”

He bowed again. “And now I see a certain impatience in Sir Geoffrey’s eyes and will take my leave. Would you like any refreshments sent in?” Geoffrey looked toward Brin, who shook her head. “Are either of you expecting any long-range, telepathic or otherwise planar-restricted messages?”

“Oh,” Brin exclaimed, “I might be.”

The bard handed her a small, dark cube. “With your permission, of course, I can monitor and notify you of any incoming communications.”

Now she looked toward Sir Geoffrey, who nodded his head slightly. “All right. Thank you.”

“And now,” he bowed once more, “I will leave you to your business.”

Brin’s gaze followed him watchfully and with a little suspicion as he departed. “Business,” Geoffrey said softly, “is at least one of the reasons you can trust him. If he didn’t rise to the level of his guarantees – absolute privacy and confidentiality and so on – he’d be lucky to be merely out of business, given the clients he courts. And they’re the sort who would know if their trust had been violated.” As he spoke he ushered her to one of the doors, which faded to insubstantiality at the touch of his hand on the knob. “Shall we?”

The room they entered was the size of a modest study. Lining one wall was a bookshelf containing a large number of books of military history and political science, with a smattering of works on more or less elementary arcana and religion. The desk, lamps and the pair of reading chairs into which they settled matched the décor of the common room outside. “One may install one’s own furnishings, of course,” Geoffrey said, “but these suit me well enough. Now, I expect we will have questions for one another – you of the political implications of recent events, I of at least some of their outcomes. It has been an unpleasantly busy time for the Dispatch and those who associate with them.”

The look she gave him was apologetic and doubtful. “Dryden shares his news even with us only reluctantly. I’m not sure he’d want me talking about – ”

“Threats to Spinecastle and to the person of the king,” Geoffrey recited. “Grenell abducted and then killed by the grandfathers of the Scarlet Brotherhood, Dispatch agents captured by the Brotherhood as well, goblins streaming westward out of the North Kingdom while undead stream forth out of Rel Astra. Cyrinia Cath gone incommunicado in the North Kingdom at the precise moment when she might be expected to seize power and a long-dormant volcano near Johnsport choosing this ill-timed moment to become very ‘communicado’ indeed. And last, but not least to those of you who hold Hommlet dear, the inexplicable appointment of a sticky-fingered cleric of Cuthbert to a church housing a vault of priceless items which for the well-being of the world should never see the light of day. Have I missed anything?”

Brin stared at him in amazement. “You do make a specialty out of omniscience, don’t you?”

“We serve as we must,” he said mildly.

“Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but no wonder the king keeps you tucked away in an inconspicuous barony. A paladin to all outward appearances past his prime whose mind is dulling further from the tedium of petty administrative chores. And a Pelorite to boot, whom certain calculating but unimaginative minds would expect to see pushed to the periphery of a largely Heironian hierarchy. You’re not a minor nobleman, are you? I don’t know what you do for the king, but it isn’t that.”

He replied with only an enigmatic smile. “The king is safe, I understand, although at the price of some confusion.”

“Yes,” she replied, reluctantly abandoning the effort to divine the mystery of the paladin’s place in Clement’s hierarchy, “Go and Malik were coming to his aid even as Dryden was still processing incoming reports and deciding on courses of action. We recognized their physical descriptions – they’re distinctive alone and together, unmistakable – and judged that if the king wasn’t safe with them, we wouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“This pair operate outside the auspices of any of Dunthrane’s formal command structures, and are unknown to all but a few individuals, yes?” Brin nodded in reply. “You might, by one means or another, have been able to prevent the casualties among our own forces, who did not recognize them, and thought they were coming to harm and not to aid the king,” he chided.

“We had only Dinadel’s teleport available to us and couldn’t have reached the king ourselves, who was in a location unknown to us. But that’s not an excuse,” she admitted. “We have other means of communication, and I for one didn’t think to try them.”

“Enough said, then. And the contents of the supply wagons?”

“Were largely lost, I believe.”

“To the peasants,” Geoffrey prompted.

“Who weren’t peasants at all – yes, we heard. Why was the king directing that mission, anyway?”

“Why do you think?” he asked.

I honestly have no idea.”

“You need to hone your strategic senses, child,” he was mildly scolding, “if you’re to be effective in larger political operations. Think about it, and offer your conclusions.”

She stared at her hands and finally said hesitantly, “I suppose…if the mission was too important not to succeed?”

“That is one possibility, in which case Dryden’s decision to abandon any of the wagons was something of a miscalculation.”

“Corwin reminded him that kingdoms have fallen before for want of blankets. But Dryden thought it was actually peasants looting, in which case, as he put it, the supplies were going to the intended recipients.”

“But clearly not in the intended fashion,” Geoffrey retorted. “How does it reflect on the king and his goals if a mercy mission turns into a near rout?”

Brin’s shoulders drooped. “Was that the Scarlet Brotherhood’s intent?”

“Perhaps. But even if not, they will use it as such, as they find ways to make use of many of our missteps. Now, tell me why else Clement might have accompanied the delivery.”

After chewing nervously on her lower lip for several long moments she said, “I really can’t think of anything else.”

“Perhaps he wanted to be seen in the region, to fix himself in the people’s minds as someone to whom they could turn. As opposed to, for example, Cyrinia Cath.”

“Who is she, exactly – in the larger scheme of things?”

“Further spawn of House Naelax,” he said with distaste. “As ruthless as any of them, and more skilled than most. She was not until recently considered a serious force within the North Kingdom.”

“Who are her supporters and allies?”

“I’m not sure anyone knows – who it was before, or whether it has changed since she went into this peculiar isolation.”

“So is that why the king was there?”

“He might have gone simply because there was no one else to send. You look shocked – ” he said as her expression changed, “but Dunthrane is not Furyondy or Nyrond. Clement accomplishes much with a great deal of moral authority and fewer warriors than you might think.” He smiled genially. “You six have become a force unto yourselves, for example – defending Spinecastle more effectively than a hundred ordinary soldiers, I hear. An interesting decision, going there.”

“As I said, we didn’t have much choice, given the limitations of teleportation. It was that or Johnsport. Not that Corwin was any too happy at letting five of the grandfathers of the Scarlet Brotherhood walk away without challenge.”

“Powerful as you may be, I don’t believe you could have defeated them. Not when they were together. So that may have been a blessing in disguise. Unless, of course, they were seen because they wished to be seen. Perhaps they had something to say, and it has now gone unheard. In the meanwhile, has Grenell’s body been discovered? He may, if we’re fortunate, still have tales to tell.”

“Yes it has, and no, he won’t,” Brin said flatly. “They’d been feeding him some sort of poison for the gods know how long. By the time the grandfathers killed and abandoned him, all but his most primitive brain functions had been destroyed. It would be like trying to converse with the ghost of a lizard.”

“He could be raised, I suppose,” Geoffrey mused, “but I suspect no one wants to deal with the aftermath of that.” Seeing Brin’s gloomy look he added, “You all did the right thing, retrieving Prince Thrommel’s body from that vile place and returning it in honor to Furyondy, you know. It isn’t your fault that someone decided to resurrect him.”

Brin raised an eyebrow, although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he knew about that, too. “But what are the consequences likely to be? It’s one of the things that has been much on my mind.”

“It’s difficult to say,” he admitted. “Thrommel was headstrong and inflexible in his previous incarnation, I understand. And of course in the meanwhile, other individuals have long since acquired whatever modicum of power he used to wield within the kingdom. The consequences will depend, I suspect, on how badly he wants it back, how reluctant they are to give it up, and what puppetmasters, if any, work behind the scenes. There could be a minor tremor within the Furyondian halls of power – or a cataclysm. The latter, I fear, would not remain confined to Furyondy for long, but would spread to nearby kingdoms.”

“As if we need more instability,” Brin sighed.

“It can only work to the advantage of predators like the Brotherhood,” he agreed. He rose and paced the room impatiently several times before sitting again, still looking as if he might spring into frustrated activity at a moment’s notice. “We are too much in the dark,” he muttered. “We must seize any avenue of potential information, however slight. Even their boasts and taunts, should they choose to make them, may tell us something of value. Speaking of which, have we determined to what end that pair of Dispatch agents was captured?”

“No,” Brin replied softly. “And I doubt that we will, now.”

Geoffrey sighed. “They are dead?” Brin nodded. “I suppose then there was no more of a message than ‘we know who you are, keep your prying eyes away.’”

“I don’t know,” she replied, but there was an odd note in her voice that caused the paladin to glance at her sharply.

“Then they were not killed outright?”

“One of them was. The other was – for a while at least – a hostage.”

“Upon what terms?”

“We don’t know. The Brotherhood had asked to speak with Dryden – not Dryden specifically, perhaps, perhaps only the commander of the Dispatch – but he replied through intermediaries that he wouldn’t negotiate. And so they killed the man.”

Geoffrey’s eyes took on a flint-like hardness. “If Dryden were here, I should like an explanation of his reasoning. Perhaps it was sound, but it had better be founded on bedrock before one abandons a captive life that is charged to one’s care. Or perhaps he means to mold the Dispatch into a very different organization than it was in Hadrack’s keeping.” Brin flinched at the mention of the Heironian ranger’s name, and the paladin’s expression softened. “Forgive me. It was neither your decision nor your burden, and I did not mean to speak of – well, tell me,” he went on briskly, “why of your two options for aid, did you choose Spinecastle over Johnsport? I would have thought you eager to reply to the plea of your order.”

“Dryden’s preference was for Spinecastle. You’re right, though, Johnsport was my first thought, a foolish, ill-considered one that Ammitai and Corwin quickly set to rights. As Corwin pointed out, the situation in Johnsport, while urgent, had not yet reached a crisis. And I would have let Spinecastle fall to save the king, but as we were not needed there Ammitai was correct, I think, to urge me to consider the keep and its remaining occupants, largely ill-equipped to defend themselves.”

“Although if someone of some strength remained,” he pointed out, “you could have directed them to walk the pattern beneath the castle proper and release the elementals to the castle’s defense. The illithid, at least, could have made little headway with them.”

The cleric sighed unhappily. “Didn’t we do anything right?”

“Hindsight makes for easy judgment,” he said. “And foresight makes for fewer sleepless nights. And understanding why you undertake the actions that you do may deflect future criticism of them as well as allowing you to rest easier in your own mind. Take the earth elementals, for example. I can tell you why it would have been inappropriate to deploy them in your stead. But can you tell me?”

Brin slumped in her chair as if he’d been boxing her about the ears and refused to stop. “No,” she said in a small voice.

“The elementals exist to defend the castle. You were there, I believe, to defend something else.”

She perked up a little. “The elan.”

He nodded. “I understand they were there to speak with Clement. But no one seemed to know why, or how they githyanki and illithid knew to arrive when they did, or what their interest was.”

“I can answer the first question, at least, although that was a close thing. We almost lost them. When we arrived it was a hard enough business just sorting out friend from foe. The githyanki were attacking the elan, true enough, while the five mind flayers stood back holding open a gate – ”

“And rumors of dragons?” Geoffrey interrupted.

“A red and a white, yes, although we saw no sign of them at the keep. And as for the githyanki, if they had been fighting as they should we would have been much too late to save the elan. But their movements were clumsy, their assault uncoordinated.”

“Thralls of the illithid?”

“Yes. We would have liked to save some of them – it seemed wrong to kill slaves who almost certainly would not of their free will chosen to be there – but it just wasn’t possible. And as Corwin said, they are warriors – even were the wider githyanki community to receive word of what we’d done, they’d hold no particular grudge: there was a conflict, and we won.”

“Did any of the illithid escape?”

“No. We disrupted their concentration, and the gate through which they might have fled closed. They were dead before they had time to open another one, even if they had the means. The Scarlet Brotherhood claimed responsibility for their presence, as they did for everything that went wrong that day, but – ” she hesitated.

“Go on.”

“Why would the illithid treat with even the Brotherhood? Humanity is less than cattle to them. And who knew the elan were coming?”

“Whoever sent them, perhaps?”

“Alissa and Jasmine came, as far as we know, on their own recognizance. They used to believe in T’lar’s grand plan, but they are part of a group that has broken away. Perhaps they recognized the hubris and folly of playing with forces like the disease that ravaged Oerth – I’m not sure. They still wear all white, but with one dirtied sleeve as a mark of their dissension. A subtle enough mark that nearly cost them their lives, as we are well-accustomed to trickery from T’lar and her ilk.”

“So they came to offer their services to the king?”

“Yes. They still believe we’re inferior – ‘undeveloped’ they said – but have apparently also come to believe that we still have a right to exist as free individuals. They remained behind at Spinecastle – guests of the castle with prudently curtailed privileges – when we went on to Johnsport.”

“An oddity, the situation at Johnsport – I wasn’t aware of volcanic activity in the region.”

“That’s because there hasn’t been any for centuries. There shouldn’t have been any now, if the Jasians stationed there – well,” she frowned deeply, “two of them paid for their inattention with their lives, and the third, I suspect, will have the Inquisitor to deal with. The excuse of deferring to one’s superiors can only carry one so far.”

“The Jasians were involved – how?”

“There is a temple in Johnsport, ordinary to all outward appearances, but beneath it lies a massive machine intended to stabilize seismic forces in the region. It was built and maintained under contract by Mechanus.”

“Mechanus-maintained machinery breaking down? I find that difficult to believe.”

“It hadn’t broken down, precisely – it had run out of fuel.”

“Even that is surprising, unless – ” a thought occurred to him, “does this have something to do with the renegade modron you bestowed on Meepo?”

“Indirectly. It has more to do,” she scowled, “with human inattention to detail and, to my mind, dereliction of duty.”

“Harsh words,” Geoffrey murmured, but she was so annoyed that she barely seemed to hear him.

“Witness the fact that we arrived to an empty temple and massive doors with no visible means of entry – after an urgent call for help had been sent out. The fate of Johnsport hangs in the balance, and I’m supposed to stand around puzzling out the fact that the doors must be rebuked to open in order to render aid. And waste my own resources on the attempt. And,” she added indignantly, “be peremptorily informed by some flea of a priestess, when we finally found her, that she was too busy to meet us. As if her efforts to date had produced anything other than eruptions, earthquakes and impending tsunamis.”

Geoffrey had the feeling that he was entering the murky waters of the Jasian clerical hierarchy, and decided to forego the temptation to point out that everyone is fallible and perhaps a modicum of charity was called for. “The situation in Johnsport appears to have stabilized, however, so I assume you did manage to procure fuel.”

“Yes, although Ammitai was a bit of a wreck by the end of it. Swallowed by a magma worm on the Plane of Earth, half his life sucked out of him by a belkir on the Plane of Air…you paladins do know how to make yourselves targets, don’t you?”

“We receive no particular training in that skill,” he chuckled, “but it does seem to happen of its own accord. The fuel, then, was elemental matter?”

“One of each type. The temple houses four portals, one for each plane. The surviving Jasian at least knew how to open two of them, the earth and the air. The manual the modrons left behind contained instructions for opening all four but – ”

“Written in terms a modron would understand?”

“Precisely. Corwin made some small headway with it, but it was going to take a lot more time than we had. We went through the ones the Jasian could open, trusting we’d find some means along the way to open the others.”

“And found the modron, and the magma worm, on the Plane of Earth?” She nodded. “Magma worms aren’t native to that plane, are they?”

“No. For a moment I wondered whether the Brotherhood – ” she shook herself. “But that’s what they want us to think, isn’t it? That they’re everywhere, behind everything. And I refuse to believe it. It might have found its way by accident, or someone,” she mused, “might have had a grudge against those strange dwarves…”

“Dwarves?” he asked.

“So they appeared to us, and perhaps they were. Master craftsmen – I’m not sure the most gifted planetar could touch them in skill. For saving them from the worm they gave us a set of smithing tools. They were flawless – and had taken them a thousand years to make. It will take them another thousand years to replace them. And they presented us with other gifts as well. We were curious to see how they would judge our equipment. They scoffed at Corwin’s growing collection of silver swords – weapons that can’t decide whether they are one thing or another. When Ammitai showed them Starfire, one of their number asked to hold it. He grasped it above the guard, scolding Ammitai for carrying such a poorly balanced weapon, and offered to repair it.”

“And Ammitai permitted it?” Geoffrey looked surprised.

“You would have to have been in their presence to understand,” she said. “They didn’t care about us one way or the other, beyond their gratitude that we’d saved their lives. We were bits of flesh, formed into whatever shape we were by biology and environment and insensible to improvement. Starfire was in some sense, I think, more alive to them than we were – a worthy but imperfect student requiring only slight tutoring under their hammer to better itself.”

“And they did alter its balance?”

She nodded. “Ammitai is having a hard time with it at the moment. But he’ll grow accustomed to it, and I strongly suspect it will indeed be a better blade than before. To Vayel they gave a strange weapon of glowing red energy. It too is quite difficult to wield, but unlike Ammitai with Starfire it sounds as if no amount of practice on her part will enable her to fully master it – a special helm is required. The dwarves can manufacture one, of course, but that comes at a price.”

“The price being?” the paladin asked warily.

“An item to add to their ‘museum.’ We didn’t have time to visit it, but they described it to us, a gallery containing such peculiarities as a hair from Cerberus’ elder brother. They want to add a glove of the titan Thraximel to their collection.”

“A strange request,” Geoffrey said. “If memory serves, Thraximel was a figure swathed in mystery and bits of half-remembered, conflicting tales: sometimes a sage withdrawn from the world, sometimes a brutal conquerer, sometimes good and just, sometimes cruelly evil.”

“That tallies with Corwin’s recollection. We have no idea how to find him, of course, or his glove if he is no longer alive. But when other matters aren’t pressing we may make the effort. Though even with the glove,” she laughed lightly, “they will promise Vayel a delivery date narrowed only to between one and one thousand years hence.”

She glanced down at her own gloveless hand, and seeing the motion Geoffrey said, “Did you contribute to their museum in exchange for a trinket as well?”

“Corwin had his eye on an impossibly slender spear, made of a material unknown to any of us. Not entirely to my credit, perhaps, I had wanted them to assess Glom’s craftsmanship against their own. When they saw the hand, they asked for the glove. But not,” she added more softly, “for the museum.”

“To what use do they intend to put it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they could even say. Something in the future, some event for which they are gathering items they feel will be needed.”

He looked concerned again. “Do you think giving it to them was wise?”

“Perhaps not. But if they are friend, they will need it. If they are foe, and our kind still honorable, we will find a way to triumph against them with or without a mere glove.” She stared down at her hand. “They told us that they were not Tharizdun, and I had the strongest impression that what they meant was ‘the not-Tharizdun’: a force perhaps as ancient and nearly as powerful, implacably opposed to entropy. It was only an impression, though,” she added, “I could very well be entirely wrong. I often am.”

“And even if you’re right, order can be mindless and heartless,” he said. “It can lead to calcification and stasis, the stifling of creativity and oppression of the worst kind.”

“And yet if you had seen what they could create – ” she countered. “No, whatever their vices, whatever if anything we have to fear from them, I don’t believe it is that. Whatever happens, it will be – interesting,” she said, smiling faintly. “And if I am to be a poor servant in other regards, I at least owe the Lady that.” She grew preoccupied, staring off at a distant point in space, for so long that Geoffrey finally laid a hand on her shoulder and asked if she was all right. She jumped at his touch. “I’m sorry. I was just revisiting – the spear wasn’t sufficient for me. I wanted some insight into them – their nature, or something of what they knew. They permitted me, after suitable warnings, a glimpse of their view of space and time.”

“It was informative?”

“I can’t say I understood it. I still don’t – I doubt if I ever will. It didn’t drive me mad, at least,” she said wryly, “as they feared it might. It was like looking at all of reality, all at once – past, present and future – and all of the ties that bind them.”

“And future?” Geoffrey remarked. “That sounds unpleasantly as if – in their view – all of our actions are determined and none of us possesses free will.”

“No, it isn’t like that at all,” she contradicted him. “When I was looking at – at what they see – I felt as if I should be able to wrest myself out of time in order to view it properly. Everything was inevitable and nothing was inevitable, because everything had already happened and nothing had happened. It was an empty book in which everything is written, hidden and yet not invisible, unexpected and yet foreordained as the tale unfolds, and the characters are not diminished by the predictable arcs of their fates…It hurt, trying to understand it.” She pressed her hands to her temples as if she were still in pain. “Maybe someone like Blastir could have made something of it. I’m – my view is too limited. I’m not – open enough. I plod from one moment to the next like all the rest of my kind.”

“And does that disappoint you?” he asked quietly.

She raised her head and looked at him. “No. The threads of attachment and affection that bind me in place, in time, comfort me, and I’m not willing to abandon them. And the craftsmen must have had some sense of my own cares and concerns, for before the vision faded they focused my attention on one thread within the fabric, out of place, damaged, now, or soon…” her voice drifted off, then suddenly she snapped to attention again. “It was Hommlet, again.”

“That lapsing cleric sent to Canoness Y’Deh for rehabilitation?” he guessed.

“Terrid Fomgarten, yes. It worries me, that they saw fit to show me that. They don’t seem to deal in trifles. I warned the Canoness to be on her guard in the strongest possible terms, but beyond that…”

“It is for her to ask for aid if she requires it,” he concluded. “And I think you can trust her to do so in a more timely fashion than your Jasians in Johnsport.”

“Oh, we did stray very far from that topic, didn’t we?” she said apologetically.

“An interesting enough diversion. Was the modron in the company of these dwarves?”

“In a manner of speaking. Corwin saw it, hiding in a storage area under a tarp. Vayel caught it before it could scurry away.”

“What was it doing there?”

“It had been maintaing the Johnsport mechanism alone for centuries. I think the solitude unbalanced it. It was afraid of wearing down and being recycled, when it had grown rather attached to its individuality.”

“It was alone? Is it common practice for a single modron to tend to what sounds like an enormously complicated piece of machinery?”

“It is,” she replied acidly, “if you misnegotiate the contract. No provision was made, you see, for replacing worn out workers.”

“And when dealing with Mechanus, you don’t trust to their rising to the spirit of the contract.”

“You could, if they had a prayer of understanding the spirit. But they don’t, so…”

“And the Jasians didn’t notice the decline in the number of workers?”

“How could they? They never bothered to check. After all, the modrons had everything under control. They didn’t realize anything was wrong until the machinery’s fuel supply ran low and the terrain around Johnsport grew unstable. They tried to replenish it themselves, but two of the Jasians and a local ranger whose aid they’d enlisted perished at the hands of the belkir on the Plane of Air. No less than they deserved,” she sniffed, “although the ranger’s fate was unfortunate.”

“They might not have noticed a problem even if they’d looked,” he pointed out, trying to mitigate the harshness of her judgment. “It does sound as if the mechanism is enormously complicated, even for someone of sound intelligence.”

“Then find an archmage to make periodic inspections!” Brin exploded. “Wee Jas has no shortage of worshippers with intellectual acumen extending well past the sound into the formidable. Or ask someone like Tenser, who will come for the sake of what is at risk and nothing more.”

“But this was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, was it not?”

“As if a man like Tenser doesn’t know how to retain a confidence. And they can hoard their secrets when no lives are at stake,” she snapped, causing the paladin to hide a smile behind his hand, “or when they are sufficient to the task of tending what the mystery obscures. In this case, neither was true.”

“I gather,” he said, stepping away from the subject of blame and condemnation, “that the modron knew how to open the other portals?”

“He knew how to open the Fire gate, and in the time we were gone managed to decipher the manual more swiftly than we could and open the Water portal as well.”

“What threats lurked there?”

“Nothing we had to deal with, fortunately. An imposing number of fire salamanders and their guards on impressive merchant galleons were clustered around the portal, but it turned out they were on a pilgrimage in the region, and were happy to leave us alone if we would do the same. On the Plane of Water there was a colossal, intimidating electric eel circling the portal, but Corwin had the presence of mind to suggest we render ourselves invisible and silent while we gathered the fuel, and we escaped without incident.”

“A happy ending there, then.”

“It would have been better,” she said stiffly, “if the situation had been brought under control before Johnsport was thrown into chaos. One can only hope something has been learned from this mistake, and it won’t be repeated. I know what you’re thinking,” she added as the paladin’s eyes grew grave. “That I’m being too harsh, especially given my own rather precarious moral situation. But disorder is a greater sin by far in the Lady’s eyes than,” she stumbled momentarily over the word, “mercy. You’ll find the occasional paladin among her ranks but not, I think, any bards.”

“I wouldn’t presume to judge,” he murmured.

“Forgive my impudence, but of course you do,” she said. “And even if I disagree in this instance, the fair censure of a righteous man is worth more than the approbation of a hundred lesser mortals.”

He laughed. “I’m flattered. But clearly you aren’t the person to visit for my own censure.”

“I wouldn’t presume,” she said.

His laughter faded. “I thought Clement knighted you all too young. I still think he did you no favors. If you will permit an old paladin a word of warning? It will be my last lecture of the day, I promise.”

“Please.”

“You fought a devil become a god and prevailed. You matched wits with a mad demigod, and emerged with that which you sought from him. The world waited upon you, whether it knew it or not, to save it from Moloch, and then to heal it from the spreading devastation of the Tharizdunian threat. You were, in a sense, transcendent. But always your knighthood bound you to Oerth. And as your power grows, if you are to remain true to its ideals, it will bind you more tightly still.”

The cube resting on the small table between them began to glow a soft amber. “That’s probably Corwin,” she said, “looking for Dinadel and I.”

“You should go, then.”

“It can wait a moment. Please, finish what you were going to say.”

“Only this: gone are the days when you and your companions could fold your surplices into a pack and erase all traces of your association with Dunthrane. You restored Ardel to Nyrond. You bore Thrommel’s body to Furyondy. The Crook of Rao has been returned to Veluna. The rulers of all of these lands know who you are, and will recognize you on sight and by description. As will their enemies, who hearing of your name and your importance will seek to spy on you. Hanen was right, regarding wider circles than Greyhawk. You will be known where you travel. And when you are, your every action reflects on Dunthrane and on the person of the king. You may have your own convictions, but you are the arm of your liege, and therefore must be of his mind, not your own. By conferring knighthood on you so early, I fear he robbed you of the chance to make an informed, mature decision: Can you be merciful as he would be merciful, just as he would be just? Can you act as he would act? Do you wish to? For you must, if you are to honor his charge.”

“I understand, and I hope so. Time will tell,” she said soberly. “Or already has.” She paused at the door and glanced back at him, looking for a moment very childlike. “Thank you – it was an enlightening conversation. And I was wondering – if I would be disturbing you if – if I could – ”

“Come to Montinelle whenever you like, child. I should be pleased to receive you. There are voids I cannot fill, but – ” he paused as if considering whether to finish his thought, “I shall miss his company too. Perhaps we may comfort one another, in the ploddings of time.”

She nodded, turned away, and was gone before he could read her expression.