Breakfast (Winnow and Fergus)

One eyebrow lifts. "Of course, Poa." A final nod to the Queen Consort and Prince, and Winnow turns toward the kitchens, trusting Fregus to follow.

This man has lived his life in chains, his spirit pressed down and all but crushed. How to show him his true worth as a child of the gods? I am a Prince, raised to lead men in battle, to be a symbol of my people's pride and heritage. May Tagaloa the One-Horned give me the wisdom to lead him to himself.

"A question, if I may," Winnow asks. "Do you believe these workmen to have honor? These people who clean, and cook, and carry. Do you think they feel as we feel? Do they love? Do they feel pride?"

"These men and women who serve around here, they are like most men and women. Some will have honour and pride and some will not. It is in the nature of man to be as variable as the weather. For me though it is harder. Bad things are foretold as you are now aware and all I do must balance to the greater good. If a man does not do such things for himself then he becomes lazy and contemptuos of his fellow man. I cannot let myself fall into that trap."

Fergus looks up at his cousin as he walks.

That man seems amazingly sure of himself. I wish I could have that certainty.

"Have you ever read the writings of a fellow called Tigantes, he is a Philosopher from a place called Merija. He writes that in everything you do and everything you say echoes out in waves from you. If what you do is wrong then that negative wave echoes out and causes harm within the world. If what you do is good then the positive wave helps everyone. For me this applies doubly I think, so I do what I can, even the smallest of things to ensure that what I do does not invite the destiny that is foretold for me."

Fergus examines the plate he holds. Like many things around the Castle it has the sigil of the Unicorn emblazened around its edges.

"So a question for a question P-o-a Winnow. Why is the Unicorn so significant around here? Is it not a mythical beast?"

Winnow persists, "What greater honor than being allowed to do one's chosen work? To fulfill one's purpose? Do we cook the food, brew the coffee, wash the floor, prune the plants? But what is our purpose? Shall we do their work for them? Shall we deny them this tiny satisfaction?" He sighs, as if to himself.

But I agree with your desire to avoid becoming some pampered palace pom. It takes discipline to throttle our own worse nature.

He considers Fergus' words regarding the philosopher. "I believe he is more right than you know. The influence of those of Amber's blood does spread out in waves, and does good or harm to many."

At Fergus' use of "Poa," brother-warrior-friend-comrade, he grins. "The Unicorn is real, I am told, though I have not seen Her. But our elders have. She chose Random to be King. It is said She created, or helped create, Amber itself, in some manner that is obscured by argument of theology. If the elders are gods, and we the children of the gods, She is an Elder God. Some believe She is literally the grandmother to us all. But like all greater Gods, She seems to keep mostly out of our affairs."

They have by now reached the vicinity of the kitchens, and Winnow watches with interest to see what course Fergus will take.

How much discomfiture of the staff's routine and disruption of their sense of propriety is he willing to impose on them to ease his own conscience?

"It is only their work because they need to do it to survive and live. I think you overestimate their enjoyment of the work that they do Winnow. Still I do this not for them, but for my own inner peace."

With that Fergus finds a sink and fills it with warm water and washes the plate and the knife. As he washes he considers Winnow's words about the Unicorn.

I mislike the notion of Kings, but I mislike the notion that they believe themselves Gods even more. Gods treat the lives of the downtrodden with disdain, and that is not how it should be.

Then when done he seeks a towel to dry them, and dismisses any complaints from the serving staff. He then sets them down in a tidy pile with the other crockery.

"I taught myself to cook, like I taught myself many other things. If these servants must serve me at a feast in my honour as Vialle has indicated, then I think that I shall cook a meal for them to honour the work they have done too. It is only right after all."

"So P-o-a Winnow. What is first on the tour?"

Hiding his amusement at the younger man's actions - at least he seems younger! - Winnow makes his final argument on the subject, intending to leave it for the time being.

"While there are many downtrodden in shadow, there are few, if any, here. These - let us call them staff - are wealthy by many standards. They are free to leave to seek other employment. Their lives are prolonged by exposure to the mystical energies here. Apprenticeships to many skilled trades are available here. Washing dishes is seldom a life work; merely a stepping-stone to something better."

"Follow me..." a few turns, staircases and hallways later, they approach an area of less menial functionaries - pages and squires with folded papers, clerks with stacks of folders and books, a bustle of administrative activity. He draws Fergus inside the broad doorway, slightly out of the way, ignoring a few curious looks.

There is a clacking of a few typewriters imported from Shadow, but mostly the scratching of pens on paper. Filing cabinets and bookshelves fill the room. "This is where much of the routine governmental functions of Amber are administered. Records kept, funds accounted for. It may serve you to know of this place."

And I hope you draw the inference, that no job is truly menial unless one makes it so.

Moving onward, he waves down a corridor. "Family apartments are down there...I assume you have been assigned something?"

"Washing dishes is not a life's work but it is something we should all do to keep us humble." Fergus follows Winnow along the hallways to the Administrative area.

Fascinating. A whole area devoted to recording things that people have said and done. Both useful and dangerous. A man's life could be signed away with a pen and lost in the archives.

Fergus picks up a scroll at random and reads the first part of it. It is a dry accounting of the crop yields south of Amber over the past fifteen years.

"Amazing what you can learn from such things. My cursory glance tells me that you're crop yields are in gradual decline. There are things that you could do to improve that I believe if anyone is bothered. Information is all well and good but it needs to be available, processed and understood. You could do with Computerizing the lot of these records."

Fergus looks where Winnow is pointing.

"No they have assigned me a guest room which is elsewhere in the Castle. What makes them think that I am actually from your family? To date I have heard Mister Gerard say so and Lady Vialle, but I do not know what evidence they are basing this on!"

Winnow shrugs serenely at the talk of crop yields and compermartmentatalizing, whatever that means. "Amber exists on trade from the sea; its land trade and agriculture are relatively minor. There are those in charge of such things, but I am not one of them. Do you wish to be?" This last is genuinely interested rather than dismissive.

To the question of familial relationship, Winnow turns to face Fergus directly.

"In this matter, blood is everything. If you are of the Blood of Amber, you will be granted powers beyond your wildest imagining, balanced only by the powers of others, and your conscience. If you are not of the Blood, you will die in the test." He purses his lips. "I suppose there is a third option...ignore the possibility and live an ordinary life. Perhaps as a gentleman farmer?"

Winnow places one enormous fingertip gently on Fergus' breastbone. "What does your heart-mind tell you?"

"I do not know what I want to do P-o-a Winnow. That is one of my many problems. Also I have read too much in my short life so far which is is perhaps both good and bad and another of my problems."

Fergus makes a decision.

"My heart-mind as you call it tells me there is something powerful within me. Many people fear it certainly and it also gives me a cause to fear what I may become. Winnow I know not whether I am truly your kin, but I would like to call you a friend. As such if you feel the same then I would like you to make me a promise. If I ever become the monster that I fear and you are close, remind me of the time when we were at peace and of how I am now. Bring me back to this part of me, the part that cares about reality and cares about people."

Winnow's face grows serious, and he places his hands lightly on Fergus' shoulders, as an older man to a younger, a blessing of sorts.

"This is a weighty charge. I will take it at face value. I seek to offend no man but you have given me leave to do so for your own good, and I will, at need. And one who is forwarned is forearmed against such impulses."

He smiles again, and asks, seemingly apropos of nothing, "Do you make physical training?"

"Thank you for you promise. As to physical training if you mean have I trained with weapons then yes I have, though unlike that which is written on your body, I have never killed a man or actually fought in a real combat."

Fergus is grateful for the larger man's promise and tries to smile again.

At least if Winnow is forewarned then maybe, just maybe there is a way out of his fate

"So where to next on the tour?"

"Since you asked, I will show you to a favorite place." He leads Fergus out of the castle and onto the northwest path between the gardens, toward the main stables and training grounds. On the way he lifts his hand in greeting to gardeners, grooms, heralds and soldiers, seemingly on a first-name basis with many. They variously address him as sir, Hoa, milord or Captain. On the way he points out the walled-garden gates, and various barns, carriage houses, minor stables, fish ponds and truck gradens.

After a half mile and a few minutes, they approach the martial training grounds and barracks. "Some unmarried Amberite soldiers live here, and it is temporary quarters for visiting guardsmen or rangers of friendly powers. Over here you see the pells and butts, the sparring yards, the tilts. What is your weapon of preference?"

Fergus stares in wonder at everything he sees. The buildings, the trees and even the most mundane of things is a whole new experience for him. He tries to remember every name that Winnow uses and commits it to memory.

"It's not so much a weapon of preference P-o-a Winnow as the only thing I ever trained on, which is a sword."

Miss Amelia Vane I wonder where you are now and hope that you are safe.

He comes out of his thoughts and smiles again.

"I take it you want to spar?"

"A holy man I once knew told me that to desire is the beginning of all evil, and to purge myself of desire."

He looks at Fergus with a mock scowl. "I decided after some thought to reject this teaching as impractical." He suddenly grins widely. "So yes! I would consider it an honor, and it will entertain the others nearby to see two of the family at play." He walks through a gate onto the field proper, covered with sawdust, and proceeds along the fenceline to a rack of practice weapons.

Forty or fifty men practice on each other or various targets, with sword, shield, lance, bow and knife, or other exotic weapons, ahorse or afoot. Winnow nods at a marshal, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and the look of a veteran. "Good morning to you, Marshal Jeems. A hauberk and belt, a helm, and whatever weapon he wishes for my comrade Fergus."

Winnow watches as Jeems outfits Fergus, interested to see what sort of sword he will choose - long or short? Pointed or blunt? Curved or straight? Light or heavy? He also watches to see how he reacts to the armor, wondering about what experience a prisoner would have with such.

Why would a prisoner be trained with the sword, either? A special type of prisoner, then. A political prisoner, who committed no crime but symbolizes something.

Fergus may notice Winnow does not don any armor, but does choose a large heater-shaped shield and a practice sword similar to whatever Fergus chooses.

"You were right to reject the holy man's teaching. If you desire nothing then you become nothing. I find that Holy Men's writings too full of self importance anyway."

Fergus follows Winnow onto the field proper and to the rack of practice weapons.

"I am not used to heavy armour. When I trained I did so with light leather bindings, though I doubtless will have no trouble carrying the additional weight."

He selects a light practice sword and tests it in the air for balance.

It will do, though doubtless I will show myself for the inexperienced fool that I am. He is choosing to go without armour; no doubt he will be faster without it.

"I guess I am ready when you want to begin."

Winnow responds, "The armor is for your safety. What if you really are not of the Blood? I would not want to injure you unfairly." This raises the question of what a fair injury is...

"...And if it turns out I need armor, I will have it."

Winnow salutes Fergus, hilt to face, then takes up a standard guard, shield tucked up under his chin, sword held ready above his head, drooping a bit to touch the back of his left shoulder.

If he was taught fencing but not fighting, this will reveal and frustrate him. Has he ever faced a shield?

Winnow begins with some fast, single blows along standard attack lines - left shoulder, right, left and right body, left and right leg - to see how Fergus reacts. (A)

It will be good to practice again, but this man is a killer of men so I'd better be careful.

Fergus returns the salute to Winnow and adopts a standard fencing pose. The shield could be a problem, but equally if he was fast enough then...

Fergus parries the standard attacks of his large opponent with ease (A) and decides to try using his smaller frame to circle the big man and get an attack round the side of his shield (A).

Winnow keeps his shield up and blocking, turning to match the smaller man's circling.

He is matching me blow for blow and parry for parry, and I am using a strength far above that of Shadow-dwellers, though not my full...this in itself is evidence of his Blood. I wonder if he even realizes how much stronger he is than they?

"So did you excel at your weapon-play in that place where you were? Did you eventually exceed your teachers?"

Winnow up the ante a bit, adding combinations and speed. (3) He adds Strength (5) to his skill to see whether he can beat through the man's guard, though in doing so there is a risk of breaking even the stout heavy practice swords.

"I was never allowed to attack to hurt" Fergus replies "I would have been punished if I had."

Fergus frantically tries to parry WInnow's heavier blows matching the extra force that he puts into the swing (5) almost snapping the practice swords but as they land faster and faster Fergus struggles to keep up (A) and then one blow lands past his defenses on his breastplate. Though he is not badly hurt by the blow he will feel the bruises on the morrow.

I must try and do better to impress him

Fergus ducks under a blow and considers tumbling past the big man but realises that it is futile in the stiff armour he is wearing. Instead he feints to come up to the left but moves right instead and spins to attack (A).

Though neither man is breathing heavily, after ten minutes Winnow has completed his assessment - assuming Fergus is not underperforming deliberately. He allows Fergus to get a solid blow in on his bare arm, both for the man's pride and to see how he would react. Winnow salutes again, steps back and watches Fergus closely.

Not allowed to attack to hurt...what did that mean? He was never allowed to win? Was only taught to defend, not attack? But his attacks were energetic enough. He's definitely stronger even than the average Amberite. Not to wound or kill, perhaps he means?

Winnow reassesses the match in his own mind. Were his blows fully committed? What is skill and what is lack, or is it all a blind? He shakes his head in frustration, knowing that the weapons are getting in the way of his thinking. Were he to spar hand to hand he would have a much better understanding of the man.

Winnow tosses his blade to one of the many onlookers who had gathered, almost unnoticed, and rubs his arm, a bit theatrically. He laughs. "A good blow, Poa Fergus. I believe you have no concept of your own skill and strength. Marshal, would you do me to courtesy of sparring with young Fergus here?"

Jeems' eyes narrow, and he takes up a sword and shield after putting his staff aside. He already is wearing chain hauberk and helm, against the random blows of engaged fighters he might have to separate.

A few moments later and he is picking himself up off the sawdust, Fergus having easily defeated him in a casual blur of strokes.

"No doubt you are of the Blood, Fergus. This man is a veteran and an arms instructor, and an Amberite, but not of the Blood. You exceed his skill by some and his strength by much." And perhaps you will begin to see that you are not just a man as all others, but are truly a son of the gods, as am I.

"Master Jeems are you alright?" Fergus inquires urgently as the man picks himself up. "I would not like to think that I had hurt you."

Fergus turns to Winnow with a serious expression on his face.

"I would not like to put Master Jeems down, but if he is a master at arms then there is a large disparity between your family and others. The woman who taught me was much better than he was, though I confess that I do not have your skill Poa Winnow."

Jeems brushes himself off and smiles wryly. "Thank you for the lesson, Sir Fergus. Your skills are superb."

Winnow turns to Fergus. "Marshal Jeems is one of several marshals, an instructor and a leader of men. I give him honor, but he is not of the Blood. This is not just some kind of metaphor - our descendance from Grandfather Oberon through the Elders give us our strength, our endurance, and our ability to absorb teaching above that of mortal men. And it is our family. Like it or not, you belong."

Winnow sends the onlookers away with a slam of his palms together, a veritable thunderclap. "Back to work, men, showtime is over!"

To Fergus again, with fewer ears. "Your demonstration gives the men of Amber confidence, and those not of Amber one more reason to respect her might of arms, which keeps the peace. It is nothing to distress you. Warriors want to believe their leaders are better at war than they, else they would not be leaders. Everyone of the Blood must be capable of leading men and defending Amber. It is a glorious thing!"

While I struggle within myself to maintain humility and respect for these lesser men, Fergus seems to have the opposite struggle - to acknowledge himself as something greater. In fact - he must not yet have walked the Pattern. Of course. And I am to prepare him.

I should have seen it before.

"Poa Winnow your demonstration indeed shows that I am unusual. Keeping the peace I can respect but I detect from Vialle's comments that it was not allows so here. She implied that it has not always been about keeping the peace and this worries me. The more power a man is given the more that power can twist his soul. Many a philospher has noted this as true."

And I cannot forget that they name me the "Twisted Man"

Fergus wants to know more about Winnow before they continue on their tour. He displays great wisdom but also with a tinge of something else mixed in.

"Winnow you have said that your body declares the first time that you killed a man. Before we continue will you tell me the circumstances that this came about and why you feel that it is such an achievement to take a life?"

Winnow's face grows thoughtful, as he helps Fergus off with his practice armor. "Let us speak more of that later. It is not a story to be told lightly. For now, I will only that that I do not consider it an achievement, but a waymark on the path of life. To test oneself against an opponent is good. To defeat an enemy is cause for celebration."

He hands off the hauberk and helm to a page, who carries it away. "The death of a man - a conscious being, let me say - is not. But when the two instances intersect - when defeat of an enemy means his death, or when a conscious being becomes an evil to all those around him - then that death troubles me not. But such a deed changes the doer, and that merits a mark. These patterns on my body," he says, touching them, "reflect my soul."

Winnow turns toward a long low building down the row. "Come, let us bathe."

He doesn't want to tell the anguish he and his kind have caused

He can give you the power you need. Grasp it whilst you can

Remain in the centre

Fergus shakes his head to clear his conflicting thoughts. He looks to where Winnow is pointing, the low building seems of a size and he wonders just how much water they are to bathe in.

"It isn't deep is it for I have never had the occaision to swim before?" Winnow leads Fergus into the building a marble crafted pool with stylised statues in each of the four corners. A servant attempts to take his clothes as he undresses but Fergus folds them neatly beside the pool denying him the opportunity. The pool was large and clear and seemed to be heated via an undergound hypercaust.

"So Winnow what is your view on what a Godling should do with his time then?"