The following is an anonymous, incomplete letter apparently written 25 years ago by an unknown sluagh in the Boston area. Copies were circulated throughout Novanglia and neighboring areas of the Kingdom shortly after the Night of the Dragon in 1998, perhaps in response to the "whitewashed" version of Duke Brendan's death promulgated by Count Dumas ap Eiluned. A copy recently came into my possession through the agency of a sluagh known to me as "Bob of Byzantium," apparently a Freehold of his kind here in the Duchy of the Loon, although it is extremely odd that I had never heard of it. It is of course an obvious temptation to see this Bob as the "Robert" of the letter below, but naturally he denies it, and if it was he then the sluagh in question has managed to stay in his current wilder seeming for a long, long time.  Bob also denies any knowledge of the author of this letter, and says he supposes it was an unseelie sluagh long since Undone or dead.

In any event I know you are interested in information related to your famous kinsman. I have made some annotations based on a conversation with Robert and other sources. If there is any truth to this, it is a grave thing indeed, although the events of two years ago proved that Asterlan's brother was by no means the man we thought he was.  I am only sorry to see that the rot had begun long before we even suspected, and his little episode with the Wurm cannot be attributed entirely to senility and Bedlam.

The question of Asterlan's daughter and what part she may have played in this is cause for some concern.  If it seems a good idea, perhaps I should seek her out when I am at Lenoria on Imbolc (I thank Your Majesty for the honor of being chosen to lead the runners; I will perform my duties to the best of my ability).

 I am at Your Majesty's disposal should you have any questions.

 In your service,
Sir Golannon of House Fiona, Ducal Scribe, Caer Loon

 My dear Robert,

 I have just returned from tea with Lilith Sian in her chambers beneath Chi Mu. You will of course remember how delightfully weak she brews her Earl Grey, and if I am not mistaken she had stored the leaves in a damp place and allowed them to mold slightly, making for an exquisite and heady beverage. The crumpets were perhaps a bit too fresh, however, and the clotted cream only just beginning to turn, but then she had called me there with some haste, and I understand that the Seelie will occasionally try to develop a taste for the food served by the upworlders. As L[ilith] has been granted Holder status -- as I am sure you have heard -- for the mew, perhaps she foresees in her future the occasional cucumber sandwich made with cucumbers that have not been allowed to ripen to a proper grey-brown, a fate I would not wish on anyone.  Now that the Shining Host have returned from their centuries-long sojourn in Arcadian cowering-places, oh, the lengths we must go to for a taste of power, and power, it seems, tastes like unripe cucumbers in too-fresh sandwiches made by quisling boggans . . .

I arrived there slightly early, and was somewhat surprised to see Sir Real*(1) in attendance. He had not been out of his bolthole lately, instead (so I have been given to understand) moping in the darkness over that wretched noblewoman. His Grace has forbidden her to see him, as you may know, and she always does what Daddy says -- or at any rate she does since he found out about her little tryst.  They had been careful not to be discovered -- but the sidhe have not been in the world long enough to learn about modern contraceptives, it seems, and perhaps her otherworldly charms overwhelmed our colleague's better judgment.*(2)  In any event, that he was out in impolite society again was unexpected.

"Good day," said Our Hostess, and motioned me to a nearby chair.  "Sir Real has kindly accepted my invitation as well, as this is a matter that concerns him deeply."  "Of course," I said, taking my seat. "Good afternoon, Sir Real. I hope you are well?"  "Well enough," he replied curtly. "I did not expect to see YOU here today," he continued, looking somewhat accusingly at Lilith. She glanced an apology to me, and I merely shrugged.  One might almost think he blames ME for his current misfortune . . .*(3)

"Asterlan," said L[ilith], and I am sorry to say, my dear Robert, that Sir Real actually cringed at the name like a character in some cheap melodrama, "is going to have a party soon." "Indeed," I replied -- for who has not heard of the festival that the happy subjects of Novanglia are organizing for next week to celebrate a third year since they exchanged a blatant and predictable commoner tyrant for a subtler noble one? (I do not miss the Big O, of course, Robert, but the kithain of Novanglia are deluded if they think Asterlan cares one whit for them. But perhaps our current respite from whimsical executions has some merit.) "At this party," L. continued, "all the happy free peoples of the duchy will present His Grace with a gift.  Sir Real here has had A Vision."

"A Vision?" I said, stressing the capital letters. "And what," I asked, "does Sir Real's Vision have to do with His Grace's gift from the free and happy sluagh of Novanglia?"

"I will tell you," she replied.

"I would be most honored if you did so," I said, and waited for her response.  I was, as they say, on the edge of my seat.

It was in fact S[ir] R[eal] who replied. "Asterlan," he said, spitting the name with venom, "is going to go on a quest to find Arcadia.  He will leave by Midsummer, if not before. He will be gone many years."*(4)

"Really," I said.  "Your powers of foretelling are great indeed, my friend. But how does this relate to our gift?  You see, I am a stupid unseelie crawler, and need these things spelled out for me."

"Our gift," said Lilith, "will be to tell Asterlan of our friend's vision, to prophesy his success in regaining what all wish to be regained. You see, His Grace does not yet know he is going on a quest."

"Interesting," I said, and meant it. "You will tell Asterlan that he is destined to find Arcadia, and he'll be off like a shot, leaving us in peace."

"Sir Real will tell Asterlan himself," said L.,  "but other than that you have the plan in a nutshell. The Duke will take the more annoying knights of the realm along with him, and perhaps some of the Ogre's old cronies who defected when they were struck with sheer amaze by the regal bearing of the Shining Host and who are anxious to prove their worth, and we will be rid of a useless segment of our population."

"What guarantee is there that someone more obnoxious won't take his place?" I asked. "That prick Corwin, for instance, assuming he does not go with Asterlan."

"Count Brendan will remain to rule. It is fated," said S.R. "He will guide the duchy with wisdom and honor until his brother returns with glorious news of Arcadia's whereabouts."

"I see.  And why is Brendan preferable to Asterlan?  Asterlan at least has a personality," I said. "We're just trading an almost-capable ruler for another sidhe of no proven qualities."

"Oh, he has proven his qualities to me," said S.R. "We have spoken of this often."

I was, sad to say, caught entirely by surprise. "Count Brendan has conspired with you to send his brother off on some suicidal quest?"

"Count Brendan and I agree about many things," said S.R.  "He at least has no foolish prejudices against our kind."

I laughed long and hard.  "You mean Count Brendan will let you have sex with his niece if you arrange for him to be made Duke. Very nice."

"You make it sound so sordid," L. said (S.R. could only glare at me). "The Count has his reasons for wanting Asterlan out of the way, and not all of them are related to sheer greed for power. In any case, Brendan has agreed to include more commoners in the government of the duchy. And Brendan has made arrangements for Asterlan to be away for quite some time."

"What sort of arrangements?" I inquired.*(5)

"Those are best left secret for now," said S.R. "And if they fall through, well, maybe Asterlan really will find Arcadia.  There would be no harm in that."

"You could rest more easily, anyway," I said. "But what of Brendan's Eiluned friend, the Baron Dumas? He is no bold questing knight, so we can be sure he will remain here. He is also no forward-looking Modernist ready to admit commoners -- or even the Unseelie -- into the back rooms of power.  And Baron Corwin, Great Hero of the Accordance War. Their influence will still be a problem."

"One step at a time, my friend," said L.  "We have contingencies for nearly everything. That's where you come in."

"I have a part in this?  You honor me," I replied.

"Not at all.  You have contacts that we do not," she said. "We may have need of" [...]

[This is the end of the page; the next page is missing, as are any other pages, however long the letter continued. Presumably this Robert was one of the contacts mentioned by Lilith Sian, and the author hs written to him in compliance with her wishes. ]

*(2) The Lady Sorana pregnant by Surreal?  Do you know aught of this, Majesty?  What became of the child?  Back.

*(3) I could not learn exactly what is meant here, since the identity of the author remains unknown.  Perhaps (although it would not be clear why) the author was involved in betraying Sorana and Surreal's tryst to Duke Asterlan, or perhaps Surreal suffered some sort of social censure among his kind for exactly the same affair, and the author was involved in this.  There may of course be yet another "misfortune" referred to here that we cannot know. It does seem, however, that Surreal (and Lilith) were Seelie at this time, although their plotting led to exploration of their Unseelie natures in time, whereas the author seems to be rather unapolagetically Unseelie -- we may indeed posit Shadow Court connections. I do not know how such court divisions affected the sluagh at this time -- or even now -- but we may safely assume some hostility, however repressed, despite the apparent anti-noble sentiment shared by all parties.   Back.

*(4) At last proof, perhaps, if any were needed, that Surreal's famous prophecy was invented out of malice, as many have long suspected (including Your Majesty, if I am not mistaken). Back.

*(5) What sort of arrangements, indeed.  Could Brendan have been in contact with the Dragon even then? Back.