Reconvening in the courtyard, the siblings find that fresh horses and full packs have been brought out for them.  Off to one side, the ifrit stands, watching all the activity and tapping her foot with barely concealed impatience.  After the last of you arrives, Aysel enters from the far end of the courtyard, accompanied by a dozen guards and a stranger.<br/><br/>He's a touch under six feet, fair haired, with pale blue eyes and a sarcastic half-smile on his lips.  His clothes are an unusual style, mostly black and green.  He is unarmed...and manacled.<br/><br/>"Here is your charge, Prince Corwin of Amber" Aysel says.  "Return him to felicity, why don't you?"<br/><br/>"Gee, thanks.  Don't I at least get a kiss goodbye," he says to her in an accent as strange as his clothes.  And, when she takes this flirtatious jab with no more emotion that a vicious glint in her eye, he smirks...right up until the ifrit strides over and whispers something in his ear.<br/><br/>Whatever she says, it leaves him pale and shaken.<br/><br/>For her part, the ifrit now bears her own mysterious smile.   Bowing to the four of you, she departs.<br/><br/>"Can we go now?  Please," Corwin says.