The Darkest Hour | TheDarkestHour / ASisterhoodOfShadows browse

[continued from Meanwhile Back at the Lab]

Ginger curled up in Gillian’s lap, her regal head raised like a watchful sphinx. Even with people only a few strides away, the darkened corner gave the impression detachment, severance. Sanctuary. Even their voices sounded muted, distant. The shadows closed in, as if drawing a curtain between them.

<What’s going on in that mind of yours?> Cybelle asked.

Gillian rubbed behind Ginger's ears. <Trumps. I want you to help me make trumps of everyone. I'd like it if we all had a set of each other. How long would that take?>

<That could take some doing, darling. On average, two or three days of work per Trump> Cybelle replied. <Perhaps more if you’re working solely from memory. Copies may not take as long, but it's still hard work. But, if you're set on this, I’ll show you an added technique, so once the Trump is completed it will be permanently ingrained into your mind. In other words, you won’t need the card on hand to use it. Save you from at least having to draw an extra deck for yourself. Although indentifying is easier with a physical deck. Meh. Can’t have everything, I guess.> She gave a rueful chuckle.

Gillian frowned, both at the timetable Cybele presented and Malachi arguing with Cwynwyd and Cole. She thought about intervening before things came to blows with the boys, but after a moment the situation looked like it was cooling down. She focused inward again.

Ginger watched them with interest, but thought better of cheering. In the end, she laid her head back down and muttered, “Morons.”

<Well, I suppose you might attempt to draw them during the day. But have plenty of towels around to mop up the blood gushing from your ears.> Cybelle chuckled. <No, your work would be reserved for the Dark Hour. Nothing comes cheaply, love. You’re creating an arcane connection of incredible power. That requires heavy lifting.>

Gillian sighed. <So much for that plan. Um...is there any arcane way we can look outside?>

<Of course, poppet. You can use magick or Pattern for that purpose. I would suggest the latter, as it will offer you more protection. Simply call the Pattern to you, as I’ve instructed. Then turn it outward, rather than internalize its power, thinking of it as a giant lens. Normally, you’d be searching for a specific thing, but in this case, you can view the city from above. Sift through it. And you can refine your search for traces of Pattern, Logrus, Magick, whatever.> She sensed Cybele smiling. <Why waste your time with the arcane when you can see into Reality itself?>

Gillian tried to suppress a rising sense of excitement and desire, feeling that it wasn't entirely appropriate. She wasn't very successful.

Cybele gave a mental shrug. <Technically, you stumbled on to the technique yourself. But there was a lot of bleeding and nastiness involved at the time.>

<Oh. That time.>

Gillian could feel spectral fingers caress her shoulders, whispery fingers brush the hairs on her neck.

In some ways the caress reminded her of Shiva...and Gillian immediately clamped down on that comparison. <You were saying?>

<To call the Pattern, you must remember it. . . walk it. . . in your mind. I want you to remember the blue-white squares stretching out in front of you. That twisting, curving, knotted thing beneath the castle.> And in that moment, Gillian was in the Pattern Chamber; a circular pattern stretching out before her, roughly the size of a baseball diamond. She could feels its pulse - cool and dangerous. A dragon’s back, a razor’s edge, begging for her to venture out upon its tiled surface.

Gillian smiled, eyes wide and bright but focused on something not in the room. Anticipating the mysteries to come, in her mind she stepped breathlessly onto the beginning of the pulsing, glowing line.

As Gillian’s ‘foot’ stepped out upon the tiled floor, sparks flared up around her. Low and unthreatening at first. But with each movement forward, they grew higher, reaching her ankles, then knees by the time she arrived at the First Veil. Her mind vibrated with energy; she could swear her hair burned with fiery sparks. The tremendous effort felt exhilarating, terrifying, liberating. If this was merely the mental projection of the Pattern, how would walking the true Pattern feel?

She followed the fiery line in her thoughts until reaching the Pattern’s center. The sparks and flames ebbed away, leaving the world in crystalline relief. She could see everything… everything in the room. And with but a glance beyond the walls, she knew she could see every facet of the city as well. And beyond. As Cybele had said, the Pattern had become a lens through which to see Creation.

Ginger shifted uncomfortably in her lap, and then began to fight to get down. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

Gillian barely noticed.

Delighted, she hugged her knees to her chest and examine the wards to the lab from the outside, verifying their strength and stability.

Then she shifted her attention outward, scanning the horizon.

Gilliam’s delight would be short lived, as her new perception took in the travesty of Amber. Entropy consumed the city, rotting it from within like a septic flesh. Shadows of every variety crawled over the buildings and streets and parks like bacterium in the tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands. Amongst their ranks, she sensed an untold number of Pattern fragments; darkened, suppressed. . . hiding. These must have been the human population, safely concealed inside their onyx cocoons.

And at the center of this travesty stood Castle Amber, transformed and stretched beyond all rationality. Atop it, something glowed against the emerald nightscape; golden, pulsing radiantly with Pattern energy.

Then the massive Shape cut across the path of her vision. A black clot of pure malignance. The same one she’d witnessed last night, just before Cybele took her over and turned the sky molten.

As if sensing her peering gaze, the creature shrieked and turned in her direction - all flames and wings and hatred.

Gillian jumped up from her bench and turned in its direction, her eyes wide. <God's teeth! Can we blast it through this lens? Or do I need to be outside?>

<No, we can assault it with magic from here.> Cybele said confidently.

 <And the Pattern may lend us strength.  That thing is pure Logrus.  I

can smell the taint from here. But remember, the contact of Pattern and Logrus can be a tad. . . destructive. There’s no telling what might happen if we unleash our powers above a populated area.

<After what happened last night, I can't risk it except as a last resort.> There was an edge of...disappointment in her tone. Gillian dropped her concentration on the Lens and stepped back to the edge of the room furthest from the direction the thing was flying and looked around a little wildly.

[Sisterhood of Shadows merging with The Hungry Sky]

"Forget fighting it. That this is going to crash," said Malachi. "We have to go, now!" Despite his fervor to leave, he paused long enough to see if the wizards in the group (for so he thought of them) agreed.

"I'm not sure that we have time to get the wards down," Cynwyd replied. Sensing that Gillian had dropped the Pattern, he re-focused on the Logrus tentacles that he had extended. <Do you have any ideas on how we might stop the dizzying descent of this beast?> he thought, even as he moved to the area of the room that he sensed would take the least damage from any impact.

"I don't think we have time for anything," Cole said, crossing the room to stand over Gillian, his bracer-clad arms raised and crossed over both their heads. "Brace for impact!"

"Why?" asks Malachi, braced to kick down the door. "Do those wards do something if I kick down this door?"

In that disconcerting faraway voice, Cynwyd replied, "They did not appear to be that discerning in regards to going off."

"Not stop it," Temnal said suddenly. "Meet it. Use its momentum against it."

Riffing off of the spell known as Persephone's Tears, he visualized the whole mountainside (or at least the part of it where the creature was likely to land) becoming a forest of wicked stone spears. <Can we?> he asked his Other. <And can we imbue it with Pattern energy, if it's a creature of Chaos, to kill it?>

Brand gave a wry laugh. <Brilliant. Run the bastard through like a charging bull. My only concern is the force of its impact transferring into the building. And bringing it down on our heads. You may wish to slow its descent first. Solidify the air, for example.>

"What are you planning to do?" Gillian asked Temnal.

"Let it impale itself," he replied briefly.

Gillian nodded, eyes wide. "I'll try to create a downdraft to help."

She didn't have the spell Njord's Hand memorized, but Gillian knew the components and how they would work together, and she brought them to mind. <Cybele? Can you help me with this?>

<Are you flat as a board?> Cybele quipped. <Of course, I can. I was spell-casting before that little punk was an itch in his father’s sack.>

Temnal, on the other hand, always had Persephone's Tears hung as part of his usual arsenal of memorized spells; it would take only an instant to cast. He moved closer toward the window so he could watch the thing's approach and judge his moment. Too soon, and the flying creature might be able to pull up. Too late and ... well, best not to think about that.

"If I might interject something into your planning," Cynwyd said dryly, "we're at ground zero. I don't care how much the creature impales itself, simple logic lends to the belief that this might be hazardous to our health. I'd suggest that if we can get the source of pattern moving to a place of our choosing, that the creature would alter its dive, still hopefully kill itself, and very much hopefully not kill us. I could cloak this area to reduce any residual pattern emanations, and be ready to take myself, Cole, and anyone else that was wont to go to the location, to finish the beast off. Seems a bit less prone to craters in the lab area and splattered us, at least from my perspective."

"I like this plan," Cole said, "better than the plan in which we increase the thing's velocity toward us." He stared down at Gillian.

Ginger piped up, “Not to be stickler, but the last time Gillian blew something up, it destroyed things in the real world as well. There’s a few hundred students outside. Just sayin.’”

She flushed under Cole's gaze. "Fine. I vote for somewhere not populated then, like the countryside. Temnal? I'll still help with the downdraft if you decide to stay."

Malachi eyes the door, considering whether to kick it open despite the warnings. He'd rather take his chances with nasty spells than with crashing, castle-sized dragons.

Temnal said, "You can open the door normally from inside if you want to--no need to kick it down--but doing that will breach the wards."

A shriek of distress rattled the windows, shook the mortar. The dragon changed its flight path, pulling out at the last moment. The downdraft from its wings followed an instant later, striking the building like a hurricane. Roofing tiles and wooden shudders came tumbled by the window to the river below, torn from their moorings.

And a black coffin. It spun lazily by, only to be swept away by the crimson waters below.

The beast filled the sky with flames, circling around; albeit it more hesitantly than before.

Cynwyd, still observing it from his enhanced perception, could feel its confusion and fear. Like a raptor losing sight of its prey, it had veered off from its attack. It was searching for Gillian’s Pattern emanations again. But this time, it had a pretty good idea where its meal had gone to ground.

"You were going to relocate us elsewhere?" Gillian prompted Cwnwyd. She scooped up Ginger.

Cole tore his eyes away from where the black coffin had vanished, to look at Cynwyd expectantly.

Cynwyd stood silently, struggling with the two levels of perception as he did. He held out one hand, wreathed in darkness and beckoned them closer.

"Did you finish what needed to be done here? And get everything that you wanted? I somehow don't think we'll be back for a while," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course we'll be back," Gillian stated. "I have a test at the end of the week."

"And no Pattern. Please. We don't want to draw it to us again," he implored. "Not to mention that it would have disastrous effects otherwise."

Gillian's eyebrows rose. "Oh. So that's what drew it to us. Good to know."

Temnal frowned. "I can see why you don't want to have Pattern in evidence when you're using Logrus to move us," he conceded, "but isn't it rather the point to draw the thing to us? Or at least into our trap? How do you suggest we do that otherwise?"

"I want to go somewhere where I can blast the thing with impunity," Gillian added.

"Man," Cole said, "I wish I had some impunity to blast it with."

Gillian raised an eyebrow at Cole.

<Ready?> he thought, focusing his external perceptions on an area on the other side of the river that overlooked the lab. There was a statue there, depicting some battle or another. He caressed it with a Logrus tendril, feeling the details of the statue. Though he'd never really looked at it with his eyes before, he began to feel as if he knew it intimately as it became more real to him, anchoring himself to it. Then gathering the others, he pulled the extension of himself taut, drawing them to the location through time and space. Though only a short jaunt, and reinforced by Osric, the effort was still almost Olympian, and he found himself quite exhausted when the shadows parted to reveal the cobblestones beneath their feet, and allow the night wind to caress their skin. He immediately scanned the skies, looking for the beast, hoping that the crash would do its job...

The beast continued its search pattern over the campus, blissfully unaware of the Logrus-trapdoor its prey had just used to slip through its claws.

Gillian looked around as she placed where they were. "Can you take us further away? Maybe into Arden?" she asked Cynwyd. "I don't want to damage things...."

"It's okay," Cole said, "I've seen this statue. It's not very good, and won't be missed. It commemorates the battle of... oh."

<Sorry, Finndo.> he added.

<Boy. If I weren’t dead I’d feed you your narbles.> Finndo growled.

The beast continued its search pattern over the campus, blissfully unaware of the Logrus-trapdoor its prey had just used to slip through its claws.

"It was going to find the lab eventually, and still will it seems," Cynwyd said. "I thought the idea was to get it when it was diving and impale it? Unless you can create a localized area of pattern not where we are, and do the same? If you bring it up, it's going to come to us. And I don't relish being at ground zero anywhere it decides to dive..."

"Nor do I, really," Temnal conceded, "but if it's a choice between that and just letting it attack us on its own...or fly about creating random havoc for that matter..."

"Oh. I misunderstood your intent," Gillian replied in a small voice. "However, Ginger was right earlier. Damage we do here in the Hour is carried over to the real world, and there are students in that area. I don't want to hurt anyone."

She glanced at Temnal. "I think your idea of impaling is still a good one, but I think we should stage it elsewhere, where no one will get hurt."

"Apart from the monster, that is," Temnal agreed with a slight smile.

"Is there some way to create a decoy? Somewhere that people won't be?" Cynwyd asked, never taking his eye off of the monstrosity circling the campus.

"I don't know. I will ask," Gillian replied. <Cybele? What do you think?>

<Work with Brand’s meat-puppet.> Cybele replied. <Between the four of us, we can arrange a nasty surprise for that thing. Then the muscle-boys can finish off anything that’s left. But it needs to be close. That thing is obviously twitchy. I doubt it’ll be fooled again, without some serious bait.>

Gillian gestured in frustration as she talked silently to her Other. <But it can't be close. Damage here carries over, remember? Students are present. Not to mention the University itself. Prince Benedict....>

The dragon arched in their general direction, occasionally lighting the sky with its flaming breath. With the light, the group noticed they were not far from Stonetears – the city’s royal cemetery. Few, if any, would venture there at night. And the only buildings belong to the dead. They were unlikely to notice – or complain about - a dragon crashing into their homes.

Malachi stood waiting for someone to tell him how he could be of use. But mostly, he stood.

Gillian blinked. "Let's do this over at Stonetears," she suggested. "Less to damage there in the real world, and it'll be away from the University and the students. What do you all think?"

"That works for me," Temnal said at once. His early experience didn't involve the kind of respect for the dead inculcated by other cultures, so crashing a monster into a bunch of monuments didn't bother him.

"I think as long as it doesn't involve me being at ground zero, I'm fine with it," Cynwyd replied matter-of-factly. "Is there a plan? I'd thought there was one before we came here... and I just wanted to make sure this time," he added.

<You used the ‘P’ word, boy. Now we are truly doomed> Osric chuckled.

"There was," Temnal informed him. "It's just that you objected to certain parts of it. We're trying to modify it right now."

"I'm doing the best I can," Gillian replied, frowning. "This whole 'save the universe' thing is new to me. I'm not exactly the hero type. Look, there's that oak grove overlooking the side of Stonetears closest to us. We can all hide there while Temnal and I try to impale the thing. Then you hero types can finish it off with your swords and stuff."

She pulled at Temnal's elbow and started to drag him toward the cemetery. "Cybele said we should work together."

"Fine. You're probably the best magician here," Temnal replied.

Gillian didn't know what to say to that, so she gave him a lop-sided smile. "Regardless, it will take both of us and our Others to pull this off."

<Cybele,> Gillian asked, <Can we do some sort of Pattern decoy to lure it to the cemetery? I don't really want to personally be at ground zero, either, now that I have a better indication of that thing's size.>

<Of course, poppet> Cybele quipped. <You may raise or lower the Pattern aura of a region. It is more difficult to localize it to such a degree, but what is life without impediment? Your friend may assist, I believe.>

<Excellent. How?>

Cybele sighed. <Two Pattern-users are better than one. Link your power to manipulate the Pattern faster. Then combine your Sorcery to quicken whatever spells you come up with. You know enough about that, girl. It’s basic magick. Of course, you open yourself to him. And he to you. I’d suggest wiping his brain after the conflict. Blame it on backlash or something. This lot wouldn’t know magick from a hole in the ground.>

The lifeless geography of Stonetears suffered even greater decay in the Dark Hour; its tombs crumbling or twisted into monuments to death and depravity. The yew and ivy trees crouched like sentinels, their dead limbs sanctuaries for unhealthy lichen and rot. Corwin’s Tomb had melted like grey wax, its sealed door now replaced by a maw of darkness and cold-iron.

"Lovely place. Shall have to have a picnic here later," Gillian mumbled.

Cole stood by Malachi. "So. We'd better keep an eye out. Wouldn't want the more ordinary horrors down here on the ground to attack while we're trying to lure down the big nasty."

Cole’s words were not unfounded. In the mist, they could see things shuffling aimlessly - indistinct and yet terrible. For now, they remained lost in their alien machinations. When the dragon drew closer, they began to scurry off like rabbits sensing a predator.

Gillian ran to get under cover of the trees before the dragon reached them.

Temnal was right behind her, though already scanning the area for a good spot to be Ground Zero. That half-melted tomb looked like a hot prospect to him.

Cole followed them both, sword drawn and eyes alert.

Cole, Malachi, and Cynwyd realized that the Magic Duo had picked a perfect spot to confront the dragon – be it consciously or unconsciously. The high walls formed by the mountainside would prevent the dragon from gaining enough down thrust to take flight, should it survive the impact. It would be forced to come through them, as well as restrict the swing of its barbed tail. Other than being in front of its conflagration-spitting maw, these advantages would make their fight that much easier. Above them, the creature’s wings dipped, turning it toward them. They could feel its numerous eyes upon them, as it began its approach.

Malachi whispered a prayer to the Unicorn to strengthen his spear arm and his heart. He tried to stand where he could defend the magicians if necessary, but well away from the supposed point of impact.

Gillian turned toward Temnal. "We need to establish a rapport between us--quickly. Once established, we can augment each other's power.>

She took his hands in hers and stared deeply into his eyes, willing a connection to form.

Temnal had already done something like this before, with Rusalka, so he returned Gillian's gaze and reached back to her.

Gillian and Temnal went about their arcane work, connecting as they – and their Others – had been taught to do. At first, both encounter resistance from the other; undoubtedly the instinctual mistrust of ‘Family’ getting in the way. But soon enough, the resistance fell and they successfully summoned the Pattern in their minds. It was as if, to their psychic perception, they now stood at the center of a silvery tapestry, its tarnished and tattered threads easily plucked and rewoven by magick. They had but to reach out and reshape the world in their image.

Cole, Malachi, and Cynwyd could feel the change in the air; the imposing sense of entropy slightly losing its hold on the world around them. And as they noticed this change, so too did the Dragon. It shrieked its displeasure and arched in their direction. It fell from the sky like an arrow and this time it would not miss.

<Concentrate the Pattern power on that melted tomb,> Temnal directed Gillian. <Lure it there. I'll be ready to summon the spikes when it's too close to change course.> He brought up Persephone's Tears in his mind, plugging in the linchpins for location, duration, area and size, while leaving the last one -- commencement -- open like a pair of lead wires that could be brought together in an instant to close the circuit.

Gillian plucked strands of tattered Patternstuff and deftly twisted them together, then held the braid up to her lips and blew. She directed the wind she'd summoned to carry the silvery strands to Corwin's Tomb, and they lit there, pulsating gently in time to her heart.

"The bait is set. Cynwyd, don't forget to hide us," she whispered, her voice loud and clear in Cynwyd's left ear, though she was several feet away with her back to him.

Cynwyd sighed. "Don't forget to drop any Pattern emanations," he replied, barely keeping the annoyance he felt at the unneeded reminder out of his voice. He kept his eyes on the dragon's descent, ready to cloak them with Byatis’ Blessing enhanced by the Logrus the moment the insistent pain of the Pattern's presence dropped from his head.

Gillian channeled the energy from her connection to the Pattern into Temnal's spell, strengthening Persephone's Tears and intertwining it with Njord’s Hand, so when Temnal uttered his lynchpin, both spells would go off and Njord's Hand would create a downdraft that would slam the dragon into the spikes created by Persephone's Tears.

Cole seemed content to stand alertly until something came within stabbing range. It was hard not to stare at the dragon-thing as it came pouncing down, but there was nothing he could do about that for now: instead, he scanned the trees around them for less obvious threats.

The beast tightened its wings toward its malformed body, picking up speed. A wave of malevolence preceded it, filling their bodies and minds with a dreadful cold. Muscles and thoughts became slushy, threatening to freeze over in the face of this Doom. Normal humans would have been rooted to the spot, and likely wouldn’t make a sound as they were torn to wet shreds.

But they weren’t human anymore, not here. Though they might have their personal fears, they would not be overcome by this one.

The fleshy mass of wings and teeth darkened the sky, filling their vision until only it remained. Despite the hideous speed at which it descended, everything appeared to slow at the last moment. Its mouth – filled with rows of broken swords and axe blades – split open, revealing the glowing sun deep within its throat. In the second before it transformed the graveyard into blackened ash, Gillian’s spell ignited into being. A cyclonic burst of air speared into the beast from above, catching its wings like giant sails. Before it could compensate, the cruel – and suddenly jagged – ground reached up to grab it.

The earth trembled with the massive impact, obscuring the graveyard into a choking cloud of dust and broken masonry. The shockwave sent Gillian and Temnal flying like paper dolls, while Cynwyd merely struggled with his footing. Cole and Malachi, however, stood resolute even as the ground buckled beneath their feet, recovering almost immediately.

Gillian lost all concentration when she tumbled, including her connection to both Temnal and the Pattern.

The cloud of dust and debris blinded them for a moment, but they could hear the beast thrashing; its screams of rage and pain ear-splitting. Random jets of flame vomited over the stonework, but never got close enough for concern. They could also hear the splintering of trees and stone, vaguely seeing a shadowy tail slashing back and forth. As their vision cleared, they could see the beast better. Its wings were broken and torn. Ichors poured from its ruined belly and twisted limbs, impaled in a dozen places. Its scales and flesh bubbled and mewed, as if trying to escape the ruined Whole.

The Dragon remained aware and active, but now it was wounded. The most deadly form of beast.

Cynwyd cast Byatis' Blessing – but only thanks to the power lent to him by Osric. <I’ll try to maintain this as long as I can, boy. There are simply too many minds in that thing. Too many thoughts. So much chaos. So much madness.> The strain in his voice grew more acute with each passing second. Indeed, Cynwyd could feel the creature’s madness seeping into him, threatening to take root. The distraction would not last long.

Gillian regained her balance and crouched. She stared around wildly, her head jerking in one direction and then the next, until her wide-eyed gaze finally settled on the Dragon. Her first impulse was to blast the monster with every last bit of power that she and Cybele possessed, but a more prudent side of herself cautioned that others were nearby and might get caught in the crossfire.

She hesitated instead.

Blinded by pain and Cynwyd’s magick, the creature simply spit bursts of flame in varying directions. Having chosen caution over valor, Gillian avoided a blistering wave of fire. Its other attacks were equally ineffectual.

Seeing that its legs and wings were broken from the impact, Cole signaled Malachi to flank the beast, so they came at it from opposite sides, between the fire-breathing head and the lashing tail. The young men were able to close the distance, crossing the broken terrain with surprising speed and agility. Perhaps through some unknown sense, the creature began turn to its body in response to this new threat.

But when it tried to rise, another spell slammed into it, numbing its joint to immobility – Temnal having recovered from being painfully thrown. He could feel the beast shirking off the Chains of Loki, but the desired effect had been achieved.

Cole slipped in on the thing’s wounded side - the mass pink and charred burns from Gillian’s previous attack taller than him. Recovering rapidly, the dragon arched its neck like a striking serpent at this new threat. Rows of serrated teeth bore down on the young man, its sulfurous breath choking him, filling eyes with tears. Suddenly, it howled in agony, as Malachi drove his weapon into its fleshy armpit. It tried to rid itself of this pain, only to open itself to Cole’s swing.

His blade struck true, slicing through the wet meat like pudding. His blade sank deeply, penetrating a lung – a blast of hot air billowing out like a deflating balloon. Cole felt his skin boil from the blistering steam, being forced back before taking permanent damage.

The dragon thrashed, drowning in its own blood. With one last effort, it tried to take wing, only to collapse like a mountain slide and expire. Nearly crushing Cole and Malachi in the process.

Dropping the spell, Cynwyd maintained the link that it had provided to Cole and Malachi, and as the beast fell, jerked them with tendrils of the Logrus, pulling them dizzyingly and inexplicably towards him. One second they were *there* in the shadow of the falling dragon, then, a blink later, they were *here* in front of Cynwyd, the distant fires from the dying beast the only thing giving them an indication of exactly how far they had moved.

Cynwyd felt ~something~ reaching out for him through the contact. A blow-fly buzz tickled the back of his skull. They were voices, he realized. An untold number, pleading, whimpering, crying out. They tried to fill his mind, as if seeking sanctuary.

Cynwyd almost recoiled at the contact, but that would have meant losing Cole and Malachi. So with the same level of detachment one might adopt in reaching into sewage to grab a gem, he continued, ignoring the screams. But he knew he wouldn't emerge untouched from this.

Cole collapsed to the ground, coughing, and wheezed out a single word: "Medic."

Gillian looked at her companions silently before turning back to the Dragon. Eyes wide, she eased her way forward to get a better look at the thing.

Cole strained to get up, rasping out urgently, "Gillian, stay back!" He barked out a couple of coughs, then continued. "The last one burst apart when it died. So it looks like this one hasn't quite died yet. And you don't want to be there when it does." He collapsed into another coughing fit.

She paused uncertainly and looked back at Cole over her shoulder.

Cynwyd looked down at Cole helplessly. "I suppose this means that if we're going to continue to do this, someone needs to learn to be a physicker- whether mundane, or magical," he said, shrugging.

"That would be Raina, I think. She's studying body forms," Gillian replied. As her gaze turned back to the Dragon, she felt both curiosity and repulsion. <What do you make of this thing, Cybele? What happens to the minds, the souls of the hapless beings that comprise it when we destroy it?>

As she asked the question, the dragon began to collapse in upon itself like hollow ash. Motes of darkness filled the air in a swirling cloud, drifting toward the Tower on some spectral wind. This dissolution continued with brutal speed, stripping away flesh and bone and muscle, leaving nothing behind but a blackened shadow on the stones. The cloud spun and danced in the air until finally breaking apart like scattered sparrows.

Cole and Malachi *relatively* safe, Cynwyd tried to reach out as the dragon decomposed, hoping to grab one of the souls wafting away like a bad dream. Knowledge was power, and he knew that there was a *lot* of knowledge contained within these lost souls.

For a moment, Cynwyd felt that he had snagged something - someone – as the dragon suffered its dissolution. Thoughts; chaotic, twisted, malignant, mad. Then he felt the soul slip away like smoke through his fingers. But it was not the soul’s doing, he realized. Something had pulled it away.

<Can we do it?> he queried, as he reached into his knowledge of the essence and mind forms, trying to formulate *something* to help. <Craft a cage for one of these souls? Hold it in abeyance within us>

Even as he asked, he realized how *closely* this mimicked what his impression of Fiona was in the castle, and almost shied away from what needed to be done. But, other than a survivor, Cynwyd was at his core a pragmatist.

Osric considered this momentarily. <If we could find one of the individual Shadows, I see no reason why we could not contain it. There are many Binding techniques for daemons that could be altered to fit this particular instance, I suspect. I know most of them, as does any Chaos Lord. Compelling it to talk, however, is another matter entirely.>

The dragon gone, the Dark Hour’s oppressiveness loosened its grip on their hearts. Something had ~changed.~ At least for now.

Centering himself, knowing that he was working against time- or what passed for time during the Dark Hour- Cynwyd focused on the trailing edge of the cloud, trying to reinforce his will with Osric's skill and power even as it began to wane with the end of the Hour, and cage one of the fluttering wafts of smoke in the power of the Logrus.

Dripping from his eyes like tar, tendrils of midnight black stretched out – through – the space between Cynwyd and the living cloud. Even stricken by madness and pain, the Shadows were elusive as quicksilver.

 They slipped through his grasp like smoke and ash, teasingly close,

yet infinitely far. Frustration etched itself into Cynwyd’s brow, taxing the last of his reserves and turning his skin clammy with sweat. He may as well have been trying to tame the erinyes of legend.

<There’s your answer, kid. They fragment without the Whole binding them together,> Cybele muttered.

<Are those the minds of the victims of Apathy Syndrome? Do you think they reconnect with their bodies?> she asked hopefully, thinking of Jonathan.

<Perhaps, but I cannot be sure. There is something different about them. I just can’t put my finger on it. I’m beginning to think these Greater Shadows are like colonies of the smaller ones. Drawn together by some force. They weren’t too happy about it either from all those screams.> Cybele shivered.

Gillian felt a sudden desire to retch and suppressed it. She put her hand over her mouth and turned away.

Temnal, away from the group, caught a fleeting glimpse of someone gazing down from the clifftop that overlooked the graveyard. At first, he thought it was another gargoyle, short, squat, dark. But then it stood, ice-blue eyes flickering in the night. It arched its small body, holding its arms above it like a bear. He could almost hear the childish ‘rawr.’ It was the Boy.

A cloud covered the moon for a moment. When the light returned, the Boy had gone.

Temnal blinked, then did the equivalent of a mental shrug. He'd never really comprehended the identity or role of the Boy to begin with, so why should he start now?

Gillian turned back toward the others. "Well, that was exciting," she said drolly. "So now what?"

"Two down," Cole said, coughing, "ten to go. Hey, Temnal. A little help?"

Gillian's desire to retch came back again.

Bruised and bleeding from a swollen face, Malachi rose painfully and grinned through bloody teeth at Cole, lending him a half-mad appearance. "Only ten?"

He turned to speak to Cynwyd, but saw the mystic deep in concentration. "He did that, right? He whisked us here? That was astounding."

Temnal made his way over to the rest of the group and crouched down next to Cole. He didn't have any specific healing spells hung, but he'd done this sort of thing before during the Dark Hour. He touched light fingers to Cole's chest and concentrated on letting healing energies flow from him to his comrade.

It took him a moment to draw upon Brand’s powers, but the sleep came to him – the formula filling his head with stunning speed and clarity.

 Cole’s body glowed with an azure flame, burning out the impurities he

had not even know were beginning to fester there; poison dripping from his pores. The red and oozing burns softened and resumed their healthy appearance. Breathing became easier, natural.

Watching Temnal provided a much appreciated distraction for Gillian. <Could we do that?> she asked Cybele.

<A simple trick like that? Does Benedict shit diamonds? I’ve learned every killing magick known. And along the way learned how to heal, as well. Be it by mundane or magical meanings. Easier to tear a body apart when you know how it works.> Cybele chuckled.

<Heh, heh. Um...yeah, I can see that,> Gillian chuckled back, albeit a bit uncomfortably. A deeper part of her perked up though, alert, and she felt the back of her neck prickle. The things she could do with that sort of power at her disposal...

Gillian suddenly became very interested in a distraction, any distraction, so she swiveled around and looked for Ginger.

It took her a few minutes of scanning the graveyard before spotting a familiar orange ball of disapproval crouched in a tree.

She hurried over to retrieve her familiar, though she did look back over her shoulder once or twice at Cwnwyd and at what he was doing.

"Are you all right?" she asked Ginger.

Ginger flicked her tail, “I just got dive-bombed by a dragon. Exactly how could I be ~alright~ after that? Are you people truly mad?!” She leapt down, her body stinking of burnt fur. Thrusting her head into Gillian’s chest, she began to shiver – and not from the cold.

Gillian hugged her familiar tightly. She turned back toward the others, singing a soft lullaby in Ginger's ear, though she kept part of her attention scanning the area around them as she walked.

The familiar remained quiet, snuggling close. It did not take long for her exhaustion to get the better of her, going limp as she slumbered.

[Meanwhile,] Cole breathed a sigh of relief [at Temnal]. "Thanks, man. That's the stuff. I've got no interest in learning the magic stuff you guys do, but if I was going to make an exception, that would be the one. And I'd probably use it every time Kell gave me one of her personal fencing lessons." He got to his feet. "How is everyone else? Any sign of Joao?"

Just as hope appeared lost, Cynwyd felt the Logrus snare something in its barbed grasp. The Shadow, still reshaping itself, felt like cold, river clay in his thoughts. And was just as difficult to hang onto. It thrashed and spit and hissed; the grotesque sensations resonating into Cynwyd’s mind and body. Osric lent him the last vestiges of his knowledge and strength, showing him a circle of chthonic runes. He mirrored the circle and twisted the shape to form an elliptic. Then another and another. Molding a globe of runed bands around the amorphous shadow. The creature shrieked, testing the confines of its prison in a rage; every blistering touch spearing through Cynywd’s eyes.

In time, the shadow recognized the prison for what it was and ceased its protests. It curled tightly in upon itself, wretched and impotent, waiting to be reeled in.

Not relaxing, though the effort made him shake as he raised his hand towards the trapped shadow to reinforce his concentration, Cynwyd began to layer the prison with feelings of comfort and security- making it a gilded cage in hopes of breaking the deranged shadow with kindness, since he doubted that force was the way to go according to Osric's tone. The tendrils jumped spastically as he struggled to pull the cage towards him, seeing what he had captured.

Recognizing its fate, the shadow offered him little resistance now. Upon initial inspection, the shadow had not truly coalesced into its normal shape, appearing little more than a fleshy mash of yellowed teeth and vulpine eyes. But slowly, he could see canine limbs and muzzle form. Nine skinless tails drooped down from its ruined flanks, while rusted arrowheads thrust out from its paws. Naked ears pulled back with feral mistrust, crimson eyes glowing with alien intelligence. The shadows thoughts – if they could even be termed such – churned like a tidal bore.

Malachi watched in mute disbelief as his companions tore through the laws of physics like so much tissue paper. "What the hell am I even doing here?" he wondered.

<The ‘red-heads’ die as easy as any other, Malachi.> Deirdre muttered, her tone like a disapproving sister. <Watch them weave their magicks while you twist your spear in their belly. And you are not helpless, in that regard. The Pattern is yours to command.>

<Then I would like some lessons, Highness. As soon as we can.> Malachi was deferential, but firm in that request. He took comfort in her assurance, but still wondered if he could have stopped the shadow with his spear as Cynwyd had with his arcane power.

<Of course, Malachi> she replied.

Cole likewise watched in uncharacteristic silence, disturbed more than he cared to admit by the unnatural black tentacles flowing from his friend--a friend he'd been coming to think of as a brother. In spite of his recent healing, he felt queasy.

Gillian stopped near Temnal, taking comfort in his presence, and watched. "What is it?" she asked, "And perhaps more to the point, what are we going to do with it?"

"We are going to educate ourselves on the nature of our enemy," Cywnyd answered as he looked deeper into the Shadow he held.

Then turning his attention to what he held, he started with a simple question, formed in his thoughts, but said aloud for the benefit of those watching. "Who are you?"

Malachi moved to stand at Cynwyd's right hand. He also wished to learn as much as possible about the shadow-demon. He felt that he would soon have a pressing need to know its weaknesses.

At Cynwyd’s words, the Shadow writhed within the Logrus prison, hissing and spitting like a rabid fox. Yellowed teeth snapped and chewed and bit, but in time it gave up in frustration. Its piercing eyes stared out at him hatefully. He could feel a mental battle begin between them, two creatures seeking dominance. A pressing madness bore into his skull, all light and shadow and chaos. As he had with its physical form, he caged these thoughts, directed them, calmed them.

Finally, a throaty growl passed over the shadow’s skinless lips. “Azghoul.”

Gillian couldn't decide if she felt pity or disgust for the creature. Perhaps both were there, but the disgust was quickly winning out.

Temnal, standing next to her, reflected that being a victim didn't automatically make any creature innocent, much less lovable.

"Azghoul," Cynwyd repeated, almost tasting the name. "Now, these are my friends," he said conversationally. "And I have few of them, so I'd do most anything to help my friends."

He put his foot up on a low wall, leaning in for effect to look closer at the shadow. "I need information to do that though. Now you can be my friend and give me the information I require freely, answering truthfully- then I could help you too."

"But whatever gods you worship help you if you aren't my friend," he said in a friendly tone that didn't match the threat in the words, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“No gods to help. No fear. Only pain. Only cold. Only hunger.” It flickers a barbed tongue over flayed lips, eyes radiating with Need. “Must fill the emptiness. Must ease the pain. Feed us. You burn so bright. Feed us! Take the pain away.”

"Why are you here?" Malachi asked without waiting for Cynwyd to invite him. "Who sent you?"

Temnal thought it was probably more a question of being snared than sent, but held his peace to see how the creature would answer.

Azghoul snarled at this, “Duty. To House and Realm.” It thrashed again, biting at the Logrus tendrils. “Duty destroy us all!”

"Why don't you break into the coffins, if you're so hungry?" Gillian asked, curious on that point. "Are you forbidden to? Or are you just not able?"

"Maybe they just never thought of it before," Cole said, a cynical tinge to his voice.

Gillian narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if he was being purposefully provoking or just being thick-headed Cole. She suspected the latter.

Azghoul twisted its head with canine curiosity. “Coffins? Sepulchers? We break. We search. They have naught by dried flesh. Old bones. No light. No warmth.”

Though Cynwyd might not get the etiquette part of being a member of the Courts, the Chaos part he fairly embodied. It was with some bemusement that he recognized his irritation with the chaos of the questioning had taken. But he also knew that it was in large part because of the amount of effort required to contain 'Azghoul', and not wanting to challenge it's will for long. Attempting to direct the questioning he interjected, "By Realm, you mean the Courts? What House do you serve?"

Azghoul hissed, “Minobee. But that time is dead. Azghoul dead. Must not remember! Too much pain. Abandoned. Forgotten by family. Better forgotten. Better dead.”

"You were part of a patch to the greater shadow- to heal its wound. Did it call you? Or were you sent?"

Azghoul curled up like a wounded dog, whimpering. “The Tower call. Need us. Need our warmth. Steal our warmth. Always cold. Colder than us.”

Gillian gestured with her chin in the direction of Castle Amber, since her arms were full of orange cat. "Is that the Tower you speak of?"

Azghoul gave a derisive laugh. "Not Tartarus. You kill the Tower. These ones kill the Priestess, as well." Its ghost-light eyes settled on Cynwyd and then moved to Cole. "There are others. The Lovers. The Hanged Man. The Hierophant. And others. They call us. Need us.”

"The other lesser shadows, they were called- as were you. You were not going of your free will- who calls you?"

The wretched creature continued to shiver and moan, squirming as if covered in biting insects. “They feed on us. Call us. Need us. So they can call Her. To give us Freedom.”

"What is her name? What will be your 'freedom'?" Gillian asked.

Azghoul let out a child-like gasp, the wistful joy one reserves for their mother’s arms. “The Nyx. Annihilation. Freedom.”

"Sometimes the coffins do break," he said, changing lines of questioning. "Those that come forth have no light, as you said. What do you see when you see them?"

Once again, Azghoul appears confused by this line of questioning. It glanced toward the graveyard, then back at its captor. “Dust and bone and rot. No warmth.” It appears be talking literally, the feeding on graves; as if the Chrysalises are completely foreign to it.

"As I guessed," Cole said to Gillian, "they don't appear to have thought of it. So let's not give them any ideas, hm? Because how horrible would that be?"

"The answer could give us important clues as to how this realm is managing to manifest in ours," Gillian replied. She turned cold eyes onto the creature. "Besides, it's not as if it's going to be allowed to go back to its brethren."

Cynwyd's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with barely contained anger at Gillian's careless words, but he didn't admonish her directly for it, hoping that 'Azghoul' wouldn't pay attention to her words. But he reinforced his will in any case, preparing for a backlash.

Azghoul understood full well, and began to mew pitifully. Not in terror, but in desperate hope. “Give us freedom!”

"There are others that haunt this bleak hour. The mad lady. The pale boy. The man of worms. From whence do they come?"

Azghoul whimpers pitifully, “Home.”

"And what is your relation to them?"

The creature remained silent at this, not because it wasn’t hiding something. . . it simply did not know how to answer.

Cynwyd rushed to take advantage of the thing's weakness- to take advantage of the in Gillian unwittingly gave him.

"There will be no freedom for you unless you assist us in our quest," he said chidingly.

"These... others," he said. "They call to you now? You know where they are? Or just a general direction?"

“We hide. Not look for them. They hunt when the Moon is full. Otherwise, they hide. And wait.”

Gillian glanced up at the sky and looked for the moon to note its phase.

Duplicating the ‘outside’ world, the greenish moon above them had entered the final day of full, transitioning into the waxing gibbous.

"And when the Hour is not upon us, where do they lair?"

Azghoul tilts its head, “The Hour? End? This is eternal.”

"And one last question- where is Home? It is not the Courts you speak of- so where is it?"

“Yes, the Courts. They once ruled there. We followed. We fought for them. Died for them. And they abandoned us to this.”

Cynwyd took stock of his flagging resources. "I don't think we can keep this to ourselves- there is much we can learn."

He looked around for Cole, taking note of the unfamiliar note in his eyes when he found the other man, and filing it away. "Perhaps the Princess?" he asked him.

"Which princess would that be?" asked Malachi. He feared that he knew the answer already.

Cole's eyes narrowed. "I don't understand what you're asking."

"We are still amongst enemies, and I'd prefer to treat information as if we were," Cynwyd said casually to all present, trying to focus no particular intent towards any of the questions asked.

After a moment to let the statement resonate with the others, he continued. "The Princess who tended your friend earlier."

A relieved look crossed Cole's face. "Oh. That princess." He looked at Azghoul, and then back at Cynwyd, then grinned. "I'm sure she'd love a new playmate." Considerably less audibly, he added, "If we're lucky, perhaps they'll do something horrible to each other."

Temnal remained quiet, pondering the creature's answers. He still was uncertain about which Princess Cynwyd meant.

Azghoul hissed and spit, “Give us freedom! Give us oblivion!”

Gillian flinched at Azghoul's outburst. "Loud," she muttered, as she looked around fearfully.

The graveyard gave a shudder, as if exhaling. Like a receding tide, the Dark Hour began to loosen its grip on the world. Color and light slowly returned. Life replacing stagnant death.

Perhaps more troubling thoug, Cynwyd’s Logrus tendrils also began to lose their power, the prison breaking down. Azghoul wailed and spit and frothed, sensing its impending escape. “Betrayers! Will feed on your. Take your warmth.” Cynwyd effectively found himself holding a tiger by its tail, so to speak.

And its cries did not go unheeded. Other shapes began to appear on the periphery of the fog bank, slithering and shuddering forward in a desperate bid to feed.

Cole calmly stepped forward and thrust his blood-red sword through the fraying tendrils of Azghoul's prison.

A wound ignited as the sword tip touched the creature, burning with an oily flame and the stink of charred rubber. Azghoul shrieked and resumed its struggles, doubly so.

Malachi stayed close to Cynwyd and Gillian, his bright eyes looking out into the night, his hands gripped lightly but firmly around the haft of his spear. He ignored Azghoul, trusting Cole to take care of it.

Keeping a thing is more taxing than destroying it, which Azghoul would soon find to his unfortunate joy. Bringing his hands up in front of him, he brought them slowly together, creating a resonance with the dual-natured blade that was now thrust inside of the cage, and the Logrus energies of the containment itself, intending to painfully render the shade to the oblivion it sought.

Temnal scowled. "Make an end," he snapped at Cynwyd. "No need to torture the poor creature. That serves nothing."

"Nothing for you, perhaps," Cynwyd said, his tone impassive in comparison to Temnal's. "But in the longer term, it does serve purpose ...and notice," he continued, his tone still clinical as in the outer edges of the glow from Azghoul's demise, the shades drawn forth by its shouts of triumph now hung back more tentatively at it's now painful cries. "Is our squeamishness important when all of reality is at stake? Would you put your loved ones in the hands of such because you weren't willing to deal with these shadows from a position of strength?"

"Kill it now, Cynwyd," Cole told him, in a tone of authority that he seldom used. "Whatever this creature deserves, we will deal with it humanely if possible. Not because of what it is, but because of who we are."

Cole glared around at the other gathering shades. "And if any of you want oblivion as well," he snarled, "we will gladly give it to you."

Either his words or the smell of burning flesh kept them at bay, the obscuring fog alive with hateful eyes.

Cynwyd didn't reply, nor did he even give any sign that he heard. The keening of the spirit rose in pitch and fervor, joined by pleading and cajoling as it started to fray at the edges. The other shades didn't approach the circle of warm bodies that they craved so much, and indeed began to fade away as the Hour started to lose its hold. Finally, after a long moment which stretched out in time as the shadow's pleading became more and more desperate, it dramatically exploded as the forces became too much for it.

But it wasn't obvious if that was the intended end from the beginning, or if Cynwyd had done it on command.

As if shedding its skin, something large and human dropped from the spray of gore and ichor, collapsing to the stone steps. A naked woman, athletic and dark-skinned, red-haired and demon-horned. A series of tattoos ran down her right arm – the symbols of her House and rank in the Courts of Chaos. Both Cynwyd and Temnal recognized them; the markings of a Hell-Maiden of House Minobee.

Unlike the Shadows before it, her body remained pristine, unfettered by rot or entropy. She gazed up at their faces, a sad smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered, the life leaving her joyful eyes as she disappeared into the oblivion she so desperately wished for.

And with her passing, the Dark Hour disappeared, leaving them alone with the tombstones and moonlight.

Mostly.

For some reason, Azghoul's cooling body remained.

Temnal felt his throat closing. That could have been Sekhmet, he thought. He turned his eyes toward Cynwyd, red sparks swimming in the molten gold, but what he saw in the other's face silenced anything he would have said.

Cynwyd looked long and hard at the Hell-Maiden as she lay prone on the floor, his hands still held up in front of him. Finally he turned his hands up towards himself, looking at them as if they'd betrayed him in some way, before closing them into fists, and looking away. A haunted look crossed his face, as he turned away, looking at nothing as he headed for the gates to the cemetery.

Malachi stared at the fading woman's form, his eyes alight with sudden surmise, his lips bared in horror. "They're consuming their own kind to make...this?" he waved his hands about at the putrefying horror of the Dark Hour. "They're making demons out of people? Why don't the people rebel? What sort of people live in Chaos?" His voice, tense at the start, became loud at the end.

"All kinds," Temnal said quietly. "Every different kind you can imagine ... and then some."

"I think she was dead to begin with. She said was dead, that she died," Gillian said. "Perhaps whoever it is is raising people from the dead to do this work. That might explain why no one is rebelling, or has even noticed."

Her gaze traveled over to where the dragon they'd killed had been, curious as to what was there now.

In the silvered light of Reality, the area around their recent conflict appeared mostly undisturbed. Some dead trees had lost their branches and a few tombstones had been overturned, as if struck by a gale force wind. Otherwise, nothing appeared out of place in Stonetears.

Gillian sighed in relief.

Cole dropped his cloak over Azghoul's naked body.

Cole followed after Cynwyd. "You didn't know," he said. "You couldn't have."

As Cynwyd heard Cole's voice, he stopped for a brief moment. He knew that much could be learned from studying her corpse. But again he looked downward to his hands. Clenching them, he walked through the gates, saying nothing.

he observed to the only one still with him. <It's one of the reasons I never took anything seriously before. Power corrupts, and with great power comes great corruption.>

<Or something like that,> he allowed as he continued to shuffle away into the night.

Osric muttered back, <None of us did. And rarely do.>

In a corner of the cemetery [Cole] spied a sexton's hut. "Looks like our work for the night isn't quite done yet," he said. Breaking the simple lock on the hut, he brought out a couple of shovels and set to work, digging a new grave.

Wordlessly, Malachi picked up the other shovel and pitched in, digging in the hard, dark earth with a force that spoke of anger and suppressed violence.

By the time Cole returned with the shovels, Azghoul’s body had undergone its final transformation, one last insult. A fetid stink rose from beneath the cloak, intensifying brutally until finally dissipating to a bearable unpleasantness. In the space of minutes, the pristine beauty had putrefied and then become desiccated and brittle. It was as if a span of decades had rapidly run their course.

Gillian heard Cybele whisper in her head. <Fifty years, give or take. Yeah, definitely half a century.>

Gillian adjusted the sleeping cat in her arms, who was getting heavy. <War of Bitter Ashes? Or Patternfall?> Gillian asked Cybele.

Ginger gave a moaning protest, muttering, “Food. I have to have fooood. Fish Heads. Extra spicy.”

"Shhhh. Food when this is over. I promise," Gillian consoled her in a whisper.

Cybele replied with a disapproving snort. <Other than what random nuggets I’ve mined from your rather vacuous skull-->

Gillian rolled her eyes.

<--I haven’t the first clue what a ‘Patternfall’ is or was. You might recall Fiona put a dagger up my strap before half the family was even born. I just know decomposition rates. Helps when you’re doing Abyssal magick. Why wait for a body to rot when you can just dump it in a fast Shadow and let it stew?>

Although mostly dried sinew and flesh, both Malachi and Cole noticed something as the prepared the body for burial. A single, narrow puncture mark just below Azghoul’s left breast; the entry wound for rapier. She’d been killed in battle. And by someone very skilled with a blade.

Preparing to lift the body into the grave, Malachi stopped and looked at the wound. Seeing that Cole was also looking at it, he said "One thrust. It didn't even hit a rib. Either she was asleep or the swordsman was very good. No reason to think the killer was strong, just very fast and skilled."

As he spoke, Deirdre stirred in his head. <That’s the work of one of my brothers. Eric or Corwin, most likely.>

Malachi started at the thought. <But King... Prince... Eric died years ago,> he thought. <This woman looks to have been freshly killed. That would mean that whoever did this to her has been planning the Dark Hour for a very long time. Did they know they were going to lose the Patternfall War?>

Deirdre paused, growing pensive. Malachi caught images and sensations; the smell and sounds of war and blood and butchery. The Patternfall War in Amber. They faded like ghosts. <I do not believe so. They nearly destroyed us that day, Malachi. If Corwin had not arrived with his Guns of Avalon, we would have lost the city. Ironic when one considers the War was his doing, purposeful or no. If they planned the Dark Hour, they were playing the Long Game to be sure.>

Cole grim-faced, didn't reply.

Temnal, wordlessly, picked up one of the shovels and helped to dig the shallow grave. The sign he made over the corpse before they began to cover it was the sign of the Serpent -- for the hellmaiden was surely Chaosian and that would have been her faith, if any -- but in his heart he also prayed, Lady, have mercy.

<Return with a bowl of salt and milk> Brand muttered in a hollow tone.

 Something about the woman’s face had stirred memories of his wife.

<Otherwise, the Minobee will not rest easy.>

Temnal replied. He recalled the rite now that Brand mentioned it, and also remembered which herbs to add to the mixture to do proper honor to her House, gender, and position.

Once the body--still wrapped in Cole's cloak--was fully interred, he returned the tools to the shed, along with a few coins for a new lock. On the way out of he cemetery, he said, "Looks like I'll have to order yet another cloak. I think it's time to just put my tailor on a retainer."

"You have the money, if the amount you spend on laundry is any indication," Gillian replied dryly.

Before they left the cemetery, Temnal glanced over his shoulder at Corwin's cenotaph, to see what the state of it was now that the Hour had ended.

Apart from some broken ceiling tiles and flattened flowers, the tomb appeared untouched. However, its solid construction probably prevented it from suffering too much damage. Finding any underlying damage to the foundations would take a more intense inspection.

Cole waited at the the cemetery gate for the others. He walked beside Gillian on the way back to the university. Though the Hour had passed, his eyes kept darting at shadows, and his hand kept straying to his sword hilt. Even so, it seemed that he had left his moodiness in the cemetery, and he smiled and joked as they walked.

Gillian smiled and joked back, as if they'd all just been out on a midnight stroll.

"I promised to feed The Bottomless Pit with Whiskers after the Hour was over," she announced as they neared the university kitchens. "I'll see you all tomorrow, same place, same time?"

"Oh yes," Cole said, "We really must do this again sometime. At least ten more times."

"At least," Temnal echoed wryly.

Gillian nodded a farewell to her companions and split off to head to the kitchens. One of the servants who worked in the kitchens, Becca, had taken an interest in Ginger and had shown Gillian how to get into the kitchens after hours should either she or Ginger need late-night fortifying.

"I'm off to the Duck," Cole announced. "I need to see a lady about some celebratory beverages. All are welcome. My classes may suffer for it tomorrow, but at this point, with the world on the brink of damnation, I really just don't care. Except for fencing, of course: that's a matter of personal safety."

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that," Temnal said. "I have Dialectic at nine-thirty."

"Business Accounting. 10:00," said Malachi. "Wait. Did the lab survive? If not, where should we meet tonight?"

"I'll check on the lab after class," Temnal suggested, "if it isn't obvious when we get back to campus, that is. If that doesn't work out ... I suppose we could do worse than the cemetery for a meeting place. At least any nasties that come after us there will be out of the way of other people."

[Gillian and Malachi continued in Last Meal] [Cynwyd continued in The Cure for the Pain]