First Night in Amber—Amba, Helena, Morgan, and eventually a host of othersIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | First Night in Amber It was half an hour later that they drew up at a tavern, close to the military barracks. Frequented by the soldiers, it had something of a military appearance itself, although the pots of geraniums that bloomed around the balcony on the upper storey suggested that other influences were at work too—for not everyone had the inclination or, indeed, the pockets to visit the Ramblin' Queen. In daytime these geraniums might add a splash of vivid red against the whitewash that daubed the building. Now, at night, they threw mysterious shadows against the wall in the bright moonlight. Helena looked around surreptitiously as she talked. "Perhaps it would be better if we parted outside? Morgan, are you coming with us or staying with your cousin?" "Oh, coming with, I think. The question is whether you want me to shadow you and be waiting outside in case of trouble, or to walk with you right into the serpent's lair." There was amusement in Morgan's voice, though in the darkness of night it was hard to see whether there was a smile on his face. "If the latter, I can culp a cull for his mish, and play the servant or guard." Helena waved her fingers in a good imitation of someone manipulating the Logrus. "Your cousin should be able to procure a disguise for you with less fuss than that," she replied, wanting to avoid saying the 'K' word in public. "Regardless, you can do what you want—shadow or walk—'cause we'll be perfectly fine on our own." Her tone was smug. Amba was more concerned with their surroundings than trading quips with Morgan or Merlin, but she did manage a wry smile of her own at Helena's words. "I can procure a disguise," agreed Merlin. "But there are some skilled people here—it would be like raising my hand in the air and shouting, "Coo-ee! I'm over here! But if you're going to deliver the letter I was at such pains to prepare. Much later than this, and Florimel will be outraged by the fact you were paying calls on a man's barracks—at night!" He point helpfully towards the wall of the barracks that loomed above the inn. "There are some side gates—they're guarded, but lightly. It would cause less of a stir than strolling up to the front gates. Morgan's been here before." He grinned at his cousin. "I'll meet you lovely ladies at the side gates," Morgan said. And with no more words he was off into the darkness of an alleyway near the tavern. Helena watched him go, then turned back to Merlin. "So we're going in, Amba has the letter, and we're looking for information as to what happened tonight. Anything else? Any other words of wisdom?" He extended a hand to her—and she realised there was something in it: two cards. "My trump," he said. "A loan. Do you know how to keep a contact open without touching the card?" Helena nodded in reply as she passed one of the trumps to Amba. "All right, then. We'll see you later. Take care." She turned her horse, paused to make sure Amba was ready to go, and headed with her at a easy walk in the direction of the side gate. Amba palmed the proffered card and walked her horse alongside Helena's towards the gate. Though her manner was easy, her gaze was anything but as she kept her attention sweeping the area around them as they approached where they were to meet Morgan. A man slouched out of the shadows near the gate. He wore a shapeless flat cap pulled down over his eyes, and a dark gray cloak. He appeared to be several inches shorter than Morgan. Helena's gaze flicked in that direction. She didn't bother mentioning the man to Amba, knowing that she would have noticed him as well. Suspecting it was Morgan though not completely sure, Helena kept an eye on the man as they approached the gate. There were two guards on the gate. They didn't yet appear to have seen any of them, for they were deep in a conversation that seemed a little heated. "Three days early. I'm telling you!" "And I say no-one would bother. Why should they?" Morgan, for it was indeed him, fell in behind them with a muttered, "Muh ladies." His voice was respectful, but unenthusiastic. It was strange how little he resembled Morgan, for he hadn't done that much to change his appearance. He slouched rather than strode, and his eyelids drooped slightly. The eyes within did not gaze upon the world with Morgan's usual good humor, instead they looked about suspiciously, combining with the resigned slope of his shoulders to indicate that this was a man who had seen his share of trouble, and expected more to come at any moment. There were splotches of mud and dirt on his face, and dirt underneath his fingernails. Along with the serviceable but well-worn cape and the shapeless cap, they made it clear to the world that this was man who gave no thought or care to his appearance. Many think that shape shifting is an unsubtle art—think of what you will be and that you are. For sure, shifting is a powerful tool, but it is just that—a tool. The best shifters are practiced in many subtleties that would make them just as able to disguise themselves without use of the power, and there are whole treatises on such applications—the study of which separates the users of the power from the true artistes. Though Amba's training made her suspicious enough that she had not given any indication that she saw the man other than on a general level, she had scanned him just as well as the surroundings—after all, one of the best tools of a shifter is misdirection, so this could truly not be Morgan. But as she scanned, she realized that though Morgan was obviously aware of the small changes that made such a difference in a disguise, and though he could mask a lot, the skill she had seen him display was of a level that only a master could completely mask such. She did however acknowledge his changes with a nod to his level of skill even as they approached the gates, letting Helena take the lead as they approached the guards. Helena stopped looking at the man as soon as she recognized him as Morgan. She stayed quiet as they approached the gate, letting the guards hail them first. The guards suddenly seemed to become aware of them and stiffened to deliver the challenge, standing straight and erect in the moonlight. "Halt!" said the first. "Who goes there?" "Lady Amba of House Heldt with a letter to General Hendrake," Helena replied,"accompanied by Lady Helena Ishtar." "And who's this?" asked the second guard, gesturing towards the disguised Morgan. "Is he with you?" Morgan gave a respectful tug on the cap, and muttered, "It's Jak I'm called, savin' yer worships. Here to fetch an' carry fer their ladyships, an' see they come to no harm." Helena bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as she gazed at the guards. The guard hesitated—and then made a gesture beckoning them forward. Before he could do more, the gate behind him opened and a small patrol, dressed for night manoeuvres, emerged from the castle. Barely glancing in the direction of the three visitors (although they could clearly see them in the moonlight), they headed off, at double quick time, along the path that led to Kolvir. The guards at the gate seemed to have been expecting this, as they showed no surprise, but after the party had gone, they beckoned Helena and Amba (and their companion too) forward. "If you will wait in the guard house," said one guard, "we will see that news of your arrival is brought to the General so that he can arrange a proper escort in addition to...ah..." He looked with disfavour at Morgan. "Jak," Morgan reminded him helpfully. "That will be fine, sergeant," Helena replied. "Thank you." They were shown into the guardhouse—a room that did not overlook the gate, but rather was against a wall of rock. It actually seemed to be some sort of rather dreary office. The guards then left—ostensibly to give word of their presence. They weren't locked in but...it was clear the guards were anxious to keep them out of the way of...something. After a moment's thought, Amba said more loudly than was needed in the quiet night, "We've come all this way, and I'm not inclined to wait, are you?" She looked at Helena, her glance including the disguised Morgan. "Shall we?" she finished, moving towards the way the guards had left. "After you," Helena replied, following. She glanced over her shoulder at Morgan. "Let me, muh ladies," said 'Jak,' scurrying ahead of them and opening the door. He stepped through it and held it open for them, while looking around suspiciously. The guardhouse seemed deserted—although, as they moved forward, they could see one guard was still on the gate itself. The other had vanished— presumably to take news of their arrival to the General. But, from the direction of the main barracks, they could hear voices, coming closer. Someone, it seemed, was heading for the gate. "Avoid or intercept?" Helena asked, sotto voce. "Intercept, I'd think," Amba replied, shrugging. "Perhaps they'll prove more useful than the guards at the gate," she added, changing direction to meet the new arrivals. "As muh ladies will," Jak said stolidly. And then a small party swept around the corner. It was hard to say how many were present but the tall, thin-faced figure in the front, who seemed to move in a sway of dark mist, was recognisable to Helena and Amba at least as that most hard-line opponent of Amber, Duke Helgram. He saw them and stopped—and the mist seemed to rise a little more densely, stretching out little shivering tendrils towards them. "Well, well, well," he said slowly. "What an unexpected honour, my ladies." Helena's skin prickled in the man's presence. "The honor is ours, Duke Helgram," she replied politely, and bowed. Amba's expression was inscrutable as she followed suit and bowed to the Duke. Jak bobbed his head nervously, as any lowborn man would when in the presence of a sorcerous nobleman. "Indeed," said the Duke. Behind the dark mist, his eyes seemed to glow like two coals shining out in a new raked fire. "Indeed. And you, Lady Helena, should have the honour of reporting to your...parents...what happens this night." A hand reached out towards her, trailing black mist like tumbling shadows, falling to curl around all their feet. "Lady," said the Duke, "will you walk with me?" He was ignoring Amba and Jak, it seemed—all his intention on Helena. But others in the party were not so focused on Lord Ishtar's party; two of them were eying Jak dubiously, while the third was staring—almost glaring—at Amba. She knew him, of course. It was Crygst. "Of course, Duke Helgram," Helena replied. This was good—she could be a distraction and occupy him for Amba and Morgan. She didn't look at Amba as she gingerly accepted the Duke's hand, not wanting to risk arousing any suspicions. The tendrils of mist coiled around her hand; it seemed to draw her closer to him, and she was conscious of harsh, rasping breath, and then an aroma of scented wood, like a rich sandalwood. And then there was a feeling of warm...of security. A feeling she might associate with being in Torren's study when she was very small and new in Chaos—and allowed to be there as a great treat. Through the mist he was smiling at her. "I was proposing to take a little stroll," he said. "Let's go together..." Helena nodded, aware that the security feeling was likely generated, probably through a spell. Wanting to keep up appearances, she let herself succumb to it. "That would be delightful." Amba dutifully ignored Crygst. Worse, she looked past him with no recognition, which she knew would irk him to no end. An off-balance Crygst was a weapon turned to her advantage, as well she knew. The stare was definitely a glare by now. One of the others nudged him, and he stepped forward. "Lady," he said, and it was clear that the words cost him an effort, "will you walk with us?" After nodding at the Duke Jak just stood waiting patiently for his betters to give him instructions. Duke Helgram spoke—to the other retainers. "Pay the fellow off. We have no need of him." Helena was still rapt (and wrapped) in the warmth and security of the Duke's attention. But to Amba and Jak, there was something more in the Duke's words—something that suggested this might be a significantly one time payment. Jak tugged on his cap respectfully, but remained silent. Amba waved her hand dismissively, saying, "We've already paid the chap off. And as we are so conveniently near the gate, there's no need to do anything other than let him be on his way." She finally looked at Crygst, fixing him with a stare that she might have used Sword Dancing. "Right?" His hostility abated not one iota. "It will be as his Grace commands," he grated, and then took her arm, fairly forcefully (but not so forcefully that she could object). They then followed the Duke and Helena who were beginning to make their way up the path that led to the summit of Kolvir. Leaving the other two behind, facing Jak. And grinning. "Shall we kill him and then throw him down the mountainside?" said the first, a tall, burly figure with ears a little too high up his head, and his long face giving a suggestion of the vulpine. "Or shall we just throw him and listen to him scream?" The other gave a tittering laugh. "Oh, let's hear him thcream," he urged with a lisp. A dandy, this one, with his military uniform given a dozen little personalised touches to make him highly fashionable. "Better yet—let'th feed him to the wyvernth. It'th thuch fun theeing how they tear their meat apart." Jak looked nervously from one to the other. "Here, m'lords," he stammered. "No need fer that. I've me blunt fer the job, an' I'll just be away now. Ye've no call to hush me, I'll give ye my earnest nae to say anythin' about anythin'." He glanced around to see if anyone was around who could provide assistance, or bear witness. There seemed to be neither—even the gate guard had (perhaps prudently) disappeared. "The wyverns," said the first decisively. And he began to advance. Meanwhile, the feeling of warmth and security continued to envelop Helena. "So," said Duke Helgram, and his voice was like a caress, "did you plan on making a long stay in Amber?" "Long enough only to fulfill my familial obligations to the Sawall side of my family," Helena sniffed. "Though Amber is...quaint...from what I've seen of it so far, Chaos is my home." She looked at the Duke from the corner of her eye. "I have to admit I am surprised to see you here, sir. May I ask what brings you so far from your Ways to such a remote corner of the multiverse?" "I have been appointed Minister for Ordered Affairs," said the Duke, "and as such it is my lot to carry out an investigation into these so-called...Patterns. The abominations, really. It is possible that your Father, who has been wasted here, really, might have chance to take up his true station in Chaos at last." "What an exciting prospect for my father," Helena replied, eyebrows raised. "Is an investigation merely a formality? With all due respect, it sounds as if you've already made up your mind." The Duke laughed softly. "There are not many who are privileged to watch the destruction of a complete and entire Pattern," he said. "It would be something to boast of in Chaos, don't you think? A way to rival the tales that are told of your sword dancing skills?" The hand on her arm might as well have been an iron fetter for all the give in it that she could feel now... She was aware, through the warm benevolence that was continuing to envelope her, that Amba was following with Crygst. But there was no sign as yet of the escort that had stayed with the supposed 'Jak'. Helena smiled. "My sword dancing would hardly rival that," she said with all honesty. "It would certainly be a sight to behold, though. Would it...be too forward to request to be present?" "Not at all," said the Duke. "Not at all." "Jak" turned and and fled, dashing into the darkness of the shadows near the closest barracks. The two men laughed, and sped after him. Their quarry ran quietly, but he didn't seem to be very fast, and they had no trouble catching up with him. He glanced back, the moonlight showing panic in his eyes, and leapt into a dark walkway between two buildings, barely missing a water barrel that half blocked the opening. He staggered, his foot apparently catching on something, and fell. The first of the men was on him in a second, reaching down to grab the fallen man with one hand as he reached for a blade with the other. His hand never made it, as suddenly Morgan seized both hands by the wrists and twisted them in a powerful grip, resulting in a sickening pair of cracks. At the same time his head came forward, smashing into the man's nose and shattering it. The dandy stood in the opening of the alleyway, near the water barrel, shifting his weight excitedly from foot to foot. From his position all he could see was his friend bent over the prone form of their victim, and what he heard were the sounds of what he assumed to be the breaking bones of the man they chased. "Don't thlay him yet, oh don't!" he called out. "Keep him alive for the wyvernth!" Morgan dropped his opponent's hand, and grabbed the man's head by his vulpine ears. The man was gurgling through his shattered nose, a sound that stopped as Morgan jerked his head savagely to one side, then the other, shattering his spine. Morgan rolled to one side, riding the slack body of his foe, and continued the roll to spring to his feet, a dagger suddenly in his hand, then just as suddenly appearing in the eye of the dandy, who was only just beginning to suspect something was wrong even as the dagger struck him. He fell, slumping over the water barrel, then slid to the ground. Then everything was silent once more. Morgan tilted his head to one side, waiting for a hue and cry to indicate that someone else had seem or heard something. And then he saw several heads rapidly appear in a window a little further down the alley one story up but, for most of them, not looking as though that would present much of a problem... With a single leap he was at the body of the dandy, pulling his knife from the man's eye. Then in a flash he was on top of the barrel, and then with a powerful leap he was up in the air, grabbing the roof of the barracks with one hand and flipping himself gracefully onto the roof. He paused just long enough to shout, in the strong accents of the docks, "Free Johann!" Then he was off, running flat out across the roof. They were coming now onto a broader area. A fault ridge, it seemed, near the summit. Either side of the broad path there were wooded glades. And ahead, beyond the troop guard, the pale pearl gleam of the stairs could be seen. Helena stared, for she knew what that signified. Her belly did a small flop inside of her as she hastily considered possibilities. "In fact," said the Duke, "I can think of nothing more delightful than having you by my side throughout this endeavour." She brought herself back to the conversation with some effort and turned to look at the Duke. "Truth to tell, I don't think you'd be willing to let me leave," she said, glancing at the hand gripping her arm so tightly. "I suspect my presence by your side will add salt to my parents' wounds when you do destroy the Pattern. Is that what you're planning to do tonight? What you alluded to earlier, when you said I would have the honor of reporting to them what happened tonight?" The Duke laughed. "How quick your wits are," he said. "But one should expect no less of a daughter of Mandor and Fiona. Yes, I shall destroy it tonight. It will confirm whether the strategy will work, or merely result in a broken Pattern hanging over Amber. Even that would, I suspect, answer the purpose of ensuring no challenge to our power ever arises here again. Shall we climb?" His other hand seemed to have moved to the small of her back, urging her onwards. Amba had been nonchalantly strolling along, Crygst seemingly having a relatively uncomfortable hold on her arm, but this was only a facade, as she had merely been awaiting the correct time to make her move. That time seemed as if it would never come—so she took the only opportunity that she had been given. Leaning in close, almost intimately, to her adversary, she surreptitiously reversed the hold—painfully. "Not a word," she whispered, her breath light upon his ear, her tone flat. "You'll follow my lead when I talk to the Duke. Or you'll soon cause me no more problems—ever. Nod if you understand." Crygst gave a sullen nod but said nothing, contenting himself with a glower at Amba. As they came to the stairs, Amba interrupted as diplomatically as she was able. "Duke Helgram—pardon the interruption, but I came here tonight with an urgent missive to the commander of the garrison, and I have still not had a chance to deliver it." "Crygst," she continued, nodding to her companion, "has agreed that so your walk with Lady Ishtar not be interrupted, he would show me to the commander, if I may have your leave," she said deferentially. She finished her statement with a motion half between a nod of the head and a bow, awaiting his response. The Duke looked down at Helena, smiling through the black mist that was increasingly enveloping them both. "What say you, my lady? Shall we let your friend deliver her missive while we continue alone?" "Certainly," Helena agreed. "I am sure I will be well protected in your presence." Amba bowed even deeper, then, straightening, her resolve wavered as she stepped forward to give Helena the only farewell she was able to under the circumstances, clasping her forearm in a comradely grip. Then releasing her sister, she said, "I will see you back at the palace, then." She turned to the Duke, bowing once again, then turned back to her escort, walking in the opposite direction. Helena watched Amba leave, her eyes glittering, then turned back to the Duke and smiled. "Shall we continue?" The Duke's hand slid a little more firmly over hers. "Certainly," he said. The roof stretched in several directions from here. West would take him back towards the gates where he had entered. East or South would take him deeper within the post, where there would be a number of Chaosian soldiers. North would take him to the wall that—at this point—ran alongside the path that led up Kolvir—which Helena and Amba had taken. Bending low to the ground he turned towards the north, and the dark bulk of Kolvir. The way seemed straightforward—several rows of large barracks and them an open space between the last building and a wall, some twenty feet high and topped with what appeared to be peculiarly sharp wire. At this time of night, there did not seem to be too many people around—although his feet on the roofs of the barracks might waken some. Morgan eyeballed the space between the last barracks building and the wall as he sped towards it, then nodded to himself. He leapt from one barracks to another, heading for the wall. He kept running, eyes flickering left and right at the ground below, until he spotted a single soldier walking by himself, staggering slightly and quietly singing a song about a mermaid, a sailor, and an exceptionally open-minded dolphin. With an inhumanly powerful leap Morgan left the top of the barracks he was currently on, and crashed into the startled man. As they hit the ground he let the soldier's body absorb the brunt of the impact with the ground, and then rolled back to his feet, snapping the man's neck without pausing, and then he was running once more, body thrown over one shoulder. Walking back into the compound with her 'guide', Amba was conflicted. Crygst was a bother, but truly, other than being an arse, he wasn't exactly dangerous. But he could be. With what she had to get done, having Crygst as a companion was quite perilous- not only to her, but to others she cared about. And she didn't have much time to make a decision, one way or another. Sighing, she came to a decision, and stopped abruptly. As Crygst turned to face her, she said matter-of-factly, "Listen, Crygst. You don't like me, I don't particularly like you. Tell me where the commander's quarters are, and you can go on about your way—I don't need a chaperon." Truly, though it would be easier to get rid of her nemesis permanently, she hoped that he would take the proffered exit—she didn't really want his blood on her hands. She awaited his response, wondering if he even had any inkling that this was a life or death decision he was being asked to make. [Morgan] To turn a corner... And to come face to face with Amba and her escort, Crygst. It appeared Amba wouldn't even have to wait for Crygst's response—she just hoped that she could keep him alive. Crygst having to turn to face Amba as she stopped had put his back to Morgan, and she tried to signal him to take her escort out non-lethally. But having to do so surreptitiously meant that she wasn't sure if her meaning got across to the other man—she supposed that she would see in a moment. ... The sight of the fight and smell of blood from below had set Tasha's blood to boiling. The rabbits had been good, but a fresh kill was what she desired. Before anyone could have reacted, she leapt from the window, hissing what could have been the word 'jump' as she did so. She landed on all fours, and any semblance of a cultured young Chaosian Lady vanished in that instant. Fangs bared she sniffed at the dead "dandy" taking a warm mouthful for good measure, but then a scent caught her attention and she followed it up onto the roof and vanished. The wolf followed the scent, leaping up onto the barrel and then onto the roof. She let out a long, low howl as the chase began. She raced across the barrack roofs, leaping the gaps, as the scent led her on. Her prey was ahead. She came to the end of the roofline and looked around, but it wasn't her eyes that she needed, the scent was strong below, along with another - the smell of terror and death. Saliva dripped from her jaws, and she followed it to the ground with a graceful leap. The prey was close now... she moved quietly, slinking along the shadow, around a corner... and stopped as her eyes registered the additional "others" present. They had reach the foot of the stairs now. The Duke looked around at the guards gathered—there were about ten in number. "You three," said the Duke, "will provide our escort. The rest of you— guard this place. Let no-one follow." Then he turned to Helena. "We ascend," he said, and took the first step. Helena followed suit, keeping abreast with him. Morgan wasn't certain what [Amba] was trying to tell him, but he remembered her reaction to her escort when they had met. So he swung the body he was carrying, hard, and the dead man's skull connected with Crygst's head with a loud crack. Amba winced at the force of the blow, then knelt to check on Crygst as he fell. "Well, he'll feel that one in the morning," she said, looking up at Morgan. "Unlike that unlucky fellow," she added, looking up at Morgan with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not going to even ask why you're carrying a corpse. "We don't have much time. Duke Helgram is here, and he's ascending the steps to Tir with Helena—with the intent to destroy the Pattern there. I think that the disturbance had something to do with that, but I'm not sure. "Can you let Merlin know that? I've still work to do, and little time to do it in." "Great." Morgan glanced back over his shoulder as he dumped the dead soldier on top of Crygst. "I'm under something of a time constraint, too. The General, Jurt, your friend from Chaos, and some others saw our man Jak kill that fellow's.." said pointing at Crygst, "...two companions. I'm sure they're on their way after me now. I was hoping to catch up to you two, but it sounds like letting Merl know is more important." Tasha's eyes caught and followed the swift movement as the dead body was flung onto the injured, yet alive, body. She licked her muzzle in anticipation and waited until the two standing were distracted. [Morgan] pulled a trump sketch as he talked, and glanced down at Merlin's laughing face as he continued to talk. "You can handle things without me here if I trump out? I suspect Merl and I are going to want to head straight up to Tir." He willed the picture of Merlin to move in the light of the brilliant moon. "Definitely," Amba said, coming to her feet. "Your knocking my escort out gives me a lot of leeway to do what I need to, and you need to get to Helena," she said with a piercing intensity. "No time to explain if you don't know, but Helena being there could be very bad, and Merlin will know why. "I didn't want to leave her, but I had no choice," she added, the torment she felt over leaving Helena with Duke Helgram bleeding through to her expression. "Go," she said waving her hand dismissively as she struggled to get hold of her emotions. "I'll be gone seconds after you—I just need to make sure the message gets through." [Amba] folded her arms—more against her own thoughts than the chill of the night—as she scanned the area, waiting for the tell-tale shimmer to envelop Morgan. The wolf's slow slinking during the conversation brought her within reach of the soldiers. She pushed away the one that was already chilling and sunk her teeth into the meaty thigh of the one that was still breathing. At the sound of teeth parting flesh, Amba spun in time to see the overly large wolf with demon ichor covering its muzzle. 'Great,' she thought, 'Unconscious, and Crygst is still causing trouble!' Amba didn't know where a wolf came from, but that was a question for another time—she didn't save Crygst just to have a wolf eat him. Somewhere, there was humour in the fact that she was actually in the position of protecting her antagonist. Somewhere, but not here, not now. Almost unconsciously, her skin began to harden, taking on iridescent hues as scales began to form on her arms, and long, wickedly sharp claws grew from her fingers. "Back off," she said, her voice almost a guttural growl. "This one is mine!" The wolf growled in return, sensing that there was about to be a challenge over her snack, and like any dog with a bone, she was not about to give it up willingly. She was willing to share; the now-scaled creature could have the other, less appetizing morsel. Thinking it would be better to take her snack somewhere less occupied to eat; she began to pull on the leg, while trying to back up, her claws scrabbling on the pavement for purchase. Morgan ignored the two of them, either because he was concentrating so intently on the card that he didn't notice the wolf, or because he trusted that Amba could handle it on her own. Suddenly, in a shimmer of rainbow light, Morgan disappeared. As Morgan disappeared, a cold realization settled upon Amba's consciousness. While Crygst's death would be regrettable, it was of little import in the grand scheme of things—she had more important things to take care of. Her clarity was also improved by the sudden realization that she recognized the wolf in front of her, and didn't want this conflict. With these thoughts in mind, she half crouched, as her skin began to change colour to match the dark of the night. Then she leapt gracefully in the air, black wings spreading from her shoulders as she winged away from Tasha and her prey. With a playful yip, tail-waggin' Tasha ran forward to try to catch the birdy. The young wolf was fast—almost stunningly so. But the bird was faster, and the wolf dropped back beside the unhappy Crygst with a solitary black feather in her jaws. Tail wagging, Tasha proudly goes to show her feather to whomever wants to see it. This proved to be a young guard, rather pale and languid in the style favoured by young Chaosians. Until they encountered wolves, that is. "Wolf! Wolf!" A loud scream, and he was hurtling around the side of the barracks. Perhaps he had been frightened by a small dog when he was a still smaller boy. At the moment, however, he was presenting the most delicious target ... The chase was on again. With a joyous howl, Tasha charged after the screaming guard, leaving the hapless Crygst to be found by whomever was patrolling that area next. The feather fluttered to the ground in a now empty yard. [Tasha continued in They Also Serve] The stairs were wide enough to allow them to walks comfortably side by side—at least at this low point. In fact, five people could have walked abreast without discomfort. "Would it be too forward to inquire about the method of destruction you plan to employ?" Helena asked as they climbed upward, realizing it was potentially a dangerous question but needing to ask it nonetheless. "I have to admit to a certain amount of curiosity..." [Duke Helgram] turned his head, and tendrils of mist reached out to caress her face gently. "Of course," he said. "Could it be that you've heard rumours of what occurred between your uncle and your cousin Martin Randomson?" "Of course," she replied in kind, her eyes bright in the reflected light from Tir. "Brand used Martin's blood in some manner to damage the Pattern, although I'm not sure of the particulars. I believe it involved a stabbing. Am I to be your sacrificial lamb, then?" she asked, her tone academic and curious. He smiled. "You think it would be an easy matter to force you half way around the Pattern in order to shed your blood?" he asked. Helena smiled back, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Besides, how then would you have the pleasure of telling your parents that another of the Abominations had been destroyed? No, your blood is quite safe." He smiled again, and started to move a little more swiftly. "It will be a fine, clear night," he said with confidence. "Nevertheless, this may take a little time." "It's indeed an amazing view," Helena agreed, gazing about her as they ascended. "May I ask clarification on a matter of your motivations as a way to pass the time as we climb? The machinations of House Helgram fascinate me." "Indeed," said the Duke, with every courteous appearance of pleasure. "These manifestation of Order...these abominations...have occurred throughout time, always seeking to oppose and challenge the power of Chaos. Attempting to set a balance, it is claimed. But why should a balance be necessary? What is wrong with primal Chaos, after all, where all have the freedom and power of the Serpent? "Besides...after a while, these abominations in themselves go rogue and expand exponentially in a grasp for the raw power of the universe. And then they need to be excised. "You might look on this as a preventative measure." Helena nods slowly. "Essentially, the Pattern is a threat that Chaos cannot control, so therefore the Pattern must be destroyed. Practical. It's what I would do as well were I in your shoes." She pauses, then continues, "I felt something earlier this evening, a ripple of power passing through me. Was that a warning of things to come to those who were sensitive enough to perceive it?" The Duke gave a little laugh. The tendrils of mist around him seemed to be thickening, and enfolding Helena as well. "It was a warning to me, you might say, to bring forward the speed of my planning. I had intended to tackle the problem of Tir later...a synchronicity that even your father would have admired. But one must be prepared to be flexible. The mark of a good Chaosian, of course." "Of course," Helena agreed. Below, Amber was becoming smaller, and less consequential. But looking upwards, Tir seemed no closer. And yet... A ghostly city of palest dreamlight as it hovered, perhaps a solid mile or more above, though it was hard to say, for the city seemed at times distant, and at other times it loomed close enough to make one wish to shirk backwards... ...spectral, beautiful, and haunting, it was spired and peaked, walled about and tightly packed, or else filled with open plains and shifting vistas of gardens and space...the spires becoming mountain peaks, the mountain peaks becoming towers... It hurt the eye to stare at it too long. Fascinated and drawn to the place, Helena stared at Tir until her eyes watered. When the tears ran freely down her cheeks, she averted her gaze. "What is that?" she exclaimed, pointing to a swirling cloud of flashing blue light, elongated like a ribbon and reaching for the moon. The Duke turned and looked—and then gave a low curse as the cloud reached inexorably towards the moon. His grip on her wrist slackened, and she saw his lips moving in some arcane casting... Above them in the remote, beautiful city, a horn rang out, doleful and sonorous echoing down the steps to Tir as though in salute or invitation. And it sounded far closer than Helena was expecting. Having left Tasha behind, Amba soared through the night sky, looking for a place close enough for her to alight for a few moments. Seeing that the Barracks were roused for some reason, she decided on an administrative building, far away from the action. Landing lightly on the roof, she pulled in her wings as she crouched to present the smallest silhouette possible. She pulled out the familiar trump case that she had pilfered from Helena, a slight twinge of guilt at leaving her friend without the escape that they provided going through her as she did. But as she carefully opened it, she salved her conscious with the fact that she didn't have a trump of Fiona, and this was the only way to get in contact with Helena's mother. Concentrating on the image of the slight redhead, she envisioned her as she last saw her in the chariot on the way to the cathedral, the thought that she wasn't sure how Fiona was disposed since then worrying itself into her mind as she willed the image to life. The trump was slick and cold in her hand, but there was no response. Though Amba knew more than she had at one point about trump communication, she didn't know enough to convey her urgency, or to force her way through. Sighing with frustration, she looked back into the trump case and pulled out Helena's trump of Lord Torren. Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she tried to will the image of Helena's father to life, praying to the serpent that she barely acknowledged that he would answer. This time there was a sudden, almost shocking crackle of energy. She had the impression of the adrenaline rush she got from the most intense of sword dances, but edged with a numbing sense of fear. A sense of bewilderment—a mind suddenly divided or perhaps diverted... And then something came blistering through the trump, consuming it utterly in a burst of fiery, sorcerous energy leaving not even ash in her hand. Amba exclaimed in surprise as she instinctively leapt back from the conflagration. She frowned as she settled back onto the roof, wondering just how badly things were going in the Courts. Sighing, she put the trump deck away as she pondered her next move. She just didn't have enough information to make any sort of informed decision. Reaching into an inner pocket, she pulled out one more trump. After her last experience, she hesitated. Who knew if she was opening the recipient up to some sort of sorcerous attack? But it was imperative that she contact home. She looked down at the perfect features of the Baroness, and tried to establish contact with her mentor. The Baronness came into focus at once. She looked tired and distressed—but she gave a gasp of relief on seeing Amba. "Amba! Come through now—I need you!" She held out her hand imperiously; it was clear this was a command. And there it was; Amba was once again caught between honour and love. She had no idea what was going on with Helena, and to go to the other end of reality with so much in the balance here? Bbut Amba was a woman of honour and duty... There was only one choice.... "Please bide a moment," she said, struggling to keep her feelings out of her voice. Shifting one finger into a claw, she scratched the palm of her hand, the blood dripping out forming a common enogh bird... For Chaos that is. Her creation looked up at her, and accepted Helena's trump deck into it's strangely fingered claws, looking intently at Amba as she relayed instructions. "Seek Helena Barimen-Ishtar, and give her this deck," she said, and the blood red eyes looked at her for a moment longer before leathery wings caught the air, and it glided out into the night sky. Looking back at the Baroness, she took her extended hand, without a word said. [Amba continued in Candid Discussions] The Duke had turned away to stare at the moon, slowly lifting his right arm. The mist swirled about it, darker and denser ... Helena jerked her hand out of his grasp and swung into a smooth, fast kick (Dancing with the Shark). He went staggering down several stairs, and back against the edge of the stairs...which suddenly shimmered and flickered so that, for one appalling split second, Helena thought she was standing on air. the Duke was collapsed there—and the dark mist thickened about him... A sound on the stair made Helena turn. The guards were there, a little uncertain as to whether to attack the one who had attacked the Duke (for she was, in some sense, the Duke's guest too). But a wheezing gasp from the Duke and a furious gesture urged them towards her. Helena reached down for the knife in the side of her boot, hefting it deftly into her hand. The closest soldier...his throat was vulnerable. But if she threw her knife, what weapon would she have against the rest? Their gestures suggested, to Helena's experienced eye, that they were planning to capture rather than kill her. But behind her was Tir—and the way down was blocked. The Duke, some three steps away now, was starting to chant again, the mist thickening. And the cloud was edging closer all the time. Helena knew she couldn't do anything about the cloud. If the stairs disappeared, hopefully Ness would catch her. She said she'd be watching. She knew she had to stop the Duke from whatever it was he was doing. Turning tail and running up the steps was not an option. Besides, she had her reputation to consider. She needed a sword. Unfortunately the only convenient ones were in the hands of the guards. But since their intent appeared to be to capture her—rather than harm her—she could use that to her advantage, since she had no compunctions about harming them. Helena raised her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender and approached the guards cautiously. "Whoa there... All right... No need for more violence... I'm coming down..." Hopefully they would be watching her hands, especially the knife hand, and she wiggled the knife around a bit as she descended to try to focus their attention on it. It worked. They were nervously riveted (her reputation as a sword dancer had doubtless spread to the lower ranks). As soon as she was in kicking range of the nearest guard she aimed a kick at his weapon hand, and although he tried to leap back, his way was blocked by one of his fellows. Unprepared to be crashed into, this individual slipped, staggered, and then with a terrible cry went pitching off the edge of the stairs and plummeting down, down ... The sword flew from the hand of the first guard and went over the side too. Helena didn't wait to see this but rushed forward and stabbed the guard in the neck. He managed one scream that became a gurgle and them began to flop like a stranded fish in her arms as hot bright purple blood jetted from his severed artery. The other guards hesitated, gazing at the scene with horror. The Duke was still intent on the moon. [continued from an offlist thread that became public] Ness looked around [Tir] with longing. "I just got here, and now it's time to leave already. Oh well." Taking a deep breath she thrust her head into the Pattern lens and shouted, "Gangway, back up, coming through!" And she stepped back into the lens toward the battlements of Castle Amber, still holding it open. Flora leapt back, making it look rather elegant and balletic. Morgan, with Merlin close behind, wasn't so lucky... With a sudden violent shove as he realized he was about to hit someone Morgan pushed Merlin away from the incipient collision, turned so his left shoulder hit rather than anything more easily injured, and a knife was suddenly in his right hand. Even as he collided with Clytemnestra Morgan blinked, realizing who she was. He rebounded from the collision, retaining his balance with a slight shuffle of his feet, and the knife vanished once more. Clytemnestra's midsection crashed into Morgan's shoulder. Rebounding, she collapsed ungracefully, gasping, toward the edge of the parapet. The Pattern lens winked out. "What's happening?" demanded Flora, moving swiftly to pull Clytemnestra upright. Merlin, who had been knocked back onto his butt, came to his feet in a single lithe movement. "We were meant to go straight through!" he said. "What's the problem?" "Sorry, Nessa," Morgan said lightly. "Didn't see you there. Would have made sure I groped you if I had." His eyes flickered around them, then upwards, and he whistled. "There's something you don't see everyday," he said. "People about to fall to their deaths from the stairs. Or turn into birds and fly, I suppose, being Chaosiellians and all." "Helena... can't..." Ness gasped. She staggered to Merlin and grabbed him by the lapels, thrusting her face up at his. "Catch her!" she growled. "What?" said Merlin, blinking. "Where? Who?" Ness yanked him around to face the stairs to Tir, and pointed to her sister upon them. Seeing Helena in combat with the guards, her eyes widened in horror. Not knowing whether Merlin would or could help, she released him and sat upon the battlements, eyes closed, every line of her body taut with concentration. "Well done," Morgan murmured approvingly, watching the distant figures. "Your sister's good." Ness ignored him, continuing to concentrate. "Right," said Merlin slowly. His eyes unfocused...he was staring ahead. There was a sudden clatter and a clash on the battlements, and suddenly an unconscious Chaosian soldier was lying there, winded. Merlin blinked, and then frowned. "Wrong one," he said briefly. "Is she still up there? Perhaps one of you can say when she falls...otherwise I'll go on grabbing whatever drops." He raised his hand and batted it in front of his face, like someone bothered by a fly. "Not now. I need to concentrate!" Morgan leaned over to check the soldier, then nodded, satisfied that he wouldn't be waking any time soon to complicate things. He straightened and continued watching the tiny figures on the vanishing stairway. His right hand reached into his clothing and came out with a leather wrapped cosh. Helena dropped the flopping guard at her feet so he wouldn't interfere with her aim. She threw her knife at the throat of the remaining guard as he stared up, transfixed. He fell backwards with a gurgling cry...and would, like his companion, have fallen over the side of the steps... If at that moment the stairs hadn't vanished altogether. Downwards he disappeared... Damn, Helena thought, watching him fall. And that was a perfectly good sword he had in his hand, too. ...and Helena felt a sickening lurch, half arrested as the stairs re-appeared below her. Overhead a raven or a crow was cawing urgently...and somehow they seemed to have moved even closer to Tir; it was just a few steps away... And Duke Helgram had turned, and his outstretched hand was pointing towards Helena as the dark mists swarmed about her and the stairs shimmered in the dubious moonlight. Damn again. Keen to get off the unstable stairs and out of line-of-sight of the Duke, Helena turned and ran up the last few remaining steps to Tir. The bird cried out again—maybe a warning. For suddenly the stairs were slipping away from Helena, falling beneath her feet... The Duke gave a guttural cry behind her, and then no more. But the mist he cast seemed to be boiling down from Tir as well as radiating up from him. She fell again, a heart-stopping moment of being suspended in space... ...and then a pale hand shaped itself out of the black mist surrounding her. It grabbed Helena's own hand and swung her lightly onto the landing; in the contact, she could see a man's silhouette coalescing from the mist. He was average height, thin, with pale skin and short, spiky, snow-white hair. His face was thin and harsh and angular, a stark contrast to the dark clothes he wore. His smile was just as harsh, with too many teeth, rough and pointed and sharp. His eyes were dark, emotionless, like a doll's eyes, and his ears were angular and pointed. His eyes fixed on hers, ignoring everything else, even the missing stair and the proximity of Duke Helgram, the clouds across the moon and the city fading around them. The smile grew wider, predatory, and he chuckled. "Sleep," he said in a tenor voice, as the shadows gathered around them and everything faded into darkness. [Helena continued in Awakenings] And then, shockingly, the stairs and Tir both winked out of existence. Morgan blinked, his eyes scanning the tiny figures so far away, as he tried to analyze what had happened to the various parties. Merlin muttered something—a curse or a spell or a mixture of both, and he lifted a hand, his arm jerking, as though he needed to give physical manifestation to whateversorcerous endeavour he was undertaking. Beads of perspiration were standing out on his brow. "I can't...find her!" he said. "A bird...there's a bird of Chaos... Ness...could that be it? Her, I mean?" Clytemnestra's eyes snapped open, reflecting the Pattern now blazing in the air before her. She was covered in sweat, and looked exhausted, but determined. She looked up toward the moon. Morgan stepped close to Merlin, slipping an arm around his shoulders and offering support, as the Pattern flared into life in front of Clytemnestra. Her cry of grief and rage echoed back from Kolvir as she collapsed. Flora had stepped forward and didn't so much catch Clytemnestra as grab her, pulling her away forcefully from the edge of the high walls of Castle Amber. "An overdose of Pattern," she said grimly. "And not in the sense that Merlin feels it either. Morgan, if Merlin can spare you, let's get her down to my rooms. Merlin looked up; he was caressing a strange dark red bird—not entirely unlike a raven—which had strange, hand-like claws that appeared to be clutching a number of cards. "Your rooms are warded," he observed. "Which is why we'll take her there!" snapped Flora. Merlin looked at Morgan, shrugged and nodded. "We need to see if this is Helena or Amba, shifted," he said. "Checking the trumps it's carrying will be a start." The not-unlike raven let out a squawk. Merlin soothed it, but his hands remained, forming a sort of cage. "I'd rather do it inside," he said, with another glance at Morgan. "I'll be all right now. "Oh, the Duke got away," he added. "Two dead Chaosian soldiers on Kolvir's sides. One live Duke somewhere. Probably not best pleased with life." "Yeah, well, I'll be sure to send him a sympathy card," Morgan answered. He slipped the cosh back into his clothing and took Clytemnestra from Flora. He lifted her easily in his arms, and smiled down at her. "She looks so sweet when she's sleeping," he observed. "Lead on, Auntie," he said to Flora. [continued in All Fall Down] |
