The Fall of Amber: JurtJurt was asleep in his own Shadow and dreaming when the trump call nudged at his mind. Roused by the contact, his hand slipped under the field cot and produced a small hand crossbow, which he quickly drew and fitted with a bolt, the head a sickly blue color from the application of cierl-ankeshed venom. "Yes?" Through the medium of Trump he saw a face framed with rainbows, thenmn settling into the dark, good looking features of his full brother, Despil. "It's starting. Mandor wanted me to get you before I go off the the wyverns. Will you come through?" "Of course," Jurt replied, setting the crossbow down and grabbing the bag he had kept ready the last week, awaiting this move. Drawing it over his shoulder and slipping his feet into his boots he rolled his neck to loosen tight muscles and reached one hand to his little brother. The other regained the crossbow before the physical contact came. "What news of Merlin and mother?" he asked as the rainbow faded from his eyes. Merlin's still with his father," said Despil. "Mother ... she's disappeared, Jurt. Mandor thinks she might be trying to get to Amber." He shrugged. "We've had word - Borel was killed. By Corwin. You know that she'll take that hard." Jurt took in his surroundings, carefully cataloging them. "Then why Amber? If Corwin is still with Merlin, why not face him there?" "Corwin is not our objective," said Despil. He smiled suddenly. "There was an incident at the rim of the Abyss. The Unicorn made an appearance and selected the new King of Amber. Clearly, she's in her dotage. She chose Random. "And while he celebrates, Mandor believes our forces can strike at Amber and destroy it." "No, I mean Mother. Why would she choose Amber over avenging Borel?" Jurt worked the problem over in his head. "Especially if the Unicorn has crowned Random." "No matter, I'll call her once we're under way. What's the Order of Battle?" Mandor wants you as aide de camp," said Despil. "He'll tell you more. He's thinking there might be some negotiating to be done before the end. He's reluctant to destroy our target in its entirety. He plans to make use of it later on." "Then let us not keep him waiting," Jurt answers, patting his pack to ensure that the trisp and fandon are secure and hefting the crossbow carefully. They left the tower room where Jurt had been summoned and amde their way out along the ramparts of the castle. Far below, Jurt could make out the armies of Chaos. Almost as far above, wyverns were roosting on the heights, calling out in their strange, harsh voices. Despil looked up, his eyes clearly seeking out his own fell black, Tantarus. Further along the ramparts, Jurt could see Mandor. He was wearing demonskinarmour, black, tight fastened around his throat, and his white hair was blowing a little in the stiff breeze of morning. He was speaking with the leader of the Hendrake forces; it seemed as though somehow, unexpectedly, Mandor was the one giving orders and shaping the battle. As Jurt and Despil approached, Mandor turned his head slightly to nod a greeting. Jurt took the moment to set his pack on the battlements and produce a full length dragonhide coat, the black scales burnished at the edges suggesting the former owner's age. Drawing it tight aganist the wind, he waited until the Battle Maiden withdrew. "How can I serve, brother?" Mandor smiled at him, reaching out to clasp his arm in greeting. From Mandor, normally so undemonstrative, shunning contact with other beings, this was little less than extraordinary. "Brother," he said. "While the mice think to nibble up Chos , we will destroy their heart and remove the abomination for good. We ride to take Amber - and I want you at my side." "You mean to break Barimen's inscription?" Jurt answers with a nod, his support offered unthinkingly. "The late son of Clarissa weakened it with Ordered blood, but you have another idea? Something more permanent?" Obviously Jurt's mind raced with ideas as well. "According to their spies, it's broken already," said Mandor. "The traitor Barimen attempted to repair it and died in the attempt. But the place left behind will be a danger. It must be taken under our control - before the Barimen spawn return. Our task is to capture Amber. Our orders are to destroy it utterly." He cast a look at Jurt - a look his younger brother knew well. It suggested that Mandor had an agenda of his own. "Then speed is of the essence," Jurt agrees. "Let Merlin keep them distracted and thinking that we are subdued." Corwin should still be there when we return triumphant, and to see the damaged Pattern, the source of the Broken... "Grand Conjury to travel will surely be noticed by our former allies, as would Logrus, and it will take too long to lead enough troops there along the Road, so surely you've some other plan." "They remain our allies still," said Mandor. "The plan is to use the remainder of the power that was embedded in the Black Road to get us there. Despil will lead the first wave of the attack with the wyverns. An attack in force, without warning. Ruthless, devastating. Ands then the Hendrakes move in. "That will be your window of opportunity - a narrow one. I need you to get into the Castle and convince Gerard - or whoever is in charge there - that their only hope for survival is immediate and total surrender." "And since the allies are the best educated to sence what we plan, the likelihood of them falling on our rear is minimal," Jurt agreed. His mind raced at the idea of confronting the Amberites, but Mandor had a plan. "Then if they're prepared, I need nothing save what I carry," he assured his brother. "Has mother gone ahead to prepare the way?" "Your mother has disappeared," said Mandor. "If she is coming here, it is to wreak her own vengeance for the murder of Lord Borel. I think it possible she intends to ambush Corwin once Merlin and he are no long together." "Then we should waste no other time," Jurt decided. He clasped Despil's arm and smiled at his brother. "When next we meet, we'll share Ordered wine and piss it over the stones of their castle. Good hunting, brother." Despil returned the clasp, and his smile for his younger brother was warm. "I'll see you in Amber, brother." Then he turned to Mandor - a brief embrace, and then he was gone, striding up the stairs to the heights where his black wyvern, Tantarus, awaited him. "Come," said Mandor. "We need to get ready ourselves. What weapons have you?" "My dueling trisp and fandon, as well as crossbow," Jurt answered. "I may have been schooled in the martial arts like Merlin, but I'll admit, it was never my strength." "What weapons? My mind, my body, as any other of our line. What are you really asking, brother?" "That should be enough," said Mandor. "Until you get into the heart of Amber, I'm planning on your not doing any fighting. And even then - I'm expecting for you to talk your way through. "We're setting up a trump gate to the Black Road between Garnath and Amber. Are you ready?" Jurt regained his pack and nodded simply to Mandor. "One supposes I might never be 'ready', but let us waste no more time." Mandor led them down the stairs of the castle and out into the courtyard. It was here that the trump gate had been established for the foot soldiers, mounted troops and general staff. "We should ride," said Mandor. "Do you want a horse, or something less skittish and more peckish?" "Shock and awe," Jurt agreed. "I need to make an impression. Call the ligers." He looked to the left of the camp where the great cats, striped and maned, with teeth to make most demons envious, lounged in the re-emerging light. "Good call," said Mandor. He snapped his fingers and a vast creature, like a golden jaguar, raised its evil head and stared straight at Mandor with unconcealed menace. "You beauty," said Mandor. "You look even better like that than you did when you were a woman. I think ... you will have another opportunity to be my mount today - but in a rather different sense from the last time." He signalled to a couple of small, leering demons to race in and fit a harness on the beast. Jurt's mount was brought to him when prepared. She was a sleek silver-grey with black stripes, harnessed and saddled in leathers that matched his long coat and now gloves. He stowed the few books from his pack in saddlebags and donned his weapons. "If you're ready, then let us not wait," Jurt comments. "I'd prefer to not have Despil be the hero nor give him a chance to choose the wine for the victory celebration. I might've joked about pissing it away, but his pallate... it might taste that way before." Mandor laughed, already mounted on his handsome panther-like creature. "Then, let's be off," he said - and led the way towards the portal ... spurring his beast forward so that it became half a race, scattering their own forces before them, the sort of oblique tests Mandor had subjected his young half-brothers to throughout their childhood, always probing, always seeking to find their limits ... The portal drew closer ... closer ... And then they were through into a devastated land. Doubtless it had once been rich and green and fertile, despite the wars that it had seen. But now it was a bleak, blasted ruin. It was as though the Black Road covered half the land ... and perhaps it did. Mandor drew rein, his great cat screaming in fury and half rearing up. But Mandor kept his seat and pointed ahead. "Hendrake needs to move through the city proper as quickly as possible," Jurt replied. "Unless we're razing the whole thing to it's foundations, we're going to need these people after the surrender." "It's the palace guard and the Royals that need to be our priority. Once the wyverns have breeched the walls, I worry about the rangers of Arden. Perhaps Despil could ensure that they're occupied while the warrior-maidens advance?" He turned his liger to get a better evaluation of his surroundings. "Did our allies suggest how many Royals we face still?" he asked when he turned to face Mandor again. "Gerard," said Mandor, "and some of the youngers - Eric's daughters - let them match themselves against the Hendrake warrior women. And a youth called Damien - that's all, I believe. "And most of the Rangers followed Julian to war. The rest - the maticores will take care of them." A trumpet note blared out - and Mandor smiled. "The city wall is breached. The city will soon be ours. But the castle - are you ready, brother?" "As, ready as I might ever be for such negotiations short of hostages, but that can't be helped at this date." Jurt turned his battle cat toward the castle and took off at a gallop. "With luck, by this time tomorrow, the Regent's women will be scrubbing the filth of this war out of my armor." "Wait!" yelled Mandor. "Gerard - Gerard has fallen!" There was no mistaking the exaltation ion his voice. "I can trump you straight in," he added. Jurt turns tightly. "To whom? Do we have an 'ally' or am I going to the troops?" "No," said Mandor. "But I can send a troop with you to watch your back. Who would you prefer?" Jurt passed hand signs to the Hendrakes closest. "The twins of House Tudela, Nadia and Diana. With horses if you have them." He pulled his cat back to his brother's side and watched for other telltales of the battle. When the lithe blondes arrived he gave them an appraising look and seemed non-plussed at their lack of visible weaponry. "We will be going to the castle and negotiating their surrender ladies. No direct action without my approval other than self-defense." Jurt turned back to Mandor and smiled. "Let us delay no longer." Mandor held out a card to him. "This is a trump of a small room behind the throne. Brand gave it me once - I think he was daring me to use it. I did once - at a time when I was reasonably confident it would be unoccupied. I was wrong but ... no matter now. With the attack, there's very unlikely to be anyone there. The throne room beyond, of course, is a different matter." Jurt clasped his brother's hand as they had on the battlements in Chaos and once he was sure that the twins were ready to secure his entrance, he began concentrating on the location. Once contact was established he handed the Tudela twins through and followed himself. He found himself, with the twins, in what seemed to be a robing room. Heavy robes of state hung around the room - and there was a desk, piled high with yellowing petitions and other documents. There was a door at one side - presumamably coming out just behind the throne. Nadia ran across the room and listened at the door. Then she made a swift, complex hand signal to Diana who nodded and translated for Jurt in a low voice. "The room is either deserted or perhaps has one, maybe two guards, no more. There is a large object about six feet in front of the door, blocking our view of the room. That's probably the throne itself." Both she and Nadia looked at Jurt for orders. "Incapacitate the guards if you can," he decided. "We're here to negotiate, not kill them all." Jurt entered the room just a step behind his bodyguards, crossbow in hand but not aimed at the castle guards. After all, they're just guards, doing their duty. But there were, after all, no guards in the throne room. There was only one person - a tall, beautful dark-haired woman.
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