Welcome Back - AmbaIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Welcome Back [Continued from Stealing into Ishtarways] As Lord Torren and his laboratory vanished from sight, Amba appeared to a much less savoury, if more familiar, sight. Though the implements of 'study' were still covered in cloth, and the smell of mothballs and mold assaulted her rather than antiseptic and blood, the memories were still there- now intermingled with new ones. The last time she had been here, she'd tried to kill Helena—and this time maybe she had finished the job. She winced against the thought, the palm of her hand pressed into her temple, as if to keep something in—or at bay. She'd had no choice... 'Sure, tell yourself that.' That's not how it happened; she'd needed to get in touch with Princess Fiona or Lord Torren... 'And so Helena was left with no way to get away from Duke Helgram.' She staggered then, her other hand reaching for the edge of a desk to steady herself as she fought off the other voice. 'And it didn't even do any good. Helena must have felt so betrayed during those last moments...' Almost unable to stand, Amba placed more weight on the table, only to have it give way beneath her, sending her gracelessly to the floor. The pain of the impact helped her banish her doubts to the reaches of her mind as she gathered herself together. Hearing movement above, she carefully came to her feet, heading out of the basement to the house above. To a casual observer, the building would seem an innocent house; perhaps the modest home of a late 19th century family. But Amba saw none of this when she looked upon it—then again, she had her memories of what had truly gone on here. 'And the dreams...' the voice said, before Amba quashed it, forcefully. "My Lady? Is that you?" a voice called to her from up the stairs, at once hopeful and apprehensive. "Yes, Christina," she replied, forcing her voice to stay even. "I'm just here for a moment, then I'll be gone." "Oh," came the reply, small and disappointed. She heard footsteps on the stairs and sighed. She'd hoped to be here and gone before any of the servitors knew she was here. But she owed the girl this much. Forcing herself not to bite her lip in her anxiety, she steadied herself as she rounded the corner, looking up the stairs a the shade of a young girl, of about 10–12 years of age halfway down the flight. She was dressed simply, which was very much out of line with her beautiful looks, especially limned in the light pouring in from the window in the foyer, which made her blonde locks seem golden. She looked down at Amba with perfect blue eyes, the apprehension still visible in them. Of course the footsteps didn't come from her—but from the woman behind her, tethered to her by a dull metal chain. It was shackled to the young girl's ankle, and extended into the woman's midsection. And Amba knew a little too well how she had come to be this way. The woman stepped forward as the girl did, their movements perfectly synched, bringing her ruin of a body into full view of the sunlight. Stitches criss-crossed the woman's flesh on what skin showed through her threadbare rags. "I'm glad to see you," Christina said as she approached, and it was all Amba could do not to break down crying and run away. "I'm...glad to see you, too," Amba choked out. "I just need some things from my room, and then I'll leave you alone." "Are you sure you can't stay for tea? I know Bobby would love to see you—is Lady Helena coming, also?" Amba took a deep breath to calm herself. "No," she said simply. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I have to go," she said at last, running past Christina, and past the zombie to her room, and shutting the door. She leaned against it for a long moment, before finally hearing the footsteps again, then a door shut. Looking around the room, she saw that it was still as she left it; nothing had been moved. It was decorated as a young girl's room should be—painted in bright colours with a bureau and mirror and a chest of drawers and a solitary bed in the middle of the room. It was one of the few places where she had felt safe—where she had dreamed of leaving this place- of getting out. But it was the trunk at the foot of the bed that she was interested in. She moved forward, and knelt beside it, fitting her amulet to the lock. There was a click, and she opened it, pulling from it more items that brought back memories of destiny she had tried so hard to fight. 'But here you are,' the voice said. 'Back where you belong. You were trained for this, so do what you were trained for!' And Amba had no response for that as she began to change. Coming into the courts, Amba recalled the last time she had come in this manner. Helena had been there to meet her, and her life had changed forever. Amba wondered what changes would be engendered by this latest coming, and shivered. It didn't help that she was still anxious regarding her friend's fate. She knew she wasn't dead—knew that she'd know if such a final fate had happened. But there were fates worse than death; Amba knew that too well. Taking a deep breath, and steadying her Merlin-face, Amba once again considered submerging herself beneath the psyche of the far-away king. But again she dismissed it. She had to keep her wits about her; if it became necessary, she had prepared for the shift as well as she'd been able to, so that she could do it in a moment's notice if necessary. But she hoped it wouldn't be; Lord Torren wasn't here to help pull her back this time. She only hoped that her training was enough. But first things first—to make her way to SawallWays without being noticed would indeed increase her chances of success, she thought as she began her journey. Just as the Sawall family was famous for its 'eccentricities', SawallWays was famous more for it's construction than its content. As Amba came within view of its crenelated towers, there was no mistaking why that was. A medieval castle rose up before her, authentic other than touches to make it something out of the worst nightmares of children. It was completely of some unknown stone-like material of a depressing gray monotone, enhancing the impact of its dark and gloomy architecture. Now she understood why many looked at Despil's crazy 'modern' home as a reaction to his upbringing. If the outer court was imposing, the inner court was only more so, as four towers marked the corners, though of course for a family as preoccupied with status as the Sawalls, they were not of equal height, since these were the living quarters of the 4 brothers. Robert had told her that she could use this to her advantage, for it was then easy to pick out Merlin's tower just by size as his was the least grand, as he was not a 'true' Sawall. Of course, she would not be going in the front gates; even disguised as Merlin, this would be seen as passing strange, and would subject her to more scrutiny than she'd be able to stand without submerging her psyche. No, she made her way towards a grassy knoll that lay far out from the castle walls, looking for an overhang on the far side that she had been assured would be there. Though no one outside of the family knew all the twists and turns of the passages and tunnels that riddled the butte on which the castle stood, the ghostly librarian that inhabited the strange otherspace in her home shadow was able to show her an older plan from when the edifice was built so long ago. The landmarks had changed somewhat, and the entrance was hidden by means both of nature and of magic. But she was eventually able to find the hidden door, and after neutralizing the magical wards, swung it open on hinges squeaky from disuse. "Shirak," she intoned almost under her breath, and was rewarded with a flare of light from the crystal in her palm. As she walked into the now open portal, she recalled what Robert had said to her; if she followed his directions exactly, she should arrive directly in the ward outside of Merlin's tower. From there, it would not look as strange if the far-away king came to visit his brother—especially now. At least that's what hope Amba clung to as she descended into the darkness, closing the entrance behind her. A long dark passage... And then suddenly she was standing in a small sheltered court, bounded on three sides by a wall and on the fourth by a tall windowless building of grey stone. At least...no windows for some way up—but squinting suggested there might be arrow slits, very high up. The north west and southeast corners both boasted towers, with entrances off this court. One must belong to one of the two sons of Dara and Sawall; neither was as high as Mandor's, nor as squat as Merlin's...which was clearly the one in the northwest corner. Closing her hand about the crystal, the light immediately extinguished, and Amba scanned around, looking instinctively for information that would be of use: the presense of others, if either of the towers appeared to be in disuse since Jurt spent so little time here. She couldn't afford to make any mistakes, and this information would help her to make sure that she completed her mission and left with her skin intact. Merlin's tower had an air of disused neglect, as one might expect of a place that had not, presumably, seen much use in the last hundred years. The other tower seemed better maintained, and a light burned on one of the lower levels. If it was Jurt's tower, it had been pressed into service for something other than his accommodation. But...there was no-one coming or going. Perhaps it was Despil's. 'So basically, it comes down to a coin toss,' Amba thought. 'Or maybe not.' Turning, she made her way back to Merlin's tower, and after defeating the lock, slipped inside. Her intent was to have a base of operations to come back to, but that would seemingly depend on what she found inside. If nothing, then she had it in mind to turn into a bird, and check out the other tower through the arrow slits. But with that old saying about plans and mice and men in mind, she carefully made her way into the dark interior, checking for anything that would change her mind about her course of action. As soon as she went inside, she nearly fell. The ground floor, her explorations told her, had been used as a sort of storage for all manner of discarded and unwanted junk. It appeared that no-one was expecting Merlin back without warning—or perhaps for a very long time... It was possible to make her way upward, but only slowly and with some difficulty. Amba-Merlin smiled as black feathers began to form from skin, her humanoid shape falling away like discarded clothing. She jumped then, darting upward on raven's wings towards the top level of the tower, looking for the arrow slits that she hoped would provide her a way out into the other tower. And it was to that one that she winged, flying through the slit and aiming towards the matching opening on the lit tower. There were several opening to choose from: two on the lighted, lower levels and one at the darkened top of the tower. Angling to catch an updraft, the amba-bird dipped, then soared up on the rising winds towards the unlit window. It was easy to slip through the slit and into the room. Unlike Merlin's tower, this seemed inhabited, warm and scented with spices favoured for perfuming rooms. There was a low baked fire, warming but too dim to have been perceived from outside. There seemed to be a figure seated in the great armchair to one side of it. Seeing that the figure had not reacted, Amba landed on the ground, then her form flowed upward as she took Merlin's shape again. Circling the figure, she came into view, forcing herself not to act tentative, but to walk as if she belonged, hoping that she had found Despil so easily. It was Despil. For a long moment he was still gazing into the fire, but then he started, turned and looked up. "Who's there?" he said, impatiently. "Why didn't you knock, as I commanded?" He was staring fully at Amba...with sightless eyes. "I wasn't aware that a brother had to knock when coming to check on his kin," Amba-Merlin said, even as she studied his eyes to see if anything was different about them than when she saw him last. They seemed as large and dark as ever, but the stare as he turned his head towards her/him was oddly glassy. "Merl? What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know Dad will kill you if he sees you?" "Well, we'll just have to make sure he doesn't," Amba said flippantly, filing that away. "But seriously, what happened?" she continued, putting more gravitas in her voice. "After I heard what had—happened—I interviewed Helena and her friend from House Heldt. Things are a bit muddled, and growing ever so much so." "How did...this happen?" "The Logrus," said Despil. "I...saw the heart of the Logrus, Merl. And now,wherever I look, waking or sleeping, I...I can't see anything else." "How...? I mean, from what Helena told me, you were inside with Lord Suhuy when it happened; Pri..." Amba caught herself, and paused only momentarily before continuing. "Fi wasn't even in the cathedral, let alone in sight? And she surely doesn't command the Logrus—so I'm not getting the connection...?" she said, more confused than ever. "It seems that Lord Suhuy could fix whatever he caused! Why the vendetta?" But Despil was frowning at her words. "Helena told you all this? No, Fiona wasn't involved—that part of the mess is Dad's paranoia. As for the Guardian of the Logrus—he's disappeared." "Fardles," Amba-Merlin said. "You don't think he might have had a...push, do you? The other reason I had to come is that Amber is under attack. Duke Helgram is there, apparently with a commission from the Emperor. He almost destroyed the Pattern at Tir last night. And with no support from this side of things...well, let's just say things look bleak." Despil turned his head toward her/him. "And you think things look better from my position?" He sighed. "What do you want me to do, Merl? Fumble my way into Father's presence and demand he stop feuding with Ishtar? Or lurch across to Ishtar and say it was all a mistake about Fiona's hand and could he please stop killing Sawalls now? All in order to prop you up on a fancy throne in Amber so Mandor can play power games and you can indulge whatever vices attract your whim...while I continue to rot here in Chaos doing Mandor's bidding and appeasing our increasing insane Dad?" He laughed harshly. "Dream on, bro." "Everybody uses everybody, don't they?" Amba-Merlin mused cynically. She sighed, turning the pieces over in her head in silence—the answer was there, but it was like some huge jigsaw puzzle—and she didn't have the perspective to see all of the pieces. But she could see what she could do with the pieces she did see. "You haven't seen how bad it is—it's possible that none of us will survive what's happening," she said. "That's why I'm here—what's gone on in the past doesn't matter. We have to be more than we have been in order to make a better future. Hells, to make any future at all at this rate." "You met with Helena, right? Charming girl—a hint of metal in her spine, but refreshing and truly believed naively that those in power cared about making things better. Well I sent her and her friend off to help stop the Duke. Somehow he was stopped. But only the friend came back. And even after that," she took a breath forcing the next words, "loss, she's still willing to help." She stopped for a moment, searching his face, trying to keep it together, hoping that she was convincing enough. "Dammit, can't you see that they're better than either of us?" "If I can get you to Lord Ishtar... If I can promise that I will do everything in my power to find Lord Suhuy afterwards and restore your sight, will that be enough to get you to do all that's in your power to salvage this?" "What do you want me to do?" said Despil wearily. "Assassinate Dad? You know what he's like, Merl. The only one of us he ever listened to is Mandor. There's no way he'll listen to me. You...he'd probably kill. "No...you know better than that," Amba said, encouraged by the fact that he was at least considering. "Take the path of least resistance," she explained. "If Lord Torren had the statement that Fi didn't attack you, directly from your mouth, then I daresay that the Emperor couldn't support him in this any longer—especially if the information was also leaked to a few select people. "As for Helena...." He broke off, frowning. "Merl—are you in love with her?" "Isn't that why you and Mandor sent her to me?" Amba asked cynically. "Or was she only a cover for the other two you sent?" Despil shrugged. "When has Mandor ever let me into his plans?" he said cynically. "But one odd thing, Merl. He was just as determined that Amba Heldt should go to Amber. On fact ... "I'd say that Helena was as much the cover as the other way round." Amba stood in silence for a moment while she processed that information- it didn't make much sense in the grand scheme of things, but as with the other tidbits she had gleaned, she filed it away for future use. "So," she said in Merlin's voice. "Back to the issue at hand. Are you willing to at least try?" "Speak to Father? Merl—he won't listen. When has he ever been made to see sense? He still swears he'll kill you on sight. Make contact with Ishtar? How? And what can I offer him?" "I can get Lady Amba to take you to Ishtar—she has already been in contact with him, and he wants to end this feud," Amba replied calmly- soothingly even. "Once you relay the story to him about what happened, he can take it from there—the truth will have some sway with the Emperor—hopefully enough to get him to force an end to this madness. "But I can't do it without you," [Amba] said imploringly. "So...having been blinded—you want me to hand myself over to Ishtar and his witch wife as a hostage? Merl, this breaks even your record for craziness. Hell, it's on Dad's scale." He was silent for a minute, his blind eyes staring ahead. "If Ishtar wants peace...let him meet us at the Chapel of the Logrus." Amba was silent for a second...then nodded. Then after another moment, remembering his affliction, "Done." She observed Despil for a long moment before speaking again. "No matter what has gone on before, I will see you sighted again," she said, in almost Amba tones. Then catching herself, she cleared her throat, continuing, "I...I need to set things in motion—shall we say at the next turning?" Despil nodded slowly. "At the next turning," he said. "And brother," Amba said as she turned, "take care." Then in a cloud of feathers, she was gone. Flying out the same window she came in, Amba headed towards Merlin's tower, prepared to alight on the bottom floor in preparation for her egress from SawallWays. But as soon as she left Despil's tower she noticed that Merlin's was blazing with light. Still, she continued towards Merlin's tower, but pulled up, rather than flying through the slit, to perch on the edge and look in. Inside she saw two figures, apparently deep in conversation. One was the tall, ruined figure of Lord Sawall, who had refused to shift away the cruel injuries gained in the Battle of Patternfall—the loss of an eye, which had been replaced by a black crystal, and the loss of a hand, which had been replaced by a rock eagle's claw. The other was the cool and elegant figure of Lady Irulan Corrino. Amba pecked at the sill, very much like the bird she was, even as she increased her hearing, borrowing the auditory organs, if not the outside appearance, of a dolphin. She focussed on what the pair was saying, directing her enhanced senses in that direction. Irulan turned and stared at her—she had a singularly piercing gaze. "Neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring," she said. "I wonder what it really is." She levelled her hand and pointed at Amba—and Amba felt that a single word was forming in her mind... Amba didn't know what was happening, but her instinct was that she couldn't be found here. She tried to take off from her perch, to find solace somewhere to collect herself... She heard a gasp as Irulan staggered back...and then she was falling...falling...towards the unforgiving cobbles of the castle yard. Shaking her head in a most unbirdlike fashion, Amba recovered her wits enough to realize that she still had wings, though the courtyard was dreadfully devoid of usable updrafts. Her first instinct was to beat her wings, to try to use them to force her drop to cease. But she realized that she was not the foremost authority on self flight in this manner- that the bird she had taken the form from was. So giving herself over to instinct, she allowed the body to act in the manner that nature had intended. She struggled to keep herself calm, as her body relaxed, the wings spreading to their full extension as in opposition to her belief, the body plunged into the dive, rather than trying to fight it. She was sure that she was going to end up splattered on the cobblestones, and battled the human portion of her mind, forcing her own instincts behind the shuttered doors of her mind as the ground became nearer and nearer in her strange bird-sight. As the certainty grew stronger and stronger that these were her last few moments, she began to feel pressure beneath her wings as they finally caught the air and pulled her out of her mad dive. If she'd been able, she would have whooped for joy. But she had to settle on a mad cawing sound as she made her way to the roof of the tower, landing on it to gather her wits about her, even as she extended her senses to make sure that there was no one after her. No-one after her—but there was someone awaiting her arrival at the top of the tower—a young woman dressed in white. Irulan Corrino. This was an unexpected, and unwanted encounter. But quickly tossing away her former conceptions of what she had wanted to happen, Amba realized that slipping away unknown was not possible now. The only thing she could do is try to salvage her mission, and keep her true aims concealed. Landing, she flowed into an androgynous, totally featureless, humanoid form, of a like height of the woman she faced. She said nothing, waiting for Corrino to make the first move. Irulan regarded her steadily for a long moment. "Who are you?" she said at last. "An Ishtar spy?" "Negative," Amba replied, her voice an emotionless monotone. She tried as much as possible to give nothing away—not even in her phrasing. "One who desires to see this conflict ended as soon as possible." She considered her next question for a long moment before posing it. "Is the cessation of hostilities also what the Emperor wants- what your presence indicates? Or is there some other reason for your presence in SawallWays?" Irulan smiled. "Let's just say...this visit is in the nature of an exploratory overture. What's your reason? Freelance peace-keepers do not live long in Chaos." "Not freelance," Amba replied in that same monotone. "Merely working for someone who prefers to remain off the table. One who has a like for reality whole, and knows that precipitating instability at either pole is like to be disastrous for all. That has been tried before, and did not work out well on either end." She shrugged unconsciously. "It seems that history does teach us nothing." Irulan was listening with interest. "So," she said. "A supporter of the Cause of Amber. A rare breed—and growing rarer. You don't need peace. You need allies." "Indeed," Amba said, looking back upon Irulan less now an obstacle and more an opportunity, "allies are better than enemies." She dropped her guard not at all, the memory of how close she and the cobblestones had become still in sharp relief in her mind. But she did give the appearance of such, clasping her hands behind her back. "But make no mistake—this has little to do with Amber, and more to do with preserving the status quo. "Or perhaps making things even more stable," she mused, raising a nonexistent eyebrow. "Destroying Primal Powers tends to upset reality more than a little," she continued. "And though Amber's survival is of little import, for the nonce it does house the root of Pattern's influence in reality. Destroying such merely out of spite may be...if not Pyrrhic, at the very least Cadmean. "We would think that those in Imperial Service would see the truth of that statement." Amber is an extinct volcano," said Irulan. "The power is no longer there...or do you have reason to know differently?" Amba once again quirked one eyebrow. "You don't truly expect me to give all that easily, do you?" She added in way of concession, "Though, I would think you more than capable of seeing through the disemblings of the so-called 'Minister for Ordered Affairs'." She paused for a moment, studying the Princess—trying to judge her reception to her words. Irulan was proving very hard to read—even though she was seemingly in a human form. Amba was definitely jealous of this ability to hide emotions the Princess seemed to possess. It was definitely more subtle than her own approach. Then after letting her words hang there for a second, she continued, "Why bother to destroy a thing if it holds no power?" "For revenge," said Irulan. "To prevent it regaining power. Pour l'encourager les autres... Can you really not think of reasons?" "Mais certainement," Amba rejoined. "But there are reasons, and there are reasons." "What you have stated are merely reasons. But for someone such as the Duke to try the extreme measures that he has—he has reasons." While she talked, she paid careful attention—surely the woman would let something slip if she did not know what the 'measures' were... Irulan smiled faintly. "Indubitably." But in any case, she continued, "But that is peripheral. As engaging as this conversation is, other matters call for my attention. Your interception was for some purpose other than leisurely discourse...shall we, as they say, get to the point?" "I wanted to find out who you were," said Irulan. "And whether you should be killed for spying on us. But now I know how you are or, rather, who you are not...I shall leave you. Tell Merlin...he should be careful." And then suddenly, without even a glimmer of light, she was gone—so suddenly that Amba might suspect she had not really been there at all. Amba stood there alone for a bit, considering that last part in silence—then decided that leaving through the tower would probably be a bad idea. Looking down toward the ground, she flowed back into the shape of a bird. She'd decided if there were any more interruptions, she would fly over the wall, hoping there were no countermeasures in place, but if no one was present, she'd fly to the tunnel, hoping to retrace her path out of the courts. She needed to fly high...but soon she was beyond the reach of the tower and over the strangely formed walls of Sawall. At some point not long after she became aware of a hawk, flying overhead and matching its pace to hers. 'It could be a natural hawk,' Amba thought but that didn't really comfort her. The fauna of Chaos included a lot of things, but a hawk wasn't one of them, so even if it was a hawk, it would have had be imported. The instincts of the form she was in told her that the hawk was a dangerous position no matter what. Larger and above her, it could swoop down and do serious damage before she had a chance to get away unless she acted quickly. Pulling her wings into her sides, she dove, aiming to as rapidly as possible get to the canopy of the trees below her. The hawk flew after her, matching her pace, but making no attempt to close the gap. It seemed the hawk was flying not to attack her, but to protect her. The hawk landed close...and shifted back into the familiar form of Torren Ishtar. He nodded at her, as though acknowledging the perils of her mission. "What did you learn?" he asked. Surprised, and more than a little suspicious at his arrival, Amba stayed in the androgynous form. "I must say that I'm surprised to see you here," she said, buying time to think of some way to be sure this was actually Lord Torren. "Why did you expect you would find me?" "Because I've been watching you," he replied. "Helena would not forgive me if you camne to harm...I could not undertake the mission myself—but I lent you my protection—as far as I could. Once you were within the Ways, of course, it was up to you. What did you learn? Clearly Despil believed you were his brother." Satisfied, Amba shifted back to her own form. "As far as Despil goes, yes, he did believe I was his brother. He was still understandably wary, and wants to meet with you in the Cathedral of the Serpent at the next turning to discuss how he may be able to influence the Emperor that Princess Fiona was not responsible for his condition," she said. Then she sighed. "That part went well enough, but my leaving was not as cleanly done as I would have liked." "When I returned to Merlin's tower, Irulan Corrino and Lord Sawall were deep in conversation. I attempted to listen in but," she shrugged. "Somehow the Princess knew that I was a shifter. She invoked magick to make me revert to my true form, but I was able to counter it. We then had a long, troubling talk." "I think she thought I was someone else," Amba continued. "And once she convinced herself that I was not that person, she was satisfied. But she definitely plays some sort of high stakes games- one that I could not ferret out the whole of." "I'm pretty sure she thought I came to negotiate with Lord Sawall, and thus thinks my efforts failed in that regard," she said uncertainly. "But I'm not sure." "Irulan?" said Torren, sounding a little surprised. "I had not expected...well. That's an interesting counter on the board. But why would she be interested in Sawall? I would have thought... "No matter. Will you come to the Cathedral of the Serpent for this meeting?" "Definitely," Amba said. "I have incurred obligations in securing Lord Despil's aid, and must fulfill them." Lord Ishtar stiffened. "What obligations?" he asked. "I am not altogether unfamiliar with how the game is played," Amba said, a bit offended at his response to her statement. "They have nothing to with the issues at hand. Merlin merely offered my help in finding Lord Suhuy and getting him to reverse what was done to Lord Despil." "I'm more than sure that Princess Fiona has learned whatever it was that he meant for the man's affliction to accomplish," she said ruefully, shrugging, looking at Lord Torren askance as she awaited his response. "Perhaps you should ask her yourself," said Lord Torren with a certain bitterness in his voice. "Before we go to the Chapel." Amba's eyes narrowed as she gauged Torren's response. She replied slowly, "Yes. I would like that." "Then come," he said, rising to his feet. One hand held a trump; the other reached out to Amba—and his eyes were hard, unyielding. Amba hesitated not at all as she met his eyes with a frank look of her own—and decisively took his hand in a firmer grip than was actually necessary for trump contact. They stepped through into a domed white room. In shape, it seemed something like being in half an egg shell, a fanciful impression re-enforced by the pristine silky whiteness of the walls that curved into the ceiling, curved over and became the walls again. Inside, there were soft fleeces spread on the floor and benches, also white. In fact, the only colour apart from Torren and Amba themselves was the searing red of Fiona's hair as she lay sprawled asleep on one of the white couches. She was dressed in robes of white, and her normally pale skin was ashen. Both her hands were bandaged into blunt mitts. Amba observed in silence, waiting to follow Lord Torren's lead. "Wake her," said Lord Torren. There was a certain tension in his tone. "She might recognise you—as Helena's friend." At that, Amba hesitated for the first time...looking at Lord Torren. But, in short order, she looked back to the princess, and walked determinedly to her side, watching her for a moment. Nothing happened. Then she said lightly, "Princess Fiona?" The Princess lay still, inert. She looked back at Lord Torren, then towards Fiona again, and said louder, "Princess Fiona—it's me...Amba." Her eyes shot open—and at first they were pools of blackness... Then Amba could see the thinnest rim of green iris around the blackness. One hand shot up and caught at her wrist. "The Thane of Fife had a wife," said Fiona musingly. "Where is she now?" "Oh... No," Amba said horrified. "No no no no no!" She didn't make any attempt to extract her wrist, but looked back to Lord Torren stricken. "The Logrus... She sees the Logrus. Only, unlike Despil, she..." Amba looked back to Fiona. "He has to make this right," she said. "He can't just play with people's lives like..." A vision of a little girl came to her mind, and she laughed, bitterly. "But they can, can't they?" she said forlornly. "Why?" she asked, her voice hollow and more than a little lost. "The damage to her hands was Sawall's," said Lord Torren. "The damage to her mind...I believe that comes from the Logrus. And the only hope I see ..." He drew a deep breath. "The only hope would be the Pattern, true and unbroken." She gently prized her wrist from Fiona's hands, trying not to disturb the other woman. Then she turned to Lord Torren. "A Pattern initiate," she said slowly, recalling her tutorings, "could call up an image—perhaps then overlay her mind with it?" she said hopefully. "I don't know," said Lord Torren, staring hard at Fiona. "A powerful Pattern initiate, perhaps. Someone studied in the arts and ways of the Pattern." Turning back to follow Torren's gaze, Amba said, "But a powerful Pattern initiate wouldn't be likely to come here for a housecall..." "That," said Torren, "had occurred to me too. Failing that I see only two ways.... One would be to taken to a Pattern—whole and complete—and force her to walk it. They say that cured Corwin in days gone by, restoring him to his previous self..." "And the other?" Amba inquired, looking askance at Lord Torren. "For the Princess to take the Logrus," said Torren heavily. Amba's eyes grew large. There were several things that went through her mind, not least of which was that Lord Torren had joined his wife in madness. But she didn't let the words past her lips, instead saying "Is that even possible? I'd thought Merlin a singular example of this—not a rule..." "Not a rule," agreed Torren. "But, by birth, the Princess has two Chaosian parents." She paused, her face very troubled as she looked back upon the Princess. "And I suppose that Lord Suhuy could only take back the view—not cure the madness?" "Suhuy is a conduit," said Lord Ishtar gravely. "Power passes through him in moments of divine madness.... This was not his doing except to be the crevice in the rock that funneled the water that flooded the town." "An Act of god?" Amba said, shaking her head. "What a convenient excuse religion is. No wonder..." She sighed still shaking her head. "So would that mean he cannot heal Lord Despil either?" Torren shook his head. "If Despil cannot shift it away himself then...no. Again...the Logrus might be the answer." "That's just the problem," Amba said. "He sees the Logrus continually, and can see nothing else. His eyes are just..." She shuddered with the memory. "Black. Deepest, darkest black." "But, one thing at a time... Shall we head for the cathedral?" "By all means," said Torren easily, and he resumed his bird form as easily as one shrugging on an overcoat. Fiona, on the bed, gave a short, sharp cry—and then seemed to sleep again. Amba gave Fiona one last look, then leapt into the air, resuming her bird form as she did, flying towards the cathedral. The air seemed thick with smoke and the smell of death...the ground near Torren's ways was ripped apart as though several earthquakes had contended together for mastery. Torren, though, flew straight and true towards the Cathedral. Amba did her best to ignore the sights and smells that assaulted her, sticking fast to Torren's path as they winged their way over the desolation. And at last they circled down slowly to land...a place where Amba had been all too recently, it seemed. This alone did not bear the scars of war—although its stone glowed red with a throbbing, unnatural life... As Amba landed, she shifted back into her own form, looking around for signs of Despil's arrival. She briefly considered taking Merlin's form again, but decided against that, figuring that the agreement to be made needed to be between Lord Despil and Lord Torren—without the muddiness that 'Merlin's' presence would bring to it. "This way," said Torren. "We'll wait inside—we seem to be first." But Amba could feel the prickling of magic... Amba's eyes narrowed as she held up her hand towards Lord Torren in abeyance. "Bide a moment," she said, scanning the area with both her eyes and other senses. "There is something..." "What?" said Torren sharply. Amba was beginning to sense a force, like a powerful net, woven around the Cathedral. In response, Amba merely pointed with her hand towards the cathedral, two fingers outstretched, the dragon coiling about her arm clearly visible, though the eye visible to Torren was closed in sleep. Closing her own eyes, Amba gathered her will, then pulled with her hand against some unseen resistance. "Geomjeong," she whispered, and the eye of the dragon opened, pulsing with light that seemed timed to the echo of the word she had spoken, growing stronger as it wrestled with the forces in play around the Cathedral. Torren, looking from the cathedral to Amba and back again. He blinked...and frowned. Then he looked sharply at Amba. And as he did so, Amba felt a blow. Not hard enough to hurt, it was a slap on her cheek—as she had seem the Baronness discipline servants who presumed beyond their station. Amba, her concentration interrupted, blinked and shook her head as the forces she had called dissipated. "What...?" she asked looking toward Helena's father. "That net," said Torren grimly. "Thank you for showing it—it's Suhuy. He uses it for defense—and also for entrapment..." He was silent, staring at it for a long minute before he said slowly, "Do you know of any way to avoid the meshes?" The implications of what she had been about to do settled in, and a shiver ran down Amba's spine. "No," she said, still looking at the magick playing over the temple. "Not without directly opposing him..." She was silent for a moment. "Thank you for sparing me that," she said at last. "So he's involved, do you think?" "What does this mean?" "It may mean that—in the circumstances, Suhuy has decided he needs to protect himself. It may mean he's already under attack. But from whom?" Amba was frustrated. She'd figured Lord Torren would have the answers to all of these types of questions—but he was as stymied as she. After allowing herself that feeling for a second, she quickly discarded the feelings for a more pragmatic, of less satisfying approach. "Who would benefit from attacking him? And who would have the power?" she mused. "Sawall might benefit, but currently they don't have the power required, I wouldn't think. Wereathe consider him too holy to take such an approach, and I don't think Hendrake would take such a subtle route," she said matter-of-factly. "For different reasons, this doesn't seem like Baccaran either, and I don't see the gain for Minobee." She looked to Torren to see his response to her suppositions. Finally she finished her run-down of the great Houses. "That would leave Corrino, Ysarn, and Helgram." "Ysarn we can discount," said Torren. "They have kept away from these troubles, preferring to wait...which leaves Helgram and Corrino. I can see plausible reasons for both seeking to control the Logrus. A vulnerable Emperor might seize on it to gain strength...and Helgram might...to block that strength, or to set up in opposition. No...the former is more likely. They already have strength. But what does that mean for us, and for Sawall?" "With Helgram, I'd say nothing good. But Corrino," she shook her head. "I just don't know. Especially given my earlier encounter with Irulan." "I'd thought this pointed to something in Amber—to reduce Sawall's powerbase there. But...now...I don't know." "Why would Irulan Corrino do that?" mused Torren. "Surely, if the Emperor needs an ally against Helgram, she should be looking for allies... " Amba became aware that a dark carriage was approaching. "Perhaps speculation will no longer be necessary," Amba said, even as she turned towards the approaching carriage. The arms of Sawall were on the side. It approached and Amba could see there was only one occupant—Despil. And he was wearing a dark shade across his eyes. "Well, at least one thing is going apparently according to plan," Amba said, even as she tried to judge where the carriage would stop. "But then again, the day's still young, and so many more things could go wrong," she added cynically. The carriage drew to a halt at much the place that Amba was expecting and stayed there. Despil could be seen within, tilting his head back as though to catch some elusive scent. "I think," said Torren, "that at this point, he may trust you more than me." Amba stepped to the carriage. "Lord Despil?" she said tentatively. "I'm Amba of House Heldt—I was at your house recently for dinner—Helena's friend." She paused for a second, gauging his reaction uncertainly. "Your brother was called away on urgent business concerning Amber, but I am here in his stead—and know what he promised, and will make sure that the promise is carried through." The last part of her statement was said with more fervor than the first—her voice steadied as she spoke. "Lord Torren is here also—alone." Amba looked at the cathedral, wondering if she should tell him of Suhuy's ward, then after only a moment's indecision, plunged onward. "We await outside because...it appears that Lord Suhuy is here, and has woven magicks around the Cathedral. The good part of this is that I may be able to discharge that part of your brother's promise now—so if you and Lord Torren could speak," she said questioningly, awaiting a response. Despil turned his face towards her. "The magicks," he said slowly. "Not Suhuy's. Not...from the Logrus. They...seek to contain it. To imprison it." He shuddered. "I understand its dangers now. But...why are they doing this. Where is Suhuy?" "Who is 'they'?" she queried. He raised his head, that same curious sniffing gesture she had seen before, almost like a finely reared hound scenting its prey. "Corrino," he said at last. "But to protect? Or to contain?" He shivered suddenly—as though remembering... "What?" Amba asked anxiously, motioning for Lord Torren to approach. "The Logrus," said Despil. "The power of the Logrus unleashed...It needs... " Suddenly he raised both hands to his head and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, his mouth opening in what seemed to be a silent scream of pain. Torren, who had been moving towards him, hesitated. Amba had no such hesitations—she had said she would protect him if he came, and here he was. To her, such promises held weight, so she laid her hand on his head, as if in benediction, and closed her eyes, trying to sense what assaulted him... In hot darkness, a serpent reared and hissed at her. The terrible head reared and moved closer to her, its tongue flickering in and out. Her sense of the physical world where she stood began to fade. Amba almost drew her hand back in startlement, but recovered in time to prevent the disconnection. As she comprehended what was happening, she almost wished that she had not stopped herself in time. But her sense of honor wouldn't allow her to leave Despil, even to this, so instead she pressed on with an intensity that matched the fear that she was trying to suppress... The serpent's head loomed closer...closer...till the tongue touched against her cheek. As the tongue flicked against her skin, Amba shuddered- whether in revulsion or ecstasy she could not have answered. Her eyes closed as she tried to regain control, but that only made her mind begin to anticipate what the serpent was doing as her eyes fluttered... It drew back...then forward as though giving her a series of little deftly licks, always moving closer and closer to her lips...her mouth... Other than the moans she found that she could not suppress, Amba forced herself to stand her ground as her breathing intensified and her mouth opened into a small o... The serpent tongue flickered on her lips...like a teasing kiss...and then.... It slipped inside and Amba was in a red maelstrom of pain and anger and need... Then she felt someone's arms around her. Torren was holding her upright; before her, Despil was on the ground on his hands and knees, his long fingers clutching convulsively on the earth. But Amba knew one thing—and it was one thing that would overbear everything else—the person who the Serpent needed. It was Solitaire Helgram. "It's the...Logrus," she gasped out, reorienting herself. "Solitaire was right!" She looked at Lord Torren, drawing back from him now that she had her feet. "But how? Why?" "Why what?" demanded Torren. "Amba—what happened?" "I was," she began, struggling for the words, "in the place where Despil is trapped. And the Serpent was there threatening him. So I interposed myself, and it took me instead." She looked towards the stricken Chaos Lord, "or not, I suppose. But it was in such pain! And consumed with anger and need," she said, looking back towards Lord Torren. "Need for Solitaire. Just like she said. Why is this happening? Did you know?" Torren shook his head. "I'm not sure. I'm not... Amba, there's something you should know. When we found Solitaire in the Logrus, Lord Mandor and I, we..." There was a low cry from Despil, who suddenly raised his head and looked at them. "I can see!" he said, stupefied. Amba looked to Despil, almost irritated, then back to Lord Torren as revelation came to her. "You weren't talking in metaphors and riddles. The Logrus really did act through Lord Suhuy. And now it doesn't need Despil blinded anymore." "What were you about to say...about Solitaire?" she asked intently. Torren hesitated and then said slowly, "You understand...that time has no meaning to the Logrus?" "Well, yes," Amba said...then looked at him askance, and continued less certainly, "...in the 'The Logrus will always be around sort of fashion...'" "But that's not what you mean...?" "Suhuy," said Torren, speaking carefully, "had a theory as to why the child was not detected when Solitaire's mother entered the chapel. That's because there was no child...no visible child." "Ok," Amba replied. "You're losing me. What are you saying?" "I'm saying that we believe she gave birth in the depths of the Logrus," said Torren. "Although Suhuy had another theory. "He thought that the Logrus created the child." Amba just looked at Lord Torren for a long moment, saying nothing, her expression inscrutable. She looked to Despil to see his reaction, then back to Lord Torren. "The Logrus created Solitare," she finally said. "I can't even begin to grasp that statement. I can't even grasp that we're talking about this. You can't really be serious." She exhaled. "It's not like the other explanation makes any sense either, but at least it's not something that completely defies...everything! I mean, even in Chaos, you don't expect to hear something like that." "Ok. Let's take for granted that one of these...conclusions is correct. Why do you think the Logrus so desperately wants her now?" "I don't know," said Torren. "Perhaps we should ask it." Amba merely looked at him for a long moment, incredulously. When she finally spoke, she said, "You're serious?" "Well, the last time I made it's acquaintance, it didn't seem in the mood for conversation," she said dryly, though she could not suppress a shiver at the memory of her encounter with the serpent. "Do you advise that we just...walk in? With all of that magic surrounding the Cathedral?" "I think," said Torren, in a measured tone, "That the Logrus telling us it would like to proceed. Why else would it have released Despil?" Despil gave a short laugh, never taking his gaze from the chapel. "Believe me, I have no doubt that it had its own reasons. And do we really wish to learn them?" Reminded again of Despil's recent not-so-friendly encounter with the Logrus, Amba soberly rejoined, "Can we really afford not to?" She looked towards the chapel, gathering her resolve as she took in its forbidding lines. Then without waiting for a response, she started walking towards the entrance before her will to do so gave way to more reasonable thoughts. At first she seemed to encounter a feeling of resistance...and then it yield. It was still hard to walk forward...but now she had a strange feeling that it would be even harder to turn back. Distantly, behind her, she thought she could hear shouts...but they vanished compared with the sound of her own breaths... It was growing darker now as she entered the chapel. Darker...and warmer, and there seemed to be a strange viscosity about the ground under her feet. Her vision seemed to be becoming tinged with red... Though her trepidation was growing, Amba did the only thing she could, and forged ahead. And ahead she saw flickering shadows...a shadowy form...a daemon shadow...a raven-like thing stalking through the cave, draped in membranous shadows. And its substance was shadow too... As was Amba's to the Baroness Helgram. [continued in Into the Logrus] |
