WithTheWyvernsIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | With the Wyverns The General let Jurt have his head as they headed towards the wyvern lairs. They descended deeper into the Scar, beneath the barracks themselves, before entering into the cavern that the adepts had carved for the lair. It was dark and cool, but dry, pock marked with the warrens that riddled the walls for the wyverns housed here. Built to house the numbers that had secured Amber, years ago, it seemed almost empty now. Only the highest warrens showed the telltales of current use. Jurt climbed quickly, confident that the General followed. He called to the demons that seemed to blend into the walls to saddle two of the beasts, hoping they'd be ready by the time they reached the broad flat landing that served as the pilots staging area. The demons scurried off into the caverns. The distinct smell of wyvern was on the air - a faint mustiness undercut with a curious minty note, strangely distinctive of the creatures*. By the time they had reached the landing, two wyverns had been readied for their use. One was an acid-spitting Copacati, long and thin, its forequarters a deep, dull red its hindquarters a deep dark green. Its head was held by three demons over a wide trough of sand, lest its acid started to carve through the solid rock. The other was a fire-breathing Kazilik, long and sinuous, with a dark mottled skin with unexpected flashes of yellow, and the characteristic horns. The species was known a for strong fighting spirit, and already the beast was tossing its head in eagerness to be off to the fray. Jurt hesitated long enough to give the General the option to voice a preference and when he didn't, lept into the Copacati's saddle. Sinching straps and stirrups into place, he turned his now horned head toward the Hendrake and smiled, presenting too many teeth for his human mouth. "Kolvir!" he called, kicking the wyvern into action, unmindful of the demons holding it's head. A sudden lurch as they dropped off the landing before its leathery wings caught the stale air of the cavern and beat furiously toward the opening above. Through the opening they rose, and into the chill of the night air. The Kazlik had positioned herself beside Jurt's wyern - the better to flame, while safely avoiding the acid that the Copacati might spit. Now the General raised his arm and made a sweeping gesture; he was, it seemed, preparing to investigate the state of the barracks before tackling the heights (and certainly he could have a splendid aerial view). Jurt wheeled the wyvern back toward the barracks, the concern for Tasha that drove his heartbeat faster hidden now behind quicksilver eyes. They scanned for opposition, dismissing the uniformed troops out of hand. And there he saw, in the centre of the parade ground, Ingrey crouching low, his hand outstretched towards a young, half-grown she-wolf who was advancing towards him cautiously... Jurt raised a hand in greeting, but did not hail them as he circled, looking for the ne'er-do-well's retreating form. There was no sign of the ne'er do well, although from his elevated position, Jurt could see a group gathered on the battlements of Castle Amber, too far away for identification (unless he has extraordinary and rapidly re-focusing eyes). And the moon ... The clear moonlight that had shone down was looking hazy ... When Jurt looked up, he could see that clouds were drifting across the face of the full moon - including one dense and opaque, swirling round and round , like a hurricane ... a tornado of pale blue cloud, riven with streaks of flashing blue light ... a tornado of Pattern. Jurt focused on discerning the patterns in the tornado even as he drove the Copacati toward the phenomenon, trying to gain altitude as he did, hoping to gague his chances of weathering the winds and breakthrough to the storm's eye. And then they were both flying through a cloud that crackled with blue light and fierce Pattern energy ... Suddenly, with dazzling speed, the cloud was gone, and they were flying silently over a night-darkened landscape of tall and beautiful opalescent towers, like Rebma, like Tir ... but in a way that the truest Shadows reflected Amber. A great and beautiful city, stretched out beneath him. And one which Jurt had never seen before. He scanned the air about him for the General and the Kazilik before giving himself the chance to panic. Instinct called to him. Could it be Corwin's city, the center that he had sprung from his own Pattern, supposedly carved from the Shadows between Ygg and Chaos and yet never found. He scanned the surroundings, before dropping lower, closer to the towers, weaving between their beauty, hopefully escaping notice until he could find a place to land. Escaping notice was, he swiftly realised, not an option. Horns were sounding all over the city, beautiful, melodious notes rising up as though in dreeting, or perhaps warning - and matched with those he could hear drumbeats - urgent, complex beats that carried a message - probably about his unexpcted arrival. As he drew closer to the towers, he could see the embrasures held people watching him, pale of complexion, with hair that ranged from starkest white to deepest black, exploring all the monochrome shades between the two, although here and there, oddly, there seemed to be a flash of vovid purple or an unnatural red. The clothes, however, were far from monochrome, being flowing robes of rainbow hues, layered one over another in a light, flowing profusion of colour and movement. He was not close enough to make out the detail of their faces yet. There was a courtyard right at the heart of the city, easily large enough to land a wyvern in, should he choose to do so. Jurt's form slid back to one similar to that he wore in Amber most days even as he turned his acid spitting mount toward the courtyard. Much more fanfare and notice than he had wished, but as green eyes returned from beneath the quicksilver lenses of his demon form, he quickly let his face adopt a semblance of composure, even happiness, to mask his concern and wariness. Without thought his left hand strayed to the silver blade at his belt, its presence all at once comforting and dangerous. He wished that he might've altered his clothing as quickly, but such was beyond him in these tense moments. As the Copacati's claws scratched at the ground, great leathery wings settling about them, Jurt held his seat, waiting for the unavoidable reception, offering no visible aggression. He scanned the courtyard and the people that joined him there, if any, while keeping the wyvern's damage minimized. A small group advanced towards him - a single man in the lead, four others flanking him like the head of a wedge formation of flying birds. The first man was dressed in white robes, over layers of blue and green and purple. His hair was white, drawn back from his face into a braid that clearly reached well below his shoulders. The hair was pulled back so severely that it accentuated the fine high cheekbones, the slightly elongated dark eyes, and did not disguise the slight angle and pointed tip to the ears. Overall the impression was of sleekness and a certain inalienable remoteness. The men (and they were all men) who accompanied him wore similar robes, save that the outer layers were palest grey, but they had similar features. A shield (displaying, oddly, a shield) was embroidered onto the edge of their grey robes, as though to show their allegiance. The leading man had no such symbol - insitead he wore the strap of a shield, which was slung over his shoulder, and he wore a sword belt which held a sword. The hilt, Jurt saw, was carved in an interesting pattern of overlapping leaves. It would probably not be the most comfortable of blades to fight with - but this man looked as though he knew how to fight. "Welcome, stranger, to our lands," he said. His voice was musical and chimed with the sound of small silvery bells when he inclined his head. It was then that Jurt realised that everyone watching (and that was a vast number, from all the windows and doorways, and edgiing into the square itself, were utterly silent. "Well met," Jurt offered in greeting, with as court-worthy a bow he could offer from the saddle. "I am honored by the welcome you and yours offer a simple traveler," he added. "My apologies for not dismounting, but my steed is high spirited and in unfamiliar surroundings. T'would be a pity to mar such beauty as your fair city." "A pity indeed," returned the man. "But it should not be necessary." He turned slightly, and his gaze was directed to a balcony that overlooked the square. A single man stood there, dressed like this man in robes of white, but his hair was raven black and loose, blowing about his face in the breeze. He too wore some sort of shield ensignia, but he was too far for Jurt to see the insignia it bore. He held a small harp in his arms. As the first man faced him, he drew his fingers across the strings and began to sing. High and remote, his tenor voice was one of piercing beauty, and the song he sang tore at the heart. Beneath Jurt, his wyvern gave a deep ruumbling sigh and then sank down. The song died away. "She sleeps," said the white-haired man. "When she awakens, we shall take her to the weyr where she might be cared for with others of her kind. But now you may feel safe to join us and pay your respects to the Lady." "My thanks," Jurt offered graciously as he unbuckled several of the flying harnesses. Free in just a few moments, he swung his leg over and slipped from his saddle to stand before the leader and his council or whatever body it might be. "I am Lord Jurt Sawall of Amber, brother to King Merlin," he explained in formal greeting as he offered a much more elegant bow, his left hand tucked in about his waist, but not near his sword hilt. "If you please, I would be greatly pleased to pay respects to the Lady." The man bowed. "And I am the Shieldbearer," said the white-haired man, "sent to escort you into the presence of the Lady, once you have been prepared. First you must wash and eat and rest, if you require it. And new garments will be supplied. Come, follow me." "Your hospitality is gracious and after such travel, the chance to compose myself appropriately before meeting the Lady is a welcome gift. My thanks." He turned and walked towards a white house to one side of the square. Its stonework was fantastically carved and decorated into the shape of a thousand shapes including powerful beasts - Jurt saw a unicorn, wyverns, and several lions among many others. There was a fountain outside the house, and another in the atrium, for inside all was cool and dark. Three young women, all with the same features as the people in the square, were waiting for Jurt and his escort, dressed in simple white tunics, with golden cords drawing them tight. Each of them was lovely - although with contrasting styles of beauty. "See that his Lordship receives all he desires," said the Shieldbearer, "and send me word when he is ready for his audience." He bowed again to Jurt and left him. Jurt returned the bow and turned back to his attendants, a small smile curling his lips. If he had believed in a divine, omnipotent source, Jurt was sure that whoever he was, he was intent on getting Jurt in trouble with his girlfriend. "Who am I to question the whims of chaos?" he chuckled quietly to himself as he allowed the ladies to lead him within the building. The tallest of the three women, a minor difference to be sure, had grey-silver hair and asked, "Would mi'lord eat first?" A smile came across the face of the raven tressed gamine, "Or as the Shieldbearer suggested, perhaps mi'lord would care to see the baths." Tossing her lavender hair off her shoulder, the voluptuous third's smile held an unsubtle heat, "Or we might see you to the chambers being prepared for your... rest." Argent, as Jurt had decided to think of her, smiled at him. "I believe that's taking the Shieldbearer's suggestion to cater to the lord's desires quite literally." Both Sable and Purpure chuckled, but showed no trace of modesty nor shame. "The baths if you please," Jurt answered, ignoring the subtext. "Wyverns are beautiful in form and fury, but I'd prefer not to meet the Lady reeking of their fumes." The ladies led on ... The baths were simply appointed, carved marble and obsidian and other rich stones, carved in cunning and intricate ways to resemble a woodland glade. The three handmaids seemed willing to abandon their robes and join Jurt in the depths of the heated, scented pool (it smelt of a rich woodland resin rather than floral perfumes, with a warm note of spiced woods). The raven-haired gamine pointed out that it would aid his cleansing. As he settled himself into the warm water, he shrugged. "As you ladies will," he chuckled, watching them shed the thin white robes and considered the utility of the discarded golden cords. Sometime later, Jurt, his skin still pink and flushed from the energetic cleansing, tugged on the soft leather breeches that Sable had laid out for him on the bed that he was sure he was all too tired to enjoy to its fullest. He looked at the selection of robes, frowning at the lack of his usual monochrome colors. The rich violet reminded him of Purpure's own darker shades, where the sun hadn't lightened her hair. Perversely pleased with himself he drew it on and let Sable clasp it around his waist. He sampled the fare that Argent had provided before going to inform the Shieldbearer that the Lord was well rested and ready to come before the Lady. The Shieldbearer arrived in person, with the Singer that Jurt had seen earlier on the balcony at his side. To his other side was a tall, burly man with a brown beard shot through with grey, and shrewd eyes in a weather-beaten face. He reminded Jurt of the paintings of Gerard that hung in the Castle in Amber. His outer robes were brown, and his emblem was an anvil. The Smith, then. All three bowed to Jurt and moved to form a diamond shape, with the Shieldbearer at its head, and the Singer and Smith the two sides, with Jurt bringing up the tail. In this way they moved back into the square - and Jurt was aware that his three lovely handmaids had fled to an upstairs balcony to watch his progress. Jurt smiled at his Tinctures Three and blew them all a kiss. The square was again filled with people, but although they did not shout or sing or even, seemingly, make any noise, Jurt was conscious of a short of low buzz of pleasure - as though something about his appearance and his progress was highly pleasing. "I just hope they're not laughing at me," Jurt muttered to himself, his eyes scanning for the missing wyvern. He followed the other three men, somehow content in these puzzling new surroundings, like and dislike Amber. He was led to the entrance to the tallest building to one side of the square, with opalescent towers that seemed to soar halfway to the heavens and all made of a stone that shone richly like mother-of-pearl. The entrance was inlaid with gold and the underfoot were patterns of leaves and mossy plants so that he seemed to be walking into an fantastically created woodland. A borad staircase lay ahead; they climbed it, and it led to a great open space, with four of the soaring towers at each corner, but open to the blue skies of heaven. Here were more people, their robes of richer stuff than those he had seen before, save those of the Shieldbearer, the Singer and the Smith. At the far end of this plaza was a pavilion of silks draped over four poles, so that it was open at front and back. Here three people were sitting; three women. The first, on the left, seemed no older than a child - but as Jurt drew closer, he saw that the impression was, in part, illusory. She was some sixteen summers or so, dressed in robes of green, with her golden hair unbound, and her blue eyes wide with innocent interest at seeing a stranger approach. To the right sat an older woman, dressed in robes of a blue so dark that it resembled the night sky before it turned black. She was older, her face a little lined and her dark hair shot with grey, but still a great beauty in her bones. Her elbows rested on the arms if her gorgeously carved chair, and hands were raised and folded together, the fingers resting against her mouth. But in the centre sat a woman in full bloom. Her hair was thr richness of corn and the glory of leaves when first auttumnal lights strike them, and her robes were golden. There was a great beauty in her face ... and Jurt was reminded of Flora. "Welcome, stranger, to the land of the Sidhe," she said, her voice warm and mellow. "It is long indeed since one of your kind walked in our ways. What brings you now to Glimmergloom?" Jurt bowed as a slight smile curled his lip. "That ficklest of fates, I would name her Lady Chance," he chuckles. "A great arcane attack of structure came upon my brother's castle in Amber and as I rode out to meet it the magicks brought me here, just as your people have no doubt reported. One moment in the skies of my home, rushing to defend my liege and my lady, the next soaring among your towers." "But you suggest my," he raised his eyebrow for inflection, "kind, have visited here before? My apologies, but my schooling has run the breadth and width of places of power between Thelbane and Kolvir and I've not heard Glimmergloom before." "Your kind?" she echoed. "A strange term for it. Far apter to call them your Unkind, your Cruel. For cruel was the way they treated us, long ago, setting the seal between our worlds. Is all changed now, that you seek out Titania? Does Oberon crave forgiveness?" "The seal may have protected you as well as isolated you, my Lady," Jurt answered. "Oberon has fallen as result of a dire war, a [century] past as we count time. His grandson Merlin, son of Corwin, sits upon the the Unicorn Throne in Amber." She stared at him, and all colour drained from her face until she was chalk white. "A ... a century?" she whispered. A murmur seemed to run around the Court. The older woman, almost as pale as the Lady, rose to her feet. "Can you give us proof of our enemy's overthrow?" she demanded - and her voice was melodious and harsh at the same time, little metal bells struck with hard little hammers. "I can prove that while my brother is of Oberon's line, that he shares ties to Courts that are not Amber's," Jurt answered, running his fingers through his short black hair. It was clean and straight from the Tincture's attentions, but as he combed through it, it lengthened and more resembled the Sidhe styles, long and luxurious. He drew it back on the one side, over now prominently pointed ears. He smiled, such amusement as they reached his violet eyes, which matched his tunic and thus brought a remembrance of Purpure and a wider grin. "No glamour or magick, but the true shaping of a noble house of Chaos," he explains. "House Sawall, which won the war against Oberon and his spoiled children." A gasp went around the assembled Court. Of the three who were seated on the dias, the Maiden cast Jurt a look that expressed admiration - and something a little warmer. The Lady was watching with narrowed eyes but the older woman's eyes widened. "Chaos," she said softly. "Has it at last dwelt with its rebellious son? But you said a somn of the accursed Corwin sits now on the throne. Your brother ... are you too of Corwin's get?" His eyes widened a little as they lost the red undertones and resolved to their true blue. "King Merlin traces his right of prescedence through our shared mother, she herself a decendant of Benedict, son of Oberon, who seduced Corwin in order to beget an heir in the Orderly fashion," Jurt answered. "I am of Chaos and my mother's son," he said simply as if that explained his full lineage. "So you count by bloodbond not bedbond in Chaos?" said the Lady. "A wise people, it would seem. And a people that should be held in honour among our own kind." She paused, and then smiled. "To which end - you shall ride with us come moonrise." An astonished murmur went around the Court - the Maiden looked distinctly uneasy. But the Lady held up her hand. "Ride with us," she said, "and you will see how those we hold as our coimmon enemies are dealth with." "You honor me, my Lady," Jurt answered evenly. A small impudent smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Enemies or not, I'd not pass on an opportunity to ride with you." Perhaps it was her resemblance to Flora that lowered his guard and prompted his ease. For a moment he wondered of Dybele's home and dismissed the thought as quickly, focusing on his present. "Then we shall tread the bonny path," she said, and a little sigh, almost of pleasure, ran around the court. "Now ... will you dine with us?" The Maiden stilllooked a little troubled, but she canme to her feet at this. "Honoured Guesrt," she said, and her voice was sweetly mucical. "Please - join us." The Lady held out a hand. Jurt took the Lady's hand graciously, smiled for the Maiden, and offered a nod of appreciation for the Crone's wisdom. "I find myself a terrible guest, arriving without gifts, but would beg your forgiveness, as I've mentioned, that my visit was less than expected." "Never the less, my thanks for your warm welcome and gracious hospitality," he said as he raised the hand to his lips and brushed them ever so gently against her alabaster skin. A distnict quiver went through her flesh at his touch, but her eyes on his were steady enough. "And perhaps when we dine, you will tell us more of how you breached the seal," she said. She stepped forward, closer to him, but then turned slightly, laying her hand upon his sleeve so that he might escort here. Similarly, the Singer moved to the Maiden and the Smith to the Wise Woman. The shieldbearer, who had taken tiwo steps forward, stopped, looking at the Lady abd Jurt, hus face unreadable. Then he bowed, turned, and moved away. Jurt turned so they might lead the way after offering a slight bow to the Shieldbearer in deference and apology. Looking to be in control while being led by a beautiful woman, well Jurt felt he had enough experience with that to at least find his way to dinner. "It was much less spectacular than you make it out to seem," he qualifies. "I rode to my liege's defense in a time of need and my passage was wrought of the magicks brought to bear against his Castle. As the other that rode at my side, a warrior of great acumen did not make the passage, I can only assume that my... familiarity with the power, if not the effect allowed me to traverse the barrier safely." "If I may be so bold, one would hope that it will also allow me to find a way to cast down the barrier once and for all, so that our peoples might open relations beneficial to both our kingdoms." She turned her head and smiled at him - and Jurt was aware of the loveliness, and the steel that underlay it ... and something again ... bejidn both of those. A hunger. "That," she said, "would be delightful. For both our people's." "Agreed," Jurt offered, seemingly oblivious to her hungers. "After this evening's hunt, perhaps I might investigate the manifestation of the barrier itself." "Certainly," she said. "I shall take you there myself. And the lords will accompany us, so you can see the resistance it puts up against their power." Jurt smiled his thanks and in turn took his place at the dinner table, waiting for an appropriate moment. "Might I inquire what prompts this evening's hunt?" he asked, as the only hunts that immediately came to mind normally had capitals attached at the front. "We are saying farewell to the Guardian of the Forest," said the Lady. "A last hunt ... to furnish our final feast." The Maiden spoke, her voice a little breathless. "Do you ... like to hunt, my Lord?" "I've little enough time to indulge my passions, but the hunt is among them, yes," he responded with the elan and double entendre of a seasoned courtier. Turning back to the Lady, he identified what it was... she had Flora's eyes, the crystal blue. "Why a *final* feast, mi'Lady?" "Because the Guardian of the Forest will shortly be taking his lat ride with us," she responded. "The maidens who visit his woods will miss him ... until another Guardian is found who will ... collect his fee." The procession had now reached a long white hall, with open colonnades on all sides, so that those outside could observe what passed within, and a great table set down the middle, prepared for a feast. The columns were fantastically fluted, and writhed around with patterns of leaves and ferns. "Here we shall dine," said the Lady. "Will you sit at my right hand?" Jurt was aware that an uneasy ripple went through those closest to him at these words. |
