James and Kallum sit in the guard room, reminiscing about old times, and enjoying a reasonably good brandy.  Eventually, the conversation drifts around to current events, and the skirmishes and battles raging across Arden and on the flank of Kolvir.

"I'll confess I have no real idea what's happening out there." Kallum confides, glumly, "We're getting only sketchy reports, at best.  I'd wager that the Family are getting better information, but precious little is filtering down as far as me."

"I'd be a fool to take that wager.  I'm sure the Family each has their sources of information.  But they can be a close-lipped bunch and that's when things are going well."

"Truth is, I doubt I know any more than you and probably less.  I need to get a handle on our troops strengths, deployment and capability as soon as I can."

James purses his lips for a moment, "I probably shouldn't tell you anything; operational security and all that.  But if I'm going to do that I might as well go and sulk in a corner until this is all over."

"Big picture is, Amber is being attacked by the dupes, slaves and servants of a powerful race known as Archons.  They plan to break apart all the worlds and remake the universe in the image of their home, which, incidentally, would be instantly lethal for folk like you and me.  The Pattern's an obvious place to do that."

"They haven't even begun to exert their full strength yet.  They've been planning this for a long time and they don't seem to want to rush things."

"But they're getting set up for the endgame and so are we.  The side that determines the conditions of endgame will almost certainly win.  If the Archons fight a pitched battle here, at Kolvir, we lose.  If we can convince the Archons to turn on their current leader, we win, more or less."

"Little picture is this.  We believe they plan to stage a raid on Tir-na Nog'th.  It's a good chance for an ambush and if we can capture an officer we might learn something useful.  I seem to have wound up in charge of that."

"I need some good soldiers, experienced men, like you, who won't panic if things get heated or if we need to change plans on the fly.  Probably about a half-company.  I was hoping you would help me get them ready?"

Kallum grins, "James, you've got one volunteer, right here.  It's been a long time since we've fought alongside each other, and it was always a pleasure working with you.  Besides, guarding the door is boring.  All I do, mostly, is play cards all day, and then lend the lads the money I just took off them."

"Truth be told, they'll probably be glad to see the back of me.  It'll give them a chance to keep some of their wages."

He ponders for a moment, before asking, "How soon do you need them?  Some of the more reliable ones I can think of might take a bit longer to get hold of.  Some of them are on other watches, or not in the castle at all."

"Thank you, Kallum, that's a relief."

"In truth, I don't know when we need them.  I trust our intelligence but it is patchy.  We know their objective is Tir but we don't know how or when.  So I want to have a guard on the stair ready by nightfall."

The amount of things I don't know, James reflects with more than a trace of bitterness,would fill a great many books.

"Once we are ready, I intend to make our own timing.  I will co-ordinate with the defenders in Arden to feign a weak point in the line, encourage the enemy to break through towards Tir'na Nog'th, then close up behind them to prevent retreat."

A dangerous plan, to deliberately break ranks when under attack but if James could get word to Benedict or Julian then he was confident it would swiftly be accomplished.

"I can see to that.  Probably get you the best part of a full company together by then.  Half company for your plan, and the rest in case you need them."  About to pour himself another brandy, Kallum settles for half measure instead, "Need my wits about me if I'm going to be on Kolvir this evening."

"I'll get the men for you, but I'll need more to go on.  What sort of battle do you expect?  Close up, knife and sword fighting, or something with a little more breathing space?"

"I don't know." James admits.  He knocks back the last of his brandy.  "Gods above, but I'm getting tired of saying that."

"I don't know what troops we have; I don't know what troops they have; I don't know who leads them or their way of fighting.  So let's stick to the basics.  To breach our line and strike at Tir they'll need assault troops.  Fast, probably melee focused.  So we need blocking troops.  Pikes will be too unwieldy for the stair so spearmen might be best.  And we'll need at least a platoon of archers to thin their numbers and in case they've got flyers."

James gestures with his hands as he lays out the plan.  "Ambush one-oh-one.  Trap the enemy in bad terrain.  Block the way ahead.  Move in behind.  And start shooting."

"So a mix then.  Fair enough." Kallum says, and then chuckles, "You do know you might end up with a bloody army on your hands.  A lot of the men left here are itching to get out and do some fighting."

"Random gave this speech a few days ago, all about how even the men left behind to guard the hearth are doing their part to win the war.  I think it was supposed to make us feel brave and aggressive, so we'd fight harder if the enemy come here.  Instead it just made most of us feel like going out, finding the enemy, and giving him a bloody good thrashing."

His smile fades a little, "Random's a good king, as kings go, but he should leave the rallying speeches to Benedict - short, sweet, and straight to the point - 'Win or die.'  And a grunt."

"That plan of yours sounds good.  I'll get you the troops you need."

"I wouldn't knock Random, that sounds pretty much bang on for a pep talk.  Benedict's way works because it's Benedict.  The man doesn't have to give speeches.  It's Benedict so you do what he tells you 'cause that way you'll win."

"I don't need an army, but if you reckon we'll have that many volunteers I wouldn't mind something fast.  Cavalry or a skirmish screen, whatever you think will work best; in case some slip through the net and we need to chase them."

James pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful, "Nope, that's all I can think of for now.  I'm going to take my old kit out for a bit of a test run.  It'll give me the chance to check out the terrain and to get used to moving with the weight again."

"How quickly can you have the men together?  And where should we meet?"

James starts donning his armour.  It is apparent that the various straps, buckles and catches have been positioned so that a soldier can get in and out on his own, but it is a slow process and looks rather awkward.

"Two, three hours, tops." Kallum says, leaning back to stare at the ceiling.  "I can give the first few a list of names each, so they can do some of the running about, and get it finished faster."

"Should be able to get you what you need.  A good mix of skirmishers and some armoured infantry."

He pauses for a moment, giving the next matter a little more thought, then, "There's a path up to the Tir stair from the Mountain Gate.  About an hour short of the stair it crosses a stream at a ford.  That might be a good spot to meet up.  It's close to the stair, but not so close that anybody going up there from the Arden side would see us while we sort out the final details."

"Sounds good.  I'll meet you at the ford in three hours."

"Don't wait on me, it's going to take me a few minutes to get these straps right.  Out of practice."

James keeps working as he talks.  He may be taking his time to settle each piece of the armor into a comfortable position but the motions seem well-practiced enough.

"I'll be there, with the cream of the men who are still about." Kallum assures James, "Three hours, it is."  He stands and heaves a heavy sigh, "It breaks my heart to do this, but I suppose I'll have to leave you alone with the damned brandy."

"Try not to drink it all.  Leave a little for a victory toast when we get back."

He claps James on the shoulder, as he passes him on the way to the door.  And then he's gone...

James grins at Kallum's jest, but he re-seals the bottle of brandy and replaces it in the cupboard before he finishes arming himself.

Satisfied at last, James picks up his gun and leaves the guardroom.  He knows that he must look peculiar even to the servants of Amber, most of whom had plenty of opportunity to become accustomed to strange happenings, so he sticks to the back, back corridors.  Fortunately, there are plenty of those, even if it does cause James to stop and get his bearings on several occasions.

Once out of the castle proper, James heads for the gate Kallum mentioned and the path to the stair.  He aims to test the armor's capabilities and his own, as fully as possible in the next three hours, for he has no desire to be surprised once the fighting starts.  If he can get far enough away not to alarm anyone he intends to test the stories of Amber's effect on gunpowder, too.

James starts out on the track up the mountain.  The ground is muddy from the rain, which is still falling in a steady downpour, and the way is steep.  Somehow though, James' boots do not slip on the path, and he makes good time as he climbs the flank of Kolvir.

Only a little more than half an hour after leaving the castle, voices carry to him on the wind, speaking in a language he doesn't recognise.  It seems to bear little relationship to Thari, consisting mostly of guttural grunts and low-pitched whistles.  Somebody, or something, is ahead of him, and probably doesn't belong there.

James came out here to test his armour and weapons, and it seems that luck has presented him with an opportunity to do so...

James stops.  His first reaction is that, this close to the castle, it must be animal noises or bird song.  But there are patterns to the sounds; it's language, though James doesn't have a clue what's being said.

That's not good.

James steps off the path on the uphill side and moves behind the nearest cover. He slings his gun over his back and pulls the strap tight.  This is not the time to take chances with a weapon that might not work.

He moves off, as quietly as possible.  The armor is silent, no rattling, scraping or clanking to give away his position.  On the other hand, James isn't used to the bulk and every so often he finds himself brushing against or pushing through things he had thought to miss.

He's trying to get close enough to see those talking, preferably from higher ground.

Moving quietly up the incline, and around to parallel the path, James reaches a point where a steep slope gives him a good view.

Below him the path itself passes close to a pool of clear water gathered in a shallow depression.  The rain has doubtless added to the pool, a fact which the creatures gathered there are taking advantage of.  They are filling water skins, and talking in their odd language.

There are five of them, big, but mostly human looking, apart from the long tail and somewhat bestial face.  Every one of them looks to be between six and seven feet tall, and burly with it.  All have black curly hair, and long beards.  Each of them is clad in bronze scale armour over red-dyed leather, and they carry a variety of weapons, ranging from swords, to axes, to maces.

No ranged weapons though.

He should attack, he really should.  James has the advantages of surprise, position and ground.  But there is still the slim possibility that Amber has foreign allies of which James is ignorant.  These may be the residents of one of the Golden Circle worlds and James has no way of determining their allegiance.  Even if he declares himself, they may not speak Thari at all.

It is a risk, but James resolves to stay out of sight and wait.

The group of soldiers stay near the pool, even after they've finished getting fresh water.  They're still talking in their strange language, but every so often they stare up the path, in the direction that James was heading.  Their body language, punching their fists against tree trunks, pacing up and down, shaking their heads seems to suggest that they are growing impatient with somebody, or something.

After a short while a man appears, coming down the path.  At least, he looks like a man.  Shorter than the beast-men, and lacking a tail, he is wearing the same style of armour as they are.

As he reaches the pool, he speaks to the soldiers waiting there, "It is as I thought.  The path seems to be the one which leads up the mountain, to the Tir stair.  Are the T'chuk ready, Sergeant?"

The beast-man snarls, then replies in a close approximation of the same language, "T'chuk all time ready big much.  We go now take all.  Glory for T'chuk."

Well, that rather settles that.  If they are striking for the Tir stair then the obvious conclusion is that elements of the strike force are already within Amber's defences.  James considers his options momentarily.  Engaging in melee when he didn't know his opponents technique, strength or speed was foolhardy at best.  Maybe it was time to risk an experiment.

James unslings his gun.  It takes longer than he would like and he silently curses his decision to tighten the strap.  There is no time for an aimed shot.  Fortunately that shouldn't be an issue.  The gun's power is such that, if it fires at all, a called shot will be irrelevant.

Officer or sergeant? Which will disrupt the enemy more? Sergeant The T'chuk don't seem to like taking orders from the officer.

James squeezes the trigger.

James squeezes the trigger.

It's hard to tell who is most surprised.  The officer stands there, slack jawed as the loud report rolls down the mountainside.  The T'chuk watch, confused, as their sergeant falls into the pool.  James was never sure the weapon would work this close to Amber.  The sergeant, too, is most likely (very briefly) surprised.

The pool starts to take on a blue-black tint, and two of the troops splash into the water to drag the sergeant out.  The others, the officer too, simply stand there, unsure what to do.  The body is hauled out, and the rescuers poke their fingers into the gaping hole in the armour.

And still the others stand about.  Baffled.  As if they have never had to deal with gunfire before.  One of the two with the body manages to fish out the bullet, and examines it curiously, before showing it to the officer, who can instantly see that it isn't a natural phenomenon.

"Everybody hide.  It's a weapon of some sort."  The officer leads by example, moving towards the trees.  The T'chuk start to scatter.

It works?!  &*$# me!  James first thoughts reflect his surprise.  His second thoughts note that he is out of practice and needs to adjust his grip to better handle the recoil.  His third thought is that it's time to move.

It's very tempting to shoot a few more of the T'chuk before they find cover.  Very tempting, but that's how a lot of good shots become dead snipers.  Even if they didn't see the muzzle flash, it won't take them long to track the noise of the gunshot.  Better to move and shoot, try to keep them off balance and chasing shadows until reinforcements arrive.

So, where do I go to get a shot at this location?

James moves off, sticking to cover as much as possible.  As he goes another thought occurs to him.  If the advance party hasn't any means of moving between worlds then he may be able to lead any pursuers a couple of shadows off true and lose them there.  On the other hand, trying to shift this close to Amber would be difficult, requiring more concentration than he could easily spare.

A last resort, then.

The T'chuk spread out into the forest, but they seem more concerned with finding cover than in finding the cause of their sergeant's death.  The way they move, hunched over, and with their heads lowered, makes it unlikely that they will see much anyway.  One of them even runs straight into a tree, and spends a brief moment laying on the ground, checking himself for bloody holes, before scrambling around the trunk and pressing his back against it.

James, meanwhile, changes his position, moving down from the low cliff, and finds himself a new position, mostly concealed by brush and undergrowth.  From there, he can see two targets.  The T'chuk has its back turned, peering around a boulder towards where the sergeant still lays.  The officer though, leans against a tree.  Though facing towards James, his eyes are closed, and he is muttering something rapidly.  At last, he crosses his hands before his chest, then raises them, still crossed, to touch his forehead.

Only then does he open his eyes, looking towards the sky.

He doesn't seem to have spotted James.

James eyed the potential marks down the length of his gun.  The officer was the logical target.  He was the next link in the T'chuk command and the only one likely to have any experience of firearms.  With him dead, James gained a significant advantage.  It should be simple enough to keep the rest of the troops chasing shadows until Kallum arrived with reinforcements.

It pained James slightly to kill a man who was unaware of his presence and appeared to be praying.  On the other hand, years of soldiering had taught him that war respects only a certain ruthless pragmatism.  For all James' knew the officer was calling in an Archon air strike.

Sorry.

James squeezes the trigger.  And is moving again, barely pausing to see the outcome of his shot.

The officer slumps over sideways, and the nearer T'chuk howl in fear as the echo of the shot fades away, pressing themselves deeper into whatever they happen to be using for cover at the time.

One of them barks something, and points to where James is moving again.  Two others raise their heads hesitantly, and then all three are up and moving towards James at a fast run.

The rest of the group stay down, or start to crawl away from James.

James risks a glance over his shoulder as he goes and sees three T'chuk closing on him.  This is what comes of not having a sniper rifle.

James waits until he comes to a small open space in the forest, then turns and shoots from the hip, hoping to even the odds before the T'chuk close to melee range.  He then flicks the safety on and tosses the gun to his right while side-stepping quickly to his left in an attempt to disorientate the remaining attackers.

One of the T'chuk goes down, screaming and pressing his left hand to his right shoulder, and a tree trunk behind him suffers a small explosion which scatters splinters in all directions.  The right arm hangs limp, and the T'chuk starts pushing himself backwards across the ground with his legs only, leaving a trail of blue-black blood behind.

One of the remaining two runs straight at James, swinging a heavy face at his head, but the man sidesteps, and the creature stumbles past him, off-balance.

The final one turns away, and starts searching for the weapon which James had cast aside.  With a triumphant snarl, he snatches it up, and peers at it curiously.

So far, so good. The T'chuk had reacted almost exactly as James hoped.  That didn't mean he was out of trouble, though.  Best not to assume that the T'chuk were stupid just because they had no experience with firearms.  If the one holding the gun worked the safety, James, well, he hadn't tested the gun against the armour and didn't hope to anytime soon.

James gives the stumbling T'chuk a helpful shove and launches himself at the other, striking hard with hands, elbows and knees at the T'chuk's face, neck and groin.  The T'chuk may have a canine cast to its features but its physiology was human enough.  At any rate, fighting at this range made it all but impossible to bring the gun to bear.

One of the T'chuk goes bouncing and rolling down the slope, howling and yelping with every impact.  It crashes into a dense thicket of undergrowth and disappears, falling silent a moment later.

That leaves James with just a single opponent.  As the man charges, the creature raises the gun, but attempts to use it as a club.  It misses on the first try, and staggers back as James hammers a rain of blows into it.  Falling back a little way, it swings with the gun again, and misses once more.

Then it starts to circle James, grinning.  It gestures towards him with the gun, and then growls something in a deep guttural voice, before starting to chuckle.  A sudden lunge drives the butt of the weapon into James' gut, hard enough that he can actually feel the impact through his armour...

The hit to the gut confirms James estimate of the T'chuk's strength.  With the protection of his armour, James can probably beat this opponent in a stand-up fight, simply by attrition.  But the longer the fight takes, the more time the other T'chuk have to regroup.

James decides to test the T'chuk's technique.  He aims a sweep kick at the T'chuk's legs.  If I can drop him and get a hold, I'll have him cold.

The T'chuk drops, flat on its back, and James' gun flies from the creature's hand to disappear among the ferns and undergrowth.  The T'chuk starts scrambling away, backwards, but James is too fast for it.  It raises a foot to kick at him, but the motion looks awkward and lacks any real power, and James grabs the foot and twists, forcing the creature to roll onto its belly.

A heartbeat later, he has one knee pressed into (possibly) its kidneys... something vital and tender anyway, judging by the creature's obvious discomfort, and is attempting to twist one of its arms up its back.  The arm doesn't bend quite as far as a humans would before meeting apparently painful resistance.

James is, if not exactly comfortable, at least familiar with this situation.  He has more experience with wrestling than most men would care for; nothing as fancy as mixed martial arts or Greco-Roman, just kill or be killed grappling in the dirt.

For a moment James is thankful for the extra weight of his armour as he bears down on the T'chuk.  He brings up his other knee and uses it to try to momentarily pin the T'chuk's twisted arm.

With both hands free, James goes for the neck.  Once again he feels a pang of regret but concludes that there are worse ways to go than a broken neck.

The T'chuk, for all its size, does not look to be built for wrestling.  It seems to lack a degree of flexibility, and while it does appear to be generally quite strong, it is not able to effectively apply that strength once James is positioned on top of it.

There is, however, a difficulty which James had not anticipated.  The creature's neck is considerably more sturdy than that of a human.  Quite simply, it refuses to break, forcing James to shift to a choke hold, which he maintains for some time after the T'chuk stops struggling and slips into unconsciousness.

The gun is easily located, and James retrieves it before considering what to do next.  The T'chuk remains motionless, and there is no sign of the one that rolled down the slope.

James is quietly relieved.  Mistaken assumptions could prove dangerous and James was pleased that the only penalty in this instance was that the T'chuk would live to wake up, in time, with a vicious headache.

He releases his hold once he is sure the T'chuk can't be faking and slips off quietly into the bushes in search of his gun.  Once he has that (and thumbed the safety off again), James heads up-slope.  There's not a lot of planning involved, just the thought that, if possible, he'd like to stay between the main T'chuk force and the Tir stair.

James returns to the path and continues up the flank of Kolvir, heading for the stair to Tir-Na Nog'th,

The going is relatively easy for the first half mile or so, until the path grows steeper and considerably more uneven.  Still, James makes good time, even though in many places the path is barely distinguishable from the surrounding terrain.

Once he hears voices, but they are speaking Thari, and sound to be moving away from him, westward along the slope.  A few minutes later he comes to a place where a much narrower, less travelled trail crosses the one he is on.  The voices could definitely have been following that one, but he can no longer hear them.

James pauses briefly at the crossroads, or rather in the nearest available cover on this side of the intersection.  He's fairly confident now that he's ahead of any T'chuk advance and his first instinct is to find a good firing position and go to ground.  Unless the T'chuk are well led he could probably keep this up for another couple of hours until Kallum brings the troops out.

On the other hand, if they have a good commander they could send out a scouting screen to keep him busy while the main force pushes ahead to the objective.  Thinking along those lines, James realises, a little belatedly, that if he can catch up with whomever he heard speaking Thari, they could go back to the castle and raise the alarm.

James takes off at a run, west along the cross-track, listening as best he can for the voices he heard earlier.

James moves along the track, circling west along the flank of Kolvir.  He runs for several minutes, moving along a narrow trail through dense forest, and eventually hears voices again.  They are speaking Thari, mostly complaining about the weather.

James hurries to get closer.  Ahead of him, a donkey brays, sounding annoyed about something.

A moment later, there is an all too human scream, followed by considerable yelling, and a loud voice bellowing in a language James doesn't recognise.

James is, at first, relieved to hear the voices.  Whoever it was had gotten further than James expected and he wanted to get back to the crossroads as quickly as possible.

When the donkey brays, James thinks nothing of it; when he hears screams, though, he redoubles his pace.  It makes poor tactical sense to charge in without any knowledge of the situation but James thinks that time may be short.

James catches up with the voices, tracking them now by the yells and screams.  Or, rather, they fall back to him.  None of the people running back along the path towards him are dressed in uniforms of any description.  They look more like the common folk found in most of the cities James has visited over the course of his life.  A mixed group of men and women, and even a few children.

All look terrified.  Not one of them wants to stop and explain why.

And with good reason.  The thing which pursues them resembles a hound, except that few hounds are covered with scales which shimmer and shift colour as the animal moves.  Not many are large enough to carry half a man in their mouth as they trot along the path either.  The scorpion-like tail isn't a feature found in the breeds that James is familiar with either.

It wears a thick collar and something vaguely reminiscent of a leather vest, both items adorned with brass studs.

The thing spots James, and slows to a halt about ten yards away, regarding him with eyes which burn like embers fresh from the hearth.  It drops its grisly burden and licks at its lips with a forked blue tongue.  And then it speaks in a language which bears no resemblance to Thari, all harsh, guttural sounds and high pitched shrieks which seem to twist about, painfully, inside the man's skull.

James largely ignores the fleeing people.  His interest is in whatever has panicked them and he doubts that any will stop to fill him in, particularly armed and armoured as he is.

When he catches sight of the "hound", James halts abruptly.  He levels his gun at the creature, though he is forced to brace it firmly against his shoulder to stop the muzzle twitching as he struggles to get his breathing and heart rate back down.

James winces as the creature "speaks" in grating, alien (and deafeningly loud) tones.  He replies, "Look, I don't understand you.  For all I know you might be a prince of Chaos and an ally of Amber, but at the moment you appear to have some civilian stuck in your teeth, so you've got three seconds to explain yourself, in English, or I fire."

The creature tilts its head to one side and watches James for a moment.  Then it starts to laugh.

And in that moment, it vanishes.  And something hits James, hard, in the back of his left shoulder, knocking him forward, and spinning him round so that he is facing back the way he came.  The thing stands there, lips parted in something which looks more like a threat than a friendly grin, as it pulls back its tail.

Mist rises from its scaled hide, which seems to have acquired a thin coating of frost.  It starts to circle James, watching him intently.

James grunts, partly from the impact, partly from surprise.  "Bad...thing.  No cheating."  Despite his casual attitude, which admittedly is rather forced,  James' thoughts are rather less composed Oh *&#$!  It teleports.  And if that sting isn't poisoned then I'm a rookie straight out of basic.

James' opens up with a short, three-round burst from his gun.  He more than half expects the thing to teleport out of the way, so he is ready to dive forwards and to one side at the first sign of the creature 'leaving'.

The thing shrieks as the rounds strike it, and staggers back a few steps.  The rime is melting from its scales in thin wisps of vapour, but the its blue-black blood is still clearly visible against the thin layer of glittering white crystals.  Unfortunately there isn't really much blood, yet.

It starts to circle around James, moving widdershins.  Its eyes are fixed on the gun, and it seems to be muttering something, an unending stream of sounds which might be words, extremely vulgar words, under its breath.

After perhaps twenty seconds, it shakes itself, and the last of the ice falls from its hide.  Then it is gone.

James dives and rolls, and the sting passes through the space where his gun had been an instant before.

As he recovers, the creature is standing, watching him.  Its scales are, once again, covered with frost, and steaming gently.

James resumes circling warily.  He doesn't raise the gun again just yet.  The bullets have hurt the creature but there are no signs that it is seriously injured.  James is uncomfortably aware that he has only a single clip and no immediate means of getting more.

I fired, what, three times at the T'chuk?  Four?  Sod it, my fire disclipline's gone to hell.  I need some way of getting a kill shot.

Clearly the thing is conscious of the gun, that might be enough.  James tries to maneuvre to a position where the creature can only strike at the gun from a single position.

The thing watches James, and its mouth opens, the tongue lolling out as it pants at him.  For all its apparent intelligence, it really is just like a dog, or so it seems.  It turns to watch the man's movements with bright, inquisitive eyes, as the frost evaporates from its scales.

The creature speaks again, its strange, utterly alien voice driving into Jame's mind.

The man finds himself just the place he's looking for.  A boulder on the left, taller than he is, and a cluster of birches on the angling away from it to the right.  A nice litte "V" shaped trap, with only one way out.

He backs in, slowly raising his gun as the hound, now devoid of rime, takes a pace forward, and vanishes...

The instant the thing vanishes, James is moving.  He dives towards the spot where he thinks the creature will reappear, twisting as he goes so that he can fire another short burst up into the creature's belly.

It's a risky ploy.  If it works, James has a chance of hitting the creature's vitals.  From his position beneath the beast, James then hopes to roll backwards and behind it to try for a hold on the creature's tail.

Even if it works there is a risk the creature lacks a conventional anatomy (which suggests a vulnerable underside and organs located in the torso and abdomen) and all he will achieve is to hurt the creature some more.  On the other hand, if James has guessed wrong, he'll wind up prone on his back firing into the air, which just sounds like a great way of getting hurt.

The creature reappears, its tail already lashing out towards where James had been an instant before...

And then it howls as a burst of gunfire rips through its body.  The thing staggers, slumping against the boulder, before falling to the ground in a motionless heap.

Its breathing is ragged, and it watches James with dull eyes as the armoured man gets to his feet.

The thing tenses and stiffens, and for a brief moment its eyes close and its breathing stops, only to resume with a shuddering gasp.

Its eyes, when they open, are still fixed on James.  Sounds come from its mouth, words in some strange tongue, perhaps, and then real words, in Thari, though a little garbled and mispronounced.

"I are... dying.  Will dju to... hare I's iskados... I's confessioning?  This is how... dju spik, yes?  Dju mast hare... I spik for that I can... to Nedredalalven... now I are dying."

James rises from a crouch and approaches cautiously.  Even as the creature lies on the ground he keeps his gun levelled, he can't be certain that it is mortally wounded and he doesn't trust it, it's too intelligent for that.

When the creature speaks, though, he lowers the gun.  Closer up, the wounds are unmistakeable.  More to the point, James feels that last words are every soldiers' right and he is honour bound to listen.

"Yes, I will hear your confession, though I don't know what power I have to grant you absolution.

The thing seems to relax, "Gut.  Dju mast to... to hare is all.  Not match to... say, but dju mast... to hare."

It pauses, taking a few uneven breaths before continuing, "I are cast-out now.  I's tribe... will not have.  I has do... wrong things."

"I hare words... of stranger when I was... cubling.  He spik, and many... follow he.  He say... say we mast take new... leader - calls he Circle... Circle of Fire.  We maked great oath... to Circle of Fire, for to... to fight for he.  We does many... wrong things for he... but we have maked oath.  Mast... do as he spiks, even... if we to know it... are wrong.  We can no... no spik that we does not...  Is oath of blood...  Can no spik 'gainst... he if we made oath... of blood.  But now... now I are dying.  I will to spik... that he are wrong."

Another pause, and when it speaks again, it sounds angrier, "I spik that... Circle of Fire are... are WRONG!  He has to spik... lies to I, and to I's... brothers.  I no to serve... he now.  I no to sing... songs of he in next life...  He I to curse... with last breathings!"

And quieter again, "I will to send... dreams to I's brothers... from next life.  Spik to they... no to serve Circle... of Fire."

It falls silent then, though it breathes still.

James nods, the creature's tale is familiar enough, though no less tragic for being common.  "We call Circle of Fire Harbonah and you were not the only ones deceived." James says grimly "Take some comfort, if you can, that death curses have more power here than almost anywhere else.  Some measure of vengeance might still be served."

"Are there more of your brothers about?  My quarrel is with Harbonah, not with your kin, and I'd rather save my bullets for him and his Seraphim." James hesitates, "Will you tell me your name?" James doesn't know what good it will do, if any, but he feels a certain sympathy for this soldier of a dirty war.  Any stronger emotions, though, are tempered by a glimpse of the mauled body of the Amberite, which lies nearby.

"I are named... [rising screech].  I think dju... not can spik that."  The thing falls silent for a while, apparently considering James' words.

"If curse will... will to harm this... Circle of Fire... this Harrow-banah... then I will to spik... a thousand times... ten thousand curses.  Like to the stars... in the sky... I curses he."

Anothe lapse into silence, then, "I's brothers not be near.  I are lone dying.  I need dju to hare... I's iskad... "

The voice fades away, and the creature closes its eyes.  Still the thing's breathing continues, though shallower with each passing heartbeat.

"You're right, I can't."

James kneels down.  Given the size of the creature he is now dangerously close to the thing's mouth should it attempt to bite him, but James considers the chances of that are fleeting.

Of more concern is the time delay.  Every moment puts the Seraphim's pawns closer to their objective.  On the othe hand, having agreed to hear the creature's confession, James feels compelled to stay.  So he waits in tense anticipation for the creature to speak again.

"I are... dying.  Time is."  The thing's eyes flicker open, and it manages to raise its head, though not without considerable effort.  What follows is a long, drawn-out, howling screech, with rhythmic variations in tone and volume.  It sounds like a song in the things native tongue.

Or a prayer.

"Time... is... "

And then it slumps down.  The ragged breathing stops entirely, and does not start again.

James doesn't understand a word of the creature's death-song.  Even listening to it is uncomfortable and, at times, painful.  Still, he kneels in silent witness till the creature breathes its last.

He has a choice to make now.  He can return and engage the T'chuk; try to slow them down again till reinforcements arrive.  Or, having come closer to Amber already, he can run to the nearest guard station and fetch help himself.  It's a difficult decision, as he doesn't know the attackers' strength.

The T'chuk will have regrouped by now.  If they have a halfway decent leader they will ignore me the next time I engage, knowing the damage I can do is limited.  At best they will try and swarm me.  I may be able to give them the slip but maybe not.

Decision made, James pushes back to his feet and sets off at a run for the castle.

James runs.

Downhill it's even fairly easy, apart from occasional, fleeting, concerns regarding stability.  He does stumble once or twice, and even manages to collide with a tree on one occasion.  But he has other things on his mind, so he keeps moving.

Time enough to worry about bruises later, when the fate of Amber isn't at stake.

About half way back to the castle, he almost runs straight into a group of soldiers.  Luckily he spots the uniforms just before he is among them, and realises that it's Kallum and his hand-picked troops.

"What's this James?  Hurrying back to finish off my brandy?"

James had to make a strenuous effort to avoid colliding with any of the approaching soldiers.  His momentum, at a run, in full armour, had been enough to splinter the side of a tree (and knock James on his backside).  He would be lucky not to break bones were he to run through one of Kallum's troops.

As a result, it takes James a moment to recover his balance and his wits.  "I wish."

"No, I came to get you.  There are enemy troops on the stair already.  Unless we get very lucky we won't have time to lay an ambush.  We'll need to aim upslope a ways just to intercept them before they reach Tir."

"You know the area better than I do.  Lead on and I'll tell you what I know."

Callum responds quickly, turning to the men with him, "Straight up to the next fork, lads, then take a right.  Quick as you can, we'll be right behind."

As the men start to move away, Callum grins at James, and claps one hand against his back, "You know you gave some of them a bit of a scare, dressed in that, don't you?  Especially the speed you were moving when you came down the slope."

"If you've got your breath back, we can head up.  Wait.  What am I saying?  Even in that armour, and after running over half the mountain, you could probably outrun me.  Come on."

The two men set off up the path.  Before the first fork they catch up with the rest of the men, and take the lead.

"Do you have a plan for when we get there?"

James grimaces, although his visor conceals his expression.  "People keep asking me that.  I keep having to give the same answer: I don't know enough to plan.  I don't know the terrain, I don't know troop numbers and disposition.  I don't know enough about equipment, capabilities and morale."  James keeps his voice down, particularly as they pass through the column, there's no point announcing the intelligence gaps to the troops.

"I'll take any suggestions you've got, otherwise I'll send a quarter of our guys under a sergeant you trust downhill as a blocking force and we'll take the rest uphill as fast as we dare and try to get ahead of the T'chuk."

"I'll tell you a few things I do know, though.  I know my gun works, I know that'll raise a few eyebrows back at the Castle and I know those T'chuk are going to be scared as hell of me before we're done."

"Ah, so it's the same plan as usual, then?" Callum responds with a laugh, "Good to know.".

Then, more seriously, "The terrain is clear around the stair itself.  Not too steep, at least in the immediate area."

"As we make our way up, we'll be in forest, right up to about a hundred feet downslope of the stair.  From this angle, it's just a narrow path through the forest.  We'll reach a low cliff that lays across the path, maybe fifteen or twenty feet high, but the path follows a narrow gorge that cuts into the cliff, and slopes up to the plateau on top."

"The gorge hits the plateau perhaps fifty or sixty feet from the stair.  All open ground there, with the exception of some boulders and a few bushes."

"Okay, then.  I've heard worse.  We need to make the top of the plateau first.  We can ambush them as they come through the gorge, but we've got to get there first.  C'mon lads, double time." James pushes ahead at a jog.  He doesn't want to tax the soldiers endurance too far as he doesn't want them exhausted before a fight, but it's critical they gain the high ground.

James leads his troops up the side of Kolvir, moving as quickly as they are able.  Callum urges him on, "The faster we get there, the more rest they can have before the enemy turns up."

Then he falls back to the end of the column to heckle any stragglers.

"Jakes!  I thought you were always bragging about how good you are!  How come everybody else is outrunning you?"

"Hells!  You're ten years younger than me, and I'm outrunning you!"

Eventually, with the day drawing on, they make their way up through the gorge Callum had mentioned, and onto the plateau.  It looks pretty much as it had been described - an open area, roughly oval, about two hundred by four hundred feet, bounded by dense forest on three sides, and by a cliff edge on the fourth.  Approximately centred in the oval is a pile of rocks, vaguely resembling a short flight of stairs, only three steps high.

The entire area is dotted with boulders and low bushes.  Beyond the clearing, perhaps a mile away, or less, the peak of Kolvir rises only about a hundred feet higher than the stair, barely discernible through curtains of rain.

The air up here is noticeably thinner than at sea level, but not enough that it should cause any problems for the troops.

James surveys the area, looking for defensive positions.  Suddenly he feels a prickling on the back of his neck, and realises that everything has gone quiet.  He turns, just as the creature staggers out from among the trees and stops, just a few feet from the tree line.  Gazing at him with eyes which betray a certain degree of intelligence, despite being clouded by pain.

It's not as big as most people would imagine it.  Almost delicate looking as it moves a few paces closer on small, sharp hooves.  Its body is covered with scabs and weeping sores.  Clearly it is sick, swaying slightly from side to side as it stops again to watch James.

The unicorn.

James is deploying his troops even before his head crests the edge of the gorge, "I want archers in any firing positions you can find above the gorge and a defensive line at the trailhead.  Spearmen, preferably, with a rank of archers behind, and a second line close behind them."

James is about to order his reserves into position when a prickling on his neck alerts him to the presence of something behind him.  He turns and for a long moment, finds himself utterly lost for words.  The silence stretches.

"Oh...dear.  It's real.  It's really real.  It's..." The unicorn.  Here.  Now.  And so sick it can barely stand.

James finds his wits again.  He stands still, watching the unicorn out of the edge of his vision.  The unicorn is famously elusive and he doesn't want to panic it into running off.  For the same reason he keeps his tone level and calm when he speaks.  All the same, there is an edge to his voice.  The priorities may have been turned on their head but he's still giving orders and he needs Callum to understand it.

"Okay, change of plans.  I need two runners, the fittest and the fastest only.  Ditch any unnecessary gear.  That means no weapons heavier than daggers.  Run to the Castle.  Get word to Random that the unicorn is here and very sick.  If you come across anyone on the way do not approach them unless you are absolutely certain they are friends.  If you hit trouble, do not engage, split up and keep running.  Tell any of the family you meet but make sure that Random finds out as soon as possible.  Let them know that the enemy's objective might not be Tir."

"If anyone has a medical kit, I need it now.  Callum, you're in charge until I say otherwise.  Got it?"

While he waits for acknowledgment of his orders (and a medical kit), James raises his visor and takes off the dog helm, then his gauntlets.  He moves carefully, every movement as smooth and even as he can manage.  And all the while he keeps an eye on the unicorn.

Callum picks two men and quietly sends them on their way, without armour or weapons.  Then he starts issuing orders to the others, following James' instructions to the letter, while ensuring that none of the troops move too close to the unicorn.

James finds a pouch shoved into his hands and hears the gentle clink of glass from inside.

The unicorn makes no move to flee.  Instead its head slowly droops lower, as if the creature is unable to bear the weight of it any longer.  It shuffles forward a couple of yards, and stumbles, then falls to lay on the ground.

It's breathing is ragged, and its eyes, still open, have a look of feverish madness.  A cough, and dark blood splashes on the ground.

James' first impression of the unicorn's condition turns out to have been somewhat optimistic.  The legends of Amber attribued such power to the unicorn that to see it so sick seemed scarcely credible.

James' takes his eyes off the unicorn to inspect the contents of the pouch that had been thrust into his hand.  There's no chance that the unicorn will be startled into running now.  Indeed, it reminds James uncomfortably of the scorpion-tailed creature he had just killed.  Not for the first time, James wishes that Serena was still part of the group.

"On second thoughts, probably better that someone who knows the kit uses it, I don't think I've time to learn." And run swiftly you two.

James approachs the unicorn, moving more quickly now.  He is loath to alarm his "patient" but he doesn't have the luxury of time.  At a pinch, I should be able to clean and bandage its sores, but the internal damage will be the real problem if it's coughing blood.

Once he gets close enough, James kneels by the unicorn's head.  He will do his best to administer emergency first aid, starting with a pain-killer if he can find one in the pouch, but his real effort is focused internally, where he forms the image of the Pattern in his mind.

I must be insane.  James self-taught discipline of Pattern healing had met with some basic successes but using the Pattern on the unicorn was beyond anything James had ever heard of and the stakes were unimaginably high.

Callum slaps one of his troops on the shoulder and murmurs a few words to him.  The man puts up his weapon and moves to assist James.

"I grew up on a farm, so I know a bit about beasts." he assures James, his tone calm and matter-of-fact, "She aint quite a horse, or a dog, or aught else I've ever tended, but I reckon as she's close enough."

He pulls a square of cloth from the pack and soaks it with water from his canteen.  Then he finds a small flask among the items in the bag.  It contains a pale, greenish powder which he sprinkles onto the wet cloth.

Gently, he starts dabbing at the unicorn's sores with the cloth.  As he works, he is making a soft clicking sound with his tongue.

James barely acknowledges the veterinarian, his focus is entirely elsewhere.

The unicorn makes no attempt to struggle, and her breathing seems less strained.  Calmer.  She clearly understands that these people mean her no harm.

Callum cocks his head to one side, peering down the gorge.  He speaks quietly, "Steady lads.  There's somebody coming up the path.  Keep your eyes open, and try not to make too much noise when the fighting starts.  Don't want to startle her ladyship."  The final two words may be intended to be humorous but, in truth, they carry a tone of reverent awe.

James remains kneeling, oblivious to Callum's warning (and Cyan's attempts at contact).

The unicorn flinches as cries of pain echo up the gorge.  Callum's men include more than a handful who are experts with the crossbow.  Whoever is coming up the gorge is just finding that out.

Still, she does not attempt to flee.  James' assistant keeps painting her sores with his salve, and stops making soothing noises just long enough to quietly say, "It works well on her." before resuming the clicking noises he has been making all along.

There is a sudden clash of steel near the head of the gorge, the unmistakeble sound of sword against sword.  The combatants are not in sight yet, but they are close.

James does his best to shut out the signs of the approaching battle.

The battle continues, just out of sight...

"I don't reckon as I'm doing much to help her now."  James' assistant says, quietly, "She's getting stronger with every passing moment."

"Asking permission to go and help my mates, Sir?"

The unicorn does, indeed, look stronger.  The feverish look of madness has faded from her eyes, and her breathing is now less laboured.  Most of the sores seem to have closed up, or be in the process of doing so, and her shivering has stopped.

James, focussing on the task at hand, seems not to hear the man.

"Sir?"

And the unicorn moves, suddenly and quickly.  Her spine twists, delicate hooves kick out for a moment, and she is on her feet.  Staring directly at James.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:33, Sat 05 Feb 2011.

The fighting behind James continues to build, but he seems to be wrapped in a cocoon of total silence as the unicorn gazes into his eyes for a long moment...  She lowers her head then, and her horn taps once against James' right arm, just above the elbow.

And then she shakes her head, turns, and runs for the forest.  Fast.

And the sound of the battle slams down on James.  Clashing steel, screams, and the familiar alien voices of the T'chuk...

James shakes his head, a reflexive gesture to clear his thoughts.  He was standing up but has no conscious memory of standing.  Presumably it had been in response to the unicorn's movements.

With the immediate job done, James registers a sense of fatigue mixed with exhilaration.  The much improved unicorn has re-gained much of its former grace and speed and the sight of it running does his heart good.

He also becomes aware, for the first time in what feels half an age, of the battle close by.  He half-turns towards the soldier.  "Right, yes, go."  James wanted to encourage the man not to do anything stupid.  There were few enough people who could claim to have touched the unicorn, let alone treated her injuries.  It would be something the man could tell his grandchildren, if he survived.  But there wasn't time to put the thought into words.

James reaches to his hip for Fangmir...

A quick look tells James what he needs to know.  A dozen of the T'chuk are fighting their way to the upper end of the gorge, backed by a slightly larger number of seemingly human warriors whose armour appears to be made of dark green glass, but turns steel just as effectively as metal mail.

Some of the Amberite troops are engaged in close combat with them, and more of the defenders are joining the fray, as it becomes increasingly dangerous to shoot into the melee.

Kallum is in the forefront of the battle, recognisable more by his voice than by his blood spattered face as he screams curses, insults and imprecations at the enemy.

There is a bright flash of sunlight on steel as, for the first time since James returned to Amber, the drizzling rain lets up, and the heavy overcast parts to let the rays of the late afternoon sun through.

The numbers tally up okay, to James thinking.  He had hoped to see more signs that the attackers had weathered heavy missile fire in the gorge but there could be more bodies down further, which would be out of sight from his current position.  The number of attackers seems lower than he had expected, so that would fit.  Except that it could also mean that they were more powerful than he expected and didn't need the advantage of numbers.  What is that green armour anyway?

James lowers his visor and draws Fangmir.  He strides quickly towards the melee, not wasting time but not obviously rushing either.  As he passes the reserve he calls "Not yet.  Wait until the glassies are engaged or our line stretches."

As he gets closer to the fighting he angles towards Kallum, which, unsurprisingly, leads him towards the thick of the battle.  Once he joins the combat, James starts in immediately with Fangmir.  Melee is a clumsy business in any era, James considers momentarily, you hack and you stab, hoping to maim as much as anything, and you trust to luck or armour not to get done in return.  Whomever had brought his armour had done him a favour there, at least.

James' arrival on the field of battle heralds a change in fortunes - the first of the T'chuk goes down beneath a crushing blow from Fangmir, a blow which cleaves straight through the creature's own weapon and renders any attempt at defence futile.

The second drops as easily, and James moves on.  But now the flow of the battle is noticeably changed.  Wherever James advances, the T'chuk seem to fall back before him, or move aside to face the Amberite troops.  None of them, it seems, want to face the man in the bizarre beast mask.  Before long, James is standing near Kallum, who goves him a cheerful grin, "James!  I'm glad you made it in time for party.  How's your new friend?"

Around them the fighting continues.  Kallum is covered with blood, not all of it his.  His own blade flicks out and takes one of the T'chuk in the throat, but its place is immediately taken by one of the green armoured warriors...
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:04, Sat 19 Feb 2011.

James responds as the flow of battle allows, his comments interspersed with parries and slashing cuts "Wouldn't miss it...Doing well...And safely away."

As the green-armoured warriors close, James angles across to engage the one fighting Kallum.  Kallum would take it poorly if James tried to defend him, but James was worried that Kallum might be injured and nobody could say that he had to fight fair.

Now to see how strong that green stuff is.

Fangmir reaches out and smashes into the translucent green material.  There is a loud snapping sound, and the enemy warrior staggers back.  Blood is seeping from a crack in the armour, and a dark red stain can be seen spreading slowly beneath the glassy surface.

It appears that the strange armour is not much stronger than regular steel...

Kallum takes advantage of the opportunity and lunges forward, using all his weight to drive the point of his blade home.  The armour shatters, scattering shards, and a fist-sized hole opens up around the tip of Kallum's sword, which pierces the target's gut.

As the man falls, Kallum warns, "On your right, James!" and steps towards the next likely opponent.

James is relieved to find that the green, glass armour is breakable if not exactly fragile.  He had been half-convinced that the stuff would be impenetrable.

In response to Kallum's warning, James takes a half-step back and to his left to open space as he turns quickly to his right.  He is still more than a little tempted to close with the armoured foe and test their strength and agility.  On the other hand, he suspects that the glass armour is much lighter than steel full plate and he is not yet ready to abandon the advantage that Fangmir provides.

James looks to parry the new enemy's first attack.  He plans to counter-attack once he has a better understanding of the enemy's technique.

The enemy attacks, swinging at James, two-handed, with an axe.  The man grins as the heavy blade bears down on James' head, but the grin vanishes as Fangmir lifts and turns the attack aside with seeming ease.  Momentum carries James around in a complete circle, and the attacker screams as Fangmir hacks through his armour and removes his right arm just below the elbow.

He drops his weapon and turns to flee, staggering away, still screaming.

Around James the battlefield is lit by brilliant afternoon sunlight.  Tattered clouds stream off the peak of Kolvir, carried on an increasingly stiff breeze.

The battle continues, and more of the alien intruders seem to be coming up the gorge...

There is a sound behind James, and something passes him to smash into one of the T'chuk.  A stag, its antlers ripping the warrior's flesh.  Further off, one of the green armoured men is seized and dragged away by a bear.

All around James, the invaders are being driven back by Kallum's men, or by wild animals.  A flash of white above and to his right, catches James' attention.  The unicorn stands there, watching the fight in the gorge...

James straightens as his enemy flees.  He takes a quick look around the battlefield.  The situation is so striking it takes James a moment to understand what is happening.  A stag?  What...

Spotting the unicorn, James raises Fangmir in a formal salute.  Amber's icon has provided his forces with a timely boost.  That James had not known it was possible seemed rather irrelevant after the fact.  If the sight of the attacking animals had startled James, it must surely have dismayed his enemies.  Here, then, was an opportunity to break their morale.

James reaches back, beckoning with his sword to where the reserves wait, before throwing his arm forward again.  "For Amber and the Unicorn!  Charge!"  James doesn't wait to see his troops respond but barrels forwards to strike at the nearest foe.  Carried away in the moment, James howls.  A pre-programmed microphone in his helmet picks up the sound and broadcasts an amplified wolf's howl.

James leads the charge, and two of the opposition go down before him without even realising what's happening.  The retreat from the upper end of the gorge becomes a full rout as James' forces take advantage of the lay of the land to push the enemy back down the slope.

Something hits the side of James' helm, making his ears ring, but the T'chuk doesn't even wait to see if his thrown knife has done any damage.

Kallum urges the men down the gorge, driving the enemy before them, and the change in the weather seems to fill them with courage.  Overhead, the clouds have dispersed, and the rain has stopped completely.

And as the enemy reach the end of the gorge there comes a sound from further down the mountain, somewhere behind them... a chorus of howls answers James' own call.  The T'chuk turn and scatter into the forest.  One of the green armoured men drops his weapon and kneels, arms spread wide.  A second does the same, and a third.

Before long, more and more of them are throwing themselves on the mercy of the Amberites...

As James had hoped, the Amberites combined charge had broken the enemy's morale.  As the T'chuk flee and the fighting starts to concentrate on patches of resistance, James takes advantage of a brief lull to call, "Grant quarter to those who ask it!  No butchery here!  Prisoners are of more use than corpses!"

James isn't at all confident that the unicorn, or its fellow creatures, will be as merciful but if they can take an officer alive the information gained could be invaluable.  James is very keen to find out the attackers' orders regarding Tir'na nogth.

The Amberites move forward, ensuring that those of the enemy who have chosen to surrender really are disarmed, and moving them, at sword-point, to stand out in the open at the lower end of the ravine.

All of the prisoners, it soon becomes apparent, are the green armoured men.  Of the T'chuk, there is no longer any sign, all having fled, along with many of their allies, during the final stages of the battle.

James is left standing before nine prisoners, most of them with injuries of varying degrees of severity, ranging from cuts and bruises up to what looks like it might be a broken arm.

Kallum beckons James over, "Play along, James." he mutters, and then speaks louder, "I believe this one is an officer, of sorts, My Lord.  Do you wish to question him here, or will you wait until we get back to the castle, where there are more... instruments available to you."

The man in question is leaning against a boulder, his left arm smeared with blood which is clearly visible through his transparent armour.  He looks distinctly nervous as Kallum points James in his direction.

James gives a curt nod of acknowledgement to Kallum's suggestion.  His distaste of torture is hardly a secret, but he can see the wisdom in intimidating the captives.

"We shall take them back to the castle.  Once word gets about that we have prisoners, I doubt I'll need to be involved.  I'm sure one of my uncles will be delighted to take over."

James sheathes Fangmir, then removes his dog-helm, the better to present a 'human' face to his captives.  He addresses the "officer" directly.  "You'd think that with an eternity to practice the arts of persuasion, Benedict would grow bored, or at least Gerard.  But you have to understand, they are perfectionists.  There is no such thing as enough practice.  And you have attacked Amber; set foot on the flanks of Kolvir.  They will not be gentle."

"So.  You get one chance.  Answer my questions truthfully and at once and we can avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness.  Do you understand?"

The officer, if such he is, seems reluctant to speak, at first.  Only after several seconds of silence does he finally straighten up and nod to James.  He still looks nervous as he states, "I understand.  I will answer your questions, but only on one condition, that being your promise that my men will be treated fairly and humanely."

"They were following my orders, and those of my superiors, and should not be held accountable for this invasion."

Kallum frowns, "Or we could just take you back to the castle for questioning."

"I would assume that getting the required answers here, and quickly, would be of more value to your commander."

"That depends on the answers." James responds quickly.

James doesn't mean it as a threat, though it may be taken as one.  It is merely an observation.  If there are any more attackers in the immediate area then James needs quick answers.  If not, the interrogation can probably wait until they get to the castle.

"No, Kallum, he's right.  I've seen enough worlds in my travels to know how the Seraphim use their pawns.  My war isn't against these, but their masters." James turns from Kallum back to the officer.  "You and your men will get food, water and medical treatment once we get back to the castle.  Beyond that I can promise nothing, the Family will decide your fate from there.  But you won't get anything until my men are looked after and you won't get anything until Kallum is satisfied that you've told us all there is to tell."

"Kallum, take over for a minute, there's something I've got to do.  Details of this operation first.  Details of other current operations, like today current, next.  Numbers, deployment, equipment, morale, all the usual.  Oh, and any unusual abilities that we should know about.  The other stuff can wait."

James turns away.  As he does so, his gaze lingers on the high ground, hoping to catch another glimpse of the Unicorn.

"Cyan.  I'm here.  What's up?"

James looks up the side of Kolvir, towards the now clear sky.  The sun is low in the sky now, and the western sky burns red, with the last remnants of cloud black against the glare.

It looks as though tomorrow, at least should be a fine day.

Behind him, Kallum looks at the prisoner and scratches at the back of his neck.

"You should know that I'm not as patient as he is, especially when it looks like being patient might cost me a good dinner.  So, let's start with something simple, like... why were you up here?"

James keeps half an ear on Kallum's questioning, at least for a moment.  James first thought is that Kallum is on the right track.  His second and third thoughts are somewhere else entirely as his gaze fixes intently on an empty patch of air.

The enemy officer starts giving a run-down of his orders, with only occasional prompting from Kallum...

"We were to take the stair and hold it until Za'afiel arrived.  He's some sort of general - not The General, but a general.  Answers to nobody but the Ruler himself.  No, I've never met him, but I've heard tell that nobody can stand before him without being terrified."

"Most of the army is down in the forest, and getting mauled, from what I've heard.  Tales of men riding cats as big as horses, and horses as big as houses.  I was glad when we were assigned an actual target to seize.  We've spent days pretty much walking in circles down there.  It's almost as if they brought us here without knowing why they did it."

He coughs, and Kallum allows him a little water, "They say that Za'afiel will change all that, but they said that about The General too, and he never showed up."

Ah, James!  A fine thing that you have come through your battle in one piece.  And with prisoners, yet!  Relief tinges the link, followed by respectful approval.  Then Cyan grows more serious.  Indeed...I am told an orb this size would contain the energies of many worlds.  Such a release would likely shatter the world upon which we stand, and - based on Harbonah's ploy - cause a chain reaction through reality when enacted in conjunction with the other orbs.

Consider the breaks, leading in a line across the Myriad Worlds, cracking That Which Is.  Wounding it.  Then a sudden blow, a massive eruption of power at five particular points.

I do not know if this is Harbonah's exact plan, but certainly it seems to be something along these lines.  My hope is to remove their weapon entirely - I will attempt to capture the orb.  Perhaps we can hold it, or bleed off its forces somehow.  Perhaps...the breaks...perhaps with the proper focusing agents, the proper powers in alignment to act as lenses...

For an instant an image seeps in of the breaks being healed, of the wound to the Myriad Worlds sealed over.

No.  Too dangerous.

Her attention focuses, this time upon James.  For an instant, as the conection drops, Cyan scrabbles to re-establish it, sighing in relief when James removes the helm.

Impressive work, that armor.  Most robust, but mobile, I would expect.  I wonder at the material.  Not laen, surely?  Curious helm...symbolic, yes?  And a...a 'gun'.  *images of weapons firing for an instant - bullets, beams, fire*  Yes, I believe I understand such things.

Your armor has arrived in the teeth of time, James - I thank your benefactor, whomever they may be.  Profusely!

She falls to silence again as James relates his incredible encounter.  Wonderment suffuses the link as the story unfolds.  By heaven, James.  You have stepped into legends, to stand with them yourself!  They will sing songs of this day in Amber, or so they should.  The Unicorn...one of the mysteries of the Myriad Worlds, symbol of Amber, bastion of order, itself. 

Berd has spoken - once or twice - of the beast, whispered of its place.  And you...you healed it?  Through the use of the Great Pattern of Amber?  This is something of which I have never heard, not even a peep!  Small wonder the land itself came to your aid, James - proud and lucky am I to have known you, myself!

Oh indeed, they will make songs of your act.  I wish I had the time to do so myself....

There comes a break, a momentary discontinuity, as if Cyan's mind has leapt elsewhere.  Then,

But there is no such time.

What will you do now, James?  Join us?  Find one of the five places Harbonah plans to plant a gravestone for the Myriad Worlds?  Or stand to defend Amber?  She hesitates. We could use your assistance.  Your thoughts, your strengths, and yes, your newly grown Power.

Healing.  Something I had not considered for the Myriad Worlds...until today.

Kallum glances at James, who seems distracted, then returns his attention to the prisoner, "Well, that's a start at least.  How many of your people are on the mountain?  Do you have a rally point?"  The officer looks puzzled, so kallum explains, "A spot to gather again if you get split up?"

"Ah, a meetplace.  Yes, we have one, a couple of miles west from here and much lower on the mountain.  There are some fifty and a hundred of my people on their way up here, plus about half that number of T'chuk, if they haven' all fled or been killed - we passed a few of their dead on the road up."

James listens intently as Cyan explains the implications of the Orb.

Perhaps.  Perhaps, you are right.  Controlling the release of such energy would be... I don't know.  It's on such a scale I scarcely know how to describe it.  And contemplating the deed, well.

"But healing the Myriad Worlds?  A splendid goal.  If, and it's a big if, you were to attempt it, my technique might be useful.

It occurred to me some time ago, the similarities between a wounded body and a Broken Pattern.  I can work some minor healing by visualising the injuries as 'breaks' and 'walking' them.  Sort of like the Pattern is a map of a healthy body.

Only, the Pattern is a template for the Myriad Worlds, so the same principle should apply.

James' enthusiasm for the subject is reined in abruptly.  You realise the 'simple' way of thwarting Harbonah, don't you?  If the position of the Orbs is so critical, destroy the site, beyond repair.  To a continental, even planetary scale.  A small sacrifice, to save the Myriad Worlds.  James sudden smile seems incongruous, till he continues, And utterly unacceptable.

James breaks off for a moment, turning his attention briefly to Kallum's questioning before concentrating again on the link.

Give me a moment here, Cyan, then bring me through.  There's enough of Harbonah's forces here to keep everyone busy.  Nicely distracted, I'm sure.  But if our friend here is telling the truth then Morgan and my uncle Julian are giving them a bloody nose in Arden and I think we've enough men here to handle this attack.  Turns out there may only be a single Archon commanding the enemy forces.  Have you heard of Za'afiel?

Sorry, getting distracted.  Amber should be okay, I think, and I can't handle Seraphim on my own so I reckon I'll be of most use with you.  I just need to tell Kallum to pass on to Random and the others what you've discovered about the Orbs.  The traitor will have to wait, I've nothing much to go on anyway.

Actually, I've a thought.  I hate to ask this, but could you pretend to be The General for a moment.  The troops here are dupes, same as all the others.  I'd like to try and turn these if I can; it might save some lives.

Controlling the energy release will be nigh-impossible, but we have accomplished much, and grown greatly.  Between all of us, I believe we have a hope.  How much of a hope is open to debate, and must be considered...once we have the orb.

*laughter*

You never change, James, for which I am eternally grateful.  'Might' be useful?  If we make this attempt, your newfound power would prove critical!

A fascinating concept, and an apt analogy.  Is it possible that 'healing' the worlds through the use of the Pattern would unbalance the Myriad Worlds with the force of Order?  Or...if you are simply returning them to their original aspect, would this not be an issue?

*exasperation*

So many questions!  We need swift answers.

But James' final solution for the Harbonah problem sobers and calms her.  Indeed.  Such a small, intolerable sacrifice.  I know you postulate it as a strategic theory, nothing more.  Berd could easily shatter the exact place they have prepared without serious harm to the world, but that would not stop them.  He could cinder this world, as Dorian *pain* did, but he will not.  Nor would I ask him.

Worry not, James.  I will not carry through any such plan.

She listens to James requests, her mind at furious work, striving to recall.

Za'aphiel.  I know the name...Berd...

Memories, coloured by an alien perception - Berd's, not hers.  Memories of the struggle at Nairans, worlds away from where James was meeting The General.

Simultaneously, lightning strikes upward from the cloud - twin bolts that pass the Archons and stop, high above them.  The electricity dances, then coalesces into two forms.  One is shadowed, a piece of the night sky given form and wings, surrounded by flickering, amythest flame...

...The Archon pulses, and a circle of light splays out from it, and a million voices chant a Word.  The dark angel becomes as transparent as crystal, and shatters into a glittering dust, even as its counterpart cleaves the eshurianti in twain...

...The Drake stares expressionlessly at the space where the dark angel fell.  Goodbye, Zaph.  Again....

Cyan's mental voice returns after the flood of memory from Berd.

Za'aphiel is the name of a spirit of destruction.  There have been some corrolations between Archon names and these names that Berd knows; if so, it is no doubt a Seraphim of power.

We have...*checks*...a short time before the Orb arrives.  I will come to you in the General's form, and can bring us both back through the Palanquet.  Tell your people not to be concerned - I will bring Archons.  When you are prepared, bring me through.

*ironic amusement*

It will be a trip down memory lane for you and I.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:11, Tue 12 Apr 2011.

James reaches out a hand, and there is a sudden rainbow nimbus in the air around him.

And in an instant, he is not alone.  A fully armoured warrior stands there, clad in jet and gold plate, with a monstrous snake-haired visage embossed upon the cuirass.

A moment later two spinning wheels of gleaming metal are hovering above the two human figures.  One is primarily steel grey, with splashes of colour on some of the vicious shards which compose its form.  The other is much more colourful.  Both whir and hum like swarms of angry hornets.

Behind James, Kallum's men, and the prisoners, all recoil in fear...

"What the hell is going on here?"

The armored figure steps forward, voice echoing from the helm, the diction, the cadance, the vocabulary so different from Cyan's.  But the tone is far more exasperated than angry, and her gauntleted hands are empty.  "James."  One reaches out to clasp the soldier's shoulder for an instant, then the General turns to confront the prisoners.  "Dear gods.  Don't tell me...you attacked?"

+ SO IT WOULD SEEM, GENERAL. +  Right is no Left, but he is capable of subtlety from time to time, and certainly has a good memory.  For an instant he hovers still in the air, his attention on the one who brought them through.  Then the brilliant danioti swoops and flickers about the General, a mercurial, shifting cloud of edges.  + IF WE OFFERED THE HEADS OF WHAT REMAINS OF THE ARMY, IT MIGHT PROVE SUFFICIENT TO - +

"No."  The General drags off her helmet and runs metal-encased fingers through her hair, raking the prisoners with her ebony gaze.  Then the obsidian eyes turn to James.  "Please explain, James.  I'll warrent you'll be needing an apology after this...debacle.  An apology and more."

+ PERHAPS THE HEADS? +

"No, blast it!"

Even James, who had expected something of the sort, was taken aback by Cyan's appearance.  The Warrior in Jet and Gold was, unhappily, just as he remembered but he had not thought she would bring Archons.

James recovers himself quickly and directs his attention first to Kallum.  "It's okay, Kallum, I know what I'm doing.  Tell the men to stand down."  James speaks calmly, in blythe (and deliberate) disregard of the fact that his troops look more likely to flee than attack.

It also buys James a moment to think.  He had thought to show the jade-armoured warriors that the General had turned against Harbonah and convince them to do the same.  Cyan seemed to be acting as though she still commanded the army.  James was tempted to let her run with it, except that she had asked for a response.

"As you say, General, they attacked." James pauses briefly, unable to resist winding up Right, if only for a moment.  "They were commanded by Za'aphiel to assault the stair.  Fortunately, perhaps, they failed.  I had thought perhaps they might relay your order to stand down to the rest of the army.  Those who present themselves to the King for...re-assignment might avoid a lot of needless bloodshed and maybe earn back a little goodwill."

James leaves things as vague as he dares to give the Bard space to improvise.

The enemy officer falls to his knees, as Kallum raises a hand, and murmurs to his own troops "Steady lads.  James says these are friends, and I trust him, even if I don't rightly trust these friends of his, yet."

The kneeling officer, his head bowed, speaks up, "Command me.  What will you have of me, General?"  As the officer confirms that this is, indeed, the General, a susurrus of awe, and no little fear, runs through the remainder of his force.  One by one, they too, kneel.  And one man dares to raise his head and call out, "Aye, command us General.  We're all bloody sick of taking orders from the demons."

Once the words are spoken, a chorus of assent comes from the others.

Right whines in the air, blades screaming for an instant as they shift within him.  Annoyance?  Amusement?  + AND WHAT OF NEEDFUL BLOODSHED, MESSENGER? +

"Right...by Za'aphiel, James?"  The General turns to study 'her' men, frowning as one of them offers his own opinion on the matter.  "Demons?"  She waves her hand at Right and his cohort.  "Not so.  But I understand your fears."

Swivelling, she paces back and forth before them.  "You have been ill-used, men.  A schism has occurred among the Archons - those who have given you your orders, Za'aphiel one of them, would wring everything from your people: blood, sweat and tears.  It is most fortunate James contacted me.  I would never have known of your plight."

Right, wisely, remains silent for the moment, knowing the General prefers no interruptions during speeches.

She faces them directly, places her hand upon the commander's shoulder.  "You could have died fighting for the wrong reasons, for the wrong side.  Unacceptable."  Her gauntleted hand clamps down - firm, but not harsh - and slowly the general raises the commander to his feet to look him in the eyes.  "Commander - by surrendering, you kept your men alive.  You have my gratitude.  I and the Archons with me stand as allies to the King of this land, a good, wise ruler - as James suggests, you will swear to him to serve against the threat of the false Archons.  Though the fault is not yours, it would do much to make good this error."

Her dark, dark eyes narrow and she studies his face. "What is your name, commander?  And the name of your world, that I may protect it against reprisals from the false Archons."

"Our world is Kaergand, General.  My own name is Darrek, son of Tessad, of the House of Fyrdast.  By you command, we will swear allegiance to the king of this land."  He turns his head to glance at James, "And I beg your forgiveness, warrior, for my men at least.  We fought hard because we were led to believe that we would be ill-used by you and your kin."

As his gaze swivels back to Cyan, he sways slightly, but he continues talking, "We were lied to, it seems.  At least, that is what we are now told.  And the General is, we feel, more trustworthy than those we served."

James runs a hand across his face, wiping sweat from his forehead.  His armour might be a miracle of materials science and battlefield engineering but it still got hot inside.

James speaks sharply to Right, "Once bloodshed becomes needful, danioti, then the better part of the battle is already lost."

He then turns to Darrek, "You don't need to apologise to me.  We all follow orders and fight and kill.  Or die.  It's what soldiers do.  You are to be congratulated for fighting well even though I regret the consequences."

"Neither are you the first to be deceived by Harbonah.  Not far from here I was forced to kill another from your army, that resembled a scaled hound but was larger than a horse and had a poisoned tail.  It's people had been tricked into swearing a blood oath to Harbonah."

If only I could be sure that were true.  It would hardly be the first time that the lords and ladies of Amber abused a "shadow".

"Harbonah's goals are insane.  I doubt anyone except his kin would follow him willingly if they knew the truth.  Most are unwitting dupes.  I don't mean that as an insult, the alternative is worse..."

For the others are like the General, broken and twisted in mind and spirit.

The General's eyebrows rise slightly at the back and forth between James and Right.  She holds up her hand, cutting off the danioti naescent reply.  "Not now, Right."

Right dances in the air, shrinking slightly - not fearfully, but to present a less...aggressive stance, and when he speaks it is without his customary sardonic 'edge'.  + YES, GENERAL.  IT IS ONLY THAT THE MESSENGER'S THOUGHTS CURIOUSLY PARALLEL SOME OF MY OWN +   Ever since Charyk, where 'he' intercepted the Worldkiller's own message to the General, Right has struggled with thoughts and concepts outside of the norm for a danioti, drawing comparison between his own, natural fury and that of those who struggle against the Archon advance.  The Worldkiller's point had resonated with him, the images of the worlds destroyed by his own forces overlaying the howling rage at the destruction of the birthing world.  Was there a difference, simply because of who carried out the destruction?

Right suspects not.  He often wonders what Left, the deeper thinker of the pair, might say.

The General eyes the danioti for a long moment, her eyes lightening from onyx to hematite.  Then the darkness returns, and she turns back to James and Darrek.  "James speaks true - hardly surprising, really, but then you don't know him.  Fear not, Darrek; I'll my best to keep the bright skies of Kaergand clear, its forests untouched by fire, and its great river clean of blood."  Her lips thin - it won't be easy, but there are ways to keep the world safe...barring the fall of everything, of course.

The General and Cyan do not lightly give their word.

'We all follow orders to fight and kill.'  The General blinks, Cyan almost bubbling through again.  Never again!  Never!  The General mask ruthlessly suppresses the inner cry - they have business here, and it is not the time.  "Darrek," she asks, "are there Archons with your forces at this moment?  And will your people believe you if you bring them this word, or do you need us for that?  We will assist, should it be necessary or if there are Seraphim."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:49, Thu 28 Apr 2011.

Darrek frowns at James' words, and then his face clears, "I know those you speak of... the beasts.  I have never spoken to one, and was not even aware that they could speak."

Then, to Cyan, "There are none of these Archons, as you name them, with the army.  The weather has not suited them, it seems.  Not that the rain suits me, you understand, but at least I am not injured by it, as the burning wheels seem to be, judging by their howls, and their temper."

"I believe, General, that my people will listen to me.  The army has been here, in the forest, for days, and this is the first time the rain has eased in all that time.  The men are... less than keen to stay here for very much longer, fighting against the things that we have faced down there.  Many would likely desert or mutiny at a moment's notice."

"Yes, they can speak.  Though their native tongue is not easy to listen to, let alone understand.  You might even try speaking to them first.  They are powerful creatures, if you could persuade them then it would be a great help...and you would be safer."

"Hang on a moment."

James raises his helm up to eye level but instead of putting it on he reaches inside.  He appears to be manipulating something to an accompaniment of quiet clicks and whirs.  Abruptly another voice starts speaking, as though from the helm's visor.

"I are named... [rising screech].  I think dju... not can spik that."  The voice changes to that of James "You're right.  I can't."  There is a long pause  "If curse will... will to harm this... Circle of Fire... this Harrow-banah... then I will to spik... a thousand times... ten thousand curses.  Like to the stars... in the sky... I curses he." Another pause.  "I's brothers not be near.  I are lone dying.  I need dju to hare... I's iskad... " Another pause.  "I are... dying.  Time is."  What follows is a long, drawn-out, howling screech, with rhythmic variations in tone and volume.  It sounds like a song or a prayer.  "Time... is... "

The helm goes silent.  There is a gleam of moisture in the corner of James' eye, which he hurriedly wipes away.  "The General knows my views on torture, but Harbonah had better pray I never capture it for I will make it die a hundred deaths for what it has made me...us, do."

James switches to more practical matters, though his manner is still sombre.  "Unfortunately I can't give you a copy and I doubt you'll be able to imitate the creature's speech.  If you talk to the other... beasts, mention iskad and nedredalalven.  I think they must be significant."

"Kallum, I'll give you directions to where I fought the... Dammit, I hate not being able to name it.  Screech, that'll do.  To where I fought Screech.  It might be useful for intelligence purposes, but tell anybody who'll listen that I insist the body be treated with respect."

"Can you take care of the rest, Kallum?  From what Darrek says, I think Julian and Morgan can handle the defence and the General can use me elsewhere."

"Good.  No archons means you have a chance, at the moment.  Darrak, go to your people.  Relay my commands.  Their lives, their chances of survival, your worlds, all of this hinges upon you standing against the Seraphim.  With us."

The General closes her ebony eyes as James replays the final words, letting them wash over her in darkness.  Appropriate, given their poignancy.  Reaching out, she rests a hand on the armored man's shoulder, releasing him when the message ends.  "'The first casualty of war is the truth'," she whispers. "But the second is always innocence."  And James, the tired soldier, has so little left to lose.

And yet he forges on.

There are many things Cyan would wish to say, but the General?  She knows that nothing - no platitudes, no gentle wisdom, no comfort will assist James, and certainly not standing before a gathering of others.  In silence she stands, returning full mastery of this place to James' hands, his orders and requests standing.

She was, after all, only the catalyst to this.

Darrek nods his understanding, "I will do as you say.  All of these men, here with me, will join your cause, along with more than a few others, I believe.  I will try to speak to these beasts, as I come across them."

"We fight now for the King of Amber."

And Kallum, too, gives his assent to James' instructions, "Right you are, James.  I'll take a few men to find the beast, this Screech you speak of, and I'll make sure it's treated properly.  The rest of the men I'll leave up here, to guard the stair and make sure nobody tries to take it again."  He grins as he finishes speaking, "It's been a pleasure fighting alongside you again, James.  Well... not a pleasure, exactly, but you know what I mean, I'm sure."

The General offers a final bow to the soldiers before her, hoping - praying - that she can hold to her word.  Berd's message has arrived, and she has returned it, along with the image stolen from Derek's thoughts...and the man's mental 'signature'.  Already, the little drake will be analyzing it, seeking its rough ratio of Order to Chaos for placement within the Myriad worlds, then beginning a narrowed sweep through thousands of potential sites in search of both archon presense and a 'background' matching that of Derek's.

It will take time, but he will find their world.

One hand snaps a card out - a palanquet of a tiny dragon, his jewelled eyes aglitter with mischief and greedy hunger.  The other rises to touch James' shoulder.  "James," the General murmurs.  "If we are to go, it will be now."

James smiles, they had achieved a better outcome than he had thought to attain when he had left the Castle for his reconnaissance run a few hours ago.  With only a single Archon in command and parts of the attacking forces ready to defect, James was more confident than ever that Amber would hold - unless Harbonah was permitted to bring his greater scheme to fruition.

"It's alright Kallum, I know what you mean.  I'm sorry for lumping you with this mess.  After we get through all this I'll bring you a case of the best booze within a week's walk of Kolvir and we'll have a right old bender."

"Where's that vet you sent me?  Remind him that he got to touch the Unicorn.  That's more than some of the Family can say and I reckon it's worth more than any commendation I can give him."

James continues, more quietly, as an aside to Kallum, "Not that I think he'll need reminding.  Actually, better keep an eye on him, having someone like that around will do wonders for his unit's morale."

To Derek he says only, "Good luck, then.  I'll see you when I get back to Amber, if I can."

James does a final check of his kit.  His gun is slung over one shoulder, Fangmir held point down (but still bloody) in his left hand and his dog helm tucked under that arm.  All present, though perhaps not entirely correct.

He reaches up with his right hand and lightly grips Cyan's arm at the elbow as she touches his shoulder.  "Ready as I'll ever be.  Let's go."

The two stand silently, James gripping Cyan's arm.

Around them, men are starting to move out.  A few cross the meadow towards the jumble of boulders which, in daylight, only vaguely resembles a set of stairs.  Most though start down the gorge, heading back to Amber, or towards the camp of the former allies.  Almost all give James and Cyan curious looks as they pass by them.

Kallum is one of the last to leave, taking a last look around to ensure that everybody is going to where they should be.  Finally, once he is satisfied, he salutes James and bows to Cyan, and turns to follow the troops down the gorge.

Somewhere overhead a lark starts singing...

The General nods to Kallum as he departs, leaving the two Questors alone.  Sunlight gathers in the General's eyes as she watches them go, and slowly their colour shifts.  Obsidian to onyx...to hematite...and then silver.  A hint of gold appears, and suddenly they clear to topaz.

"Lords of the West, I detest that feeling," Cyan murmurs, letting her arm fall so that she and James hold forearms.  The eyes close as she breathes out a long, weary sigh.  Then they snap open again, their colour even brighter, the sunlight shining within their depths, and the bard smiles.  "But in a good cause, do you not think?  Did we do well, James?"

Her free hand holds up the palanquet.  "As soon as Berd informs me it is the proper time, I will open contact through this, and we can step through."  But even as she speaks, she continues the direct, mind to mind contact with the tired soldier before her.


She lifts her gaze, and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears.  Her smile is tremulous but true as she stares up toward the gleaming city upon the mountain, stony walls ablaze in the sun.  "Berd kept me from this for so long.  I no longer blame him, for he sought to shelter me in his own, bumbling way.  But glad I am, so very glad, to have seen this fabled city before the end."


Closing her eyes, she raises her voice in song to answer the lark - a song once shared with her a long time and many worlds away, where she stood in a dream beside a weary soldier.

"Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art
Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light."

But rather than continue, she tenses.


"Fool that I am," Cyan whispers, her eyes paling, the colour fading from them.  Her words hum with fear.  "Fool that I have been!  We always wondered why, what they were for, and then we forgot."  Turning her head, she stares directly at James, the momentary peace and ease completely gone.  And to his mind, she delivers the image the panicked, enraged Berd has sent.

...The eshurianti descends, slowing as it does, and rolls until it is horizontal.  And it continues to expand, until its diameter matches that of the bowl.  Finally, just above the ground surface, it stops, and something starts to emerge from it...

"A Cube," Cyan whispers, aghast.  "A Cube with thousands of faces, of thousands of worlds."  She raises the card - it swims before her eyes, the drake beginning to move.  Gripping James' hand, she reaches out for both of them.  "Father!  Take hold!"

James isn't entirely sure whether Cyan means to go through to Berd or to bring Berd and the others to them.  It doesn't help that he has only a passing understanding of the Cubes.  The potential implications are clearly distressing Cyan but James can only guess at possibilities.

In the end it doesn't matter much, James simply tightens his grip (on Cyan, helm and Fangmir) and waits to see who is travelling where.

There are observers in the area, a variety of birds, a weasel, a very nervous mouse and, some distance off, and concealed among bushes at the edge of the clearing, the Unicorn.  What they see is two humans standing very still.  The rest have gone now.

And suddenly the two are surrounded by a prismatic nimbus of light, which shimmers with all the colours of the spectrum, plus several more which don't belong to it.

And still they don't move.

The Unicorn snorts her puzzlement...

The rainbow halo flares... and the two are gone.

The Unicorn snickers softly, and turns to leave.  Everything has worked out perfectly.  Again...