Roman of Chanicut's departure from Amber was distinctly low key.

While he could have used the Logrus for any number of relatively simple tasks, attempting anything as major as travelling with it, so close to the Pattern, would have been inviting all manner of trouble.

So he had borrowed a horse from the stables, with no clear idea when, or even if, he would be able to return the animal.  His intent being to ride until the risk of the Pattern interfering with his use of the Logrus seemed minimal.

At least, that had been the plan.

Now, out in the city, he realises that things may not be so simple.  With only a brief look at Tahirah's map to go on, he needs to decide on the best route.  Out through Arden would probably be the shortest, but Arden is full of troops, many of whom would probably not let him pass.  The coastal plain provides two more choices, travelling parallel to the ocean in either direction.

The fourth option isn't a good one.  The docks are likely to be crowded with people trying to get away from the fighting.  The chances of him getting aboard a ship are probably slim to nil.

When the object is to travel Shadow any and all directions may lead to the goal.  THe choice of direction, then , is simpky one of convenience.  What is convenient to Roman, is the smoothest and most direct path away from Kolvir - and the Pattern at its root.  The docks are blocked by people.  The road through Arden by troops - and not only Amberite troops.  The beach seems easiest, but which way ?  Roman tosses a coin to decide, a route dictated by chance seems the surest escape from Order.

Roman follows a road which leads a little west of south from the city, close to the shoreline.  Kolvir is at his back, with two parallel ranges of lower peaks on his right hand as he rides, and the ocean on his left, bounded by a shore of pink and sable sand.

Shortly after leaving the city, the constant drizzling rain eases to nothing, and the clouds start to break up, allowing him to feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on his cheek.  He pushes the horse onward - speed is his most important goal.  Some twenty miles from Kolvir, he hears the tolling of a great bell which seems to come up from the watery depths.

Or, possibly, from the distant lighthouse, dimly visible far out to sea, though the latter does seem much too distant for the sound of a bell to carry this far.

The sun slides down the now-clearing sky as Roman rides, and the air grows cooler as its disc finally drops behind the mountains in a blaze of brilliant crimson, and casts the land into shade.  Overhead the stars wink into existence.

The road, little more than a track at this point, crosses a river at a ford, and Roman pauses to refill his waterskin and let his mount drink a little.  The water is cold, coming down from the mountains which still lay to his west.

The voice which suddenly comes out of the gloom beneath a copse of trees seems friendly enough, "Ho friend!  Will ye have a little companionship?"

"I've a long road to travel, and little time to rest!" Roman calls back.  Rest can wait until a fast-time Shadow is reached, so little time as it is measured elsewhere may be lost.

"But if you can keep up, and our paths coincide for a time, I'll not refuse the company!" he continues.  No need to be rude...

The man steps out of the darkness, dressed all in reds and browns which are barely recognisable as such in the rapidly failing light, with a bow slung across his back and a quiver of arrows at his right hip.  A curved sword is on his left hip.  A strip of leather is bound around his head, angled so that it covers his left eye.  A horse follows him, a grey.

"My name is Baerin." he says, as he mounts, "'tis not safe to be on the roads lately.  There are strange creatures about.  'tis my belief that three eyes are better than one, or even two, in such times, as I'm sure ye'll agree."

Roman looks at the man, curious to know where his other two eyes are.  Most people find balancing the sensory input from more than two rather difficult so three eyes would be definitely unusual.  But he can only see the one, and the one covered over.

"Many strange things are seen in these times," Roman agrees.  "Whither do you travel ?"

"A fair question," Baerin replies with a smile, "and one I can't rightly answer for ye."

He turns his face up to the stars and pauses a moment before continuing, "Let's just say that, this evening at least, where I'm bound is a sight less important to me than where I'm not bound.  My destination is simply somewhere else."

He reins in his mount, "'tis my firm conviction that the city of Amber is, like as not, about to fall.  'tis likewise my conviction that I owe nothing to its lords and ladies, so I intend to be elsewhere when the enemy overruns their domain and puts them to the sword.  If ye see this as something which might be a bone of contention 'twixt us, then I'll say no more, save to bid ye farewell."

"If, however, ye don't give a cross-eyed tinker's damn about my convictions, then I'll gladly ride with ye until I feel I've put a safe distance 'twixt myself and the city, and not an inch further."

The man's fears seem reasonable on their face, but it is not so easy to escape from what comes, nor would it be even if the intended destruction were merely mundane, leaving the Pattern untouched.  If the Seraphim win in Amber - even if they are stopped before they can do greater damage - the man will likely cease to exist no matter where he is." Roman considers a moment.

"The suvival of Amber means little to me" he states "and your choice seems prudent.  If you wish to travel with me, until we come to land more to your liking then you may do so.  But there will come a time when following my road will lead you into greater danger then departing it.  Do not wait too long before going your own way !"

"Then 'twould seem that we have an accord, my friend." Baerin says with a laugh, "Shall we away, afore the forces of Hell fall upon us?"

The two men, one with a destination in mind, the other more concerned with his point of departure, ride on through the deepening gloom.  For the most part, their journey is accompanied mainly by the sound of hoof-beats, the jingling of harnesses, and the sound of distant surf.

Moon rise silvers the ocean and casts a little more light on their way, and it quickly becomes apparent that they have strayed off the track in the darkness, or perhaps it has simply ended somewhere in the long miles since their meeting.  Now they ride across open moorland, dotted with stunted trees, and otherwise featureless apart from low rolling hills.  Looking back reveals Kolvir and its brothers as nothing more than a shadow against the starlit sky, low on the horizon in the north-east.

On they ride, eventually reaching a path which runs across their path.  To the left it leads to the sea, where dark shapes can be seen on a hill overlooking the shore, and faint lights.  "Fishing village, maybe." speculates Baerin.

To the right, the path crosses the moor, eventually disappearing from sight.  A strip of dark shadow suggests woodland in the distance in that direction.

Directly ahead, beyond the path, the land drops sharply, and becomes cut by countless gleaming silvery channels.  A marsh, and an extensive one, by the look of it.

"Which way?"

"It is not time for me to stop, nor do I wish to trade my horse for a boat.  Yet if you have travelled far enough you may go there." Roman answers, dismissing the fishing village - if such it is.  "A marsh has natural perils enough, why seek a danger we need not face ?" with that, Roman turns his steed to the right, wondering if he is far enough from Amber and it's Pattern to use the Logrus. Perhaps a small change, speeding the dawn, to ride in light that much sooner....

Baerin turns right too.  "If I stop here, and ye continue on yer way, I'll be back in the same boat I was in when first we met.  I'll be looking for a travelling companion once more."

The man seems quite content to ride in almost complete silence, speaking only when addressed, or when some change in the road requires it.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, the sky to the east is lightening considerably.  The space beneath the trees is still filled with darkness, and with something else.  Or, rather, several somethings which move not entirely like men.

One of them dashes out from among the trees, human in shape, but considerably hairier, and naked, save for patches of woad and various pieces of jewellery composed mainly of beads and feathers.  It leaps, catlike agility carrying it in a long arc directed at Baerin.  The weapon it swings is dark in the moonlight, falling somewhere between axe and sword in form.

Baerin draws his own blade to defend himself, even as more of the near-men rush out of the forest to attack the two travellers...

Minions of the Seraphim ? Roman wonders as he draws Wormwood as he starts to shift to his demonic form.  Between his shifting appearance and the gruesome effects of Wormwood's chaotic power he hopes to scare their attackers into retreat.  The less blood shed - especially his - the better.  The less time wasted in this pointless combat, the better, too.

Baerin parries the attack with comparative ease, and his riposte causes his assailant to scramble backwards in an attempt to avoid the blade.  Off balance, the creature falls, landing heavily on its rump.

Roman draws his own weapon, and begins to shift form.  The change is quick and smooth, even though he has to divert some of his attention to controlling his panicking mount.  Hopefully the horse will grow used to such occurences before it gets itself and its rider killed.

A voice from the forest calls out something, and the beastmen immediately fall to their knees, foreheads bowed to touch the ground.

Another figure steps out from among the trees, this one robed, and wearing a hooded cloak.  "Chanicut?  That is you.  What the Pattern are you doing out here?"

The figure reaches up to drop the hood, revealing a not-quite-human visage with glowing red eyes and white hair bound into braids which writhe and wriggle like snakes.  Qiexz.  The Courts' ambassador to Amber!

"I have...business elsewhere" Roman, now transformed answers.  He would raise an eyebrw, querying the ambassador's presence if he had any eyebrows.  In lieu of eyebrows the tips of thin green tendrils protrude slightly from the helm's visor.

"Why do your...men attack those who come here ?" he asks.  The ambassador's presence so far from Amber is interesting, but less likely to be honestly explained.

"We do not attack those who come here." Qiexz replies, somewhat testily, "This was a simple case of mistaken identity."

He takes a deep breath, and seems to calm slightly, "I had reason to believe that a person I would very much like to speak with would be coming this way.  In the gloom, I didn't recognise you, until you shifted form, which narrowed down the list of people you could be."

"It appears that I may have missed my quarry.  Or arrived too early."

"Attack seems a poor way of having speech" Roman comments, suspicious of both Qixz and Baerin at this point.  "Might I ask who it is you wish to speak to ?"

Qiexz nods, "Normally I'd agree with you, after all I am a diplomat, but I had reason to believe that the person I hoped to intercept would be unlikely to want to engage in conversation unless he were held down."

"He is a Shadow-Dweller called Vered, a sorcerer by trade.  I discovered recently that my assistant had sold some information to him.  Documents that I hoped to recover from him."

"Documents pertaining to... " he glances at Baerin, then lowers his voice to ask Roman, "Is your travelling companion trustworthy?"

Roman shrugs armoured shoulders.  "I do not know.  Chance-met on the road, he wished to travel with company - for safety he said.  He may even be the one you seek."  And if he is, he made a big mistake.

"I see."

The ambassador's tone is laced with disapproval, "You really should be more careful Chanicut.  These are dangerous times."

Qiexz raises his voice, "Very well." He turns to Baerin, "You there, what is your name?" 

The man's reply is surly, to say the least, "Baerin.  Not that I think it's any of yer bloody business.  Who asks?"

"My name is Finndo, my good man.  Please forgive my rudeness."  And then his attention comes back to Roman, "The documents were my own notes on the situation in Amber, and on the nature of the enemy in this blasted war."

Baerin turns his head to look back in the direction he and Roman had come from, "That might be the man ye seek, yonder.  At least he looks to be headed this way."