James starts to walk, making his way around the perimeter of the bubble.

Harbonah hovers, stationary, closer to the centre.

On James' fourth circuit, the Archon starts to move as well, in a smaller circle which keeps pace with James' larger.

On the tenth circuit, Harbonah stops, + THE WORLD CHANGES AROUND US.  OR DO WE MOVE? +

The changes are infinitesimal yet.  Perhaps the sky is a slightly different colour, or the temperature of the lakes of lava is a fraction cooler.

On the thirtieth circuit, there are blades of a tough, metallic green grass protruding from the cracks in the diamond, and the orb, with its fragments of Broken God, is no longer there.  beyond the bubble, there are patches of the same metallic plants.

Five hundred circuits, and the world is covered with the metallic grass.  The sky is the colour of a dying ember, and the pools of lava have crusted over.  The bubble bursts silently, and nobody is instantly incinerated, though the world is still uncomfortably warm.

At last James can start to move in earnest...
This message was last updated by the GM at 08:47, Sat 27 July 2013.

Silence, as James begins his walk.  Cyan takes the time to ponder Left's words. Harbonah, it seems, plans well for the future...but then, they knew that already, didn't they?  She isn't certain that it's wise to show Harbonah James' skill of world-walking, but...she's also fairly sure he has never navigated the Myriad Worlds in this way.

It might do some good.

"The worlds move, and we move within them," she replies to his question.  "Follow James.  We now stand in another world close by Hosk; similar, yet different.  Unique.  You will never find a place among the Myriad Worlds exactly as this one."

The archons with them are five: one from each of their peoples, save for the danioti, who number two.  "Glad am I to travel with you again, Left," Cyan murmurs, following in James' footsteps.  Upon her shoulder, Berd raises his head, his eyes burning brightly.  The drake sweeps the worlds about them with his minds, seeking their particular signatures, and begins plotting a path toward Amber based on James' methodology of travel.  It's an amusing and edifying game for him - while he, himself, can do something similar, it's not nearly as crisp and precise as James' World-Walking.  In the past, Cyan and he meandered for weeks in search of their destinations.

"Your people can follow others through the Myriad Worlds, I know," she continues.  "But can you travel directly from world to world, Harbonah, or do you use the Underflow for such things?"

Harbonah seems willing to talk as they travel onward...  + WE USE THAT WHICH YOU NAME THE UNDERFLOW.  TO US IT IS NOT A SEPARATE THING.  IT IS THE SAME AS OTHER WORLDS, THOUGH DANGEROUS.  THERE ARE THINGS DWELLING THERE WHICH EVEN WE WOULD SOONER AVOID. +

+ WE HAVE NEVER MOVED IN THIS FASHION BEFORE.  IT IS... INTRIGUING. +

Left seems happy to be travelling with Cyan again, and the other Archons are almost... relaxed.  Well, as relaxed as creatures who must move to live can ever be.

Overhead, the sky has faded from a sullenly burning red to a rich cerulean.

Something hurtles by, shrieking joyfully - a bird, four wings spread wide as it twists and turns in the air, catching insects in flight.  It's plumage, seen only fleetingly as it passess, shimmers iridescently in tones of emerald green and ruby red.

And then it is gone, as suddenly as it appeared.  But still it is the first living creature they have seen since leaving Hosk.

Soon there are more of them, wheeling and darting above the grey desert sands, dotted with tussocks of coarse, thorn-laden yellow grass.

A little further, and the ground beneath their feet changes.  Instead of sand there is now brick, partly buried beneath drifts of blown sand.  The bricks are of baked clay, but almost every one has a rune, fashioned of a blue-grey metal, inlaid in its surface.  Different runes, laid out seemingly at random, until one notices repeating patterns, and realises that the runes spell out words in an unknown language.

The road serves as a book of some kind...

The going is easier with a solid surface beneath them, and as they top a rise, with two suns dropping down the sky to their left, the travellers see a walled city a few miles ahead, surrounded by cultivated fields, with irrigation channels.

There are people working in the fields.

Popular wisdom held that in order to use the Pattern to travel one had to move.  Walking, running, riding or driving, it made no difference so long as one was moving.  Many still held that it was best, or even necessary, to move in the 'direction' one wished to travel, although Corwin among others had conclusively disproved this prerequisite.  Ultimately, though, the peculiar gift of the blood of Amber was not travel, it was 'luck' and the luxury of choice.  If there were different possible outcomes, a prince of Amber could choose which occurred, or at least cheat the odds significantly.  Once something was known to be the case, it was all but impossible to change.  Ignorance may not be bliss but it holds endless exploitable possibilities.

Similarly, since there are myriad possible worlds, there is always a chance that one is elsewhere than one expects.   In theory, a gifted Pattern user ought to be able to close her eyes momentarily and open them to a new world.  In practice one moved because the brain was hardwired to think of the observed present as known and to exclude the possibility of travel without movement.

None of which helped James, who at that moment may have known Hosk better than any other being in existence.  Fortunately, omniscience was a peculiar arrogance beyond the reach of even the royal line of Amber.  If one considered the possibilities long enough there was always the chance that something unexpected would happen, and so it did.  The sky might change colour slightly or the temperature drop.  And once you had moved, once you were someplace else, then who knew what might happen?  The possibilities were endless.

All told, James was quite satisfied with their progress (and, if he was honest with himself, satisfied to have surprised Harbonah).

"I'm glad you find it interesting.  We should be able to obtain transport ahead.  I know many of you can move more swiftly already but I see no reason why Cyan and I should walk."  James gives a slight smile, lest his comment be misconstrued as a criticism.

James has an absolute confidence that some form of transport will soon be available, but he doesn't yet know what and he turns his mind (and the Pattern) in that direction.  Let's try for something with a little flair.

Approaching the city, Left suggests that discretion might be a good idea.  All of the Archons, including Harbonah, reduce in size.  The Banglen-Yps, except for one, who may or may not be the original, transform into a variety of small animals, insects and birds, particularly the four winged type which they have seen recently.  Piles of fine dust are left on the road behind them, and pools of water.

And so the group makes its way down the incline towards the walls.

The workers in the fields look human from a distance.  Closer, all of them, men and women alike, can be seen to have short, light blonde fur covering all areas of exposed skin.  They seem friendly enough - though they all carry assorted sharp implements, those have the look of tools rather than weapons - as they finish work for the day and start towards the gates of the city.

One of them stops in his tracks, staring as the travellers pass him, then hurries to catch up.

"Well met, strangers, and welcome to Carcos.  Have you come far?"

"I have lived much of my life in this way, wandering through the worlds.  It has an interesting effect upon one's perspective, I find."  The bard watches James' changes, eyes seeking out each new vista, mind struggling to predict what might shift next...and how.

Upon her shoulder, Berd grins a thousand-needle smile, his lambent eyes staring into the distance.

"I would be more than pleased to have a conveyance...I still recall our travels in the khar, with Jonnee Kay."  A grin brightens her features for an instant; the memory isn't clear, fractured and mixed up like many of her other ones, but it's there.  She notes the alterations made in the crowd surrounding her, her mind processing the mass 'lost' by the various forms of the Banglen-Yp, and shifts her pace to walk a touch closer to James as they close in upon the people at work in the field.  "But look you, one comes to us for a greeting.  It never ceases to surprise me how many worlds are either knowledgeable that there are strangers beyond that which lives upon their earth, or are welcoming enough to accept this without fleeing in terror of the unknown.  I find it quite heartening."

When the man approaches, she raises her hand in a hail, topaz eyes catching the light.  "Well met indeed, sir.  Carcos, is it?  Far we have come, in truth, and further yet to travel.  I am Cyan, of No Place In Particular, and this is James of Cadiniagart."  Cadiniagart: where this all began, and where she first met James.  Better that than using the loaded name 'Amber', which may or may not be known to this man.  "We hope to pass through your lands without issue, and from your greeting you have no prohibitions against strangers."

"I have never seen such as yourselves before.  That is how I guessed that you were far from home.  That, and you came along the road from the Iron Waste.  The nearest place that I have heard of in that direction is at least five days' travel from Carcos."  At that moment, one of the twin suns kisses the horizon, and all of the locals pause for a moment, giving voice to an odd ullulating call.  Then they start to walk again, but faster than they had previously.

The man who has been speaking to the group, and who has also quickened his pace, suddenly exclaims, "Ah... I am a fool.  My name is Zhavar, son of Yhenastor.  I am but a simple field-hand, but I can take you to the Paladins.  They will be able to give you any help you might need."

Ahead, the walls of the city reach high into the air, and like the road they are covered with the inlaid metal letters.  The gate, forty feet high and seemingly made of overlapping irons scales, starts to swing open.

"The Iron Waste," Cyan muses.  Interesting name, and one with a story.  For a moment she feels the stirring within of the old Cyan, the need to stop here for a month and learn their songs, their tales, their ways.  But no; there is no time.  This must be done.  And that Cyan, she muses, has lain wounded for too long to easily clamber back into the light.

Berd grumbles something, shifting upon her shoulder.

"It is my pleasure, Zhavar, son of Yhenastor, to greet you."  The bard offers a small bow as she walks.  "I would meet these Paladins, if they might be of assistance.  "Tell me, though.  What means the call at sunset?  Why is it necessary to swiftly enter?"  She eyes the gates askance.  They're not the sort of thing to put on for decoration, no.

They're there to keep something out.

Zhavar does not slow his pace as he approaches the gate, "The call?  Ah... you mean the Ynhar.  It is a tradition - a warning that darkness is coming, and a lamentation for the dying of the light.  We hurry because it does not do to be beyond the walls after nightfall, of course.  Do you not have the Horrors in your homeland?"

They step through the gate, which even now is ponderously starting to close.

"Behold Carcos, ancient as mountains, and as enduring."

Beyond the wall, the bustling interior of the city is  every bit as impressive as the exterior.  Walls of gleaming white stone catch the light of the setting suns, and even here they are inlaid with script in countless hand-sized letters of metal.

And there are statues of corroded bronze in every open space.  Thirty feet tall and oddly similar in form, with featureless faces and six arms, every one of them is clad in outlandish armour, inscribed with more of the lettering which covers the buildings, and bears a bow in two of its hands and a pair of curved swords in two more.  Their stance is digitigrade, like the feet of an animal, and they seem to have hooves, judging by the shape of the armour on their feet.

The guide stops before one of the statues and calls out, "Iakuvail!  I bring strangers who would speak with the Paladins!"

And the blank face tilts downward, as if to study the group standing below.

A dull boom echoes through the streets.  The gate has closed...

"The...horrors?"  Cyan slowly shakes her head.  "I have seen many horrors in my travels, but likely different ones.  I would hear of these horrors, Zhavar, if you can spare the words as we walk."

Entering the gates, she pauses for a study of her surroundings.  "Your Carcos is beautiful," Cyan breathes.  And it is.  Truly gorgeous, a city she would stand against others she has seen throughout the Myriad Worlds.  Perhaps the City in the Stone might better it, but it has been years since she has seen Turgon's fabled towers, now lost forever, and her memories have broken.

This is enough.

"Look well upon the creation of Zhavar's people," she murmurs.  "I shall not forget, not again."

And then the statues.

Cyan tenses as the statue moves, then relaxes.  Despite the shock of its movement, despite its colossal size, despite its fearsome appearance, the...being? does not threaten.  Not yet.  "And these?" she quietly inquires.  "Defenses against the night's Horrors?"

"Yes.  The Paladins defend against all that would destroy Carcos. They... "

"Silence!" Zhavar is interrupted by a voice, like the whisper of steel against a whetstone.  A voice which seems to bore into the skull and push spikes of ice into the mind.  "Strangers, you are welcome in Carcos, for as long as you comply with our laws.  Break those Laws, and you will be cast out, regardless of the hour."  There is a rhythmic thumping sound from somewhere nearby, and a glance in that direction reveals one of the statues coming around a corner and moving towards the gate.

"Is this clear to you all?"

"Ah."  Cyan scrunches her eyes shut against the voice, wincing, as Berd's head comes up, eyes burning.  The drake shrouds himself, his mind fading into the mists of his defenses, difficult to spot much less assault.  Safe behind the shrouding and the mirrored walls of his inner defenses, the drake begins to a complex delving, studying the 'statues' with greater interest, sweeping them with his preternatural senses, searching for signs of powers both greater and less, as well as signs of life, of world affinity, of control or leashes (both from them and upon them)...anything, really, he can discover.

"Quite...painful," the bard whispers, before raising her voice.  "Indeed.  Very clear.  However, we are unfamiliar of your laws.  Perhaps this goodman might inform us of them?"  She smiles; thanks to her acting skill it looks real, but to those who know her it's nothing more than a baring of teeth, never reaching her dark, dark sapphire eyes.  "I admit, it seems more comfortable listening to him than to yourselves."

"Might he also be our guide?" she inquires.  "If - and only if! - this neither breaks your laws, nor puts him out of his way.  I would not wish to take up his time if he has other things he must accomplish, or family from whom we keep him."

Within the group a bridging opens, a secluded, secretive mind-link offered by Berd.  Open to all, even Harbonah...should it choose to accept.

The moving statue continues past, towards the gate.  The other, the one that the group are speaking to, stands in stolid immobility as Cyan addresses it, and then the cold voice comes again.

"This man shall guide you to a hostel where you may rest the night, but he does not meet the stipulated requirements to instruct in the Law.  The Master of the Order will assign somebody who does meet the requirements, and they will attend you in the morning."

"Labourer Zhavar, guide the strangers to Hostel Fourteen by the most expedient route.  Do not deviate from that route, and return to your home immediately after."

"It shall be done exactly as you say, Paladin." Zhavar replies, with a bow to the hulking figure.  Then to the strangers he says, "This way please, quickly."

James greeted Zhavar simply, raising one hand, open, palm out.  It was a nearly universal gesture, something that James had come to appreciate as he became aware just how big the universe really was.  He hoped the locals didn't take offence at his attire.  He was still armed and armoured, both because he hadn't stopped since leaving Hosk and because he wasn't carrying much by way of a change of clothes.  Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice very much, or perhaps they were just too polite to comment.
----------------
As they near the city and the conversation turns to the customs of Carcos, James quickly considers the group's options.  He is still feeling reasonably fresh and hadn't intended stopping but, while he is confident that he can lead the group out if they need to leave, it may be difficult to obtain transport if the city closes up for the evening.

James also gives some thought to the talk of night horrors.  It seems likely to him that the metal plates and letters are intended to serve as wards of some kind.  James also thinks that the horrors are either localised or only come intermittently as Zhavar talks of other settlements across the Iron Wastes that are several days travel away.  On the other hand, it is possible that the runes on the road help to protect travellers.  It is an interesting intellectual exercise but James hopes that it won't become more immediately relevant.

The city and its guardians are quite impressive, though the Paladin's voice is distinctly uncomfortable.  Out of curiosity, James triggers the recording mechanism in his helmet.  Later analysis may reveal whether there it has any aural quality to account for its penetrating effect.

As the bridging opens, James accepts the proffered link, What price safety, eh?

Zhavar leads the way through the streets of the city.  He says nothing, and seems to be in a hurry.  He keeps glancing up at the sky, which is darkening rapidly.  His expression appears anxious.  At the second junction he pauses and sketches a shallow bow before a triangular copper plate, corroded and inscribed with an odd three-lobed design, which is mounted on the wall of one of the buildings, just above head height.

"Honoured are the Three, and blessed are the Paladins, their servants."

Another of those servants strides past, heading towards the gate.  Its head turns as it passes, apparently watching the newcomers.  A line of about two dozen people shuffle along behind it, heads bowed.  None of them bear the short golden fur possessed by Zhavar, the other workers in the fields, and most of Carcos' other inhabitants.  In fact they seem to be a motley group, made up of representatives of perhaps seven or eight different peoples, with widely varying physical appearances.

Their clothing is as varied as they are, save that it is all ragged and dirty.

Worse and worse, this grows.  Cyan eyes the 'Paladins' as they move off, then follows Zhavar at whatever pace the worker sets.  Quick, it turns out.

The bard's jaw sets as Zhavar bows before the...symbol?  Monitoring system?  Well put, James.  I like this not at all.  Berd, have you discerned aught about these beings?  Her face darkens as they pass the third Paladin and his 'entourage' of dirty, beaten-down people.  "Tell me, Zhavar," she queries after they pass by the group.  "Who are they, who trail in the Paladin's footsteps?"