Kallum sends for the horses and their tack, and bids James and Cyan farewell.

With mounts, Cyan and James ride, while the Archons, including the faux ones, travel inside left.  Banglen-Yp herself becomes a swallow, darting rapidly between the trees and easily keeping pace with the rest of the group.

They make good time, and the land rises before them as they approach Kolvir.  The walls of the city stand far off, and above them, on their left as they come to a paved road and turn to follow it.  James points out how the way turns, a mile or so ahead and winds its way up the side of the mountain like a great, grey serpent.

And at its head... "The Garrison Gate.  I can get us in there, and then it's a short ride to the Castle itself.  And once we're in the Castle, the road is clear."

Banglen-Yp flys close, and calls out in a shrill voice, •• Luke talks to those in my home • they are happy with what he tells them ••

"Close now," Cyan whispers, looking up at the fortress.  She tosses a quick nod to Banglen-Yp, along with a smile.  "Good news, that.  And fine work, James!  So long as Luke avoids using his talent of annoying all within earshot..."

Berd nips her ear.

"What?  It is sooth.  Luke frustrates."  Berd grumbles in reply, but settles down upon her shoulder with a snort.  "That may be so, but his record is hardly uplifting."  Abruptly a sharp line appears between her brows.  "James...now, it seems to me, would be the perfect time for things to proceed poorly.  I suggest caution upon this final approach."  She touches Fangmir, hanging at her side, the unfamiliar sword heavy upon her belt.

Banglen-Yp wheels away, laughing, while James and Cyan continue riding towards the gate.  And minutes later, she is back.  •• There are seven men hidden • about fifty yards ahead • hidden in the bushes at the roadside ••  They are watching the castle gate • but some have noticed your approach ••

And then she is gone again, leaving the riders to ponder their options.

James chuckles at Cyan.  "You had to say it, didn't you?"

"SOMEONE needed to say it, Sir 'I have a bad feeling about this'," Cyan laughs in reply.  "I only managed before you!"  They're close; close now, and only seven people bar their way.  Seven people who may or may not be their enemies.  Granted, they could also be the seven greatest warriors of Wherever, but....

"And they have seen us?"  Her amythest eyes sparkle.  "Might we then hail them?  See what comes of it?  Nothing spoils an ambush better than a haloo, I have found."  Her smile broadens.  "And indeed, I have made use of such in the past!"

Gently spurring her horse forward (fortunately without spurs), she raises her hand, her eyes alert for arrows, Berd's golden orbs half-slitted.  "Ho!  Travellers!  We come in peace!  Would you have words?"

There is movement ahead, and a lone man steps out from the foliage at the roadside, smiling.

Small, he is, and thin, with shoulder length black hair and a beard which hangs to the bottom of his ribs.  He is clad in browns and greens, leather and wool.  Tunic and britches are worn and patched, and have obviously seen better days.  There is a sword in a well-used sheath at his left hip, and a quiver of arrows at his right.  A longbow is in his left hand.

He bows as he steps into the middle of the road, then leans upon the bow as if it were a walking staff.

"Good day." he proclaims, his smile going broader, "Please allow me to present myself.  I am Simon deMontford, and I am, for want of a better term, a brigand on this, King Random's highway.  So... if I could just ask you to drop your purses and jewellery on the ground, then you will be permitted to continue safely on your way."

"You are, of course, entirely free to refuse, but I should point out that I have upwards of thirty men concealed in the undergrowth on both sides of the road."

Cyan studies the man for a long moment.  On the one hand, he's polite, less-than-imposing, and is asking before attacking.  On the other, she wonders what he would do to people who refused to give up their valuables.  Either way, he's a thief.  A self-professed brigand, in fact, and during wartime.

He's lucky he stumbled on her and James, rather than the advance scouts for a military unit.

"Good day to you, Sir deMontford," she replies, a small smile on her own features.  Her eyes remain clear and deeply coloured, shading into amethyst.  "I am Cyan, of no place in particular."  It would take too long for her to list the names of all accompanying her; as such, Cyan lets that rest for the moment.  "I wish no harm upon you -" or any others, for Cyan is well-weary of war "- but we will defend ourselves.  And later travellers, if need by, by standing against you now."

Leaning forward, both hands on the saddlehorn, she studies the man before her.  "But I would rather not fight, if I could avoid such.  Perhaps you might tell us why you have chosen this life, stealing valuables from those helpless to defend themselves against your strength?"

Another smile, "Well, I did say that I am a brigand, I have to admit, but only because there is no other term which describes me better.  Freelance toll collector, perhaps?"

He shrugs, "No matter."

Tugging at his beard, deMontford thinks for a moment, "It would be more accurate to say that this life chose me.  Theft of my property, corruption on the part of others, and the shadow of war looming over us all...  These are the real cause of my choice of career.  Circumstances beyond our control have put myself, and my group, into this situation.  All of us were forced into this life, and have simply taken advantage of the current state of war."

"Philosophical," Cyan notes, still studying him.  There is understanding in her emerald eyes, but no give.  "Understandable, your reasons.  And yet, in the end the choice is yours.  You choose to steal from others.  You choose to harm others.  Whatever has been done to you, it in no way abrogates your responsibility for that choice."

Slipping a leg over the saddle, she slides to the grassy ground.  A flick of her hand snaps the reins over the head of the horse, leaving them to dangle; hopefully the experienced beast will remain put.  On her shoulder, Berd remains apparently asleep, but a thin slight of light burns between his eyelids.

"What you do is wrong," Cyan quietly states.  "Blind chance, luck, the evils of other men, they have put you in your situation, but you have followed this path of your own volition."  She cocks her head to the side, studying him.  Even now, Fangmir remains upon the saddle of the horse rather than hanging at her side; she is weaponless before the group, but not helpless.

"What will you do if we refuse?"  One rusty eyebrow cocks slightly.  "What would you do to any travellers who refused to obey?"

Frowning at Cyan, deMontford, shifts position,  No longer leaning on his bow, but grasping it, left handed, at the midpoint of the stave, the self-proclaimed bandit rests his right hand atop the quiver of arrows at his belt.

When he replies, all friendliness has fled his voice, "In that case, I'm afraid that my men and I would have to kill you, and take your possessions.  Just as we have killed anybody reluctant to pay their way."

Rubbing her forehead, Cyan sighs.  "Do we really need to go through with this?  Sir deMontford, unless I am gravely mistaken you are not the sort to carry out such a threat.  Neither are your friends."

Suddenly she offers a brilliant smile, teeth shining almost as brightly as her amber eyes.  "Not to worry, James.  Left, Lord Harbonah, there is no danger here.  Please harm nobody."

Without pause, she walks to stand directly before deMontford, keeping to about two paces distant.  Her head slowly cocks to one side.  "I call your bluff, sir.  You are a thief, an extortionist, but you are no killer.  Nor have you been."  Her smile slips a touch, growing melancholy.  "Before you protest, I assure you my sleepy little friend here holds surprising power.  Neither you - nor any in this band, at least to your reckoning - has killed.  Nor does he sense any threat from you now."

Berd looks up with vague, sleepy interest, belches once, and goes back to sleep.  Mostly.

"He is a trifle more than he appears," Cyan admits after a moment.  "But thief or not, you do not deserve to die for taking gold.  And sooner or later, you will meet someone with the capacity to deliver death, and without the care to withhold."  Her voice drops to a whisper.  "I would not have this."

DeMontford starts to protest, but his words die on his lips as Cyan interrupts him.  He shrugs and backs away a few steps before giving Cyan a shallow bow.  "You have the right of it, in every part.  Clearly you are not one to be intimidated, so we'll be on our way, by your leave.  Please forgive this intrusion."

And with another bow, deeper this time, he turns to leave.  Then he appears to have second thoughts and looks back at Cyan.

"If you intend to enter the city by the gate further up this road, I should warn you that you could well face real brigands and cut-throats inside the walls.  This war has led many a man down desperate paths, and Amber is not so... orderly... as it once was."

"I tell you this because you treated me fairly, even though I didn't deserve it."

Cyan watches with something akin to sadness.  His pride, likely, is wounded.  Better that than his body; both might recover, but the scar to his pride might keep him from trying this on another less likely to hold back.  "I am sorry," she whispers as he turns away.

But it seems DeMontford is not yet finished.

Again her head cocks to the side, and Cyan slowly nods.  A thought occurs as his words percolate through her head.  "DeMontford," she begins.  "I have no desire to waste time and lives within the city.  Had I but a visible escort, one of men well-armed and grim, I might make my way through without incident."  A small smile touches her lips.  "It could be dangerous.  I do not promise anything.  But I can assure, I know some of the people who stand at the top of Amber.  While they are not my friends, a word in the correct ear might find someone a place of honest work, better suited to a noble spirit who would not fall like a rabid animal upon those not able to defend themselves."

She takes a step after the man, holds out her hand.  "You deserved that treatment for your restraint, your conscience.  Such a man, indeed, deserves better than simply being left in peace.  The man deserves more."

Her topaz eyes glitter in the sunlight.  "And the world deserves the man, needs such a man and his people.  Will you join us?"

James starts at Cyan's offer, and Berd raises his head to glare at her.

Simon deMontford gives her a curious look, and seems to ponder her offer.  Finally he smiles, albeit nervously.

"Please forgive me, you have been generous enough, for you have offered me a part in whatever purpose you serve, and now I have the temerity to ask more of you.  Are my men equally welcome to join you?"

And now Berd hisses angrily. 

A small bird hurtles past Cyan's face, circling around her a James, and its shrill voice reaches the bard's ears and seems to say, •• They have agreed •• The Archons can stay with my kind • and I am to act as a bridge between my people and yours •• My people wait to speak to the Archons ••

Cyan cocks an eyebrow at James and winces once when Berd complains.  "A moment, Sir deMontford.  I would need to speak with my associates, but my own feeling is yes."  With that, her sapphire gaze grows unfocused.

Berd...would you allow me to speak to all of our companions?

Piqued, the little drake nonetheless opens a bridging for all of the group who so wish to listen, including the Archons.

Please hear me.  I understand the reservations.  Nonetheless, I have my reasons.

These men are thieves, yes.  They have stolen money from those who deserve better treatment.  They are criminals.  These are all fair points.

And yet, I am not the law.

I have a choice to make here.

Shall I leave them, then, to continue to prey upon people, to steal from them at will?

Shall I slay them, these men who, thieves notwithstanding, have no intent to harm their victims and, if faced by one who refuses, would let them continue unmolested?

Neither choice is acceptable.

War makes for curious situations.

How might I best approach this?  I do not know.  And yet....

If I bring these men with me, their presence might prevent us needing to kill in the city.  A large, armed escort...there is easier prey.

If I bring these men with me, they will no longer prey upon the people travelling this land.

If I bring these men with me, I might find them decent work with those of Amber.  Soldiers?  Spies?  Even cooks or bakers or whatever they once might have been?

I feel this to be a better choice than leaving them...or killing them.

Redemption can only occur when the chance for it exists.  Here and now, we are that chance for these men.

At Banglen-Yp's words, her face's bright smile is shaken.  For a long moment, Cyan clearly struggles for control, lips shaking, eyes brightening.  Finally she manages a terse nod, unwilling to speak of such things until the current situation passes.

But she cannot help but spare a moment for the messenger.  "Thank you," she whispers to Banglen-Yp.  "Your news...I cannot begin to describe what it means."

The end to this madness is close enough to taste.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:15, Tue 05 Jan 2016.

•• I must go to my home to speak to the rest of me • but you will see me again ••  Banglen-Yp lifts higher into the air to hover briefly above Cyan's head, before darting away towards the city.

James watches the tiny bird, until it is out of sight.  Then he smiles, and inclines his head towards Cyan.

You are, of course, correct.  An escort could be of use.  My only concern is that we know hardly anything of these men, and we are a little close to the end of things to be taking unnecessary chances.

Harbonah speaks for all of the Archons, after a brief discussion, + IT MATTERS NOT TO US.  LET THEM TRAVEL WITH US.  IF THEY PROVE FALSE, WE COULD DEFEAT THEM EASILY. +

Cyan raises a hand to wave, as Banglen-Yp rises to flit away.  "Spirits grant you safe travel," she whispers, "and carry our plea forward."  Agreement seems to have taken place, but all too often things have exploded in their faces.  Violently.

"Please," she finishes.

She glances once to James, a tiny smile on her lips, then nods to Harbonah.  And speaks through the bridging.  + You are too kind, James.  And, as you say, of course correct.  We know little of these men beyond what Berd has shown me.  But I cannot leave them.  It is for them - them, the people from whom they have stolen, those in the city ahead, and the untold others throughout the Myriad Worlds, all people no matter what their form - that I have struggled. +

+ Not for those who rule. +

+ Thus, I cannot abandon these to their fates, either, without making some kind of attempt.  Even now, at the last fall of this long cast. +

Her topaz gaze returns to the man before her.

"Sir deMontford."  Her smile returns, warm and broad, and she extends a hand.  "You have heard my offer.  What say you?"

OOC - So sorry, I thought I answered this!

The group, now swollen in numbers, move forward.  After what seems like days (but cannot, in all reality, be more than about fifteen minutes), they reach a watchtower, standing astride the road and flanked by walls which stretch out through the forest to each side.

The gate seems disinclined to open.  At least until a man on the ramparts points James out to his companions.  Then the gate opens to admit them.

Beyond the wall is a city street, stretching away between large houses, set in immaculate gardens behind high fences.  As they ride, though, the gardens grow smaller, and the houses closer together.  Rounding a corner they see, at the end of a long avenue, the wall of Castle Amber itself.

All does not appear right though.  Many of the buildings sport broken windows, and the air reeks of smoke.

"Lords of the West," Cyan whispers as Amber hoves into view.  "The fighting...it reached here?"  And yet, her eyes do not mistake her: the gates hold.  The walls are unbreached.  "Some kind of...bombardment?"  The word feels curious on her tongue, but Cyan is familiar with the idea, has seen and heard of such things.  Years of travel through the Myriad Worlds have given her glimpse of wars she would rather not have witnessed.

"We are not to use palanqueti - Trumps," she clarifies, as this is Amber.  "But surely there must be a means to discern what has transpired."  Pushing herself up in her stirrups, Cyan gazes around with emerald eyes, searching for a guard.  A citizen.  Anyone within sight who might clarify.

Her lips tighten.  "I pray this does not cause issue with our attempt at peace."  It might, in fact, do the opposite...so long as pride and anger do not intervene.  "My Lord Harbonah.  Left.  Barkiel, Shajiel, and Staosha.  Please keep yourselves hidden."

Closing her eyes, the bard concentrates.  There is an image in her mind, an image of sight and freedom.  And another, of wild cries and flight above and below waves.  "Come to me," she whispers.  "Boktnojk.  Gratag-nuk."

Simon deMontford hears Cyan's words, as he walks behind the horses, and he smiles sadly as he says, "This... " he waves towards a house, the windows are shattered, while what little glass remains is blackened, and there are other signs of a fire, soot stains on the walls and charred beams visible through holes in the roof, "... was not the result of an outside assault, but of internal strife.  Panic and riots among the citizenry.  Looting.  Attempts by the Family to quell the disorder, and restore calm.  All while the major portion of their troops were away at battle."

"This is one of the things that drove myself and my men out onto the highways.  The City was no longer a safe haven.  And it is one reason why I offered our services as an escort - a defence against bands of cut-throats, rogues and thieves, which still claim some neighbourhoods as their own fiefdoms."

"I see," Cyan sighs.  "I am sorry, Sir deMontford.  Your situation grows more and more clear as time passes.  Glad I am to have you here; it is better that we are aware, than set upon by surprise."  And are forced, she considers, to kill all of their desperate attackers.

Berd stirs uneasily upon her shoulder, crawling about in a circle before settling again.

A cry echoes from the heavens above, shrill and full of challenge.  Cyan holds out her arm, and the great winged eagle Boktnojk settles upon it, careful not to dig in its claws.  A high-pitched, whooping laughter follows, and with a great gust of flapping wings does Gratag-nuk come to perch upon her horse's withers, behind her.  She doesn't bother offering a perch; Gratag-nuk does as he pleases, and it pleases him to stand free.

For his part, Berd eyes the two birds uneasily, sidling around to sit on the opposite shoulder from Boknojk while ensuring the horse remains calm (not terribly difficult).

"I need eyes above," Cyan explains to the pair.  "Eyes to watch for danger ahead.  With our escort -" she mostly means the Archons, by why disturb deMontford unduly? "- we are sure to win through, but I would rather avoid killing here.  Can you do this for me?  Can you help scout us safe passage?"

The birds bob their heads in affirmation, and then take to the air again, circling higher, until they are little more than specks of colour far above.  James and deMontford both watch the exchange with interest.

The approach to the wall seems clear of danger.  There are people skulking in the shadows around the buildings, or behind the broken windows, but they look more like victims than attackers, taking refuge from a group of strangers in their vicinity.  Weary faces, with an aura of fear and desperation about them.

At the foot of the wall, deMontford indicates that should turn left and follow it.  "There's a postern about a hundred feet along.  I expect that your companion should be able to gain entrance there, since he seems known to the guards."

The gate in question is at the top of a narrow stair, which runs across the face of the wall.  The door itself is aged wood, bound with bands of steel which are held in place by large rivets.  Nonetheless, the portal swings open in response to James' voice.  As the group of travellers enter, the horses, abandoned outside are already being led away by thieves...

The gatekeeper is a young man, the left side of his face badly burned, and his left arm, missing its hand and with the stump bound in a fresh dressing, is supported in a sling.

"What can I do for you?" he asks the group as a whole, though his gaze is fixed on James, and his face is filled with awe.

It is with sorrow that Cyan studies the city about her, noting the broken people within their broken buildings, the walls no shield against elements nor spiritual dolour.  "Something must be done here," she whispers.  The war is over, but the people remain in pain.  How to assuage that pain?  Cyan is no ruler, is ill-used to such decisions, but she knows there must be a way.

Berd remains silent; there is little he could do this close to the Pattern, and he does not wish to threaten the frangible truce.

She nods her head to deMontford's indication, noting his knowledge of the exact defences of the wall.  Curious.  When they arrive, she turns a sad eye upon the wounded sentry.  Too young, too injured for active duty...are their straits so desperate?  Again, she is no mage, no user of great Power, and cannot simply heal the...the boy.

Is he even her age?  Or her age before she began this quest, before her time away?

But the adulation in his eyes cannot be missed, and she shifts in her saddle.  "James, I believe this is for you to answer," Cyan states, her own ruby eyes swimming from the sights she has seen.  This, not the least of them.

James steps into the guard room and nods curtly.  The man is a soldier, doing his duty, even in the face of injury, and he deserves to be shown respect.

"You can help us, if you will.  You won't need to leave your post, just tell us, where is the nearest entrance to the dungeons?"

The guard opens an inner door to reveal a narrow corridor, which turns left about twenty feet away.  "Along there, as far as you can go, and you'll come to a barracks.  There'll be three doors, and the one to the right has a stair down to the dungeons.  Sir."

James thanks him, and they enter the passage.

"If we end this war, the troops can come back, and the conscripts can go back to their real jobs.  The city will live again."

Unsurprisingly, James handles things well, showing respect to the wounded boy at his post.  One more reason she is pleased by his presence; there are a considerable number of those.  Another is his broader empathy, a third his perspicacity.  "So true," Cyan whispers, a breathy sigh exhaled into the darkness of the corridor.  "I only hope that there comes a true end to this, and no further conflict comes."  A small snort of disbelief follows.  "Though that seems unlikely."

She eyes DeMontford and his men.  "This could prove dangerous," the amber-eyed bard cautions them.  "Should I order you to retreat, see that you do.  The gate guard, at the least, has seen you enter with us; there shall be no issues, I am sure."

The guards directions prove accurate, and within a few minutes they are descending a flight of steps through a seemingly limitless dark void which reaches out to both sides, beyond the light of the torch which James had appropriated at the top of the rough staircase.

One of the Archons expands itself, now that they away from casual observers, and is revealed to be made of stained glass - a Banglen-Yp.

•• This way •• it declares as they reach the foot of the steps, and it leads them into a twisting maze of tunnels.  And suddenly it starts bobbing from side to side as it moves through the tunnels.

And whistling a jaunty tune.

And after about a half hour or so they emerge into a cavern, where Luke gives them a nod which passes for a cheerful greeting.