The head bumps against the inside of the metal chest. Edan looks down on it with disgust; Death really was his least favorite Principle. It took away all the respect the dead deserved, and Death magic got very messy very fast. Case in point...he nudges the cage with a slippered foot and is rewarded with more movement and a low growl.
But the damage was already done here. The spell was cast, the head was literally in the basket. It had a use. And ever since Edan had heard of the Moonriders coming, he had been searching, searching for some sorcery that would be effective and yet a surprise to the Enemy. This was as good a weapon as any. Besides, Martin had said incinerate the head, he hadn't mentioned just exactly how it was to be done...
And so, the head-prison sits at the center of a magic Circle, far away from the Unicorn's Grove, the symbols of the Circle drawn with Edan's own burning hands. Aramsham stands close by with a charm of peace upon him; this would be a new glamour for his mount. The last time Edan had made something like this, he had walked the smoke on his own...
A ghuul head was a perversion of the Principle of Death. Death magic was still there, though, swirling around and through this thing. Edan hated Death, but one had to admit, it was quite effective. So he chants and casts. The cage is suddenly engulfed in flame, first golden and then black. Black smoke is everywhere, thick and cloying. The ghuul head was practically ash, the cage ruined, but the power was still in the fire and the smoke. He croons to it, gestures to it. His throat hurts from the song he sings. Under his painted skin, as frightening as the stuff he dances with, Edan's focus is pure. Darkly luminous firelight reflects off him. And as the head gives up the last of its foul animation, he draws the black fire and smoke to him and to Aramsham. It becomes their armor, their ward, Hannah's protective paint visible underneath. A cuirass, a helmet, greaves, leggings, boots...a full set of armor settles around him, and his swords are now smoky and black. Their touch was death. Barding settles the same way around Aramsham, and his horse is now dark and fierce and silent. Edan mounts then, and they charges out into the air, galloping on a trail of black smoke and flame, and he turns them towards the Stair. The incinerated remains of the head and cage mock them as they pass.
Jerod, Robin, and Ossian and the rest of the advance party spreads out to take forward positions near the edge of the forest or a bit into it. Regenlief spends her time going between ranger positions, helping them find the best defensive position in their immediate area, teaches how to use a boar spear against a horse, and other useful and bloody tactics. She is sorry they don't have any children to cut the throats of the wounded, but it can't be helped. She plans on returning once she's satisfied that she'd done what she can for the forward units.
Merlin holds up his hand and pulls out a sketch of Marius. He speaks to him for a moment. "He can gather the troops, cousin, but he and I are both worried about concentrating them here. We might not win a race down the mountain against a troop of Moonriders, and they could do much damage to the fledgling city if we do not leave it protected. Jones Falls is on the mind of many this evening, and they sacked Amber for three days before our fathers could drive them out of the city and into the trap at the pass, and we have no such trap set at this point."
It's Robin, with her Ranger skills and years of experience, who first hears the first sounds of riders in the woods.
The night, which is as cold as sultry Xanadu ever gets, suddenly becomes much colder.
Robin's ears perk up and she points with her spear. "Riders." Tilting her head, she Listens for as much information as she can; number, speed, direction, etc.
"His call," Brennan says to Merlin, quietly, and then nothing more so as not to distract Robin. It might be too late, anyway.
Brennan has several things on his mind, not least of which is that if Robin is hearing riders in the woods, and Merlin is convinced the Moonriders are coming down the stairs, and Brennan takes both of them seriously, then that's a worrisome puzzle. Candidate solutions flicker through his mind:
Solution one-- The riders are reinforcements, possibly Edan's order, or perhaps some of Bleys' allies.
Solution two-- Merlin is wrong and they want to go up the stairs.
Solution three-- Robin is hearing a time trick from Moonriders that aren't there yet.
Solution four-- Robin and Merlin are both right, and the Moonriders remember Jones Falls, too.
Solution five-- The unknown.
The only immediately useful thing Brennan can do is to bring up the passive-only Third Eye if he can do so without being blinded by Conner's blade, scan the treeline quickly, and then up where the Stair might appear.
Vere remains alert and ready, concentrating on the Pattern in his mind.
Raven is likewise prepared. Her gaze is constantly moving - up, down, around, behind - looking for trouble.
Brita is halfway between stairs and woods, lazily swinging the axe to warmup. Her eyes are half closed and she is angled into the wind to scent for enemies approaching...
Ossian moves closer to the woods. He figures he will do more damage if he stays hidden until the riders show up, so he tries to find some kind of hiding place. He also brings up the Pattern in his mind.
Lilly moves with quiet grace to the foot of the stair, weapon drawn, eyes blazing. Defend the sorcerers, she reminds herself. Their skills may be needed.
Jerod remains oddly...patient. He seems to be waiting, expectant. He scans and listens and waits...and the cold that descends doesn't seem to bother him. Instead, he waits for the arrival of those from a kingdom where his sister died...
He has payment to extract.
The Rangers all align on Robin's spear direction, adjusting their formation silently.
Her fire-lizard friends all take to the air, staying silent. Robin notices them disappearing and re-appearing. They won't make easy targets.
Nearby, two rangers-- Totter and Cranny, signal that they will make a reconnaissance path. They look to Robin for approval or rejection of their plan.
The cold air causes a wet fog to start to rise, making concealment easier for both sides, and dampening sounds.
Robin cannot tell exactly how many, but it sounds as if there are at least a dozen, and they are approaching at a walk. If she's right about that number, they are highly disciplined.
Robin signals her agreement with Totter and Cranny's plan, but adds cadence for a real, big, bad enemy approaching - just, you know, in case the veteran rangers missed all of that 'Moonrider' talk.
"Look but don't touch," comes back the response
She also sends quick hand cadence to the other rangers -- and Brita -- splitting the force in two. Half with her for the incoming, half with Brita for the Stairway.
The Rangers adjust again, but only slightly. Brita's half call on Vere -- "Ranger Bookworm" to evaluate the threat of a sneak attack from the rear.
A quick hope is sent to Peep, Chirrup and Ooot that they let her know if something tries for an aerial or side attack.
The fire lizards are indignant at the thought of invaders of the nest, and they will burn their faces off.
Then, Robin very carefully Listens for which of her cousins are doing what with the Pattern.
Robin extends her pattern sense. This place seems... dreamlike in some ways. Almost self-enclosed, like a shadow of... nothing. Whatever that means. Her cousins are pulsing with the Pattern, as is Conner's sword, which seems as if it a piece of the grand design, written in steel. Robin extends her senses again and something odd impinges upon her.
She detects another piece of the pattern, a twin to Halosydne.
With the approaching enemy.
"Pattern incoming." Robin calls to her cousins. "Hunh. Sounds like... Halosydne." She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
Regardless, Robin infuses herself with the blood, lighting and song that is the Pattern. And though the temptation is strong to use Random's music in this place, Robin decides to bring the Primal Pattern to mind - the one she walked most recently, and the mother of them all.
Her plan, as much as she has one, is to get all spiky with it and see if she can't blow out this weird enclosed dream place... thing. Not subtle, but hopefully something that won't tangle with her cousins' workings.
Robin thinks that there are two places where things come to rest-- on top of a hill and in the bottom of a valley. The first is a precarious balance, where a thing could be tipped either direction and fall down one slope or another. The second is stable, because little disruptions return to the bottom quickly. This is like the latter. She can apply the pattern, as can her cousins, but this place only changes while she wills it, and even so, seems to resist.
It's very cold, and she can see the breath of the horses.
Cadence comes from the wood. 'Moon Riders'. It was the scariest bit of cadence any Rangers knew, because they all knew the story of how the moonriders had been named by Rangers before Jones Falls, and how many Rangers had been buried after.
Robin answers the Cadence with 'Spears ready' for the Rangers grouped near the stair. And 'trip wire possible?' to the scouts.
Robin also calls upon the Pattern running through her veins to see if she can't 'tip the direction of the valley floor' some in her and her cousins' favor. Mostly she wants to see if she can keep whatever 'things' the Moonriders are planning on from becoming too stable.
The cadence that comes back suggests they can't, but could circle arrier. It's a danger to pursuit. Yes/No?
Robin throws a quick burst of cadence back. Hold, Consolidate position.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
It's obvious a moment later why there's no time for a trip wire in front of the riders.
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
"Then I name myself 'Defender-of-the-Stairs'," Conner announces, "but before we talk of challenges, we should complete the introductions." Conner salutes her with his sword. "Halosydne, Pattern Blade of Rebma."
First-to-the-Fray pulls her sword from its hangar, and it's as if she had poured it into her hand. The heavy blade looks as if it has always been there, and that it will do her bidding with ease. "Her name now, is Tiz, the Firebrand, but of old the sword was named The Flamberge or cutter of flame. They say no man or woman can lie or flee while Tiz is at their throat.
"This is not Rebma's fight, unless you make it so. Do you accept my terms?"
Brita flows with the watery mists to her brothers side. "I, Brita - Daughter of Asgard, Creator of Clear Waters - Will Stand as Second to Defender-of-The-Stairs...If Needed." She says the latter to Conner with a slight bow.
An unhappy tick sounds in Robin's throat at all of the sudden posturing. She'd rather fight. Or talk. That would work too. Otherwise, she just keeps working on her 'tilting the world her way' Pattern nudges.
Vere stands on the cliffside as the moon rises. It's difficult to concentrate between the rising fog, the knowledge that Robin is on the front line, and the near silence of the forest. The Rangers use hand-signals and Vere works to interpret those. He thinks the Rangers here will need a lot of combat support. Individually, they are unlikely to measure up to Moonriders.
When Brennan makes his hand gestures Vere frowns and looks in the direction indicated, carefully opening his third eye.
Vere hears the rangers talking. Cadence is precise, but limited, which is linguistically fascinating. Vere wonders how it compares to early language development used to coordinate hunting parties.
They discuss who will scout the woods, and a new Ranger replies warning them to beware of a rear attack. Another calls out with Vere's personal identifier and asks him to check the rear-guard.
Vere acknowledges the request and turns his attention in that direction.
Vere sees, with his third eye, a figure standing where the stairs would be. She's beside a horse, and she moves as if she's made of water. Though the distance is large, he can tell certain things instinctively. The third eye did not distinguish between men and women, but Vere knew which she was.
She looks as if she is drawing a bow, and firing it at them.
"Shooter!" Vere calls out, pointing to where the ghostly figure stands.
Conner hears and acts and stops the arrow, and the shooter is no longer there, and it seems as if she was never there. Vere no longer sees her with any kind of vision.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern and shows to his third eye the same as Halosydne or Greyswandir.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
Lilly moves with quiet grace to the foot of the stair, weapon drawn, eyes blazing. Defend the sorcerers, she reminds herself. Their skills may be needed.
The fog rises slightly, making the woods and things not very far into them indistinct. Her sorcerers seem safe, for the moment, but she feels the tension of imminent battle in her cousins and the Rangers.
Lilly closes her eyes. In these conditions, sight could very well be a distraction. Instead she listens and feels. A change in the noises around her will be far more indicative of the direction of the initial clash.
Lilly's instincts and her ears tell her it's too soon to commit to any particular strike, and that enemy is experienced and smart and looking for them to give away their advantages by making a premature move.
Near her, Brennan stands making bizarre magician hand gestures at the other redheads.
The woman relaxes her stance, falling into a posture of ease. "It is not yet time," Lilly says softly to no one in particular. She hopes the others take note of her patience.
Lilly hears an arrow coming towards Brennan, but Conner seems to have it under control.
The only immediately useful thing Brennan can do is to bring up the passive-only Third Eye if he can do so without being blinded by Conner's blade, scan the treeline quickly, and then up where the Stair might appear.
Brennan avoids looking at Conner's blade. The forest is a hive of vibrant life, and the people nearest him are the realest he's seen. They should be; they are his cousins.
When Brennan looks up to where the stair should appear, he sees a dozen or more riders slowly descending, wearing armor not unlike that of Bleys and Fiona at the battle in Chaos, and riding horses caprisoned for war.
There are no steps, just riders riding down steps that are not there. They are facing up the nonexistent stairs, but moving downwards. They are too far away to hear, yet.
Brennan stares at that in captivated confusion for a long moment. They've reversed cause and effect? No, the way they're moving is more like they've reversed the effects that flow from the causes... but how deep can that go? There has to be some selectivity to it... and Brennan still can't shake the nagging idea that what he's seeing is in some way connected to what Robin hears. There's a dreamlike logic to it, somewhere, that Brennan's mind wants to worry over, understand, subvert, and sweep aside....
He shakes his head, almost violently. No. Do something. Something useful and practical, he resolves.
Brennan raises a hand for the attention of his immediate companions; touches three fingers (he hopes the Sorcerers in the group will note) to his brow and points up along where the stairs should be; then points to his ears, shakes his head, and gives an exaggerated shrug. There's no way to convey to the non-Sorcerers in the group how odd their motions are. He doesn't try. But he repeats the sequence of gestures a second time.
Then he tries to expand his Third Eye sight, rather consciously, into the auditory domain to see if he can hear their hoofbeats and if so from what direction. And he strains to see-- visibly, expecting perhaps a silver cord phenomenon-- if these descending riders are connected to anything or anyone else.
Brennan might not hear them at this distance anyway, so he's not sure if it works. He still hears the generic "whooshing" sound that he's always heard when using his third eye, but now... perhaps it's a side effect of how he perceives the vision needing to sound. It seems... ignorable. But he doesn't hear anything distinctive. He may have to work more at his "third ear".
What he does see is that they stop and point at him, or at least at the base of the stairs. One, and Brennan can tell very little about him or her via his third eye, dismounts and seems to be stretching his or perhaps her arms apart. Almost as if they are aiming something at Brennan.
Aw, crap. Not much use keeping quiet now.
"We're spotted. Probably sorcery incoming," Brennan says.
He is ready to dodge something if the situation warrants it, but his primary defense is metaphysical: He brings the Pattern to mind, fills his and being with it, feels it weigh him down. But that isn't right, exactly-- he isn't weighed down, he weighs. He is weight. He is substance, solid, ice, freezing not frozen, resistant to change like all the space around him.
Brennan finds it easy to use pattern to slow the air and water further. It's as if he were cooperating with another pattern wielder in chilling things. He loses track of the actual sorcereress on the non-existent stair until Conner steps past him and uses his pattern-sword to bat down an arrow that was heading toward Brennan. In any case the attack has started, if only the portion where the other side tries to brush back the defenders.
Brennan idly picks up a buckler when Conner steps in front of him. He is armored with metal and Pattern and with good companions and so not overly concerned, and when it gets down to it he'll be fighting with a long spear and doesn't want something cumbersome.
Brennan idly hopes Conner is aware of his gratitude, but is too focused to say thanks.
Brennan idly wonders about that seeming collaboration effect... and then wonders less than idly. A Cousin is the likely source, but the Moonriders are described as Ordered as well as Sorcerous and they are all in uncharted territory, here. Brennan doesn't do much different than before. He is still concentrating on the Pattern with all of his considerable mental reserves, weighing himself down with it, letting it make him into an immovable and unchangeable object, and for lack of a better word an anchor for the locale to reality against the dream-like changes of the Moonriders.
But if he can, he tries to understand if he's interacting with another source of Order, and who or what or where that source is.
It becomes obvious as he's searching for it. They are lead by a pattern-sword-wielder.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?.
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern and shows to his third eye the same as Halosydne or Greyswandir.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
"Then I name myself 'Defender-of-the-Stairs'," Conner announces, "but before we talk of challenges, we should complete the introductions. Conner salutes her with his sword. "Halosydne, Pattern Blade of Rebma."
First-to-the-Fray pulls her sword from its hangar, and it's as if she had poured it into her hand. The heavy blade looks as if it has always been there, and that it will do her bidding with ease. "Her name now, is Tizón, the Firebrand, but of old the sword was named The Flamberge or cutter of flame. They say no man or woman can lie or flee while Tizón is at their throat.
"This is not Rebma's fight, unless you make it so. Do you accept my terms?"
Well, that is all very troubling on any number of levels: A pattern blade of an unknown realm, reportedly-- admittedly, reported by the holder-- with power over truth, but mostly Brennan is no longer certain whether he was helping or hurting in his attempts at Pattern defense.
Still, they seem to be talking and not fighting, at least for the moment. It's probably safe to be a little more pro-active, metaphysically. But only a very little: he moves from the most vanilla application of Third Eye by extending it to a fuller application of Astral Sight. As before, even moreso, Brennan is careful not to look directly at either of the Pattern Blades, but instead uses Bleys' trick of treating the blades themselves as sources of Astral Lumination.
He has more than one purpose. The first is that he generally suspects some trick or illusion. It wasn't more than a watch ago he was remarking that the Moonriders played games with invisibility, so that's an issue. So is some deception of time, so he checks to make sure the moon hasn't already risen and that the stairs aren't really there yet.
The second is purely tactical: This is his best chance to observe them under Astral vision before fighting them and he very much wants to get as much a sense of the mechanics of their movement and relationship with time and space as he can.
And the third is personal: Does Brennan know this Moonrider? Was she at the Funeral or the ones he and Bleys met in the field?
But in general, Brennan is a naturally suspicious individual and beyond all that he simply looks for useful details, interesting observations, and things out of place.
Conner stands next to Brennan, Halosydne firmly held and shining as a beacon. The sword reflects moonlight that is not shining on it, somehow, but should be. Near the pattern blade, the fog does not spread, and the cold does not seem as abrupt.
Despite himself, Conner looks up to assure himself that there is not a moon in the sky where there wasn't before. He maintains his concentration on the Paxblade as if it were a Trump willing the Pattern within it and himself to hold firm and if possible spread the little island around him where Moonrider's changes do not hold sway.
Things... shimmer as Conner extends his pattern further from the stone steps. He's sure that something happened, but not what.
Conner frowns. This is too crucial a moment to have to play with unknown forces. Still, it can't be helped. Keeping concentration on whatever Pattern work he has conjured, Conner turns towards Brennan when he announces sorcery incoming. Hopefully his working will protect Brennan as well.
Conner steps towards Brennan, leans past him, and Halosydne snaps to a guard position, as if directed by a hand not his own. The silvery sword shines bright in the moonlight, and Conner is somehow not surprised when it strikes, and splits an arrow that was coming at him in two.
The move was not his own but Conner did not feel coerced. He simply trusted his dance partner to move them where they should be.
Still, they faced ranged attack without ready cover but dare not retreat from the stairs. Conner is the shining beacon or the brightly lit target. Either way, he aims to keep the attention on him so his cousins can do their work. For that he falls back on his weapon of choice, words.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern and shows to his third eye the same as Halosydne or Greyswandir.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
In the back of his mind, Conner is satisfied that that stating his Altamar heritage provoked a reaction. Less satisfying was the thought of a duel with Pattern Blades. A twinge of phantom pain in his left arm reminds him of sparring with Corwin on the lawns of Paris. Little hope of love and lightness here.
"Then I name myself 'Defender-of-the-Stairs'," Conner announces, "but before we talk of challenges, we should complete the introductions. Conner salutes her with his sword. "Halosydne, Pattern Blade of Rebma."
First-to-the-Fray pulls her sword from its hangar, and it's as if she had poured it into her hand. The heavy blade looks as if it has always been there, and that it will do her bidding with ease. "Her name now, is Tizón, the Firebrand, but of old the sword was named The Flamberge or cutter of flame. They say no man or woman can lie or flee while Tizón is at their throat.
"This is not Rebma's fight, unless you make it so. Do you accept my terms?"
Raven finds herself in the situation of a Captain who knows her ship will eventually lose a stern chase. The fight is coming. The only thing that can be done is prepare for anything, which is to say prepare for what one expects and hope nothing different (and worse) happens.
Nothing to do but wait, then; Raven figured out a long time ago that you conserve what energy you can in moments like this, because they're going to last both too long and not long enough. As for preparation - well, you prepare what you can and hope that people cackling madly and blowing up towers isn't going to be a theme for the day.
When Brennan motions for attention, she watches the series of gestures - looking up to follow when he points - and frowns. If there's nothing for the non-sorcerer to see, the good Captain is opting for the time-honored technique of letting people who see things that no one else can see continue to watch those things until they're an actual problem, and she'll continue watching other directions for enemies approaching.
Raven isn't sure what she sees. It could be a bright star glinting through a gap in the cloud-cover. Or the moon. It's not nothing, but it's not anything threatening. That she can see.
Well, clearly there's something, going by what the others are doing. "Ain't seeing what you are," Raven warns.
That doesn't stop her from shifting to be prepared for whatever comes down after the sorcery.
Raven hears rather than sees what sounds like a whistling sound. She's not sure from where.
Fog, too many directions to guard, and unseen enemies: the kind of battle that comes in low on Raven's list of 'things to do again.' The others are acting like the threat's from above - well, and like a big damned target - and there's folks below to deal with anything coming from the other way, so she continues to keep her focus on guarding against whatever's going to happen when the sorcerers get bored.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer," she replies. "Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
Raven's opinion of people who think that battles are appropriately resolved by single combat - which can best be summed up as 'are you kidding me, who taught you to fight?' - is definitely reflected in her expression for a minute there. Then she looks down the line of stairway defenders to see what the appropriate action is here; she's looking for a cue as to what the rest of them are doing while her maybe-father tries to get himself killed.
Ossian moves closer to the woods. He figures he will do more damage if he stays hidden until the riders show up, so he tries to find someone kind of hiding place. He also brings up the Pattern in his mind.
The fog will be his friend: a good hiding place on a grassy sward that is otherwise more easily-defensible. But what can work for his opponents can also work in his favor, and Ossian can hide nearly anywhere he likes.
Ossian places himself close to a big rock. He does not want to be overrun by the horses.
Ossian finds himself a rock near the base of a tree. Regenlief comes over to him. "This is a good spot, perhaps the best on the field. Have you spent much time fighting mounted men or man-things with a boar spear? I can give you pointers if you would like."
Ossian grins. "Please do."
She nods, but does not grin. "The force of cavalry, of course, is the charge. A spear wall stops the charge because horses will not approach a barrier they think they cannot jump over. Some might, but the mass of the charge will fall apart, and then the cavalry tends to break up and lose their advantage." She goes on, telling him how to set a boar-spear to take a charge, how to set it in the ground by bracing it. Some pikemen lie along it, but that's an older style and doesn't let you react as fast.
"The most impressive move that can happen is if a horse does charge into your pike, it will start to lift it up. If you are strong enough, and I adjudge that you are, e'en if you do not look it, you can throw the horse, rider and all, over your pike.
"That usually discourages others."
Ossian tries a few moves with the spear. "I'll try that, but the two of us do not constitute a spear wall. But maybe we can blunt the charge from the woods if that is needed," Ossian says with a grin. He listens and looks toward the woods, waiting to see what's coming.
"But can we appear more than we are, through your sorcery?"
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?.
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern and appears to his third eye the same as Halosydne or Greyswandir.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer," she replies. "Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
"She is the daughter of the High Marshall, and quite a warrior," Regenleif whispers in his ear, approvingly.
"Then I name myself 'Defender-of-the-Stairs'," Conner announces, "but before we talk of challenges, we should complete the introductions. Conner salutes her with his sword. "Halosydne, Pattern Blade of Rebma."
First-to-the-Fray pulls her sword from its hangar, and it's as if she had poured it into her hand. The heavy blade looks as if it has always been there, and that it will do her bidding with ease. "Her name now, is Tizón, the Firebrand, but of old the sword was named The Flamberge or cutter of flame. They say no man or woman can lie or flee while Tizón is at their throat.
"This is not Rebma's fight, unless you make it so. Do you accept my terms?"
Ossian whispers, "I wonder if Conner is good enough for this. But he is cunning... Let's wait, and observe. This might be a distraction."
Regenlief whispers back. "I hope so. I would hate to get ready for battle and have it be spoiled by a parley." She's not really good at whispering.
While Ossian does keep an eye and ear on the upcoming duel, he also watched the other Moonriders, and for unseen Moonriders turning up in surprising places.
Jerod maintains his position, aware of where Robin points out the enemy. He's convinced there's less than a score of them, but not sure exactly how many.
The wet ground and the sudden chill bring a sound and vision dampening mist up. Jerod prepares for sight-lines to be short.
Jerod sinks lower to the ground, using a spear ready position to cover his forward approaches and keep himself harder to see. He can block, cut or lunge as needs be. The wet ground can serve to warn of approaches, the squish of earth and the ripple of mist. He opens his mouth just slightly, letting the pressure equalize to better his hearing.
Rage is patient, and so is Jerod.
The rangers shift their attention based on Robin's signals, and Jerod is well positioned to take on any rider who comes through along the axis that they are worried about. Jerod recalls Eric's stories about Moonriders. You have to kill them before they have a chance to not be killed.
Jerod waits, stilling his mind, deadening the rage. The desire to use Pattern, to do anything other than strike and fight, can be a detriment now. Death to the enemy must not be seen as forthcoming. It has to be immediate, without warning or understanding to the enemy. It cannot even be a surprise to them. It must be a moment beyond understanding, too quick to consider or formulate. For powers, he must rely on those behind him to do what they think is best. Anything that distracts Jerod from that, any emotion, any desire, will slow his reactions, give the Moonriders time to counter. Even revenge fades now. It no longer has a place in the moments to come.
Jerod waits longer. There is activity behind him, but he can count on his cousins to handle what would be a distraction. Jerod hears the Ranger cadence. It's one of the few phrases most people who lived in Amber know, 'Moon Riders'. It was used in folksongs and plays about Jones Falls until it was common knowledge.
They were right about who the enemy are.
And he waits... patiently. He listens, he watches... and waits.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern. "Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
Edan aims for the clifftop as quickly as possible, so as to avoid any effects the gathered cousins or Moonriders might have on his spell. He lands in a cloud of black smoke and black flame, dressed in black armor that appears almost smudged or painted on. Underneath is an intricate paint design of protection and fearsomeness, drawn in a different hand than his own art. He exudes darkness and death and emptiness. He draws swords, since that seems to be the going trend. It is hard to see the emotions on his face, but his head swivels to take in the Pattern sword standoff and the disposition of forces. Mostly, he's drawn to the new sword of power that's appeared on the field.
Brita is halfway between stairs and woods, lazily swinging the axe to warmup. Her eyes are half closed and she is angled into the wind to scent for enemies approaching.
Brita smells many things, fear amongst the Rangers, the comforting smell of Family, the smell of a forest in winter, the sea far below, the horses they brought, and ... something else. And coming from two directions. Brita thinks it may be the enemy. If it is, then they are being surrounded.
Brita gives a cadence call of 'fore and aft' before also calling out "Ware the Stair". She notes the rising mist and chill, both she is comfortable with from her time in Jutenheim with Grandmother Grid. She draws the damp closer to her, away from the forest and stair.
The Rangers react to her cadence. Ranger Bookworm, the cadence comes back, check the rear-guard.
The water moves to her, sluggishly. As if it's resisting, or impure. It's not quite freezing, but it is definitely colder than Xanadu should be.
Brita snorts slightly as if clearing a bad smell from her nose. She decides that the water must be purified. She brings the purity of the Pattern to her mind, drawing on its strong Order to remind the water at this high elevation of its pure source.
It's cold. High and pure and sluggish because it should be ice. It's like molten ice, it moves, without thawing and does so very slowly. It's like nothing Brita has ever encountered in water before.
The Rangers are reporting back. 'Moon Riders'. The Cadence is clear, and would be chilling, if the environment was not so cold. Everyone in Amber knew those beats of Cadence. They were part of many a folk tale and campfire warning.
Brita is calm and ready. She holds the Pattern in her mind, swirling the axe through the twists and turns of her Walk and scribing its Order on the wet air around her.
"Riders of the Moon, hear me!" Conner's voice booms. "I am son of Slays-Like-Wind of Altamar! I will not be felled by arrows. I am of the line of Clarissa! Waste not your petty magics. If you want this land, you must come through me and test your might against the Paxblade. Who will be first?"
The vanguard of the moon riders appears at the edge of the forest, their leader holds up a hand. She takes off her helmet in a move that somehow looks as if it were flowing water, instead of the dull mechanisms of mere bodies. Her hair is long and blonde and she rides a horse that appears to have too many knees.
At her side in a simple hanger is a sword that catches the eyes of all who see it. It bears the imprint of the pattern and shows to her third eye the same as Halosydne or Greyswandir.
"Greetings, son of Windslayer. Our fathers have met on many a battlefield. We would pass to the Land of Youth. I name myself 'First-to-the-Fray' and challenge you to single combat for the right to pass this point."
"Then I name myself 'Defender-of-the-Stairs'," Conner announces, "but before we talk of challenges, we should complete the introductions. Conner salutes her with his sword. "Halosydne, Pattern Blade of Rebma."
First-to-the-Fray pulls her sword from its hangar, and it's as if she had poured it into her hand. The heavy blade looks as if it has always been there, and that it will do her bidding with ease. "Her name now, is Tizón, the Firebrand, but of old the sword was named The Flamberge or cutter of flame. They say no man or woman can lie or flee while Tizón is at their throat.
"This is not Rebma's fight, unless you make it so. Do you accept my terms?"
Brita flows with the watery mists to her brothers side. "I, Brita - Daughter of Asgard, Creator of Clear Waters - Will Stand as Second to Defender-of-The-Stairs...If Needed." She says the latter to Conner with a slight bow.
As the situation between the Moonriders and his cousins plays out Vere continues to watch the stairs and their flanks with his Third Eye, alert to any signs of treachery.
Jerod watches and listens, patient as he waits for the fight, even as he mutters. "Screw the duel. Time to get to it."
Conner smiles at Brita and nods. "I offer the following terms. If you win, you may have free passage to the stair. If you lose, you and your vanguard will withdraw and not return. If that is agreeable, I will accept your challenge and appoint Brita my second."
First-to-the-Fray smiles and looks at the rag-tag group of cousins and rangers on the cliff top. "I should not accept such one-sided terms, when I can get what I want by force of arms, but...."
She turns to look at a late arrival, on the edge of the cliff, Edan has arrived, himself and his horse clouded with smoke and reminiscent of death. His sorcery pushes at the pattern, and sorcerers can assume he is being pushed upon by the pattern users.
"But," she continues, "I do accept, if only to deserve my name." She dismounts, smoothly, and hands the rains of her horse to another rider. "My cousin, Paints-With-Blades, will second me. I would speak with any of yours who would speak with me, while the seconds confer and prepare the field."
Conner nods and confers briefly with Brita. "Leave the option for Sorcery open during the duel. By not mentioning it, if you can. If they will accept it, I would prefer the duel not be to the death." Conner smiles thinly. "The rest I leave to your discretion."
Edan heads straight to Conner. Softly enough so his voice doesn't carry, he says, "If you're doing what I think you're doing, is this a good idea? Lilly and I were in this exact situation not too long ago. It didn't end well."
Conner steps back with Edan to aid with their voices not carrying. "You've heard the stories of Jones Falls. You see their forces as compared to ours. If there is any chance that I can stop this without mass bloodshed, I think it a risk worth taking." Conner replies. "Worst case, it gives you all time to come up with something clever."
Brennan strides up to join Conner and Edan. He may have heard some of that, but it's not clear how much. His voice is also pitched low, and he takes the measure to place himself where the Moonriders can't see his lips and even blocks Conner from their view if possible. He's not exactly subtle about that. "Conner, I have one piece of information that might be useful, but I need an answer to this like your life depends on it: Who is the master of Halosydne? You? Moins? Someone else?"
"If my life depends on that answer then I am truly in hazard." Conner replies. He takes a moment to think. "I am not her master. I serve at the pleasure of the Queen." Conner decides. "Moins and Khela are dead and Moire is false. That leaves Celina. Now, what is your possibly useful information?"
By his expression, that is not the answer Brennan had been expecting. "Your answer turns possibly into probably not, but you should probably know this anyway," he says. Then, dropping his voice again, "I had it from Weyland himself that the only way one those blades could break is to turn them against their master. It didn't seem important enough at the time to clarify between the wielder or the scribe of the Pattern. You can see the chain I was trying to build, I'm sure, but even had you answered differently it would still assume that Weyland forged that blade," Brennan moves his head in the direction of the Moonrider, "which I honestly would not take as given.
"Any other less than useful information I can impart before I go talk to Jerod?" He asks. "Anything you need done that a Second can't do?"
"Wish me luck and use this time wisely." Conner replies.
Brennan's eyes narrow, and he nods.
First to the Fray salutes Edan with her sword, and smiles at him.
Edan looks startled when Conner makes his admission, but is stone-faced after that. He leans forward and imparts a quick primer on Moonriders in general and everything he's seen as far as First-to-the-Fray's movements, how she controls her horse, the fractured Time attack...it's quick and dirty and not nearly enough, but it's all he can give in this situation. "I don't know where she's walked a Pattern. I don't know that sword. I expected something Chaosian, not this. Good luck, Conner. We'll have your back. But I can't blow up the battlefield like I did with Lilly." He offers an arm to clasp, then canters Aramsham off towards First-to-the-Fray.
Conner accepts the arm clasp and nods. "When all this is over, you must tell me the story of how you know her. Thanks for the support."
Brennan listens carefully to Edan's advice, too, even though he heard a different version of it... just that morning, actually. How time does fly when you're moving from crisis to crisis.
He watches Edan recede out of earshot, then says, "For what it's worth, I'm not seeing signs of ambush, although it's never guaranteed. I'm going to go talk to Jerod and figure out how to use our time wisely." Through long exposure to the nuances of Brennan's ever-expressive scowls, he can probably read into that that Brennan's still waiting for redheaded inspiration to strike. "Last pieces of advice-- and I risk giving offense because we are not our parents and I believe our friendship can weather it: Blow the deal up if you don't like it. Best and cleanest if it's done through you and Brita, obviously, but if you deem that not an option, I might have a messier way short of just stabbing someone. Oh, and no Moonrider time tricks like first touch and then touching you five minutes ago. Unless you think you can do it better," he offers with a wry smile.
He likewise offers Conner a hand-clasp and, if Conner's got nothing else, departs.
Conner watches his cousins busy themselves while Brita sets up the contest of skill. To keep his nerves at bay, Conner begins to move through a sword form. It is specifically not one he intends to use in the battle. It is much like a tai chi form, meditative and precise when done slow but deadly if done at speed. He continues his focus upon Halosydne. Only as one does Conner have any chance at winning the contest before him.
First-to-the-Fray approaches the meeting of seconds, nods, and takes off her armor. "I am ready," she says, and casts a spell that draws a half circle behind her.
Edan slows his horse to a walk when he approaches First-to-the-Fray and her forces. His swords are sheathed, and he raises his non-reined hand in a return salute, or perhaps an indication that he's not about to start swinging a sword at her. He waits for her to do the same, or at least he stays out of melee range.
"Look at you," he says. "You've come far, Chases." He glances up at her forces. "I guess you decided there wasn't another way, after all."
"Son of the Sun, congratulations on your victory. I have not decided anything, the day is far from done, and things may not be as they seem. Still I am the first of my people in half a millennium to see the holy steps, and that is a moving thing.
"We have not met for the ultimate time, Knife-Giver, and even if the meeting I foretold at the Inflection Point is our last, we shall meet yet again before that, for things happen in threes.
"But what of you? Have you enjoyed being a Lord of Chaos and Order?"
Edan thinks she has another question she isn't asking.
"'Enjoy' might be too strong a word," Edan says. "There has been much conflict, internal and external. The catchword of my life would likely be 'choices'. Xanadu, for one, I have made my home. And Family. And the cause of Order." After a pause, he adds, "If you want to ask me something, please ask. And in return for the answer, tell me which victory for which you congratulate me."
"Why your victory over Prince Orlon. You must tell me how you escaped being the Ducal heir? It is traditional." She looks pleased. "I was pleased when I heard you escaped the two-fold trap that he had unwittingly laid.
"I... have no time for personal questions, Knife-giver. I must not distract myself from the duel to come. I will not ask for a token, for I know we stand on opposite sides of this matter. But if your cause is Order, be aware that ours is as well, and ours has been in need of righting for centuries."
She nods at the seconds. "I think they are almost done, and I shall need to ready myself." It's not clear if they are or are not, but Edan thinks she's trying to suppress his line of questions, at least before she has to fight.
Edan looks like he wants to say plenty, but after a moment he nods. "We haven't even mentioned your Queen or your father, their contributions to the war effort. Very well. I'd wish you luck, but...no. We will speak again, when there is less contention. I hope."
She smiles. "Of course we shall, if it is what you wish."
He turns his horse, then, and means to head back to the Amber lines; if left unmolested, he checks the compass around his neck when he gets there. It's for triangulation's sake, if nothing else.
The compass points towards the grove, from whence Edan just came.
Wait, what? Edan stares at the trinket, because that was not remotely where he thought it would be pointing. So he rides a bit farther out and attempts a small Working. A tube of black flame appears in his hands, and he looks through it, much like a telescope, in the direction of the Grove.
Edan can't see anything special in that direction, even with the telescope. Also, it's really hard to get even a basic working near so many pattern users actively using the pattern.
At least he's learned something, if only a feel for the limitations he's facing. The rest, that concerns him mightily, and he decides to get more opinion. He turns his horse back towards the Jerod/Brennan/Raven group, trotting up with the muted sounds and icy feel of his death magic, but still visible as his painted self.
Brita moves to meet with the designated Moonrider second. She bows to him, briefly but formally, and then relaxes with a soft snort and shake of her head. "My Second Duel as Second," she notes. "Does Your Cousin get into Many Duels? I am Hopeful We can Avoid Bloodshed in This One."
Paints-With-Blades bows back, matching hers quite precisely. He is also relaxed. "'Tis my first, your Highness. We do not duel freely; we are warlike, but not with each other. My cousin is brash, young, and unpredictable, but she has led us here, which says something for her methods.
"If your brother and your allies yield then bloodshed can be avoided, but I do not think that is your meaning. I think we all wish to avoid a death curse this day, so we as seconds should ban that outcome. Likewise 'until a combatant yields' could go too far and thus is not an equitable term."
He frowns. "I would have suggested 'to first blood', but you wish to avoid it. Is 'to the first touch' acceptable then? Would honor be satisfied?"
"Ehn," Brita shakes her head. "First Blood is Not the Bloodshed I Meant. Mere Scratches are Easy. I Would Suggest something More Challenging. Disarming seems Unlikely Given the Weapons. A Lock of Hair with No Blood, Perhaps?"
Paints looks happy at the suggestion. "A proper sword duel then? No armor, nothing on the head. Hair may be tied back, because the finesse blow will be to cut it from close to the scalp, rather than from loose tresses.
"A circle, 15 feet across, I propose, and our principals may not step out without forfeiting. This is not a race or a chase, but a wager of skill at arms.
"It goes without saying that we, as seconds, are responsible if there is interference or trickery."
He frowns. "I have her absolute order to tell you that should your man win, our forces will withdraw from this place peacefully, but that others may approach, and we may take a different route to the Land of Youth."
Brita nods along with his description of the duel but stops at the last. "Others Already Approach. What Can you Tell Me about Them?"
He looks confused. "We are her highness' personal guard, and no other force would dare go against the combined wills of her and her father. You have no reinforcements coming, not by non-magical means in the time it would take for a battle here to be decided, nor do we. The matter of here and now will be decided by those who are here, unless your chaosian cousins arrive unexpectedly, and it would be worse to let them take a pattern realm than us. We would fight with you if your dragon or grandmother appeared caparisoned for war."
He pauses. "Are we ready? Do we need to go through the formalities of each asking the other side to yield and be reconciled?"
"If Your Others Arrive From the Moonlit Stair, What Would Your Response Be? I can Smell Them on the Wind. What Will You Do If They Already Have the Prize? We are Ready When You Answer the Question. No Formality is Required," Brita still seems fairly relaxed. She waves a hand through the fog. Creating eddies and patterns....and Patterns.
"If you saw others on the stair they are temporal resonance, for there is no stair tonight. They might even be our own selves, come down to meet us, but that is unlikely. Such a reflection is a possible state, and not a serious thing. At best one might take warning from it."
He smiles, lightly. "Still, it is good to know that we will gain it in the past or the future."
Paints watches her hand with a certain fascination. "I admire your influence on the elements, or at least on the water. One way or another I expect to leave here tonight, but if we meet in the future, under less warlike circumstances, I would wish to learn of your ways."
First to the Fray approaches. "Your pardon cousin," she says to Brita. "Bladepainter, are the terms set?"
The tall moonrider nods. "A lock of hair, cut without blood, from your opponent."
"I accept," says First. She begins removing her armor. "Return this to my father if we separate, Blades."
Once she is in lighter clothing, the young moonrider casts a spell causing a half-circle to be drawn. "I am ready."
Brita moves to her Brother and cousins to relay the decision.
Last modified: 27 September 2018