The edge of the bridge leads to a mountain switchback trail, snaking to a misty valley far below. On the far side of the mist, the road (or a road) rises again and snakes out across a rolling plain.
Orlon's troll-mount is heading straight down the mountainside, ignoring the trail.
There's no help for it; Edan and Aramsham have to take the trail. It could be worse; Aramsham could have been a destrier rather than a courser. In any case, Edan had expected losing ground in the mountains. He lets Aramsham pick the fastest safe pace down the trail, not so fast that they risk a slip or an injury.
The road is well made, but the sunlight here is weak and greenish. The road seems to be generating mist, and larger puffs of it rise from Aramsham's hoofprints. As Edan makes his way lower into the valley the mist takes on a few festive colors, streaks of pale blues and pinks.
After one switchback, Edan sees Orlon and his troll plunge directly into the mist.
After half a glass or so, Edan can see where the road enters the mist. Where before traces rose as high as the point of Aramsham's shoulder, this looks like a lake of it. Edan can only see a little way into it.
Edan growls as they move slower and slower, finally pulling on the reins to stop. If only the effect of Pattern would reach this far... he pats Aramsham's neck, and the stallion tosses his head as if to throw the offending hand off. The horse takes a step towards the mists, Edan pulls on the reins again, and Aramsham rears. This, at least, is familiar, Edan thinks as he pushes down on the stirrups and holds on.
The minor rebellion over, Edan says, "No broken leg today, my friend. This is a worse obstacle than you think. Truly, the Merciful One tests us. Light alone will not suffice. We cannot impose our will upon this place; it is we who must change."
Aramsham snorts and flicks an ear back in Edan's direction. Edan focuses on that ear as the /adab/, the memory-which-demands, overtakes him...
It was not long after the walk on the Pattern, where the flush of excitement and sense of victory had not quite worn off. Bleys had led them to a special shadow, an endless plain, one that was difficult to leave, but their efforts resolved themselves as mathematical formulae under their feet. They moved thus, the metaphorical point of a pencil against paper, and could see the direct relationship of their movements with the mathematics of Pattern. The lessons were complete, the formulae more distracting now than educational, and Bleys had let Edan move them to a series of low foothills dotted with brush and small caves; it was one of the latter that his father directed him to go.
The light disappeared quickly, and the darkness became complete. Sound was muted. Edan first imagined a large cave, then a tunnel, then a huge chamber, for the distance he traveled was far beyond what he had expected. He was not completely suprised when the sound of his father's horse fell silent.
"Father?" he asked, sure that there was another lesson here, somewhere. A gesture, and a small flame appeared in his palm; but the light only illuminated himself and his horse, perhaps a few feet to each side, nothing else.
Edan frowned, gave more power to the spell, finally abandoned the small fire in favor of a blazing staff; but as bright as he made his light, the darkness around him refused to yield. It was as if the darkness absorbed the light and heat as fast as he could create it. His horse snorted and voiced its protest as the heat became unbearable to it, but still there was the dark.
Finally, he dropped his hand; the staff broke apart into fiery fragments and disappeared. Darkness fell complete. Edan slid the palms of his hands across his eyes, controlled his breathing, and waited.
Bleys's voice sounded almost next to his ear. "Darkness isn't something you wait out until dawn," he said. "It's an element, like water or fire. It obeys its own rules. You have to become one with it."
Edan reached out with his mind, felt a part of himself seem to fray into the blackness, and panicked; he came back to himself, his hands still on his face. "I cannot," he said.
"Of course you can. You were starting to do it."
"No," Edan said, immediately. "I can walk the Pattern. I can face my demons. But I cannot fight this."
"Why not? What are you afraid of?"
"To lose myself like this, it is... evil," Edan said. "The Merciful One has turned his face from this place. I cannot embrace it."
His father sighed, and his next words sounded as angry as Edan had ever heard him. "I blame your mother for this," he said. "She didn't waste any time teaching you what you could and couldn't do, did she? Edan, do you trust your mother?"
"What manner of question is that?" he asked, sharply.
"I didn't ask you to question me. Answer. Do. You. Trust. Your. Mother."
Edan's mouth worked silently, nonplussed. "Usually," he finally said.
His father snorted. "All right," he said. "Honest, anyway. You can be damned sure that she knows how to see in the dark, no matter how hard she protests. She's a fire-maid, daughter of an ancient, powerful afrit. A magician in her own right. What do you think attracted me to her?"
Edan's fist clenched. "My mother is pure in the sight of the Merciful One," he said. His fist ignited into flame again, but he still didn't see his father. "She renounced her tainted blood!"
A hand came out of the darkness, slapped against his flame; it shattered like glass and vanished as though it had never been. "She's crippled you," Bleys said. "You can't deny who you are, Edan. You need to come to grips with it. Otherwise, my boy, you'll never know peace, no matter how hard you try. You have no idea of your potential. But as long as you sit there and say 'I can't,' you'll always struggle against the heritage that you yourself have embraced. You are so much more than this, Edan. There are those who call themselves gods out in shadow that have only a fraction of what you have. But if you limit yourself..."
"There is only one God," Edan started, brokenly.
"...and he has only the One Prophet," Bleys finished for him. "I know all this. You're not listening. Power isn't automatically labelled good or evil, Edan, it's in the use of it. You've got to start making your own choices about what's moral and what's not, because you're now far beyond the simplistic view of things that your mother holds. Don't look at me like that. If she wants to deny herself, that's her mistake. But you graduated from Julnar University the moment you took the Pattern."
"I..." Edan fell silent.
"Try it. Then you can decide. I promise, no one will come and rip out your soul and throw it down to hell."
"You mock me," Edan said, sullenly. Then: "Tell me how."
"You have to breathe darkness... learn to hear the colors, smell the sounds... you know what I mean."
"I cannot change my body in that way."
"Maybe you can, maybe you can't. But you don't have to. Let the spell do the work."
Moments later, Edan could see him, darkly luminous against the blackness. Each movement, a shift of a hoof, the creak of leather, all this refreshed and refined the image. He was in a small cave, after all; the yawning abyss of darkness he had felt was a trick. Of course. The image of Bleys smiled. "Good. Now lead us out."
When they were back outside, Edan felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "The purpose of this was to show you that you can't rely on Pattern, not all the time. Try shifting shadow in pitch darkness, for example. Here, you had to rely on sorcery. But you learned a larger lesson, didn't you? I put you in a situation that you solved in a couple of minutes. I know a couple of your uncles that would have taken a lot longer than that to extricate themselves. If you accept what you are, your potential is unlimited. I knew it would be." Bleys pointed two fingers, reached up to poke Edan in the middle of the forehead.
"As long as you don't let this limit you."
The fog is the same as the darkness, in this place. The spell only takes a moment; Aramsham snorts again and takes a step back as the doubled vision settles over them both, but this time accepts Edan's hand on his neck.
"Well," he says to the stallion, "Cousin Folly did say I should practice." He sings a song she taught him then, a song about a brown-eyed girl and misty morning fog, and lets the echoes of his voice paint the picture of their surroundings. As they descend, he remembers that he wanted to ask about a radio that would use a transistor rather than a crystal, but that is a conversation for another time.
Edan casts, using the song as an anchor and focus for his power. He feels strong here, and remembers Bleys mentioning that Chaos was a place of sorcery. His magics are powerful and well planned, and shortly, there is a tunnel in the mist. It reminds Edan of the descriptions of the Faiella Bionin as it descends the Rebman Stair. The mist is still mist, but it is clearly different from the surrounding mist.
The road follows the tunnel. It is clearly large enough for Edan to ride down.
Edan urges his horse onward, knowing that Aramsham has a much better nose, and will balk if anything about this mist seems poisonous. He does dare to push the stallion a little faster, if Aramsham is having any of it.
Aramsham presses onwards, a little faster. He has seen more than most horses and trusts Edan well. Soon the valley changes, the transparent mist spreading out, pushing against the overcast mists above. To Edan it looks as if they war regularly, winning and losing little battles, they bulge here and buckle there.
Aramsham presses on, and cracks appear in the ground in this gloomy cave-like valley. They grow larger ahead, but not so large that Aramsham cannot step over them.
As he presses on, Edan notices that the cracks between the rocks grow to gaps, and eventually, the rocks are suspended over the gaps, floating firmly in place; an archipelago in an empty sea.
Ahead, the road turns up. Edan sees a protruding tree root by the side of the road. Near it is a very large footprint, most likely the troll's.
[OOC: Does this mean there are now regular bridges of the road from rock to rock, with a huge fall below?]
[No. If there were bridges, they'd be like that. Instead it's just rock to rock, with a huge fall between. But the gaps are of the "step-overable" size. For now.]
Not missing the obvious, Edan looks up in the tree to see if Orlon and the troll had climbed there; otherwise, he dances his horse along the road, facing the tree, ready in the unlikely event they are attacked.
Edan looks in the tree, and all he sees is a crow. It spreads its wings and speaks. "Hail, Child of Amber."
Aramsham comes to a stop. "Hail yourself, creature of.. Chaos?" he asks. "By chance, have you seen a troll come by here? Carrying a man?"
The crow hops to a lower branch. "Rude they were, the troll tried to eat me. I don't like him. What is it that brings you so close to the place of balance, so far from your center?"
"Right now, the Race to Madness," Edan replies, "though I believe I am somewhat tardy. Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon, at your service." He gives a smile that is at least partway a grimace. "Ah... not to be rude, myself, but would you mind terribly if we converse whilst I keep riding?"
The crow launches itself and, after a brief circle, lands on a suitably clear spot on Aramsham's saddle. Edan finds he has no good vantage to watch both the road and the bird.
"The paradox of seeking madness, O son of Bleys, is that one who seeks it must have already found it. Unless you had your madness and lost it and now wish to embrace it again? The ways of those tainted with Order are unfathomable to me."
Edan smiles. "But it is not my madness that I seek, feathered one. Many could argue that I have already found mine. I did not name this race, or the destination." He settles for glancing back and forth between the crow and the road.
The road climbs upwards from here, and begins to follow a switchback pattern again.
"It is ironic that among my people, many of those suffering from insanity are left to wander the desert alone. Much like this."
"This desert is very green and rain-soaked," he caws. "Whose madness do you seek? Is it possible to seek that of another? What if you find it?"
"Those from the keep of Order think the other side has the madness," Edan says. He shrugs. "They seem to think you can seek madness that is not of Self. I hope that is so. We are all required to bring back a Token."
The Crow caws. "Have you seen the Lord of that keep? He has won this race many times."
The path leads out of the sea of fog ahead.
Edan kicks at his horse's flanks so that they pick up speed. "I have seen him. And his state of mind. I wonder if those on the other side, if they think this side has the madness." He gives the crow a sideways look.
"That Count? He has his sorrows, and I should know. It is my job to know."
Edan bursts from the mist like a flame burning through a cord, and the mist is no longer a thing around him, but a thing behind him. There is no sign of Orlon.
Edan bares his teeth. "I am farther behind than I have thought," he says, and kicks Aramsham into a gallop. He leans a little lower in the saddle as they take off, and says, loudly, "What else do you know, feathered one? What is your name?"
"You may call me Corby. I know many things, but few that are useful to practical men of action. It is a pity that your species was not born with wings. Only those with wings can become true philosophers."
The sun stays fixed over a lone tree at the top of the valley.
"The Tree, Aramsham. Up, up. Look, up there. There is where we go." Edan leans forward a little more, letting the stallion know to pick up more speed.
Only then does he look down at the bird. "Oho! Only born with wings? I must disagree with you. I exist, and I know of my existence. I can reason with stimuli my senses bring me. I know of Myself, and interact with Others. I have all the criteria for philosophy that the Merciful One has granted me. Why would a lack of wings stop me?"
The bird chuckles. "It is too easy for those with arms and hands to resort to them to solve problems, rather than to think. You may make some use of what you have, but only those who can put themselves above the world can look down upon it and see the whole of it. We who are born to the air are naturally more philosophical than you who make fire with your hands." It pauses for a moment. "It is evident in your lack of concentration on this discourse and your concern for Ig that you are less suited than some of your kind to contemplation."
Edan smiles a little in response. "So you are saying that flying for you is complete instinct? That you do not think of the temperature and the rising of the air? Or that you had flown all day or called for a mate all night and are tired? You can divorce your mind completely from the effort of beating your wings? I think we may have similar distractions. That we both give ourselves time for philosophy when not engaged in survival. When we no longer fixate on the needs of Self. Perhaps we are not so different..."
Corby's caw is short, almost a bark. "Flight and philosophy are about overcoming self and being one with the media, flowing through the currents of thought or riding currents of air. It is not a trait I have observed in those who change nature to suit themselves."
In the distance, Edan hears another bird with a near-identical caw. "I must go. It has been pleasant sparring with you, man of Order. We will see each other again." The bird hops off Aramsham's back and flies upwards, heading directly for the tree.
The valley ends abruptly and the tree stands before Edan. Great branches spread out in a wide canopy, shading much of the earth in a wide swath around it. It looks green and pleasant, and the leaves are in full display. The sky holds smears of vibrant color, as if the clouds were some mad artist's palette.
Given where it is, it shouldn't have been visible from the valley behind Edan, but it was. There's movement on the far side of the tree, but it is hard to tell what kind.
Being paranoid, Edan pulls on the reins and checks his position against the sorcerous map he's created, making sure it's the same Tree he saw at the beginning. After that, he dances his horse around the tree and checks to see what or who is behind it.
Coming to the same side, perhaps for the same purpose, Edan sees a rider on a horse. She's thin and pale and very, very beautiful and her movements are like the flow of liquid mercury. The sword at her side looks deadly, but hasn't moved from the sheath.
She looks like an Altamarean to Edan.
"What are you doing here?", she says by way of introduction.
Edan fights the urge to quirk an eyebrow. Instead, he stares at her through inscrutable golden eyes. "Would you believe that I am visiting my father's mother?" he asks. "It just so happens that a race placed itself in the way. So for now, I seek a token of Chaos to bring with me, back across the valley." His head tilts a little, and he ventures a smile. "I have the feeling that you may be seeking the same."
The woman watches Edan, seeing that he makes no move for his own weapon. Edan suspects she could draw very, very quickly. "You have heard of the Mad Count's race." She almost sounds disappointed, but the corner of her mouth has quirked upwards. "If it happened that you had a token of Order, and that I had a token of Chaos, perhaps we could trade."
"It may be, that this would be possible," Edan says. "It would be difficult to find one more Ordered than myself. In this place."
Only after he says it does he realize that his voice is rough and filled with awe.
Edan clears his throat, shifts his weight such that Aramsham begins a slow walk forward. He aims so that the woman and her horse are to his right, and he to theirs, on the side of his sword hand if need be. For the moment, though, he keeps his hands on the reins, visible on the pommel of his saddle.
[She is left-handed, a detail I omitted; should I assume he approaches to her left so her blade is free? If not, she will turn her horse that way.]
"It is said," as his stallion saunters forward, "that there is another bridge and another troll and another Count on the far side of the Tree. That the Count there has a daughter, rather than a son. Could it be that I have encountered her, here at the great Boundary?"
Her laugh is silvery. "The Count's daughter is dead. There is a granddaughter, but I am not she. I am merely a competitor in the great race."
As Edan approaches, she continues, "I seek a boon only the Count can grant. And if a troll--or a thing like it--were reported unmade by my blade in that quest, I would not deny it, O son of the Sun."
Edan recognizes the sinking feeling he suddenly has. Aramsham stops. "A troll, or something like it? Was this... recently?"
"On my way here. From the castle on this side." The woman gestures back the way she came, away from Edan. "Don't worry, son of the Sun, no matter how my father feels about yours, I don't mean to take your head as my token of Order."
Edan cocks his head. "Al-alat," he says. "The path of the sun brings life to all. It is written." Almost unconsciously, his finger traces out a hexagram on the pommel of his saddle.
"I did not think that my father would have many enemies amongst the... ah... Altamareans?" he continues. "Are you sure I am who you think I am? Who is your father?"
She laughs again, all silvery. "My father is not _of_ Altamar. Nor am I. He is the High Marshall of Ghenesh." She holds her hands up so that Edan can see them. "But I will parlay for a token despite the enmity between Amber and my homeland."
Edan distantly hears his jaw click shut. "A thousand pardons, fair one," he says. "I am Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon, though I believe that is just a formality. I will parlay with you."
"Son of the Sun," she says, nodding gravely. "Word had spread that you were a contestant in the Ordered race. I have many names, as befits my people, but in this place I am known as 'Chases in Madness'. Should I win," she adds, and her laughing smile is back, "I will be known as 'Outspeeds Madness'."
A slow smile spreads across Edan's face. "An apt name," he says. "And I had not known that I had become such a celebrity. Word, apparently, spreads quickly. Well." He straightens a bit in the saddle. "It so happens that I have a pear left. A fruit from a tree far closer to the center of Order. But perhaps that is too small of a thing. What did you have in mind?"
"That would be a sufficient token. I have a small being-thing in my saddlebags, if you would take that as yours. It is not Mine, but it will go with you. And it is from further from the Tree on this side." Chases-in-Madness makes a sweeping gesture back the way she came, and her horse dances a single step to accommodate her balance, as if their movements are one.
Edan nods. "It will be sufficient."
He dares to walk Aramsham closer, emboldened by the reception so far. "And after the race? Where will you go?"
This time her silvery mount stays put.
Her voice is confident. "I will take my prize back to my homeland, unless the Moon guides me elsewhere first. Where would you go once you have conquered in your race?"
"I will speak for the trolls," Edan says, "to the Duke. And when I am done, I will return this way, to meet with my father's mother."
"The Duke is far gone, from the gossip of him in the mad lands near this place. Do you think he will listen to your plea, Son of the Sun?" She looks at him very directly, with none of the modesty of a maiden of the Land of Peace.
Edan tilts his head, oddly intrigued. "One way or another, I think that the message of the troll Mother on the Order side will be heard. The Duke's son will add his voice to my own, no matter the outcome of our race." He indicates the area around them with a gesture of his hand, palm up. "He should be searching for his own token on this side, if he has not returned already. The troll that carries him is fast."
Her delicate eyebrows arch. "He has a troll for a mount? He'll be delayed when it decides to eat. If it does not eat him." The corner of her mouth quirks again.
She does not move to get the token just yet.
Edan smiles. "I was thinking what would happen when they return over the Bridge of Trolls, only ot find that someone else has claimed ownership," he says. He moves Aramsham a little closer. "It is a shame, that we would find ourselves so far apart after this race, with no way to meet. I am greatly... intrigued."
"We will meet again," Chases-in-Madness replies. She sounds very confident of that.
"And," she adds, "I do not mean merely across the field of battle."
Edan frowns a little.
"As much as I would be pleased to meet you again," he says, "I do not like what this portends. I know where such a battle would take place. Is it so certain a conclusion?"
Chases-in-Madness returns the frown. It takes her a moment to reply. "Your father knows where we would go. Tell him to stand aside from our path. I believe even now a battle can be avoided if that happens."
"I can make a few guesses. You will not find what you seek, Chases- in-Madness."
The frown fades slightly, as Edan recalls the words to an ancient song; he sings it in an ephemeral, disjointed melody:
"He either fears his fate too much/ or his deserts are small/
who dares not put it to the touch/ to win or lose it all."
He shakes his head. "It would be easier to draw water from the desert sands than convince my father to move aside. I suspect the same for your father. My father is bound to Amber, as are all my uncles. Your father is bound by ancient desire, yes? And yet, you must know what will happen... old alliances will surface again. Much blood will be spilled. There are still other alternatives."
Chases-in-Madness eyes Edan warily. "I am willing to hear them, but this is not the day. Both of us have a race to run."
Edan nods. "As you will... here." He digs into his saddlebag and produces a pear, and guides Aramsham closer.
As Edan digs in his saddlebag, Chases-in-Madness does the same. She brings forth--something--exactly what isn't clear to Edan. When she opens her hand to offer it to him, it's a tiny horse, not unlike the one Chases-in-Madness rides on. She nudges her steed closer to Edan, close enough that he can take the creature from her.
"Are you a sorcerer?" she asks.
Edan shrugs slightly; why deny it now? "I am... not... unfamiliar," he says. He lets their hands touch just a moment too long as they exchange tokens. "Though, you know, they are called the occult arts... what is this thing called?"
Chases-in-Madness' horse does not retreat immediately.
"Whatever you want to call it. It is Chaosi; it has no name other than what a lord gives it," she explains. "You may have the skills to speak with it and ask."
Edan's eyebrows rise, and he glances down to his hand, then to her horse. "This could be a perilous thing, if one is not careful," he says.
"All power comes with terrible risks," Chases-in-Madness agrees. She hesitates a moment before continuing.
"If I were to give you a token, would you swear an oath to protect it?"
Another moment, and Edan nods. "I would. And would be honored. And would count the days until it could be returned to you."
She reaches up and takes a pin from her long silver-blonde hair. "Use this to summon me when you are ready to speak with me, and I will come." Then she awaits Edan's oath.
Feeling brave again, Edan reaches out... slowly... with his right hand to take hers. His eyes meet hers as he says, "May the Merciful One look down upon us and witness my words. I swear to protect this token with all of my ability... to keep it with me at all times..." he hesitates but a second, "and that I will keep its giver in my thoughts. So speaks the Djinn-al-Ghanii, son of Amber, son of the desert."
Chases-in-Madness glances away for a moment after the oath is completed. Then she looks back at Edan. "The oath is good," she announces, and hands him the pin.
"I thank you," Edan says, and works the pin into the lapel of his robe for the moment. "It does not seem fair, somehow, that you should not have something..." From his boot, he produces a curved, scabbarded knife, which he holds out sideways to her. "A thing of the Dar-es-Salaam," he says.
She smiles, but does not move to take it yet. "Do you know what that means among my people, Son of the Sun?"
Edan raises an eyebrow, and his hand drops about a centimeter. "I do not," he says. "In my homeland, to give the /jambiyah/ to another is a sign of respect and friendship. I hope I have not offended."
"Among my people, the gift of a knife means that you count the receiver a close enough friend that you know the receiver will never turn it on you," Chases-in-Madness explains. "The gift can have additional significance if exchanged between a man and a woman. I am not offended, and will accept the gift on the terms given, but I do not wish you to feel trapped by a pledge you did not mean to make, or mean me to."
The eyebrow travels a little further, and Edan can't hide a grin. "And would you, if I did?"
His hand remains outstretched, and he adds, "Come to think of it, this sounds accurate. If you decide you are going to stab me, please use something else. And until that time," his golden eyes meet hers again, "take care of yourself, Chases-in-Madness."
"I will, Son of the Sun," she says, and takes the dagger. Her horse retreats a few steps.
Edan's bow, even from horseback, is eloquent, meant for an equal. "R'llah mwaffaqah, Moonrider," he says. "And may the Merciful One watch over you. We will meet again." And with a flick of the reins, he turns Aramsham back towards the side of Order, and the big push to the finish of the race.
He hears the hoofbeats of her own horse, the sound diminishing in the opposite direction as she rides back toward her own destination. The slightest sound of silvery laughter floats over them for a moment.
"I worry a little about that laugh, Aramsham," he says. The horse, as usual, ignores him.
As they head back along the same path at their best speed, Edan suddenly frowns and pulls out the token of chaos he had stashed in his pocket. Holding the reins tight, he looks over the creature/thing with his Third Eye.
It looks much like a starfish with an eye in the middle.
A voice in Edan's head says "Protect me and I will serve you, Lord."
Watching for when he has to do his vision spell again for the fog, Edan says, "Oh? And what can you do for me? What are you?"
"I am ... this." It seems confused by the question. "I can be what you need me to be. I know of Chaos."
Edan nods. "I thought as much. You have an affinity for those you serve. You were a horse, when Chases-in-Madness held you out." He dances Aramsham past a tricky part of the path. "Do you gain power or abilities from this relationship?"
"I am a horse if you so will it. The bargain is traditional, Lord. I serve you and you protect me. This place is not safe for one such as me, unprotected."
Aramsham steps surefootedly down the slope, towards the fog, which seems to be fighting a losing battle with sunset.
Edan is silent for a time, but finally nods. "I need your knowledge of Chaos," he says. "And your abilities. I accept the bargain... I shall call you Kyauta, which means 'gift' in my tongue. And I, as you probably already know, am Edan. We will go many places, you and I, and I am content to let the bargain hold as long as we both wish it."
"Then you are my lord and I am your affine. How may I serve?"
Aramsham whinnies. The fog begins just ahead. It's much thinner by now, but it's getting dark.
"I am in a race, a mirror to that of Chases-in-Madness. I believe we are slightly behind, so I am loathe to stop now. But since the mist is breaking up..." He pats Aramsham's neck. "Take a form that will emit light, something to see by, and we will continue a little before we stop. I will know where we are in relation to the finish. What I need to know is where we are in relation to the one ahead." He holds a picture in his mind, like a deep-sea fish that can swim through air.
It begins the change, taking on the shape and function described. It is not actually a fish and doesn't move like one, but bears resemblance to a fish sculpted by a blind nomad of the deep deserts. "Yes, My Lord, I will help you to win. I am useful." It seems quite emphatic on the last point.
"And in the meantime, you can tell me what you know of Clarissa."
"I have heard of it. Her Eternal Majesty, Queen Clarissa, Defender of the Southlands, Commander of the Bronze Legions, and Sorceress Prime, it rules a great swath of Chaos and is related to many powerful beings on both sides of the line. It is the only Lord of Chaos to use Grackleflint openly."
Edan smiles, just a little. "I call her Grandmother. We will be paying a visit, later."
It pauses. "If you choose to devour it and take its place, My Lord, take small bites!"
"Devour..." Edan is sure that if his cousins were around to see his expression, they would be greatly amused. "How revolting! I thank the Merciful One that I could think up a better way to show dominance. She... it... she..." He frowns. "Wait. Wait a moment. Kyauta, if you were to meet another creature of Chaos, and for whatever reason you chose to defeat it... then devour it... what would happen? What would you gain?"
"I would gain it, My Lord, were you to give me the privilege of devouring it. What it was would be available for your service, My Lord!"
"Its power. The whole being. Everything." Edan lets Aramsham pick his way forward as he ponders. "And each instance would mean a combining and a recombining, would it not? Fascinating... if the stronger parts always overcame the weaker, then you could establish matrices to predict... or could you? This is Chaos... by definition, unplannable... entropy in the equations..." he mumbles half to himself, then turns.
"Does the stronger part always overcome the weaker? Hmmm... is it a permanent thing, my affine? Or a temporary one? Being the victor, do you have a choice as to what you... er... absorb?"
"It can be like that, Lord, as it is with the dumbest foodbeings. It is more usually a matter of conjoining. Were a much stronger creature than I to devour me, you would need to remake your bargain with it. Were I to absorb a creature with a contrary affination to your own, the new me would need to resolve that. "
It gives the mental equivalent of a shrug. "It is complex, and I have little practical experience with culinary politics at the higher levels."
Edan nods, and lets Aramsham pick his way onward (if a rest and a rubdown is called for so that Aramsham can have a final burst of speed at the end, then they'll be stopping soon... otherwise, they'll plod forward at an easy pace, and have lots of breaks for Edan to walk him).
"I am intrigued," he says. "If there is choice in the matter, then the process is not completely random- and can be defined mathematically. I could spend years on the subject... perhaps I will, someday." He shifts a little betraying nervousness. "It also tells me that the old ones, the powerful ones, no doubt have absorbed as many of their enemies as possible. I wonder if I will be rushing forward to be eaten by my own grandmother. Not to mention that if we run into a powerful being that does not have the sense to recognize ransom, that it will be trying to consume us both."
"My powerful Lord, named and namer, child of the child of the Clarissa, will be victorious in battle! With Kyauta and the Aramsham to victory."
Aramsham comes out of the fog and Edan sees the bridge ahead. The center of it seems to have fallen into the chasm below.
Edan winces and slows, even though the possibility had occurred to him several times. He looks to see if the breakage is due to yet another troll fight (in which case there may be bodies) or if Orlon has managed to break the bridge behind him (in which case there may be many unhappy trolls about).
"Kyauta," he says, staring outward, "Have you ever been used as a channel or a focus for a spell? I mean to say, have you ever acted as a familiar for another Lord?"
"My Lord honors me! I will be the best channelorafocus My Lord has ever had! Tell me what you will of me, Oh Lord!"
Edan chuckles. "That answers my question, I think. Just remain in a flying form and stay close. If the bridge is really gone, we will just have to make our own."
"Yes, my Lord." Aramsham climbs the mountain road to the bridge. The mid-span section appears to be missing.
Edan starts searching for trolls or bodies; if there aren't any, he'll start a spell to bridge the broken span... temporarily. If there are trolls ahead, he'll draw up and talk.
There are no trolls.
Edan wraps the reins around one of his forearms as Aramsham continues forward.
"Think of flight," he croons to the affine as his arms and hands begin to make passes. "Think of being light, of the air holding you up. Think of the freedom of it. Focus. That's it..." And using Kyauta as his focus, Edan creates an area of tension across the bridge span, a shimmer like that of heated air or steam. With a soothing word to Aramsham, he urges the horse to move forward onto the magical bridge.
"Such power my Lord honors me with!" Kyauta strains under it. It seems to Edan that the little being is emitting all it can, but absorbing even more. A bridge span shimmers and becomes solid, more as a sumbeam than a shimmer of steam. "I did it, my lord. I am light!" Aramsham steps firmly onto the magical bridge. It is no more than a few moments before he is across. They way down the mountain is clear.
Far below, he can see, as if he is magnified, Orlon stepping into the old Troll's cave.
"Aye, Kyauta. That you did." Edan marks the endo-magical nature of the affine, but pushes the thought off for later; he nurses a sudden frown that becomes more pronounced as the seconds tick by.
"It is harder to change myself here, my Lord. Why is that?"
"There was no reason for us to visit the seer again. And the trolls here are missing, the bridge smashed. Something smells here, and the Prince is involved in it. But how involved?" He kicks Aramsham into motion again, but aims for the cave entrance.
Aramsham hurries down the mountain, crossing the ground rapidly. It is not close, and the great steed runs as fast Edan will let him, given the terrain and the slope. He seems to be enjoying himself.
Edan dismounts at the entrance. He hears two voices inside. "Almost, Almost!" says the troll crone. "Hurry!" replies Orlon. "Almost ready!", says the crone. The air smells of ozone and something acrid.
"Aramsham, stay here," Edan says. He not so much dismounts as vaults out of the saddle. "Kyauta, with me!" Drawing his sword, a magic-dispelling charm on his mind, he enters the cave.
The old troll woman has created some sort of gateway of acrid smoke. "See you at the castle!" says Orlan, and leaps at it.
Edan merely shakes his head and draws his hand across his body, fingers in a particular configuration, attempting to dispel at least part of the gate. Only after he does so does he remember the gesture is quite rude in any number of cultures.
Whatever the result, he says, "And to think I have been debating the ethics of doing exactly the same thing. But it occurred to me that steps must have been taken to stop such an easy attempt."
Orlon is mostly through when the Edan's spell hits the gate. It dissipates, but Orlon is gone., but he has not gone unscathed. He's lost the back part of his boot and some of the foot that was in it.
The troll looks at Edan. "What will you offer me to cast you a similar spell?"
Edan stares hard at the troll-mother, then gives a short, sharp whistle through his teeth to call Aramsham to him. (OOC: that is, if the cave and cave mouth were large enough to accomodate his horse...)
"It depends," he says. "How close can you get me to the gates?"
"Precision is a factor of the care and time I spend on it. I could put you on top of it, if I had a day. You would do well to decide quickly. I would take your familiar in payment." She looks at Kyauta hungrily.
Edan shakes his head, even as he feels Aramsham's breath at the back of his neck; he grabs hold of the bridle before his horse can take a bite out of his ear.
"The price," he says, putting his foot in the stirrup and swinging a leg over, "is too high." Sitting in the saddle, he places a hand on the hilt of his remaining sword and remembers the Word of Power for a warding spell. "Forgive me, Mother-of-Many. I had a terrible thought when I saw the gate you had created. If Prince Orlon was willing to break the bridge to slow me down, then he may well have arranged for my transport, ah, elsewhere. This has become far more than a mere race of horses and prizes, neh? And I have allowed myself to be bound by this game's strictures for far too long. Kyauta..." He shrugs his left shoulder slightly, indicating it as a perch, then tugs on the reins for Aramsham to turn and leave.
Aramsham wheels and leaves, but seems to be moving more slowly than Edan expects, as if the smoke pouring around his legs is ... sticky. It only comes up to Aramsham's calves, but it seems like molasses. A quick glance behind reveals the crone pouring it out of her cauldron and directing it at Aramsham.
Realizing that a personal ward won't help here, Edan abandons that idea; instead, he does a quick mental calculation involving shaped charges and force and geometry, then turns an extended hand as he speaks a Word, making the fire under the cauldron explode upward and heave the metal vat at the troll. He kicks at Aramsham's flanks after the distraction is in place, urging his horse onward...
There is a satisfying *clank* and a pleasant warming behind Edan. Kyauta makes what Edan hopes is a happy, satisfied noise.
Aramsham bursts out of the cave and Edan can see the sun setting over the foothills. Far in the distance the castle awaits, too small to see from here.
Golden eyes glimmer in the light as Edan looks in the direction of their destination. Getting distance between themselves and the cave, he eventually looks back and says, "I am... conflicted, Kyauta." Suprisingly, he smiles. "You will hear this from me many times, I think."
He lets his horse navigate a trickly bit of rock, then says, "I was taught that decisions of import were made with one's head and one's heart. When the two can work together, things are good. When they are not... my heart tells me that the end of the race is close, so close... and if I do not help resolve the conflicts around me, my presence here may affect travel to the Tree for some time to come. I am also a little jealous, my affine... my father would have won this thing handily by now and had both sides feel sorry that they could not help him win sooner. But my head... my mind tells me that the reward is not nearly worth the risk. The deal I may have made with the trolls has certainly been corrupted or ruined by the Mother's treachery. The Prince may yet find some way to stop me, as this race is nothing to him, a means to an end. And if I lose, I would have the detestable task of killing his father, even if he is an infidel. Despite the Prince's assurance, there is nothing to say my life would not be forefit after such an act. What would he lose by lying to me?" He glances back towards the foothills. "But we are close, and Orlon is hobbled. And once I start a thing, I want to see it through. Do you see my problem, my affine?"
Judging that they are far enough away, he pulls on the reins. "Magic can take us there, or it can carry us away. Fold space as the troll did, to the castle, or part the Veil of Reality to the Tree, and beyond. I think either is possible, now that I have you. I just have to choose."
Kyuta's voice is in Edan's head. "My Lord is a Great Lord from a Great House. He should do what pleases him and not let a lesser being dictate his choices. You should find this Orlon and eat him, as an example to others."
"It is not so simple, Kyauta," Edan begins, then laughs. "Verily, we have traveled in Chaos, when I am the one to give caution as counsel! You are right about one thing, my affine. I have strived hard on this race. I want to see the finish." He brandishes a short stick of wood, then lights the tip with a tap of his finger; it smokes as if Edan is carrying a double handful of incense.
"I think we can do this better than the troll, neh? I have seen the castle gates myself. You are with me. And the Prince, however close he is, will be hobbled." He sets Aramsham ahead at a trot, in a slow curve to the left. His arm is raised, the stick leaving a thick smoky trail behind them. He pushes his horse faster as they pass the starting point, creating the outside edge of an ever-tightening spiral.
"See the picture in my mind, Kyauta. Concentrate on it. It is the finish of the race. Hold this thought. When we reach the center of my circle, we will ride through to this place." Faster, now, a canter, as they spiral closer and closer, flames starting to lick at the edges of the smoke trail, a haze beginning to form at the center. "And be ready for a rough ride! It is hard enough to convince the universe that you are one place when you are really another. Harder still when you are in a hurry!"
Edan casts his spell and Aramsham leaps at the flame, well trained in just this maneuver. Edan finds himself within sight of the castle, just across the silver river from where he is. He sees a figure loping towards it. If he can cross the river, he should be able to catch the man.
It might be the prince, it might not. It is as God will decide, Edan thinks. He leans forward, close to his stallion's neck, and speaks in its ear. "Kosamak, Aramsham, Sikistirma! It all comes to this. Run!"
He reserves his best spell for last, wild-eyed, hunched down, with Aramsham galloping at full speed and Kyauta clawing at his shoulder. One hand clenches into a fist and fire actually bursts forth; an eruption of earth and fire fountains from the river, throwing creatures to either side, and quickly hardens into a bridge that Aramsham can take. Sparks flare with each step, and Edan voices a battle cry as they rush over the bridge and towards the castle.
Aramsham bolts across the bridge, letting sheer joy of running take him. Edan skillfully sets a course for his steed, keeping the stallion on steady ground on the slightly mad plains. He flies across the distance, and the hobbled figure is, indeed, the son of the count. A look back and soon he is running, loping in a way that will cost him in the end.
Edan gains ground and sees, on the parapets, scores of witnesses and watchers. It's likely they're wagering.
The distance melts and the gates of the castle become close. Aramsham will certainly win, unless Orlon has a trick up his sleeve.
"Will you ride him down, My Lord?", Kyauta asks.
It would be possible.
"Yes!" Edan responds, and nudges Aramsham in the direction of Prince Orlon. If there is to be a trick by the Prince himself, then it will happen when Edan is past and his back is vulnerable; riding Orlon down would force him to change his tactics. Edan is all too aware that unless the other prince is extremely lucky, he made it past the silver river by himself.
On the other hand, if the trick or threat is from without, they might hesitate to do it while Orlon is close. Edan draws his sword as they charge ahead, ready to use it as the focus for a quick defensive spell; he doesn't care what it all looks like.
Aramsham turns towards Orlon, getting the idea in a flash. His hooves pound the ground as he erases the distance.
Orlon looks over his shoulder, a grim smile on his face. As Aramsham reaches him, the Prince goes down. He doesn't hit the stallion's body or forelegs. A split second later, there is a tremendous thump as something hits Aramsham's belly. A quick glance behind does not show the Prince rolling on the ground in the dust.
The castle, the gates, and victory loom close ahead, but Aramsham is riding oddly.
"My Lord," says Kyunta excitedly, "we have been boarded!"
Edan can't help but smile; under the same circumstances, he would have done exactly the same thing. But it is understood that the situation is intolerable, for the prince is at a very vulnerable spot for Aramsham. A Plan comes unbidden to him, and he sheathes his sword.
Kyauta, he thinks, Be ready. If Aramsham falls, you will need to take a form that can carry me across the finish. I will be vaulting over to you if I can.
"Yes", Kyauta replies. He seems to be getting heavier.
OOC: the Plan is this: Edan thinks Orlon is going to
a. hitch a ride under the horse and come in for a tie...
[Well, he was planning on inching forward so that he could beat you by a nose, but yes...]
b. undo the saddle strap, dumping Edan, and ride under Aramsham for the win...
[What Bleys would've done is undo the belly band, hold both sides loosely, and once you had falling momentum in one direction, hold the other side so as your descent pulled him up, but Orlon is no Bleys...]
...or c. eviscerate Aramsham and run in for the win.
[Hardly sporting, that.]
Edan will be holding on to Aramsham's mane in case the saddle comes off; otherwise, he'll let Aramsham gallop to the finish (keeping Orlon close) until the last minute. Near the finish he'll do some trick riding: swing off his horse on one side, let his feet contact the ground, use that inertia to swing his body up and over to the other side of his horse, and convert his swing to a two-footed kick when he comes back down and around. He'll be dragging after this maneuver, unless he can use the same kind of move to kick and swing back and up on Aramsham's back.
Kyauta is there in case Orlon goes for option c, in which case Edan will try to move over to the affine, ride to the finish, then return the favor to the prince at the earliest opportunity.
"Can we talk about this?" shouts Orlon.
Edan lets Aramsham gallop to the finish (keeping Orlon close) until the last minute. Near the finish he does some trick riding: swinging off his horse on one side, Edan's feet contact the ground, and he uses that inertia to swing his body up and over to the other side of his horse.
"Lower Away!" shouts Orlon.
He converts his swing to a two-footed kick when he comes back down and around.
Orlon doesn't even try to hold on, and seems to have been swinging under Aramsham. Edan connects, but the blow isn't as hard as it could be. Orlon flies off and rolls in the dust.
Another kick at the ground and Edan is mounted again. To his left, Orlon bounces up, and starts running forward. He looks nearly spent. The finish is very, very close.
The gate is closing. Fast. Aramsham might make it, but he might be hurt as well.
Alarm bells are going off, and it has as much to do with being in an enclosed castle with these people as it is the immediate threat of the gate. But Edan is no worse off than he was before, and the finish is close, so close! All he can do is angle Aramsham slightly away from Prince Orlon, aim for a place in the gate that has more space (if there is such), and be ready to lean off the side of his horse if necessary.
"Hold on!" he yells to Kyauta as they leap into the final effort.
Kyauta holds on, ducking low and perhaps becoming more flat. Aramsham is worried, but charges on, his head lowered. Kyauta slides from Edan's back to Aramsham's flanks.
The gate is close, and closing. Orlon is seconds behind when Aramsham reaches the gate and goes through it, Edan low on his back and the portcullis just above him. The crowd erupts and Edan can hear nothing. There's a palpable hit on Aramsham's hindquarters and the horse stumbles, but recovers, as if he were hit on his armor.
Kyauta says "My Lord has won!" Kyauta does not seem to be on Aramsham's flank, but Edan can hear him clearly in his head.
Orlon is standing inside the gate, grinning ruefully. He is out of breath, but holds his hand up and the crowd grows silent.
"Well raced, Prince Edan ibn Bleys. Perhaps the most exciting finish in a generation. Show your token of madness and they will declare you the winner."
[Drowning in Armour (reversed) -- True Prudence]
[Hah! How appropriate. Well played! My money was on hitting the horse]
Edan dismounts, already with a pretty good idea of what just happened. Faking a frown, he moves as if inspecting Aramsham's hindquarters before speaking.
Kyauta? he thinks. Are you hurt? Where are you?
I am under the gate. I was trapped as we entered, protecting Aramsham.
I am coming to get you, my affine. You have done very well. I have a fair idea of where you fell- if you can move, that is good. If you cannot, I will find you. Just... make yourself as resistant to heat as you can. One of Edan's hands clenches into a fist. I know that we won, and so does he; that is sufficient for me. We will be leaving, and I will no longer be stopping for roadblocks such as honor or a castle gate.
I can free most of myself, Lord. Give me a moment...
A plan comes to him, vivid in his mind, like an improvisational dance. Tiny figures he observed coming in move in slow motion, as he does this and then goes here and does this... everyone is looking at him, and that is good, but he will need a spell and then a spell and then perhaps another soon... in any other place this would make him balk, but here he knows the limits are different. Aramsham is facing away from him, and Kyauta would not be affected... there would be a pursuit, but the bridge is still there...
Edan moves to a saddlebag and fiddles with the ties, pretending to open it and produce the 'token'. "My horse was hurt," he lies, letting a little of his pent-up anger show in his voice. "By a bullet."
There is a flapping from the gate, perhaps a tearing as well, and Kyauta rises above the crowd and flies to Edan. I am hale, my Lord.
Edan allows a mental smile. Well done, Kyauta, most resourceful of affines! You have greatly increased my options, here. We may be able to talk our way out, after all. But he keeps his gate-melting Concerto for Magnesium and Acetylene ready in his mind, just in case.
Duke Ofallion presses forwards. "That is a serious accusation, Prince Bleys. Did the slingman fire it before you entered the gate or after?"
"As we were passing-" Edan frowns, glances back towards the now- closed gate, pats at the spot where Aramsham was hit, then re-mounts. "My apologies, Duke Ofallion. Perhaps the gate itself was at fault. It... felt... similar." He sits up straight in the saddle, then limns Kyauta in a fiery yellow light with a touch.
"No doubt your investigators or magicians can determine the story of what occurred. It is a small matter; my Token, here, protected us."
"Then you are, as Prince Ofallion said, declared winner of the race to madness."
The crowd erupts and people begin demanding money from other people.
Orlon limps over. "Well raced, to the last. I am sorry you won, but not surprised." He holds out his hand.
"I was." As always, there is just the slightest moment of hesitation, as Edan overcomes his aversion to clasping hands; but he does so, and does not mention the blinding death-bolt that he hides behind his inscrutable golden eyes.
Of course, there is but one proper response to sum up the hellish trial of the race. "You are a very able opponent, Prince Orlon. Perhaps next year... same time?" Aramsham shifts a step, and he adds, "I would stay, but I am afraid I have put off my other responsibilities far too long..."
"I hope to be recovered enough to take you on by then, Prince Edan," he says with a smile. "I almost had you.
"Traditionally, there's a feast in your honor, wherein you would tell the tale of your feat. We also need to gather your prizes and give them to you." Orlon pauses, and speaks more quietly. "Be careful how you tell my father. His madness is strong today, and he might not take it well."
The hesitation is longer, this time, and Edan's desire to go an almost palpable thing; but he nods finally, and touches his fingertips to his forehead. "I accept the hospitality, Prince Orlon, and the honor extended by your House. It is a blessing." His hand moves back to pat Aramsham's neck. "I would ask a place to tend my horse, and another to rest and prepare myself for the feast."
Orlon smiles. "The stable is to the left, and a room will be prepared for you in the keep. Did you have a chance to place any side wagers? I can arrange for your gambling winnings to be sent to your room as well. Confidentially, I managed to do quite handsomely betting on the two of us."
Edan shakes his head. "I do not..." He pauses. "I... avoid... gambling. It is written..." His expression falls a little. "Well. I should not have taken our wager, for instance. But that is as it may be." He claps Orlon upon the shoulder and adds, "I am glad for your profit. I shall see you at the feast."
"And I you! I think I need to see a healer." He smiles.
Last modified: 11 October 2007