Ward

[Zadown]

Three

 

In the dark depths of the void, a single star was getting brighter. The Dreamer stood at the end of his Astral pier gazing at the approaching brilliant white point, hands held on his hip, Pain nowhere to be seen. His eyes flickered and changed, not knowing whether to pause at yellow, green or blue. The star changed into humanoid shape, still a mere dot for any natural eyes save perhaps eagle's, but anything approaching this close to the Dreamers home fortress could not escape detection and identification. Behind his immobile form another chair appeared from empty air and floated slowly to the other side of the table already there. The table was littered with books and parchments, far slimmer and mundane-looking than the normal grimoires and ancient tomes he tended to read, and piled next to it was three wooden boxes, their crude material looking out of place here.

 

The small shape turned into dark-haired woman clad in white armor racing along the paths at blinding speed. Behind the waiting planewalker the books shifted, murmuring softly as their leather covers glided over the perfectly flat, reflective surface of the table, and three bottles popped into existence in the vacated space along with two tall glasses. The approaching woman was getting very close now, slowing down gradually, coming eventually to a halt before the Dreamer.

 

"Hei-i, ye Chaos scoundrel."

 

"Greetings, m'lady Faaye. Can we sit down?"

 

"Sure, that'll ensure ye'll not be goin' anywhere before I've said what I'm here to say."

 

The Dreamer's left eyebrown rose up inquiringly.

 

"So yer not here to skewer me with yer blade, yet?"

 

Faaye's blue eyes turned icy and her tone serious as she studied the Dreamer's face.

 

"Don't ye mock me, Scourge of the Void. It might come to that still."

 

"What, here?"

 

The Dreamer made a gesture that encompassed his whole fortress, his Herald standing nearby and all the invisible traps he very well knew she'd know the existence of.

 

"Well, let us discuss what ye have to say first, then. I generally prefer to know what I am being killed for."

 

"Very amusin', Wodzan Xe Chanima of Chaos."

 

"So cold to call me that after all we have been through lately, m'lady Faaye. Please, sit down."

 

She did, after glancing through the various books covering still most of the table. The titles seemed to suprise her but she said nothing and turned her eyes back to her host, raised her glass without a word and waited patiently for the Dreamer to pour for them both and sit down. They both took the obligatory sip and then looked at each other in silence. He broke the silence first.

 

"What is it, then? I was under the impression it all went as planned, as well as these things can go, practically."

 

The Dreamer put his glass down and removed his gaze from Faaye's face, let it wander around his Astral Harbour without really paying attention to what he saw. She followed suit, the clink of the glass landing on the table sounding loud.

 

"It didn't go as planned, not quite. Ye said we'd strike a blow against the military might of the Chaos an' so we did, aye, but I do not condone th' strikin' down of immortals not directly concerned with the war effort, an' that's what we ended up doin' most of all."

 

He turned to look at her, frowning.

 

"Ye think eliminatin' Owiric's apprentice is not a heavy blow against the armies of Chaos, neh? That's suprisin', but guess ye do not know him as well as I do, him or her. Now, see, despite his lack of personal power, he is one of the... what?"

 

They both turned to look at the source of the unexpected sound. Some twenty feet away of the table stood a warrior in full armor made of bone and wood, with a small girl holding on to his leg. The girl was pouting - on the face of the warrior was a fatalistic look. The Dreamer's eyes turned purple, his tone angry.

 

"What is it, this time? I did tell ye, very clearly, not to disturb me if I have visitors."

 

The warrior kneeled before the planewalker, taking great care to keep the little girl attached to his leg upright through the maneuver.

 

"Master, Little Princess said she wanted to see Uncle Dreamer. I had no choice to follow her when she set out to do just that, alone."

 

Faaye's grave look was quickly turning into mirth as she witnessed the scene.

 

"Uncle Dreamer now, is it? Hee, that alone was well worth the visit to yer gloomy den, Wodzan. An' just who is she, then?"

 

She stood up, smiling dazzlingly towards the small girl who was now trying to hide behind the armored leg of her protector. As she took a few steps forward, the girl hid even further behind the warrior.

 

"I'd stop there, Faaye - white's a color of death an' mournin' where she's from, an' she might be old enough to rec'gnize it already. Ye look like an' angel of death an' sorrow to her, Aunt Faaye."

 

The Dreamer grinned widely, scars dancing over his pale face.

[Zadown]

Three B

 

His defensive wards bloomed around him like a spherical cage of living seaweed. He could feel them thrum with pressure, constrict an inch or two from the force of the deep seas all around him. It was dark and cold, just like the Void, but this time the darkness and coldness had a mass - primal water pressurized to almost solid thickness instead of intanglible emptiness. The Dreamer floated gently to the bottom of his sphere of protection but did not touch the waters, magic crackling between his boots and the elemental sea.

 

This is minor favor? Pshaw!

 

He flexed his wards and his invisible tentacles of mind trying to accustom himself to this place, frowned at the empty air as his senses brought back odd sensations, jumbled and meaningless. He stood relaxed, thinking, confident that the seeming emptiness of the surroundings was real. The first haunting, loud note jerked his head up and changed his eyes to yellow. Water seemed to tremble from the force of the song.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ Who ~~~~~~

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Are you? ~~~

 

Whoever wrote the ancient translation enchantments was a genius...

 

He opened his mouth, cried the shrill cries of deep seas through the watery walls of his little cell of air, cringing at the sounds he made.

 

~~~~~~~~ I am ~~~~~

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Surface-crab, Plane-dolphin ~~~~

 

~~~~~~ Friend of Friend ~~~~~~~~

 

~~~~~~~~~~~ Of the Mights of the Deep ~~

 

Somewhere in the deepest depths a mind the size of a city woke up, opened a colossal eye.

[Zadown]

Four

 

The flashing discordant lights finally quieted down. The Dreamer blinked, adjusted his vision to cope with the more muted light level and examined his accomplishment with critical air. It was a large shard of dim crystal, barely translucent on the edges, with intricate runes burned all around it. The planewalker muttered absent-mindedly creating an unreal chain to bind it, made an amulet out of it, as he kept on proof-reading the dozens and dozens of tiny runes. Finally satisfied, he grabbed the amulet by the chain and stood up looking around. The view confused him for a passing moment before he remembered what he had done and why: all around him the torn holes in the fabric of the multiversum, the windows to heavens and hells, depths and heights, were all now higher above the Astral pier and more muted, warded so they no longer tugged and called the minds of mortals staring at their depths.

 

Silly children, even they should realize gazing into the Abyss is not healthy for them...

 

He sighed and walked past his disabled portals, turned right over the new suspension bridge instead of going straight towards the door to the Pen, nodded to the archangel guarding the gate. He arrived to the gardens and paused, smiling at his newest creation. Harmless and non-poisonous plants from various, mostly heavenly planes filled the small garden, over half blooming in bright colors. The smell was almost intoxicating, unique - nowhere else would this particular mix of flowers grow, of that he was sure of. The Dreamer whistled softly, and a bird appeared from the bushes, staring at him with first right side of its small head, then cocking its head and checking whether he looked any better with the left eye. He stared back, and the small bird blinked, its yellow eyes turning immeasurably old and deep, the purest blue of Astral. It hopped into flight and flew through one of the tall windows in the wall surrouding the small garden. Eventually, it found what it was looking for and chirped words its tiny mind could not comprehend.

 

"Hiya, Little Princess. Would ye escort her to the garden, warrior?"

 

They both turned to look at the bird - a small, blonde girl in blue frock and her guardian and a short, darkhaired warrior in his immaculate bone and wood armor. The girl had been playing with three tiny shades dressed up as a dolls, a look of delighted concentration on her face as she went through the steps of her play, incomprehensible to any adult. The warrior had a worn, weary look that added five or ten years to his young age, but he still moved with the grace and determination of a true warrior.

 

"Hiii uncle Dreamer! I know the way!"

 

"Wait, Little Princess!"

 

The little girl stood up and dashed away, the warrior barely keeping up with her. As they left the room the shades glided away from the middle of the room to the shadows near the corners, and the eyes of the bird turned yellow again, leaving the bird confused for a moment before it chirped and started hopping towards the garden again.

 

When the little girl reached the gardens she ran straight towards the Dreamer, stopped only when she could see the scowl he aimed at her.

 

"Now, what 'ave I said 'bout huggin' planewalkers, hmm?"

 

"Am not supposed to."

 

"Right. If ye do, their defensive enchantments are trigger'd and ye'll be toast, neh?"

 

Illusionary, transparent lightning and thunder crackled around the Dreamer to underline his words, creating frightening shadows on his scarred face. The girl took a step backwards, eyes big.

 

"Toast."

 

"Ya, crispy, black, charred human toast."

 

The warrior, close to the girl as always, frowned but said nothing. His body language spoke volumes in the silence, however, and there was bright embers of hate in his eyes as he stared at the Dreamer. The planewalker ignored the warrior, keeping his green eyes on the girl.

 

"Anyways, Little Princess, I've made somethin' for ya. Here."

 

He extended his hand towards the girl, holding the crystal by the chain. The crystal turned this way and that, reflected and refracted the artifical light pouring into the garden from above. The light bent around the runes, creating hundreds of miniscule rainbows that sparkled inside the crystal.

 

"Oooo shinyyy!"

 

She skipped forward and grabbed the crystal, tugged it away from the Dreamer's unresisting hand and raised it to her face, fascinated by the colors.

 

"Now, put it on. And remember, never take it off, ya understand me Little Princess?"

 

She pouted at the planewalker's serious tone but put it on, made a face.

 

"It's heavy, uncle."

 

She moved her small hand to take it off. His eyes flashed first yellow, then purple in rapid succession.

 

"Never take it off. Never."

 

The little girl started to cry.

[Zadown]

Four B

 

Frumious sneegles oozed from under the furry explosions. Somewhere in the distance yellow screams could be heard, overflowing the twingled abominations, left and right, and burned the glamorous fabbleworths to the iousuth and brambleling. "Gwarg, gwarg!" went the multitudous oblequotations, snorkling zarbuously, blithedly aphtertomating the Dreamer. He ignored them, dodged a quolating qwerty and stepped forward, through a veil.

 

Before him in the small, normal space stood the imposing figure of Sir Owiric of Chaos. For a stretched moment they both locked their eyes as rams lock their horns, ready to fight. Then Owiric grunted and nodded, broke the silence.

 

"So ye made it through th' madness. What ye want, traitor? An' why are we meetin' here, of all places?"

 

"I knew ye wouldn't be able to resist the challenge, Sir Owiric. An' that ye'd know neither of us can bring an army through ... that. Even demons'd 'ave their heads explode."

 

The Dreamer turned and pointed half-heartedly at the direction he had come.

 

"True an' true, I suppose. So, ye 'ave proved ye can wield logic, now do ye have somethin' to actually say?"

 

"Ya, I do, tho' I'm not sure I can get ye convinced about anything .. even in this dire situation. Ya see, th' attack against ye was not just personal revenge, even if 'twas that too, nor just me actin' like Law's mercenary. I owed a real debt to them, a debt they allowed me to pay like that. Now, I do not regret that, but as any fool can see, th' Chaos 'sn't havin' a good year, at all."

 

Owiric growled and pointed at the Dreamer with an armored finger.

 

"So yer sayin' I should forgive an' move on an' be best buddiest with ya, after what ya did? I 'ave half a mind to replicate yer trick an' wring th' neck of that long-eared elflin' I know ye teach."

 

The Dreamer grinned coldly and sat down on a table.

 

"Ye could try, an' abandon yer armies as ye run all over th' known multiversum lookin' for him; he is fast on th' paths, an' a tracker - not to mention in any real fight ye'd scar him at best, he'd scar ye at worst, an' then ye'd be th' ridicule of all. Naw, yer not goin' to do that as we both know, that much ye have sense, neh?

 

An' no, no best buddies, but both commanders in th' army of Chaos, an' as such we should be able to talk, ya?"

 

"So, ye want more knowledge to take to that White Witch of yers, huh?"

 

"Think so if ye wish, but at th' very least don't attack my armies as they move to positions to block th' cold, merciless flow of th' icy Law, d'ye hear?"

 

"We'll see .. where are ye movin' them to, then?"

 

An illusionary map of the area of the multiversum in question sprang into existence out of empty air, coloured dots and arrows moving across the paths to show the movement of the Dreamers troops. Owiric nodded grudgingly, then cursed at his own weakness and started giving advice on strategy.

[Zadown]

Five

 

"My apologies, Master, but there is something I need to talk with you about."

 

The Dreamer raised his eyes from the torn and bloodied parchment he had been reading and fixed his deep, dark blue gaze on the deeply bowing warrior. He slowly lowered the letter on the black basalt table, took his time with setting both of his hands to his lap. Only then he raised his left eyebrown questioningly and nodded his permission to speak.

 

"Little Princess is soon five years old by my count, Master. There has to be a naming ceremony to receive her two names from the Heavens."

 

"I was aware of th' fact, ya. In case I lack any of th' details, do go through what 's needed."

 

"To do it right by the lore, we would need a tailored red silk robe for her, her parents or any other two living relatives... ", the warrior frowned slightly, the small gesture speaking volumes on his normally totally experssionless face, "... a priest of the Holy Tree and at least two witnesses from other noble families of note."

 

"Robe 's easy - say, does th' lore specify living relatives, as such? Would her parents still do, what ya think?"

 

An uncharateristic, cruel smile appeared briefly on the Dreamer's face before fading as he studied the warrior before him. The warrior frowned deeper this time, but now showing uncertainity instead of hostility.

 

"What do you mean by that, Master?"

 

"'Tis not dead which can eternality achieve, an' with strange devices even death can die ... if ye don't mind me misquotin', not that ye'd ever read th' original from th' Tomes of R'lyeh. But I digress."

 

The shadows of planewalker's earlier cruel smile turned into unabashed grin.

 

"I hold th' souls of her parents, suspended between th' heavens an' th' hells."

 

The warrior trembled as the words sunk in, and his shaking hand moved slowly towards the hilt of his sword naked hatred burning in his eyes. The Dreamer seemed to drink this show of barely constrained anger as rare wine, his white eyes half-closing.

 

"Ye can tell her that as well, if ye wish. Or ye can draw yer crude sword an' charge me - even if I do not move a muscle, my wards will end yer existence, effortlessly. An' she'll be alone, without any mortal company. Is that what ye want, warrior? An easy end for ye, a way to abandon yer post, now?"

 

He opened his eyes fully. Then he blinked, seemed to lose interest with the charade, his eyes dimming to dull grey.

 

"Ah well, her parents will do, I'm sure. Be sure to tell her so she'll not make a scene at th' ceremony 'tself, mm?"

 

As if she had been waiting for her cue, a small girl padded out of the gardens, over the bridge and towards the two men, both waiting her in silence. She was clad in her nightgown and dragged in her left hand a gnome-made tinkered toy soldier. As she reached the warrior, she glanced at him sleepily, then padded right past him and climbed to the table, sitting down so her legs dangled right next to the Dreamer.

 

"Uncle?"

 

"Ya, Li'tl' Princess, what 's it?"

 

"I can't sleep. Can you come tell me a bedtime story, uncle?"

 

The Dreamer beamed at her, his eyes lightning up, turning snow white with golden veins swimming through them.

 

"Of course I will, Li'tl' Princess. Let's go."

 

He lifted the small girl from the table, grinned over her at the warrior who shot a smoldering look back, and started walking towards the gardens with his long, steady gait.

[Zadown]

Five B

 

His boots raised small clouds of dust, but even those small signs of chaos soon died. The Dreamer stopped and surveyed his surroudings, his bodyguards echoing his movements half a moment late. All around the three was desolation, an even desert of dull, brown sand, a few dull crystals here and there underlining the emptiness. The place looked even worse with the sixth sense: all the potential had been drained out, all life, energy and uncertainity, all the chaos was gone. The planewalker coughed, feeling worn in the air thick of the taint of Law, scratched his pale skin absently but insistently. Magic had not been removed, quite, but it had been fouled, rendered one-dimensional for anybody not mastering the Art perfectly .. or not following the ways of Law.

 

He resumed his slow, weary walk, paused almost instantly when his right boot caught on something protruding from the dead ground. He regained his balance and stooped down to check what it was, brushed the dry sand off the item. The Dreamer picked up the demon skull, held it at arm's lenght staring at the empty eyesockets.

 

This is what awaits us all at the end of the road if we do not contain the Law. Sand under their marching boots, even the weave of our planes dyed monochrome, lifeless.

 

The Dreamer let the skull fall and expanded his mind, even if it felt painful to do so in this hostile enviroment. It brushed the demon and the angel, lightly, noted their discomfort and alertness, then rose higher.

 

From the sky he could see the huge triangle burnt into the desert floor.

[Zadown]

Six

 

"No, no, 'old it with both 'ands an' point at th' sky, like this."

 

The Dreamer adjusted the heavy wooden practice sword the girl held in both hands, his eyes sea-green. She was wearing light armor in the style the warrior wore, made of wood and bones, enough to deflect a glancing blow. There was concentration on her face, and determination, a look that said she would definitely master this soon and then move on to other things.

 

"Now, try again, an' remember the ten easy forms of attack I told ye 'bout. If ye can manage to touch me with th' tip of yer sword, ye get a wish, neh?"

 

Her look changed as she pondered on this possible reward.

 

"You have removed your defensive wards, uncle?"

 

"Ya, I wouldn't want my Li'tl' Princess get hurt, now would I?"

 

"I told you not to call me that, I'm ... "

 

A wild swing, easily blocked by the planewalker. "... Jankiize ..."

 

A thrust, which the tall, scarred man sidestepped, almost smiling. "... Towikae ..."

 

A scything blow, parried, her sword hitting the stone pier. "... Vangaijuua!"

 

She panted, unaccustomed to the relatively heavy weight of the wooden sword. He stepped back and grinned.

 

"Now, then, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree, if ye will not use th' ten easy forms of attack I do believe ye will fail in protectin' the honor of yer illustrous name, n.. eh?"

 

As he finished the sentence, the look on his face changed in an instant, green draining out of his eyes and the wooden sword, forgotten, falling to the stone pier. The Dreamer's eyes turned pitch black, gave him the appearance of a scarred skull - without pausing to explain he uttered a powerful spell, prepared in advace for occasions such as this. Jankiize had time to look suprised, barely. Then a pillar of emerald green light flared from beneath her, buoying her up to the air and turning solid as it enceased her, her surprised look frozen in place.

 

Who dares!?

 

The door to the fortress of Pen crashed open, an armored figure leading the charge of a wave of warriors, all wearing a green-white tabard, armed with shields and longswords. Somewhere beyond the shining metal he could see people in robes, saw one of them raise his hand towards the girl and shout.

 

"Kill her! For the Grail!"

 

As one man the advancing group echoed his last words.

 

"For the Grail!"

 

His bodyguards appeared on his both sides in an instant, charged forward with weapons drawn without needing any further orders. The Dreamer's eyes were set ablaze, burning in hues of red and yellow. He clenched his fist, unlocked a trap he had set with a hasty thought. Three of the attacking knights were sent flying towards the stone wall of the Pen, each of them falling down as broken, crumbled shapes. This did not stop the onslaught, only made the wave of metal cry in unison.

 

"The Shield! Shield of Faith!"

 

One of the robed attackers raised a shield high. He could sense the powerful relic protecting the attackers, muttered two words and pointed at the ancient artefact. Blue lines of power shimmered all around him, pumping raw mana into him for him to channel. The shield imploded as if crushed by angry titans, his bodyguards wading now into the attacking mass of mortals, crashing against the rush of heroes, dealing mortal wounds and crippling blows. The planewalker glared at one of the three robed figures, channeling mana at such a rate he was lifted above the floor, air boiling around him. His psychic lance blew up the mage's brain, creating a slowly descending red mist where the mage's head had been. Still they rushed, past his two bodyguards, past their dead and dying comrades, crying their warcries.

 

"The Spear! For the Grail! The Spear of Faith!"

 

As he understood their words, he sensed the presence of another powerful relic hidden within the remaining attackers. He tried to pinpoint it, shouting angry words that killed the last knights one by one. Stone rose up to impale them, hellfire gripped them in shrouds of dancing purple flames and pure force tore them apart, but they did not stop. When he saw the spear, it was already too late: the runed weapon, an artefact imbued with faith and magic, flew through the air towards the girl. He pointed towards the hurled spear with an open palm projecting a field of force to knock it off it's deadly course, but the weapon sliced through the improvised spell, did not sway. It flew straight and true, pierced the solid emerald light ... and was turned by the wards written in her crystal amulet, glancing her cheek before clattering down to the stone pier behind her. When he turned back to look at the battle, the last of the knights were already down, his bodyguards looking around warily. There were no more attackers, however. Twenty-two knights and three mages, all broken, torn, dead. The Dreamer sighed, released the girl from the stasis field. She landed down in a daze, blinked, her look of suprise deepening.

 

"... what, uncle? Oh."

 

She saw the ghastly remains of the attacking force and turned pale, raised her hand to her cheek reflexively. Her eyes turned from the dead knights to her fingers, tried to comprehend the blood she saw on them. He kneeled down and smiled wanly to her, eyes grey.

 

"See, Li'tl' Princess? Yer first scar."

 

Still dazed, moving in slow, deliberate way, she poked the Dreamer with the tip of her wooden practice sword.

[Zadown]

Six B

 

"Ye won't need yer guards there, I already said."

 

"But.."

 

"No nays nor buts, m'lord Valdar. 'Tis as safe as it can be, as long as .. well, sufficiently safe, sufficiently."

 

"But..."

 

"An' don't just stay there gawkn', watch th' way I go an' follow me, through th' illusion once we get there."

 

"Yes, Master."

 

"Master not for long, 'prentice. Remember that an' act accordin'ly."

 

The Dreamer's eyes faded into darker blue, a color almost black. He whirled around, did not stop to look if Valdar did follow him, and strode deeper into Veil. Behind him Valdar's ears drooped slightly, then perked up as he rushed after his master knowing well he would not be able to keep up if he'd wait for too long. The Dreamer's long steps ate away the distance with haste, his legs stomping the Paths as if every stomp was a kick on the heads of the troops of Law. His face held a disfiguring sneer, a result of setbacks on the fields of war. As they passed, the denizens of the Veil watched the pair silently, assessing their strenght and speed and coming to the correct conclusion that leaving them alone was most prudent for their own good.

 

* * *

 

They stepped through the mirage, stood at the hall of Phacyra's hideout, master and apprentice: the Dreamer in his chaos-plate, Pain in a sheath on his back, iron crown keeping his unruly grey hair in place, scars marking the thousands of battles he had been in; and foot and a half shorter Valdar in his glimmering chain coat, sword on his belt, ear-blades glinting in the faint light. They looked like an unlikely pair - a king and a ranger, a pale corpse and a ritually scarred elf, a tall knight and a short archer. Anybody knowing something about fighting would have seen how they moved as a pair, however, ready to tackle whatever adversaries the Fates would put on their way.

 

"Hoi, Rurag!"

 

"Hoi, scum. Who is this? Ye know you are not supposed to show the way to anyone, even if you are pretending to be my master's best chum, Wodzan."

 

"It's all been settled in advance, Rurag. This fine fellow is Valdar of th' Paths, my apprentice, to be given th' Rites of th' Planewalker right here."

 

"Mmm, ready planewalker you say? Doesn't look too impressive to me."

 

Valdar's ears swiveled around his face, the sharp edges cutting air with unpleasant sound, something flying through the air towards the demon. A moment later, Rurag the Doorkeeper removed a short dart from its forehead, scratched the wound absently with his left hand. Ears still held ready, Valdar snatched his dart back from the demon and grinned happily.

 

"Next time I'll use the ears and not just a dart."

 

"Hey, no tormentin' poor ol' Ruggy!"

 

Behind the hulking form of the ten foot tall doorkeeper stepped into view the owner of the hideout, Phacyra. The thin planewalker was wearing his black and brown demon-skin jacket and trousers as usual, was slightly shorter than the Dreamer but quite a lot taller than the short elf, Valdar. He held his hands in the depths of his jacket in a way that suggested daggers could feature in the future of this conversation, but his smile was friendly if a bit sly. Phacyra made a small gesture that was obviously well known to Rurag, who stood aside and faded into shadows, hiding far better than a massive archdemon should be able to. Valdar's ears relaxed visibly and he turned towards Phacyra.

 

"Aw, I knew demons have thick skin. You must be m'lord Phacyra?"

 

"Wait, let me introduce ye both properly .. Valdar of th' Paths, my current 'prentice, meet Lord Anarchyan Phacyra Xe Tormeyentor, currently of the Veil."

 

Valdar bowed - Phacyra performed a far too elaborate court bow and grinned, then made a show of looking Valdar over from the boots to the tip of his ears.

 

"So, yer 'ere for th' Rites of th' Planewalker, neh? 'As yer master told how it'll go, yet?"

 

Valdar's ears moved nervously.

 

"No, he hasn't. He just grins when I ask, m'lord."

 

Phacyra made a dismissive gesture, then started walking towards the depths of the building, the master and apprentice pair following him in.

 

"Ye can cut that m'lord stuff in 'ere, Valdar. Me an' Wodzan here, we are allies in crime an' brothers of the Paths, any 'prentice of his can call me Phacyra. Now, this'll how th' Rites will go..."

 

Phacyra's murmured words melded with the background hum of the plane, only audible to the short elf. In contrast, Valdar's reply ringed through the whole place.

 

"I will have to do WHAT!?"

[Zadown]

Seven

 

Lines of power swam around the two like glowing rivers. Many of them fed their energies directly to the Dreamer, twisting away from their perfectly straight routes to attach themselves on him and his wards, some lesser ones powering Pain's wavering spectral blade.

 

She is already tugging at them, unknowingly. Blood will tell, as it does with mortals. About time we started this.

 

"Ready, Janki? This migth feel .. uncomfort'ble, at first."

 

"Uncle, my ancestors has been warmagi and spirit-raiser for hundreds of years. Do begin."

 

She was wearing simple dark blue robes that were a pleasant contrast against her pale skin and blond hair. Her features were faintly oriental, both the look on her face and the tone she used already imperial (and slightly impatient) despite her age of mere seven. On her otherwise immaculate face, a single, thin scar on her right cheek merely underlined the perfect symmetry of her countenance. From her belt hung a dagger in a jeweled, runed sheath - on one of her fingers was a large signet ring. Those two things were her only ornaments.

 

With a shrug, the Dreamer tugged carefully at one of the tiniest lines of power, coaxed it to bend from its old route. Showing the last warning by narrowing his eyes at the last moment, he forced the narrow line of power to attach itself on the girl. She made a small noise, startled, then regained her composure, a concentrating look appearing on her face. Intoning clearly and loudly, she chanted aloud the words of a simple cantrip while pointing towards a candle. A bright jet of fire burst from her forefinger melting the whole top off the candle and hit the Dreamer's wards, winking out instantly. Her face lit up from a triumphant grin.

 

"Ha, yer natural at this, just like ye said, m'lady Jankiize. Next time ye might want to use a li'tl' less force, tho'"

 

"Yes, uncle - oh."

 

As she fell silent, she turned even paler than she normally was and stared at something behind the Dreamer, was suddenly levitating a few inches over the stone pier of the Astral harbour. Alarmed, the planewalker realized she had connected two more lines of power to herself and was channeling the power without control through her. He could not see where all the power was going, but he had been aware something like this might happen and had a quick spell of anti-magic ready. The howling invisible vortex he summoned with a few muttered words jumped forward and engulfed the girl, severing her connections to the lines of raw mana. She fell back to the pier, stumbled but managed to stay upright, a confused look on her young face. The Dreamer moved forward and put a steadying arm gently on the girl's shoulder. She blinked a few times and turned to look at him, her mien slowly changing to something the Dreamer could not decipher.

 

"Uncle..."

 

"Ya, Janki? Did ya see somethin'?"

 

The girl slowly removed his hand from her shoulder and took a half-step backwards.

 

".. I saw my parents, uncle."

 

"Oh. ... well, ye've seen 'em during yer namin' ritual, neh?"

 

She took another step backwards, the look on her face slowly transforming into a mixture of anger and fear. Her shaky voice was now chilled, carefully controlled, far too old for a little girl.

 

"Yes, uncle. Then they were silent spectres, watching without a word. Now they had time .. no, now they could talk to me."

 

He waited silently, stood up but did not turn his deep blue eyes away from the unwavering dark eyes of the girl. Her next words started as controlled as the previous ones, but her control started to crack, her imperial voice change into one of a betrayed child.

 

"They said you hold them here against their will, uncle ... HOW COULD YOU? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!"

 

She sobbed over the last words, her breath gasping, tears running over her cheeks, over her thin scar. She draw her dagger, tearing it out of its sheath with difficulty, and shook it at the Dreamer, barely seeing him through her tears. The planewalker's small gesture, like slapping empty air, made the keen steel dagger fly through the air. As it vanished into the depths of the Void, spinning, she grabbed the hand that had held the dagger, turned and fled towards the bridge that lead to her own little castle. Standing alone on his stone pier, the Dreamer sighed.

 

I was dreading this, but never knew she could use the tricks of the spirit-raisers on her own like that. Hmmm....

[Zadown]

"Stand aside!"

 

The warrior jerked to the side like a poorly manipulated puppet, forced to obey the words but not forced to do it with grace. The Dreamer brushed past him brusquely and knocked hard on the heavy wooden door the warrior had been guarding. He paused to listen, hearing first only muffled sniffing. Then Jankiize's loud voice penetrated the door.

 

"GO AWAY! I HATE YOU HATE YOU HATE YOU! IF YOU COME IN I'LL KILL YOU!"

 

"Hear me out, Li'tl' Princess."

 

"Don't call me that! Go away!"

 

"Listen to me, then, Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua. Why..."

 

"Go awayyy! I hate you, evil Dreamer!"

 

His eyes flashed yellow and he grimaced, glaring at the door as if he had been ready to blow the whole door up.

 

"Be silent! Open the door and listen to me, child!"

 

There was a short silence. Then a sound of bare feet on wood, a door being unlocked.

 

".. yes, uncle."

 

She stared at the planewalker, her eyes contradicting the words by boiling with such fury the Dreamer knew if that was him, his own eyes would be bright blood-red. He kneeled down, carefully grabbed the blade of the wakisashi Jankiize tried to stab him with and tossed it aside, never taking his eyes from the girl's face.

 

"Now, see, Jankiize. 'Tis true, yer parent's being held here. Never thought why ye yerself are here?"

 

He studied the girl, but she only scowled back.

 

"No? Well, I was thinkin' to do this later, but yer forcin' my hand, child. There's a pact I wish to make with ya, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree, a pact I am offerin' of my free will an' by my true name - a resurrection an' new life for both of yer parents on the completion of a task. Ye interested, child?"

 

"... you can wake up mother and father? Really, really wake them up?"

 

She was clearly torn between believing and denying it all as lies, but the solemn face of the Dreamer woke up hope in her eyes. He nodded, slowly.

 

"Yes, that I can. I can create bodies and knit spirits with dead flesh, give the gift of life. An' ye can hate me, if that 's what ye want. All I need that ye perform th' task I ask of ye."

 

She looked suspicious again.

 

"What task? What I can do you cannot? You are just fooling me!"

 

"Naw, I'd never do that, Li'tl' Princess. An' as what ye can do an' I can't - yer hands can hold th' Grail. I need ye to be my herald, my beacon of sorts, my Grail carrier .. when I find it, that is."

 

"When? WHEN!? I WANT MY PARENTS BACK NOW! I HATE YOU!"

 

The Dreamer sighed again.

Edited July 15, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

Seven B

 

Those narrow-minded fools!

 

The Dreamer's eyes were two boiling cauldrons of bright blood, sheer fury manifesting itself as half-real demonic shapes around him as he in his anger draw more mana from the surrounding Void than he needed. Some of the excess made the runes of his warding spells burn with faint light, making them a visible sphere of words encasing the planewalker. He felt his control stretching and with effort he forced the anger deeper into him, painted a faint hue of purple in his eyes.

 

"It was my decision - the owners object to the serving of blood in here" ... and yet they eat animals daily, who are almost as sentient as they are, live almost as long. Animals are far closer to those mortals than angels to me.

 

He blinked, saw the raw chaos of uncontrolled magic swirling around him and snarled, sending some of the power and some of his anger into the depts of the Void as a bright crimson jet of hellfire. When he turned back towards the door to the Pen he saw Herald standing there with a case on his arms, a tattered scroll on the case.

 

"Ya, what is it?"

 

"I brought to you the rest of their stock, master. Also, Gyrfalcon sent you detailed instructions of how to contact his supplier of angel blood."

 

Herald carefully set down both the case and the scroll and bowed deeply. The Dreamer frowned as a reply, then nodded.

 

"Well done, Herald. Dismiss'd."

 

The large archangel bowed again and moved away. The Dreamer walked to the table, lifted the case and pushed it towards the runes that floated against the dark background of the Void - the case levitated forward, disappearing abruptly just before touching one of the fiery blue runes. He did not pay attention, instead concentrating on the tattered, burned scroll muttering under his breath, eyes cooling towards vibrant purple.

 

This is the devil who sent Gyrfalcon a bottle of demon's blood, yes, even if the ritual is far too complicated and ineffecient. It is time for somebody to pay...

 

The Dreamer crushed the scroll, his fist bursting into a brief, bright flame. He tossed the ashes away, gaze locked forward, already muttering words of summoning and subjugation. Shouting aloud the last few words, different than any on the scroll he had destroyed, he tore open a portal to one of the Nine Hells. Without bothering to wait for the spell to finish dragging the poor devil through the portal, he thrust his arm in, grabbed his hapless target and pulled the devil out in a blink of an eye, the portal crashing closed almost before it had fully been formed. Suspended in mid-air by the Dreamer's strong arm was a short, humanoid creature of red and black hues, wearing a tattered and burnt cloak. His snake-like eyes were fixed on the planewalker's now again red eyes, a whimper escaping his wide mouth full of sharp, yellowed teeth.

 

"Garbazak?"

 

"Ghh .. ack .. yes, yes?"

 

"Ye sold a bo'tl' of demon blood as angel blood to place I frequent, scum!"

 

"No! Yes! It was a .. it was .. NOOOOO!"

 

The Dreamer's eyes boiled with red fury again. Growling loudly, his voice reaching inhumane highs and lows, he uttered words of the only true language. Ancient winds, recalled by the chant, howled around the planewalker, carried with them the scent of ice and winter. The devil gasped for air, almost spoke but was rendered speechless by the unexpected display of high magic, stared as hypnotized at the Dreamer. He shouted loudly the last word, red extinguishing itself in his eyes to deep blue of Astral as the primal ice he had conjured grew around the devil. It opened its wide maw to wail, but the mouth froze open, ice forcing itself inside the creature. In a few more moments the process was complete, the devil wholly buried in transparent, blue ice, a look of horror and agony on its face. The Dreamer smiled now, his anger gone in an instant. He leaned towards the devil, smiling for a moment longer before his face returned to its normal impassive mien.

 

"Think that'll teach ya, hmm?"

Edited July 16, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

Eight

 

The Dreamer sat at his table, reading a long parchment, his eyes dim yellow. Occassionally he glanced at Jankiize, who was reading one of his huge, leatherbound tomes. He had long since grown past the writings of that particular book but had kept it around, used some of the more difficult parts of it to teach Valdar. The warrior, silent as always, stood behind her chair. He did not look as worn as he had used to, but there was still a barely noticeable tormented quality on his face, the look of a mortal that had seen too much, whose duty had proven to be harder than bargained for. The comfortable, everyday silence went on, until the girl's voice broke it.

 

"Uncle?"

 

"Ya, Janki? Any difficulties with th' tome?"

 

"Can't find any advice how to dispell protective runes, uncle."

 

The planewalker gave the girl a sharp look, but could not read her impassive face.

 

"What ya'd need that knowledge for, m'lady? I hope yer not plannin' to ruinin' the amulet I made for ya."

 

"No, not that. I just want to know the basics. I ... need to know everything to become as great warmagus as my father was."

 

"Well."

 

He put his scroll down, frowning one last time at the news written on it, at the casualties and lost ground, at the still hostile tone of Owiric of Chaos, then turned towards the girl.

 

"Ya see, th' high'r defensive wards need to be attach'd to a line of raw mana to power them. Some lower ones are self-sustained, an' as thus can, sometimes, be even harder to dispell than th' higher ones, if ye lack th' sheer power to crush th' fields they generate..."

 

Transparent illusions flickered into existence around the planewalker as his voice droned on, explaining the finer points and weaknesses of different ward types with the thoroughness of immortals.

 

* * *

 

The stone pier leading into the depts of the Void was empty, both Herald and the Dreamer gone, all the remaining guards out of sight. The muted portals and the blue light from the runes marking the planewalker's vaults gave out their usual light - still, it was technically night, and her guardian the warrior was asleep, as she should have been. Jankiize grinned at the excitement she felt and turned back towards the door to the Pen. It was warded with very powerful runes and sigils ... to any attack coming from outside. This side had a simple lock and a basic ward set over the locking enchantment. She had already removed the ward and was now working on the lock, a few beads of sweat running down her face as she tried to master the powers she wasn't yet fully trained in. After a few tries she felt the lock give way and she mouthed a silent 'Yes!'. The door swung slowly open.

 

Ahead her opened a dark, dusty, forgotten hallway. Few ever wanted to pass the door to the Dreamer's Astral harbour, and the twisty and confusing ways of the Pen keep allowed people to use other routes to move around the door if they so wished. Jankiize carefully looked both ways, pausing at the door, feeling suddenly doubtful about the whole venture. Then she looked back and realized walking back to her bed now would be admitting defeat, grinned again. She stepped out, still holding on to the door, then let it go. When the wooden door slammed shut and the circle of wards, runes of warding, destruction, distraction and reinforcement appeared on its mundane-looking surface, Jankiize realized her mistake in letting the door go.

 

"Noooo!"

 

She sniffed, moved forward to hammer the door with her fists but at the last moment shied away, remembered all too well what those wards would do to her if she did that. The dark corridoors that had looked like an adventure waiting to happen a moment ago were now gaping maws, ready to tear apart anybody foolish enough to venture into their depths. She looked first right, then turned and started dejectedly walking down the left corridor, her small hand wrapped around the hilt of her wakisashi.

 

The hallways seemed endless, branching and crisscrossing without any logic. Jankiize leant on a stone wall, staring at the small globe of light she had managed to conjure. It had seemed such a great idea at the time, and now she was locked out here, lost in these empty, dead corridors that did not lead anywhere. Wallowing in selfpity, it took her a while to register what she was hearing - somebody was humming a beautiful melody, wordless tunes that reminded her of the dim memories she had about her old home on the branch of the Tree of Life. She stood up, her dim globe of light circling her small form, and saw a light behind the nearest corner, coming closer. For a brief moment she thought about running away, but the peaceful melody dispelled most of her fears.

 

Then the man appeared from behind the corner, carrying a small lantern and humming to himself. He was clad in an assortment of black and green leather and metal, a pale-skinned man with pointy ears sticking out of his long black hair. From his belt two hung two scabbards, both holding a short sword. He stopped humming, took a few more steps towards the girl and raised his lantern.

 

"And who do we have here, hmmm? You do not look like any of the Pen regulars, little girl."

 

"Am not a little girl! I am Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of the Holy Tree!"

 

The man grinned, clearly amused, and bowed. His tone danced lightly between amusement and seriousness, taking some care not to anger the girl.

 

"Right you are, miss. Jonathan Nor'Envar at your service, your highness. Now, what brings royalty like yourself to our humble dwelling, especially at this hour and without any servants?"

 

His gentle words broke a dam inside her and she leaped forward, hugging his steel boot, desperate for somebody adult to take care of her problem.

 

"I just wanted to .. *sob* .. explore a bit! *sniff* But the door got locked and I can't get back!"

 

"Hey now, little miss, hey now. I'm sure it'll all be alright. Now, can't get back to where? There should be no doors in the Pen we can't get open, hmm?"

 

She finished sobbing and turned to look upwards with her now slightly red eyes, looking suspicious.

 

"You can open the Dreamer's door?"

 

"Uh, that particular door might be a bit beyond my skills, miss. Why would you want to go there?"

 

She gave Jonathan a look that suggested he was really stupid to ask such a silly question and detached herself from his armored leg.

 

"That's where I live, silly."

 

"Oh. Well ... as I said I cannot open that door, but I could show you where the kitchens are. Far better place than these cold corridors, miss."

 

* * *

 

Out of nothing, the Dreamer appeared, eyes black and Pain in his hands, flanked by both of his bodyguards. He bounced over a kitchen table and landed next to Jankiize, sword held ready towards Jonathan, the demon and the archangel staring at the terrified kitchen staff weapons drawn. She swallowed the piece of bread she had been chewing and stared at the Dreamer, eyes blazing.

 

"UNCLE!"

 

The planewalker's voice was unusually strained as he spoke, scanning the surroundings at the same time.

 

"What, m'lady? Who took ye away? Was it him?"

 

"He helped me, uncle. It .. was me who wandered out of the door, uncle."

 

"What?"

 

Jankiize sighed and grabbed her warm roll of bread again, gestured for the planewalker and the bodyguards to lower their weapons. She bit into the roll, muttering while chewing the bread.

 

"... you really should've had a better lock in the door, uncle. Even a child could open it."

 

She grinned.

Edited July 17, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

Eight B

 

Pain sang a song of ruin, death, defeat, erosion and destruction. It split the helmet of an archangel, cleaved the shield of a dominion, then sank deep into the dominion's breastplate, soaking the Dreamer with bright blood and celestial dreams pouring out of the deep wound. He did not even notice, black eyes fixed beyond the battle. His body danced forward, swinging Pain in large, deadly arcs, blocking the rare counterblow with ease. Around the blood-soaked Dreamer the landscape was drowned in howling darkness, with frightening shapes forming and dissolving in the almost liquid gloom, rampaging demons appearing from the dark, vanishing again into the shadows with a grappled victim. It was one of the rarer battlemagics the planewalker used, part of its power the fact it was never expected.

 

After this, it'll be useless for another 300 years at the very least...

 

The wedge of demons, the Dreamer acting as the tip of the spear, sunk deeper into the white army of the Law. He slashed a leg away, crippled a wing, decapitated a heroic captain of which had been made a dozen songs. The flowing, gushing rivers of blood he created painted his armor deeper red than its usual wine red hue, turned his hair almost black. Without a pause he marched on, the long spectral blade of the Pain the only standard of his demonic troops. Almost bored of the slaughter, the Dreamer's eyes changed, shifted to the deep, dark blue of the Astral. His unique amalgam of dozens of different fighting styles reached a perfection as he forgot his hate and anger, killed the troops of the Law with calm, contemplative moves. The troops in front of him started to waver and crack, seeing the crimson furrow he scythed into their army, looking from afar into the depts of the seething black terror surrounding him. Then, from the sea of Law's troops rose up a heavy-bladed glaive, blocked one of Pain's flawless swings. The Dreamer swiftly stepped back, blinked his eyes effortlessly to red as a faint cheer rose up in the ranks of the enemy.

 

The angels made way, creating an opening on the field of war. Muttering, growling and howling, the demons did the same, left their planewalker captain alone. For a moment he stood alone in the formed circle, inhaled hate and blood frenzy from the air to turn his eyes brighter red, armor, crown, hair all different tones of dark blood. Then the rows of angels opened and his opponent walked slowly to the ad hoc arena. He was a giant of a man, clad in dirty dark grey metal scale and plate concealed inside a white cloak, which he now tossed aside. That move revealed an assortment of weapons on his belt, a few more on his broad back. His neck was thick and his muscles could be seen even from under the armor - the horned helmet finished the image of an ox turned planewalker. The Dreamer saluted with Pain.

 

"Hail, th' Myrmidon."

 

The massive man opposite him made a vague replying gesture with his glaive, seemed bored of the whole affair.

 

"Hail, th' Dreamer. Here t' get yet 'nother scar, Scourge o' the Planes, hmm?"

 

The Dreamer struck Pain blade-first into the stony ground, grinned wickedly, his eyes fading to black in an instant. The gesture made the Myrmidon frown and the bored look vanished from his almost unscarred face. When the Dreamer spoke again, his voice was different, taunting.

 

"No scars, Master of Arms. None whatsoever. To the permanent and utter death, Lord of Scars. Unless yer afraid to go against me, hmm?"

 

The Myrmidon scowled and thrust his glaive to the ground. He raised his hands up cracking his knuckles, made a small insulting gesture. Seeing that, the Dreamer made a small gesture of his own. A mist rose up rapidly, swirled up to create a half-sphere over the two planewalkers, runes dancing wildly in the soldifying white globe. A few faint wails of those who had been caught inside of the phenomenon were heard from the inside, then eerie silence. The war ground to a halt all around the front, eyes turning towards the opaque sphere of mist everywhere. Claws were lowered, holy swords sheathed, as both sides fell silent, waiting for the unseen duel to finish.

 

Time passed. Now and then light flashed inside the globe, barely seen from the outside, like faint stars seen through morning mist. No sound carried through the erected barrier, however, and no other senses could penetrate the pale veil. Chaos released parts of its unruly demon hordes as days passed, Law doing the same to maintain balance. In the end, only the planewalker captains remained, others joining the solemn vigil as they heard what was happening. Not much was spoken, even less across the gulf that separated Law and Chaos, the thoughts of permanent, irreversible last death quieting even the most noisy of the immortals.

 

First month of the vigil was getting close to the end when the wild dance of runes over the globe of the milky mist turned first more frantic, then ceased. Earth shook once and something between a thundering boom and a low roar could be heard from inside the now fading sphere. The mist swirled and started to dissipate from the top to the bottom, slowly revealing a tormented landscape. The rock had melted and frozen and melted again, twisted to odd shapes by conjured storms and changed to the core by unleashed unrealities. Craters upon craters made up the ground, some of the holes burrowing to the depths of the earth. The air was full of smoke and vaporized stone, looked more like ash. As it flowed away from the vanishing bubble, it revealed a twisted glaive's blade stuck to the earth, the haft broken. And worn, tattered and wounded the Dreamer, leaning on Pain, standing in a wide pool of his own blood.

 

Without a word, ignoring the crowd of planewalkers, he clumsily draw the Pain from the stone and sidestepped away into the Astral.

[Zadown]

Nine

 

Footsteps of smeared blood lead from the point of the stone pier, past the hapless devil frozen in primal ice, to the massive stone table that was kept here, out of the storage, all the time these days. The footsteps ended to a dark pool of blood that covered the whole floor under the Dreamer's large wooden chair. In the pool, its blade mostly submerged, lay Pain. On the chair, leaning to the scroll-covered table as asleep or dead, still bleeding from numerous injuries, lay the Dreamer. Some of the more serious wounds let out almost imperceptible rays of white light, as if something was glowing in the core of the planewalker and the wounds were deep enough to finally reveal his real nature. Or as if he was a fragile vessel to a star, now almost broken beyond repair.

 

"Uncle!"

 

There was real fear in the shrill wail. Jankiize tried to dash forward, was held back for a moment by his guardian warrior, but then freed herself and ran to the Dreamer. She paused briefly just before getting near him, then realized even his wards were out and reached forward to touch his cheek. At the touch the Dreamer opened his eyes, making Jankiize gasp in suprise - for she had thought him dead and the eyes were a color she had never seen before them to be, a rich, earthen brown. He smiled wanly and grabbed her hand, gently, smearing it further in blood and pushing it weakly away. Even his teeth were dark, covered in his own gore.

 

"Hi, Li'tl' Princess. 'm sorry I've been .. so busy, lately, m'lady."

 

His eyelids drooped, then he forced his eyes open again. Her eyes were wide open but she could not find any words to say, just stared at the Dreamer mutely.

 

"L'sen, Janki ... 'f somethin' 'd 'appen to me ... go to th' Pen, an' ask ... for Valdar, or Yui, neh?"

 

"No-o! You are going to be alright, right uncle? You need to!"

 

"Mmm.. ya, 'm just t'red. 'akes m're than 'st th' most deadly planewalk'r o' all times to stop me, Scour'e o' th' Planes."

 

The Dreamer smiled again and leaned backwards, hitting the backrest of his wooden throne with far more speed than necessary. The faint rays of light shining from his deepest wounds pulsed in sympathy, the brown in his eyes turned dimmer. Jankiize started to cry silently, tears falling from her pretty face.

 

"N-need any.. anything, uncle?"

 

"Mmm? Nah ... 'm goin' t' rest."

 

He closed his eyes and drew his long, thin legs up, curled into a small, pitiful ball on his large chair. She did not move, stayed there to stare at the Dreamer and at the thin rivulets of blood flowing down his armor, his limbs and his chair. After a while, the red rivulets dried out but her tears still flowed, mixed with the pool of planewalker blood. Her tears dried also, much later, but she did not move before the warrior came and carefully escorted her to her rooms.

 

* * *

 

"Lady Jankiize, we should make plans how to leave this place."

 

The girl raised her red eyes from the tome she had stared without managing to read a single sentence. The warrior was looking at her, worry etched on his worn face.

 

"Whatever did that to .. him, will be far too powerful for me to defend you from, m'lady. And who knows what his servants will do now that he is dead, all those demons and angels? This place will not be safe."

 

"HE IS NOT DEAD! He said he'll rest a bit! He can't die!"

 

She slammed the tome shut, emphasizing her words with the loud bang and scowled at her guardian. He ignored her words.

 

"We should go through that door to .. the Pen Keep. It can't be worse than this place, and if it holds any dangers I might at least be able to defend you against them, m'lady."

 

"We are not going anywhere! Go away!"

 

His look turned agitated at the direct order, but he bowed and walked away with almost open reluctance.

[Zadown]

She lay sobbing in her bed curled into a ball much like the planewalker had been, out of tears by now. Despite what she had said, she fully believed him dead now. She knew the Dreamer was powerful, but all that had been so unlike him, so vulnerable, small ... so mortal.

 

"Cryin' my funerals already, puny mortal, hmm?"

 

"Uncle!?"

 

She leaped up, hardly believing her eyes. The Dreamer was leaning on the doorframe to her room, looking wan and tired, dimished in some way but still unarguably alive, watching her with his very mundane-looking brown eyes. Jankiize bounced forward and gave the Dreamer a hug, tried to bury her face into his armor but backed off slightly when she realized how uncomfortable it was to touch the moving chaos armor.

 

"Hey now, li'tl' princess .. I might've had my wards up by now, girl. Remember what I said th' wards would do if ye'd hug me, neh?"

 

"Toast me! Ohh uncle, I thought you were dead!"

 

He slowly and friendly disentangled himself, kneeled down to talk to the girl face to face.

 

"'Ave more faith, puny mortal. Just b'cause I get a 'it roughn'd up doesn't mean th' end of me."

 

"Am not puny, uncle. You just are tall."

 

"There's more ways to be puny than height, m'lady."

 

He tousled her hair, a very uncharateristic gesture, and then stumbled, having to brace himself against the wall to not to fall over. She tried to rearrange her hair to its normal perfect symmetry, her look and tone turning solemn as she saw his fatigue.

 

"You should be resting still, uncle. Those wounds looked bad."

 

"Ya. 'Tis true I was wounded to my very core, aye. I shall take yer advice, m'lady. Do not expect to see me for a week or so - an' do not try to bother me, youn' lady. I'll come see ye once I'm done ... an' I'll be askin' about yer studies, ya."

 

The Dreamer stood up carefully, winced and bowed farewell. Jankiize finished arranging her hair and watched him walk away with the precise, slow steps of the old or grievously injured. When he was too far for her soft words, she whispered words only she heard.

 

"Good night, father."

[Zadown]

Nine B

 

The last of the sacrifices was finally drained of blood and was being prepared. The Dreamer frowned and turned to look up, through the ancient stone roof, to see the movement of the stars. He lowered his pale grey eyes and turned his gaze back to the here and now.

 

"Hurry up, shadelings. We do not have much time."

 

The dark shadows gliding around glanced at him with their dim green eyes but did not utter a noise, carried on with their own, slow pace. He ignored them knowing that they would not really react to an order like that and surveyed once more what lay in the ages old stone chamber. Out of the six stone altars on five each lay a woman's body covered in white burial shrouds, all of them perfectly white, bloodless, as if they had been made of marble. On the last middle one lay just a broken blackened dagger looking rather forlorn on such a place of honor. Around the middle altar on the stone floor had been made a circle of daggers, each of them pointing outwards so they made the symbol of Chaos. He could hear the moving around nearby in these ruins but for now this middle chamber only held him and his shades. For a brief moment he shifted his vision and the dark, rough stone chamber turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, the dagger blazing in the middle with the most vibrant of lights. It was connected to each of the dead woman via the aeons old altar system, not meant for this ritual but nevertheless perfect for it. All around the laylines of mana hummed with potential, the time of the heavenly conjunction drawing near. As he heard somebody speak next to him he blinked his vision back to normal but did not turn.

 

"Ya, m'lord Yhelmiel?"

 

"M'lord Dreamer, th' cards are without any question showing a conflict in near future. Th' possibility has finally fixed itself - 'tis unavoidable now, Law shall be here, very soon. I've dealt sev'ral variations, an' the spread of cards suggest they are here before or at th' time of the conjunction, alas."

 

He turned his eyes to Yhelmiel and considered his serious but calm mien, nodded. Yhelmiel had the look of a very handsome, scarless man of about middle height wearing the garb of a wise man, small trinkets tinkling faintly every time he moved, his cloak being held in place by a brooch the shape of the mark of Chaos. He wore no visible weapons, but it was as common knowledge that his appearance was an illusion as was the fact he was one of the rare specialists in divining the will of the Fates with any accuracy. What wasn't widely known what he really was beneath that phantasm.

 

The Dreamer turned away again and found what he was looking for in the ranks of the shades. His mere attention was enough - the shade called Zadown turned towards its master and floated to the planewalker, far quicker than the sluggish lesser shades. It was a black, colorless copy of the Dreamer himself, complete with a dark copy of Pain and strongly burning yellow eyes.

 

"Yess masster?"

 

"Divert all th' shades ye can from trivial tasks to defend this place. We are expectin' unwanted company, my son. 'Tis very probable ye'll be set free tonight."

 

"Very well, masster. I sshall do my besst."

 

The shade grinned and bowed, then floated away, redirecting lesser shades away from their more mundane tasks. The two planewalkers watched it go in silence, then Yhelmiel spoke softly with his raspy voice.

 

"How do ye think it'll go, m'lord? No offence, but yer shades are hardly powerful enough to even slow down what Law has most likely sent against us, neh?"

 

"Ya, but that can't be helped now, Reader o' Fortunes. We'll play with th' cards we've been dealt. If we can wake 'er up, this war might tilt to new direction, or at least slow down th' juggernaut of Law."

 

"Perhaps. 'Ard to read th' fortunes of anythin' as chaotic as th' Maiden of Daggers - she defies th' cards and th' ways of Fate. So ... I cannot say if we succeed or not."

 

Yhelmiel's eyes narrowed to show his dislike for undivinable futures. Him and the Dreamer were still staring after the long gone Zadown, both silent in contemplation, when an armored figure appeared from the direction the shade had disappeared to. His beautiful white and golden platemail was shrouded in constant transparent flames and he wore a heavy mace on his back. The third planewalker, for that who he was, had a full helm with a opaque plate of metal over his eyes, his own black horns sticking out from two holes. His demonic red skin was visible only where the helm left his maw bare. His greeting was loud and boisterous as his voice always was - it was made for battlefields and skirmishes, a voice to shout commands and challenges with.

 

"Hoi ye two gloomy sages, how's the preparations going? And just when do I get to meet this feisty lady ya two promised to summon for me?"

 

The Dreamer smiled wanly and answered, knowing that Yhelmiel did not like the demonic warrior much and especially loathed his humor.

 

"Ha, I think th' Maiden o' Daggers might be a bit too feisty even for ya, Sir Golden. That aside, not sure if yer heard but our mutual friend the Law is going to give us a visit, sooner than later."

 

"Yes, the gloomy sage of cards told me that already. My mace's spikes are ready, as am I. Too bad that ye forbid me to bring my army, as it seems we are found out even without .. what was it now, 'th' unmistakable trail o' a demon stampede that'd lead th' Law straight to our lap', was it?"

 

Yhelmiel made a dismissive gesture and glared at Sir Golden.

 

"They'd been 'ere ages ago if ye'd brought yer pack o' demon hounds with ya, and they'd sent an army as opposed to th' force they are sending now."

 

The demonic maw opened up wide, showing the sharp yellow teeth that were in sharp contrast with the exquisitely beautiful platemail the demonic knight wore, and he laughed aloud.

 

"Ha ha ha! Then we'd at least had a good fight, instead of this two sages and an army of shadows the ticks of my demon hounds could kill by accident, and me, against one of those Law planewalker parties. Well, I'll have fun until I have to retreat, but that'll be all. If they send the usual one with Patriarch and Faaye and Khalear, ha, that'll be a fight to sing songs about!"

 

The Dreamer shrugged, almost as bored with the words of the demon knight as his associate. His eyes that had been a moment ago green were now almost yellow, and his tone had an acidic note to it.

 

"Sages, ya? Ye could go ask th' Myrmidon about th' validity o' usin' that term with me, Sir Berserker. As to th' opposition we'll face, we shall see."

 

"Ha ha! Aye to that! See we shall."

 

* * *

 

The stars were finally almost aligned, raw power flowing through the room with such a force even the planewalkers felt uneasy. Air shimmered blue, purple sparks flying now and then between the altars as the power tried to find a way to manifest itself. Yhelmiel was at the main altar, chanting a combination of a spell and a call as he had done for the last four hours straight. Sir Golden was nowhere to be seen, patrolling the outter limits of these old ruins.

 

We've been granted more time than I thought. If they do not strike soon, we shall wake her up. And then ... let the Paths beware!

 

A sharp, loud boom of spellfire and a sensation that told him his shades were mostly gone was the multiversum's mocking answer to his thoughts. At the same time the stars finally moved the last tiny step and the conjunction begun, Yhelmiel's voice raising to a frantic, shrill pitch. The Dreamer drew Pain and rushed to the direction he had heard the noise from. When he reached the mouth of the corridor that lead westwards, he cursed aloud at the sight: the demonic knight had been right in his guess and was now locked in joyful melee with one of Law's more accomplished knights, Khalear, both of them ignoring and being ignored by the outside world. Between the fighting pair were two of Law's brighter champions: the Patriarch, an unsurpassed master of the Art in all of its forms, and Faaye Khanthius.

 

The Patriarch was clad in grey robes and wore a big, floppy wizard's hat. His outward appearance was that of an old, kindly man, but anybody could sense the power his words and gestures commanded. Faaye was wearing white from head to toe, a combination of platemail and leather. Fixed to her right thigh was a small crossbow and on her left side hung a longsword in a scabbard. The woman wore no helmet and her jet black, curly hair reached almost to her shoulders. The Patriarch looked angry, but on Faaye's open face was true fury. He stopped and spoke as he saw the Dreamer appear, lightning and thunder crackling around him.

 

"I should have known this was of yer doings, Scourge of the Planes! To wake her up is madness even the Chaos should not touch, an insanity of the blackest degree!"

 

"Save yer mutterings to yer fellow disciplines o' th' Law, Patriarch. Ye shall not pass!"

 

The Patriarch brandished his staff as his response, roaring a true word with such power the world itself shook, the corridor around the Dreamer coming apart in an instant and his wards flickering, dimming. He reeled but unleashed a spell he had prepared earlier when he had been warned about Law's impending attack. Raw chaos appeared all around him, shapes without forms, colors from beyond the spectrum, violent currents that made the mass swirl and pulse. Through the chaos a single white bolt flew, but the concealing and misdirecting chaos-matter made Faaye's shot miss. The Dreamer pointed forward with an open palm, touched the chaos with his mind so he could control it, surged forward as a thousand different hands all made of raw possibilties. The attack swirled around the wards of the two planewalkers opposing him, hammered them with a thousand tiny blows. He sensed the Patriarch cleaving his way through the chaos and realized he would not be able to contain them both for long, shifted his assault to hammer on Faaye's shield alone while he let his body dodge drowsily the Patriarch's progress towards the central chamber.

 

Another bolt blazed through the chaos, this one hitting his wards and bouncing off after weakening them. He let the chaos stuff to its own devices, knowing it would fade soon in any case, and muttered a quick temporary ward against psychic attacks. A hammering psychic attack hit the ward and crushed it apart, and the Dreamer let himself grin once for that small defensive victory while he danced forward through the fading but still opaque chaos. He thrust through the last feet or two of chaos with Pain and was rewarded by Faaye's parry, bounced forward to attack again. A complex series of feints and real attacks allowed him to scratch her wards with Pain, slicing the outtermost ones to oblivion. Still, he knew they were fairly evenly matched, and that Sir Golden and Khalear could fight for ages from the joy of it. A new series of booms of spellfire rocked the ancient ruins, coming from the main chamber.

 

Yhelmiel is alone with Patriarch - definitely not an even match in combat. Hope he can chant very, very fast.

 

He parried and feinted again, grinned to Faaye who grimaced back and tried to slice his wards wide open. He danced backwards, towards the main chamber, attacking enough to keep Faaye wary but mainly trying to defend himself. When he managed to finally enter the chamber and maneuver himself into a position that allowed him a glimpse of what was happening, he knew the battle was lost. Four of the five altars which had held sacrifices had been demolished by magic, and the sparks and shimmering lines of raw power were all wrong, crisscrossing the room in a pattern that spelt trouble. The fifth sacrifice was up and holding a dagger, but he could sense there was only a shard of the needed power in her, only an insignificant portion of the malevolent, chaotic Maiden of Daggers present in the bloodless corpse. Yhelmiel was held in the air by the Patriarch's magics, his usually impeccable illusion cracking, showing interesting things beneath it.

 

So close ... ah well, time to go. This should give me the time I need, even against Faaye.

 

A parry, a step back - and a small gesture that triggered the other spell he had prepared, a spell that powered itself with all the excess energy from the conjuction. The ruins exploded in a riot of light and shards of stone, the spell sending shockwaves along the laylines of magic.

[Zadown]

Ten

 

The usual drowsy silence of the Astral harbour was broken by the thwack of wooden practice swords. Two figures moved towards each other, fought for a while, disengaged and stopped to talk, then fought again. One was a tall, thin planewalker in shifting red armor, the other a beautiful young blonde girl in an armor made of wood and bones. Near the two stood a warrior in similiar armor as the girl, watching them from a distance. Above them hummed the portals, many of them dark and sealed now - behind them stood a large block of steaming ice, the faint outlines of a devil barely seen inside. The girl, Jankiize, attacked once again and had her sword flung into air by the Dreamer's clever parry.

 

"'Twasn't that bad, but remember to hold on to yer sword, m'lady."

 

"Yes uncle .. but you are too strong! If you really want to disarm me there's not much I can do."

 

She pouted and kicked the stone pier before picking up her practice sword. The Dreamer shrugged in response, his eyes green.

 

"Ah, I'm usin' but a fraction of my stren'ht 'ere. That particular move would've disarmed ya even if it'd been a li'tl' girl doin' th' parry perfectly, as I did. See, out there, out in th' Lost Paths, ye have to be able to trust yerself an' yer blade. Th' blade is yer life, an' ye are th' life of yer blade's - if it gets flung away ye shall be scarred."

 

She sat down to gaze into the depths of the Void as he talked, glanced back up to the tall planewalker when he fell silent.

 

"What is it like out there, uncle? And what is really happening that is keeping you away all the time these days?"

 

He did not answer at first but turned to look where she was looking and let time flow past. She knew better by now than to pester for an answer and waited patiently. Eventually he turned to look down at her, his eyes astral blue.

 

"Well, that is a long question. Given that ye lack th' patience of th' immortals ... th' Lost Paths are afire with th' flames of th' Eternal War, Law against Chaos. That much I have told ye before, but ... it is bad. Th' fires burn hotter than ever in my three thousand years of existence, an' where th' war used to be random skirmishes here an' there, now it has lines of battle, acts of war, wiped out planes, dead cities, places which have their potential crush'd."

 

The Dreamer conjured up an image showing him and his two bodyguards as small dots standing on a desert floor, a massive triangle of Law burned into the sands, nothing living in sight. Her eyes grew wide.

 

"That is what Law does? But that's ... that's just evil!"

 

"That is among th' things they do, ya. Some of th' things Chaos does are even less pretty, to tell th' truth. We never kill th' potential however, th' chance for new beginings, as they do at their worst. Neverth'less, I'd never fight for Chaos if th' Law would stand still an' be content at what they have. As it is, there will be no neutrality in th' world soon. An' I've long since chosen th' side I cannot fight on."

 

She looked troubled at the words.

 

"Does that mean they could ... attack my home? The Tree of Life?"

 

"Eventually, ya. However, 'tis not on th' path of the main war, not right now. At th' current rate of escalatin' hostilities, I'd say yer home plane might have 5 to 10 years before th' war gets close."

 

"Oh."

 

The silence grew between the two again, a comfortable, familiar thing. After a while, she poked him with her practice sword, a thrust he lazily blocked without turning to look.

 

"Hey, uncle?"

 

"Ya?"

 

"So ... when do I get a real sword, uncle?"

 

He smiled at the words, his scars dancing across his face, and turned again to look at her with his now milky white eyes, golden flecks of light dancing in them.

 

"I was thinkin' of givin' it later, but I'm sure ye know well enough to handle one without hurtin' yerself or anybody else, hmm?"

 

"Yes!"

 

The Dreamer shifted his practice sword to his left hand. His right disappeared for a moment, then reappeared holding a sheathed katana. The black sheath was polished and ornamented with the thin lines of dark blue engraved oriental dragons on both sides. He let the wooden practice sword fall and grabbed the sheath of the katana with both hands, offered it sideways to Jankiize.

 

"Here's yer sword 'Winter's Touch', m'lady - may it serve ye well."

 

She accepted it breathlessly, slowly draw the slender blade out of the sheath. The katana had an icy sheen to it and the hilt felt chilly even through her glove.

 

"Careful with it, Jankiize. 'Tis might not be an original Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa for I forged it myself, but it still is keen beyond anythin' a mortal smith could make, an' any blow with it will chill yer enemy to their very core. I hope ye like it, m'lady."

 

"Oh uncle .. it is beautiful!"

Edited July 28, 2004 by Zadown

[Zadown]

Ten B

 

"The tale of the Grayrim Chalice, you say, sir?"

 

The librarian had an inquiring look on his old but well-aged face. He was almost as tall as the Dreamer and wore a grey, clean robe. His dark purple skullcap was the only colorful thing about him - his eyes and goatee were both of slightly different shades of grey and his skin the color of old parchments.

 

"Ya, that should be th' one, librarian. It tells a tale of a city besieg'd by th' forces of Law an' the subsequent miracle of Chaos that saves them all, a cup with strong powers an' its own will, neh?"

 

The old man frowned, disapproving both the odd accent the Dreamer used and the way he had interpreted the old tale. He turned to look towards the depths of the library and gestured slowly as he spoke with his exact, aristocratic old voice.

 

"Well, yes, I can see it could be considered as an allegory of such events, if one would stretch one's imagination to such extent as to allow such deviations from the established truth, but ... we here, we merely store the information, we do not extrapolate upon the Facts. Not even the Facts of an old fairy-tale, as might be the case - not even then. As to law and chaos as elemental or manifesting forces actually influencing the history, present or future, I could point sir to a number of excellent works of philosophy that clearly state that that is not the case."

 

He looked back at the Dreamer with a serious look on his face, clearly daring the planewalker to contradict him in some boorish manner. The Dreamer merely smiled wanly back, a gesture mild enough to not to offend the old man.

 

"I am sure th' older of us two must be right in his judgement of these matters, librarian."

 

He nodded to the librarian who nodded back, the librarian looking as smug as he could allow himself to be.

 

"Neverth'less, I would be honour'd to see this particular tale, if at all possible. It is relevant to certain parts of my research, if ye can call my little project with such a grandiose name."

 

"Certainly, sir ... if may I inquire as to what you are researching, sir? We do not often get the honours of seeing men with such a martial attire visit our dusty little library, so I hope my curiosity is forgiven."

 

"No."

 

The librarian blinked rapidly a few times, disoriented by the reply that crashed against his small mind as a huge tsunami of willpower, submerged his consciousness and was withdrawn.

 

"Oh."

 

He rallied, checked his robe and beard were in their customary perfect order and blinked a few more times.

 

"Oh. Well, sir, this way, then."

 

The two walked in silence deeper into the vast library, bookshelves that reached all the way to the gloomy shadows near the ceiling dwarfing both of the tall men effortlessly. For the Dreamer the silence was natural, a state in which he spent most of his time, but the librarian was still rattled by the odd turn the conversation had taken earlier and started speaking again to return to the comfortable, predictable world of academic small talk.

 

"There is more to it than merely a fairly tale, actually, sir. Even if old fabrications and obscure folk-lore are not a fit subject for a real scientific study, they do connect to some known historical facts in an interesting manner. One of the other tales loosely attached to the same Mythical Janquevillian period of history and in particular tied to the chalice is a story of a brotherhood of knights - a sibling of the tale of the Grayrim Chalice, of sorts."

 

The planewalker turned his head sharply towards the librarian and stopped. His voice sounded loud in the silent halls, loud and suprised.

 

"Knights? Which particular knights would these be?"

 

"Why, the knights of the Holy Grail, of course, sir."

[Yui-chan]

*Author's note: The events of this post are approximately eight years in the future of the present-day Pen.

_________________

Eleven

 

She didn't realize, at first, that she wasn't alone. Sitting in the quiet of the afternoon sun, Temae Yui was too busy sucking her finger and cursing at the fiftieth pin-prick of the day to notice the immense weight of raw power that dampened the air or to feel the slight shift in the breeze coming in from the hallway. At a different time in her long life, a lapse like that would have been stupid at best and deadly at worst, earning her the censure of many a military advisor and a good scolding from her partner. These days, however, the hard edge had faded away from her life, and more important ideas than wariness occupied her thoughts. Luckily for her, the potentially dangerous visitor that day came to the Library with green eyes and benign intention.

 

"I see ye haven't yet mastered the art of sewing, m'lady Yui." His gravely voice broke the silence as gently as a Planewalker could manage, but still she started, adding another bloody prick to the pad of her thumb. The consternation on her face was almost enough to inspire even the taciturn Dreamer to laughter. Almost. As it was, he merely raised a brow, bending the scars on his face into new shapes.

 

"Hmph. A thousand lifetimes wouldn't be enough time to learn this so-called 'refined' talent. I'm quite sure of it." The little woman smiled despite the frustration clear in her voice, taking the opportunity to lay the small garment that was slowly taking shape beneath her unskilled hands back in its basket. "It's been a long time since I last saw you, Dreamer-sama. I suppose it's too much to hope that you've come to tell a very bored Huntress another of your fascinating stories... Will you sit?"

 

He shook his head, folding his hands in the sleeves of his robe as he eyed the proferred chair. "Nah. I'm afraid not, m'lady. I came to invite ye t' visit th' Astral Harbor, instead. I... have a need of yer particular expertise."

 

The statement had her raising a brow in surprise. "My expertise? I must admit I'm confounded to find anything I could possibly know about that you wouldn't. What can I help you with?"

 

The gaunt planewalker shrugged his shoulders, his armor creaking and clanking in strange ways. "Ye know I've been raising a ward with me in th' Astral Harbor?"

 

She nodded. "A daughter, if my memory serves. Jonathan Nor'Envar took great delight in describing his brief encounter with the girl... how many years ago was it? Three or four?"

 

"Three," he corrected, his countenance darkening ever so subtly at the memory of the child's short-lived disappearance. The Huntress couldn't help but examine the telling expression, ever curious to learn about the Dreamer-who-would-be-a-father. What she saw there made her smile.

 

"Three, then. What of her? Is she well?"

 

"Ya," he nodded, "she's well. She's ... nearin' an age where she'll need to learn some lessons that I am ... unsuited to teach, an' I've come to ask ye to do th' job for me. I need someone to tell her th' ways o' a woman, to tell her what to expect from her mortal body."

 

Yui blinked at that, a blush and a wry grin both growing on her fair face. "Ah. The ways of a woman's body..." she repeated with a soft laugh, one hand moving to rest self-consciously on her belly. "Well, now, that explains a lot. No, I can't imagine you would be terribly knowledgeable about such things, and goodness knows I'm certainly in a ... unique situation to be able to explain it all." She laughed softly, the sound becoming breathless as she struggled up from her chair. "Is your ward that old, already? How time flies... It seems like only yesterday that Jonathan was going on about his quick introduction to the Dreamer's 'cute little daughter'."

 

"Th' Li'tl' Princess has gone from child to adult in th' blink of an eye, as all ye mortals do."

 

Once again, the woman's rich laughter warmed the room. "Just so. Children grow quickly, Dreamer, the better to enjoy the long afternoon of adulthood. I will be honored to help the young lady understand this part of her nature... provided that you can assure our safety. I don't make decisions just for myself, these days, and I am under strict orders not to take risks." She grinned wryly, rolling her eyes. "Aegon's orders."

 

The Dreamer nodded, his expression solemn and determined. "Ye will be as safe as my power can provide, m'lady Yui Temae of the Shadows. I can promise ye that."

 

"And I can ask no more than the protection of the Godslayer, neh?" Her movements lacking in their usual grace, Yui ambled over to where her ebon cloak hung across the back of a chair and swung it over her shoulders. Clasping it with practiced ease, she turned to her visitor and announced, "Saaa... in that case, I will be glad to come with you. Shall we?"

 

"Ya," he said simply, and as he turned away, she could have sworn that there was relief in his changeling eyes. That, too, made Yui-chan smile.

 

____

 

Ten minutes later, they sat at an incongruously normal table in the muted glow of the dim portals, chatting amicably over tea and biscuits. Jankiize, they were assured, would be there shortly, and in the mean time, the Dreamer's angelic Herald had gone to fetch him some more palatable angel's blood to drink.

 

Yui smirked as she watched the planewalker's lip curl in revulsion at the delicate teacup before him. "I appreciate the concession to my tastes, Dreamer-san, but you really don't need to keep eyeing your tea as if it's going to splash up and bite your nose off. I haven't known many varieties that were inclined to sampling flesh, mortal or immortal, and I won't ask you to drain the cup. ... Just a sip, perhaps." She couldn't resist the teasing demand, lifting her own cup to her lips to taunt him with her fearlessness.

 

He raised a brow, his eyes shifting to white as one corner of his lips lifted. "Ya, I can do that, I s'pose. That's if ye can agree to try a sip o' angel's blood in return." His stare was a flat challenge, lightened only by the playful edge to his voice. "It prolly won't even kill ye, puny mortal."

 

Thoroughly defeated, the woman laughed, raising her hands in surrender. "I give. I give. I may not have your lifespan, but I would prefer not to die before the end of the week, if you don't mind. You don't have to touch the tea."

 

"That's kind of ye, m'lady," he answered sarcastically, one of his rare smiles stretching the scars on his cheeks.

 

Jankiize watched the two of them as she approached, squaring her shoulders against the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. The woman at her Uncle's side was small and fair, nearly as pale as the Dreamer and practically childlike beside his great height. Her golden hair was held in place by a net of braids that channeled it into one thick tail down her back, and her eyes were a strange, pale green that seemed almost silver in the ambient light of the Harbor. She smiled a lot, apparently, and though her words didn't quite travel to the girl's ears, her voice was low and melodious, smooth in the way that made the child think of the water flowing over the rocks in her little garden's pond.

 

... and the stranger could make her Uncle smile.

 

"Ah," he exclaimed softly, glancing up as if her thoughts of him had summoned his attention. Jankiize hurried her steps as the Dreamer and his guest stood, raising her chin a notch to bolster her courage. "M'lady Yui, I present ye with th' Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua of th' Holy Tree. Janki, this's the Lady Yui Temae, Elder of th' Pen Keep."

 

Yui bowed her head politely to the child, even as Jankiize dipped into a curtsey that was accompanied by the clatter of the wood and bone charms adorning her clothes. "Hajimemasita, Jankiize-chan," the Huntress said softly, "It is a pleasure to meet you."

 

"And you, Lady Yui." She had to force herself to meet the woman's placid gaze instead of giving in to the urge to look just about anywhere else, uncertainty eroding her confidence. Should she do something to impress the stranger? Intimidate her? Stay silent? A glance at the Dreamer's impassive face gave her no clue, so she blurted out the first thing to come to mind. "Uncle told me that you were even older than he is, but you don't look scarred enough for that."

 

It earned her a smile that she could practically feel. "Well, I've lived a long time, but I'm not a planewalker like your ... Uncle. I never had to keep the scars I got, and even those I had were erased when my world reset itself," the lady said, flicking a glance at the Dreamer. "Did he ever tell you stories about the strange places that he finds when he travels the Planes?" Even as she asked, she gestured to the third seat, inviting the girl to join them at the table.

 

"Of course. When I'm not studying and he's not too busy, Uncle tells me all kinds of stories," Jankiize answered with no small amount of pride, barely noticing her warrior companion as he pulled her chair out and seated her. She felt strangely pleased that her answer seemed to earn an approving nod from Yui.

 

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm always trying to convince him to tell me more of his stories, but he's a very busy Planewalker, neh?" She grinned teasingly, flicking a sideways glance at the man's half-attentive features and being rewarded with a twitch of one grey eyebrow.

 

The Huntress' good nature was infectious, and Jankiize couldn't help but grin. "Yeah. The War's always making him leave for this place or that. It's very inconvenient to my story times."

 

"Both ya little mortals should know that th' War is more important than a few o' th' old tales," the creature in question finally interjected, his eyes shifting back from the distant blue of the Void. Though Jankiize's solemn expression gave nothing away, the triumphant smirk on Yui's face belatedly informed him of the tongue-in-cheek nature of their statements. He scowled in an attempt to put the troublesome Huntress back in her place, and she had the good graces to at least look a little sheepish.

 

"Eetoo... This's the War you mentioned on the way here, Dreamer-san? The one between Order and Chaos?" At his nod, the woman frowned slightly. "I gather that it's not going well?"

 

"Ya, ye'd gather that correctly enough, I s'pose. Th' Law has had a few too many vic'tries, of late, an' we o' Chaos 're hard-pressed t' keep 'em from gainin' th' advantage." He shook his head, his hair swishing across the metal of his rough-hewn crown. In the depths of his frown was a worry about what would become of the multiverse if Law truly defeated them.

 

Yui shook her head. "It's strange to imagine Order as the 'bad guy', but then... that is the lesson to be learned, isn't it?" she asked, looking at Jankiize as if inviting her to finish the thought.

 

The Little Princess couldn't resist the challenge, so she nodded slightly. "It's about balance, isn't it? Too much Law is bad for everything, just like too much Chaos would be."

 

"Ya, that's true. 'Tis the p--" The Dreamer paused mid-sentence, turning his suddenly-yellow gaze out across the Astral. At the same moment, his Herald came bustling across the Harbor to lean down and mutter something in his ear. The Planewalker's frown darkened alarmingly, and he dismissed the creature with nothing more than a nod before turning back to his companions. "Speakin' of th' War... I'll beg yer pardon, m'ladies. I need to leave ye t' each other fo' th' present. Matters need my attention elsewhere."

 

Yui and Jankiize both stood as he did, the former bowing politely and the latter trying hard not to look worried. "Of course, Dreamer-san," the Huntress offered for the two of them, catching the control on the girl's dark features. "Ganbare. I wish you good luck and hope you'll be careful."

 

Jankiize merely nodded in almost a precise imitation of him and watched as he ran away into the depths of the Void without further ceremonies. For a long moment, the two didn't move, staring after the tall planewalker. Then, they both suddenly remembered where they were... and with whom.

 

"Umm... sooooo... would you - would you like some more tea, Lady Yui?" Jankiize fell back on formality, unsure of what to do with her Uncle's guest. Nervousness coursed through her like an electric current, burning away the ease she'd just begun to find with the woman while the Dreamer had been there.

 

Of course, nervousness had a formidable enemy in Yui-chan's kind eyes. The woman smiled politely, putting a hand over the top of her cup. "Ie, thank you. I've had enough, and really... I came here to speak with you. Your Uncle asked me to teach you a few ... lessons you'll need soon."

 

That had the Little Princess blinking, her confusion clear. "You're going to teach me? But... But I have all the tomes I need, and Uncle is showing me swordcraft. I already know warding and rune-magics and arithmetic and even some about the Paths. What do you know about that Uncle doesn't?"

 

Yui laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's funny that you should ask me that, because it's exactly what I asked your Uncle when he approached me for help. There are only two things I know better than your uncle, kiree na hime... First, I know what it is to be mortal, like you are. Second... well..." With an anticipatory smile, she rubbed a hand over the massive swell of her belly as if she could caress the child she carried there through the fabric and skin beneath. "I am a woman, like you, Jankiize-chan. There are things I need to teach you about ... about changes that you will soon experience in your body."

 

The poor child's eyes widened in horror as she reexamined Yui's extremely-pregnant condition. "Am I ... am I going to change to bulge out like you do?!" she asked in a shocked whisper. "I thought you were just that way because you were funny-shaped! I don't want to go all round and floompy!"

 

"Ohhh..." Try as hard as she might, the Huntress couldn't help but laugh at the child's misunderstanding. Biting her lip, she held her hand out to Jankiize and beckoned her closer, taking a step away from the table. "No, no, sweetheart... I don't always look like this. Come. Put your hand here." Jankiize hesitantly gave the woman her hand, stepping closer when Yui guided it to a particular point on the top of her rounded abdomen. Uncomfortable, she was about to pull it away and replace the buffer of distance between them when ... something beneath the woman's skin thudded against her hand, startling her.

 

"Oh!" the Little Princess gasped, her startled eyes flying to her companion's. "There's something in there!"

 

Yui's smile was full of pride as she nodded. "Hai. That's my son, Jankiize-chan. My mate and I created him together, and now I carry him inside my body until he is strong enough to be born. It is what women's bodies are designed for, and it is what drives the ... the process that I am going to teach you about. At one time you were the little baby within your mother's belly. Did you not know?"

 

"I... no... I didn't know."

 

"Saaa... then, I have many things to tell you about. Will you show me your beautiful garden while we talk? I'd like to walk, and the smell of it is enchanting, even from here," the Huntress said with a little smile. She flicked a glance at the stern face of the girl's guardian nearby, asking him a question with her eyes.

 

Already red-faced from his deduction of the topic of their conversation, the man in the bone and wood armor nodded slightly, folding his arms across his chest. He would stay put. 'Woman talks' were definitely more than he could handle...

 

_____

 

The Dreamer returned nearly twelve hours later to a quiet Harbor, his face set into grim lines and his armor blood-streaked. This time, at least, the blood was not his, but he'd been too late to prevent another setback, another loss in the battle against merciless Law. His eyes still burned with the electric purple of fading rage...

 

... until he spied the two figures on the grass in the garden. His anger couldn't survive the sight, and he blinked, his long strides eating up the distance to the garden wall.

 

Yui Temae raised her head at his approach, her smile hidden for a moment as she held a finger against her lips to warn him to silence. A quickly muttered spell muffled his footfalls, and before he knew quite what he was doing, he was crouched beside them, his gaze on the sleeping face of the girl resting against what was left of his guest's lap.

 

With a motherly touch, the Huntress stroked an errant lock off Jankiize's forehead. "I think I frightened her a bit, but she's been brave. She's a good girl, Dreamer-san."

 

He didn't answer right away, but when he did, a little smile tugged at the corners of his stern mouth. "Ya, she is."

[Zadown]

Eleven B

 

The Dreamer floated in the emptiness of the Void. This was the outter edges of the Borderlands and he could see the sudden chasm yawning after the last few pearly spheres of planes. Between him and those forlorn planes here at the edge of nothing was a small pearl, too small to be a real plane, at least to any casual observer. He knew however exactly what it was. It was the embryo of a new plane, the seed ... and it was about to wake up from its long slumber. It was already draining the ambient magic of the Void into itself with alarming rate, the unseen laylines of power bending themselves to funnel their raging rivers of raw mana into the small pearl.

 

I've come here just in time. It is starting.

 

The process escalated rapidly, by planewalker standards, and soon the small pearl was pulsing. With every pulse it grew first bigger, then a little smaller, then bigger than the last phase, growing slightly with every pulse. Around it flared a blinding display of magic, showing signs of potential, growth and creation with such strength the Dreamer knew he'd never be able to duplicate it. He floated a bit further, moving slowly in the pathless Void, not daring to chance the possibility of ending up too close to the corona of change.

 

I am touched by enough Chaos already, as it is.

 

A wry smile appeared briefly on his scarred face only to vanish as the pearly sphere the size of a small village in front of him seemed to explode to every direction, almost touching the Dreamer before halting its expansion. His eyes flashed yellow and his hand grasped the hilt of Pain, a reflex - then he slowly backed away and marveled the perfect sheen of the new plane. He stood there for a while, his reflection staring back at him with eyes of Astral blue, before he muttered a few words:

 

"Farewell, master. I shan't meddle, as I said."

[Zadown]

Twelve

 

Hammer fell through a protective field designed to contain only heat and fire, struck metal and shovered the air with sparks. It rose again and fell in a steady rhythm, each blow creating its own fireworks, sparks with a bang. The Dreamer reached into the fiery forge and grabbed the metal object he had been hammering with his heavily gauntleted hand and brought it up through the protective field to be examined more closely. It cooled rapidly in the dry, cool air of the Astral harbour and turned from a bright flame to a dim bronze-colored scale. For a passing moment a fiery rune gleamed on the surface, then it sunk deeper into the material and was gone from sight. He placed it deliberately on a blackened metal tray next to three other similiar scales, removed his gloves and turned unhurriedly around.

 

"Ya, Janki? What is it?"

 

The girl was wearing her practice armor, her wooden sword dangling from her belt, her long blonde hair tied up on ponytail. She had grown, but still looked tiny next to the tall planewalker - as close as she was, she had to look almost directly upwards to talk to him.

 

"Heya, uncle. What are you working on?"

 

"Oh, this? Ye'll need an armor if ye want to be my Grail carrier, young lady. Scalemail should do it, wrou'ht out of adamantium, neh? Hope ya like th' color."

 

He gestured towards the forge as he spoke and picked up a finished scale, turning it around in the dusky lighting to show how it glimmered even without any strong light.

 

"A metal armor, all for me? You know uncle, if I'd still be home I'd never been able to even see that much metal, unless I would've seen the Emperor some day..."

 

Her cheerful voice turned wistful. Suddenly she seemed to remember something.

 

"Ohhh uncle, remember that time when I was still small when I got my scar?"

 

"Huh, when ye were still small? Yer still puny, mortal."

 

He grinned at her, scars dancing across his face in a manner that would have been scary to most people.

 

"But yes, m'lady, I remember. For me that was merely a few moments ago - time moves diff'rently for us immortals, Janki."

 

"Well, then you remember the promise you made, right?"

 

The girl had a hopeful look on her face and she was fingering the worn hilt of her old practice sword nervously. His playful tone changed to serious and his green eyes shifted quickly to deep, dark blue.

 

"Ya, I do. I was wonderin' why ye never reclaim'd th' wish. So, what do ye want, then, m'lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua?"

 

She turned to look down, the nervousness now clearly apparent, and muttered something inaudible. The Dreamer kneeled down, his wards fading out around him, and gently grabbed the girl's armored shoulder. With his other hand he slowly, carefully lifted Jankiize's face to look at him by a finger under her chin.

 

"Come on, now, m'lady. Ye have to learn to act yer position - a leader can never waver nor mumble, hmm? If ye have a request, say it, otherwise ye'll lose even b'fore th' game's played."

 

"I wish ... I wish to visit my home, the Holy Tree."

 

She stared at his scarred face and blue eyes and he looked back at her, completely serious, thinking his answer over before nodding.

 

"Very well. We'll need a formal attire for ya, spirit-raiser's robes ... and we can't take yer warrior with us, I can't maneuver well enough on th' Lost Paths with two people in my tow, an' with th' war an' all, I need all th' maneuverability I can get."

 

She looked suprised, her eyes growing wider.

 

"We can go? You'll take me?"

 

"I can hardly let ye go alone, now can I?"

 

* * *

 

The Dreamer sped along the Lost Paths, the slumbering girl trailing behind him in an emerald green sphere of protection that provided her with air and warmth. The Paths were crawling with troops, scouts, spies, refugees and couriers these days, but they made way for him, some of them even greeting him warily, some trying to flee or hide. He ignored both types with the same pure focus to his own travel, ran along the Paths with speeds only a few could match. His presence made the scouts of the Law frantic, but they could not foresee his erratic course and ran to their masters giving conflicting reports with only the fact that the Scourge of the Planes was on the move again constant in them. Finally, as his travel was approaching its destination, he arrived to well known narrow part of the Paths, a place where the various ways to travel Borderland-wards converged to one well-travelled road for a short distance. He accelerated, rushing forward at top speed to bypass the inconvinient spot as quickly as he could, as he sensed forces of Law ahead of him.

 

A squad of high angels .. and a planewalker. I should have guessed.

 

He unsheathed Pain, his eyes black, bottomless pits now. With a whispered word he conjured his two bodyguards to existence and moved forward again, this time slowly enough to allow the demon and the angel to keep up with him. The opposing forces slowed down as well as they noticed the Dreamer, the six angels flanking their planewalker captain. When they got closer, he suddenly recognized the other planewalker's aura and sheathed Pain again.

 

"Greetin's, m'lady Faaye. 'Tis a suprise to meet ya so far from th' war front."

 

Her voice was cold but she did not draw her sword or command her angels to attack.

 

"Hei, Scourge o' th' Planes. Searchin' for more monsters to wake up? That another sacrifice ye trailin' behind ya?"

 

The Dreamer shrugged and let Jankiize float closer, slowly turned the protective globe upright so Faaye could see the girl's face. His eyes faded to light grey.

 

"She is hardly a sacrifice, m'lady. Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua asked me to escort her through th' Lost Paths to her home plane."

 

"An' just why are ye escortin' mortals through the war-stricken Lost Paths, leavin' yer duties as a captain of Chaos?"

 

"'S an old debt I'm payin' off, nothin' more nothin' less - an' that's the truth. I know better than to lie to ye, m'lady Faaye. Now, may I pass? I have no great desire to match my skill against yers with a mortal in tow, an' ye should know ye can hardly do much to me."

 

She stared at him, gauging the worth of his words.

 

"Very well, th' Dreamer, ye may pass. This time. Just remember it, will ya?"

 

"I will, m'lady Faaye. Thank ye."

 

He unsummoned his bodyguards and sped off again, without sparing a glance backwards, knowing that she watched him vanish into the depths of the Void.

 

* * *

 

Below them was the Tree of Life - a massive living being hosting a dozen cities and countless small towns and villages. The Dreamer and Jankiize stood in the empty air, the sphere she had travelled in gone now, unneeded here. He said nothing, watching the girl as much as the magnificient view in front of them. She was enraptured by the panorama, not noticing the careful attention the planewalker gave to her face.

 

"Oh! We can see the Emperor's palace from here! That's a crime, watching it without permission or invitation."

 

He grinned in not altogether pleasant way and the scars danced across his face, his eyes deep, dark blue.

 

"Crime? As long as yer with me m'lady, th' only law ye are allowed to worry 'bout is the codes o' th' planewalkers, and as long as ye don't promise anythin' to my fellow captains of chaos, ye can't break any of em. I am above crimes an' laws, above jud'ment an' punishment."

 

Her respone was a dubious look. She turned away to scan the Tree again, then turned back.

 

"Can we go down now? It's cold up here, and I really want to see the capital and meet my relatives."

 

"As ye wish."

 

With a careless gesture the levitation cantrip that kept them up in the air was broken and turned into a flight, the pair soaring downwards with dizzying velocity. She screamed out of suprise and delight and he grinned in response, slowed them down and landed them artfully to an empty portion of a street. As she looked around curiously at her native but unfamiliar surroundings, he pulled a grey cloak with a hood out of thin air putting it on. When he was ready, he touched the girl's shoulder lightly and pointed to a direction.

 

"This way, m'lady. At least if yer house is still at its old spot."

 

She winced briefly, something that the already striding planewalker did not notice, then hurried after him. The short journey proved uneventful, even if people stared at the cloaked Dreamer who was a giant compared to the locals, and bowed to the girl who was wearing her spirit-raiser's robes. That made her feel both uncomfortable and elated - she felt their bows meant that she really belonged here, made her feel more sure of herself.

 

In the end, they reached the house. It was still where it had always been, the colors of the House Vangaijuua flying proudly all around the gate. The two warriors guarding the main gate stood to attention as the Dreamer approached and grabbed the hilts of their swords, the senior of them stepping forward with a stern look on his face.

 

"Halt! The servant's and courier's door is on the other side of the building, stranger."

 

The response struck the Dreamer mute for a fleeting moment, giving Jankiize enough time to move to stand beside her protector. At the sight of her the two soldiers bowed deeply, saving them from the sight of the planewalker's crimson eyes and scowling face. The senior soldier turned to look at her with apologetic look on his face.

 

"My apologies, spirit-raiser. You should teach your bodyguard not to walk in front of you like that - we did not see you at all. What name shall we declare to the mistress of the house, lady?"

 

"Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua, warrior."

 

The suprised look seemed out of place on his impassive warrior's face.

 

"But ... as you command, spirit-raiser."

 

He regained control of himself, bowed and hurried inside, leaving the junior soldier to guard the door alone looking forlorn and nervous at his new position of authority. The angry looking giant removing his grey cloak and revealing a huge sword sheathed on his back and both a metal crown and a metal armor, either alone worth a king's ransom here, did not make him feel any more comfortable. The Dreamer ignored the warrior's discomfort and turned to give Jankiize an annoyed, inquiring look.

 

"An ill-mann'red bodyguard? That 's quite a step down from my usual occupations."

 

"Just bear with it, uncle, please. For me."

 

"Very well. As long as they don't try to tell me to hand over my sword, hmmm?"

 

"As a lady's bodyguard, you are allowed to keep it."

 

"Good .. for them."

 

He scowled at the still gawking warrior, eyes narrowed and yellow, then relaxed and let himself fall into a light trance. When he resurfaced from it, there was a large company of warriors waiting for them, Jankiize looking anxiously at his direction. The Dreamer shrugged and moved to his new place behind the girl, took a few steps before the whole group halted again, everybody staring at the planewalker.

 

"Ya? What?"

 

"Err, uncle, you are supposed to take off your boots before entering a house here."

 

He heard the warriors whispering as he took off his long black dragon-hide boots, but every time he turned to look at them they all seemed silent and impassive as stones. In his crimson eyes floated veins of yellow, but he did not say a word, only readjusted the sheath of his no-dachi before following Jankiize into the Vangaijuua house. It had not changed much in the last nine years - the walls were still decorated by old battle banners, tall and narrow paintings and ancient helmets made of bone and wood. Somewhere from the depths of the huge house the sound of a stringed instrument could be heard, but other than that there was an absence of noise, as if it had been a ghost house they were entering. The Dreamer and Jankiize, accompanied by their honor guard of ten warriors, sneaked through the house, both submerged in their own, different thoughts. They were ushered into a room with more warriors and a rather fat elderly woman wearing noble's robes. She had an unpleasant mien, reinforced by her too high voice. The Dreamer's appearance seemed to startle her for a brief moment, then she ignored him and turned her small eyes on the girl.

 

"So, you are the girl who claims to be Lady Vangaijuua?"

 

"Lady Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua, oh revered elder. I was .. removed from this house at a young age, but all the required naming ceremonies have been held."

 

"And what proof you have, little girl? You know wearing those robes without permission is a crime is punished by death by torture?"

 

She raised her right hand. The candlelight glinted on her metal signet ring and the mood in the room changed distinctly, even if nobody said anything.

 

"Well, well. May I see that, girl?"

 

The sound of a sword being loosened in its sheath was suprisingly loud. The Dreamer, who could barely stand straight in the room, took a half-step towards the elderly noble. A dozen hands landed on a dozen hilts as a response, but he stopped there and growled in his thick accent that no number of translation spells seemed to ever make clear. His shimmering eyes seemed to burn in their sockets, his scars dancing across his face as he spoke.

 

"Ye shan't address m'lady as 'girl', woman. 'Tis clear?"

 

The woman struggled to ignore this breach of protocol but failed, turned to regard the planewalker coldly for a brief moment before talking to Jankiize again. Several warriors were having trouble keeping their faces impassive and were staring at the Dreamer with open hostility.

 

"And who is this peasant? Your bodyguard seems rather lacking in the area of proper conduct, Lady Jankiize."

 

"Uncle Dreamer is not a peasant! Things are different where I have been .. calm down, uncle. Please!"

 

She was now almost distraught, trying hard to prevent violence that only could have one realistic outcome from ensuing. The repressed anger was making the planewalker drain too much ambient magic, the overflowing raw potential flickering around him in half-real shapes. Even the people of the Holy Tree, taught from little children to ignore anything out of ordinary, could not help but notice this last sign of danger. The local war magi were terrifying forces, and the warriors mentally categorized the planewalker as one of those, even if crazy and uncouth. They seemed to back off, removing their hands from the hilts of their swords. Even the elderly noble let her voice warm up a little.

 

"Peace, Lady Jankiize, War-Magus Dreamer. Let us discuss these weighty matters over tea?"

 

Jankiize hurried to answer, dreading what the planewalker, his purple eyes glowing with such a force they almost lit up the room, would say.

 

"Oh yes, please, oh revered elder!"

 

* * *

 

Jankiize was staring at her food, looking dejected. The Dreamer was staring at her with his green eyes, scarred fingers softly drumming the restaurant table.

 

"That didn't go as well as ye'd lik'd, neh?"

 

"No. Not at all, uncle. How can they deny me like this, my own relatives?"

 

"See, yer thinkin' mortal there, li'tl' princess, neh? Ye have to think power, that's what makes it all clear. This aunt of yers, Lady Uneeai, she's th' head o' a House now. If she'd accept yer claims, she'd lose her position, right?"

 

"But .. but, she would still be the eldest lady in the House! This is not fair!"

 

"Ya, but eldest lady isn't th' same as th' head. That's what even mortals are after, power, even if ye never reach our heights. Now ..."

 

He felt it fly through the air, a malevolent enchantment, and reacted by a roared word of command that made his signature emerald green field of protection to bloom around the pair. The enchanted arrow bounced away as it struck the strongly woven ward, not even scratching it with its feeble runes of piercing and wounding, and vanished, flung beyond the eyesight. His mind expanded as a monster of a hundred tentacles, searching, seeking the source of the attack. The Dreamer found the assassin in a blink of an eye, sensed his dismay and astonisment. Leaving the bewildered girl behind inside his protective wards, he leaped the intervening 200 feet through the Astral and landed next to the assassin, disemboweling him with one fell blow before he had even had time to realize there was somebody next to him. His mind spread even further as he slowly glided back to where the girl waited, but found no more assassins nearby.

 

"Well. As I said, think power. She wanted ye to vanish, it seems."

 

"My ... own ... aunt?"

 

She stood up looking almost as if the arrow had, indeed, found its mark.

 

"It's not fair..."

 

Jankiize's voice broke and she started crying. The emerald forcefield swirled peacefully around her, protecting her from any external harm.

[Zadown]

Twelve B

 

It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning cracked the skies open, shouted with the voice of thunder. The Dreamer, standing on the forsaken moor all alone, was drenched but did not care about such irrelevant detail. He retracted his mind slowly and stared into the opaque gloom without seeing anything with his grey eyes.

 

Thrice-accursed gods! They have warded that insignificant castle all the way from foundation to the top of the ugly, squat tower. And those wards are not insignificant at all. If whoever did that is still there, it could track me down.

 

He shrugged and stood there doing nothing for a while, rain pouring over his wine-red armor and plastering his grey hair over his skull. Then he started digging.

 

* * *

 

A lone knight on his stout horse rode slowly across the moor. There was nothing there, of course, but the patrols had been written in the Booke Of Instructions Ande By-Laws, and what was written was sacred. It was a pleasant sunny day, a refreshing breeze blowing from the sea. He paused to scan the moor and to his own great suprise saw something odd. Some way off, a part of the moor was disturbed, as if something had been buried there. The knight spurred his horse closer and stopped next to the disturbed patch of earth. The area looked rather big, bigger than any animal he had seen around here would create. It was almost like ... a grave.

 

Abruptly, the ground broke up as something huge surged upwards in a shower of earth, slashed at his horse with a large, transparent blade. The horse whimpered one last time and fell over, trapping and crushing his left leg before he had time to react. He groaned in pain, then almost passed out as the mud-covered creature grabbed the lapels of his platemail so hard the metal twisted and hauled him from under the horse without paying any heed to how much it hurt him. It held him high in the air with its wiry arm and stared at him with yellow eyes, watching with interest the knight convulse with pain.

 

"Yer a knight o' th' Holy Grail, ya?"

 

"... yes, yes I am. What do you want of me, foul monster?"

 

"Information, Sir Knight. Information."

 

It grinned, showing white teeth.

 

"Now, I am not very good with th' information gatherin' methods from fragile mortals such as ye, so I'm just goin' to ask this once, very nicely, before I turn ye to an expert o' mine. Where 's th' Holy Grail? An' why did ya try to attack me, hmm?"

 

The knight paled even more, already white-faced from pain, and for a moment fear shone in his eyes. Then it was replaced by resolution.

 

"I ... don't know, monster. And even if I did, I would not tell."

 

"As ye wish, Sir Knight."

 

The monster made a small gesture with its free hand and a massive, hulking demon appeared out of nowhere, bringing with it the smell of sulphur and ashes. It dropped the knight, making darkness engulf him for a brief moment as his mangled leg hit the ground.

 

"Ghrâzkhian, I want ye to take this gentleman an' get from him th' answer to these two questions - where 's th' Holy Grail an' why they tried to attack me. Take yer time an' don't kill him, neh?"

 

The demon growled something in response and grabbed the knight, vanishing with him.

[Zadown]

Thirteen

 

These two cards again. The Seven of Chaos and Ten of Evil, reversed – a fight and a broken army, but where and which army?

 

The Dreamer stared at the two cards with his blue eyes. The first was a confusing disarray of seven different arrows entangled and melted together in a pattern that seemed to jump out of the two-dimensional card and engulf the watcher, the second showed a convulsing corpse nailed to a floor of a cavern of ice with ten dark, curving scimitars, all ten wounds oozing blood. With a shrug, he picked them off the stone table and inserted them into his deck of cards. As he put the deck down, something made him stare into the depths of the Void. Something was not right, the wrongness too subtle to be voiced but undeniably there. Hunches like this had saved the planewalker before, many times. He rose up bumping into the table clumsily and as he moved away the top card of the deck slid off, got turned around as it fell and landed on its back. The Wheel of Fortune, slowly rotating.

 

His bodyguards appeared, almost without order. These two had survived many years of strife with the planewalker, knowing sometimes faster than their master when they were needed. The Dreamer merely nodded to them, walked slowly to the narrow point of the stone pier. He inhaled deeply, a useless gesture to him. He could scent the Law without breathing. The tang of killed potential clear now, the feeling of vivid colors fading and the sharp edges of magic losing their deadliness all too familiar. Nowhere else he would have sensed them this early, still – but this was his home, here he could sense the first shockwave of the approaching enemy from a long way off. He blinked slowly, luxuriously, knowing that it would be his last moment of peace for some time, and opened his black eyes with a wan grin.

 

“So ‘t has come to this? Very well.”

 

He turned to watch the bodyguards, speaking now more rapidly.

 

“Alcháel, go find th’ girl an’ protect her. Ye can order any lesser angels to help ya in th’ task. Ghrâzkhian, yer an actin’ captain in charge of th’ counter-offensive forces – take charge of th’ demons I’ll conjure.”

 

He turned slightly, grinned with more conviction to his old second-in-command.

 

“Herald.”

 

“Yes, master?”

 

“Blow th’ call to arms.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

The majestetic, tall angel readied his beautiful trumpet, paused and raised it to his lips. Its clarion call rang through the Astral harbour and entered the dim portals, woke up the whole army of the Dreamer. It rang again, proclaiming defiance and promising swift defeat to any and all forces that would dare to go against the armies it was raising, touching the strings of courage within those it was calling. Third time it rang, a last note of warning and wakefulness, a note that conjured up images of unyielding resistance and sharp steel. Then it fell silent.

 

The response was portals opening up their gaping maws, spewing forth squads of demons and angels that stared at each other warily but were quickly separated and lead to different positions. Runes flickered here and there as the unseen defenses readied themselves, triggered one by one by the muttering and gesturing planewalker. He was standing amidst the chaos of moving troops as a conductor of a grand orchestra, an eccentric maestro whose slightest twitch was a strict command. The Dreamer’s black eyes saw nothing as he went through the traps and wards inside his head, mumbled the right trigger-pharses with the right gestures and the right thoughts. The normally placid lines of power were stirred, bent this way and that to power all the deadly suprises the planewalker had woven during the years. Finally he ceased, whispering one last enchantment that would protect the girl, and gazed again into the depths of the Void, half-dreading what he’d see. And there it was, a wide, grey sea of Law’s troops ready to crush against his fortress as a destructive tsunami, shrouded by magic but not totally masked. From this distance he could not sense the individual presences of planewalker captains, but he was absolutely sure there’d be at least one, possibly two, three or more.

 

Already he could see colourful explosions that tore at the seemingly inexorable force, the outer fringes of his defense waking up from their slumber. They had been expecting those, he was sure, but still they’d cause casualties. The opposing captain was moving his troops quickly forward, knowing that losing momentum this deep into somebody elses’ territory would be the worst possible thing. He felt a current of tension course through him and his eyes turned the color of dusk, red and orange and yellow swimming lazily over them.

 

“Herald, command th’ close defense. I’m movin’ in.”

 

“So be it.”

 

He barely saw the beautiful angel draw its magnificent holy long sword, a rare sight. Then he heard the call of the blood too strongly to refuse, the blood in all the veins of the creatures that were invading his space, his part of the Paths, the blood that he should set free, and dashed forward with a sweeping gesture that made a few squads of his warriors to follow.

 

“RAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaahhhh! Fo’ th’ Chaos!”

 

“For the Chaos!”

 

The resounding reply of his followers sparked a flame in his eyes: they burned bright red now. This was no insignificant skirmish over some tiny, broken plane near the front – this was personal, this meant real war. Even in his mind-clouding bloodlust he knew better than to burrow straight into the middle of the enemy army and he circled left along faint paths, yelled in triumph as the traps claimed more of the enemy forces. Soon he reached the enemy front and crashed into the advancing troops with wild abandon. Realizing dimly he had some of his own troops following, he yelled his old battlecry, cynical but true.

 

“Freedom in death or oblivion in bloodlust! Fo’ward, my slaves!”

 

They responded with wild yell and rushed to tear wider the gap their captain had managed to hack. After the red haze clouding his vision cleared somewhat, he looked around, trying to identify his attackers more specifically. But the troops were carrying standard Law banners and he still could not see any planewalkers among them. Even their despairing battlecries as he crashed into them was just the same old “For the Law!” as always. He was also realizing that even though he and his followers had inflicted terrible losses to the enemy, his guard was almost gone, wiped out by the superior numbers of the opposing forces. The Dreamer changed his direction and the remains of his guard gathered around him, fought for a way out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the main force of the Law surge forward past this fight, get torn terribly by the more vicious traps closer to the Astral harbour, but resume their advance. As he let his body dance its old dance of death, slicing and scything through the elite angelic forces with inhuman ease, he finally caught a glimpse of the real opponent.

 

Khalear! Hah, should’ve realized nobody else is brave enough to do a foolish raid like this. Well, he should be alone. And if he is, I shall scar and break his shiny armor!

 

His goal now in sight, the Dreamer abandoned the troops that had followed his attack and sprinted forward towards the armored figure who was giving out orders to his closest cadre of warriors. He briefly noticed Herald at the front of the biggest part of his own troops, already in melee with the enemy, and a portal spout a dozen of barely controlled demons to the enemy’s flank. The fight was now fully joined and chaos of spellfire, claws, swords, black and white wings reigned everywhere. He felt the raw chaos of the situation as invigorating breeze, leaped forward with renewed energy slashing and killing, and managed at last to get Khaleaer’s attention. The empty platemail marked with dents and cuts instead of scars, inhabited by the spirit of a powerful paladin did not waste words on the Dreamer but readied his shield and sword.

 

Khalear moved to meet him, parried the first feinting blow of Pain easily. The Dreamer danced backwards through the melee as Khalear mounted his counterattack, parrying or dodging all the blows with apparent ease. Just as the paladin was about to shift to more aggressive stance, the Dreamer lashed back with a rapid flurry of blows which forced him to retreat with slow, steady steps. His last slash scratched Khalear’s wards, Pain howling in pleasure. As the paladin readjusted his shield and moved forward, fighting with a balanced style, the Dreamer danced out of the way. He made a clumsy mistake, however, and Khalear rushed in triumphantly ready to scar the Dreamer. Who muttered a command word for one of his most powerful traps laying right under his opponent. A rune written in bright, blindingly white fire appeared below the empty platemail, giving him a fraction of a second to ponder its foolishness before the explosion knocked it upwards, the Dreamer flying after him in hot pursuit. Below the two planewalkers, dozens of warriors on both sides lay dead or dying, shreddered by the blast meant to harm planewalkers or gods.

 

Khalear was shaking his hollow head in effort to clear it, his wards almost gone in the explosion. The Dreamer’s first blow knocked the paladin’s blade away, the second bit deep into the living metal. Wordlessly accepting defeat the paladin raised a new, temporary ward and started running away along the Lost Paths. His troops, mired down everywhere by the Dreamer’s forces, saw him go and give the retreating signal, and tried to disengage as well.

 

Without much success.

 

* * *

 

The Dreamer sheathed Pain and blinked his eyes back to blue. The body of the angel he had just killed started to drift slowly away, some current of the Void claiming it as its prize. He turned to look backward and was surprised how far his Astral harbour seemed to be. Between him and his home, the Void was full of debris – slowly rotating discarded weapons, pieces of armor and shields, floating demonic and celestial corpses by the dozens, abandoned bodyparts; most of them remains of the now annihilated army of the Law. The planewalker frowned, irritated by the sight and growled a few words to the demon next to him.

 

“Ghrâzkhian, take care o’ this mess, will ya?”

 

“Will do, master.”

 

The hulking demon started to growl to his own subordinates. The Dreamer grimaced as he headed back towards the harbour, tiredly dodging the dead and dying, his blue eyes filling with shades of brown.

 

Most of my traps are spent and my personal army is in shambles. This’ll tie me down for some time. Not what that hollow-headed fool was aiming to do, I’m sure, but still a thrice-accursed inconvinience. Can’t continue with my search … oh.

 

He sprang forward at his usual high speed, let his wards deal with the few obstructions he met along the way. Herald flowing up to meet him, something the angel never did, made him hasten his step even more. He ignored his second-in-command, leaped past the piles of corpses lying around and sped over the bridge leading to the small castle. The ground was thick with white feathers and red blood here, the remaining bushes in the garden resembling huge birds. His passage made the stained feathers whirl in the air, a red-white snow falling again and again like the castle had been inside a snowglobe. Here in the narrow corridors the fighting had been intense, the morale of the troops of Law unbroken by the flight of their leader since they had been unable to see it, and here had been the Dreamer’s traps least numerous, both because the castle was new and because he did not want them to harm the girl. The planewalker had to force his way through at places where two angels had been locked in a deadly embrace, their wings still blocking the way. The door to her chambers had been broken and lay on the floor next to the corpse of his bodyguard, Alcháel.

 

The room was in shambles. He could see from the corpses and their locations, from the broken weapons and marred pieces of armor that the melee had been intense here, both sides dwindled to the last, most ferocious and desperate fighters before the end. In the middle of it all was a weakly coruscating emerald field of protection, centered on the prone figure of a blood-splattered girl clad in her practice armor, lying on the floor. The Dreamer’s eyes flashed black and he bounced forward, landing next to Jankiize. He gently turned the girl over, let the sphere of protection fade to see her better. Despite his lack of healing skills, he could tell she was alive and so he wasn’t surprised when she opened her eyes. She whispered, the words almost beyond a mortal’s hearing.

 

“Uncle?”

 

“Ya, Janki? Are ye wounded?”

 

“No… but I killed an angel.”

 

He looked around and saw Winter’s Touch embedded in the chest of a surprised looking, icy angel. Next to it lay the corpse of the human warrior, his body broken by half a dozen blows, a peaceful look on his blood-stained face. The girl stood up carefully, as if waking up from sleep, and surveyed the room with eyes that did not seem to register much. Her gaze stopped at the warrior, her face almost blank. She mouthed a silent “oh” and turned to look at the Dreamer, whose eyes were now the deep blue of the infinite Void, the eyes of an immortal in the presence of a mystery he had seen countless times.

 

“Ya, he is gone, yer warrior. Died doin’ his duty, so I’m sure he’ll rest well.”

 

“Where? You know where we go, right, uncle?”

 

“Ye can ask that from yer parents, later. ‘S not for me to tell where th’ individual mortal soul travels, to heaven or hell, purgatory or oblivion. I can only follow ‘em, afterwards, if I so wish. Yer most likely better versed in th’ afterlives of the people of the Holy Tree than me.”

 

He shrugged, and they both felt the vast gulf between them, a mortal and an immortal. The planewalker moved forward and reached as if to remove Winter’s Touch from the angel’s corpse, then thought better of it.

 

“Retrieve yer sword, m’lady. Remember what I said about th’ blade? ‘Tis yer life, th’ blade ‘s. Take good care o’ it.”

 

The girl shook her head with a hint of terror in her eyes and backed down a step. The Dreamer’s eyes turned dark grey as he regarded Jankiize, his face stern.

 

“I don’t want it, uncle. I … just don’t.”

 

“Then yer a fool, Jankiize Towikae Vangaijuua. Abandonin’ yer blade does not mean th’ world will turn so soft for ya ye won’t need one – it’ll just mean when th’ wolv’s close in all ye’ll have to fight against ‘em is a fright’d expression. Power makes th’ world go around, an’ a blade’s a personal power, th’ power to defend yerself even if ye lack th’ aggression to do anythin’ else with it.”

 

The planewalker’s eyes were now completely black, the scars on his face twisted to a frightening look.

 

“Now, retrieve yer sword.”

 

She grabbed the hilt of her katana reluctantly as if it had been a poisonous snake ready to bite her at its earliest oppoturnity and moved to sheathe its bloodied blade with her slightly shaking hands. The Dreamer coughed loudly and she turned to look at him startled by the unusual sound, halfway through with the move – he was holding a silken cloth, giving the bloody blade a meaningful, narrow stare. Wordlessly chastened, she wiped her blade clear and finally sheathed it, shivering involuntarily as the sword clicked to its place.

[Zadown]

Thirteen B

 

“Evenin’, m’lord Seven of the Crows.”

 

The Dreamer did not turn or lift his dark blue eyes from his Chárôt cards. He made a vague gesture towards an empty chair, moved the cards around with his other hand while muttering incomprehensible words.

 

“Evening, Lord Dreamer. Do you have time to listen to my report now, m’lord?”

 

The planewalker sighed and turned to look at the assassin, who was clad in a black, chitinous armor, two short but sharp dark sickles hanging from his belt. He blinked a few times, his eyes switching to purple, then to green, and nodded.

 

“Ya, might as well – ye’ve already broken my concentration, sickle-for-hire. Th’ silences between th’ cards are hard to read, mortal … but enough of that, tell me what th’ knights have been up to?”

 

Seven looked at the chair warily and then sat down, turned his full-helmet towards the planewalker. His words echoed oddly inside his helmet, masking his real voice with the sounds of flapping wings and the distant, harsh cries of birds.

 

“The wooden Void long-ships they use are hard to track, being rather fast, but we’ve done our best. The full list of the planes they have visited is on this parchment.”

 

He produced a scrolled-up parchment from inside his armor and put it on the table.

 

“To summarize, they seem to be moving around the war zone, mostly on the chaos side of it. They’ve visited numerous planes but they haven’t stayed on any of them for long. It seems that they are searching for something, Lord Dreamer.”

 

So they do not know where the Grail is, either? This both complicates and simplifies my search…

 

“Anythin’ else, Seven?”

 

“As I am sure you know, their main fortress is rather impenetrable, so no, nothing else. And I hope you do realize that we might have to abort this line of work any day soon – the outfit still hasn’t decided what to do with the escalation of the Eternal War.”

 

The Dreamer grinned, scars dancing across his pale face. He made another vague gesture, this time pointing out the irrelevance of such minor matters.

 

“’Tis as well. Yer already done more or less what I needed, Seven of the Crows. I’d warn ye ‘bout th’ dangers of joinin’ th’ forces of Law, but I’m sure yer ancient an’ honor’d company knows better than sellin’ th’ information about their clients.”

 

His eyes slided towards dark grey as he spoke, then flickered back to green and he smiled.

 

“That ‘s all, m’lord. May th’ fates o’ th’ hunt favor yer steps, Ûmar Kharvoi, Dayfly o’ th’ Crows.”

 

The assassin was visibly startled by the name and the Dreamer’s smile grew wider. Seven stood up, backing down from the all-knowing smile of the planewalker, composed himself and bowed.

 

“Fatespeed, Wodzan Xe Chanima.”

 

The Dreamer ignored him and turned to read parchment containing the list of planes the Knights of the Holy Grail had moved through. The names of the planes sank into the same bottomless pit in his memory that already contained all his old dreams of the Grail, the holes in his divinations and the brief moments he had actually seen the Holy Grail. His eyes turned white.

 

Oh. I see, now.

 

* * *

 

The city of Arkstâd sprawled under him. It was built on the edge of the solid fields of stone, its obsidian piers pointing towards the depths of the great lava-sea. The air was thick with leatherclad wyvern-riders and the black gulls that nested on the shores of the unhospitable, red sea. Below the circling, winged shapes the Dreamer could see the fortified, solid buildings of the city. Even the merchant homes seemed to have round towers with narrow portholes, thick gates of rusty iron and dark steel, spikes topping the walls and armoured soldiers patrolling the premises. He blinked and adjusted his eyesight to better see through the heat haze raising from the sea, briefly checked that his levitation and invisibility cantrips were active.

 

Finally! I can sense the Grail down there – this close even it cannot shield itself from me. Too much chaos power flows through this city for it to obscure and hide it all.

 

He let the levitation spell go, gradually, and landed on the edges of the medium-sized city. The planewalker estimated Arkstâd had possibly 30.000 inhabitants, more if the houses rising from the stone had deeper underground parts as well. Knowing that any mage, even mortal, would notice his clumsy invisibility more easily than they’d notice him without it, a paradox that always brought a wan smile to his face, he let it go as well. Absorbed in his own thoughts of how to best capture the elusive Grail he marched forward towards the nearest gate and was surprised to be challenged by the guard.

 

“Hey, pale stranger! Halt and show your pass!”

 

The Dreamer blinked. The guard nearest to him was blocking his way with a spear of some kind. He was wearing an armor of red and black, made of leather and steel and concealing his features fully, the helm resembling the head of a wyvern. From his belt hang a mace – nearby guards had shields and crossbows, all handling themselves with discipline and alertness rare in the usual city guards. The planewalker’s sluggishness at complying to the guard’s request and the way he stared at the soldiers made them all turn to look at him.

 

“Ya? Pass?”

 

“Yes, a pass – without you will not get in. If you are here to join the mercenary forces, you need to go to the camp a few miles inland. Recruits are not allowed in.”

 

I could just kill them all, but with the way the Grail works it might consider me an enemy. Too much of a hassle in any case.

 

“Right you are, sir.”

 

He smiled, his eyes purple. The planewalker turned around and walked behind the nearest corner, the guards losing interest in him as soon as they saw he wasn’t going to try anything suspicious. He sat down on a rock and leaned on the nearby wall, frowning to himself.

 

Now, what would be the easiest way to get in without too much attention?

 

He was brought out of his reverie by a loud, far-away horn. It wailed mournfully, a piercing cry from deep inland, sounding as if it was somewhere above the ground. Another similar wail responded to the first, almost directly above the Dreamer, and now he realized it must have been the wyvern-riders’ horns. Right after the long, haunting wail had subsided, a heavy bell tolled somewhere in the city. Its tone was as mournful and sombre as the horns it replied to, and by the faintly trembling earth reverberating in the same rhythm as the bell he could hazard a guess just how enormous the bell was. Very suddenly the sky was clear of both gulls and wyvern-riders, and even on the ground the few humans in sight scurried to some sort of shelter as fast as they could. Some gave him a worried look, but did not say anything after they saw his foreign features, his marred, frowning face.

 

Soon, he was alone on the empty street. The silence seemed eerie for a place that had a moment ago been full of the sounds of people. The Dreamer looked curiously around, but saw no reason for this sudden run to hiding. He stood up and walked back to the gate, found it closed and barred, the guards gone. He could feel the crude but effective magic stored in the iron and stone of the gate, runes that would have foiled most mortal spells of ruin and unbarring. The planewalker only shrugged and bypassed the gate through Astral now that there was nobody to see his trick. As he surveyed the inner city, he started to hear the sound. It was a mix of patter and tinkle, far-away and very loud, and coming closer very fast.

 

He turned around to see the glass storm.

[Zadown]

Cursing, the planewalker conjured a field of force around him, unable to come up with any other trick that’d worked on the approaching downpour of deadly shards. Almost as soon as the green sphere encased him, the storm was upon the city. He had a fleeting moment of time to see how it all worked, how the buildings had been designed to withstand storms like this, the jagged, sharp icicles of dark green volcanic glass bouncing off and breaking up. Then the deadly shower struck his wards. It made them shimmer and pulse, but they had been made to take harsher punishment than unenchanted knives of glass. In a few moments the wide but narrow storm front passed him and he stood alone in the plaza, carefully lowering his excess wards away.

 

So that is why their city looks like a fortress. But if the sparse and inexact Grail lore is right, they should be under attack as well…

 

The Dreamer’s train of thought was derailed by a crowd of people appearing as if from thin air, all staring at him. He stared back with yellow eyes and raised his hand to the hilt of Pain, feeling uncomfortable from all the attention.

 

“Did you see that? Lord of Chaos! He survived the rain!”

 

“Which one are you, o Lord? Arenoch the Master of Change? Lâkentyr, Tyrant of Fire?”

 

“Lord of Chaos! The lords are back! Magic’s here! For the Chaos! Fetch the Seneschal! Hurrah!”

 

The crowd all started shouting and cheering, obviously not hostile but objectionably loud to the hermit-like planewalker. He grimaced, scars shifting and twisting over his face, his eyes flashing purple, but the crowd was too large for all of them to see his mood and the noise continued.

 

“Silence, mortals!”

 

The words of command crashed over the crowd, made the people both silent and still. The closests of them had been pushed to almost within Pain’s reach – now the calmed and startled mob gave them some room to move back. The Dreamer still glared at them but now had enough room to think clearly.

 

Arenoch and Lâkentyr? If they refer to planewalkers, they might be Arenogh of the Many Faces and Lakenter of White Fire. But both are gone, died or transformed, hundreds or thousand years ago.

 

“Where’s yer leader? I don’t want to talk to a many-voic’d crowd – so scram, chaoslings.”

 

The babble started again, this time more muted. But people did scatter, after giving him a mixed looks of hope, curiosity and fearful hostility. Through the dispersing mob came a small squad of the wyvern-helmeted guards and a noble or otherwisely important civilian, wearing an impressive collection of furs and feathers, all dyed with various metallic colors. He was short and thin under his collection of clothes and he had the harried look of a baron who has been left alone for far too long and is now told that the king has arrived. His guards seemed nervous as well, crowding around the civilian.

 

“Oh, oh, greetings Lord of Chaos! What should we call you, Lord, hmm?”

 

“Hiya, m’lord. Ye can call me the Dreamer for now, mortals. An’ ye are?”

 

“Oh of course, I am, hmm, the Seneschal of Arkstâd, Vralpar the Innocent IV, at your command!”

 

The Dreamer narrowed his yellow eyes, already disliking this man and his involuntary fawning.

 

“Well then, the Seneschal, could ye take me to see th’ Grail?”

 

The silence that fell was deafening. The guards turned to look at each other and the seneschal, who wasn’t really sure where to look. The Dreamer, irritated by it all grabbed the seneschal’s lapels and dragged him closer, his eyes turning purple. This made the guards point their spears at the planewalker’s general direction, torn between the duty to guard their superior and the desire not to anger this mythical and powerful Lord of Chaos – the seneschal just whimpered and finally managed to focus his light grey eyes on the Dreamer’s scowling face.

 

“The … the … the Grail? The Holy Grail?”

 

“Ya, th’ Grail. A shinin’ cup that radiates power, I doubt ye have a lot o’ those around ‘ere, do ya?”

 

“Um, yes, hmm, that is no. Not a lot, as such, not at all.”

 

“Stop whimpering!”

 

“Yes, o Lord of Chaos.”

 

The guards had relaxed slightly, seeing that there seemed to be no violence in the near future, but they still looked very unhappy about the whole situation. The plaza was empty around them, but skulking in the shadows of the small alleys were the remains of the crowd, watching to see what the planewalker would do next. The gulls and wyvern-riders were riding the thermals again, sky as thick with them as before the storm. The Dreamer breathed deeply and lowered the now silent Vralpar down.

 

“Now, where’s th’ Grail an’ what ‘s th’ problem in seein’ it?”

 

“The Brotherhood of Armageddon has it, o Lord.”

 

Those frightening words had an aura of finality to them, as if they were the last words anybody could say – as if any words that followed them would be useless. The guards hang their head in shame, acknowledging that this matter was beyond their courage, and the seneschal had a sad, scared look on his thin face. The words had no such effect on the planewalker who only frowned in incomprehension.

 

“And?”

 

“Yes? They have it, o Lord. Thus, it is beyond the grasp of us mortals, alas.”

 

“Ye mortals, per’aps, but that wouldn’t include me. Now, guide me t’wards these Brothers of Armageddon, an’ I shall do th’ rest myself.”