Chapter 4 - A Duel to the Death

Vincent stepped forward, his eyes bright and his visage severe. Then, his features began to shift...like water flowing across his face.

His back bent, as he became shorter, stooped, his hands crossed with veins and swollen knuckles that did nothing to hide the size and strength of them.

Hair once black was shot with strands of gray, to momentarily fall into a tumble of tangled locks the color of a storm sky, and the eyes beneath shaggy brows were older and far more crafty.

In the time it took to draw a breath, Vincent had been replaced by the venerable sage, Dworkin.

It was not to Fiona that he spoke, but to Kalaran, his voice deeper and more firm than they had ever heard it before.

"I see you've found someone you are finally willing to bend your knee to, young Kalaran. And it's not anywhere near as wholesome as young Vincent. I don't think your soul was a fair exchange for mere power, do you?"

"Great grandsire! I have lost the burden of my soul just seconds ago! In its weakness it wanted nothing but to free my Mother from the possession of the darke. Yet that is ALL there really is, all else is illusion! Oh thief of Chaos, you may be able to stop me, but the Darkness will forever remain. And your twisted family, having their very roots in Chaos it seeks to rise beyond the darkness? Cast off your illusions, you cannot escape from all that is. You were all born from the darkness and shall return to it!"

Kalaran suddenly slashes his sword lightly across his mother' hand. "DRINK IT IN MOTHER! Let this cut now free you deeper into the Darke, the very way you freed me! Stand beside your son mother! Commit to what you first began!"

"Stand back old Dworkin, rebel of Chaos! There is nothing for you and your litter! Unless you wish to embrace the true future of Amber. To embrace all the sweetness, might, and power that is the ever-present
Darkness itself!"

Dworkin's brow furrowed, and his flickering shadow circled around him as if he were the center of a fast-time sundial encircled by a dim solar orb.

"Chaos? I have nothing to do with that place...I have always been, and always will be the avatar of Yggdrasil! Long have I tried to counsel the wayward path of Amber, only to have my mind shattered and my words fall upon ears of stone."

He took a step foward as blood ran from Fiona's stunned hand in slow drops.

He face was fierce.

"Though my mind has been as shattered as Ygg's own, I am yet sane enough to understand there is no future in promoting true entropy, as you would have it - look, even your mother's struggle shows some modicum of wisdom against that which has possessed her."

"No more, Old Man," said Fiona, and laughed.

"What are you doing here, Old Man? Have you come to see the destruction begin of all you once held dear?"

The old man shrugged.

"But then again, I don't expect you to understand..."

"I think I understand only too well," said Fiona. She raised her cut hand to her face and slowly, deliberately, licked the dripping blood from her fingers.

His hand oustretched, his eyes suddenly gentle, he stepped forward, losing his shadow entirely, as it remained on the stony ground behind him.

"I believe I'll be having that bauble back, now."

"Oh, I believe you won't," retorted Fiona.

Her hand snaked round and she caught the Jewel out of Kalaran's grasp.

"We have fought long and hard for this and now ... now! is the moment of our triumph."

She moved back across the cave, her lips parted in a feral grimace as she approached the rock basin where the cold spring water cascaded ....

Sharing a feral grin, much like his mother's, Kalaran interposed himself between Fiona, and the newcomers. Leveling his sword at Dworkin, he laughingly adds. "The Chaos is in your mind old one, and that of the rotting tree you worship! It is time for darkness to descend once more to wipe the universe clean of all who worship false rotting gods! For in the end the darke will consume all! And all shall return to its embrace! Isn't that right mother? Tell your grandfather how hopeless his cause is and what fate awaits his sparkling trinket."

"You speak from ignorance," the old man said, "so I will spare your life in the hopes some sort of redemption may yet remain."

He drew himself straight, his shoulders cracking, his eyes smoldering, his voice roughening.

Hands gnarled like ancient roots curled at his sides, and his hair grew more tangled, the beard falling to his waist as he straightned up to a full six feet or more.

"I say, move aside, for I am about my purpose, lackey!"

With two strides, Dworkin strode forward toward Fiona, as if Kalaran was simply not in his path. In the dim light, it almost seemed as if he grew thin, spiraling roots from his tangled beard, and his skin was darker, a brown more of the soil than of suntan, seamed and creased like old bark.

Fiona whirls with a curse to plunge the Jewel she holds in the rock basin of clear cold water, leaving Kalaran to deal with the threat of the others ...

Joshua leans in towards Caine, and inclines his head in the direction of his Uncle. His arms move, only to fold across his chest, as he observes the movements of Dworkin.

Caine moves foward swiftly, raising his sword to strike down Kalaran ...
As Kalaran spit harsh words back at the transforming Dworkin, the room erupted in chaos.

Dworkin's rush was accompanied by Caine to one side, sword drawn, and Isadora to the other, her daggers flashing in the light of the spilled brazier.

With a low chop, Kalaran heaved his blade into Dworkin's side, hearing a satisfactory 'thunk!' as it bit into tough, bark-like skin, and he could smell something like blood (though not quite human) ooze into the air.

Yet, Dworkin's rush was checked only for a moment, his strong hands brushing aside the transformed prince as he lunged toward Fiona, her hands hovering over the stream, the red jewel glowing in pulses in her hands like an ember from the sun.

Pain laced Kal's nerves as Caine's knife nestled into his ribs, and something black and oily welled in his mouth, choking his lungs.

Isadora's own blade drew back against his hamstrings, which snapped like piano wire, tearing muscle tissue as they curled and retreated in opposing directions - Kal flopped down to the floor, onto his hands and knees, dark drops slattering the ground where he stared.

A roar filled his ears, and he could hear the world only dimly.

Beyond, Joshua, suitably free from intervention by Kalaran, thanks to the rush by his comrades, managed to reach Fiona's side by the cold stream which plunged from a basin set in the wall.

He stumbled and flopped over her, his hands sprawling outward toward her, causing the jewel which glowed bloodily to plunge into the stream.

Whatever she had done to the Jewel to make it glow such, it stopped the moment it lost contact with her hand, and vanished into the gurgling waters.

"AAAAIIIIIIIIIGGGHHH!!" Fiona shrieked with enraged abandon and plunged her hands into the stream, searching fervently, ignorant of the young prince by her side.

Then, as Dworkin rushed past the fallen Kalaran, she looked upward, her hands raised, her eyes pitch dark pools of black, anger traced along the porcelian fine contours of her face.

"You!"

Joshua wisely rolled out of the way, getting to his feet as the two mystics clashed together, arms locking, faces only inches from each other.

Dworkin's hair was now a definite tangle of leaves, roots, moss and small green twigs, his hands as much roots as fingers, towering over the smaller, diminutive form of Fiona.

But there the inequality ended, as she bore back with a strength that seemed both savage and primordial, drawing in the darkness from the cave around her like a shawl of strength.

A moment later, and the two toppled and plummeted into the stream, entangled in a contest of magery and strength that frothed the waters...

Even as Kal crouches on the floor, seeing the black blood drip downward, he feels the strangest sensation, as though the ground beneath him is suddenly liquefying .... Startled, he looks down to see the ground itself swirling, as though a whirlpool is forming, surrounding him, seizing him ...

The others draw back, appalled by the spectacle.

And before the shocked and horrified eyes of all those in the small shrine, Kalaran is seized and swirled away into the ground istelf.

Which closes ... and solidifies.

Caine reaches forward, and taps the ground with his sword, his face
sombre. The ground appears as solid and normal as it was before.

"The Darke has claimed him," he says.

Isadora does something that is not usual for anyone to see her do. She steps up to Caine and wraps her arms around him almost like a frightened child.

Caine wraps his arms around her in response with unexpected tenderness. His eyes, as he gazes at the stream, are hard and sombre.

"Oh, father...why did we let him leave? He didn't deserve that. No one does." It was a brief moment as though she was trying to gain some kind of strength from holding onto Caine. Then she stepped away with the same determined look that she had before.

She looks to both Joshua and Caine, "The Jewel...how can we help Dworkin? This place. Fiona seemed to gain strength from this place. Can we destroy this temple? Would that help Dworkin or can we go after the Jewel. Father can you sense the jewel?"

"I can ... " Caine begins, and then, suddenly there is an appalling
roar of sound ... an explosion ... a roar that is deafening inside the tiny shrine ....

And suddenly, appalling, Fiona erupts from the water, rising high, high .... her arms stretched above her as she shrieks with ghastly eldritch triumph.

"Mine! Mine!"

Between her raised hands is held the orb, a dull red ....

But even as she cries out in triumph ... a green shoot rises up from the water, twisting about her legs ... rising higher, higher

Fiona looked down ... and cried out with fear.

Another shoot ... another. Twisting around her, surrounding her
... her body ebraced by the growing trees ... the bark creeping upward ... over her knees.

And now she began to struggle wildly, her eyes wide with panic ...

The bark was to her waist now ... and branches shooting out. She stretched out a hand towards Caine.

"Brother," she implored. "Caine ... help me!"

Grim-faced, his arms still holding Isadora to him, he shook his head.

"Caine!" she screamed ... and from her mouth burst a great branch.

There was a terrible choking sound .... Then silence. Caine pressed Iadora's head to his chest, preventing her seeing any more.

"It's finished," he said presently.

And there, growing from the stream, was not one but two trees, an oak and an ash, their branches entwined together, locked in a strange embrace .... Of the Jewel of Judgement, there was no sign.

Reaching higher ... higher ....

"The roof!" shouted Caine. "Qickly .... the growth will bring the temple down about our heads!"

He grinned briefly at Isadora.

"You'll have your wish, daughter. The temple will be destroyed. Quick ... this way."

He led them to a dark tunnel to one side of the shrine. They disappeared into its depths. Caine led them, his sure sense of direction taking them past myriad outlets until they smelled sea air and saw light ahead. Then he stopped, and looked at them both.

"The next stage will be up to you. I shall remain here ... to see what is left behind ... and make any arrangements that should prove necessary. You two, take the horses and hell-ride out of here. As soon as you find a shadow at some distance, trump back to Amber. Use Corwin's trump ... I'll have spoken to him by then and let him know what has chanced."

"Now, and Joshua, take care of what you hold."

"I will Uncle, and thank you."

So saying, Caine kissed the top of Isadora's head and smiled at her, then gave her hand to Joshua before, his face etched with pain, limping stoically back into the tunnel.

(nb - it wasn't written … but on their travel through the tunnel, Caine was struck by a falling rock and broke his ankle. But he pretended it was merely badly bruised until they were gone).

Joshua looking serious, and still a little pale after watching Fiona's
apparant demise, turns to Isadora. Still holding her hand that Caine had given him, he gave it a little squeeze.

"We should get moving, if you are ready?" says Joshua quietly, and he looks at Isadora with perhaps a more mature face than he had when he arrived, a little wiser, a little older. Certainly the mischievousness was gone, the belligerence a little more tempered.

"It appears we may have to walk to the horses."

 

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