Chapter 4 - The Confrontation with the Darke

As for Kalaran ... As he descended into the darkness of the Earth from the Temple were his mother and Dworkin were locked together in immortal combat, Kalaran was conscious of a smothering heat, so oppressive he feared that his gasping lungs might burst into flame.

And then stillness. Silence. He moved and stretched - yes, he could do that. His wounds ... ached. No more than that. But his nostrils were filled with the pungent aroma of wet, damp clay and ancient rot. He is in a long, dark chamber.

And then a dim light bathes the cave and he could see ...

No larger, this, than a study in Amber Castle, and the air was thick with a smothering sense of oppressive evil, of coldness beyond the grave ... that knew neither peace, nor passion, nor hope ...

The first thing the Amberites realised was that they were not alone. Desiree, the only one as yet unchanged, could see her two cousins, Martin and Kalaran, both crouching, looking to the end of the chamber where stood a ghastly figure.

Strands of hair covered the bloodless face, the features, once beautiful, were now twisted in icy malice, the deadness of the eyes occasionally alight with the flame of uncharted intellect.

A long hand raised, white, yet the fingers were stained with the darkness of clay ... as though those clutching fingers had clawed their way out of the grave.

"My servants," the figure whispered. "My children of Darknesse. Come to me, your aunt. Come to me, that I might share the power with you - the power to destroy the abomination that is Amber."

The awful eyes rest on Martin ... on Kalaran ... and there is a low moaning sigh of pleasure. "You gave yourselves to me ... freely. You opened yourselves willingly to the Darke ... and now shall enjoy its rewards."

Martin stood up, straightening out his lanky form. His entire being coursed with renewed vigor and purpose. In the darkness, his two eyes flickered like some perverse jack o'lantern.

For a moment, he regarded Kalaran, cocking his head in dog-like curiosity. ~So,~ he thought, ~It appears not all of my cousins are as foolish as I first believed. He nodded respectfully to his other cousin, smiling in appreciation of his choice.

Kalaran smiled back though fanged teeth. "It is amazing, cousin, this freedom from casing off one's overburdening soul! I was once trapped by my love for a parent, who even scorned my loyalty to her! Yet now I look to the delights the darke can offer! No wounds are there left to harm me, not even the wounds inflicted by my cousins and family."

Kalaran felt the power of darkness restoring his body, and laughed in demented joy.

Then Martin's attention returned to Desiree. Once more, his smile was kind and tender; his teeth catching the faint light as if formed from steel.

At last, Deirdre's head raised and the dead eyes looked at Desiree.

"Martin," breathed the terrible voice, "Martin, you have brought me another ... another poor child of Amber to give herself to the Darkness that fills you. Wise, kind Martin - to gift his cousin so ... "

Desiree looked at Martin with something that was not quite... horror. It was not quite... accusation. It was only slightly questioning, as if she was locking together the pieces of a puzzle.

She knew she could not play this too eager, nor could she play it too horrified... she must strike a balance, something that would allow her enough time to get the required information.

And enough leeway to make her escape, should she need to.

One hand rose in that characteristic gesture to her throat, her long fingers tense.

Martin nodded to her, offering his clawed hand in a gesture of affection. "It is true, my angel. I called the Darke into Amber, summoning it up from the Abyss. I had wished to usher in a new era for our home, one untainted by family ire and squabbling. To create a tabula rasa in my mother's honor.

"This world this family stole her from me. Killing my father would do little but appease my need for vengeance. Nothing more. What of all the pain this family has caused? How could one ever hope to erase it, or prevent its cancer from spreading through Shadow? The answer is simple. Wipe the slate clean."

"Come to me, my niece," the figure whispered. "Poor lost Desiree, despised and ignored by her kin. Come to me, your lost aunt Deirdre, and find a home ... and peace - even as I found sanctuary in Rebma many years ago.

"Come to me, Desiree. Give yourself freely to the Darke, even as your cousins have done - and the Darke shall give you all your heart desires.

"Come to me ... and we shall reign - when Amber is destroyed."

~They must think me mad.~ Desiree turned her gaze from Martin back to the figure as it called her name. Her eyes like saucers, she seemed to be in some sort of trance, but her lips trembled as if she tried to speak...

She was stalling for time... she needed an excuse...

"Listen to her, Desiree," Martin said, stepping towards her. His arm was still outstretched, a delicate smile lighting his features. "Join us and there will be nothing you cannot have. Cannot do. You have seen the turmoil this family can cause. You know that will never change. They shall kill and torture and destroy all to fulfill their petty needs. This is the only way we can put an end to their tyranny."

"I know, I know..." she whispered, but she stayed where she was. "You should have heard Rowan and Martel... the way they went after me at dinner..."

And they had gone after her, concerned she was that Rowan would be hurt by a vengeful ghost were he mistaken for Oberon...

And Martel was too dull to see that his interests with Catriola were at the heart of Desiree's recent treatment of him, and now he simply took it too far. He had always been slow, and she had always been secretly amused at his attempts to instruct her, as if he could...

Time, time! She needed time!

Martin frowned, showing his canines in anger. "I shall make them bleed from the eyes until they apologize for treating you so poorly." He sighed, taking another step closer to her, "I am sorry I was not there to watch over you. That will not happen again."

Her mind whirred.

She had those brief thoughts of Martel... of Rowan, and Valhad...

They were cruel, stupid.

Low.

And she only had one chance to save them.

Could Kalaran really have changed... changed as much as Martin had?

If only they would turn away! She could feel the coolness of the trump against her skin, so close...

Panicked, her mind fluttered, and finally settled on a plan...

She took a hesitant step forward, then abruptly stopped, her eyes on Kalaran. "I thought you said it would be just the two of us," she said, tension evident in her voice. "I don't *know* him. I don't know what he's like ..."

Young Kalaran looked at Desiree, with sudden curiousity, as if she had only come into focus for the first time. He stood next to his Aunt and held out his hand, beckoning as well. "It is the only thing to do my beautiful cousin! In the end the darkness must claim us all. Cast off your burdens and enliven your heart with all the joys that come only from joining with the Darke!"

Martin smiled softly, "Fear not, my angel. Even before his change, our yonder cousin was one of my only supporters. Many times he offered to assist me, all with genuine emotion. Out of all our cousins, I am glad he has joined our ranks. His spirit is strong, as is his will."

Martin's willo' wisp eyes glance over at Kalaran for a moment, and he nods with respect. "Is that not true, cousin? Your intentions are pure now, are they not?"

"I intend only to serve the Darke, for that is all that matters," said that which was once Kalaran, turning his metallic gaze toward Martin.

Desiree's eyes fell accusingly on the red-haired prince, and then pleadingly back to Martin. "Just... just talk to him. Please. Just... just make sure he's not like them. Please... for me..."

One finger rested on the trump at her breast, poised to lift it the moment they turned away... just long enough to establish a connection...

"There is no need for talk between us!" Kalaran called. "The Darke changes everything! It enfolds you in it's power. There is no need of Ego within it! Come Desiree, join us and be free!"

Martin's attention returned to Desiree, "As for us, there will be only you and I. Once we have brushed this rabble aside, the two of us can rule over Rebma, or Shadow, or wherever you desire. We can rewrite the world, Desiree. Together as husband and wife. If you will have me, of course."

His fingers motioned her towards him, to be swept into his arms. "Come, angel. You know it is the right thing to do."

A strange, half-smile started to form on Desiree's face.

"Oh, Martin--" she began.

But the grey figure looked at Desiree and laughed.

"Why, Martin, your little cousin is not worthy of the loving gift you give her! She fears it - she fears us! She would rather cling to those who despise her and ridicule her ... rather than us ... who would welcome her and love her and honour her ... "

Desiree shrank back from the harsh words and the hard glance.

Deirdre moved forward a gliding step ... and mists rose from the grey draperies.

"She fears it ... the moment of swooning surrender when she gives herself up to us ... to the Darke."

"Of course I fear it," Desiree said, her voice becoming high and shaky with alarm. "Of course I'm afraid!"

She played the role of damsel in distress quite well. She had to motivate Martin to come to her rescue...

So she retreated another step, half tripping over her skirts... her body seeming to lose its grace in the icy air from her fear.

Deirdre's cold voice became softer, a caress.

"Come, my child. Martin will hold you, his arms around you, while Kalaran takes his knife and makes the smallest of cuts ... that will join you with us in awful mystery .... so that you may become Mistress of the Darknesse and in triumph tread down those who disregarded you and humbled you ... "

The voice was coaxing, even as the grey figure of Deirdre nodded to Martin and Kalaran to move as she had directed ....

True fear bubbled to the surface. Wouldn't Martin come to save her? If he truly wanted her freely, he would hesitate to force her decision... Maybe the Martin she once knew was long gone...

Deirdre continued, "You shall make Martel ... kneel at your feet and weep for forgiveness... and Rowan ... will beg for mercy ... Catriola shall serve you ... and you shall be Queen of all ... "

"Martin, Martin!" Desiree pleaded, tapping her terror even further, but she needed more, and she settled on her tack in an instant.

She pointed an accusing finger at Kalaran. "You see? He's ruining it all! Why can't this be romantic? Why do you have to force me? Why do you have to boss me, just like Martel!" she wailed.

"If you don't love me, if you're just trying to trick me the way Random did Morganthe, it's not fair! I only ever helped you..."

She began to sob. "You never loved me... You love Catriola, just like everybody else."

The tragic part about it was that she rarely ever used straight lies to deceive, and she didn't do so, now. She used buried emotions, and petty jealousies, and she knew they hurt worse than any blatant untruth.

But she refused to become slave to the Darke.

Martin's eyes burned brightly, his claws clenching tightly enough to draw blood. "ENOUGH," he yelled. "ALL OF YOU." His voice could etch steel, filling the chamber with its force.

He pointed a razor-sharp nail at Deirdre, "She will come to us in her own way. Enough badgering. Remember Auntie, I brought you into this world. I can take you out again. Amber will be yours to consume, but this will be done as I see fit. You will not insult my love again. She is more wise and powerful than the rest of you combined. I will not have you speak ill of her again."

Relief and guilt washed over Desiree. He was not completely lost after all. And perhaps... perhaps he truly loved her...

She wanted to believe that, for some terrible, tragic reason. She wanted to believe that someone loved her, even if it was a villain...

Martin's eyes turned to Desiree, "I am not Martel. Nor am I my father. Do not mention that vile name again. He butchered my mother's soul. How could you compare me to such a creature as him?!"

He stepped beside her, his claws wrapping around her arms, gently but firmly. "As for Catriola, I did love her once. And why? Because I was a fool. She is nothing to me now. A betrayer that will be washed away with the rest of them. Do you think I would still love someone that went to my brother's bed? If I seemed to love her it was for one reason and one reason only. It used her as a weapon against Martel."

~Betrayer,~ thought Desiree, the knot in her throat making it hard to breathe.

His voice dropped in intensity, becoming almost human again. "If I am rushing you, it is because time is short, Desiree. Soon our family will learn of my escape and our presence her beneath Amber. Sure enough they will come for us. Do you want to be separated again? We are of the same blood, the same souls. How could I not love you? I was destined to be with you and you with me. No tricks, no subterfuge. It is a simple fact. You know this to be true. Don't let doubt eat at your heart. Not now, when we are so close to having what we've always wanted?"

She caught her breath, relief flooding her, but she felt rather sick to her stomach... of all the times she had dreamt in her youth of the moment Martin would declare his undying love for her... she had imagined it would happen after the marriage, after he had grown to really know her...

Somehow, she had pictured gardens of lilies, some pastoral scene... perhaps a beach... Even better, it could happen when they were on a visit to Rebma together, in the anemone fields...

... and when it finally happened, it was not like she had pictured it at all.

He was changed... corrupted. The dungeon air was thick with rot. And she was manipulating him like clay.

Perhaps she was no better than the rest.

She looked joylessly forward to what would happen, what she would feel, if she even managed to survive this long enough to tell Benedict what she had discovered...

No one would understand that it was his own family that had driven him so far. No one would be willing to take any blame.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, taking a shuddering breath.

Martin ran a clawed hand through her hair softly, smiling at her. "I understand, my angel. Many times I have spoken out of turn because of mistrust. It is in our blood. Who would I be to condemn you for something I have done so often myself? I forgive you." He leaned in, kissing her lips.

First kiss...

She had dreamed of this, too...

Her lips, vaguely milky and sweet, pressed against his.

His own lips tasted of copper and fine wine. It took him some time before he broke the tender embrace. Once more he stared into her eyes, that ancient melancholy and bashfulness returning to his angular featured. For a moment, he looked like the old Martin again.

She couldn't let this cripple her, she thought vaguely, trying to re-organize her thoughts.

Martin was saying what she needed to hear. Perhaps she would have some time to acquire additional information... time to pass it on...

But her mind hovered over what he had said... she was strangely shocked by the revelation that Martel and Catriola had consummated the relationship before the marriage. behaviour appropriate, no doubt, for shadow... but not Rebma. Not Amber...

Thank heavens she would not be marrying Martel...

It would be Vincent...

Vincent.

She laid her forehead on Martin's chest for a moment to gain time while she gathered her thoughts, and hid the brightness of her eyes.

He wrapped his arms about Desiree, as if holding onto life itself. His eyes trailed over to his undead aunt, looking into the Stygian darkness of her face. Cocking his head, the young prince studied this resurrected thing he had brought into being through hate and blood. The liquid flicker of his eyes glowed like quicksilver. Then, hardly noticeable except perhaps to Desiree, his lip curls with a hint of curiosity. Something passes between him and the ashen revenant. What cannot be known.

Desiree wiped her eyes, and cleared her throat, standing back from her cousin in order to compose herself.

"I will be strong," she said leadenly, "for you. I hate them all."

Martin touched her cheek, "Desiree, you already are strong. Never question your resolve or inner fire. Just hold onto that vehemence for them, and there will be nothing beyond your ability." He held her hand, returning his glacial eyes to Deirdre. "We are ready. Now, let us proceed with the undoing of this place."

"Listen!"

It was the figure before them who had spoken ... and she raised a hand as though to silence them.

Desiree made an effort to clear her eyes, and took another step backward, cocking her head shakily to the side, as if trying to hear that which her aunt directed her to.

This was her chance-- finally.

The spidery hand at her throat moved only slightly. If anyone noticed, perhaps it would be taken for further trembling, or nervous fidgeting.

Desiree, after all, was far from clever...

So they all thought.

Her head turned, her hand shifted slightly outward, covering the trump she bore hidden in the breast of her gown.

It had bothered her, that icy presence against her skin, but she wanted to be sure she had an escape close at hand if Martin proved to be... what he had proved to be.

~Poor Martin,~ she thought, part of her filled with guilt.

But that part, she had set aside, as if in a little box, and the rest of her continued on, not withstanding.

Desiree had lots of little boxes shut up in her mind.

She focused on the trump.

She had actually nearly chosen to keep Benedict's trump by her, but how would she have explained that if Martin had found it?

She couldn't have.

She had decided that she could most easily play off a naive sort of curiosity about the man she was to marry, that she had only been looking at his picture. Indeed, she had been, earlier, in the Rebman library.

Truth served far better than lies to misdirect, she had found.

So she concentrated...

The dark-haired prince, the son of Eric, the cloak-giver...

~Vincent~ she tried, but the contact was elusive in her frightened state, until... there it was.

Trump contact.

It was not Vincent, however... it was some other other soul, trying to make contact with her at this, most fortuitous of times...

Valhad.

For Valhad, there was no answering word, only Desiree's mind, passively opened to him.

Somewhere inside her he could tell that there was complete, terrified panic, but it was neatly partitioned off from the rest of the awareness, and could be sensed only as screaming... very far off... from behind a thick wall.

Her consciousness seemed to perceive him, find his location in its vastness, and direct him somehow-- or perhaps, move instead around him while his thoughts waited, stationary-- and thrust him into a new place, giving him new access...

He took another shuddering breath. No, no... it was she. She took the breath... inspired by the terror of parts of her soul, and yet... separate... purposeful...

And Valhad could perceive it through her, like an observer... see through her eyes, hear through her ears, feel through her body.

The gaze, which had been fixed down and to the left upon a trump of Vincent she held concealed at her breast, now moved to the right, and a thin, blue-tinged hand replaced the trump unseen, as the united eyes focused on the creature before them.

She was ghastly...

The creature before them was Deirdre, or her shade.

~God, it was cold in here~ one of them thought, close to the surface.

Deirdre's eyes, two hollow pools of Darkness, stared at [them] ... and yet beyond.

In front of them, and facing the apparition, were the two figures of Martin and Kalaran, both hideously twisted... changed from their noble selves to... to something else... something darke...

"So," Deirdre said, "it has started. Ygg groans in its roots to be set free - to challenge Us. That must be prevented - at all costs. And you, my followers, shall prove your loyalty and earn your crowns of Darknesse. Even now they have let the man of hours walk the Pattern. the timepiece of Ygg must be destroyed ... and the swords, the swords that would strike our chosen creatures, they must be lost ... or destroyed."

"Will you serve me, my loyal ones, in this? Shall I place creatures of night under your control to bring Amber to its knees?"

That which was once prince Kalaran, turned to address the rotting figure of his Aunt.

"For all eternity I am now yours to command." he said without an ounce of emotion emerging from behind his fangs.

Thoughts flickered through Desiree's Valhad's combined mind like whispers, and their gaze levelled now at Martin to hear his response.

Valhad could feel in her an odd emotion, which came to the fore for a moment at the sight of Martin, so changed: part regret, part disgust, part guilt, part something else entirely that he could not quite make sense of for the quickness of its passing.

But all these emotions were subsumed with one, overwhelming purpose: ~I will save Amber,~ Desiree thought.

Still beside Desiree, Martin turned and chuckled softly. The sound was like a sucking chest wound. "Of course, Auntie Dearest. Amber shall bow before us. All I request is the chance to give Martel a show of my 'brotherly affections.' I wish my father to know how long it took his son to die at my hands."

The dark figure smiled.

"How little you understand, Martin, with your vain talk of love and hate. Look at me, Martin, look at me and learn that there is neither ... there is only the Darke ... "

For a moment, the screaming in the back of Desiree's mind grew louder, and she partitioned it off with some skill, adding force to the wall that separated that part of her from the part that seemed to somehow continue functioning despite her terror.

As Deirdre ceased speaking, Martin felt it. A tide of darkness pouring into him ... into his mind .... his body ... his soul. It was what he welcomed ... what he craved ...

Or was it? For this Darkness had no use for Martin, or for Deirdre or for Amber. As the least of Shadows was to the proudest Amberite, so Amber was to the Darke.

It was as though he had run up behind someone dearly familiar and tapped on her shoulder, and she turned, lifting her hood to show him ...

Infinity.

Cold. Implacable. Martin's craving for vengeance was nothing here. His loves, his hatreds, were without meaning. Without interest. The Darke would watch as he devoured Martel's heart like a dog. The Darke would watch as Martel devoured his.

There was only ... the Darke.

And then it was withdrawn, and Deirdre was still before him, and her darkened eyes were watching.

~Tell Benedict...~ Desiree's mind whispered. ~Tell Benedict... he will know what to do...~

"You said you summoned me," Deirdre said. "Fool. Does a slave summon the Master when he opens the door for him? That was your role, Martin. To open the door to the Darke ... to bring the Darkness that was in your heart into the heart of Amber. And now .... you talk of dismissing me ...

"Do you want to dismiss the form you have summoned? Do you want to stare into the true face of Darkness instead? To become lost in the sea of Darkness, to be filled with Darkness like a broken shell on the beach might fill with sand?

"Or do you want the little worm that is Martin to dwell deep in the shell, the little worm that wants above all things to wound his father and destroy his brother?

"Then crawl to me, little worm. Crawl to me and beg my forgiveness from the wild words you spoke in your ravings ... and I will show you how you might bite their heels and draw their blood ... "

A low growl rippled through Martin. He stepped in front of Desiree protectively, keeping himself between her and the thing wearing Dierdre's shape. "Of course," he hissed softly. He bowed onto one knee, lowering his head. "Obviously, I misspoke, Darke One. Forgive me." He opened his eyes staring up at the creature, "Now can we proceed with the destruction of Amber, or shall we waste further time posturing?"

He returned to Desiree's side, smiling almost innocently.

Deirdre looked at him ...

"Then no more posturing. The destruction will start now.

"Kill the girl."

The screaming in Desiree's mind remained distant at these words, and it was with calm purpose that the young girl turned to look at Martin beside her.

Her act was touching, and convincing.

"You see?" she whispered to Martin, her voice breaking, as she backed away.

Her acting was superb, and it was killing her.

~Be ready,~ she thought at Valhad.

Martin stared up at Deirdre, his eyes narrowing to tiny slits. His claws flexed as one, shivering with anxious energy. A profound silence fell over the room like that before an approaching storm. Then an unreadable smile spread across his lips. With a nod, he simply said, "Of course, Aunt."

His gaze through slitted eyes found the girl behind him to whom he had so recently pledged his undying love, and she suddenly produced the trump that she had borne at her breast... the trump of Vincent.

"I know you didn't want this, Martin, but I don't want to die... I want... I hardly want to live..." she spoke, drawing for inspiration upon that part her mind that found those statements to be true, her voice quavering just enough.

But again, she only acted with purpose.

Martin spun on his ankle and leapt for Desiree, his intentions unclear.

A mere glance at the trump...

~Now,~ she directed, extending her hand to Valhad.

Martin arrived at her location just in time to touch the tips of her fingers as they faded away. His eyes caught hers, clouded with a mixture of relief and sadness.

In that split second before the Trump carried her off to safety, she recognized the Martin of old.

She saw him whisper one word,"Goodbye."

The soundless utterance had an unmistakable finality to it.

"Martin..." she breathed, as she disappeared.

Then she was gone like morning fog.

Martin stood there with his back to Deirdre and Kalaran. His claws closed tightly and he pounded a balled fist into his left hip. "The best laid plans of Martin and men," he laughed, a pitiless noise.

He turned once more, eyes ablaze with vehemence and ire. His lips curled back to reveal his hideously sharp teeth. "We were THAT close," he hissed, indicating
the infinitesimal space with his claws. "THAT close to destroying Amber and Oberon's bastards."

Then he leaned back, spreading his arms in mockery. "But Noooooo..

"You had to come on all big and bad, didn't you?! Had to push it just that extra mile."

He started pacing back and forth as he ranted, throwing up his arms in anger over and over. "You nearly had this place gift-wrapped. I kept the intelligent Amberites busy while the other squabbled and chased their own tails. I mean these fools have three brain cells amongst them, two of which are fighting! I call you into Amber, keep your presence hidden, caused in-fighting and paranoia. That all spells victory for you. So what do you do?!"

Martin stared right up at Deirdre and imitated her ghostly voice, "'Kill the girl. Kill the girl.'"

"Just WHAT is it with you megalomaniac, demon-spawn anyway? You have your victory all lined up. And you stab your best ally in the back!" He tapped his head repeatedly, twisting his face up like an idiot. "Does that make ANY sense to you? Hrmmmmm?"

The figure looks at him indifferently.

"Your usefulness to us is drawing to an end, worm. Even dumb insolence would serve your cause better than this. We are not the Amberites whom you can defy and provoke. The girl was planning to betray the Darke. You acted too slowly - too bound with human emotions. We need a better tool."

She lifts a hand ... then lowers it.

"It is done."

For a moment, Martin has no idea what she means, and then he doubles up in pain as an unbelievable wrench tears through his guts. After a few seconds it is gone and he straightens again. He is aware of a change ... his jackets swings open and his shirt beneath is ripped. Has his chest increased ...

Kalaran is staring at him with those dead grey eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Bring him a glass," says Deirdre. "Let the toad see his future."

Kalaran suddenly has a looking glass in his hands and moves forward so that Martin can see ...

At first he is aware of the changes he has known about ... intellectually ... for some time. The changes to his features ... to his limbs. But now he sees them as another would see them. As his cousins saw them. As Cat saw them. As Desiree saw them.

And then ... he sees the further change.

Where his ribs part at his lower chest, he can see the outline of a face.

Unformed as yet. Blind. Toothless. It moans and mumbles in its fleshy prison, thrusting itself forward, struggling to escape the cage that holds it. His body.

It swells against the taut skin, distorting him, thrusting outwards. And every moment the features are gaining distinction. Gaining familiarity.

Martin's features.

It is his own face.

The figure moves now. She comes behind him - he feels her corpse breath on his ear. She brings her arms around him and her clay cold finds caress the blind and mute face through his skin. In the glass he sees the monstrosity move slowly, sensuously in response to that vile caress, already moving in homage to the Darke.

"You, little worm, are unnecessary," she says. "Inside you is the Darke we need ... and we will take it. Our creature will be born from your shattered and broken body ... wholly subservient to our will ... relishing in the tasks he will perform. Already he can control you ... already you are no more than his mouthpiece ... "

She smiles suddenly.

"Shall we let you see your kin one last time? Shall we let you be the shell for our voice to speak through? To show them the enemy they truly face? Yes ... already the time grows so very close ... and I have others to draw to me ... "

She turns to Kalaran. "You, my loyal Kalaran, shall lead the forces of the Darke beneath Amber ... the troops are mustering ... waiting only a word of command. And yours shall be the voice that gives it."

Kalaran or that which once was the son of Fiona, slowly moves his head in a lazy circle while arching his shoulders. As if coming out of a long sleep his eyes intensify in gleaming silver.

"As you wish, it shall be done dread one!" he hisses, and awaits further orders.

In the great Chamber were the forces of Darkness were gathering, Deirdre, Queen of Air and Darkness, paused, then turned her terrible eyes to her loyal servant, Kalaran.

"It moves," she said. She laid a cold and clammy hand over this heart.

"I feel it. Still, it rested. Not it moves again ... seeking, searching for a way to destroy us."

"We will not allow it. The one who wields it must be destroyed ... and those who know his secrets too. Your cousins ... Thomas, Arathorn, Christophe.

"Already I feel them on the Great Stairs. Take what troops you want ... and delay them ... destroy them ... "

 

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