Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [P8] 1. Assassination and Dissolution Message-ID: Date: Thu, 10 Dec 1992 01:54:17 GMT Along the edges of reality where travellers seldom wander, a road (of sorts) runs along the edge, where the fluctuations of nothingness are believed to flex and bend and sometimes reach into the places they ought not to be. But the circumstances required that she be at the meeting place, at a given time, and this route was the only way there from where she had been. Walking was the hard way to take this road. She had been unable to get hold of a conveyance, and the Gateways had not been established in the place she needed to get to. She walked on, careful to stay on the correct path. There was a noise. She looked around her - nothing. There should not be any noise here. A fluctuation beginning, or a predator - both were indications that the outside path was no longer a good place to be. She began the careful dance towards the inward path, sliding down the bubbles that surrounded each of the places where things were real. Far behind her, the noise came again. She stepped through the crystal wall. Trees and flowers sprang into shape around her, a meadow, a sky, two bright blue moons, a sunrise. She began a steady, continuous loping run. Three times she crossed over a stream. The ground rose in a gentle slope, gradually coming to a crest that became a ridge that led to a mountaintop. A pass, between the ridge, afforded her the opportunity, and she stepped across realities, coming out behind a completely different mountain. The sweep of oak trees below in the valley made a place she could hide, perhaps. She chose to be a Huntress, seeking a route leading to a place where people were, so she could lose the thing which hunted her. The trails crossed, and she took one that had been travelled. Behind, in the pass, the noise - identifiable here as a bugling howl, and answered from the trail before her. The trail was a merchant's road, like that in another place. She took that opportunity to step across. She was growing tired, the chase more draining than it should be. She sought out another place, a crossroads, a nexus where the road met with other roads. It was far away, but still within reach. She increased her speed. The lope gave way to a steady run. The noise was still behind, and alongside, just far enough that she couldn't get a clear view of its source. Speed was enough-- she'd outdistance them readily, and lose them at the crossroad. The nexus grew closer, and she became aware of the web of possible routes. She began to plan a route. Then just as she got close, the nexus in view, IT stepped out in front of her. Tall, armored, with an immense sword in its clawed hands. She stopped - Huntress would not suffice here. Warrior would be best. She grasped for the aspect, began to choose. "NOW!" came the shout, and she felt an agonizing pain - caught in the moment between self and other. Her death was a moment that dragged on - shattering, all her aspects falling from her. The mage stepped from behind the armored figure, his fingers writhing in the detailed figures of the trapspell. The hooks sank into her, making thought vanish. Satisfied, he seized the crystal shard left at the center, watched her aspects evaporate along the nexus, and then waved to the Hounds. They slavered up to him, grovelling and licking at his feet. The armored figure turned to follow as he stepped to the side of the road, signalled with the wand. The immense ship, sails furled, rose up from the depths of the field, phasing into reality. The mage stepped aboard. His captain was waiting, black patch down over the empty socket of his left eye. The mage stepped to the mast, and set the crystal shard into the empty lantern-box. A command word, and the sails unfurled, the crystal burning with a blue fire, lighting the path into the upper reaches of the crystal sphere. The mage began his spell and the spellship resumed its interrupted trip.