Umber

A pair of gates that had been closed opened apparently of their own accord as the young people moved toward them, and Klavicus gestured to Mahlanda to follow. “Keep moving,” he ordered her, and though she wondered at the urgency in his voice she didn’t wonder for long. The gate slammed shut on their heels, and as the youths began their descent stairs formed at their approach and vanished after their passing. A flickering like torchlight illuminated only the vicinity through which they moved. The space felt oppressive to Mahlanda even without the constant threat of tumbling into the darkness below.

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Mahlanda took Klavicus’ hand and they vanished..to return to precisely where they were before. Or, more precisely, to multiple where they were befores, pockets of reality for each of Opa Skarp’s brood and themselves overlapping in a manner so vertiginous that Mahlanda’s hand flew to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t focus on individuals,” Klavicus instructed her. “Take in the gestalt.”

That was, she found, easier said than done, but having no desire to embarrass herself she kept her gorge down, and in truth was soon distracted by events as they unfolded. For though to her eye the warrior had blown the horn, here in these other spaces it did not wind. Instead a booming voice spoke out.

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Chaos erupted all around Mahlanda. Kalak toppled forward, but no sooner had he fallen than his would-be assassin was ejected from the viewing stand and a massive cloud shaped like a dragon billowed forth in the sky. “Oh no,” she whispered. “It’s begun.” She scanned the arena for Opa Skarp’s brood and saw them for a few moments, conspicuous as an island of preternatural calm in the midst of the pandemonium, keeping their band of loyal slaves and allies together while they assessed instead of reacting to the unfolding situation. But then her own situation grew more precarious and they were lost to her sight and attention.

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