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Confrontation in Ultima

Suddenly the auditorium around them flickered and faded, and there were standing on the dark shale of Ultima. The Carouser was standing there, a crumpled body at his feet - it looked like Flaubon.

"Give me the sword," he said curtly to Jenever. "Now!"

Blake instantly drew his weapons, his eyes narrowing at the situation. Though he had not seen the Carouser in this form, he was pretty sure that the arrogance exhibited meant that it was he that was standing, and not on the ground. "You should learn to keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking to a lady," he said, matching arrogance for arrogance. "One would think you would have learned that over the centuries, body-thief."

"Are you sure about this?" Blake asked Jenever, his voice low. "I know you fancy Benedict's blade more than a little. But, that is a fine blade you have there, and one can easily see how that one treats with those who bargain with him."

"Perhaps another exchange is in order?" He looked Bleys' new form up and down. "Or shall he get away with the initial insult of taking Benedict's blade from you in the first place?"

Jenever's face had grown cold, expressionless. "No," she said simply, drawing the sword she had brought from the Temple. "If he wants the sword, he can have it."

And then she lunged, the point of the sword aimed for the Carouser's stomach.

Wise enough to know when his place in things had drawn to an end, Blake stepped out of the way. He stood off to the side, mentally assessing the confrontation, spectating as it were- seemingly casually watching. But he kept his blades drawn, his knuckles white on the hilt.

The Carouser dodged aside, feinting - then nearly lost his footing on the figure at his feet. Swifter than Jenever could belioeve possible, however, he recovered his balance and began to press his attack forward ... aiming to driving her down to the base of the bowl of Ultima, towards the slowly whirling vortex of dark plantaxy shards ...

Jenever steadied herself, finding that cold place inside her where all the rage came from, but where the rage meant nothing, where her movements became as precise and economical as machinery.

She had lost one battle to an Amberite, and lived. She would not survive if she lost this one, and if Blake had to come and help her she might lose something much more important than her life.

So she had to win... she had to beat him.

With cold precision she circled, attempting to gain the high ground, eyes sharp for any opening at all with which to press an advantage, and aware that if she could get him to move backward she might be able to trip him over Flaubon... But if she retreated the same way, the same trap lay in wait for her...

He was moving too, aware of her intentions, his eyes locked on hers as he circled slowly ... ready for her, waiting for her ... It was as though he could read her every thought ... know what she was thinking even before she knew herself ...

Meanwhile, Jenever's lips were curved back from her teeth, her expression intent. She hated the feeling that she might have met her match, but at the same time she felt more alive at that moment than she had in such a very long time.

So... it was time to see if he really could read her mind, or if it was only that they were so alike he could guess at her movements before she made them.

Jenever's style shifted abruptly. She parried one of his thrusts just a half second late, and his sword sliced along her ribcage... A look of terror lit her beautiful face and she began to retreat... Her style was sloppier now, as if from shock, but she was still somehow managing to deflect his blows...

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, eyes welling with tears...

He stared at her, then smiled.

"Believe me," he said, and there was a note of sincerity in his voice, "I very much regret the necessity of killing you ... "

And he pressed forward his attack. If she had believed he was her finest opponent before, now she knew him to be beyond any she had ever faced ...

He was driving her back relentlessly, and beginning to smile.

"Come now," he said, "Don't cry. A death in battle is no dishonour. And death at the hands of the greatest warrior who lives ... is honour indeed."

He pressed her hard again ...

Rage lit Jenever's eyes and twisted her tear-streaked face into a mask of hatred. "Damn you..." she hissed through her teeth, trying a desperate attack which failed to penetrate his guard. Her parries remained sloppy, as though the grips of the emotion she was feeling had destroyed her usual grace. "Do you have to take everything from me?"

Backing up under an onslaught of perfectly timed blows, Jenever's foot seemed to slide... the point of her weapon dropped and there was an opening, clear as day, for him to slice her midsection.

It did leave the possibility of an attack on the throat, but only a true master could manage that strike from Jenever's current position... in fact, it was all but impossible...

But instead of striking, the Carouser moved back a step, his blade still raised. And he was smiling, a taunting smile.

"Come, come," he said. "Surely my Chosen can do better than that?"

This, it seemed, was a contest of the will as well as of the blade ...

"I could have," Jenever said, raising her eyes to his, her voice a tiny thing, "if my father had only loved me..."

She slid forward, a low combination ending with a strike for the head, pushing for corps-a-corps...

But he dodged back out of range.

"Father?" he said, and laughed. "Welcome to the dysfunctional family of Amber, my dear. I'm not your father. If you had a father, it was that homicidal maniac that set us all at odds millennia ago - before any of us were born."

He was circling again, watching her and for the first time she had the odd feeling that he was actually afraid ... that she was better than him. She could defeat him.

Jenever snapped her foot forward in an appel, snarling. "I remember..."

Feint, thrust, parry, high cut veering off into an attack on his sword-arm. "That homicidal maniac almost killed you..."

Some fancy footwork here as she began to advance, her sword a blur of attacks... "You weren't strong enough to defeat him. Not without my help..."

She was getting close now, pressing every advantage she could find. "You're right. You're not my father. You're nothing."

"Nothing?" he panted. "I'm the Carouser ... and the only one who can wield Werewindle. If you're to defeat plantaxy, you need me. Or rather - they need me ... you won't be alive to see it!"

And he attempted a desperate thrust that appeared to leave him off-balance, with his right side exposed ...

Jenever stepped aside nimbly and slid inside the opening, her form perfect, her eyes glittering.

"Why, Bleys," she said, "You forget... you've made millions of clones - and we're all you... Well, enough you to use your sword. And in other ways, perhaps superior."

"I want to be the only one," she said, and thrust.

And connected with air.

He was three feet away, watching her, breathing a little heavily.

"You will ... have to ... try harder," he said, clearly a little winded.

"I'm wearing you down," she replied. "That's all I have to do. Wear you down until you make your last mistake. Unless you'd care to surrender?"

Slowly, inexorably, she was advancing, her sword still held lightly but firmly in her hand. She attacked again, trying a strange combination attack that Benedict had used against her in their combat.

Time seemed to pass ... but Jenever scarcely noticed it. She was tired ... more tired than she had ever been before. Her sword arm ached ... her body ached ... her mind ached ... and still they went on - trading blows. Tricking one another.

At some point she had been wounded - a slash along one side. The bleeding had stopped, she thought, although there was a dragging pain across her ribs.

But he had been wounded too. There was a slash to his upper left thigh that was making him limp and - more importantly - favour his right leg. And there was another cut on his forehead (she had nearly taken his eyes that time) that meant he had to shake his head from time to time to clear his vision.

And still they fought in the strange black and white world of Ultima ...

Jenever was breathing hard, now, and the wound in her side was leaching strength from her body and replacing it with pain. She knew she was better than the man she fought, but she also knew the edge was not enough - she couldn't wait for him to make a mistake bad enough to die for. Fiona might contact him, or Elaine, or any number of other possible allies, and the knowledge that Blake and Flaubon would kill him after he killed her did not offer the least comfort.

It was time for a gamble.

She circled, timed her attack...

And then she launched a blast of wind aimed to throw him on the shards of plantaxy below.

It caught him by surprise and he went slithering down the slope, fighting to retain his balance. For the moment he was vulnerable - but there seemed to be a chance he would recover before he reached the bottom.

At this, Blake got to his feet. "I believe it's time," he said to Flaubon, his eyes tightening. He picked up his blade and cautiously advanced towards the fighters.

Jenever was not about to let him back on his feet, however. She raised her arms over her head, wind whipping at her hair.

"Now I give you to the void!" she said in a voice that was not exactly her own. With her last strength, she sent out another gust of wind, a stronger one. Her entire body shook from the effort, and it seemed all she could do to remain standing.

Feeling what Jenever was doing, Blake added his strength to her waning strength to make the wind stronger, and carry the Carouser to his doom.

And with a terrible scream of rage and then pain, the Carouser went crashing back unto the shard that whirled in the vortex at the base of Ultima. They saw the lacerations the whirling shards inflicted as the crystals ripped and tore at his flesh ...

He screamed again and then was two ripped and bloody hands reaching up desperately from the black crystalline whirlpool.

And then he was gone.

Jenever took a deep, ragged breath. There were tears streaming down her face. "And all that you knew with you," she whispered. She raised her weary eyes to Blake. "Did you do something, there at the end? I wish you had not. It should have been a fair battle, that I might have killed him with honor or died honorably in the attempt."

Her voice was dead and there was no anger in her face, only a terrible weariness and... a hint of self-hate?

"Nay," Blake said. "You defeated him fairly. And came close to dying in the attempt." He put a tentative hand on her shoulder. "He created you, but he did not define you, and in so doing, was his defeat sealed."

"Come. Let us see what brought Flaubon here, and see where we are off to, now." Blake looked around for Benedict's sword, not sure if the Carouser had taken it with him to his demise. No matter what the outcome, he attempted to guide Jenever back to where Flaubon stood.

Flaubon looked up at them as they approached. "He was attacking my children. I tried ... I tried to keep them safe. And now ... I can't reach Rowan."

"Do you know where he went?" Blake asked. "Could you see anything of his surroundings?"

Flaubon shook his head. It went too fast. I don't ... " His head lifted suddenly. "Onyx! Are you all right? Where's Rowan?"

Blake moved quickly as he saw Benedict's blade- ostensibly to get to the artifact- but he did move almost as soon as Flaubon made the connection, staying out of view of it... Carefully making his way down the precarious slope, he inched towards the blade, making sure to keep his balance at all times.

Jenever had been silently watching the exchange between the two men. The tears were drying on her cheeks. She didn't believe what Blake had told her, not deep inside, but as the outer core of what had been made Jenever hardened again, she discovered that that part of her did believe it. She had killed him on her own...

She was weary now, however. Too weary to do much more than walk closer, keeping an eye on both Flaubon's obvious distraction and Blake's attempt to retrieve the Neverking's sword.

Blake was approaching the sword now, but as he did so, his feet began to slip and slide. It looked as though the two of them would have to work together to retrieve the sword.

"Hurry!" shouted Flaubon. "Onyx needs our help!"

Jenever swore - the name Onyx was familiar, but did not really cause her a great deal of alarm on behalf of the unknown woman - or... wasn't that the name of the Flora clone Simon had fed on? But that woman was already dead... There was something else.

No time for it now - Blake, also, needed help.

There was not much strength left in her now, and the rage that usually drove her had been subsumed in a bone-chilling weariness, but she moved down toward Blake, digging her feet in solidly. "Take my hand and then reach," she commanded. "And if we need a buoying wind to keep us out of that Pit, be ready."

Blake nodded, once, a grimace on his face at his obvious struggle to keep his feet. His centre of balance was low, his legs spread, as he leeeeeeaned towards the sword, his hand in Jenever's, his fingertips spread... He was a little short... Still. His arm trembled with the effort as he willed himself to stretch further... Trying to block out the image of the rent in space in front of him... The place of the Carouser's final rest...

...then he had it... He felt the hard hilt beneath his fingertips. Struggling, he inched it towards him.. Until he could finally take the hilt in hand. It was hard work... Not like lifting or the like, but mentally and physically balancing himself as he slowly pulled the hilt towards him... But now he had it, and was able to finally lean back towards Jenever... Still moving slowly as the muscles in his arm burned with the effort of holding the massive blade in one tired hand...

"Here!" called Flaubon. "Up here - quickly! My daughter will bring us through - she needs us ... "

He reached out one hand towards them, even as the other was stretching out towards someone unseen ...

Corded muscle bunched tightly so that it must have felt to Blake as if he was holding onto a creature made of steel wire, as Jenever forced herself back up the slope, still squeezing his hand. She focused on her feet moving to avoid thinking about the leaden feeling of her legs or the fact that she had very little interest in anything except sleep for the moment.

Her hand stretched out for Flaubon's...

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