Dark Armor: Another Departure

Pallian bathed quickly and then dressed himself, this time in dark gray pants and a crimson shirt, with heavy black boots and a wide black belt. He hung sword and dagger on the belt, tucked a second dagger into his boot, and slid the bracers into place around his forearms. After a moment he selected the plain bloodsteel ring that his mother had left him as a birthing-gift, and slipped it onto the middle finger of his right hand. That should serve well enough for his arrival at court, at least. 

Tybben sorted the last of a pile of outfits into a simple travel-pack, and handed it to him. "It seems disrespectful to have you travel without retinue, my prince, but your father left word that you were to follow him with all haste. He left you this for the journey."

Pallian nodded to the dog-faced man, and accepted the rolled scroll that Tybben held out for him. A momentary glance at its half-unrolled surface revealed a complex tracery of lines and angles, pulsing with power. "At least he means for me to come directly," he observed. "Did he say anything about the armor?"

"He did not."

"Then I'll leave it here, and gratefully."

"My prince--" Tybben swallowed. "Watch yourself. More princes have died in the wizard-king's court than ever did on the field of battle."

Pallian nodded. He knew that already, but the warning was meant kindly and it was a welcome reminder -- especially following the events of the last week. "I will be as careful as I know how to be."

"Then we will have to hope that is enough," said Tybben, and stepped back. 

Pallian slung the pack over his shoulder, then unrolled the scroll. The glyph upon it grew momentarily bright, burning blue-white with the power it contained. Then the scroll burned away into ash, and the world went utterly black for the space of a single heartbeat.

Pallian had long thought that it might be possible to move just as that darkness surrounded him, but he had never been curious enough to try it. It might make no difference at all; it might throw off his arrival by inches or miles; or he might find himself falling forever in the dark-between places. Some curiosities weren't worth satisfying, and it didn't bode well that he found himself tempted to try it this time.

Then light and location returned, and he was standing on a carved glyph in the stone floor of the Obsidian Citadel's Hall of Greeting, the only room in his father's keep where such travel was not blocked. 

"Pallian," said his brother Ravaj. "You hurried. Good."