PALE REIGN OVER GESHEM - CHAPTER 27
By Abyss

DISCLAIMER; The usual... if you don't know by
now, I really can't be bothered to repeat
myself.
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      Isn't this how I started this whole
mess?' Cyclops asked himself as they climbed.
     The crevice widened and narrowed at
random, always ascending, never easy.  Cyclops
was reminded of the cliff face he had found
himself on when he was first pulled into Geshem. 
     They followed the other Scott summers, who
was climbing at a pace a professional rock-climber would be impressed by.  
Lustre and the
Hunter were ahead of him, climbing grimly, all
of them acutely aware of time falling away from
them like water.  
     The right side of the crevice fell away a
bit, and Cyclops was forced to grab an
outcropping of crystal to continue.  Without
hesitation, he fastened his hand onto it and
pulled himself along.  As before, there was a
tingling sensation all through his body, and for
the briefest moment, he felt much as he had when
Phoenix had repaired the M'Kraan crystal... part
of everything around him, the rock, the massive
gem, everything.  It was a heady feeling, and he
was glad the crevice was mostly plain rock.
      Wait, you fool!'
     The whisper came from above, the voice
unmistakably Stephanie, the Hunter's.  Cyclops
looked up and saw that Scott had climbed far
ahead of the rest of them.  He didn't even look
back or acknowledge the warning.  The Hunter
cursed and scrambled after him.  Lustre
followed, but not as quickly, and after a
moment, Cyclops caught up with her.
      Are you alright?' he asked, seeing her
flushed face and the strain about her eyes.
      I'm the Lady of the thieves of Geshem,
outworlder.  I've been climbing sheer walls
since I was old enough to walk.'
      I believe you, but we need you strong
enough to face the Pale Man.'
      I cannot.  He has grasped too much
power.'
     Cyclops' eyes narrowed behind his visor.
      This isn't a great time to be telling us
this.'
      I only realized just now.  The magic is
raging like a typhoon.  The Pale Man seeks to
rip the bond away from the Queen, and as he
weakens the bond, the magic rages towards
freedom.  That is what I feel, all the worse
this close to the Heart.'
     She began climbing again and Cyclops
followed close behind.
      If the magic's so powerful, how can he
control it?'
      I know not.  All life in Geshem touches
the Heart.  The spells that bonded it to the
royal line only tamed it.  When the Beast
attacked, he was the embodiment of the wildness. 
We thought it vanquished by the outworlder
Logan.'
      Then what can the Pale Man be using to
tap in?'
      I know not.  I only know that if we
cannot free the Queen and the other sorcerers,
the Pale Man will destroy us all.'
               *    *    *
     Death.
     Death was the key.
     The magic was life, so he would chain it
with un-life.  Giving his soul to the demon had
been the first step.  Creating the preyers and
the soulsworn bandits had been the second.  Each
of them was a channel, and they brought him the
magic of life... tainted by his own power as it
was ripped from others by his tools.  
     The spell was the most complicated glamour
he had ever  attempted, and before it could be
completed, he needed the power he would receive
as the preyers and bandits massacred those in
the city and beyond its walls.
      And then... my dear queen... filled with
the tainted life force of your people, I will
rip the powers from these two fools who served
you, and finally... I will seize control of the
magic of Geshem by...'
     He paused, turning from the three captives
before him.  For an instant, his mind was
elsewhere, then he turned back and looked to one
of them.
      Mage, I didn't think you had it in you. 
Still, they arrive too late.  And they were
foolish to take that particular route.'
     The Pale Man concentrated for an instant,
and far below the castle, the guardian stirred.
               *    *    *
     Marik watched the bandits line the
courtyard.  Two files, forming a corridor of
steel direct to the gates.  
      Lower the drawbridge!'he shouted, and
below, bandits scrambled to lower the heavy wood
and metal platform that served as bridge and
door for the main, and as far as most knew,
only, way into and out of the castle.  The
drawbridge hit the ground with a heavy thud.
      Raise the portcullis!' was his next
command.  Another bandit went to raise the close
rows of bars that sealed the gate.
      Nope, can't let that happen.'
     Marik was spinning the instant he heard
the voice.  A throwing blade clutched and
released in one smooth motion.  The blade sliced
only air.
     Slightly to the left, stretched across the
back of one of the outward pointed cannons, the
Gambler grinned widely, his arm propping up his
head, the picture of relaxation.  Behind him on
the parapet, two bandits lay on the stones, dead
or unconscious.
     Fury and disbelief were heavy in the
bandit's voice.
      Who in Hades are you?'
      The answer to your preyers, m'friend.'
     Marik ripped his sword out and lunged. 
The Gambler rolled backwards off the cannon at
the last instant, the sword blade's impact with
the black steel creating sparks.  Marik was
swept off his feet as the Gambler's staff struck
from beneath the cannon wheels, knocking him off
his feet and pitching him backwards.  The
Gambler was back up even before Marik hit the
ground.  A flick of his wrist and two throwing
blades flew towards the bandit leader's throat. 
Marik rolled, one blade bouncing off the stones,
the other burying itself in his shoulder.  The
Gambler leapt from the cannon, grin firmly in
place.  His staff swung a wide arc towards
Marik's head.  Marik caught the blow on his
sword, the wood of the staff catching the blade. 
     Neither man tried to free their weapon.
     The gambler kicked out, his boot hitting
Marik under the chin.  The bandit's free hand
came up from his belt even as he was knocked
backwards.  A length of chain suddenly looped
around the Gambler's leg.  He grunted and the
spiked heavy ball at the end dug deeply into his
thigh.  Marik cast aside his sword, pulling the
chain forward, his other hand snapping sideways
to catch a blade that appeared from his
chainmail sleeve.  The Gambler pitched forward,
the blade rushing to meet his heart.
          *         *         *
     When the Gambler had attacked, every eye
in the courtyard had been drawn to struggle. 
Bandits had begun to move up the staircases
towards the battlements where their leader
fought.  The Prelate had silently cursed the
thief even as his own task was made easier.  
     *The fool just had to pick the cannon
closest to the leader.*
     Even as he completed his part of the plan,
the Prelate saw the Gambler in jeopardy.  His
reaction was instinctive.
          *         *         *
     There was only the briefest flicker of red
at the edge of his vision, and then a sudden
sting over his heart.  Everything moved so very
slowly... the grin on the bandit leader's face,
his arms falling forward to either side of the
man's head, the slow exhale the Gambler was sure
was his last.
     *S'funny... thought there'd be more pain.*
     And then the realization hit... there was
no pain.  His eyes narrowed even as Marik's
widened in surprise.  The Gambler snapped his
hands together over his foes ears and rolled
sideways, glancing down at his own chest as he
leapt to his feet.
     No wound... just a scratch... from the
slightest fraction of blade left on what was
little more than a hilt in the stunned bandit's
hand.
     A shout in the courtyard alerted the
Gambler to his saviour's danger.  The bandits
had seen the red beam that had severed the
knife.
     *No time to waste now.*
     The Gambler jammed his shoulder against
the cannon and shoved.
          *         *         *
     The Prelate saw the bandits turning
towards him.  He also saw the Gambler turning
the heavy cannon.
     *Too slow!*
     Again the red beam arced out of his one
eye... wider this time, aimed at an oh-so-very-perfect angle.  A crossbow bolt 
grazed his
shoulder, but the Prelate forced himself to
maintain the beam one more precious instant. 
The sound of another bolt hissing past his ear
forced his attention back to the bandits.
     Pure force leaped forth from the red
visor, knocking over one of the closest bandits. 
      Rush him... he can't take us all.'
     That was all he had time to say, as the
beam ricocheted off  the back wall of the bailey
and began to knock bandits about. 
     *Six ricochets... eleven bandits... I
really should be better at this.* The Prelate
chided himself as he unleashed his optic blast
again, silently praying for the Gambler to hurry
up.
          *         *         *
     The sudden motion of the cannon undr the
Prelate's blast took the Gambler by surprise. 
He pitched forwards and only avoided falling
over the battlement by catching onto to the
cannon's firing ring.
     Pulling himself upright, he grabbed a
flint piece from a pouch and struck it against
the steel ring.  Once, twice, and then the fuse
caught.  The Gambler grinned... and then jumped
aside as the whistle of a blade through air
warned him.  The blade missed him completely...
and cut through the fuse.
      Never leave an opponent alive, fool.'
Marik snarled.
     His next lunge forced the Gambler to jump
back onto the parapet itself.  He misjudged it
and flailed for an instant.  Marik's sword shot
out... and the Gambler jumped up, flipping over
the bandit and landing behind him, kicking out
backwards as he did.  The force of the lunge and
the kick overbalanced the bandit, and he had
only time to curse  Hades... NO!' as he plunged
headfirst over the parapet.   
     The Gambler leaned against the cannon for
an instant.
      They jus' always fall fer that trick.'
     A crossbow bolt clattered off the cannon
near his hand.   The Gambler looked about.
Bandits were rushing along the ledges, moments
away.  More were closing on the Prelate below. 
The flint crashed against the ring yet again and
the fuse caught.  The Gambler pulled a hanky
from his pocket and held it to the burning fuse,
a knife ready in his other hand.  
      FIRE IN THE HOLE!'
     His shout rang out across the courtyard.
               *         *         *
     The Prelate heard the shout.  He was
exhausted, the constant stream of force from his
eye to maintain chaos in the courtyard was
pushing his limits.      
     A quick, wide ricochet cleared the bandits
closest to him, and a dive and roll to his feet
kept the crossbow bolts away for an instant
longer... long enough for a series of precise
blasts.  Each knocked a carefully placed small
barrel into the air and shattered it just over
the bandits' heads, scattering the contents into
the air.  One barrel, another, and a third, then
the Prelate dived for a nearby window into the
stable even as the Gambler tossed the burning
cloth, impaled on a throwing knife, into the
courtyard.
     There was the briefest wash of heat
through the window, then the roar of the cannon
outside and the sound of wood shattering as the
cannonball hit the drawbridge, then just
screams.
     Forcing himself to his feet, the Prelate
looked back out the window.  The courtyard was
madness.  Bandits rushed about, their cloaks on
fire, or rolled on the ground struggling to
smother the flames.  The stable was mostly
stone, as was the castle and so the flames
hadn't reached him there.  
     A glance at the battlements showed the
Gambler was not near the cannon.  Prelate
Summers jumped out the window and headed towards
the hidden tunnel they had come in from.  He
moved quickly, knowing the bandits would be
searching for the cause of their pain very
shortly.
     Suddenly, the Gambler was by his side.
      Good work, but bad choice of cannon. 
Let's get out of here.'
      It was the only one loaded, an I'm  fraid
we not done m'friend.  The drawbridge be
damaged, but you gonna have t'finish the job. 
Quick now, I got yer back.'
     Cursing the luck, the Prelate ran for the
portcullis.  One quick blast and they could
escape.  The bandits wouldn't be able to release
the preyers, and the others would free the
Queen.  
     *Would've just shattered the damn thing in
the first place, but it was necessary to
distract the bandits.  Now we're in it deep.*
     Two bandits, less burned or just tougher
than the rest, tried to stop them.  The Gambler
flicked a knife into one's throat even as the
Prelate took the other down with a fast kick and
punch combination on the run.  He couldn't use
his optic blasts... he had to be sure he was
strong enough to finish the bridge.
     They were steps away from being close
enough when a familiar rush of air made him
reach out and stop the Gambler short.  Geshem's
version of the X-man Nightcrawler appeared in a
burst of sulphur, crouching on the pulley that
controlled the gate.  His night-black face was
split as he bared his teeth in a growl.
     Knowing there wasn't time to take him hand
to hand, the Prelate lined up an optic blast,
but the Gambler suddenly leapt across his back,
pulling them both to the ground.  There was the
crackle of lightning, and suddenly every nerve
in his body was on fire.  Prelate Summers heard
a scream, but couldn't tell if it was his, or
the Gamblers.  The sudden heavy weight across
his back answered him.   
     Knowing he was at his foes mercy, the
Prelate rolled, shoving the unmoving thief off
him even as he scanned the courtyard.
     A dark skinned man dressed all in leather
except for one shoulder stood in the centre.  A
number of bandits, eyes flashing red with fury
below their hoods, had gathered around him.  In
his uncovered hand, he held a short throwing
spear... a javelin.
     Behind him, the Prelate heard the sound of
the portcullis gate being raised.  The dark-skinned man, definitely the 
Marauder known as
Javelin, shouted out loud.
      Thus do I make amends for failing our
dread lord!'
     And the short spear sped from his hand,
becoming a bolt of pure energy... and striking
the throne hall's main doors.
     There was an instant of pregnant silence
in the courtyard, smoke rising from the remains
of the doors... and then a chorus as from hell
itself, as the preyers burst free, rushing
towards the open gate, the drawbridge, and the
village.
     To the Prelate, they were like the worse
mutations ever to come out of McCoy's labs...
naked, twisted, a thin layer of skin over tight
sinew and muscle... and teeth... and claws, once
human, but many running on all fours like
animals... coming straight for him.
     He knew there was no time... one last
chance was all he had, and he whirled to loose
an optic blast at the remains of the drawbridge.
     Exhaustion and pain made him slow...
Crawler had no such problems.
     The Prelate had never fought the X-man
called Nightcrawler, but he had read the file,
and knew of his  multiple-teleport' attack.  He
had considered many ways to counter it... none
of them served him now as he felt two odd hands
seize him, and suddenly the world made no sense. 
In and out of reality, the stench of sulphur in
his head, his insides twisted and finally he was
slammed down on the parapet above the courtyard,
if not near death, then certainly feeling like
it.  A strong, leather-like tail wrapped around
his neck, cutting off his breath.  Through
dimming vision, he could see the preyers
streaming towards the drawbridge, the Gambler
lying prone, alive or dead, and nothing at all
standing between them and the city.
     Blackness crowded in and then he saw
nothing at all.
          *         *         *
END CHAPTER 27