The man awoke in the midst of a ballroom, lying naked on the floor, save for a single band of twisted copper around one slender finger. He had red hair that fell to the small of his back, and a thin, athletic build. His features were fine and aristocratic, though marred, or some would say enhanced, by his eyes, which were of an unusual amber hue. Those eyes took in the scene in the ballroom. A masquerade was in progress, the dancers at the ball dressed in their finery, billowy sleeves for the men, and full, full skirts for the ladies, all adorned with bright baubles and feathers of rainbow hues. All carried small domino masks in front of their faces, depicting various animals, birds, and flights of fancy. They made a spectacle of color as they spun in intricate circles about the floor, one hand on mask, the other holding a partner’s, like some great clockwork mechanism. The man stared in wonder at the ball, and noticed that it was strangely, eerily, silent. When a pair of dancers approached, he moved his leg reflexively, but, still burdened with the lethargy of sleep, was unable to move quite in time. He started when the dancers passed through him with a cool sensation. He grew nervous when, in that instance, he heard the faint strains of a waltz and a snippet of conversation. Standing, quite unabashed of his lack of clothing, and quite unnoticed, he looked around the room in wonderment.
Across the room, pouring a glass of some beverage for a lady in a peacock mask, he beheld a man of his height and build, with a long red braid down to the small of his back, all dressed in black with a shirt of shimmering copper-colored material, a black domino mask held before his face. Turning, the man looked directly at him, and, lowering the mask, revealed features that looked oddly familiar. Then, in a silky smooth voice, he said, "You’d best be going, the party is almost over."
The statement could have been addressed to anybody, may have been said a thousand times before, yet it gave the naked man a feeling of impending doom. Filled with dread, he fled the ballroom, out into the streets of a city. Running, the naked man ignored passerby even as they ignored him. Out, to the center boulevard, and down toward the beach, he ran, strong legs carrying him with the utmost speed. As he left the city, a name came to him, Tir Na-Nog’th. As he neared the beach, the first blues of the morning light were creeping into the sky, and he feared them although he didn’t know why. When the steps came into view, he pushed himself, straining for breath, fear driving adrenaline through his system, narrowing his vision to encompass only his goal, the steps, quickening his heart to a rapid fire staccato of beats. He hit the steps at a dead run, taking them two and three at a time, in great, bounding leaps. A name came to him, Dancer. His name, he knew, and also not his name. He leapt over three, four, even five steps at a time as he raced against the waxing light, feeling their stone grow softer and more insubstantial with each landing. Passing through some low, wispy clouds, or early-morning fog, he saw land, real land, come into view. When his foot came down and sunk halfway into a step, he knew it was his last. Pushing off with all of his strength, he launched himself into the air. Instinctively, he spoke in ancient words, spelling out a formula long etched into his mind, and with the words came his memory, his identity.
Cursing the failed spell, he was reborn into the world, screaming. Kyle had come to Amber at last.
~~~~~~
Standing on the face of Kolvir, overlooking the sea were two men of uncommon contrast, both engaged in a common interest. The one was tall, broad of shoulder and dark of hair, while his companion was of below average height and of a slender build, with longer, red hair. Yet, the two not only shared an interest, but blood, for they were cousins. The larger man, who was named Castor, was engaged in pointing out a particular pair of constellations, and explaining their use in navigating certain waters. The other, Lorius, nodded politely, and raised his head in the direction of the constellations, which were just visible through some low clouds. Then, his head snapped to full attention, and he clapped his hands and shot ten feet straight into the air.
"What is it?" the larger man grumbled, annoyed at the disturbance of their reverie, yet knowing that the mage would not have done so without cause.
"A working of the art. Fool didn’t adjust for Amber mana variables," A slight tint of humor in Lorius’s voice, "Looks like he’s falling from Tir!"
"Let’s go!" they said, in unison. Each looked to the other for a moment, and Castor laughed, shortly. Lorius shrugged and tilted his head. The pair headed toward the site where Lorius had spotted the stranger land, Castor at a dead run that barely fell behind the other’s flight.
Arriving at the landing spot, the two beheld a slight man, with long, red hair, lying on the ground quite still. Castor nudged the body with his toe, eliciting a twitch on the surface of the skin. "Could it be some shadow of yours, cousin? Or some ghost from Tir?" Turning the body on its back, and looking into the face, and arranging the limbs, noting the breaks, he continued his observation, "No, he’s prettier than you, and a bit taller."
Lorius, in the meantime did a few observations of his own, merely saying, "Hmm, interesting. I think my mother shall like to see this little birdie."
Lorius then bent near Castor over the still form, and spoke a few words of a spell, then announced, "OK, he’s ready for transport, let’s go."
The larger man gave him a look out of the corner of his eye, and said, "Mages, always taking shortcuts. We’ll not be teleporting him, though, not in this condition."
"Fine," Lorius said," I’ll meet you in my mother’s quarters. Use a back entrance." That said, he conjured a blanket for the patient, and teleported away.
Castor ambled down to the castle, Kyle bundled in his arms like a sleeping child . . .
~~End~~