The Grand Ball

The personal diary of Darig, son of Corwin, pt 12

So the master class in swordsmanship is on today, in the end eight candidates plus my two, we will not after all need to expand the training hall. Each one arrives accompanied by an elder. They vary from a young Seraph who looks like a seven year old to Jurt, Mandor’s little brother who looks like a sulky eighteen year old.

Those who already know which blades they favour can select an appropriate blunt. Jurt is directed to the lightest foil by Despil, his older brother. Ibemo has little knowledge of blades but an aptitude for unarmed combat, After a short pass of arms I give him the blunt of a two handed falchion which best suits his style.

Lacertin of Minobee is a skilled swordsman for his age, on a par with Elektra; Tajal of Minobee and Dinu of Vaal are next in skill with Haley of Jensen matching them in skill with a graceful style which is pleasing to see. Uryan of Seraph is disadvantaged by his size and lack of strength but well drilled and quick. Cerdic of Taud is strong and tries to trick and bully his way through. Jurt of Sawall does not even try to use such talent as he has and seems almost wilfully unwilling to learn – I select a marginally heavier blade for him as such style as he has suggests edge over point.

I first run a simple progression ladder, Rhodri and Lacertin top this. Elektra shows every intention of trying to beat her brother by any means and if she cannot do this at least landing a sharp blow on his shins after time is called.

I put them into pairs to test some of their tactics: Dinu and take to it naturally; Tajal and Ibemo work together but not quite as well; Lacertin and Uryan do quite well with Lacertin shouting and whirling his sword, taking all the attention and then Uryan stepping in quickly.

Rhodri knows what he wants but has not yet learned the best use of a lesser fighter so Cerdic takes the hits whilst he wins the fight.

Jurt is hopeless and Elektra is less patient than her brother. It is far the hardest pairing; he is unwilling and she shows such contempt that she does not even use him as a meat shield! Though I have few rules, there are less in battle. Cerdic tries to cheat, Elektra does too but only to put an extra hard blow in on her brother at the cost of the fight.

In Circle of Treachery Rhodri wins the first, after which Elektra makes sure he does not do so again. Lacertin wins the next, then Uryan who stayed out of most of the combat and was not noticed by Elektra, who was too focused on getting her brother at exactly the moment he was overcoming Lacertin.

At this point Rhodri and Elektra have a spat, she has been provoking him all the time. Apparently he has been talking (boasting) non-stop about going to Amber and she feels left out. Nico and Kalavryta step in and calm them down. The last two circles are won by Tajal and Haley respectively.

As I prepare to teach groups I am aware first of a disturbance in the onlookers and then of screaming, which seems to come out of the walls and to be in Melvyn’s voice. No sooner has that ended than Ibemo starts a brawl with Cerdic, apparently in response to the insult ‘third cast’. Though I try to calm things down Aelfric of Taud, Cerdic’s companion, insists on making a challenge to Margrath. As the challenged, Margrath chooses sorcery, apparently an unexpected answer. Despil and Bela of Vaal stand as Margrath’s seconds.

After this the rest of the class is almost peaceful, group works and individual pointers seem to go well, though Jurt has to be used as a handicap – even given extra padding and allowed to use his aggression, he struggles. He seems to hate losing but hates taking advice even more. Interestingly, in group fights Elektra will defend her brother fiercely unless she gets the chance to put one on him herself. On the whole, a successful class.

From there we go to bathe and dress for the Grand Ball, we enter in reverse order of precedence by the time that I am allowed through the place is full, William and Lord Torc are just behind me, lords in their own right. They are followed in turn by Rimlords, ambassadors, Suhuy and Dworkin, the elders ending with Benedict then Gods, Bragi, Artemis and Isis.

The first order of business is the announcement of William’s engagement to his delightful angel.

Orlok of House Spandrel is then brought before Gus, in the form of a 7 foot Lizard he towers before the King. He is being banished but the whispers around me say not for long, they can always use an assassin!

Imperial Violet of Spectral is the next to be judged, he grovelingly begs forgiveness for the assault upon Constance. Celadon is to be executed for this misdemeanour and Constance gets to carry out the punishment by, apparently pouring him a glass of fresh turps.

After the judicial process is over, Rolovians of Jesby comes forward to announce that Sorpovin of his house has vanished would people please look out for him.

The next order of business is for us to be presented to Gus, the security is strict, each person is frisked twice by first a Rimlord then a demon as I approach I get this treatment and they even find the knife concealed in my boot. Then Belissa of Minobee makes a statement about security and extra search, and slips me a dagger, my own that she won in a wager. The plot thickens only a little.

The demons of his guard are fearsome, I would not like to take more than one of them armed only with a dagger and their leader carries a chain-mace set about with spells of ruin.

As I kneel before the King a descending scream comes from above – no distractions. I launch myself, blade first, nailing his head to the throne through the eye socket, black ichor drips over my hands and Augustus Swayvil crumbles to dust.

Despite the speed of the attack the demons are almost upon me, but as Gus dies they freeze in place. I spin, ready for desperate defence, but they bow before me, thank me and their leader hands me the amazing mace. (It is like no weapon I have ever used, it would take an age of practice knowing that any slip would take one of your own limbs clean off, I doubt I will ever use it but it is an interesting prize.) With that the demons just fade away. William is already at my side, we wait for what is to come.

Servants and demons move forward, brush the yellow dust that was Gus from throne and take it away, leaving him as powder on the dance floor. As water is brought for me to wash my hands and a clothes-brush for my uniform, the dancing commences, grinding the remains of Gus into the floor, like a combination waltz and sand-dance.

From the far side of the room Benedict is glaring at me with cold fury, I go over to speak but get the dressing down of a junior, dismissed from my post as his deputy and told that further sanctions will be taken when we are back beyond Ygg. He tells me that my training was not for me to become an assassin. I click my heels and leave, there is nothing to say. Caine is talking to Benedict and Cymnea and Mandor lead me away. Behind me I hear the sounds of excitement and horses' hooves?

Mandor takes me to an ante-room and pours me a drink, thanks me for freeing them from a tyrant. He is talking about the implications, those who were close to Gus, already weak, have become irrelevant. Cymnea and Caine join us; Benedict is not about to change his mind. I knew that I had been kept away from him but he was there when William and I practised this mode. If those demons had actually attacked I may well have died, but my training is to do that which must be done, I would not have changed the plan. I hope that this can be sorted but compared with some of the options it is acceptable.

Caine says that whilst he may not like her he has a great respect for Cymnea and she may find a way to sort this before we leave.

On another topic he expresses his doubt that Corwin was my father, he was there when Oberon expressed a doubt. Thinking back to the Hall of Memories, I ask for the history behind the battle and who bore the flag with the red dragon on green – I have identified all of the other banners.

Caine says that after all this time he cannot answer the second question but that the war had come about because Corwin had threatened Amber with cannon so they had attacked his stronghold of Avalon in a pre-emptive strike in alliance with Faerie. I will need to talk to their ambassador.

We make a move to return to the festivities when Suhuy sweeps into the room, pointing out cracks in the ceiling that are not just in the building but in the very fabric of reality. He asks for suggestions for a divination to find the cause. I say that Havelock has the most skill in casting the cards and so they set out to find him.

I meanwhile am sought after for thanks, for congratulations on my skill as an assassin (from House Spandrel, a compliment of sorts) and to dance. So I find myself on the dance floor with Dara. She is seeking my intervention with Corwin, when he appears, but who I have not met since he, apparently, placed the silver rose on my crib and, though I do not mention my increasing doubts as to my paternity, I admit that I doubt my influence.

My influence with Benedict is also not something to rely on at the moment and there is the issue of some murdered servants, he was very fond of them. She is concerned as to what plans Mandor has for Merlin and she would like to return to Amber as her place in Chaos will be precarious. Though I too was fond of the servants I do not bear a grudge that would refuse her the chance to return.

Havelock has been found; his reading of the Trumps shows that the entire destruction of reality is all my fault! Due to the nature of causality I can correct it ‘quite easily’ if I return to the past to make my prophecy so that I can both start and complete and begin the entire cycle. Ah! The Joy of Chaos!

Suhuy says that he knows the house that can help – Alhazred, masters of demonology. I don’t think this will be pleasant!

The next part of the evenings ‘entertainment’ is Akira of Sundiata, who has apparently shamed herself beyond redemption by losing a duel to Melvyn. She reads a poem then commits seppuku – disembowelling herself with a knife, releasing green smoke whilst one of her house beheads her. It seems a waste.

Suddenly, from above I hear Melvyn scream! Instinct screams at me to bring up the Pattern; sense and training overrule this. Right across the room a viscous green liquid is pouring down in front of Sorashi, who is clutching at her eyes. Even as this happens the liquid attempts to take the form of Melvyn, sort of distorted and incomplete – I am not sorry that I am not seeing it up close. Melvyn seems to have shed his eyes, but amidst the hubbub even my loudest cry would not reach William, who tries to save them in ice rather than trying to push them into the Melvyn shaped blob.

Emir Ali of Alhazred has been found and has been asked what they want in exchange for sending me back to make the prophecy. They are not worried about the cracks in reality as they, unlike most houses, are well able to survive in the Abyss.

What they want is a place among the Rimlords. As this is not something that can be just given to them, Suhuy calls for a meeting of the Star Chamber. Ali, Suhuy, Caine and I are led to the balcony to watch the proceedings. There is a space on the Rim as Jesby have resigned. Mandor wants Pheon, Jensen or Vaal but with the world falling apart around their ears the other will not support him, though Zigo and Ascaris waver.

I am give a few moments to write an ‘in case of my death’ letter. Then I am led through Chaos to a door which leads to a blasted heath and a ring of grim ancient stones, open to the bleak expanse of the Abyss. Among the stones stand six members of house Alhazred. I stand forth and they start their chant, calling on Yog-Sogoth and Umr-At-Tawil, skin-crawling names half familiar as if from some dark dream.

From out of the Abyss come a stream of protoplasmic bubbles, surrounding me, swallowing me. Clammy, stinking, unwholesome, they envelop me. I fall, lost in time, lost in space and screaming.

Light approaches, first a dot, expanding into the view of the Throne room of Chaos. I use a swift glamour to put myself in my full colours. I see the scene just as it was in the Hall of Memories but now I look out from above the Throne. The words come to me, “Augustus Swayvil King on high… In your dotage and conceit, Die with my dagger through your eye!”

I am falling again, the bubbles are gone.

I hit a floor and roll on instinct, my shoulder taking the blow. I am in a corridor. The walls about me are hung with watches, clocks, sand glasses and other things less recognisable which yet appear to be time-pieces. On the floor beside me lies an unfamiliar dagger, a curved thing, looks like it is part of a dark priest’s regalia. There is a door to one side, locked, the corridor curves away to the other side.

I know this place, again what I have seen in the Hall of Memories, I take the dagger and make my way down the corridor. At a cross roads I see a figure – a bulky sandy haired figure – he challenges me! It is a young Oberon, not Gerard, they always said it was the closest resemblance, partly due to the colouration, to an extent all of us have some look of Oberon. I introduce myself as a scion of Barimen, which puzzles him.

Before I can cause further confusion, a voice rings out of the shadows of the corridor behind him, announcing himself as Ismail of Abal. The form is that of a blob of darkness but armed with two swords, it attacks Oberon and he is overmatched but as he falls back to the crossroads its flank is exposed. I only have a dagger but, unseen and well timed, my attack distracts Ismail, giving Oberon time to slay him.

Abal? I think of the Alhambra and the portrait of Ismail claiming to have been slain by a Barimen Assassin. That is no assassination, he just did not watch his flanks! His flesh sets like cooling pitch, setting fast around the dagger. I draw my own knife.

Oberon and I hurry on to his rendezvous with his father, who can explain. Though he is even more puzzled when I cannot change form, even partially, to cross an area of burning stones. Though it vexes him he chooses a path that I can follow. After a time we come to a place that I know, the Clock of Doom. In its shade waits (a much younger) Dworkin, accompanied by a man and a woman. The clock reads Hierophant, Emperor, Hanged Man.

For a moment Dworkin watches me then pronounces, “Begone to your own time future ghost”.

The light changes, the world spins, the clock changes to World, Judgement, Sun.

Even as I land in the mud at its foot. Clank! It turns to Judgement, Moon and Fool. Full length in the mud at my feet lies a man’s body – Melvyn, he lives!

Above me a raven caws with a harsh “Har! Har! Har!”

Clank!

Fool turns to Hierophant and Suhuy appears. He helps me lift Melvyn – the man has been blinded, his eyes gone. Without a word we lift the body and carry it a distance through Chaos. Through the fog a door looms, it is set in the door of a ruined church.

Suhuy says that he will care for Melvyn and indicates that I should go through the door but it is not Suhuy’s chapel but the Grand Ball, the evening winding down, half a dozen couples, or variations on that theme, are still in the dark corners. My cousins are still there. I cross the hall, collecting a large drink on the way. The cracks have gone as if they had never been, which of course they hadn’t.

My cousins seem pleased to see me; apparently I missed the arrival of Aunt Fiona and much else beside.

I shed my ruined tunic and, out of a sense of wanting to end the evening, I dance with Sorashi as the last remaining musicians play Danse Macabre. Without even the thought my glamour dresses me in my own colours.