A Day at the Races
The personal diary of
On Races, Wagers, Truth revealed and Dancing Partners. The
third day since Amber came to chaos.
It is always pleasant to wake to a note from my Grandmother
summoning me to her presence “after you have broken your fast”. Does one not
eat, and therefore minimise the risk of spillage while maximising the risk of
rumbles? Or does one eat, therefore quietening the belly, but risking looking
like a porridge splattered buffoon? DeLambre's
battlefield wisdom came to mind - “there will be more times without food than
with, so waste no opportunities to eat” - and I ate quickly and as carefully as
I could.
On my way to see Cymnea, I passed Caine and Mandor skulking in a
corridor of the Hive - I was almost tempted to believe that they were not
plotting, simply because it was so blatantly obvious they were. I acknowledged
them with such grace as I could muster and carried on. My Grandmother was in a
good mood; asking after my travels the day before. Before I could answer too
fully, she told me that Benedict would be visiting, and as I began to compose
myself, he arrived.
Given how long it has been since Grandmother and her only
surviving son have been apart, I was surprised when her questions to
Benedict were of Osric, Finndo
and of battles against Chaos. Does she hold him responsible still for their
deaths? While I have been here a century and a half, she has been here much,
much longer. Long enough for the death of two sons to lose its sting? Or long
enough to fester to poison?
It seems my Uncle Osric died
fighting Chaos in a battle very similar to the one most recently fought. But
Benedict was younger then, his timing not as precise. And the countercharge that arrived in time to save Darig arrived too late to save my Uncle. My father, wroth
with anger, accused Benedict of deliberately charging late and in the presence
of King Oberon, challenged him to trial by combat.
I wonder if I have my father's temper - hot enough to throw my
life away so stupidly.
Benedict looked at me as my Grandmother's prodding and poking
pulled this story from him. I wonder if he thought I might draw on him at that point? Certainly Grandmother did not, that I could tell. She
knows me better than that. Instead I asked him what place there was in Amber
for me if I chose to return. “That will be the King's decision”, he said, “But
my report of your prowess will have an impact on that”.
He looked at my Grandmother then. Something passed between
them, too quick for me to interpret. And he bowed his head to me, slightly. “I
regret the deaths of your father and uncle.”
In truth, I did not know how to react and so did not. There
was no anger - Benedict had said it was a fair fight, face to face; not an
ambush. And I have fought too many battles in this place to quibble and quail
even if it had been. War is about winning. It is no game. But war for its own
sake becomes a game. What benefit to me save improving my skills were the
thousand and more fights I'd had in Diptera?
Certainly the land suffered, and the creatures I fought and commanded. No peace
was found except in moments.
If I fight, from this moment on, I will know what I am
fighting for.
Benedict left, asking me to deliver a note to Darig when next I saw him. I looked at the seal - a man sat
with a sword suspended precariously above his head - then tucked it into a
pouch and bade my Uncle farewell.
Once he had gone, Grandmother spoke gently to me. I had need to hear the fate of my father from Benedict's lips,
rather than whispered in corridors. Still, I did not react. She then asked me
if I was committed to going to Amber, and I rejoined that I was; there is
little in the Courts for me, and much for me to learn there. “You are of use to
me here” was all my Grandmother replied. “And would I be of no use to the Queen
of Amber when in Amber?” I asked. She smiled, not unkindly, and changed the
subject.
It seems there was to be a series of races at the Zoodrome, and I was to attend as her consort. She handed me
my invitation, and I laughed to see the titles bestowed upon me.
Cymnea mistook my laughter. “The titles are of Amber, and were yours
and your father's by right. By all their laws, his should pass to you.”
I shook my head, still laughing. “My mirth is at the titles of
Chaos. For too long the mistake I made in Diptera has
weighed heavily on me. It is a new thought for me to see it as something to
boast of.”
My Grandmother smiled again, as if a small child had said
something clever. Obvious, but clever. Then she handed
me a roll of vellum; recently arrived from Brú na Bóinne,
delivered by Loeg the Fox. I unrolled it to see a
family tree of House Barimen, showing Cymnea as Melvin's Great Grandmother and the only other
living member of the Serpentis line of the House. “Only
by marriage,” she acknowledged. “But you are the eldest of the cadet branches
save your Uncle Benedict, and as your Father was elder ...” she paused a
second. “If you were to stay in Chaos, then Barimen
could be yours.”
I watched her carefully. “I could not be a Rimlord,”
I answered. “The gift of Amber within me precludes that.”
She nodded. “But the right wife; a Lady of Chaos who could
wield that which must be wielded...”
I looked at my Grandmother. She looked at me in return. Then
she waved her hand. “You have a letter to deliver, and I must prepare for the
Races. Leave me now.”
The journey to Petrus was short
enough as these things go, but on arriving I was informed that Darig was visiting the Hall of Memories. DeLambre took me there and then hesitated. “This place is
not for a demon such as myself,” he said, “but I am
loathe to leave you alone after the attack yesterday.” I smiled, grateful for
the support of one I have come to trust implicitly. “Come inside then,” I said,
“And if the wrath of Chaos should fall, it will be on my shoulders for giving
you a direct order.”
The Hall is a wondrous place, and the contents of it
impossible to describe except as one might recall a dream, shifting and
changing according to presence and, I think, mood. We saw a sculpture of light
depicting the day that DeLambre was bound to my
service. A painting plucked from the depths of my heart showing the moment that
Rhiannon and I first saw the White Hart of Arden. I saw myself falling into the
Abyss with a slender silver cord reaching out to save me.
Is this what defines me? The bond of
service, of memory, and of destruction?
Voices then: Darig, Morgrath, Sorashi, with Countess Larsa. They stood in front of a painting depicting the
King's coronation, and it was at that moment that memory flooded back of that
day. “The man in the bubbles,” I said, indicating Darig,
“you appeared above the throne and spouted some doggerel that you were going to
kill the King!” Larsa nodded in recognition. Darig for his part looked confused; the reaction of an honest
man or of the most barefaced of liars, denying knowing of any such action of
his. He was so certain that I was sure there was little point to press him
further and we moved on to show my cousins the Debating Chamber of the Thelbane.
Again, DeLambre hung back behind me,
but I indicated that he was to follow and we walked up to the balcony where we
met
Mandor held centre stage, all eyes on him. “My Lords of Chaos,” he
declaimed. “I bring to your attention two acts of treason, recently carried
out. The first is an attack on William of Amber in Brú
na Bóinne by an assassin of
House Spandrel.”
Chaos, if you'll forgive the pun, ensued. Those who are not of
the Royal Coalition cried foul, demanding to know on who's
word could such an accusation be trusted. I have no standing in Chaos, and my
cousins are obviously bound to be biased against the Courts. What did Mandor mean by levying such a baseless accusation? In
truth, Mandor played them like little fish. He
allowed the caterwauling to drag on long enough to see each person's reaction, then
casually dropped into the conversation that Lord Suhuy
was in attendance; a name with enough weight to silence all. Mantissa, the
Grand Vizier, agreed that the matter would be taken up with the King.
“The second charge,” he proclaimed, obviously now enjoying
himself, “concerns the assault by House Spectral on Constance of Amber, ripping
thoughts from her mind against her express will, and to her stated discomfort.”
Wariness descended; no one willing to speak too loudly against Mandor as it would be unlikely that he would lay his first
trap so well and his second so poorly. And so it appeared as he dragged a bound
demon of Spectral into the Chamber, putting it to the question and compelling
its truth.
The chamber soon emptied, and Mandor
came to find us, obviously aware that he had been playing to us as an audience.
He noticed DeLambre and mildly threatened him; a
threat I bridled at at the time, but on reflection
should not take so lightly. I have seen Mandor in his
element now, and I must not underestimate him.
He asked us again if we would kill the King, and we answered
the same, in the negative.
As the time approached for the races, I returned to The Hive,
taking Sorashi to her residence as a courtesy. We
spoke of what we had seen in the Hall, and she indicated that she had found her
mother's axe; a puissant weapon bound with enchantments. Not the sort of thing
that should be casually left around, I thought, but then little is casual or
accidental in the Hall of Memories.
On my return my Grandmother berated me for not mentioning the
assassination attempt; partly because of the embarrassment of having to be told
by Mandor; partly out of concern. She told me I
should wear Der Rückenshild
to the races. We discussed titles as we travelled; specifically “Rimlord Bane”.
“Titles serve an important purpose,” she declaimed. “They
should remind those who hate you why they hate you. But, dear boy, just in case
any of my enemies decide that today is the day that their hatred overcomes
their common sense, I am relying on you to dissuade them.”
Her smile is sometimes not pleasant. Nor the
weight of her trust.
As we arrived at the Zoodrome,
perched on the Abyss with stars streaking across the sky in all directions,
Grandmother descended upon Melvin. “So, dear child; from the family tree that Dworkin has sent around it appears I should take a
grandmotherly interest in you. When are you going to buck your ideas up and
marry?”
The look on Melvin's face was priceless, and I could not help
but tease. “Perhaps he might marry the Lady Sorashi
of Amber, Grandmother? They would make a good match, no?”
Sorashi shot me a look as sharp as a dagger. “You're
not helping.” she muttered. “I am,” I replied. “Just not
helping you.” For a moment a storm cloud crossed her face and fearing I
had been rude, I apologised, but before I was hardly finished, she was smiling
again.
Is anything in Chaos as changeable as a woman's temperament?
The racing beasts were brought out and the honour of choosing
the order of the races was handed to my cousins. At first they tried to pit
likely steed to likely steed, not realising that of as much importance was
which House was pitted against which.
Mandor's wolf faced the undead
horse of Karm, and my Grandmother and I wagered. For Mandor's victory I learned from my Grandmother that Mandor's plan B is always to wait until you realise that
plan A is inevitable.
A second wager; triceratops against the
Oliphant. This one went
to Cymnea and I pledged to stand as her Champion in
any duel, save against House Barimen or House Amber.
Cymnea challenged me again; she will tell me of Mandor's
plans or I will allow her to find me a mate; a wife who will be appropriate, in
my best interests and who will find me to be in hers. I paused; this is a bet
that I cannot lose, but I asked her to hold off while I mingle.
I spoke first to Llewella of Rebma, challenging her to tell me of the history of my
mother, Ophelia of that Realm. She agrees to find out what she can, wagering
against my service in the armies of Rebma should they
stand against Amber. The Manticore beat the Orca and
she promised me she would find out what she could.
Seeing Melvin nearby, and somewhat exhilarated, I browbeat him
into a wager; I would stand as his Champion for a fight if he would take my
cousin Sorashi to dinner. The look on her face
sobered me somewhat, and to my great relief, I lost the wager.
Other bets came thick and fast. I won a demon for House Barimen from my Grandmother, and lose a true answer to an
emissary from Hell. He asks me if I know why I was offered as the hostage to
House Diptera and from my heart I profess my complete
lack of knowledge of the matter. But his question, coupled
with my reflections earlier concerning Benedict and of War, loose a
chain of thought in my mind.
Diptera fell. Ascaris
rose. My Grandmother put a naive young man into a place where he might cause
the most damage, and he did.
I suppose I should feel anger at being used. Instead I
applauded the strategy of a master player. I was a pawn on her chessboard; but
the general that I have become over the last century and a half knows that all
the pieces are important; all have value. And sometimes a pawn can get to where
a knight or a rook cannot. And more; my Grandmother could have left me to fall
into the Abyss, and yet she did not. She would have had a plausible defence; “He
was ignorant. He knew not what power he wielded. But now he is dead and the
fault is not mine.”
But Cymnea is a better player than
that. “Here he is; safe trapped in Diptera. Don't
make me send him to visit you.”
I saluted my Grandmother then, and she nodded her head,
acknowledging my place here, and in her plans.
Sorashi approached me then; anger visible. “I do
not like the assumption you made earlier; offering me as a prize to Melvin. You
have no right!”
I looked at her, bowed my head, and apologised. “I have spent
the last hundred years or more giving orders and having them obeyed; playing at
war with pieces that I commanded. You are more than that, and I should not have
acted thus. For that you have my deepest apologies.”
She nodded, somewhat tensely. “But what purpose was there to
the bet? Do you wish me to marry him?”
“Here”, I said, “these are my thoughts, told plain and
straight to one I have offended, and who I am coming to respect. Melvin is a
fool. A spineless fool. But he is the head of the
House to which I should hold the greatest allegiance to here. And for that
reason, I wish to do well by him. You have the strength that he does not, the
resolve that he lacks, the ability that eludes him.
But if you married him, you would not suffer for it. He is not an unkind man,
and you would hold a position of great influence here in the Courts if the
House could be rebuilt. And you would have my support, for what that is worth.”
I looked Sorashi straight in the
eye. “And if something does not happen to give Melvin the balls to restore our
House, I will have to kill him and take the House for myself. And that is most
definitely my Plan B.”
She grinned. It appears the way to this Lady's good graces is
to be bluntly honest - and we parted on good terms.
The final race approached and I returned to my Grandmother,
telling her that now I was willing to bet for knowledge of Mandor's
Plan C vs her right to choose a bride for me. She
laughed, and agreed.
Just as the creatures were being brought out, a bubble
appeared, much like that which Darig had appeared out
of at the Coronation. From it, I emerged.
Well, not me, exactly. A slimmer, more graceful me, if one
discounted the rotting and the visible bones and the obvious fact that I was
dead. A me that had been brought up by (and then killed by)
House Karm, instead of House Ascaris.
Grandmother met my eye; “He would be a better dancer than you, I think” was all
she had to say.
The thing approached with a little wiry sword in its hand;
little more than a practice foil, save that it moved like a cats tail. It
roared a challenge to Darig; “Your father killed my
father” and demanded satisfaction. Agreement was found and a space cleared.
Darig had the edge in terms of both weapons
and martial skill, right from the beginning. He was confident with his sword
and axe, stood well, moved lightly. But the creature far outplayed him; knowing
almost to the inch where Darig's feints would go,
striking more quickly, retreating more surely. And the unknown nature of the
wire sword whose tip turned reaching for the blood pulsing in Darig's veins made the contest far from certain.
It would have gone ill for Darig, I
fear, until the Court of Faerie intervened. They clapped three times, and a
spear was brought forth; a weapon from their legends, and from those of House Barimen too. A great toothed head it had, and it flew
through the air to Darig's hand like a hound to his
master.
The creature strove hard, but Darig
was sure; he knew where the point and haft were, and every part of the spear in
between, Keeping the creature out where its wire could
reach nothing but thick spear shaft and toothed steel, Darig
drove it back, and back until it could retreat no more. Darig
thrust, and the creature fell, impaled. As it died, its body rose, falling into
the Void from whence it had appeared.
It seemed like an anticlimax almost, but the last race was
still to be run. I wagered on the Slizard against the
Mantis; and when it won, my Grandmother, smiling at Mandor
as she did, revealed the final twist.
“Mandor's plan C is to make you
follow Plan A whether you agree or not.”
They both laughed, and I laughed too. For the day had been a
good one; much learned, much wagered, much won.
And nothing lost.