Alaric in the Cathedral: conversations
with Dark & Mira
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
3rd Snake 3658 – dawn
Paolo was
waiting in the Cathedral… I thought I’d just left him in the safehouse?
“Well done! We
knew you’d come through, Boy.”
He looked like
Paolo. He didn’t sound like Paolo. I knew it wasn’t Paolo.
I looked long
and hard at him. “Good morning…Paolo. How nice to have you join us – whoever
you are?”
“It’s good that
you haven’t lost your sense of humour…” He looked past me, surveying the
worshippers as they file past the altar, “as there’s still much to be done and
timing will be crucial.”
He looked back,
fixing me with a quiet but intensely clear gaze. His voice seemed strangely
familiar but was nothing like Paolo’s. “Now! Our
enemies: what of the Unicorn’s people and those up at the castle?”
“Our
enemies?” I queried,
returning his gaze. “And who, exactly, of the vultures circling about Amber are
we?”
Paolo grinned, “I
just told you who our enemies are: ‘we’ is a personal pronoun, first person
plural – can be inclusive or exclusive...” an edge came into his voice, “...which
would you prefer?”
“Some days, I
feel less inclusive than others,” I replied flatly. “We few.
We,” I paused, “we happy few. We band of artists. Actually, I thought you’d
prefer to start work on redecorating the Cathedral. After all, if I’m the
nearest you have to a military commander, you will find me a few hundred years
rusty.”
“Are you a fool,
boy? Haven’t you seen what the Unicorn is about? How will you paint the walls
while the Unicorn tears them down?” His castigatory tone was replaced by one of
speculation. “But we have soldiers enough and someone of strength to lead them.
Your job is to provide moral leadership for which your military qualities will
be quite sufficient.
“But before we
commit ourselves, we must know what lies before us...I trust you will not make
me repeat myself and answer my question with no further evasion?” He paused for
one moment of foreboding silence. “Or would you like your Goddess to part you
from your one remaining serviceable power?”
“No. I should
like that least of all things.” I sighed. “The Unicorn has no interest in this…”
I gestured, “place; Mira wanted a Cathedral and I’ve given her one. The Unicorn’s
people have vacated their Cathedral along with their Archpriest. I do not know
where they have gone. Some remain in the City, looting, burning and murdering
any they suspect of heresy. Of Deirdre’s army I know nothing. The Castle itself
has been sealed.”
Paolo nodded
thoughtfully, a shrewd light in his eyes. I found the expression – or to be
more accurate, the lack of expression – very unnerving; despite the appearance,
his entire demeanour was nothing like Paolo at all.
“Then
reconnaissance sorties must be a priority once the troops are in. You may be
involved in that or not, depending on what other chores I have for you.”
He stopped
abruptly and looked me up and down before speaking again. “You do understand
what we must do, don’t you?”
“Why take Amber
for the Goddess of Trump of course!” I said. “Storm the Castle, murder my
relatives. Burn Kolvir and remake the damn Pattern. The usual, then. Ah, I forget. I am supposed to die fighting
the Unicorn, am I not? And when She dies, Amber falls
apart. I would spare your troops and spirit me to Kolvir;
that’s where she’ll be.”
I paused again
thinking aloud and almost wistfully. “My mother and Bleys always harboured
hopes that I would be a fine general. Who then is to be your General?”
“He would best
be described as our colonel; you’ll see him shortly but I think you’ve met
before.
“Yes, of course
the Unicorn must die – you cannot tell me you are so
naive as not to realise, after all that has happened, that her continued
existence is the most hideous threat to Amber now Oberon is dead?
“As to the rest:
there shall be no storming of castles; we shall murder no one unless they force
us to; mountains do not burn. Yes, once the Unicorn dies, then the current
reality will cease to be, ergo the Heart of Reality will have to be
re-established, requiring certain rituals and trinkets that I shall advise you
of at the appropriate time…
“If you really
wish to die fighting the most evil and perverted creature in existence then I
can hardly stop you but I would vastly prefer it if you delayed your
self-immolation until after you have completed certain services that shall,
eventually, take us all up Kolvir.”
Paolo stopped, thought
for a moment, then resumed, “You should have listened
to Bleys and Fiona – but then they should have been more responsible in your
upbringing. There’s a thread of weakness in all of Clarissa’s
lineage.”
I laughed
hollowly. “And a thread of lunacy in all those who deal in Trump,” I continued,
my eyes glittering. “No. I am sick to my heart of the Dragon and the Unicorn
both. We don’t need Gods. We never did. It just took me a while to remember
that.” We needed balance, and that is what my Mother sought to do for all of these
years.”
I looked at
Paolo again. “Who is your Colonel? Not the used car salesman from Eregnor I sincerely hope!”
Paolo’s silence
conveyed deep thought and a profound appreciation of the emotions beneath my
utterances. I began to feel a little unnerved. Several of the nearer people
looked our way, a quizzical expression on their faces. A couple looked
confused, one woman seemed aghast. Then Paolo spoke softly, with sensitivity,
his hand on my shoulder but still in no way like the Paolo I know.
“We do need
Gods, my boy. You are not mad, but you have not experienced a society lacking
the spiritual dimension.” His hand fell and the faint lecturing tone returned
to his voice. “After all, it was not that long ago that you thought Amber
needed Mira and you have changed your mind since, I think?”
I glanced at the
nearer people. “Maybe I needed Mira. But there’s nothing that she can do that I
cannot learn to do and there are plenty of things that I may be able to do that
she has not thought to do. I changed my mind because I would work in a society
with artistic freedom. Art is art. It does not demand worship – and,” I raised
my eyebrows, “frankly not a lot of it deserves worship.
“I’m a Trump
artist, dammit! I have no desire to paint Icons for
the rest of my life and it has never, ever occurred to me that I needed to be
worshipped as a God. Now, it feels as though all of them are crashing down on
my head.”
“A long-winded
way of admitting you changed your mind – so how would you feel if you created an Amber without spirituality, without faith, without
conscience or soul? Such a thing could not be amended after so perhaps it is
best you think before, eh?”
“Yes. I changed
my mind. It really is that simple,” I replied, my voice faltering slightly. “I...I...”
I looked down for a long moment before resuming.
“Mirabeau opened up a part of me that I had ruthlessly
suppressed for most…no, actually all, of my life. I thought that I could
just walk in there and manipulate it to suit my desires.
“But Trump is a
Power. Powers, like the arts, invoke and record passion, beauty, deeds and
conscience. Mirabeau is filled with people who truly
worshipped the Arts and perhaps I saw that for once something was bigger and
greater than I was and more than art could be. I should have learned that
lesson in
“My intention
was to bring something of that worship to Amber. Not for me, not even for Mira
particularly, but for Amber. But now...the thought of losing my experiences
over these past months tells me that I have a soul and, much as it is a deeply
troubled one, I do not want to exist in a world created without spirituality in
some form. Except for Caine and Gerard, it’s what we
lacked, most of us.” I slumped dejectedly on a pew.
Paolo winced
slightly at my mention of Mira and raised an eyebrow at the mention of my
uncles but a little softness came into his expression nonetheless. He sat next
to me, put an avuncular arm along the back of the pew and gently laid a hand to
the back of my neck. I found it strangely soothing. This and an awareness of a
momentary contact with Mira as I spoke her name in her church seemed to bring a
calmness over me as all sound was quenched in the Cathedral. Most of the
gathered worshippers were now looking our way. Paolo raised a finger to his
lips and winked.
I continued in a
whisper. “We need religion in Amber. By my heart I acknowledge that. Yet! The
Unicorn offered faith and belief to many, both in Amber and throughout the
“Mention no
names!” directed Paolo in an urgent whisper, though with surprisingly little
castigation. “Did you not learn your lesson in Amethyst?”
The urgency left
his voice as he gestured around the still silent Cathedral. “All Gods are
jealous and none more so than these two. They are also dogmatic, so there can
be no compromise.” A wry smile leavened this bad news. “But there are other
alternatives – other gods...”
I looked at
Paolo, suddenly hard. “What do you want with our Amber?”
“To save it!” he
murmured intimately. Then an air of authority came over him; I had a strange
sense of him not merely advising of his plans but in some fundamental level enunciating
‘How It Will Be’.
“Now listen
carefully. Mira will shortly join us and with her help we will Gate the support
troops through from Mirabeau and Amethyst. This will
take a little time, during which you will liaise with the Colonel in
reconnoitring the City and gathering recruits.
“Once our
position is consolidated, we will be ready to begin the Ritual of Invocation.” He
turned his gaze to look up through a wall in what would be the direction of Kolvir and the Castle. “That must be done at the correct
place and will require the Eye,” he turned his gaze back to me, “which it will
be up to you to collect...from the castle.”
“Who are
you?” I asked, speaking very loudly. The echoes resounded around the Cathedral.
As the echoes
died away, some beggar, seeming half mad and with a hideous wound across his
face from some ancient battle, fell on his face a few yards away, uttered “Ecce
homo!” and started muttering incomprehensible prayers into the flagstones.
Paolo glanced at
the beggar then grinned a twisted smile back at me. “Who
do you think?”
I turned my
stare towards the cripple and I frowned as I considered my answer. “I think
that you are a person with a penchant for fools capering in motley; for the
circus; for a frozen Princess who was not whom she seemed; and for Clarissa. A man whom I have drawn inside my head – and a little on parchment.
If I sketch you again I will be proven – or not,” I replied, turning back to
gaze at Paolo.
“Yes, I’ve a
fondness for fools, always had.” Paolo smiled the smile of a man who knows he
knows something that I don’t and wants me to know it. “I’m known by various
names but Wirminbone Dark is one of my more common
appellations.” His grin turned friendly. “You can call me Wirm.
I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”
I gave him a
very tight smile. “People are often known by varied names and the name they
give conveys no or little meaning. Congratulations. I shall have to be more
thoughtful with my questions, Wirm. Closely related
to Wyrm, I wonder?” My eyebrows rose. “Mr Black
Dragon!” I smiled properly to Wirm. “Grandfather!”
“My dear boy,”
smiled Dark, clearly pleased, but still knowing he knew much more than I, “if
you get any sharper you’ll cut yourself. But it’s a wise man who knows his own
grandfather and I’m afraid you are merely clever.”
He rose and
moved around so he was silhouetted against the light of an empty window. “Names
are important, Alaric, for by knowing the name, you know the thing, and naming
the name gives power over the thing, to those in the know.”
He paused to let
this sink in. “And yes, you should always be thoughtful with all your
questions...because it’s the questions that give you away, not the answers. Do
you understand me?”
I inclined my
head gracefully in acknowledgement.
Dark smiled
back. “So what thoughtful question is uppermost in your mind at the moment?”
“Other than Mira
and Clarissa, who else is party to your present plans for Amber? Names and
intended roles would be helpful,” I pointed out.
“Helpful
to whom?” Dark’s
rhetoric acquired a slight air of disappointment. “I fear you will be surprised
but you shouldn’t be. So much for ‘thought’.”
He remained in
silhouette against the light. It was heavily overcast outside after the
thunderstorms of the night but still the broken window seemed unbearably bright
in the gloom of the Cathedral’s Paulettian
architecture.
“And now I must
give myself away – are you prepared to do what is asked of you? Are you aware
of what this implies?”
All was silence:
it was like Mira’s worshippers were aware this exchange was of some moment.
“Well,” I
considered. “I am not entirely sure what you mean by ‘the Eye’.”
Dark
remained silent for several long seconds, obviously thinking deeply, during
which the congregation commenced an almost subliminal chanting that steadily
grew in volume. Then,
just as I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all...
“You do know;
you just don’t realise you know. It is a multifaceted red jewel, the size of a
duck’s egg, set in gold and pendant from a heavy gold chain. It is regarded as
the principal item in the Crown Jewels. We need it for the Ritual of Invocation
and for the Binding. It will be your task to retrieve it from the Castle.”
I raised an
eyebrow. “As I last saw it about a cousin’s neck I cannot even confirm that it
is in the Castle, Wirm.”
“You cannot; I
can!”
I nodded
blindly.
The chanting
grew in volume but plateaued before it competed
seriously with conversation. It had no words but I realised that the cadence of
the chant was in rhythm with Dark’s speech, or perhaps it was vice-versa. My
head felt distant as Dark continued…
“Once she is
bound, using her True Name,” I was startled as the choir emitted a loud shout, “…it
will be your privilege to kill her,” a second chord, “…with the appropriate tool,
provided for the purpose.
“Once she is
gone, reality will cease to be as the Heart dissipates, but I will wield the
Eye,” a third chord, “…to protect all the deserving from the Forces of Entropy
and wield it again to create a new Heart of Reality.”
The choral
congregation gave vent to a fourth and final perfectly orchestrated chord
before lapsing silence. There was another long pause during which I remained
completely silent.
“However, by
your actions, you will to a certain extent be defining that Reality yourself, so
this is your chance to have the Amber of your Desire.
“Understand,
Alaric! There can be no going back from this point forth. To date you have
revealed yourself as a waverer but you can no longer
afford that luxury. Once embarked on this course of events, any failure in
determination will prove fatal: to yourself, to those embarked on this
enterprise and to everyone else you may know or care for… your mother… your
brother… Paolo?”
I felt the
congregation listening for my response. “If I am to give you my strength and
determination, and contribute to this redefinition then I must know who you are
who seeks to rule Amber? After all, I don’t actually know you and you could be
even more fucked up than I am. And no one enjoys a fucked up Kingdom, new or
otherwise.”
I looked Dark
straight in the face, mentally shuffling through my Trump deck and all the
portraits of other family members I’d ever seen, trying to work out who Dark
was. He felt familiar to me. I had of course, met Dark; first in his Circus,
then more recently in Groombridge. Our conversation
had been limited to just a handful of sentences, total, but I felt my sense of
familiarity went deeper than this. Could he be Dworkin?
How could I possibly tell? I had never painted him.
Still in
silhouette, Dark sounded both bemused and amused at my obtuseness. “I have
given you my name. Did you not hear me? ‘By knowing the name, you know the
thing’. You should have learned that much in Mirabeau
at least. But if that is not sufficient then think on this: there are but two
sides in this conflict; if you are not with us then where will you be? The
Horned One will not have you; you are anathema to her now.
“Only one of the
two sides will prevail. If She of the Horn wins, you
know what will happen. Where will you be then? Where will be the people you
love?” He chuckled at an amusing thought. “Where will Art be? All will return
to the Formless Void. It will not only ‘not be’; it will never have been!” Dark
paused to let this sink in.
I concentrated
on images of Dark and Oberon, trying to bring them into focus in my mind. But I
was too tied up with wretched emotion and all I could be sure of was that, who
or whatever he was, I had never painted his image.
“If you think
you have another choice,” continued Dark, “you are deluding yourself. Just as
you deluded yourself that you could be Mira’s prophet and yet avoid war in
Amber; as you deluded yourself that your granddaughter died on the scaffold…”
I felt myself
stiffen and my mouth opened in a shock that wiped out any attempt to focus my analytical
Trump faculties and Dark took the opportunity to press his point home.
“…Oh, I have
seen the paintings in your attic: it is most amusing that in ‘the Allegory of
Painting’ you choose to ignore the Truth your subconscious screamed aloud while
you painted your conscious invention in ‘La Mort de la Comtesse
d’Anglais’, never having the courage to uncover the
Truth behind your little fiction.
“You’ve been
living in a Dreamworld, Alaric. You even painted
yourself a perfect little world of your own as a refuge from Ugly Reality’s
discourteous intrusions upon your beautiful fantasies, so you thought.
“But the Dream
turned to Nightmare, didn’t it, boy? Oh yes, I’ve seen your basement, too.
Reality is a balance: Good and Bad, Truth and Lies, Beauty and Ugliness,
Light...and Dark. You may refuse to see things as they really are but in the
end Reality will always assert itself. You’d be a happier man if you embraced
it.
“So, do you
choose Reality, with all its flaws, or your perfect, petty
Dream?”
My eyes were
wide and I was shaking with shock, hurt and anger as my World started to fall
apart around me. I thought to stand and bring myself closer to Dark, so he was
no longer in silhouette, but his shadow loomed over me. I found my legs could
no longer bear my weight. I could feel my pulse racing and a cold sweat
breaking out. I sat back down in a pew.
“I choose
reality Grandfather. But in reality Gods serve the people,
not the other way round, and that’s as true here as anywhere else – more so in
fact, as we will dictate the nature of that reality.
“Gods are an
aspect of spirituality – as is art, as is fighting, loving, hating, breathing,
dying and any other aspect of life you care to name. And, as you yourself said,
‘there are other Gods’.
“Your perfect
manipulations of Katharine and the rest of us into carrying out your plans;
your knowledge of my own life and my family, suggests that you are of a much
older generation than Katharine or any of my Aunts and Uncles.
“Your guise as
Paolo, my friend, leads me to a conclusion that you are either Oberon or Dworkin. If you are the former, than you have my heart. If
neither, then you are at least of their ilk, Black Dragon.”
“Ah! So Paolo is
your friend? Strange how you treat your friends. You
think you have been used but how have you use him? I notice you’ve not asked
after him. You claim you have been manipulated but you were told precisely
where you were going at every turn. You made every choice yourself in full
knowledge of the consequences. If you still refuse to accept Reality then there
is no helping you.
“I have told you
who I am. I have told you all I am going to tell you at this time. You know
everything you need to make an informed choice. If you choose Reality, you will
retrieve the Eye and slay the Beast. If not, then you will leave this place and
vanish into Oblivion when one side or the other wins.
“Think yourself
lucky you do not sit before the entities you name. They would not put up with
such behaviour. I am not your grandfather. Now! Choose! Or be damned!”
“NO!!” I
whispered in desperation. “Dworkin lied to Mira from
the very start. What basis has a new reality when it is founded on a falsehood!
It is the manipulation of Mira, Katherine, to which I referred. Mira!” I felt myself almost sob her name.
“You have made
your choice; so be it!” intoned Dark in a voice laden with Doom. “Whoever wins,
no one shall remember your name.”
Somewhere in my
misery, I heard Mira’s voice one last time, ‘You will leave this place now.’ and then I felt the contact broken.
I was alone and I had the feeling that I had just blown my last chance.
From somewhere I
drew myself together and I stood up in the full glory of my armour. “You sound
as Mephistopheles, himself...”
Dark said
nothing to interrupt the beginning of what I had intended to be a moderately long
speech but moved a few steps toward the altar so the grey light now struck him
obliquely. His face and figure remained Paolo’s but his eyes were now deep
pools of ancient, inhuman wisdom. Solemnly he raised one hand and the 400+
congregation all started shuffling toward us. Some were reaching for weapons.
All wore expressions of hostility and hatred. Dark’s was not hostile, merely
implacable.
I immediately turned
and started walking away from Dark. There were still about a hundred between me
and the exit. Only about a dozen of these were currently in a position to
intercept me but I knew that the longer I waited the harder the fight would be
as more people cleared the pews. Seconds could make a difference.
I broke into a
run towards the nearest known exit – the main doors.
“Kill the
apostate traitor!” called Dark.
This dreaded
phrase sent me into a sprint, towards the nearest exit and away from the mob.
My armour, contrary to all previous experience, felt cumbersome, hampering my
movements.
Dark didn’t
move, everyone else started to run and I saw many gleams of steel.
Half a dozen men
managed to block my way. The first lost his throat to my sword but the second
tripped over the first and performed an involuntary cut-block on my knees. I
stabbed him in the neck with my parrying dagger as I clawed my way to my feet
but my brief interval on the floor gave the others time to form a ring. They
were all armed, and obviously the fittest men run fastest.
I had to take
them down fast. I sidestepped one blade, binding another, and my own strike
blinded the wielder of a third but I was forced to rely on my armour to guard
the last wild slash…
…Which proved a
mistake, as the armour vanished and the blade bit deep into my arm!
I dropped my
dagger and staggered sideways with shock and the force of the blow. Blood
sprayed the face of my assailant, leaving two armed and dangerous opponents.
I could see
others running towards me and I knew that I had to break past these two men
practically instantly, or go down. My attempted side step of the first was
partially successful but my left arm (now dangling instead of being held up and
away) took another rip, though relatively minor.
The second man
seemed slightly awed by my desperation and the screams of the blinded man on
the floor; he shrank back, maybe waiting for the support to arrive. I was able
to beat his sword aside and make it past him.
With three yards
on my pursuers, I made it to the doors and the promise of freedom.
Then a new group
of worshippers appeared in the door just in time to block my exit: a man, woman
and two children (one carried), clearly oblivious to the furore inside. Only
the man seemed armed and I recognised him as one of the few members of the ‘art
school’ with any ability at all. He saw me coming at his family with drawn
steel and reached for his own.
I understand
light; the man, standing in light looking into darkness, almost certainly
couldn’t see me clearly enough to recognise me. My heart sank yet again; a
moral choice. I made it, aiming for a slashing blow of a non mortal nature.
I sobbed as I
slashed the man’s sword arm; the woman and the girl both screamed as their
father’s blood sprayed their faces. He fell to his knees, his face white with
shock, gripping an arm slashed to the bone. I stormed past without breaking my
step, knocking the girl down the steps as I ran for my life. A mob poured out
of the Cathedral behind me.
I was in the
square with a mob at my heels. There were also a couple of thousand people
milling around the square, mainly daubing garish designs on walls and
pavements. Almost everyone looked up at the commotion. I was bleeding copiously
and knew if I tried to run much without binding my arm, I’d pass out.
I needed to get
at least a couple of hundred yards between me and the Cathedral. Ahead of me,
To my right, at
right angles to the Cathedral, Grimsdyke Avenue led
to the foot of Vine St and the road up to the castle (which last I’d heard was
awash in Palace Guards under Bathsheba) or to the Northgate, where the posh
non-nobles live.
The docks were a
couple of miles beyond the other end of the Cathedral (ie
behind me); there were warehouses and slums down there.
To my left were
retail malls, beyond which the streets became progressively poorer. The
Making a snap
decision, I turned left and ran south across the square towards the retail
malls, making for the
Hundreds of
dispersed Miran worshippers stood horrified as
someone who kind of looked like their Prophet only without the armour was
chased by a howling mob into
I called out in what
I hoped was a commanding tone to the dispersed Miran
worshippers, though this is hard when you’re hurt, scared and running for your
life. “The Horned One has turned our people to kill your Prophet. You must hold
them whilst I seek reinforcements. Hold them here!” I ordered as I continued to
sprint.
This kept some
of them occupied for a little while, winnowing the chasers from 50 to perhaps
half this, though without putting any more distance between me and the leaders.
As I glanced back I could already feel the beginnings of nausea. I’d got about
30 yards on my nearest pursuer and I’d have about twice that once I’d got to
the
I wasn’t
honestly sure if I could make it to the
I ran into
Screams rippled
down the street as people realised I was being pursued by a mob. A couple of
men drew their swords but then joined the general rout when they realised the
numbers involved. I passed three women and an old man as I gained on two more
male shoppers; the rest scattered down side-streets. Further down the street, I
noticed a man emerge from a shop and blink up the street before hurrying back
in. By the time I drew level the shutters were drawn.
After another
block I was still two away from the
I continued
running and shouting for help but without my armour, my wig or my usual
clothes, I looked like a nondescript young noble.
After another
hundred yards I started weaving and my pace slowed. I felt I couldn’t stay on
my feet for much longer.
In desperation I
tried to bring Groombridge to mind. As soon as I made
the attempt, however, I knew Mira had cut me off from my Trump powers, just as
Dark had warned. Even trying to make Trump contact was frustrating and
debilitating. I could feel my strength ebbing via a rising headache even faster
than through the gash in my arm.
Finally, I
stumbled and fell to my knees. As I struggled to regain my feet, using my sword
as a crutch, I saw the mob closing from fifty yards away. Strung out by the
pursuit, the leaders ran in, gasping for breath. If I’d been fresh and unhurt,
I’d be confident of taking them before they could form up. But exhausted and
near unconscious from blood loss, I could barely focus on my assailants, let
alone best them.
Seeing my state
they fanned out, seeking to outflank me. Another half dozen were coming up
fast. It looked like they’re going to make sure all the odds were on their side
before striking a blow.
I raised my
blade only to find I could barely hold it straight. I knew the message that
sent out to even a halfway decent swordsman. They knew this would be too easy.
Then I felt the
cold chill of a Trump contact and I knew it could only be one person.
“Choices
Alaric... you can come to me or die where you stand. It’s up to you.” Mira
said.
“I know only
Trump, Mira. I would come to you,” I replied humbly.
And I found
myself in her sanctum sanctorum. Mira was on her throne a few yards away. My
knees folded as the adrenalin ebbed.
“I didn’t like
the idea of my ex-prophet dying in such a humiliating fashion.” Mira explained,
“I’m fond of you, Alaric – I don’t know why – but don’t think you’re out of the
woods yet. I can put you right back where you came from or somewhere even
worse. Trust me on this.”
She looked me
over and tutted irritably. “Please see to yourself.
Corpses, however fresh, are so unaesthetic.”
A mixture of
obedience and humility crossed my consciousness as I knelt, still shocked,
before her. “I humbly beg your pardon for all my transgressions against you
Mira,” I replied shakily, applying pressure to the arm wounds with my right
hand.
“I think it will
need more than that. I expect your blood pressure is now so low that direct
pressure is unnecessary. Just tear off a length of your shirt and apply a
bandage.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Look, I’m not about to do it
for you – our kind like people who can fend for themselves.”
I did as I was
told. As I finished, a rather large goblet appeared on a small table at arm’s
reach.
“Drink! And please sip rather than gulp it down.
You need to replace body fluids but guzzling will provoke nausea and vomiting
and I hope I don’t have to tell who’ll be clearing up any mess.” She paused
until I felt more myself.
I sipped the
liquid carefully, (it was weak, watered wine; slightly vinegary, actually) and
settled in a suitably comfortable chair that wasn’t around five minutes before.
I’d lost a lot of blood and knew it would take 20-30 minutes to restore the
fluid balance.
After a while I
must have looked less pale. Mira opened the subject.
“I hope you
realise that I heard every word you said in the Cathedral. Just what
were you hoping to achieve by such behaviour?”
I paused before
answering. “I was trying to convince myself that Gods are here to serve man and
that I could choose to be above such matters. I cannot. I am more bound to you
than to any other power, person, place or being. I wavered in the chorus of
Dark’s rhetoric and I doubted my own ability to create. I needed to know whose
side I was on and who else participated in the game. I...” I broke off and
stared into the goblet.
Eventually I
continued. “I am a product of a certain conservative upbringing. I am a self-centred,
delusional prig,” I swallowed from the goblet again, “and I let small things
wound me whilst the larger things collapse about me. Like my World for example”.
“Oh stop being
so pathetic, Alaric. Self pity hardly suits a Lord of Amber and since when were
you ever a ‘servant of the people’? How you see the world is up to you but I
thought it was quite obvious whose side you’re on. What more could you possibly
need to know?”
“To find out who else is on your side Mira – and how they hope to benefit
from it. Deirdre,” Alaric pauses, “or her shadow, and Clarissa I can
understand.” I paused again. “That’s all,” I concluded reflectively.
She snorted an
ironic laugh. “We’d courted Clarissa for some time and for a while I thought we’d
never get her, despite Grandfather’s offer of a marriage alliance. We’ve you to
thank for that. Showing her the true horror of the opposition was masterly. She’d
been all but a fundamentalist as a Queen, a reaction to Faiella,
so I understand.
“But why should
I reveal these things to someone who is not on my side?” She leaned forward,
pointedly leaning her chin on her hand in an arch pose. “Or did you mean to say
‘our side’, Alaric?”
“It was your
side Mira,” I nodded in acknowledgement. “I know it is our side now. Your
Prophet or not.”
“Oh, so such a
quick transition from ‘your’ to ‘our’? No! I don’t think so, Alaric. Not after
all your little treacheries to your mother, your
brother, your granddaughter and the rest of your family...not to mention poor
Paulo and me. You’re going to have to try a little harder than that. Remember,
your mother may love you but I really think I’m the only person left who likes
you...at all!”
I stared at her
bleakly, eventually inclining my head, though I didn’t believe her analysis. I
took another slurp of wine and remained staring into my goblet.
After a minute
of bleak silence that got steadily more uncomfortable, Mira commented icily, “I’m
waiting!” Something, perhaps my artistic observation, told me my next few words
might very well bear a life-and-death significance.
“Then Mira, much
as I may grieve for lost friends – I do rejoice that you still like me,” I
replied with openness. “You epitomise all that I care for, for you are the
Goddess of Trump.” I bowed my head.
Mira stirred and
tutted audibly in irritation. I nodded slightly,
trying to bring my shoulders back and sat up in my chair. I placed the goblet
back on the table.
“All I know is
that you chose not to close the doors of the Cathedral, Mira. That is the act
of a friend. There has been no waver in my desire to bring art to Amber, Mira.
What is of concern is why Dark is involved at all?”
I frowned. “In
your Cathedral, Dark told me that he wanted to save Amber. But who is Dark?
More importantly, who is he to want to save Amber?
“You see, what
worried me most is his response to a plea for religious balance. He said ‘All
Gods are jealous and none more so than these two. Gods are also dogmatic, so
there can be no compromise. But there are other alternatives – other gods...’”
I swallowed “That was no cryptic utterance Mira. Do you realise that Dark is
manipulating you?”
During my little
soliloquy, Mira’s expression had moved from mild irritation, through deadpan,
to mildly appreciative, and finally to the sort of expression a governess might
use when a late developing child has finally managed to tie his own shoelaces.
“Well! To take your points in their approximate order. Yes, I
allowed you to escape, in fact I did all I could to preserve your life intact,
despite your efforts to the contrary. As I said, I’m fond of you, Alaric.
However, please don’t assume I let my personal feelings in any way rule my
actions. I have put no little effort into making you what you are and I am not
about to throw it all away without a fight.”
She sighed
deeply. “I need you, Alaric! Of course I know Dark is
manipulating me, just as I manipulate him. We are all only in this to serve our
own agendas – as your reference to bringing art to Amber and your earlier slip
over ‘our’ and ‘your’ illustrate.
“The man whom
you know as ‘Dark’ is my grandfather but he has many other aliases. If you think
there’s anything sinister about this then I hope you’ll explain why Paulo still
prefers to call you ‘Richard’?”
I shrugged in
acknowledgement.
“Wirminbone Dark is a genius beyond any measure you can
conceive of. In fact his intellect is so vast it cannot be encapsulated in a
single persona, so he uses various aliases to enhance certain aspects of his
personality. Dark is, well, his darker side – as I’m sure you can appreciate.
You’ve also met him as Aiden Krownbrim,
who I hope you didn’t find quite so intimidating. My personal favourite is ‘Manikin
Breword’, a quirky individual with a terrific sense
of humour and an insatiable appetite for word games, but I’m afraid you’re
unlikely to meet him until all this is over.
“He is a genius;
I owe him my life and a lot more besides but I also know his ambitions match
his intellect. We share a common cause in that we both want the Unicorn dead
but I am well aware that his ends might be as equally well served by another
deity.
“We have to
weigh matters, Alaric. I have to decide how much I want the Unicorn dead
against how much I want to be Amber’s supreme Goddess. Grandfather, in all his
personas, will support me in one but some of his aspects aren’t wholly behind
me in the other – Dark, in particular, is very suspect.
“Now I was
hoping that you would take a crucial part in the rituals. As well as giving
yourself some say in the final result, you would also be on hand to keep an eye
on Grandfather’s darker side, to ensure he didn’t betray either of us or any of
his own more ‘amenable’ aspects. Your unfortunate debacle now means it will be
very difficult to force him to accept you in such crucial endeavours. He’s long
had severe doubts over your commitment and reliability, which you have
confirmed most emphatically. Unless you can prove to him (and to me) that you
are more than you seem, I can see only one role left for you – that of
sacrifice!
“Now please
understand that I really am very fond of you. Having spent so
much of my life in the company of personalities of unimaginable depth and
complexity such as Philistine and Grandfather, it is so refreshing to
enjoy the company of someone with the emotional depth of a birdbath. But mark
me well, Alaric, I may shed a tear but that will not prevent me from doing what
is necessary should you force my hand.
“Now you know
the two matters important to me: killing the Unicorn and achieving the position
of principal deity in Amber. I need to know where you stand on these points.”
I nodded, “I
stand firmly with you on both matters Mira. Amber does not need the Unicorn and
her ilk and Amber needs a spiritual aspect – a supreme deity. It also needs
art. You are both those things and that deity should be you Mira.”
“Huh!” Interjected
Mira, “What Amber needs is irrelevant – I want the bitch dead!” She motioned
for me to continue.
“As for Dark,” I
shrugged. “Well Prince Bleys had a memory of a Krownbrim
serving under him but that is not to say that Dark is the same person.”
She adopted a ‘so
what?’ expression as I went on.
“And what if
Dark destroys Amber during the part of his plan he omitted to mention to you?”
I continued, “I started a Trump of him a few nights back in an attempt to trace
his familiarity. I’d like to complete it sometime.”
“You don’t have
time, Alaric. The War has started and Amber is to be destroyed, to be remade
anew. The time available may be measured in days, more probably hours. Do you
think the Unicorn is waiting on our next move? She is acting now and if we are
not ready to meet her, she will crush us all.
“But what would
you expect to learn from such a portrait of but one aspect of Grandfather? As
has been pointed out to you earlier today, you live in a world of
self-delusion, seeing only what you want to see. All your portraits are merely
mirrors. I, on the other hand, have known Grandfather for over two thousand
years and I flatter myself that my critical faculties are less clouded by
self-deceit. If Grandfather has misled my analyses, how exactly do you think
your one portrait will reveal anything hidden?”
She sighed
impatiently. “Now, unless you stop maundering and start giving me some concrete
plans this interview will be at an end and I’ll have to hand you over to
Grandfather.”
“I could recruit
and rally our forces in your name Mira. I could reconnoitre and locate the
Unicorn’s followers or I could assist in the location of the Jewel of
Judgement. Which would be of greatest use to you Mira?” I frowned slightly. “Or
have I missed your intention for me entirely?”
She tapped her
teeth thoughtfully. “We already have adequate troops and someone suitable to
lead them. Knowing the nature and location of the Unicorn’s forces would be
useful but you would make a very poor scout for the same reason you could learn
so little by Trump analysis.” She turned a wry smile on me. “Also, I fear your
discovery by our own side could be almost as catastrophic as by the opposition,
so we’ll leave reconnaissance up to the Colonel.”
She nodded
thoughtfully, “Our alternatives are limited: I have no use for this ‘Jewel of
Judgement’ but if you could obtain the Eye, that would
be most gratifying. I understand it is vital for several rituals. If you
retrieved it, you might prove yourself an adequate ally after all, even to
Dark, and we would have leverage to ensure all our objectives remain in focus.”
She grinned, “Yes, I think that would be best. Now, how will you go about it?”
“The Jewel and
the Eye are one and the same, from what Dark said, Mira. As
to how to come by it? Well that’s more difficult. Dark is sure that it’s
in the Castle and I last saw it about the neck of a cousin.
If I can work
with Trump, a contact could be forced and we can find out if Nathan’s still
within the castle. If he’s not, well I can still get into the Castle – again,
if my Trumps work and with a great deal of protection we can start a search.” I
paused again. “Clarissa has the means to learn of goings on within the Castle.
She may be aware of the Eye’s whereabouts.”
“Does she, now? Mmm!”
Mira mused for a few seconds, mind elsewhere, then shook
her head, obviously dismissing some notion as impractical. “No, I don’t think
we can risk it and I doubt her powers can penetrate the shadows around the Eye.”
She turned her
gaze on me. “Of course I’m going to let you use your Trumps – that’s what Faith
is for – and how else will you get in to the Castle? Mmm!
You’ll have to keep a low profile from the guards so please be careful. I
suspect I won’t be able to save you from a halberd thrust, especially once you
have the Eye. Any questions before you go?”
I moved my arm a
little to test it. “Maybe a little more time to recover Mira and some different
clothes – a castle servant or guard would be useful! I also require a little
time to prepare a sketch of somewhere else I know within the castle – the
gallery for example. They’ll almost certainly have a guard on my old chambers.
Hmm – I’d like to check Nathan’s Trump before I go into the Castle as well. Can
you tell me where is Paolo, Mira? Is he safe in some way?”
“Isn’t it a
little late to be asking after him? I’m sure I don’t know where he is if you
don’t... but I’m sure you’ll think of something.
“You do look
very ill-used but it is your own fault and the only clothes I could offer you
would be unsuitable, far too fashionable, so I’m afraid you will have to find
your own.
“As for Trumps;
I have already told you we have but hours before the Apocalypse dawns. Do you
really think we can spare the time for you to indulge your favourite obsession?
And in any case, is there anywhere in the Castle that you know well enough to
draw that wouldn’t be guarded or at least too well trafficked to risk?
“No, you must
use such resources as you have.” She smiles coldly. “I know you disbelieved me
when I said I was your only friend, this is your chance to prove me wrong.”
She paused, “Now,
before you go, please drink that...” and I became aware of a small shot-glass
appearing on a low table to my left, “It is an antidote to the soporific in the
wine...”
BITCH! Suddenly
I realised that by now I should have been well on the way to recovery but
instead I was still woozy and there was a slight numbness growing in my
fingertips.
“Now don’t look
like that!” She continued, reading my expression, “with your track record I
could hardly rely on your common sense or reliability, could I? Drink up and be
about your business!”
I drank it up. “When
will it wear off?” I asked?
“Oh, a few
hours, I should think, but now you’ve drunk the antidote, you’ll start feeling
better in about ten minutes, though don’t go operating any heavy machinery for
the next half hour.”
“Be on your way,
Alaric. Go where you must to find whatever clothes or equipment you deem
necessary but remember we’re under a severe time pressure, here, and
many more lives depend on you than just yours, mine or even Dark’s. The Unicorn
intends to destroy everything and everybody.”
There was a
certain ‘end of the conversation’ tone to her voice, but at the last minute
something seemed to occur to her. “Um...if you should meet any horned animals
or ageless, silver-haired women, please don’t draw attention to yourself.” She
smiled with apparently genuine affection. “Good-bye now and good luck!”
“Your
blessings, Mira?” I
enquired as I went to kneel before her.
She raised an
admonishing hand, motioning me back. “Well up till now I’ve granted my blessing
and generally been disappointed. But you are no longer my prophet, Alaric, so
this time you can earn it first. Now be off with you!”
I rose, bowed
and turned from her. I got out my Trump deck and checked Paolo’s Trumps of the
City of
The view up to Kolvir on
The Guild Hall:
busy, but not as busy as the
The
The Harbour: the
dockyards were being patrolled by marines, presumably deployed from the ships,
chasing looters. The looters badly outnumbered the marines.
The Barracks: had
been barricaded, presumably by the troops within, but one of the barricades had
been moved to allow access. The guard was triple the normal.
The Statue of
the Unicorn: was enveloped in rampant greenery, clearly new growth, it wasn’t
there last time I’d looked. In the square (actually more of a circle where 6
roads meet) many people were thronging to hear several soapbox orators and
quite a few were moving down
After several
minutes of this (my wooziness was making things trickier than usual), Mira
coughed irritably, “Alaric, I don’t have time for all this. You can sort
through your card collection in your own time. Now Go!”
I raised an
eyebrow, “You may want to know about this however”? I stepped up to show her
Paolo’s icon of the Unicorn statue. I had to maintain concentration or the link
would be lost. “The foliage is new and they seem to be heading out of the City”.
Her irritation
intensified and I was sure she was close to losing her temper. “You think I
need a lesson from you on the nature of the Unicorn?”
But even as her
hand made to brush me away, her eye glanced over the trump and her eyebrow
quirked slightly. I was pretty certain she was surprised by the new greenery on
the statue. As the contact faded, the picture returned to Paolo’s pristine
original, bereft of foliage.
Stepping down, I
activated the Trump of the harbour…
I found the
trump transfer much more disturbing than usual, probably the blood loss, wine
and whatever soporific combining with the ‘antidote’ was making me
light-headed. I staggered sideways and sat on a bollard, close to the water. I
was reminded of my first ever trump transfer when mother was showing me the
basics.
I remained
sitting, waiting for the dizziness to pass, when two people rushed past me at a
sprint. “Oy, you!” came a shout from my right. Two
marines were standing fifty yards away, glaring in my direction; the looters
had already vanished around a corner. The marines looked spectacularly annoyed
and started running toward me, cutlasses drawn.