Peter’s Diary part 18: Metaphysics,
Politics, and Weirdness in the Dungeon
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
5th Snake 3658 –
dawn
Another day, full of the dreams of Faerie.
The
City of
I
watched them, mostly. As much as I could through the fogs.
Mostly I listened to the sounds of their footfalls and the crashes of timbers
as they broke into yet another home, seeking their prey. Montfort
and I had spent the night spoiling their games, stopping them from taking
slaves where we could. But then he had fallen to the blow and my duty to him,
my comrade, was to get him to safety. Since then, my meagre chirurgeon
skills had done little but get him to lie uncomfortably in fevered dream.
Screams
shattered my reveries as a patrol of the creatures passed below; a half-dozen
with two prisoners, women from their voices. Montfort
woke with the woman’s name upon his lips once more and I readied myself for
action. Bidding him stay still, I hastened after them.
I
dreamed of the court of Faerie, and the skills and tricks that they taught me.
Whispering a story of stealth under my breath, I drew the shadows and wisps of
fog around me and, protected by the night and the gift of a Queen, I set off to
intercept the creatures and their booty.
Their
victory made them careless, perhaps, or at least unwary, but I was in amongst
them, cleaving the tiara-clad head from the one who led them before they even
had time to notice my presence. The next swing of my sword pierced the chest of
one of the creatures holding the prisoners, and I took a second to assess the
position.
The
prisoners were both women, one half dead but the
other, tightly trussed, was wearing the colours of the Garnath
forces. Having time to rescue one only, I chose the soldier. Was I wrong? What
caused me to pick her rather than the woman who could not defend herself?
I
will ask myself that question in the darkest hours of the night as long as I
live, but for now, it is sufficient to say I acted, and one life at least was
saved.
I
attempted to pick her up and run; my lessons with the log outside the bowyers
in the castle giving me confidence that I could lift her weight. But logs do
not have the contrary nature of women, and she rolled away from the creature
holding her and into my legs, causing me to stumble and almost fall.
Her
move cost me a numbing blow across my calf with a quarterstaff from one of the
frogs, though he gained a buffet of at least equal measure in return. A silver
tongued slice from my sword dealt with the ropes around her legs and, as she
got to her feet and started running, I tried, all too successfully, to distract
the creatures from her escape. That accomplished, and another blow received, I
took the shape of the gift of Titania [a wolf glamour]
upon me and set out after the woman, the smell of her fear a hot red trail
through the fogs that bedevilled human eyes.
The
form your body takes shapes your thoughts, and I admit to a certain pleasure in
the lupine; considerations for pack predominate, and the hunt becomes the fire
that drives you, whether it be for food or simply for
the fun of it. That run through the streets of Amber was a melange of smells
and tastes and sounds, far more than any biped would have noticed. Certainly it
was thanks to the gift that I smelled the horses ahead of the running woman
long before she did, or before their riders noticed me.
Changing
back to a more presentable form, I approached the patrol, knowing that they
were likely to be Miran. Hearing a voice I was coming
to know well, I abandoned all hope of stealth and, as Rupert asked the woman
who she was, I stepped forward and claimed her under my protection and a
soldier loyal to Amber besides.
He
looked puzzled by my sudden appearance, and then I saw certain thoughts
assemble themselves in a certain way behind his eyes and he smiled slightly as
the sounds of wolf and man played a dance he felt he had the measure of.
To
his credit he released the woman to my care, and we swapped some information
about the frog creatures and their desires, agreeing to a truce between him and
me until they, the clear and present danger, were dealt with.
As
we withdrew I questioned the woman, finding her to be Montfort’s
sister and impetuous besides, having been captured by being too far ahead of
her lines to withdraw safely. Wearing the face of an officer, I could not but
criticise her actions but my bard’s heart sang at the courage and foolhardiness
she had shown; after all, without heroes to write songs about, what would I
sing of?
And
speaking of impetuous heroes, what of Montfort? He
who I had ordered to hold position instead we found limping his fevered way
along the street, sword held limply in hand as he sought to aid us. Inwardly I
cheered such a courageous family even as I berated him for not staying at his
post.
These
two I would know more of.
At
dawn, with the sun’s light burning the fogs away a little, we returned to the
castle and I briefed Bathsheba of what I knew and delivered Montfort
and Falasia to the chirurgeons
before heading to breakfast.
The
looks of distaste on the faces of those gathered there drew attention to the
state that the night’s fighting had left me in; smelling like a fish market and
as dishevelled as one who had spent the night sleeping in the street. The mucus
that covered the frog creatures was rotting the velvets of my clothing and the
mud of the docks covered my boots almost to my knees. Making my apologies, I
retired to my chambers and quickly washed and changed.
The
discussions at the breakfast table were of the elements and of Sarah, a
daughter of Corwin. I must admit my thoughts were much more focused on the
elements of ale, bread, cheese and beef than of any more esoteric and I
contributed little to the conversation other than the occasional request to
pass a plate.
There
is little in life as satisfying as a good mattress and soft sheets after a long
night of fighting and it was to my bedchamber that I retired immediately I had
Bathsheba’s leave to do so. My sleep was so deep that for the first time in
many years I do not remember what I dreamed of, though it was Faerie that awoke
me – that I do know.
A
missive from
Dressing
quickly and ordering my old clothes burned I sought the Puck, finding him near
the infirmary. He bowed low, addressing me as Lord, descended from “the highest
on both sides”, and gave me counsel in a manner fitting to his address.
He
warned me of the ships of Amber, and of what stirs beneath them, stretching and
waking from the deepest of dreams. He whispered tales of what it takes to wake
such a creature, and of the fate of those of Amber taken beneath the waves.
And he told me that the gates are shut, but may be opened later; a typical
conundrum from the Lord of Tricks.
In
return, I bowed deep to the Emissary from their Majesties, and asked him to
bear my respect to the Auberon and my memory of a
dream to the Titania. He agreed, and we parted; he to his fun and me back to my
bed.
One
final duty I had before slumber could claim me – I took the card with the
scowling visage of Bathsheba upon it and turned my mind to hers. She resisted,
perhaps fearing attack, but I pushed on, my message more puissant than her
defences.
We
did not fence, that proud princess and I. Rather for us the back and forth of
sword and shield; trading blows until her mind lay open to me; a feat I am sure
I could not repeat in the waking world. Once I had proven myself, I delivered
the message of the Puck concerning the shipping of Amber and learnt some of the
choicer curses in vogue amongst the Amber nobility.
Thus
enlightened, I returned to my bed.