B.T.V. -- Session 01 Preamble: Dragon's Coil

“It is good to have you with me, wherever we are, Selidor.” Vaxus said.




“Here? You are within the Ziggurat Form. Held by the precepts of Law.”




“Am I?”




“Law cannot be denied. It is the source of all things.”




“Historical anecdotes; Order’s speciality. Your’s too it seems. Boring people aside, have you ever thought to look beyond the past? There’s a lot to recommend it.”




“One does not contemplate the future properly without a solid understanding of what has been and where one comes from.”




“Very well, if not very well said. I will tell you what concerns you. You are trying to understand what I am. Not who, as that’s apparent. What I am, is a servant of life and death. Wait there’s more. I am as equally a servant of elemental nature. I like to think that relics and things that terrify the mind are aided by my efforts. I am a great aid to all of these. Name a noble thought and I am a constant supporter.”




“Unlikely. How could you aid things equally in opposition?”




“Ask yourself.”














A city could be cruel like the harsh winds slashing through sails and man alike upon the Veinous Sea. A city was a dispassionate apparition that knew no care for its inhabitants. A city had no heart with which to feel their want. It had no mind that could act in consideration for those that needed peace. How could a place have any kind of sense that might allow it to be merciful or tractable or generous?




Surprising then that Adrilankha seemed in a giving mood. Asher had spent some hours of each of the past two weeks’ days getting about the great metropolis. He’d begun to feel one with the place. He’d made his readings real. Streets and lanes that had been alphabetically listed in his notes, had taken life. Paper Lane wasn’t just the first under ‘P’, it was a community of merchants, stock boys, drivers and printers. The street of ‘The Hat Inn’ wasn’t just a description, he’d been past the place and could sense some of the haunts that lingered there. Asher had come to appreciate the city’s size much more for having walked it than he had in reading its immensity extolled by several authors. The Wire’s documents were thorough but, like a stale biscuit lacking in flavour and crispness, far from as satisfying as tasting the city for himself. He’d learned to learn from life and not about life.










“Vaxus?”






“I am here. Where else?”






“All my efforts only reveal that what you have said has been your objective reality.”






“My belief is real, is that it?”






“Yes.”






“A step forward. Where does this step take us, other than still here?”






“One is not certain. We are related. Closely related. As brothers. While I do not think that this is done within the construct of Law, it is a well-recorded feature in the annals of those of Amber. It is therein that our joined reality must spring.”






“I could have told you that. More simply put, Gerard is our father.”






“Telling and knowing are not the same. One knows that this is the likeliest truth.”






“One could ask him, if one was thinking clearly.”






“He’s without the Form and without form.”






“Propositionally, so am I?”






“That may be worth noting. It is a distinction.”













Some part of each day had been spent in silent observation of his friend Selidor. Selidor hadn’t done much but occasionally mutter. Words, most without intelligibility, some names that issued forth garbled and very often the distinctly heard, ‘Lyra’ came from Selidor. This was something. There wasn’t anything else to pin hope of Selidor’s recovering his wits on than this. The royal physiker had given a poor prognosis. Selidor might speak, even move about and do things as any other with one exception. His mind would be dafted. The physiker called it like being a husk without the need for an enlivener. Asher had not heard the term ‘dafted’ used before. Draegeran medicine was more advanced than that which easterners practiced. Dafted didn’t sound serious but Asher could imagine that for Selidor, whatever a lack of mental sharpness might be called, wouldn’t matter. Selidor would deplore his fate, if he could understand it.




Asher did a few hours in Selidor’s room before handing over ‘the watch’ to Lyra each day. Major Iterari had arranged Lyra’s schedule in the STG roster to allow her to spend afternoons at the ‘Carriage’. Asher did his daily time for Selidor but also because Finndo seemed to think it was a sensible precaution. Given that Finndo wasn’t always particular about obvious care being taken, Asher thought it wisest to go along with it. Selidor had given Asher the advantage of meeting quite notable people. Selidor had arrived with Finndo, who was anything but ordinary. Their first month together he’d also met; two Dragonlords – one a creature out of time and shadow -- a Jhereglord not to mention a capricious Jhereg slayer who had taken more than an off-hand liking to him – and last and certainly most, the Empress. Selidor was not exactly an ordinary easterner himself. Asher hadn’t become so used to Selidor’s otherworldly mannerisms or used to his unusual command of sword and decantation, to forget this.









“You’re still here, Selidor, I take your silence as mute testimony that you’re confused.”





“Until I can find my way to eject you from the Form, one cannot think of departing.”





“Eject me? But you brought me here. It should be simple to reverse the process. Law is regular that way.”





“It may be that Law wants me to learn something particular from you.”





“Shall I ask of it? Find out what to ask so that we can leave?”




“If Law chooses to enlighten you rather than me that is as it should be.”





“Perhaps but imagine the irritation. Your chosen Order revealing mystery to me rather than you. If acceptable, still confronting. I’d be concerned.”




“If it is mandated it will be as you say. One is interested to see it happen.”





“While Law cannot be other than a truth, you might not believe me in retelling this truth. You have no reason to trust my words are Order’s words. A pointless exercise avoided by my understanding of your place in things. You see? I am anything but a time waster.”





“As you wish.”





“I am reminded that earlier you said, ‘As it is written, so it shall be.’ Do you really know that everything to come is already done? That a thought you’re going to have tomorrow has already been thought? It seems far-fetched.”





“Only when read about, can the future be seen to have been written in the past.”





“A convenient use of logic to amend the indefensible... I’m not against your stance. I’m just — just more open-minded. There’s a place for all ways in the realm. Can’t have it all one way or the other.”





“One is reminded of the force known as the Cosmic Scale and the Runestaff.”




“Oh? You think that is what I am about? Well, you're way off. I'm not about balance any more than you are. Why don’t you try harder? I really would like to go onward. Being stuck with you is not my idea but yours.”








Asher did have other things to occupy his time. Once his mid-morning duty at Selidor’s doorway was complete for the day, Asher would depart to locate more hauntings. The ghosts of Adrilankha weren’t infinite in number but they were diverse to the point that Asher had decided to try to catalogue them. Other ghost walkers might benefit from his study. Asher was self-aware enough to realise that he might only be looking for an outlet. He’d been so long writing his reports for the Wire, that now that they were no longer required, he found himself writing out of habit. His gazetteer of ghosts might never be read by another, but it felt right to make the entries. It also allowed him to examine ghosts without directly dealing with them. It was likely a losing struggle to try to eliminate them all. The restless phantoms outnumbered ghost walkers and there were more added to their dreadful number at every breath of the living. His gazetteer granted him a chance to address his thoughts too, although he had no plan to ever re-read them.
















“Where am I?”





“Within the Ziggurat Form. My attachment to Law’s nature.”





“Selidor.”





“It is good that you are aware of me. I require you to be perceptive, Father. There is another here.”





“Here? There’s a fair bit of structure about us. It I don’t see anyone else. Is this other one in hiding behind a staircase or standing upside down on the other side of the platform I’m on? I’ve seen those sorts of things in drawings. Optical illusions. This doesn’t look like a drawing though.”





“You do not see him?”





“Him, eh? Too bad. I was hoping for someone attractive. In cases like these, another interest shared beyond the verbal is always preferable. Passes the time better that way.”





“Cases like these?”





“I feel that I am in a cell.”





“The Form might make you feel that way. As Amber was touched by Chaos.”





“Hmm.”





“You do not see one named Vaxus here?”





“Him? Here? You’ve seen him?”





“One has seen him. He is striking in his appearance.”





“This is not the place or time for a frank discussion. What do you make of him?”





"He and logic make him out to be my brother.”





“What of it? If I don’t deny a connection, where does that lead you?”




“Confirmation is useful.”





“He’s not trustworthy.”




“One is mindful that trust should not be handed out much.”




“Your father has enough bitter recrimination in him to supply us both. You don’t need to have any.”




“One would prefer to remain objective.”




“This place. It is your mind’s way of perceiving Law. You’ve managed this on your own. It’s a fine achievement.”




“One’s mother assisted in the beginning.”




“Before she —.”





“— lost her mind.”





“That again. If you wish to see it that way... Easy to get lost in place like this... You recognise that this Form is partly you, I hope? That I stand within your mind as much as I stand upon this platform or within Order?”






“It makes sense. You are not wholly real beyond here. The splintered shards.”






“Yes. I’m attuned to one of these splinters or my being here would be impossible. Typhon told me this on my path here. A strange being that grows in strangeness the longer I know it.”







“How could you be attuned to a splinter before it was splintered? How could you attune yourself to a splinter after you were splintered? This makes no sense.”






“Depends on the man and the splinter. I am considered a suitable monarch of life’s kingdom. In that place, a certain unique ‘splinter’ already existed, long before the splintering that Typhon brought to the realm recently. ‘Recently’... my viewpoint, not Typhon’s, you know? This object was -- well is -- called the Jewel of Judgement. Only the true king of Amber can attune to it. I wear it next to my heart.”





“This is how you are able to be here.”





“You might call having the jewel, destiny. I call it chance and taking the opportunity of that chance. In either case, yes.”





“May I see it?”





“Difficult to say… Your pardon, I shouldn’t react so quickly. Old habits. The jewel is not something to show off. Tends to create problems in those that see it.”





“What sort of problems?”





“Ones like, having to have it, trying to take it, those sorts of problems. We of Amber get rather caught up in its unique capabilities. Dreams can come true, and so on? But here, see it for yourself.”








It was on one, late evening, after eating a new version of the Carriage Crashed Inn’s hot pot using herbed potatoes and thick cream in place of the usual pastry topping, that Asher had a singular encounter. Like the wind it came out of nowhere. Coming from nowhere meant that Asher wasn’t surprised by the event. He was always expecting an occurrence. It would likely be a ghastly kind of happening. In his experience even if an unforeseen thing happened, he might as well be ready for it. When he’d met Finndo and Selidor it had been a random thing but no shock at all that the two men were so happily odd. It had been that way when he’d run into the Verdosau, Basillykan. It had been the case when he’d met the Green Khakhan. It was the case as he practiced with Finndo after their dinner that night.


Practices had been moved. No more efforts in the city. Finndo had deemed it idiotic to do this. He announced this by saying, “Eighty-eight of one hundred.”


“Asher said, “What does that mean?”


“My successes to my overall attempts. My list.”


“Yes, the list.”


“Today’s effort has been successful in that I have obtained a place to practice with less chance of being observed.”


Asher had to admit that this made more than a little sense. Finndo added that it was, “...down at the Fortress Inn. The start of the road to elsewhere on this continent. There seems few travellers. An ideal spot and cold drink available to us afterward.”


Drinks afterward too, Asher had to admit, sounded sensible. They set off covering the march as soldiers always have with descriptions of previous efforts, most successful and when not, how living had remained possible. They also bantered about what to call the hot pot dish they had just consumed. Asher couldn't quite decide. Finndo had called it something in one of the obscure languages he threw into speech occasionally. He agreed that it should have a name people could pronounce and understand. He offered a couple of salacious names, which Asher liked well enough to laugh at but not enough to accept. Asher respected his society in a way that Finndo could not.










“Brother, I have decided I must have what I need from you.”



“One still doesn’t know what it is you need from me, Vaxus.”



“You know. You must know. It’s as clear as the nose on your face.”



“To you perhaps.”



”If, you’re that uncaring and unaware, maybe I could have it without it bothering you? Tell me, you seem to like it here, would you be prepared to stay here longer?”



“The Ziggurat Form is known to me. I do not struggle here.”



“Good to know.”



“Vaxus my boy, how are you? You look the same.”



“Father? How?”



“A trick of the light.”



“The light you say. Impossible. I know all about Light.”



“Your assuredness is always amusing.”



“I’m glad you can find me so entertaining.”



“It’s that or worry. I choose the happier option.”



“I will remain unhappy regardless of your mood.”



“You were always a morose boy.”



“You hear what our father is saying, Selidor? Consider him revealed.”



“Leave Selidor out of this.”



“I would but he’s entirely responsible for this situation. Maybe this is exactly why he brought this about? He can learn what an idiot you have been, from your own mouth.”



“His upbringing differed from your own. He will decide what matters. It won’t be anything you or I say that makes him feel what he must.”



“You might think. I know different.”



“Do you now. I almost believe you -- almost. I happen to know that Typhon has not given you any prescient gifts. For the future to be known to you would be an impossible miracle… That’s a very unlikely kind of miracle, and they’re all decidedly rare to begin with.”



“I have means beyond the Dragon of Time’s doing. Pacts aren’t miracles but are useful that way.”



“What have you been about? You should know better than to toy with those that treat all as playthings. The puppet is the toy not the master holding the strings. Remember that, my son.”



“Your son. I am my mother’s son. You were just a depositer. Like a river that carries nutrients without knowing what life might spring from the things it moves. My mother is all that I needed. Just as well, as you absented yourself.”



“I did as she commanded. It wasn’t my choice.”



“I think it was.”













Training began, as his training with Finndo always did, with a discourse on hats. The past few sessions had been somewhat more a dialogue rather than a soliloquy, as Asher now had his own hat to compare and contrast with Finndo’s. There were several things to commend his new hat, Asher had to suggest. Once Finndo had disparaged the hat even he had a few kind words for its overall design.


“So be it, Asher. If you are certain that a young lady will take to swooning at the sight of it in your hand, who am I to suggest it will never happen?”


“Exactly.”


“I am exactly, Finndo of Amber, that’s who and if I suggest it, the ladies will be as alert as jackrabbits and lacking the need for a fan or perfumed corsage, then that’s how it will be.”


“Do the ladies swoon at the sight of you, Finndo? Maybe the smell? Your clothes are kind of...”


“Do not mistake the exterior of work clothes for the interior heart of the man.”


“Those are some perceptive ladies.”


“If I wanted this verbal jousting, I’d never have left home. Rather than make my progress with Osric come under scrutiny, how about you draw blade? Come, show me your raking claw attack.”


“Might be a little dangerous.”


“I will be the judge of that. Come at me, easterner.”


The intended slight was not too harsh but Asher knew Finndo meant for it to goad him. Regardless, he did want to get varied uses for the ‘claws’. Finndo being adept at defences meant if he could get through his guard, the effort would be effective against others. With that in mind, Asher struck with all three of the small blades, one between each of his clenched fingers. The effect was excellent. The blow sliced easily through Finndo’s quilted armour and his shirt, drawing three lines across his chest. Finndo staggered away, sword down, head lowered to a side. The man’s hat had flown off and his hair hung covering his brow, not quite hiding a single eye, glaring.


Asher didn’t hesitate. He came on. He did this because Finndo had heaped scornful words on him when he’d paused after a successful attack in the past. He tried a low line attack to sweep up Finndo’s left leg. Asher meant to then apply the claws to the tendon at the ankle and seek Finndo’s admission of defeat. Asher collected only the air as Finndo moved his left leg upward and hopped into the air off his right.


“You have answered the age-old riddle of Roger the scribe. ‘When is blood not red?’. Heard that one?”


“How could I have heard it? Never heard of the scribe.”


“Then that’s two things you still need to learn. The other is never move for a finish when the target is still on both feet and watching. I even let my hat off my head so you could watch my eyes. Save the coup d’grace for the moments when they are finished. It’s more dramatic that way too.”


“Dramatic.”


“Yes, my flat-toned adversary. Drama is vital for the successful conclusion of the fight.”


“Is this another of your jokes?”


“Ask the lady.”


Asher couldn’t help himself. He looked over his shoulder, then seeing no one said, “What lady?”

“The one that might be observing your struggle. A fighter with flourish is a man who sleeps uneasily, yes?”


“We’re wasting time.”


“Are we? You are probably. I needed time to recover from your most excellent attack.” Finndo glanced at the three, parallel breaches in his shirt. “You see, Asher, what seemed a joke to you, was essential for me. Should you find an opponent that is willing to listen and better still, respond, you will have him beaten in no -- time!” Finndo sprang into Asher’s defence more swiftly than Asher had seen the man do before. This included Finndo’s fights against real enemies. It was like Finndo had been holding back against the draegerans who were trying to kill him. That made no sense to Asher and it certainly didn’t help his attempts to fend Finndo off. The man seemed to be guessing Asher’s every parry and counter. Asher moved left and taking advantage of the ghost lampstand there, swung around it to come at Finndo’s open flank. Except Finndo’s half-sword's tip was already occupying the space where Asher’s left hip required to be to execute his move.


“A pointed statement, hah! And a lampstand’s last...” Finndo said this and then flicked the half-sword so that the lamp fell into Asher, “... stand.”


Asher easily brushed the metal stand away. Finndo’s anticipation made this a bad notion as his longer blade moved in the curious, wavering way it had, to flicker into Asher’s eyes just before it actually descended and flicked his wrist. A thin, straight line of redness appeared on his wrist like an apparition.


“Now there. There’s how you ruin a man’s tendons properly. The hand is the danger not the foot.”


Asher’s hand was more stained than ruined. He knew that Finndo could have struck more deeply.


“Finndo? Why is it you seem more dangerous here than when things are real?”


“What is reality?”


“Seriously.”

Finndo took in Asher’s expression. He relaxed his guarding pose and said, “Asher, if I did this to them, they’d be telling everyone all about it. Too much interest. A prince likes his privacy.”


“There wouldn’t be any witnesses to tell about it.”


“The ladies, Asher, the ladies.”


“The next time there aren’t any women around, I expect to see the real prince.”


“The kingdom is shattered, my young friend. I use the title only in jest.”


“Don’t believe it.”


“No?”


“N’las, as the draegerans say.”


“We’ll see.”


Asher took the admission that Amber might somehow have princes again as his first victory of the session and then said. “What’s the answer?”


“Eh?”

“Roger the whatever’s riddle?”


“I forget asking.”

“You said it was, ‘When is blood not red?’, you must remember the answer, how difficult can it be?”


“Yes, I remember it. The answer’s, ‘When it’s Amber blood.’ -- I didn’t say Roger was a riddle-master, only a scribe.”









“It’s too late for me to alter your mind, Vaxus. She named you. She raised you. She has allowed you to be what you are.”



“You make her sound responsible for my fate. I blame you, Gerard of Amber. It is your doing.”



“Your mother gave you into the care of Light and Darkness. I tried to convince her --.”



“— Convince? You could have stopped her. You’re no ineffectual husband. You’re of Amber. Name me another time that one of your kind stood down because some convincing didn’t work. You make me laugh.”



“She was not to be found. Neither were you. Caine, Corwin and I searched everywhere. We couldn’t think of any place else to search by the time we were through. All of Shadow was searched. The Courts too. Caine braved the monstrous island in search of you. Corwin sought you in the past. I looked within the hall of mirrors, thinking it might show me what and who I sought. She had taken you to them. There was no knowing it then. I couldn’t have known what became obvious later.”



“Yes, it was all so hard on you. You tried everything. What about me? What about my hardship? I was forced into their war. I was used by them to create their destiny. It’s your doing.”



“I bear my blame. Vaxus, can you say the same?”



“I say only this. I have made something out of the nothing you birthed me. I have succeeded despite your lack of care or concern for me. I will win because I have your inattention to thank. When all’s said and all’s done, I will carve that into the remains of …”



“Of?”



“I’m not going to be tripped up into telling you things you needn’t find out about.”



“If I command you?”



“As what? My king? Wait no, that’s not clear yet. Let’s say, as my father you command me?”



“See this?”



“The jewel… It survived?”



“Real and present and saved by my hand.”



“You wouldn’t dare to use it on your own.”



“You have me convinced that I don’t deserve to think of you as mine.”



“Selidor? I hope you’re noting this extreme form of abuse?”



“Leave him out of this, I told you. This is you.”



“I do not think --.”



“ – Jewel most judgmental, be so kind as to put your attention toward my son, Vaxus. I need to understand something of his nature. To begin --.”



With a cry Vaxus fled the Ziggurat Form. The vista did not change greatly after his departure but there was a small recess created in one part of what could be seen. Gerard looked at it and said,


“That may be the way back. I will go there. You should too, Selidor. If you lose sight of the path, follow in my footsteps. Perhaps this is too hard as I have been a father whose tracks have been obscured too much. Maybe you find this prospect too unappetising. If not by my footsteps, find your own way out. If it looks too impossible then trust other senses. Sight is overrated. Listen for my voice. It’s not made for singing but I’m told it can be hard not to hear it? It will be difficult. Vaxus has been toying with you for quite a time. You are weak but not without resolve. Fight your way back to Axildusk, my son. Remember what he told you. He is of Light and Darkness but of me and your mother, too. You are the same. Not of Light and Darkness, however. You were given to Law and to Chaos. Your mother was of Order and I was… not.




You have learned much in her honour. To escape Vaxus’s net you must understand the Sea. It is your birthright, through me. I am Amber’s admiral. This is your legacy. You have it within you but you must uncover it on your own. Even I cannot risk it. Just in the telling to you, it would crash down on you and leave you wrecked. Chance favours me but I cannot chance this. I must leave you to find your own course. Do not think ill of me for this. I will do all I can to help you. Vaxus has laid out the reef and the storm to waylay you. You may founder but never give up. Our ships sail the same waters. Make it to safe harbour and you will find me there.




I will stand the watch for you. You are the ship. I am your anchor. You are the ship. I am the chart. You are the ship. I am the wave. Think on me.

T h i n k o n m e. T h i n k o n m e.”








Another, deeper voice said, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost whatever it was that kept you alive. No pattern walked and getting tagged by those oriental, throwing blades? Not a good mixture to be getting on with.”


“When did you get here? I take my frustrations out on other things. Asher isn’t going to learn anything from me by my using the ‘Amber Method’.”


“I’ve only just arrived. A story to tell from where I’ve been. This is training? Let it be first. My news can wait. The ‘Amber Method’? Tough and vicious? For some but for others, I suppose not. He has potential I’d wager or you’d not be taking the time.”


“He’s accomplished, Gerard. Possibly more finished than forming still. His set of techniques is divided between Caine’s style and Fi’s art. That said, he’s not much for combining the two.”


“Caine... I don’t see it. How so?”


“Asher likes to vary his style. This and his use of firearm makes him very like our brother.”


“Without our brother’s skill at duplicity, let’s hope.”


“In that too, I meant, but was allowing Asher here some privacy. He’s a well that requires a longer rope to haul on than you’d first think.”


Finndo’s ‘brother’ moved over to Asher. Knowing Finndo’s easy way with attacking unannounced, Asher stood ready for anything. He sized up Gerard. He looked beatable. There was only a hint of Finndo’s subtlety in movement. The man moved more basically than simplicity might. One foot fell in front of his other regularly. His hands didn’t sway, nor his fingers gently reposition as Finndo’s always seemed to. His mouth formed a deliberate line. The lips were easier to read than Finndo’s, the moustache made the difference there. In the eyes, however, Asher could see some family resemblance. The same measuring was going on behind them. There was that resolve too. In Finndo it flared up occasionally when Asher pushed him to it with a decently executed flurry. Gerard’s face looked permanently locked into whatever granite-set resolution he favoured. It was a different, harder expression than the one Asher had become used to seeing on the Finndo’s face.


“Are you a tailor?” Gerard asked.


Asher wasn’t sure why the man had asked this.


“The way you’re sizing me up, I was beginning to think you were planning a new look for me.”


Finndo said, “I’ve been instructing him to respect opponents. You only do that if you take the time to —.”


Gerard held up a hand, “-- Asher knows this lesson. I have heard this teaching too. Save the instructional tone for those that need it.” Gerard smiled at Asher, “He’s fond of his voice. Used to get me going, I tell you. That elaborate moustache. That stained armour. It looks like he’s lying in a bed that hasn’t its sheets laundered in decades, eh?”

Asher wanted to defend Finndo’s honour but had to silently agree.



“Ho! Finn, he agrees with me. Hah!”


Asher wondered if it had been so obvious that he’d agreed. He didn’t think he had been.


“Now he’s mulling over if I know everything he’s thinking. Sensible man. Before you try to deceive yourself into the belief that if you say something interesting it will afford you a chance to strike me unawares... I might be allowing you to do that very thing.”


Asher chewed on that for a couple of seconds. True, it was a way he’d scored hits on Finndo. One of the most reliable too. Looking at the larger man, he saw no art in the stance he took. He just stood there. Like a tree — actually, more like a hill. Gerard was just there, no style, no artifice and with no apparent desire to defend himself. He was large but that shouldn’t mean he wouldn’t get hurt or go down when struck hard enough. Asher had grown accustomed to fighting ‘larger’ opponents in fights with draegerans. He wasn’t impressed by size. Ghosts didn’t often use defensive stances either. Asher moved to position his use of his claws.


“Throwing things is for angry maids.” Gerard said.


Asher wanted to throw them anyway but didn’t. Instead, he decided that a large man deserved a large weapon. Asher began to draw his nodachi. Finndo had said to use it on creatures of ‘indecent proportions’. Asher’s face wore a small smile at the memory.


The extra-lengthy sword made a certain type of draw necessary to get the weapon clear of its scabbard. Asher had been practicing this since he’d received the blade but he hadn’t closed on mastery yet. His arm needed to get clear of his body to get the sword out. His elbow moved high as he lowered his weight in preparation for an opening mid-line stance. It would give him a solid foundation for an attack or a defence and options to either flank as well. Somewhere along the line of that planned series of accomplishments, about the point his elbow was highest, Gerard grabbed him. Large but fast! Gerard was more the avalanche than the hillside, Asher realised.



Gerard’s strength was not surprising. He was built for strength. Asher moved to gain his arm’s release. He knew several versions of these saving moves. Gerard must have known them too. A series of laughable positions — if Finndo’s delighted noises were anything to go by — were reached, ending with Asher being held over Gerard’s head. Asher wasn’t shocked too greatly by this result. Gerard was obviously strong enough to hoist two someones like Asher if he chose. Asher was shocked about his journey to his lofty position. Gerard had managed to raise him up despite Asher’s attempts to make it impossible. He knew enough to put his body at a disadvantage for any attempts to be lifted off the ground. He’d made himself like the hammer’s head to Gerard’s point of force. There should be no way for the man to get enough of a fulcrum to have made the lift.

“I’m awaiting a ship, Asher. Can you tell me if you can see it over the horizon?”, asked Finndo.
“Mock him and I’ll test your stability next, Finn.” With that, Gerard placed Asher back on the ground, like Asher putting down a tankard on a table. This was more impressive than the lift.


















Selidor watched his father walk among the Ziggurat Form’s many levels of difference. It was stability itself, meaning that it was Gerard who seemed to flicker in and out of view though he was never hidden by the Form’s many shapes. At some stage he vanished for more than he was there and then he was no more.


It wasn’t the Form that held him here. Something his brother had done made him unable to walk away. It was as if Vaxus had glued him here. The Form could not be altered. That couldn’t be done. Not to Law’s construct. To affect a change, any change no matter how small was impossible. To Selidor it was anathema. The Form and Law mattered this much. He could not leave. Vaxus had seen to it, for reasons of his own. Selidor was self-reliant. His solitary nature had been created through necessity long before, in his youth of the First Realm. Even so, standing within the one thing that had always been there for him, he had never felt so alone.













It was then that Ghilong appeared before Asher. Ghilong was immense, its iridescent, blue coils easily filled three sides of the courtyard of the inn. Asher was confronted by Ghilong’s head. It was a proper dragon. Not a draegeran of the House of Dragon, but the actual creature that gave its name to the House.


“Greetings and felicitations, Asher-Zi. I see the Green Khakhan has aided you with my gifts.”


The creature spoke! It was a thing from stories. Why was it here? Why was it smiling? Did dragons smile? Maybe it was just a natural expression that happened to be easily mistaken for a smile. No. Now it was looking very different. The ‘smile’ had disappeared. The dragon was looking at the two others in the courtyard. Asher thanked the dragon for the gifts of weapons and armours. The dragon looked pleased and said.

“Asher-Zi, what are these you are with? They look like they are men but they are not. Not like you. Not like the other men of this world. Should they be here? No, I think not. Not in any way should they be here. What does it mean? What might it foretell? I must know. I must learn! Asher-Zi, run! I will make sure they cannot follow.”


Asher wasn’t sure whether to run to make the dragon happy or laugh out loud at the dragon’s concern. In either event, Asher’s expression was amused.


“Asher-Zi, you know these men who are not men?”


“I do, dragon.”


“You do not know me by name?”

“You look like Ghilong but you cannot be he. He is only a myth. Perhaps one of his children?”


“I AM GHILONG.” The statement was a challenge, roar and the wind all in one.


Gerard looked about in interest at the sudden, gusting wind. Finndo’s hat scampered away through the inn’s courtyard gates and down the road to elsewhere. Asher could tell they couldn’t see the dragon that threatened by its size to crush them if they moved too far from where they stood.


“What do you come here for, Ghilong?”

“You Zi, you. You are the reason I come. I have been searching for you since the gifting. Do you remember me from then?”


Asher did remember but it had only returned to him now. It was not a memory that had recurred before this. It was like remembering a dream from a night long before that had evaded the conscious mind only to reform when triggered by some incidental occurrence.


“Tell me dragon, what interest do you have in me?”


“You are Zi.”

“I’ve never called myself or been called that by others.”

“Nevertheless.”


“What does it mean?”

“Ha! Many things. Different things depending on the occasion. Grand things. Lesser things. The significant and the insignificant. This is the Zi. Moreover, you are this.”


“That’s not very clear.”


“Not yet it is not. Later, when you’ve become what you fear, you will know.”


“That sounds ominous to me.”

“N'las, do not be afraid, man. You can’t help being human but do not fear.”

“Easy for a dragon to say. What would you know of fear? Is there anything that can make you afraid?”


“Oh yes, Zi. I am afraid for you. I am afraid of what you must become. I am afraid of you when you become it.”


“I see?”

“Ha, GOOD!” Ghilong made the wind howl through the inn’s battlements in way that was both merriment and menace. Its form leapt into the air. Curling about itself in the sky, Ghilong’s body ribboned farther and farther away. On the breeze, Asher heard Ghilong’s voice asking, “The larger man with you, watch for him. He is like the bow, that looses the arrow, bent but capable of uncoiling to become a straightened edge. What is he the edge of, I wonder? The smaller man, I like his whiskers. I will give back his hat.”


The two princes of Amber looked at the inn with some concern for its welfare. It was being battered severely by the wind. When they turned back to Asher, he was looking at Gerard.


Asher felt no embarrassment at being bested or lifted off his feet by Gerard. He was not at all the typical fighter reliant on strength. He was something singular.


Finndo said, “He’s got that look they sometimes get, Gerard.”


“Aye, I see it too... What is it, Asher? I’ve seen this look once or twice before. What do you see?”


“I’m not exactly sure. You’re not like Finndo... It’s something else that you have.”


“It’s the jewel, Gerard.” Finndo said.

Gerard looked disappointed momentarily but then said, “No, I’ve seen this look before I had the stone.”


Asher continued, “It’s like you’re an example to follow? Not like an emperor is followed. Something different from that. I can’t or I haven’t seen what it is I’m trying to express. Sorry.”


“No, no, that’s alright. I often feel the same uncertainty about – about the world.”


Finndo looked at the man who he had thought of as his younger brother for far longer than he’d known him to be his older uncle. He felt a pity for Gerard. Every man should know who he is even if it is only for a few seconds out of his entire life. Finndo knew who he was most of the time. Gerard had never been sure enough to say who he was. He had lived countless days and had never known. There was a certainty out there for Gerard, Finndo assumed. If only they could find it for him.

At that moment Finndo remembered his hat blowing away. In the next moment, his hat rolled up to his feet carried there by an errant, gusty wind.