KOHKOL: Session 06 -- Epilogue 'The Contest of Strengths'
Four Hours and Twelve Minutes after Dawn:
“I’m not getting what you mean?”
It might have been less a question and more of a statement if it had been asked of less of a man. Handfist might carry himself with an almost maniacal sense of confidence but he knew enough to know when to utter a flat statement and when to make clear he was unsure. What the man across from him had outlined had left him confused. The plan was an offer. Handfist knew that. Less clear was how it worked out in Handfist’s favour. Unclear, was why Handfist would be part of the plan. With any other outlining the plan, Handfist would have either made abrupt adjustments to it or left the room. Handfist could be brusque and few would have any choice but to accept his manner. The man he was with was one of the few.
It was hard to see in the man where the element of Aire had touched him. There was little of airiness about him. If anything, the man was more like the Ourth. Solid, uncompromising, definite. His brow was thick and mobile. It could rise to indicate the man’s open heartedness but could readily lower turning the man’s face into impenetrable decisiveness. The other feature of his face that mattered to the perceptive was his jaw. It set off the rest of the man’s face. The thickness of the muscle around it and the bulk of the bone itself made clear he was a powerfully built man. When the man felt the need he could bring his strength to bear on any matter. This could be to help some stranger in need or should the situation be darker, he could reveal his strength to be a simple play that was difficult to deny. Play might seem a strange way to describe the fearsome force this man could exert. Gerard of Amber did play with life’s problems. His strength gave him this luxury.
Gerard looked at the squat individual at the other end of the table. The Dwarf was the near-end of his line. That fact alone might have made Gerard treat him differently — more respectfully. Gerard appreciated that this fellow refused pity or even the suggestion that he should be treated as special for that reason. Irritatingly, the Dwarf asked to be treated special for ridiculous reasons instead. Gerard mused that someday the Dwarf might make a better king. If only Handfist could stop demanding respect and start earning it consistently.
Gerard smiled. Handfist became nervous. Gerard’s smile was famous across many worlds. That ‘winning’ smile. Handfist hated to lose.
“Save the grin for somebody dumber than me. I’m wise to its infectiousness. I don’t want to be infected.” Handfist was sure that the other’s plan was a bad idea. Gerard’s grin was proof.
“My smile is for Ren. Well, let me say, at Ren. Can’t you see? When he loses the contest, I will not only win my wager but you… Handfist, you will win your wager. Two victories in one go. Two strikes, perfect and simultaneous. It doesn’t happen often. Neither does the opportunity. The target needs to be lined up just so. Then all the other variables that come into such a struggle —“
“— yeah, yeah. I get the example. You don’t have to explain pulling to an ox.”
“No... How often do you get the chance to make a King’s ransom?”
“These days? These days not so many. I guess you’d be about right too. The money in the Exchequer would amount to a royal amount.”
“It’s not easy to be a king. Many mouths to feed. Many projects to begin. Moves to be made. They give me pause, I know... I, I don’t know how you do it, Handfist.”
“Those aren’t even problems for me. They’d be signs of madness if I was thinking about things like those.”
“With your wager won, you’d be in a position to build a foundation of a kingdom?”
The dwarf’s eyes closed slowly and his face became nearly beatific as he imagined a people to call his.
Gerard watched the Dwarf. He hoped Handfist would accept. For the long play Gerard was committed to, the dwarf was critical. No other had Handfist’s odd combination of traits. “Come on, man. Don’t hold out on me.”
“Who’re you calling a man?”
“I am. Consider who I am and ask yourself if I give insult or praise.”
Handfist knew what the man meant. Gerard was treating him as an equal. None Handfist could think of were Gerard’s equal. “Okay. As much as it goes against my better nature, I’ll do it.”
“Good... Dwarf! Do you want to clasp hands on it?”
“Save it for the contest.”
“Oh, so you have the contest in mind already?”
“It doesn’t take me years to come up with something. That’s my strength.”
“A king needs to be nimble of mind, even if he isn’t nimble of foot.”
Handfist could accept the small insult in Gerard’s words because there was a truth in what the man said. He decided to chuckle loudly. Handfist could already taste Ren’s discomfort. It would be a good night, well-earned and the Lord Protector would have to grin and go along with it in the face of all his important guests. Gerard thought himself the boss in this plan but Handfist knew something that the Amberite did not. The small matter of a peculiarity in the Exchequer’s charter -- an obscure clause that was written into the charter's footnotes. Ren was always looking over his shoulder to history when he created his 'new ideas'. The Chancellor and the Exchequer -- old ideas and the documents the charter was based on held old loopholes. The clause referred to a situation when the kingdom was without funds. Under such circumstance the Chancellor of the Exchequer was in charge of the kingdom, until its finances were put back in order. Handfist had some wealth put aside. He’d be able to assure himself of a hefty interest rate from Ren in exchange for Handfist’s gift of money to get the kingdom going again. Gerard was wrong. Handfist stood to win not twice but three times at once. Handfist laughed properly as he realised that Gerard would be furious. It would be Gerard who was to blame. It would be provable that it was all Gerard’s plan. Gerard joined in on the Dwarf’s laughter. His was a plan worth savouring to the full for both these individuals.
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One Hour and Seven Minutes after Dusk:
His hand dipped into the town square's pool's cold water. Over and again, Gerard cupped water and then let it fall through his fingers. Many plans sifted away like this too. Tonight's plan was only a beginning. If it went well something grander would begin. After that, Gerard would have another cupped hand of scheming to sift through.
Gerard had spent most of the time at the inauguration of Ren’s ‘White Council’ watching others. It was a familial habit that Gerard couldn’t deny. He didn’t feel the need to break it. He had honed his observational skill to a mythic weapon’s quality. Gerard frowned. He was perhaps being over-generous in his self-assessment. Mythic would imply he had the observational power of Benedict. Gerard might fancy his chances being compared to many men’s gifts but not that particular man’s ability to discern. Benedict was his favourite nephew. Or was that Random or Corwin? Gerard smiled at his own lack of sincerity. If he wasn’t sure of his mind, how could anyone else be more certain? In Gerard’s family this was a key to survival. Too much favour bestowed too obviously, could get that favoured one killed. Not murdered. That was too much of a far off a thing for the family.
Gerard had considered his family. It all started with Oberon. His younger brother. It was Oberon who had found their father after... after ‘some amount of time’. Gerard knew there was no way to be more precise about the timing than that. Dworkin had rewarded Oberon with his favour. Gerard hadn’t truly minded. That was that. Oberon it was.
Oberon. The man who would be king.
Amber. The kingdom before all others. The truest kingdom there had ever been.
It had been ruled by Oberon for more than an Age. Did that make Oberon the king before all others? Until an hour ago, Gerard would have soundly beaten anyone who suggested doubts about it. This despite his open opposition to Oberon reclaiming the kingdom. Whatever might be said about his brother, the man’s reign had been a great one. The Chaeryn had introduced a doubt now though... Not by calling Oberon’s reign into doubt. Storfa, had instead spoken of where kingship sprang from. What was it that made someone a king? Storfa had made it clear that there was only one source of kingship.
Gerard contemplated his reflection in the cold, still water of Excel’s sole fountain. Not much of a fountain as its waters had not flowed in anyone’s memory. Gerard couldn’t remember ever seeing the thing operating. A problem for whomever was charged with the office of public works. Excel or ‘Old Excel Town’ as he’d heard some of the people refer to it, looked decidedly rougher than the rest of the Freehold. Staring at the surface of the font’s water he could see that he didn’t look as neglected as the town did but his short beard needed some attention. Any place with a pool or fountain was the sort of place that Gerard tended to find himself drawn to. He put this down to his love of the sea. On the oceans of many worlds he had felt safe and free from the onerous demands of family. He had been a bo’sun, a marine commander, a gunnery chief, an officer and a ship’s purser. He’d risen to Admiral’s rank in the royal navy; as Commodore he had been charged with the defence of Amber’s sea lanes. In all these guises, Gerard was pleased he didn’t have to take a stance on issues of the kingdom. The others could argue and plot their hearts out. Gerard would be absolved from these machinations. Being out to sea was literally being out of touch. His reflected image scrunched a cheek, wryly expressing his self-acceptance that his sea-going ways had not finally, helped matters. He thought of the recently concluded council. Of his conversations there was one that stayed with him. Not the chat to Ren or with Handfist, although both these talks would require mindfulness in due course. It was his short chat to Storfa that kept rising to the surface of his mind's ocean.
Storfa was in a position of trust with A’Bramha. Storfa had said it only took one voice to make a man a king. A judge sitting on Gerard’s case might say this single voice belonged to Oberon. If Oberon were to stand aside Gerard could be king. No one else would stand against him.
Gerard knew that it was unlikely to be Oberon that Storfa meant to be that single voice. Storfa wasn’t a man. Storfa and his kind were of the Peerage. The Peerage was an ancient placeholder for beings too strange to readily fit anywhere else in the firmament. Storfa could not mean that the voice was a man’s or woman’s. It wouldn’t be within Storfa’s understanding of reality to make this observation. In the long story of Amber, the right to rule was determined by a multitude of opinions and at least a handful of supporters of the ruler. No single person had ever been the difference in deciding the rule of Amber. No person. Yet Storfa had expressly said there was, “Just one.” That left other potential, singular influencers who weren’t of Humanity still able to decide things. It would take a special being to be able to make such an impression on his family’s politics. ‘Just one’ of most things would be too inconsequential for those of his family to listen to. ‘Just one’ of the few which might be listened to? Those would not be trusted. The more exemplary they might be, the less the family would be interested. It had been Storfa that made this clear in his few words with Gerard. Gerard could only assume that Storfa spoke of something the Chaeryn knew well. Something about Storfa’s own kind.
Gerard needed to order his thoughts. He needed to get out of himself and into Storfa’s mind. Gerard knew he wasn’t adept at this. His nephew Corwin had been the one gifted with empathy. Gerard knew where Corwin was. It wasn’t anywhere near the Excel town fountain. Corwin’s trump had stopped working when Gerard had arrived at the Lanky Mayor tavern, at the beginning of his time in this new Realm. The card hadn’t worked since and Corwin had confirmed on his return that he couldn’t allow it to be mended. That meant Gerard could try to reach his nephew only by direct mental contact. A taxing thing, just to think about. He moved through several ways to involve a third relative to reach Corwin but these were too fraught with unnecessary complications. Gerard had to do this on his own. He set his jaw in determination.
He thought, Come ‘King of Amber’, let’s see you earn your would-be title. Figure it out. Start with the Chaeryn…
Storfa was a Chaeryn. They were never a numerous group and their numbers were fewer than ever before. They still could count A’Bramha as their leader and for as long as that held true the Chaeryn needed to be considered. The Chaeryn had changed however, and if anything, consideration of the Chaeryn might need to be heightened. A’Bramha might be a Chaeryn but he was more important than this. It might even be that A’Bramha was only choosing to be a Chaeryn. What he was would allow him to be whatever suited him. A’Bramha was a Dragon. Gerard knew this was an old title that some forgotten places used to refer to a king. In this case, the title meant more than the Chaeryn being a king. A’Bramha was a Noble Thought. Gerard was willing to accede that if A’Bramha and others including Typhon were to be given a title, ‘Dragon’ was a fitting one.
Storfa was A’Bramha’s closest confidante among the Chaeryn. Knowing that A’Bramha was more than leader of the group meant that Gerard needed to be mindful of the fact that Storfa was more their leader than he’d realised. A’Bramha might be considered their patron as much as their leader. Storfa and the other Chaeryn shared traits that made them powerful practitioners of an elemental nature. They revealed this only rarely. When they did choose to use their greater powers, these were evidenced by the appearance of’ horns’ appearing on their bodies. Storfa’s ‘horns’ appeared above his eyes, forming sharp weapons for him to use. Sinquenquayda’s appeared in place of his right hand and left arm, creating sharpest blades. Gerard mulled these things over. He did not recall ever seeing A’Bramha’s ‘horn’. Things must never have been that dire.
“Just One.” Storfa’s statement was eloquent in its brevity. Its meaning could be defined in various ways. Gerard had visited with the Herald Lien. Lien had great access to knowledge but Gerard’s question was a matter was beyond him. Lien had said that the matter might be resolved by the Grand Ajudicator of Heralds. Gerard could wait for the answer. He almost wanted to wait because if the answer was what he expected, he would have to reappraise much of his family’s history. It would also mean that A’Bramha’s cause and his family’s interests might be linked in new and intractable ways.
Gerard stirred the font’s water with his broad hand sending small waves across to the opposite, marble wall. He was good at breaking his train of thought. Bad at starting them maybe but good at stopping. Getting lost in a thought might undo a lesser man. It was another kind of strength he possessed, one that few knew about him. Before he could remove his hand from beneath the water, he felt a warm rush brush across his fingertips. A warmth that set aflame memories of another, golden lifetime. He was tempted by the memories. They belonged to some of his greatest achievements. He withdrew his hand, curtly refusing whatever this invitation was. That golden time also held some of his darkest moments.
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Fourteen Minutes before Dusk:
The golden, heated invitation did not originate in the cold water of the font or the fountain’s surrounding market square. Gerard looked for the source of a vanished, Godly power. It was a day for re-appraisal, he thought; first, his family’s approaches to further existence and now this ‘understood to be gone’ version of the Sacrament. Gerard had served them in the Second Realm. There had been a member of the Veightal for each Amberite’s nature. Things had gone well. The Veightal proved to be the only, best choice of pantheons. Amber’s first family had no doubt helped the Veightal to gain the prominence it did. Gerard could not claim that this was the main reason for their ascension. The Veightal grew of its own accordance and became mightier than any visionary could have predicted. It had all collapsed. Not under its own weight, nor was it due to folly or self-destruction. The great union of unlike, godly minds had succumbed to the antagonism of a mind madly devoted to its self-realised thought. All of existence was brought to its knees by the Monstrous Thought of the Mule. He hadn’t sought more than the end of the Veightal. The end of everything else had been unplanned for. The Mule’s expansionary plan swallowed more than he asked for but not more than he accepted. He was only too pleased to take much more than he’d expected with his great design. At the end, even the Mule had realised his own tenuous grasp on reality was threatened by his attack. Somehow, he’d managed to save himself.
Gerard knew all this. He’d fought until the end. Saw the Mule make his escape. Oberon did not, having long before seen what was to come. The king of Amber had taken himself to the Third Realm leaving all of the kingdom behind him. All except his potential dream of the throne.
Gerard had not escaped so he needed to be saved. So had a few others. Recent admissions of A’Bramha made it true to say the Chaeryn leader – now it seemed, revealed as a Dragon -- had made this happen. The others of Amber had to survive or perish on their merit. Some had survived. Gerard saw that the Dragon A’Bramha had chosen him and none of the others of Amber to save. A’Bramha had a use for him. Now all he needed to do was understand what the Dragon's plan might be about.
The golden heat would not be smothered. It clamored for Gerard’s attention. Thoughts interrupted, he looked to the street on his right. He could see an aura he had known as Horus-Ra. Gerard stood and faced the direction of a dead sun’s rising. He looked to see a dawn but he knew that sun was far-extinguished by the Mule’s flood waters. Gerard’s features played with a torment. He loved the water as few men ever had. For it to be the source of the end of all the worlds he’d cared about was too much. He had thought never to look upon again this personal misery. The horizon was hidden behind the town walls. Gerard discerned a glow. A gold sheen to the sky in the Veightal’s holiest direction. The golden light expanded in an arc. The Solar Disc.
The symbol of the God-King, Ra.
Gerard stood and did not kneel. He was no supplicant.
He changed his mind. He would kneel. He was to be a king. A king must know he serves.
No. This was wrong. For him, it was a temptation but not what he must do.
He straightened. The disc turned red. A setting sun. The light dwindled as the disc went into eclipse, a ruddy circle the colour of long-ago spilled blood gone dry. The font's water turned dark. Gerard had denied the drowned sun and now he felt regret for it.
The pool's water brightened. Not a return of the extinguished, bloody Light but a colour more akin to molten gold. The burnished hues of liquid golden warmth. Gerard licked his lips in worry and anticipation. He might know this warmth as well. He became more sure that he knew who's warmth he was feeling. She came to him...
Gerard tried to stiffen his spine. His strength in resisting his impulses had been well tested. He felt tired, as if he’d wrestled for a day and a night. Sound. He heard -- music? Not the bardic kind of music. This was the music of the worshipers of the Lady. Priestess-Princess-Mother-Daughter-Sister. All had called her Queen and she had been both wife and mother to Ra. If her revelers were atop the causeway that floated before him, then it could only mean Isis was there too. Gerard asked for his strength to be renewed and it was so. He started. He had not meant for Her to give him strength. He'd meant to gain strength to resist her. As his tiredness sped away from him like a fast cutter-ship moved away from a fleet of barges, he bit at his lower lip. Gerard knew he had not asked Isis to do this. He knew he had not prayed for his strength. Isis had done this at her whim. She was the Goddess. Gerard felt shame for denying her power and shame for embracing her gift. Even her unasked for and ghostly touch was something he prized more than he cared to look at.
“Isis. I thank you.”
“Child of my Children. You stood for us when most had fled. I was not surprised, Gerard of the Immortals. I loved you, better than those who named me Goddess. If I had come to you, stepping out from the river, draped only in the waters of life, scented only in the waters of love, garbed in pearls and Mother-of-Pearl, would you have chosen another or me?”
“I… I served the Veightal. I served the Phoenix… I served the Cygnus.”
“Gerard… Speak not in words that do the Sphinx of Gizha honour. Tell me as you would your chosen woman, gallant sailor of the Seven Realms' Seass.. Speak to me of your spirited, Ambered heart. I reside best in the hearts of the living. Gerard, your life has always shone.”
“If there was a way…”
“There was once. In our Golden Palace, the miracle of re-animation was no more than a magician’s trickery. The miracle of passage through the underworld was a conjurer’s gift. The miracle of divine resurrection was a thing for demi-gods. Now, I am less than you. It is you the living who hold sway and life’s gifts. Who am I? I am what you rule. Your memory places me at your service. We Gods took from you and now We are made bereft by Our actions. Our fate is held by your fragile lives, your inconstant memories and in the monster-Mule’s treachery.”
“Queen of Life, I cannot do this... It is a thing of my past. I must serve my family and my kingdom. It is my place. I am ashamed to say it to you.”
“It is as it must be. We had our time in the Sun. Now we are suborned. To lie forever beneath the Mule’s water, where the Light cannot be felt, in the depths of Darkness.”
“The Mule does not serve Darkness, Lady of Light. I have heard this told by more than one who know.”
“Thoth knows this too and he is most wounded so it must be truth.”
“Most wounded? He died. I am sorry to tell it but it was confirmed by Amon that the God of Thoughts died on the streets of Kharnak.”
“History is always written by the victor. The Mule wrote the history that you know.”
“I do not understand.”
“Because you are mighty but you are still a man. The acts of Gods are not to be yours to know, not then and not less now that We are no more.”
“You toy with me and I know you do not mean to.”
“I seduce you, Gerard. Let me not hide this from you. And now I leave you and My seduction will continue. Fear sleep’s sand in your eyes. Sleep is My kingdom. I pitch My tented home on the bank of the Golden River’s waters. King of Amber, when sleep comes upon you, dream not of Isis on her golden barge.”
Gerard felt the music of Isis’s worshipers recede from his ears. The streets of Excel returned from golden light to mundane drab, beige reality. A lesser man would feel overcome. Any man might feel undone and less than sure of himself having been told that he was being manipulated by so great a memory. Gerard only smiled and set his jaw firmly. His tunic’s tight-fitted collar strained to keep closed as he left the market square. He practically marched to the tavern that Handfist had told him would host the contest. Gerard felt rejuvenated as he hadn’t since his arrival in the Third Realm. If nothing else it felt good to have a pursuer he could not evade. Gerard was a man strong of body and mind and now restored to a heart he had tried not to lose. There was in him a love greater than his regard for the Sea. He did not know what he would do with it.
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Fifty-six Minutes after Dusk:
‘The Gryphon’s Blinded Eye’ was half-ruin. Each floor apart from the main one was badly damaged. At each of the four upper stories, the centre portion of the floor was missing. Thin ropes had been placed around the openings for safety’s sake but if the size of the cords was anything to judge by, the concern for people’s well-being was a footnoted kind.
The owner had left Excel the morning after the damage had occurred. This was to find a builder to make repairs in the old style and to make orders for the re-supplying of the emptied cellars. The Dwarf-Diminished and his drinking ‘pals’ had made both of these errands necessary. He had not returned.
Handfist arrived first. His brief talk to Alchor Evatinn, the bartender was enough to tell the Dwarf that he was in a mess. An hour remained before the invited guests of the Lord Protector arrived for what the invitation Handfist had sent out this yesterday called,
There was a Dwarf that did not bother to get off his stool, however. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Three Hours and Two Minutes after Dusk: Gloom swept over Handfist’s face and settled there like the first of a miserable season’s set of storms. He’d lost the wager. The guild would want their money and they’d get it. The Office of the Exchequer was ‘good’ for it. Handfist looked at the happy thronging crowd and scowled. What a joke. A joke at his expense. Gerard looked happy about his loss. That made no sense to Handfist. No sense at all. The Amberite had lost the bout and his wager. He couldn’t be that good an actor, no matter how great a set of liars he came from. King's-piss, the man looked positively gleeful. What did he have to be happy about? Handfist had seen enough. He slipped off the front of his high stool and approached Gerard and the victor. “Handfist! Just the Dwarf I need to see.” Said Gerard. “Yeah? You see me. Go right ahead. Talk.” “Ren here is interested in the wagering that was made in his name? Apparently, the Exchequer has guaranteed a very unfortunate amount in a dubious bet. The winners of this wager would like to know when the Office of the Exchequer will next be open to pay up.” Handfist replied by glowering. Ren looked at Handfist. The man’s expression was one of curiosity. Ren wasn’t pleased with what was being revealed here, but the victory and Gerard’s seeming control of the situation made him less concerned than he would normally be. Added to his reaction was the knowledge that it had been at least a month since Handfist had done anything outlandish so the Dwarf was due... Gerard continued, “The thieves’ guild will need to be paid promptly, Exchequer. I wouldn’t be slow in handing over the monies.” After the initial shock of learning that thieves resided in Excel had passed Ren said, “Are you saying all my funds have been lost?” Ren was less concerned than he should be as he was of the mistaken belief that his funds were wanting in size. The Dwarf had been reluctant with the exact amounts held within the treasury in case a discrepancy might be 'required'. Handfist swallowed as he realised that Ren’s attitude might change a bit when that fact was revealed… Gerard continued, “Ren, you will recall that we had a side wager, a gentleman’s bet on the outcome tonight?” Ren had actually forgotten about the verbal agreement they’d made at the end of the council session. If Gerard were to lose, the Amberite had agreed to become part of the Council. Ren hadn’t really paid much mind as he hadn’t expected them both to face each other and because it made almost no sense for Gerard to flatly refuse the White Council but allow for his joining it under such a strange condition. Ren’s look of pleased realisation made Handfist even more morose. Gerard was outlining some things to come, “I can’t be your admiral but there are good choices about. More vitally, there is no direct run to the sea. There would be an Officer of Public Works? One who would bear the responsibility for surveying the river that runs from the Freehold to the inlet?” Renaissance looked at the sad looking Dwarf. “I have a new position for you. The Exchequer will be closed after tomorrow for some period due to insolvency and it would be poor leadership to leave such a valued member as you with nothing to do. A new Exchequer regime might make a great deal more sense too.” Handfist had no words to dodge with. He couldn’t parry this move by Ren. He was cornered. He said, “Public works? Helping people with their roof tiles? There must be someone better for this?” Gerard said, “The river will need dredging and at points widening. A suitable role for the famed Dwarfish diggers.” “There’s only me and my two guys! The river’s a hundred miles from here to the sea. I don't want the position of Public Works Officer. Besides, the role is already held by the Goblin-King Whs. He’ll probably ask you to be nice to him and not strip him of his title.” Ren had not been aware of Whs being in Excel. Some more foolery of the Dwarf’s doing. As both Dwarf and Goblin were ‘kings’, Ren was confident two could work as well as one in the public works sector. “Best to get straight into it in the morning. Lots to do.” “I…” “Well said.” Handfist looked meaningfully at Gerard, “We need to talk privately.” “Certainly, good King. I will make myself available upstairs. Room eight. The one with the missing water closet. It went missing during last night’s accident. I believe you were aware of my room’s proximity to the disturbance?” Handfist quickly replied, mostly because he couldn’t afford any too close inspection of why the previous night’s accident had involved Gerard’s room, “Right. I’ll meet you there. I’m sure you want to celebrate with your friends. “Aye, I do. You will stay or I will know you count yourself without of this grouping.” “I don’t feel like it.” “Unless you are sick, wounded or grieving I will not hear of it. What you want to talk about will wait. Understood?” “Ohh -- Kay.” “Good… Now — Ren what is his title again?”
“Master Builder, I think would suit him. Also, I think you Gerard, will take the vacated position of Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
By your leave, Lord Protector... Right, Master Builder, fetch Ren and me an ale. No wait… Make that two ales — each. One for each win, hmm?” “Your real title is ‘a right and proper ______ ’, you know that, Gerard?” “Yes, Liegelord, I know.” It was three hours and fourteen minutes after dusk. In times to come, whenever Handfist needed to be pulled back into line, mentioning this exact time of day was all that was needed. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Seven Hours and Seven Minutes after Dusk: Gerard relaxed in room eight. Floor standing candelabras crafted in the fashion like those last seen on his Inundated flagship, stood in each corner of the room. He often traveled with items like this; a habit of a man always away from home. It was comforting to have some things that reminded of what mattered. It was for this same reason that he had transported his ‘chair’ here as well. It looked like a chair fit for a king although it wasn’t a throne. He poured himself a silvered wine from a decanter. He'd expected Handfist to come barging in some hours earlier but he hadn't. Gerard had changed into a black, fur trimmed coat that he preferred to lounge in. He'd had time to clean himself up and even see to his beard. The events of the evening were finished with. It had gone exceedingly well. He tasted the wine. Silvered wines were among his favourite drinks of Logresse. Ren had seemed amused and grateful. Gerard had a fair degree of time and patience for the efforts Ren was going to. Gerard's only concerns were in what it might take to get the forces developing on Logresse to be comfortable if faced with the need to deal with those of the Canticle. For now though, there was some time to spare. The door thumped loudly from its other side. Gerard put a knowing smirk on his face and said, "It's open, Handfist." The Dwarf shot into the room, looking half-angry and half-expectant. Gerard said, "Thought I'd be behind the door or waiting with a club?" "You'd have been smart to prepare some kind of welcome." "I'm not the wounded party. It's me who should expect reprisal." "I only want to know one thing. How’d you know about the clause? You’ve been off dealing with Oberon and Anhur and whatever else. You haven’t been here at all. You show up with this ‘plan’ and then somehow you set me up and you come out on top. How did you know about the clause, Gerard, and don’t tell me it’s Trump card magick or some Colour special effect.”
“Amber is the Great City. It is also the Great Kingdom that all kingdoms emulate. At its founding I was present and witnessed many things as Oberon’s right hand. One of these things I saw done was by my father’s hand. He was a decent writer as you might imagine. One document he wrote was entitled, Amber’s Great Chancellery of the Exchequer... Gerard paused not for melodramatic reasons but because he wanted the Dwarf to understand. Gerard continued,
”Amber is the original kingdom...”
Handfist finished the thought. It was a sentence he’d heard so often it was ingrained in his memory, “... of which all others are but shadowy reflections.”
“Spot on, King.” Gerard’s face was smug satisfaction. "The clause was in the Amber original."
“I’m afraid so.” "You know what they say, Gerard? 'Revenge is a dish best served old." "Old, is it?", Gerard's smirk grew and to hide that it threatened to become an outright smile, he sipped for a time at his wine glass before saying, “I hope to live so long."
‘An evening of Superior Entertainments of the 'Olde Excel Towne' Variety. Make Your way to the 'Gryphon’s Blinde Eye' tavern, where after Receiving a Generous Snootfulle of best Dwarfen Ales of a Lost Brewing Arte, a Contest Moste basic yet challenging will be held for Your amusement. How Action! How Excitement! How Exaltatious! How Excrement! BE there at 2 hours past the Dropping Lighte or be barred from Entry.’
Handfist had composed and written each invitation out himself as he thought that more convincing than anything a proper scrivener could make for him. He wanted his name associated with what happened. It would make his profits all the sweeter.
All this was before he and his drinking cohorts had drunk the place dry and managed to all get into a bathing tub on the topmost floor of the tavern. It had been a challenge issued to see if they could all get in and still have some water in the tub. They’d almost succeeded when the floor had given way. One floor’s failure had led to another… and another. A cascade that only ended when they’d all been dumped to the main floor. Handfist had waved off the owner’s claims with a promise to pay for the damages after the next evening’s event. He hadn’t been aware of the lack of drink though. Now, with an hour before the event began, Handfist knew he was backed right up against a disaster.
He had his two dwarf followers. That was something. He issued instructions with all the majesty a harried king under siege could command. His two dwarfs saluted and set off with wide steps to make good his issued order. They would go to Mother’s tavern and by the tunneled access the Dwarfs had built, ‘borrow sufficient’ ales. This meant all the ales. Dwarfs were not a precise people -- except when it came to building.
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Thirty-five Minutes before Dusk:
Handfist headed in another direction than his two Dwarfs. He went to the graveyard. He had made friends with the graveyard attendant family there. The family was an odd bunch.
‘Damned’, thought Handfist. Damned is what became of people that made graves their living. Living off the dead was no way to live. That said, the boy named Lowthiss was something else. The kid seemed touched by the town in a way that no other Handfist had met was. The kid couldn’t be more than nine years of age but had a disarming way of making Handfist spill his inner guts’ thoughts. Handfist only visited the graveyard when he was thoroughly drunk. Other times he was a little unnerved by the ‘damned family’ and 'the kid'. Tonight, would have to be different. Handfist couldn’t get hammered before talking to the kid. It went better than he could have hoped.
“Hey kid.” Handfist had observantly opened when he spotted the boy.
“Hi there, Handfist. It is good to see you here again. Blessed be you and your kin.”
“Let’s leave the dead out of it, okay?”
“But the dead are all you have. You told me so yourself. I have mentioned their names to the Gods, so that they will have drink and weapons.”
“Names? I gave you names?”
“Yes. I hope I said them right. You were slurring and some of the names are easily mixed-up. Was her name Greatheld Axenbattle or Greta-Hel Battleaxe?"
"You know if it wasn't you, Lowthiss, I'd be certain you were having some fun at my expense."
"I will pray that the ones who would make fun of you will be made to pay. I will pray to Bes, He of Luck and Bast, She of Blackest Cats and to Set, He who will visit a pox on these, and to Amon, He who will erase their names from his Great Book."
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Eighteen Minutes before Dusk:
“You’d better be careful with your prayers, kid. Some of the gods were kinda... odd.” Handfist had wanted to say evil but he was an adult and the child might ask questions that the child wouldn’t truly understand the answers Handfist would give.
“Yes, I know. You think of Set and Amon. They are troubling to those who do not understand.”
“Stone me kid, I’m glad you know enough to stay away from those two.”
“I would never stay away! Not from any of the Gods. It would be wrong to judge them as I might look at you. They are not mortals. I am not so special that I can say what any of them do is wrong or right. They move in Light, I do not.”
“Look kid, you’re way off. Set was definitely a bad, bad, son of a — See, I don’t actually know who his parents were but he was evil, okay? He made the others gods weaker. He stole, he plotted, he murdered his brother Osiris. That’s all you need to know.”
“Did Set not come to save his brother Osiris when he was Osiris-Ra? When all the Veightal were fooled by the Mule, it was Set who saw through this miscreant’s mysterious linen gauzes and revealed his mad mind to the Gods. I have been told the stories. I think Set is mighty.”
“Forget the gilding. It’s a trick to make a golden thing to look worth more than it is. A surface made more valuable than the substance underneath, understand? Amon was a god of death and horror. For all anybody knows he helped the Mule do his work.”
“Mighty King, when you say this, you do Amon great disservice. He held the dying Realm within him as it passed. He suffered immense pain in the collecting of so many spirits. Never before had the derivations of Life been so reduced. Amon became Amon-Ra with this Ascension. Horus-Ra took himself to the underworld and left the Veightal crowns to Amon... Hail to you, Amon-Ra, God-King of the Dead Kingdom. King of the Flooded Desert lands. God of the Departed and God of the Kingdoms of Emptiness.”
Handfist stared at the child. A gold aura just barely lit the boy’s right hand. The kid had a way with words, alright. Amon wasn’t a god that Handfist actually knew much about. He’d had a goat’s head and those weird eyes and a nice set of plated armour. Handfist had pretty much always dismissed Amon, as he never seemed to get into any fighting. Why wear a suit of armour if you weren’t about to use it? Handfist used his typical, habitual response -- he spoke his mind unconsidered.
“Say kid, answer me this: Why would Amon wear armour as good as my dad’s, if he never got into fights? Seems a dumb thing for a bright god to do.”
“Why do you grow out your beard? As you do not comb it, it seems a dumb thing to do for a bright Dwarf to do.”
“That. Was. A. Bad. Answer.”
“Haha! Do not get angry, Dwarf-King. I will try again...” The boy Lowthiss’s face grew serious. “ Amon wore, ‘... his armour of blackest iron’s heart. Amon strode all fields; those of battle and those of farmers, those of flowers and those of study. Amon needed His armour to stand against the Arrow of Time. When all had died, the God of Death would remain. His armour is His House. The Iron House of the Dead.“
Handfist didn’t respond for a moment after this. When he spoke he said, “You should be careful what books you read. I don’t know where you found a book like it but it can’t be good for a young mind.”
The boy laughed, “Have you never heard that, ‘Dwarves and stones may bury my bones but words will always teach me.’?”
“It’s Dwarfs. Not Dwarves. Everybody gets that wrong. “
“It is not wrong. It is correct to say ‘Dwarves’ now because the Dwarfs are no more.”
“No kid, they always got it wrong back then. Nowadays people don’t call us Dwarves. Now we’re the Diminished.”
“I don't like the name, Diminished... So if there are no Dwarfs now, there might be some Dwarves later. I read up on your Kind. The Book of the Dead said that you father had trouble saying his ‘F’s’? I can only think he would have said Dwarves not Dwarfs.”
“Your book is wrong.”, Handfist almost snarled his next words,” Dad used to say something more like, ‘Dwarghs’... Imagine how good you’d talk if your mouth’d been split through by a human halberd. You can't convince me that there's a chance to get back to where we used to be.”
Lowthiss was an exemplary boy. He could see in the Dwarf-King’s manner much hurt and hopelessness. He saw the desperation that the Dwarf didn’t want to admit to himself. Lowthiss wanted to help Handfist. He truly liked the Dwarf. The boy knew the Dwarf was given to many things that might cause men to doubt but outweighing all these things was Handfist’s spirited desire for harmony. This Dwarf was a giant in his acceptance of those unlike himself. The world asked for such as him.
The boy decided to risk Handfist’s ire and speak once more from the Book of the Dead. Amon’s Great Book…
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Five minutes before Dusk:
“In the First Realm, in the rule of Osiris-Ra the First, the Races lived separate lives. Dwarf, Veer, Human and Vast dwelt alone and apart from each other.
A young King arose among the Dwarfs. His name was Hardfrost. He was a great King of Dwarfs. Strong and stout was his body, his mind, his heart.
In his hillside he brought forth the gold and wealth of the worlds. In his heart he had no greed. He gave to his people and in time he brought to the other peoples of the Realm, the wealth of Light’s Well.
The peoples of Man rejoiced when the Dwarfen King opened his hills to them. Men praised to the Skies the wonder of metal brought to them by the Dwarfen-King. Below the Sky-Fortesses, on No Man’s Land, King Hardfrost built Sainted Ark for all Races to join together in.
The Veer could do nothing but write songs to sing Hardfrost’s praises as they loved him for his gifts of forging. Their instruments now remained ever tuneful and bright and young. He gifted to the Sprite her Great Bow and her instrument, Fiddlien. The Dwarfen-King commanded his people to raise up the First City and Tanelorn arose. Tanelorn, the Dreaming City, said to be the most gracious of Cities.
The Vastness took Hardfrost across their oceans, as their Brother, to their Mountain homes and he taught them how to build as greatly beneath the water as above. Then when the Vast could ask no more, King Hardfrost bade his folk to show the Vast how the Dwarfs could build strong ships to ply the oceans that flowed beyond worlds.
So, the King of Dwarfs brought his Kind into the Light.
Hardfrost grew old, a thing that is hard for a Dwarf to do. Dwarfs do not die from age but from accident or from weapon blow. Osiris-Ra, who loved the Dwarfen King, blessed him. Osiris-Ra called to the Human Kings to attend him. He called for the Vastness Rulers to come. He called to the Veer Lords to make their presence felt.
King Hardfrost heard of this and grew sad. Osiris-Ra did not call for the Dwarfen-King or his loyal Dwarf-Cairns.
Osiris-Ra went to the King of Dwarfs disguised as a crocodile. He told King Hardfrost that Osiris-Ra had tricked all the Vastness, Human and Veer monarchs and they were imprisoned. King Hardfrost would not believe this of the God-King. He threatened the troublesome crocodile and told it to swim away or feel his might. Osiris-Ra then revealed himself and said, “Come with me, Dwarf-King and leave your Cairn Lords behind to defend your lands forevermore.”
King Hardfrost went with the God-King to far-off Kharnak, City of the Gods. The Kings of Kinds were glad to greet the Dwarf-King when he arrived with Osiris-Ra.
Osiris-Ra called for quiet. All stood before the King of the Gods and the King of the Dwarfs. To all the Kings of Kinds it was suddenly seen that the Dwarf-King was weary. Old but bowing only to Time and Osiris-Ra.
The God-King anointed Hardfrost with his Light. With the Scepter of Anhk, Osiris — May He Fly Forever — blessed the Dwarf stating, “May Life’s gifts rest among your Kind. May the Dwarfs be fixed among all those who wander. Steady among all those who sway. Resolute among all those who doubt. Let it be known that the Children of Ptah -- Dwarf among the Gods yet Mighty -- will forever reside in Ra’s Golden House.”
The assembled Kings of Vastness, Veer and Humanity knelt before Osiris-Ra but He admonished them. He said that they bowed before him when it should be another.
Then the God-King did something not seen before. He removed one of his two Crowns. The assembled Kings of Kinds and Gods saw Osiris as he was before he was made One with Ra. Osiris the Young strode down from his dais and took to his knee before the Dwarfen King and paid him due homage. It was then that the old Dwarfen King walked into the Golden House of Ra. None of the assembled Kings of Kinds wept. All felt gladdened to have been there to witness his leaving. All wished to earn similar passage.
The Kings of Kinds swore to never let the name of Hardfrost fade from others’ ears...
In time, as is the way of all peoples, Hardfrost’s name was forgotten.”
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Dusk:
Handfist could only stare at the boy as Lowthiss finished talking. He had never heard of his people spoken of in this way before. The words filled him like a best meal and drink might, back when he had enjoyed eating and drinking. Handfist looked away from where the sun had set. Despite its absence, the Dwarf felt warm. Handfist liked the feeling. The words stayed with him. He didn’t think he could forget them. He knew he didn’t want to.
The sun had gone but Light swelled beyond the fence of the cemetery. Two statues of Gods of the Veightal on the other side of the fence shone with internal light. Handfist tried twice to speak before swallowing hard and saying, “Let’s get the wagon to the altar of Anubis. He owes me a favour.”
“You are blessed, King. Anubis does not come often to the town. Even less than the others. I see that he awaits you.”
“Sure, kid. I’m sure he’s waiting for me.”
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Two hours and Twenty-one minutes past Dusk:
Gerard took in the tavern’s main room. He liked what he saw. The taproom was filled with guests, travelers staying upstairs on a lucky night and townspeople who had heard that there would be something worth seeing tonight. Gerard looked for and found Handfist. The Dwarf was assisting in getting the ale tankards to the tavern-goers that might be the toughest to please. Gerard figured the night had begun a few minutes later than the Dwarf had planned for. Other tavern staff were attending those patrons more interested in wine than beer, by ladling a red liquid into glasses. Scooped from large open-topped barrels, as the red wine left the ladles for the drinkers’ glasses, the wine turned a rose-gold colour. Golden wines were rare. Gerard wondered at the Dwarf’s surprising ability to come up with this kind of thing so often.
A lucky Dwarf, the Amberite mused. Gerard needed Handfist to use up all his luck within the next half-hour or so. Things might go closer than Gerard had calculated for. When things got close, too close to account for, luck could make all the difference. Gerard eyed Ren. The man looked well, sitting with Absolom. Absolom’s presence here was fitting if not surprising. The Alpha Man was a suitable witness to the affairs held here. With them sat a Veer. Gerard stretched for the Veer’s name. Degnar… Dagnyr. Yes, Dagnyr was the Veer’s name. Gerard knew nothing of him. A pledging of Dragon A’Bramha, as Renaissance had said. Gerard had no mind for considering this at the moment. The odds-makers needed to be paid and the thieves of ‘Olde Excel Towne’ needed coercing. Gerard didn’t want the thieves working the tavern’s crowded floors ruining his bigger scheme.
Gerard watched as Ironmane moved through the tavern’s crowd. People made way for the Battering Lion. His appearance was almost too harshly odd here. It was probably the mechanical hands. Ironmane seemed uncaring or unaware of the unease he was making in people. Melin, who Gerard knew as an Eternal Champion, watched also but in the Veer caster’s case, his observation was more cynical. Melin had the dubious conjunction of sorcery, Veer wisdom and emotional turbulence within him. Gerard viewed the Veer with dispassionate judgement. Melin had depths to plumb yet. Logresse would come to know the Veer's powers before all was done with.
Gerard had hoped to meet with the Herald Lien but so far the man had avoided arriving. A wise man, thought Gerard, if he was disinterested in Handfist's 'contest. Gerard's further crowd watching was halted by a new arrival. Renaissance's steward entered the tavern and, as usual in any venue he came into, he became the centre of attention.
"Let all who attend above in the rafters and levels above, those surrounding me with fervor to share, those who are absent but wish to be here and those who will learn of this night's test later and will live on in regret to have missed it, Welcome to the Gryphon's Blind Eye and the Contest of Strength!"
Cheers and a general loud hum of many blending conversations lifted and grew. Versailles signaled with his ebony walking stick. The multi-tiered crowd stilled.
"Tonight, over the next hour, there will be a test. Observe our centre-stage. It looks small does it not? A tiny box, barely six inches high and six feet at most, from one side to the opposite side. What of consequence could occur in such an inconsequential rhombus? A square like no other, I assure you all! Behold that the pen is filled with water... simple water. Not acid, not a liquid fouled by creatures hideous to concieve of, not poisoned by the dread giant crabs of the Orbed Sea. Just an ankle's depth of water. It need not be otherwise to pose a dilemma most cunning for those faced with its present application, I assure you. If you were great enough, you might be asked to stand within this water pit. Ahh, some few of you are indeed great enough. If you are not and your friends are not, then look about the tavern... Who is here and great enough to be asked to step into the water? Perhaps you spy at least one here who might be so great? Have you placed a wager? Need you know more before you risk no more than you can afford to part with?"
Gerard and Handfist exchanged a long glance at this point. The Dwarf looked impassive. Gerard smirked as he looked away. For Handfist to show such self-control was most unusual. The Dwarf was truly committing to the plan. Gerard was entered in the contest. This 'water-pit' was a result of the damage done to the tavern the night before. The pit was actually placed below the hole caused by the collapsed floors above. Rain had already made placing the pit there well-arranged.
Versailles's speech had ended in another, louder, longer roar. Even as it decreased but before it ended, Versailles announced the first bout. Two would enter the water-pit and clasped at each other's wrist with their own right hand, take up a stance meant to provide as much traction as might be managed against the slippery wood of the pit's base. There was to be no addition made to the pit's water; not oil to increase the slipperiness nor grit to decrease it, was permitted. Only force could be applied. Leverage, balance, shiftiness, strength and guile were welcomed. No strikes could be offered, although Versailles did not discount that the threat of such or similar could be suggested as long as they were not committed to. It was up to the other contestant to remember that these were only feints and not real.
Before Gerard had much more time to consider things it was his turn. He hadn't truly had a thought to spare for the contest. He hadn't even heard the fellow's name announced but he heard his own afterward and the quiet that came over the crowd made him wonder who he'd been matched against. Surely, Versailles hadn't failed to realise that he must face Renaissance at the end? Gerard needn't have worried. Versailles was after all, the Master of Ceremonies. Gerard sighed, sending the bettors into a last minute scurrying of exchanges. Gerard hadn't sighed from any malaise or worry. His sigh was that of relief. He hadn't brought Versailles in on his plan. It had been a risk he had decided was too large. The more involved in any scheme, the less successful it was likely to be.
Across from Gerard, on the other side of the water-pit stood Sir Wallone A'Cery. A broad man and a worthwhile warm-up, Gerard decided. He'd dispense with the elder knight and go and grab a drink before the next bout.
Moments later, Gerard needed all his balance to barely keep himself inside the pit's confines. His right boot-heel was atop the pit's side wall's edge. Of each foot, only his toes were submerged. What had this Wallone of Miranse done to gain the advantage over him? Gerard had been confident. There was little reason not to be. He was stronger than anyone here. He would need more than confidence. He'd learned this at times. Be confident but temper it with an understanding of the world beyond your body's bounds, you fool. Get into this knight, while you're about it. Gerard flexed his grip, shifting his last three fingers to bring more purchase to where they grasped the knight's bracer. Sweet leverage, I have you! Gerard thought. He pushed away and felt the other man slide backward, first Wallone's lead foot and then both feet. Gerard's supporters shouted encouragement. He brought the thick muscles of his famous forearms into play. It was a long, quiet struggle but inevitably the other man's shoulders slumped or shrugged. It didn't matter which they did, as both held the same meaning: the contest was over. Sir Wallone of the Great Centre Kingdoms of Logresse, exited the pit.
A great cry rose from the onlookers. Money flew between the bettors. Gerard looked to Handfist and saw that as planned, the Dwarf looked for no winnings. Good. The Dwarf hadn't weakened for easy profit. He was staked to all the contests and to the final bout's outcome. There would be a greater profit this way as the risks were higher. Gerard went and got that beer he'd promised himself. He would have a few minutes until the next round.
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Two hours and Thirty-five minutes past Dusk:
Handfist swore under his beard. That had been too close. If he hadn't known Gerard's power, he'd have sworn that this Wallone had had Gerard near-beaten. That would have cost him everything and how to explain the loss of the exchequer's funds then? Gerard had to win through and claim final honours. It would be a good night but he needed a stout ale after that near call.
He resisted the urge to look at Gerard and grimace at him. He'd give him a serving of his displeasure later. First the winnings, second the re-counting of the winnings, third a laugh or two with the lads and then a cuff of the ear for Gerard. A perfect end to a glorious evening. He was even entered in the contest. It would be his turn soon. He didn't even have to win to win. He smiled a small smile as Dwarfs could and remain secretive about it, hidden as their small smiles were by their facial hair.
By the time Handfist entered the water-pit some three bouts later, he'd had the excellent idea of losing. He would step out of the pit a loser and not end up having to contest against Gerard. That might later be seen as cheating. Not a good thing to have thrown around. Better yet, he wouldn't have to face Ren. Handfist needed Ren to make the final bout. The plan hinged on it. If Handfist faced Ren, it would be impossible to lose to the man. Handfist trusted Gerard to defeat Ren but not Ren to beat himself. Sometimes Ren did strange things around him. Handfist knew the man meant well. He'd offered him a home here for example. He could never tell with Ren. Ren might even let a Dwarf beat him... Not a risk worth taking as much as winning a bout would be. There was money for the getting. Handfist could taste it.
It was his turn in the pit. He put up a 'valiant' defence but for naught. He tried to look disappointed as he walked away and appear to be recovering slowly afterward. Inside, he was already spending some of the funds he would accrue this evening... A set of armours for his lads each. A pony for -- "Well fought, Ironmane!" he called out. That had been a meaningless match. Any bout that didn't involve Ren or Gerard was nothing. Whoever got through to the next to final match were the only two Handfist had any kind of interest in. He looked over the winners. Ironmane. Renaissance, of course. Absolom... hmmm. Gerard. The Gunsen...too reserved to worry about. Meliadus... the sheepish one in wolf's clothing. Storfa. Storfa could be a problem. Handfist stared so hard at the Chaeryn that Storfa looked back at him. Handfist flinched but continued to stare. Look through him. Make like you're in thought and not actually looking at him. Ha! The Chaeryn had looked away. Not all tonight's victories are within the pit, Handfist thought.
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Two Hours and Thirty-three Minutes after Dusk:
Renaissance and Storfa gripped each other's arm. For Ren the experience was strange. Storfa's arm felt like a thing ever-changing. Before Ren could realise the arm was as hard as ebony wood, it would become as slippery as a greasy sausage on an empty, glass plate. If he tried to cope with this in any manner, the arm would become so light in weight that Ren felt as though he couldn't push it away or pull it toward himself because there was nothing there to move. His hand might as well try to grab a bank of fog that rolled down an alleyway. Ren wondered at all this as he and Storfa stood in the ankle-deep water of the pit. Storfa was not able to move Ren either. In Ren, Storfa had a simpler problem to solve. Storfa just needed to calculate one thing: How strong did he need to be to overcome Ren's might? The contest was cleverly designed. Few if any, would have ever matched strength in this particular way. Storfa doubted that even his fellow Chaeryn, Sinquenquayda would have tested himself like this. Storfa knew that the other Chaeryn would likely do better than he could. Storfa moved left to tease any kind of too rapid a response from the man before him. Storfa's strength was not up to this man's but his knowledge and limberness certainly had to be greater than Ren's.
It wasn't enough. Ren pushed Storfa back and back. Storfa's flexibility came to his last moment's defence. Calmly, the Chaeryn managed to slide both of his feet to either corner of the pit's boxed sides. His heels found purchase there for a second or more. Ren's leverage made Storfa yield. As he was bent backward, Storfa's heels stayed where they had been planted. With a controlled movement the Chaeryn bent further and further backward at the knees and waist. His long hair swept the floor outside the pit. Storfa's back hovered above the pit's low sides. If Ren had wanted to dispense with the rules of the contest, he could have simply let go of Storfa's arm and the Chaeryn would fall a couple of inches to the floor. Storfa could prevent his touching his feet outside the pit by using the crown of his head as a foundation and by making a tripod be almost imposssible to defeat. Neither desired to break the rules. Ren could easily stay in his commanding and superior position. Storfa might well be able to maintain this position for some time as well. Storfa had nothing to prove by doing so, however. He conceeded. Ren was through to the final bout. Gerard awaited him.
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Two Hours and Forty-two Minutes past Dusk:
Melin sat atop a raised and stepped throne. He’d made his entrance to this room through his own caste efforts so he had no fear that someone might be lingering here to attempt an assassination. Leaders of Melnibonean Veer had to be mindful of their loyal followers. Only those who were held ‘in sway’ could b trusted to be in a royal’s presence without fear of foul deed being committed.
Before him, some five steps below, stood the Delvish Veer, Dagnyr Perildar. The Delve were no longer a capable segment of Veerish society. Melin wasn’t too interested in this fact but it was a fact. Melin had no wish to involve the Delve in his more sordid national affairs. Sometimes expediency meant things had to be done that weren’t particularly appetising.
Melin was having second thoughts. Dagnyr was experienced but had little real knowledge as yet, of the nations of Logresse. It was perfectly valid to reveal his association with the Stamen Throne and the sword’s interest in the world. It might be a better thing that a Veer who was not ‘in sway’ knew of the sword’s location. At the very worst, this Dagnyr would serve to muddy already silt-filled waters. Damn the sword’s interests in any case. Melin owed it nothing more than enmity for its perfidious nature.
It was probably unfair to draw the Delve into the morass of Melnibonean intrigues but Melin had few enough options at his disposal. Dagnyr was Veer. He’d cope. Yyrkoon could worry about the unknown for a change. It would do Yyrkoon some good to have to deal with something he couldn’t readily manage wit ha simple word or caste. Melin chose to say less than he might have to the Delve. He knew where to find Dagnyr should he need the fellow. Dagnyr had come to some arrangement with Renaissance of Ranthurm. The newest kingdom of Logresse was still establishing its boundaries so for a time, Dagnyr’s general whereabouts would be easily known.
Melin dispensed with formalities and specifics and suggested a return to the tavern from which they’d both departed. Dagnyr was intelligent enough to agree. He might have asked to stay and serve or worse ask to join the sword’s cause. Luckily the Delve had done neither of these dangerous things.
A minute later they re-emerged from a casting’s fluorescence on the tavern’s second floor.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Two Hours and Fifty-six Minutes after Dusk:
Gerard tried not to look unconcerned. Once more the young man wished to know his own strength. Being a scion of Amber meant Gerard had grown accustomed to others desire to prove themselves against his level. Gerard didn’t actually know his level. To push his own limits might be more than dangerous. Reaching for that upper limit would imply that he’d placed himself in place too serious to long contemplate. It would be that, or some circumstance so terrible was occurring that Gerard would need to push himself. This situation was not terrible. Not for him…
Viewing Renaissance, Gerard was glad to see the man had kept up his physical capability through his spiritual slump. Gerard had never truly worried for Ren’s well-being. If Ren had begun to dress poorly and stopped eating, Gerard would have known things were getting out of hand. As it was, the man was in fine condition for the contest Handfist had devised. Good enough condition that the thieves who were the main bettors on Ren’s victory, would be making decent bets on ‘their man’. Gerard wondered if the guild had considered exactly how they would hide their wealth when they won. They’d be in possession of basically all the wealth of Ranthurm. Thieves with no reason to steal. Nothing left to steal. An opportunity for a ‘renaissance’ in a guild’s thinking, Gerard smiled at his inner mind's word play... An opportunity for a suitable thievish candidate and Ren had several prime choices for an incoming guild’s master. Absolom, Aunaur or Jack Shadowscoin or Gerard’s preference, Cabillion. Ren didn’t know about Cabillion. The good-natured master-thief had run afoul of the Monstrous known as Ellebore. That meant, Cabillion would take some saving. Gerard believed Ren would want the chance to be the thief’s rescuer.
Rescuing might be required here and now as Ren wasn’t holding back at all. Gerard’s bare feet were slipping on the wooden floorboards of the pit. He needed to pay some attention to the contest. It wouldn’t do to make it too clear that he wasn’t winning this test. The wagers placed would be nullified. Nullified made Gerard think of the new Veer once more. Dagnyr Perildar. An oddly demonstrative name. It wasn’t Veerish to have names that mention places or attributes. That was a more Human or Dwarf convention. This Dagnyr was liable to be unusual in other ways as well. Gerard found the Veer in the crowd. He was as intent on the contest as the rest. That was something of a reassurance. Dagnyr wasn’t one of those Veer that found most things beneath them. Gerard never got on well with those.
The crowd was an ocean swell that threatened to lift Ren and Gerard and carry them both away. The contest had reached a breaking point. It was to be decided. Gerard put in another effort. The crowd‘s clamor crashed crescendo over the two men in the pit. Gerard looked to be holding on against grim demise. He knew there would be no additional bets now. The crowd was too intent to stop watching for the climax to make any more bets. People hung from the edges of seats, leaned over the ragged openings of the floors above, strained to get a view past the heads of those in front of them. The crowd rose like the swell of an ocean intent on swamping an islet inhabited by just two warring men.
Gerard sensed the effort being made by the other man was reaching his maximum ability. Ren’s strength was actually rather impressive. Gerard could lose to worse. There was no shame in a fair effort not being enough on occasion. Ren increased the pressure on Gerard to step out of from the pit. For drama’s sake he allowed the crowd to see the true strength that Ren was exerting and fell backward to the floor. His fall was so sudden that Ren came forward with him. Their arms remained clasped together as Ren landed atop Gerard. The crowd launched into the air as one. Gerard, flat on his back and retaining his hold on Ren, pushed the victorious man up toward the ceiling. Gerard, with arm’s locked above his head, used some remaining reserve of strength, gained his feet to raise Ren aloft. Shouts and swearing came out of the crowd in appreciation of the display they had witnessed. All the participants were thrust forward to receive congratulations. Paraded above Gerard’s head as though he was flying using a caste magick, Ren smiled broadly at his famous win. No woman or man was seated. No one would deny Ren had earned the victory.
There was a Dwarf that did not bother to get off his stool, however. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Three Hours and Two Minutes after Dusk: Gloom swept over Handfist’s face and settled there like the first of a miserable season’s set of storms. He’d lost the wager. The guild would want their money and they’d get it. The Office of the Exchequer was ‘good’ for it. Handfist looked at the happy thronging crowd and scowled. What a joke. A joke at his expense. Gerard looked happy about his loss. That made no sense to Handfist. No sense at all. The Amberite had lost the bout and his wager. He couldn’t be that good an actor, no matter how great a set of liars he came from. King's-piss, the man looked positively gleeful. What did he have to be happy about? Handfist had seen enough. He slipped off the front of his high stool and approached Gerard and the victor. “Handfist! Just the Dwarf I need to see.” Said Gerard. “Yeah? You see me. Go right ahead. Talk.” “Ren here is interested in the wagering that was made in his name? Apparently, the Exchequer has guaranteed a very unfortunate amount in a dubious bet. The winners of this wager would like to know when the Office of the Exchequer will next be open to pay up.” Handfist replied by glowering. Ren looked at Handfist. The man’s expression was one of curiosity. Ren wasn’t pleased with what was being revealed here, but the victory and Gerard’s seeming control of the situation made him less concerned than he would normally be. Added to his reaction was the knowledge that it had been at least a month since Handfist had done anything outlandish so the Dwarf was due... Gerard continued, “The thieves’ guild will need to be paid promptly, Exchequer. I wouldn’t be slow in handing over the monies.” After the initial shock of learning that thieves resided in Excel had passed Ren said, “Are you saying all my funds have been lost?” Ren was less concerned than he should be as he was of the mistaken belief that his funds were wanting in size. The Dwarf had been reluctant with the exact amounts held within the treasury in case a discrepancy might be 'required'. Handfist swallowed as he realised that Ren’s attitude might change a bit when that fact was revealed… Gerard continued, “Ren, you will recall that we had a side wager, a gentleman’s bet on the outcome tonight?” Ren had actually forgotten about the verbal agreement they’d made at the end of the council session. If Gerard were to lose, the Amberite had agreed to become part of the Council. Ren hadn’t really paid much mind as he hadn’t expected them both to face each other and because it made almost no sense for Gerard to flatly refuse the White Council but allow for his joining it under such a strange condition. Ren’s look of pleased realisation made Handfist even more morose. Gerard was outlining some things to come, “I can’t be your admiral but there are good choices about. More vitally, there is no direct run to the sea. There would be an Officer of Public Works? One who would bear the responsibility for surveying the river that runs from the Freehold to the inlet?” Renaissance looked at the sad looking Dwarf. “I have a new position for you. The Exchequer will be closed after tomorrow for some period due to insolvency and it would be poor leadership to leave such a valued member as you with nothing to do. A new Exchequer regime might make a great deal more sense too.” Handfist had no words to dodge with. He couldn’t parry this move by Ren. He was cornered. He said, “Public works? Helping people with their roof tiles? There must be someone better for this?” Gerard said, “The river will need dredging and at points widening. A suitable role for the famed Dwarfish diggers.” “There’s only me and my two guys! The river’s a hundred miles from here to the sea. I don't want the position of Public Works Officer. Besides, the role is already held by the Goblin-King Whs. He’ll probably ask you to be nice to him and not strip him of his title.” Ren had not been aware of Whs being in Excel. Some more foolery of the Dwarf’s doing. As both Dwarf and Goblin were ‘kings’, Ren was confident two could work as well as one in the public works sector. “Best to get straight into it in the morning. Lots to do.” “I…” “Well said.” Handfist looked meaningfully at Gerard, “We need to talk privately.” “Certainly, good King. I will make myself available upstairs. Room eight. The one with the missing water closet. It went missing during last night’s accident. I believe you were aware of my room’s proximity to the disturbance?” Handfist quickly replied, mostly because he couldn’t afford any too close inspection of why the previous night’s accident had involved Gerard’s room, “Right. I’ll meet you there. I’m sure you want to celebrate with your friends. “Aye, I do. You will stay or I will know you count yourself without of this grouping.” “I don’t feel like it.” “Unless you are sick, wounded or grieving I will not hear of it. What you want to talk about will wait. Understood?” “Ohh -- Kay.” “Good… Now — Ren what is his title again?”
“Master Builder, I think would suit him. Also, I think you Gerard, will take the vacated position of Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
By your leave, Lord Protector... Right, Master Builder, fetch Ren and me an ale. No wait… Make that two ales — each. One for each win, hmm?” “Your real title is ‘a right and proper ______ ’, you know that, Gerard?” “Yes, Liegelord, I know.” It was three hours and fourteen minutes after dusk. In times to come, whenever Handfist needed to be pulled back into line, mentioning this exact time of day was all that was needed. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Seven Hours and Seven Minutes after Dusk: Gerard relaxed in room eight. Floor standing candelabras crafted in the fashion like those last seen on his Inundated flagship, stood in each corner of the room. He often traveled with items like this; a habit of a man always away from home. It was comforting to have some things that reminded of what mattered. It was for this same reason that he had transported his ‘chair’ here as well. It looked like a chair fit for a king although it wasn’t a throne. He poured himself a silvered wine from a decanter. He'd expected Handfist to come barging in some hours earlier but he hadn't. Gerard had changed into a black, fur trimmed coat that he preferred to lounge in. He'd had time to clean himself up and even see to his beard. The events of the evening were finished with. It had gone exceedingly well. He tasted the wine. Silvered wines were among his favourite drinks of Logresse. Ren had seemed amused and grateful. Gerard had a fair degree of time and patience for the efforts Ren was going to. Gerard's only concerns were in what it might take to get the forces developing on Logresse to be comfortable if faced with the need to deal with those of the Canticle. For now though, there was some time to spare. The door thumped loudly from its other side. Gerard put a knowing smirk on his face and said, "It's open, Handfist." The Dwarf shot into the room, looking half-angry and half-expectant. Gerard said, "Thought I'd be behind the door or waiting with a club?" "You'd have been smart to prepare some kind of welcome." "I'm not the wounded party. It's me who should expect reprisal." "I only want to know one thing. How’d you know about the clause? You’ve been off dealing with Oberon and Anhur and whatever else. You haven’t been here at all. You show up with this ‘plan’ and then somehow you set me up and you come out on top. How did you know about the clause, Gerard, and don’t tell me it’s Trump card magick or some Colour special effect.”
“Amber is the Great City. It is also the Great Kingdom that all kingdoms emulate. At its founding I was present and witnessed many things as Oberon’s right hand. One of these things I saw done was by my father’s hand. He was a decent writer as you might imagine. One document he wrote was entitled, Amber’s Great Chancellery of the Exchequer... Gerard paused not for melodramatic reasons but because he wanted the Dwarf to understand. Gerard continued,
”Amber is the original kingdom...”
Handfist finished the thought. It was a sentence he’d heard so often it was ingrained in his memory, “... of which all others are but shadowy reflections.”
“Spot on, King.” Gerard’s face was smug satisfaction. "The clause was in the Amber original."
“I’m afraid so.” "You know what they say, Gerard? 'Revenge is a dish best served old." "Old, is it?", Gerard's smirk grew and to hide that it threatened to become an outright smile, he sipped for a time at his wine glass before saying, “I hope to live so long."
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