KOHKOL: Session 06 -- Prologue 'The White Council'
Renaissance entered the main tower of the Freehold’s Citadel where he had called the Council of Ranthurm to session. Generally that was left to the King or Queen, but as Protector he held authority to summon such assembly if urgency or necessity required it. And it did.
Many things occupied his thoughts since he had accepted the Light of the Noble Thought A’Brahma. His ambition to fade into the memories of the comforting wood of Homestead must be tossed away with all impractical things and naive assumptions.
His life had been fullest when purging evil things from their existence while in the company of friends and good allies. And for the most part confusing and bleak otherwise. The current time, the Realm he had survived to seemed for such a long period to offer little place for a hero from another time. So he had built what he could, and saw what legacy he could make so all things would not be left and forgotten. And then the Thought he had inhabited most of his existence proved to be embodied in a Dragon. And that Dragon had been known to him but unrevealed. So when it was, it gave unto him pride restored and cause to be feasted upon. But now he must make it official, must introduce a new destiny to those he loved, friends and allies. He must reveal the coming struggle as he saw it. He would address all in his full Protector’s armoring.
Within, he made his way to the main council chamber hall
And then to the inner council area. He considered long whether it would be best to make his address in more formal setting or more intimate. He chose the more intimate as this would be spoken from his heart, and provoke questions better answered with plain speech and honest certainty.
He took the center of the room, waiting for each to arrive. King Cealathonan and Queen Yseth arrived to sit at either end of the quaint hall. Versailles, Steward of the Freehold came with Bone and Graft of the Fearbrahn, and Chaiflitt of the Tempest. Sreigorn, High Constable of Ranthurm followed with Ironmane the newly appointed Castellan, and a noisy Exchequer of the Realm who was also a centuries old friend named Handfist. There was no Arch Magus or Lord Examiner yet, but hope would be that someone soon would offer to accept those offices.
Next came the Ducal lords Meliadus and Wallone. They represented Soghn and Rodoshe. He was as yet unaware of Blarenne and Glaraira, the two other ducal lands expected to take the knee before the King and Queen. Audu of the Goatus arrived, and behind him the arch wizard Melin who had once borne a dark blade but whom all hoped if not expected would obtain the white blade of Corum; if time allotted he would seek Melin out to hear his feeling on serving Ranthurn as the Arch Magus, but his personal war with a cousin might make him reluctant to accept.
There followed Lien the Herald whom he had met prior regarding a Duel of Duels. And after him, Gerard of Amber who had done much toward his salvation from absentia and for whom he would place as much trust in as any dear friend. He was glad to see Gerard’s appearance and to hopeful to learn of his recent activities. Storfa of the Chaerin appeared; Renaissance hadn't seen the Chaerin enter.. He was simply just there. And beside him one newly met named Dagnyr, a Delve Veer who Ren had been tasked with watching over. An ancient being named the Gunsen made an appearance then, one Ren knew to have taken up the defense against the Cadavivva, the Undyne, Undead and devourers of race and life. And then a Final Man Ren had only heard whispers of named Absolom. He was said to be the first of Final Men. If his expression was anything to go by, life had not treated him well.
Lastly came Deth, Bard and ancient acquaintance, though much altered of appearance. At least Renaissance initially thought him last, until Shadowjack arrived. He was not expected or invited, but welcomed all the same.
Absent were representatives of the Sacred. Renaissance would discourse with Anubis separately, and hope to do so soon with Anhur. He had wished Uhamur had come, but his business with the ancient God of War must have kept him much preoccupied. Another absence to rectify when he was able would be to include those Profane acceptable to alliance, namely of the Saxsyrinx.
Likewise, if amenable and assured of loyalty, he would extend an offer Pikar the D’Alfmar and Aunar the Blue Assassin Sindaren. But Renaissance had not yet had opportunity to speak with them since the relocation of the Freehold from Miranse to Logresse. He deeply hoped that one or either would accept the Office of Investigations as the Lord Examiner, but that would have to wait for another time.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I cleared my throat and raised a hand for quiet. I decided then to remove my helm, feeling suddenly humbled by the company surrounding me.
“Thank you for answering my call. I have requested this assembly to announce that I go to war. Before I say further, I will tell you I did not see this day coming. As most are aware, I was not overly engaged in the proceedings of this Realm. I was content, or I thought, to be witness to others endeavors rather than participant. But I have been restored of spirit. And that due to the awakening of a cause I have always been part of, but which had remained unspoken until now.
There are amongst us Dragons. No, not the ones told so admirably and with exuberant detail in tales and stories. Some of which we have experienced the truth and lie of. No, I speak of greater entities. Thoughts, as they are termed. Noble Thoughts who have existed since the spark of the First Realm.
It was one such Thought that came to me, revealing a shared understanding. I speak of Light, the Noble Thought of Good, embodied in the being A’Brahma. That there was such a Thought as good, I should have known, for in truth I served its cause all my life. But now I have been given a chance to serve it more openly and with greater conviction. And that is why I have asked you all here to witness my declaration because you too serve or have served its cause. And like myself, I ask you to serve it now openly and with similar conviction.
We have reached a crossroads in time and place. And there must be war before we can find comfort on the other side of it. For our Dragon is not alone. There are other Thoughts that compete for the minds and hearts of all creatures, living and dead. The Mule too is a Dragon, a most Monstrous Thought, and many of us here have personally experienced the loss from such aberrant Nobility.
But what I speak of today is an even greater enemy. One most directly opposed to Light and Goodness. It is Darkness Incarnate, the Thought of Evil, the father of all our regrets and pain and torment. And this Thought is not idle. It gathers unto itself those who serve its understanding. Vaxus, the Dark Sentencer, child of Shadow who moves within the Canticle. And many other tendrils of this thought that tie us together. The Cadivivva, the Profane, the Rakshasa, everywhere serving it knowingly or in ignorance. We find ourselves in similar conflict. Even here upon Logresse you find its seething influence in the nation of B’retagn and such powered individuals as Yrkoon. It is a list without end while that Thought continues.
This is the war that has brought me from my malaise and indifference. This is the war that I ask you to join me in. For whether you accept or not, you will be drawn to it by your own nature against the nature of that opposing Thought. So I make this appeal plainly. I cannot win this war on my own. And neither can any of you. Most of my life what success I have enjoyed has always been shared. When the strength of my arms failed there was a friend to support me. When my mind found confusion there was a comrade to clear my path. Join with me and I will offer the same.
I intend to fashion a White Council whose reason for being will be this war. Its execution and fulfillment. At the moment we are an unknown. Darkness and its servants will not be prepared to confront such solidarity. For we are diverse and separate. But once joined we cannot be stopped if our minds and hearts act as one.
I hope to make Logresse our bastion. This might be a training for our cooperation. A taste of what we might accomplish by bringing to bear our varied power in the destruction of those servants here. B’ritagne and Yrkoon and those like them will be the first to perish but certainly not the last. Let Darkness look elsewhere while we consolidate and organize so when we engage in those final battles, there will be no question as to the outcome.
May the Light Bless us.
I have said my peace. I’ll withdraw to take seat, allowing the floor to whoever would take it."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
In the silence left by Renaiassance, King Cealathonan looked momentarily to Queen Yseth, then nodded to his steward.
Versailles took to the centre of the room. His wooden heels clacked across the marble-inlaid, eight-pointed star in the floor. He slowly turned to each face in the direction of each of these points. As he made the complete eight-segmented turn, he held his arms outspread and in a voice half commanding, half encouraging said, “Much in this to consider and only our reticence to be the first to speak… Your Majesties, Your Graces and Nobles, Your Lords and Ladies, Knights and Gentles, please let me offer you all the floor. Versailles was at once servant to the assembled guests and master. His was the rarely seen art of aplomb and like any witnesses to mastery, his audience was held in his complete control. “I direct you to leave your seats and take up a stance on this wonderful floor. It is no real great matter where you stand for at every spot there may be another to join you, or even a pair or trio. Let us not stand on the formalities of investiture and rank and instead take our ease knowing that all here are held as friend, each to the other.”
With that the steward motioned and unseen musicians began to play a lilting tune at moderated volume, encouraging lightness of spirit and conversation. Food-smalls meant to be eaten with a single bite were served in happy quantity and variety so that none there would mark a lack of there being enough. Even the more robust of appetites in the assembly were sated long before the kitchens stopped the service or their palates grew bored. As Versailles had called for – and more than likely planned – the gathering shifted as such groups do, morphing into small collections of interested conversation. Bone and Graft, Commanders-Twain of the Fearbrahn stood stiffly and appeared to tolerate, if not listen attentively to the scattered words of Handfist. Their stoicism was matched evenly by the once-Dwarfen King’s, now mere Diminished’s, refusal to let the one-sided conversation falter. Audu the former Purg leader of the Goatus, stood within earshot looking bewildered at the small, exchequer’s words. Two nobles of Logresse, one born here and the other an outsider who’d made good over his two decades of residence in the Great Centre, stood side by side, commenting on the newcomers to their land. Different as they were, they seemed to take a deal of empowerment from sharing their views of these strangers they had fallen in with. They were joined by the Castellan Ironmane, newest of the appointees of the kingdom. “I understand you’re both well respected knights of the kingdoms beyond Ranthurm’s borders?” Wallone eyed the visor-face of the man before him, “Yes, you have claimed correctly. Well done, Castellan. A hard thing to remember everyone’s position in a gathering this large.” Meliadus was as ever, more direct, “Ironmane. It has been a long time. You will have more than questions for me if you have not asked them of the Lord Protector. Let them all be answered now. Truce.” Ironmane could not express his feelings well through a busy yet featureless mask of metal and geometric, crystal panels. His ‘face’ was simultaneously unreadable and stern. The left eye’s outline made most people that looked at it feel the need to speak carefully and use a certain degree of truthfulness. It was a demanding eye. Ironmane’s voice emerged from what seemed a large depth within the helm, like a voice carried far down a corridor, “Truce… A word you have learned since we last met… I have served time in this Realm as a friar. Gods did not exist. I taught the meaning of faith to those that could never know why. My eye learned to see when faith came to a person. An observance that amazed me each time. Without a god, how could anyone here feel this? There was no denying this when it occurred. A humbling thing to witness. Greater than me, these faithful as I had the advantage of having stood before a pantheon. Here, I stood humbled and changed. Made to feel at best unworthy… My eye tells me that you, Baron Meliadus have felt something very similar. I will take your offer of truce between us and parlay it. In response to your word I say, Peace.” Meliadus bowed formally in clipped militaristic style. “The Lion and the Wolf will serve the Dragon.” Wallone sipped his bronzed wine, saying nothing because he knew these men shared an ages-old bond of enmity made good. Wallone knew this was a powerful thing and knew as well that he would do best to find these two men a means to aid him in taking a measure of his homeworld’s lands to himself. He knew Meliadus only by knightly reputation and then only as he had been. The ‘syphon’ had died at this Melidaus’s helmet’s jaws. Ripped the alternate Meliadus’s throat away from the rest of him. Wallone thought on Meliadus’s red-eyed helm and this Iromane’s sky-blue-eyed one. The past and the future represented in these two, old opponents. What a thing was forged even in this isolated pairing. He stared around the room. If each were anything like these two with him… The would-be King of Amber was speaking to the latecomer named Jack. They too had a rapport based on a realms-old association. They weren’t more than associated in all that time but both respected the other. Gerard said, “We meet again, Shadowscoin.” “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. Where were we when I was called by that?” “Well, you were stretched out like a hide to be used as a rug. I was caged in a body-hugging metal…” “Cage?” “I remember not the name of the device but I do remember the torturer’s name. Absinthe Riggidia. Her’s was a questioning that stands out.“ Jack mouthed the name. His smile was a sloping thing running from the right downward to the left corner of his lips. “Yes. Absinthe made my heart grow fonder.” “She had your balls in a leather sling as I recall.” “Even so, I was brought to Riggidia’s attention.” The Amberite grinned but this was a practised thing. Jack knew that anyone observing would only know the large man’s face was glad. It would not be clear if the grin was knowing, sarcastic, happy, foolish, unconcerned, sly, malicious, embarrassed, or whatever the watcher might assume. This was the artifice of Amber writ across Gerard’s face. It might well take on other aspects and these too would not be any easier to read in the absence of words and their meanings. Jack eyed the larger man calculatingly. Jack had no compulsions to hide his feelings. He walked alone unlike those of Amber. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he remembered that as much as a cipher as Gerard might be, he might be the most easily read of his family. “What are you planning, Shadowscoin?” “I was just recalling you brothers’ gifts.” “Mm, yes… Gifts. I am reminded of the trick of wrapping a gift in ever-larger boxes so that the receiver might think the gift was much more important than it would turn out to be.” “I’ve had jobs turn out that way. It pays to case a joint twice, I always say.” “Not everyone is as wise as you, thief of shadows.” “It is because of this that worlds have been made to pay handsomely.” “What now then? Where does a thief turn when he is asked to serve Light? A tricky ask. You cannot be considering stealing in the broad light of day?” “It does ask a great deal.” “I have two words for you to consider when thinking over Renaissance’s offer… Absinthe Riggidia. She asked a question you could not answer but she was happy with your ‘lack of a repsonse’, as I recollect.” “How I wanted to steal something from her.” Jack sighed without any sadness. “I can well imagine. A fortunate woman to have evaded us and particularly, you.” “Her fortunateness would easily depend on what it was exactly that I wanted to remove from her.” “Take care, there is a ‘goodly queen’ present, Shadowjack.” “Aye, you call me back to the present. I will need to talk to the Lord Protector. He may be flushed with good naturedness and be seeing clearly once more. Despite his unequivocal bent returning to his spirit, I am not built for anything but ambiguity. Poor me.” “Poor until someone nods off or leaves their pouch slightly opened.” “Hah! Good old Benedict. I wonder how he wound up. Did he go down still the master-at-arms? Dying was never a thing I could envision for the man.” “He lives as before and now and ever, until the skies refuse to breathe and the ground cannot bear the slightest burden and the seas are tearless.” “Well, well. You have become a minstrel of prose.” “The words are Deth’s. He wrote them about my nephew long ago. The music that is playing… It made me think of it…” Jack’s face could not be more shocked. Gerard did not misspeak? He had not said “nephew” and then corrected his error. Nephew… Precious Amber was evidently a cut stone still capable of revealing a new facet. Jack needed a chance to decide what this news could mean for himself. Gerard was Oberon’s brother. Gerard would have no reason to have kept up this long con unless he was the older of the two brothers. That made him rightfully the king. If Oberon lived… Jack licked his lips. He couldn’t help it. He caught Gerard watching him. He shrugged, “Professional habit?” “Let’s remember my profession then, shall we?” “Yes, your Grace.” Gerard tilted his square head downward to the slighter man, his glance was suspicious and measuring. “A risky thing to call a man when that man has no crown.” [color:#9a00b2]“A risky thing to wear as well, even if it be yours. That name you’ve called me? Shadowscoin? I got named that because once in a while, a decision is too close to call. You know what happens then ---” “--- A coin is tossed.” “It might be that a shadowscoin might be tossed.” “As long as something else gets overthrown as a result.” “A man could get lucky and by being lucky, another man could get lucky.” “If two are lucky, why stop there? Why not include others? Why not a world?” Gerard, you strike me as a changed man. A man of Amber that I can do more than respect. Who would have dreamed?” “The beast.” “What that old myth?” “It was a creature of Light, you know.” “Surely you don’t mean to have me think that you believe that ‘Old Pointer’ would want this?” “I can’t be sure of anything. I’ll let you know, say... Like your dream of an impossible man of Amber, myths too might come to speak a truth?” “It was a gussied up horse, Gerard. If you recall, I almost got its horn off it once. If I could do that, it couldn’t have been more than it appeared. Four hooves, a mane and a shaft.” “You escaped that day when you shouldn’t have. Julian’s hounds had you by the cape and cuffs. There was nowhere for you to hide. I read the report. If you recall?”
Gerard turned on his heel and left Shadowjack to his realisations. Gerard made a point of addressing Storfa so that Jack would be unable to follow easily.
Jack pondered aloud, “My turn to recall, eh? Yes, I remember now… Nowhere to hide. Those damned dogs. That twice-damned Prince of dogs. No shadows at all. Even the dusk provided none of its customary help. It was as if there was another source of light besides the sun, another source…of course! Say, Gerard -- Gerard?” Storfa did not bow. Gerard took no offence. Anyone who knew the tales of Storfa’s mannered style, knew that there was nothing to be offended by in his abstention of the regular offerings of courtesy. Some would always take offence. Storfa would allow them their offended pride. He would suffer this as long as they were able to see that they were prideful. Learning this was the first ‘link’. It was the first realisation in a chain. Storfa would give this link to many but few would ever make a chain from it. “Gerard.” “Chaeryn.” “You will be coming into your own soon.” “This place is full of fortune tellers today. What have you been seeing in your teapot, Storfa?” “I do not need leaves to tell me things. I hear things on the winds.” “Good winds and not ill ones I trust?” “Both.” “That’s a little useless.” “No, Amberking, not useless. The winds vary but that is because they tell the truth. The truth is many sided. For one it is bad. For another it is good. So the winds are ill and well at the same time.” “Two winds blowing in opposite directions. Don’t they just cancel out?” “Perhaps. Perhaps this is what they have always done in the past.” “Likely as not. It explains what was.” “I will ask you a question… how can two opposing winds blow and not destroy each other?” “If I knew the answer, I would be king long ago.” “Good, Amberking. Good.” “Should I leave?” “Of all the questions, this is what you ask?” “Has anyone ever told you, you’d have made an excellent deity, Storfa?” “Has anyone ever told you that you would have made an excellent king?” “Not today.” “The answer should have been, ‘I only need one to say it.’. “One?” “Just one.” “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that simply.” “It is what Chaeryn do. A’Bramha says that I do it well.” “A’bramha should find a better superlative for you, Storfa. I thank you for your insight.” “Good travel, Gerard.” “Good Storfa.” Gerard bowed. He knew it wasn’t needed. His own protocols were ingrained. The Chaeryn were beings that he had a fond regard for even though they were strange. He headed to the herald, Lien. He had met him a few weeks earlier. A herald would be useful. One as well-skilled as Lien would be more than useful. Gerard needed to know something of the genealogy of a family… This was why in his preoccupation, Gerard did not see what Storfa did next. Storfa, most unreachable of the unreachable Chaeryn, bowed. Absolom was pensive. He was trying to be light-hearted. It wasn’t working too well for him. A man approached him. His approach was… smooth. Absolom couldn’t think what else to call it. Something about the man’s very broad pant legs. This helped to hide his legs and feet. The fellow looked as if he was being pushed across the floor instead of striding. He could be on a trolley-cart that couldn’t be seen and he would not have moved more steadily. Absolom guessed the man was the Gunsen. Guesswork wasn’t really needed by Absolom. He could sense the man’s name as he could any Human’s. A powerful thing to know every man, woman and child’s name. A fate could be turned with an appropriately timed name in the right ear. A name could call a person back from a brink or awaken another from a stupor. It might even make a man see for the first time. Absolom hoped this could be counted on. His son’s life depended on this. As he stood in the chamber of light, he felt removed from these others. His son had cast off his name. Absolom needed to return to him. He’d hoped that ‘Grey’ as his son insisted on calling himself, would have embraced his Humanity more than he had so far. It was if ‘Grey’ was hoping for ‘rescue’ by the other side of his heritage. The Profane were not going to welcome his son more than they would use his son. Absolom wasn’t certain of his son’s wishes but he was certain of Profanity’s. Something would have to be done. “I am called the Gunsen. You have a look that speaks to me of, if you pardon my saying so, of death. This is a thing I can admire. My world knows more of deathlessness than death these days.” “I am pleased to meet you, Gunsen. You have travelled greatly to be here and I sense your people grieve your absence though they know you will return. This says a lot about both them and you.” “You honour me… One who calls on death would be perhaps a man that could bring an end to the undyne as well?” “Now, you honour me. I can say that I have learned one or two things that can finish some of these restless ones. Removing them entire, well that is a chore for more than one man.” “You are more than one man, I feel.” “Your world’s name?” “Zomb-Rahn.”
“I shall visit. I cannot make a destiny for more than myself, however. Not even for my flesh and blood can I manage this. Do not be filled with dreams.” “I will reserve the right to dream in my own way.” Absolom smiled in spite of his generally dour nature. This Gunsen was an optimist and the worlds had few of these. Dagnyr leaned up close to one of the high-backed chairs. He was staying out of the way. Inconspicuous felt like the right course for the moment. If not for the Dragon’s intervention and this Renaissance’s easy acceptance, Dagnyr might have been as happy to have wandered away from this Ranthurm. He hadn’t. He’d reasonably, ‘happily’, gone out scouting the northern reaches of the empire that bordered Ranthurm. Br’Tagne shared a long border with the kingdom of Ranthurm. Dagnyr had learned some of the men he’d travelled with. Sreighorn had proved a masterful tracker, easy to talk to but difficult to know. Ironmane had been more interested in finding men of the empire to deal with. The man had a hate that simmered just under his metal skin. The weapons he could bring out from under his cloak… Dagnyr could easily imagine that this Ironmane must have been touched by the Godflex. Everyone seemed to trust that Ironmane would do them no harm. Dagnyr had decided to keep an eye on the Castellan. “You don’t talk much, eh?” Dagnyr was surprised by the voice. It came from the chair he was leaning on. The Bard, Deth, sat in it. Dagnyr was quite sure the chair had been empty. “I talk when required.” “No requirement here. No prerequisites either.” Dagnyr wasn’t sure this ‘Death’ should be responded to. Deth said, “Let’s talk about something else then... Something that might require you to talk, hmm? Do you like the music?” Dagnyr had stopped being aware of the quiet music that played just within earshot. It was played with skill. He found it only passable. He said words to this effect. “Just alright… Praised with faint damnation. I will inform the choir-master. You speak as though you’re a player yourself. Is that a bow I see or are you just happy to --- ah, it is a bow. You play… May I see your hands? You play a violahe. Bliss-a-my spirit! A violahe player among Ren’s courtiers. I’m not altogether sure but I’m almost so, that this has never happened before. Renaissance may be many things but he’s never shown an interest in my arts on a personal level.” A small, insistent voice interrupted, “I’m pretty sure you’d be wrong about that, Deth. My guys have been bangin’ drums for Ren since before he was called Ren.” The voice came from waist height. It belonged to Handfist the Diminished. “I would not mean to abbreviate the regard I have for the rhythmic tools that your drummers must have been.” “How’s that again?” “…Must have used. I beg forgiveness. My tongue slips occasionally. Let us hope it doesn’t occur during performances.” “You need to do one of our historical sagas.” “Yes, such a tale set to music. I can only imagine the reception it would receive.” “You said it.” “As long as I don’t sing it.” “Eh?” “Would it be a symphonic chorale? Sung to induce the tears? Leading to sleep? A soporific opera? A sop-era, maybe?” “See this boot here? How’d you like to see the ‘Light Almighty’ up close? Or I could play the little drummer dwarf on your pouches, seeing as they’re conveniently at eye level?” “Handfist, you are a music well-composted.” “Enh, sure, I guess so… you meant well-composed, right?” “A short intermezzo is always the best intermezzo.” “Is that a short crack?” “Nothing could be a taller tale. Nothing could be a bigger lie -- a more massive fraud or a grander mis…conception.” “Come down here.” “Dagnyr, Friend of friends, can you put this Diminished forth?” “Leave the Delve out of this, string being. I like him.” “String being? My good, Handfist, you may become a minstrel yet! That’s very good.” “You think that’s good, you should hear what I have got to say about Jack of Shadows.” “Good stuff, is it?” “I got that one! You belong underground… at least six feet under will suit you… Shadowjack-a-napes-a-stuffin’s planning a move. A move into a certain territory that shall remain nameless… Nameless unless...” “Do we have to guess? Is this like the story where a heroic type has to out-riddle a short, squat, noisome, little twerp?” “What’s a ‘twerp’?” “That definition might cost us both more than we can presently account for.” Dagnyr spoke, “Shadowjack plans to enter Amber.” “Hey, that’s my line of dialogue, you Devil – I mean, Delve. Why would I call you a Devil? That makes no amount of sense. A weird slip of the tongue. Devil… what was I thinking?” Deth looked to Dagnyr, “You know this for certain?” “The one of Amber and Shadowjack spoke a’time. There seemed to be fair takings between them.” “Give and take, yes…” Handfist tried, “I knew a girl once who was good at that. She’d take your money and she'd give you –” “Handfist.” “Pretty much, yeah.” Deth motioned subtly to Dagnyr to follow him. Dagnyr wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go after a being that everyone here seemed comfortable calling, ‘Death’. Death seemed preferable to staying with the Diminished, however, so he did as bidden. He was a little surprised that Handfist made no effort to follow. The Diminished did seem to think and act to some ideas of his own. ‘Death’ stood a fraction of the way toward the exit. When Dagnyr reached him he said, “Do give your instrument some attention? Especially on the trails. The worlds have too few musics that are welcome. Who is to say what this will make? It is said it has power, you know. Something to muse on.”
Versailles took to the centre of the room. His wooden heels clacked across the marble-inlaid, eight-pointed star in the floor. He slowly turned to each face in the direction of each of these points. As he made the complete eight-segmented turn, he held his arms outspread and in a voice half commanding, half encouraging said, “Much in this to consider and only our reticence to be the first to speak… Your Majesties, Your Graces and Nobles, Your Lords and Ladies, Knights and Gentles, please let me offer you all the floor. Versailles was at once servant to the assembled guests and master. His was the rarely seen art of aplomb and like any witnesses to mastery, his audience was held in his complete control. “I direct you to leave your seats and take up a stance on this wonderful floor. It is no real great matter where you stand for at every spot there may be another to join you, or even a pair or trio. Let us not stand on the formalities of investiture and rank and instead take our ease knowing that all here are held as friend, each to the other.”
With that the steward motioned and unseen musicians began to play a lilting tune at moderated volume, encouraging lightness of spirit and conversation. Food-smalls meant to be eaten with a single bite were served in happy quantity and variety so that none there would mark a lack of there being enough. Even the more robust of appetites in the assembly were sated long before the kitchens stopped the service or their palates grew bored. As Versailles had called for – and more than likely planned – the gathering shifted as such groups do, morphing into small collections of interested conversation. Bone and Graft, Commanders-Twain of the Fearbrahn stood stiffly and appeared to tolerate, if not listen attentively to the scattered words of Handfist. Their stoicism was matched evenly by the once-Dwarfen King’s, now mere Diminished’s, refusal to let the one-sided conversation falter. Audu the former Purg leader of the Goatus, stood within earshot looking bewildered at the small, exchequer’s words. Two nobles of Logresse, one born here and the other an outsider who’d made good over his two decades of residence in the Great Centre, stood side by side, commenting on the newcomers to their land. Different as they were, they seemed to take a deal of empowerment from sharing their views of these strangers they had fallen in with. They were joined by the Castellan Ironmane, newest of the appointees of the kingdom. “I understand you’re both well respected knights of the kingdoms beyond Ranthurm’s borders?” Wallone eyed the visor-face of the man before him, “Yes, you have claimed correctly. Well done, Castellan. A hard thing to remember everyone’s position in a gathering this large.” Meliadus was as ever, more direct, “Ironmane. It has been a long time. You will have more than questions for me if you have not asked them of the Lord Protector. Let them all be answered now. Truce.” Ironmane could not express his feelings well through a busy yet featureless mask of metal and geometric, crystal panels. His ‘face’ was simultaneously unreadable and stern. The left eye’s outline made most people that looked at it feel the need to speak carefully and use a certain degree of truthfulness. It was a demanding eye. Ironmane’s voice emerged from what seemed a large depth within the helm, like a voice carried far down a corridor, “Truce… A word you have learned since we last met… I have served time in this Realm as a friar. Gods did not exist. I taught the meaning of faith to those that could never know why. My eye learned to see when faith came to a person. An observance that amazed me each time. Without a god, how could anyone here feel this? There was no denying this when it occurred. A humbling thing to witness. Greater than me, these faithful as I had the advantage of having stood before a pantheon. Here, I stood humbled and changed. Made to feel at best unworthy… My eye tells me that you, Baron Meliadus have felt something very similar. I will take your offer of truce between us and parlay it. In response to your word I say, Peace.” Meliadus bowed formally in clipped militaristic style. “The Lion and the Wolf will serve the Dragon.” Wallone sipped his bronzed wine, saying nothing because he knew these men shared an ages-old bond of enmity made good. Wallone knew this was a powerful thing and knew as well that he would do best to find these two men a means to aid him in taking a measure of his homeworld’s lands to himself. He knew Meliadus only by knightly reputation and then only as he had been. The ‘syphon’ had died at this Melidaus’s helmet’s jaws. Ripped the alternate Meliadus’s throat away from the rest of him. Wallone thought on Meliadus’s red-eyed helm and this Iromane’s sky-blue-eyed one. The past and the future represented in these two, old opponents. What a thing was forged even in this isolated pairing. He stared around the room. If each were anything like these two with him… The would-be King of Amber was speaking to the latecomer named Jack. They too had a rapport based on a realms-old association. They weren’t more than associated in all that time but both respected the other. Gerard said, “We meet again, Shadowscoin.” “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. Where were we when I was called by that?” “Well, you were stretched out like a hide to be used as a rug. I was caged in a body-hugging metal…” “Cage?” “I remember not the name of the device but I do remember the torturer’s name. Absinthe Riggidia. Her’s was a questioning that stands out.“ Jack mouthed the name. His smile was a sloping thing running from the right downward to the left corner of his lips. “Yes. Absinthe made my heart grow fonder.” “She had your balls in a leather sling as I recall.” “Even so, I was brought to Riggidia’s attention.” The Amberite grinned but this was a practised thing. Jack knew that anyone observing would only know the large man’s face was glad. It would not be clear if the grin was knowing, sarcastic, happy, foolish, unconcerned, sly, malicious, embarrassed, or whatever the watcher might assume. This was the artifice of Amber writ across Gerard’s face. It might well take on other aspects and these too would not be any easier to read in the absence of words and their meanings. Jack eyed the larger man calculatingly. Jack had no compulsions to hide his feelings. He walked alone unlike those of Amber. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he remembered that as much as a cipher as Gerard might be, he might be the most easily read of his family. “What are you planning, Shadowscoin?” “I was just recalling you brothers’ gifts.” “Mm, yes… Gifts. I am reminded of the trick of wrapping a gift in ever-larger boxes so that the receiver might think the gift was much more important than it would turn out to be.” “I’ve had jobs turn out that way. It pays to case a joint twice, I always say.” “Not everyone is as wise as you, thief of shadows.” “It is because of this that worlds have been made to pay handsomely.” “What now then? Where does a thief turn when he is asked to serve Light? A tricky ask. You cannot be considering stealing in the broad light of day?” “It does ask a great deal.” “I have two words for you to consider when thinking over Renaissance’s offer… Absinthe Riggidia. She asked a question you could not answer but she was happy with your ‘lack of a repsonse’, as I recollect.” “How I wanted to steal something from her.” Jack sighed without any sadness. “I can well imagine. A fortunate woman to have evaded us and particularly, you.” “Her fortunateness would easily depend on what it was exactly that I wanted to remove from her.” “Take care, there is a ‘goodly queen’ present, Shadowjack.” “Aye, you call me back to the present. I will need to talk to the Lord Protector. He may be flushed with good naturedness and be seeing clearly once more. Despite his unequivocal bent returning to his spirit, I am not built for anything but ambiguity. Poor me.” “Poor until someone nods off or leaves their pouch slightly opened.” “Hah! Good old Benedict. I wonder how he wound up. Did he go down still the master-at-arms? Dying was never a thing I could envision for the man.” “He lives as before and now and ever, until the skies refuse to breathe and the ground cannot bear the slightest burden and the seas are tearless.” “Well, well. You have become a minstrel of prose.” “The words are Deth’s. He wrote them about my nephew long ago. The music that is playing… It made me think of it…” Jack’s face could not be more shocked. Gerard did not misspeak? He had not said “nephew” and then corrected his error. Nephew… Precious Amber was evidently a cut stone still capable of revealing a new facet. Jack needed a chance to decide what this news could mean for himself. Gerard was Oberon’s brother. Gerard would have no reason to have kept up this long con unless he was the older of the two brothers. That made him rightfully the king. If Oberon lived… Jack licked his lips. He couldn’t help it. He caught Gerard watching him. He shrugged, “Professional habit?” “Let’s remember my profession then, shall we?” “Yes, your Grace.” Gerard tilted his square head downward to the slighter man, his glance was suspicious and measuring. “A risky thing to call a man when that man has no crown.” [color:#9a00b2]“A risky thing to wear as well, even if it be yours. That name you’ve called me? Shadowscoin? I got named that because once in a while, a decision is too close to call. You know what happens then ---” “--- A coin is tossed.” “It might be that a shadowscoin might be tossed.” “As long as something else gets overthrown as a result.” “A man could get lucky and by being lucky, another man could get lucky.” “If two are lucky, why stop there? Why not include others? Why not a world?” Gerard, you strike me as a changed man. A man of Amber that I can do more than respect. Who would have dreamed?” “The beast.” “What that old myth?” “It was a creature of Light, you know.” “Surely you don’t mean to have me think that you believe that ‘Old Pointer’ would want this?” “I can’t be sure of anything. I’ll let you know, say... Like your dream of an impossible man of Amber, myths too might come to speak a truth?” “It was a gussied up horse, Gerard. If you recall, I almost got its horn off it once. If I could do that, it couldn’t have been more than it appeared. Four hooves, a mane and a shaft.” “You escaped that day when you shouldn’t have. Julian’s hounds had you by the cape and cuffs. There was nowhere for you to hide. I read the report. If you recall?”
Gerard turned on his heel and left Shadowjack to his realisations. Gerard made a point of addressing Storfa so that Jack would be unable to follow easily.
Jack pondered aloud, “My turn to recall, eh? Yes, I remember now… Nowhere to hide. Those damned dogs. That twice-damned Prince of dogs. No shadows at all. Even the dusk provided none of its customary help. It was as if there was another source of light besides the sun, another source…of course! Say, Gerard -- Gerard?” Storfa did not bow. Gerard took no offence. Anyone who knew the tales of Storfa’s mannered style, knew that there was nothing to be offended by in his abstention of the regular offerings of courtesy. Some would always take offence. Storfa would allow them their offended pride. He would suffer this as long as they were able to see that they were prideful. Learning this was the first ‘link’. It was the first realisation in a chain. Storfa would give this link to many but few would ever make a chain from it. “Gerard.” “Chaeryn.” “You will be coming into your own soon.” “This place is full of fortune tellers today. What have you been seeing in your teapot, Storfa?” “I do not need leaves to tell me things. I hear things on the winds.” “Good winds and not ill ones I trust?” “Both.” “That’s a little useless.” “No, Amberking, not useless. The winds vary but that is because they tell the truth. The truth is many sided. For one it is bad. For another it is good. So the winds are ill and well at the same time.” “Two winds blowing in opposite directions. Don’t they just cancel out?” “Perhaps. Perhaps this is what they have always done in the past.” “Likely as not. It explains what was.” “I will ask you a question… how can two opposing winds blow and not destroy each other?” “If I knew the answer, I would be king long ago.” “Good, Amberking. Good.” “Should I leave?” “Of all the questions, this is what you ask?” “Has anyone ever told you, you’d have made an excellent deity, Storfa?” “Has anyone ever told you that you would have made an excellent king?” “Not today.” “The answer should have been, ‘I only need one to say it.’. “One?” “Just one.” “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that simply.” “It is what Chaeryn do. A’Bramha says that I do it well.” “A’bramha should find a better superlative for you, Storfa. I thank you for your insight.” “Good travel, Gerard.” “Good Storfa.” Gerard bowed. He knew it wasn’t needed. His own protocols were ingrained. The Chaeryn were beings that he had a fond regard for even though they were strange. He headed to the herald, Lien. He had met him a few weeks earlier. A herald would be useful. One as well-skilled as Lien would be more than useful. Gerard needed to know something of the genealogy of a family… This was why in his preoccupation, Gerard did not see what Storfa did next. Storfa, most unreachable of the unreachable Chaeryn, bowed. Absolom was pensive. He was trying to be light-hearted. It wasn’t working too well for him. A man approached him. His approach was… smooth. Absolom couldn’t think what else to call it. Something about the man’s very broad pant legs. This helped to hide his legs and feet. The fellow looked as if he was being pushed across the floor instead of striding. He could be on a trolley-cart that couldn’t be seen and he would not have moved more steadily. Absolom guessed the man was the Gunsen. Guesswork wasn’t really needed by Absolom. He could sense the man’s name as he could any Human’s. A powerful thing to know every man, woman and child’s name. A fate could be turned with an appropriately timed name in the right ear. A name could call a person back from a brink or awaken another from a stupor. It might even make a man see for the first time. Absolom hoped this could be counted on. His son’s life depended on this. As he stood in the chamber of light, he felt removed from these others. His son had cast off his name. Absolom needed to return to him. He’d hoped that ‘Grey’ as his son insisted on calling himself, would have embraced his Humanity more than he had so far. It was if ‘Grey’ was hoping for ‘rescue’ by the other side of his heritage. The Profane were not going to welcome his son more than they would use his son. Absolom wasn’t certain of his son’s wishes but he was certain of Profanity’s. Something would have to be done. “I am called the Gunsen. You have a look that speaks to me of, if you pardon my saying so, of death. This is a thing I can admire. My world knows more of deathlessness than death these days.” “I am pleased to meet you, Gunsen. You have travelled greatly to be here and I sense your people grieve your absence though they know you will return. This says a lot about both them and you.” “You honour me… One who calls on death would be perhaps a man that could bring an end to the undyne as well?” “Now, you honour me. I can say that I have learned one or two things that can finish some of these restless ones. Removing them entire, well that is a chore for more than one man.” “You are more than one man, I feel.” “Your world’s name?” “Zomb-Rahn.”
“I shall visit. I cannot make a destiny for more than myself, however. Not even for my flesh and blood can I manage this. Do not be filled with dreams.” “I will reserve the right to dream in my own way.” Absolom smiled in spite of his generally dour nature. This Gunsen was an optimist and the worlds had few of these. Dagnyr leaned up close to one of the high-backed chairs. He was staying out of the way. Inconspicuous felt like the right course for the moment. If not for the Dragon’s intervention and this Renaissance’s easy acceptance, Dagnyr might have been as happy to have wandered away from this Ranthurm. He hadn’t. He’d reasonably, ‘happily’, gone out scouting the northern reaches of the empire that bordered Ranthurm. Br’Tagne shared a long border with the kingdom of Ranthurm. Dagnyr had learned some of the men he’d travelled with. Sreighorn had proved a masterful tracker, easy to talk to but difficult to know. Ironmane had been more interested in finding men of the empire to deal with. The man had a hate that simmered just under his metal skin. The weapons he could bring out from under his cloak… Dagnyr could easily imagine that this Ironmane must have been touched by the Godflex. Everyone seemed to trust that Ironmane would do them no harm. Dagnyr had decided to keep an eye on the Castellan. “You don’t talk much, eh?” Dagnyr was surprised by the voice. It came from the chair he was leaning on. The Bard, Deth, sat in it. Dagnyr was quite sure the chair had been empty. “I talk when required.” “No requirement here. No prerequisites either.” Dagnyr wasn’t sure this ‘Death’ should be responded to. Deth said, “Let’s talk about something else then... Something that might require you to talk, hmm? Do you like the music?” Dagnyr had stopped being aware of the quiet music that played just within earshot. It was played with skill. He found it only passable. He said words to this effect. “Just alright… Praised with faint damnation. I will inform the choir-master. You speak as though you’re a player yourself. Is that a bow I see or are you just happy to --- ah, it is a bow. You play… May I see your hands? You play a violahe. Bliss-a-my spirit! A violahe player among Ren’s courtiers. I’m not altogether sure but I’m almost so, that this has never happened before. Renaissance may be many things but he’s never shown an interest in my arts on a personal level.” A small, insistent voice interrupted, “I’m pretty sure you’d be wrong about that, Deth. My guys have been bangin’ drums for Ren since before he was called Ren.” The voice came from waist height. It belonged to Handfist the Diminished. “I would not mean to abbreviate the regard I have for the rhythmic tools that your drummers must have been.” “How’s that again?” “…Must have used. I beg forgiveness. My tongue slips occasionally. Let us hope it doesn’t occur during performances.” “You need to do one of our historical sagas.” “Yes, such a tale set to music. I can only imagine the reception it would receive.” “You said it.” “As long as I don’t sing it.” “Eh?” “Would it be a symphonic chorale? Sung to induce the tears? Leading to sleep? A soporific opera? A sop-era, maybe?” “See this boot here? How’d you like to see the ‘Light Almighty’ up close? Or I could play the little drummer dwarf on your pouches, seeing as they’re conveniently at eye level?” “Handfist, you are a music well-composted.” “Enh, sure, I guess so… you meant well-composed, right?” “A short intermezzo is always the best intermezzo.” “Is that a short crack?” “Nothing could be a taller tale. Nothing could be a bigger lie -- a more massive fraud or a grander mis…conception.” “Come down here.” “Dagnyr, Friend of friends, can you put this Diminished forth?” “Leave the Delve out of this, string being. I like him.” “String being? My good, Handfist, you may become a minstrel yet! That’s very good.” “You think that’s good, you should hear what I have got to say about Jack of Shadows.” “Good stuff, is it?” “I got that one! You belong underground… at least six feet under will suit you… Shadowjack-a-napes-a-stuffin’s planning a move. A move into a certain territory that shall remain nameless… Nameless unless...” “Do we have to guess? Is this like the story where a heroic type has to out-riddle a short, squat, noisome, little twerp?” “What’s a ‘twerp’?” “That definition might cost us both more than we can presently account for.” Dagnyr spoke, “Shadowjack plans to enter Amber.” “Hey, that’s my line of dialogue, you Devil – I mean, Delve. Why would I call you a Devil? That makes no amount of sense. A weird slip of the tongue. Devil… what was I thinking?” Deth looked to Dagnyr, “You know this for certain?” “The one of Amber and Shadowjack spoke a’time. There seemed to be fair takings between them.” “Give and take, yes…” Handfist tried, “I knew a girl once who was good at that. She’d take your money and she'd give you –” “Handfist.” “Pretty much, yeah.” Deth motioned subtly to Dagnyr to follow him. Dagnyr wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go after a being that everyone here seemed comfortable calling, ‘Death’. Death seemed preferable to staying with the Diminished, however, so he did as bidden. He was a little surprised that Handfist made no effort to follow. The Diminished did seem to think and act to some ideas of his own. ‘Death’ stood a fraction of the way toward the exit. When Dagnyr reached him he said, “Do give your instrument some attention? Especially on the trails. The worlds have too few musics that are welcome. Who is to say what this will make? It is said it has power, you know. Something to muse on.”
Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild
Comments