The trump contact fades and Jerod sits alone in the tent, silence dominating his presence as he blocks the universe outside from intruding. The sounds and smells of the camp around him are as nothing while he sits, not even daring to begin to collect his thoughts.
The cracking of his knuckles jolts him aware as he unconsciously flexes his hand, the whiteness of his knuckles in contrast to the blood red of his palm as he looks down at his hand, studying it for a moment, allowing the realization of his world to begin to filter in.
This is the reality of his life, it is not to be denied.
She is gone, he thinks for a moment, then stops as the madness rises, clenching his fist as he tightens a grip upon his emotions, his breathing ragged in an instant.
No, she may be gone, he thinks. It is not confirmed yet. Until it is, the madness has no place in his life. He focusses on this spark, driving it home, building on it as he would a summoning in Shadow or the laying of a path, giving it focus and feeling, making it part of his existence.
Your thoughts dictate your reality. Uncertainty, regret, bitterness, hatred, loneliness. All these things create the world around you if you let them. That was his father's first lesson, Jerod remembers, his breathing slowing, quietly grateful for a lesson long since taught. He did not understand until much later how prevalent this lesson was throughout his entire life.
"A Prince is his own master, ruled by none including his own thoughts. Allow not these things to command you. They exist and will teach you many lessons, lessons that are hard and cold to be sure. They will guide you in their own time, but they are servants only. They are never your master." He remembers the words, the voice in his thoughts always as clear as if in the very room now as he opens his hand again, the madness screaming at the edge of his mind, demanding its due, clawing and tearing for purchase within from the depths of his heart. Yet its efforts are for naught, the rage faltering and cracking as it is released, the trembling in his fingertips fading slowly.
"No." Jerod whispers. "I do not yield to you this day. Nor tomorrow, or the next. I do not bow to you, nor to anyone. Not to the loss of my father, to the loss of my home, my sister, or even my life. Though I am the last of my line, I will never bow to you. So says the Prince of Amber that is I."
He looks out past his open hand, staring a moment at tent wall in front of him. "Guard!" Jerod says, rising up. "Captain Carper has arranged a sparring session while I await your Protector. I will begin it...now."
The guard nods. "This way, sir." He leads him about two rows into the tent wall to a clearing. There are posts on either end and a rack of weapons and armor. A young man is looking at the rack, considering choosing weapons. He is well muscled and shirtless. He might be a blacksmith.
He looks up when Jerod approaches. "Good day, Sir! I am told you need a sparring partner. I am the arms master for this camp. Will I do?"
"We will find out. I am curious as to whether any of you have sparred with the Protector during your time here." Jerod says. "Your name please."
"I am Roland, and the Protector is as good or better than any man I have had the honor to cross swords with. In truth, I hoped to see how his nephew performed." Roland points to the weapons rack. It has a variety of surface-style weapons and a few spears. "I can fetch more exotic weapons if these do not suit."
Jerod pauses, the name Roland filtering through his memory of old lessons, old books and Shadows met, and his eyes narrow.
The progeny of Amber are stones in the pond, the nature of their existence spread throughout Shadow in whispers and legends. For one who has travelled far enough, it would not be uncommon to find elements of oneself in the cultures around them. Search far enough and Jerod could even find elements of himself, inspite of his youth. He focuses on Roland, remembering the return of Oberon with Corwin as he walks slowly, moving around Roland to gather more of an image, sifting the image, looking for the signs he should see in an older Amberite, one from the time of Oberon, the mannerisms and expressions that would have existed prior to the Sundering. Pattern will be useless here, so close to Rebma, in determining reality's true nature. Now, it's all about feelings.
Roland is hard to read. It's not out of the question that he's an uncle or a cousin, but it's not clear that he is, either.
"Roland. I remember such a name. An old poem my father bade me to learn. There were other names too, such as Charlot, and Huon de Bordeaux." Jerod says, very focussed now, looking for a sign, a movement, or even the lack thereof.
He smiles. "I am not so old as to be in your old poems, nor as well known, but I am named after my ancestors and my ancestors were warriors. Do your poems tell of King Charles the Great?"
He picks up a sword and makes a few extensions with it before putting it down. "I would be most interested in hearing your poems of my namesake, if we are afforded an idle moment wherein it suits you..." He pauses.
"Your pardon, I have never asked you what the proper form of addressing you is." He smiles again. "Forgive me if I have offended. It is only recently that I have travelled to strange lands such as these and I do not know the customs."
Jerod doffs his upper coat, wanting to remove any restriction that might arise from its use under the waves. He picks up a spear, assessing its weight and feel before tossing it to Roland. He picks up another one.
"My form of address varies based on circumstance." Jerod replies. "Let us see what circumstances arise after the match is concluded."
Roland nods, and prepares himself.
Once Roland has a reasonable chance to prepare himself, Jerod begins the session. He has two essential needs, the first one more instinctive than conscious: to release as much stress as possible in order to ensure he is in control of himself. Intellectualization of shock only goes so far and action helps in other ways. The second need is to figure out if Jerod's instinct is valid or not. He will push as much as he can, testing to determine Roland's level of skill relative to himself, looking for flaws, apparent weaknesses, feints that appear as weakness or attempts to disguise ability.
As part of this end, he selected weapons more suited to underwater combat. He knows how surfacers tend to respond when underwater and how they compensate when encountering the new types of resistance that a water environment provides. This level of compensation can betray an individual, show their true style and level of fighting ability when faced with an unusual situation.
For a surface-dweller, he at least knows how to handle a spear underwater. Jerod guesses that he hasn't faced an opponent of his caliber in such a circumstance, though. Roland's style is very intellectualized, as if he's deriving techniques and moves from first principles. It's clear he's quite good, perhaps as good as Jerod.
Roland likes to talk as he spars and is interested in pursuing whatever topics Jerod will discuss with him. He asks questions about technique (and if Jerod answers, he will learn from him, and try them himself). He asks about Amber and he asks about Jerod's training.
He's quite good, and he knows it.
A crowd starts to gather. They seem to be quite interested in the sparring.
Jerod remains tight-lipped during initial sparring movements, hoping for exactly the kind of result that has occurred, an unexpected factor, something outside the control of either party but one that can be used by an enterprising individual, an opportunity as Jerod likes to see it. In this case, a crowd that will be less discerning in what might be spoken during the heat of match, one that will drop hints and clues if one knows how to exploit the emotions.
Once Jerod knows what he's got, a smile sneaks lose from his demeanour. Regardless of the circumstance, he's always liked a good fight. He will use his own advantage in knowledge of the weapons and environment to test Roland, stingy with tricks that give an edge and keeping them limited until they are best utilized.
All through this time however, Jerod will decide to take up the option of conversation. Family has the habit of gossip even when swinging heavy objects at each other it seems, and far be it from him to decline the option. So he sets upon a strategy of build-up and let down, selecting a general means of attack upon a technique or style, pressing advantage where possible and continuing either attack or defense sufficient to get the crowd on the edge of breath and thought, before breaking the action to allow for a let-down, a time for the crowd to talk and breath and quickly gossip without fear of missing the action before the next stage begins.
He continues to be quite talented. He has a natural sense of rhythm. He's probably a good dancer. He doesn't do things that don't work well more than once.
He's either Huon, or Huon's son, or just one of those really unlikely to find but exceptionally talented Shadow people attracted to the gravity wakes of Amberite Princes...
Jerod's betting on Huon for the moment.
"I received my instruction from many individuals." Jerod offers, offering up a series of short ranging, probing jabs to start with retreating spear edge deflections to counter any returning attacks. "My father saw to my instruction in many cases, though he was busy with several affairs of state. An arms master was selected who saw to my primary training of course, one named Venesch. That lasted until my father became king, after the disappearance of Oberon."
Roland nods. Jerod believes he has no idea who Venesch is, and isn't surprised about Oberon and Eric, either. "We heard of that, when we came under the water. They are still not sure if their queen wants them to hate your father more than the current King." He raises his eyebrows. "That was more of a concern the closer we got to Rebma, of course." As they pull apart, he says "I keep thinking I should need to wipe my brow, but I don't..."
"Many things are not as they are on the surface." Jerod replies, trying a naginata form he remembers from training used primarily by women, emphasizing small and precise forms over strength.
The spear is not ideal for this, because it lacks the cutting blade. It seems to Jerod that Roland doesn't know this form, but is perfectly adaptable and able to handle it.
"And what interpretation have you come up with concerning the current King?"
Roland smiles, and it's dazzling, like Conner's. "Would you like to switch weapons? And which King are you asking about?"
"I believe I was referring to your reference of King." Jerod replies. "Or are their too many kings around to keep track of." he adds with a slight smile.
Roland shrugs. "Over time, one gains a certain habit of thinking. "'The King' is like 'The Sun', a thing that needs no name because it is unique. There are places where one has to point out 'this king' or 'that king', just as there are places with many suns.
"Still, with the floodgates open, perhaps there is room for one more?"
"I doubt that one would find it an enjoyable prospect." Jerod offers. "I have seen the price that is paid by those who think to rule a kingdom that is not of their own making. My father paid it dearly and I have learned from his mistake. Two of my uncles pay it now with the Unicorn's blessing, though more slowly than he, and though their kingdoms may be bathed in glory for generations to come, I will pity them nonetheless."
Roland nods. "Some might agree with you. Your words match the famous poem."
He clears his throat and recites.
"'Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'
"But yet, to argue thus is, when taken to conclusion, to argue against striving and achievement. All that one has can be taken away, so having is merely a maker of misery o'er fear of loss? The meanest blade of grass aspires to be taller than his peers and thus receive more light." He stabs slightly upwards with his weapon for emphasis.
"Is there some balance between ambition unbounded and the abnegation of desire where, in your philosophy, a man may achieve greatness without the pity of a Prince, Prince Jerod?"
"The meanest blade of grass aspires to height because it is mindless in its pursuit of height. It does so by instinct, not choice." Jerod counters. "And once it has received more than its fair share of light, what does it do with it? Nothing, for it is eaten by the sheep that sees the taller grass in the ground upon which it is grazing.
"I pity my uncles not because they have acquired power. Rather, that the kingdoms they build are modelled on the seed of another. I wonder if they have ever considered breaking with that model and creating something truly of their own. I think perhaps Brand contemplated it, but his idea went too far. King Random has a new kingdom, wondrous with possibilities. But surely was not Oberon's the same in the beginning? If the kingdom is sprouted from the same seed, where is the difference?
"You ask for balance, and what greatness may be achieved by one with ambition unbounded? Then I shall offer you the words of another, for I heard them as a younger man and they have stayed with me, even through the lessons that a Prince is expected to endure.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
"You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
"And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
Roland smiles. "You sound like Prince Caine. What is God that thou art mindful of him?"
"We are God." Jerod replies simply. "For we have the ultimate power of choice in the universe. Not the power of life and death on a grand scale, though we possess it as well, but simply choice, to choose our next act be it good or ill. The same cannot be said for those that are Shadow."
Roland cocks his head to one side. "Are we, you and I? So many want so much from us. Which of your uncles have acquitted themselves as God and which as Princes, Prince Jerod?"
"All would claim each title, though whether they truly believe the claim would be for you to decide" Jerod says. "That too is part of the choice. I claim both for my father showed me their strengths, their weakness and their falsehood with his life and his death. And I claim both because it is by choice that we are God and Prince. Those who believe in blood, or destiny or fate fall into the falsehood and understand it not. I do not. Nor do I worry about whether those around me believe me in my claim. That is the second trap, giving over your choices to those that are Shadow and thus giving away your existence.
"What do you believe in? Are you real, or are you Shadow?" Jerod asks, stepping up the tempo now.
Roland matches his tempo. "If I am to avoid your second trap, I must choose not to give over my choice. It becomes the prisoner's dilemma then, but you have made your claim and I can choose to maximize my reward by keeping you from knowing what I claim to be.
He speeds up the tempo. "But I've told you already and so we are even-- both aware of each other's ancestry and what it may mean."
"I'm told you came with a message for Huon of the Horn. What message is that?"
Jerod matches the new pace. "When he announces himself, I'll deliver it." he says, going for indifferent nonchalance.
The tempo increases again. Roland replies, with an equally cultivated air of casualness, "And who do you think I am?"
Jerod speeds up as well, knowing that he may not have Random or even Martin's endurance, but this is unlikely to last long enough to require such a contest to be waged. A pity he thinks, for he is enjoying himself.
"Who I suspect you are is not relevant. Not really. You could be many people. You already know this though. That I seek confirmation will tell you a great deal, especially if you know the environment that I come from, or rather, you know the history of where I come from. If you are the one I seek, you would have some knowledge but nothing current. You would be blind to most of the happenings of late and feeling your way around, plotting your next move. If you are as I think, you'll find most of them are moot by the turn of recent events.
"If you are not who I think you are, then you know even less. That does not make you less of a threat, or an ally, simply an unknown. A suspicion.
"But I gather you also know this. And recognizing that I seek confirmation grants a certain amount of leeway for you. You will look to obtain as much information as possible. But there are risks involved with that venue, for if I am as well connected as I claim, and you push for too much, I might decide to depart and make my report, of a recalcitrant individual, an unknown, a potential threat. Those I represent dislike threats, for Oberon left us too many that we must deal with. And my history tells me that Huon would be no match for any of the Kings that I am representing this day, uncle though he might be. I will not include Uncle Benedict in a comparative equation. It would be a foolish inclusion on my part."
Jerod smiles for a moment. "But I apologize, for I am a bit long winded in my digression. Suspicions, I believe...
"Suspicions are important for they lead us to ask questions, but they are not answers of themselves. When one seeks a Prince of Amber, one can use suspicion up to a ponit. But they are insufficient for the acceptance of one who is a Prince.
"That...that requires the claim to be made." Jerod says. "To claim the name and back it, so that all will know. One can always decline to be named, when the need requires it, or when the one asking is unworthy, as Shadow frequently is. But no one claims it on behalf of a Prince, and a Prince knows this. To do so is tantamount to cowardice. That, we will never accept."
Roland bows. "Peace, Prince Jerod. I am he who you seek, Huon of the Horn. Come with me to my pavilion and we shall have some wine and you and I can discuss what terms my brothers hope to persuade me to accept and I will give them my answer." He holds his spear is at the ready, but it is no longer in a sparring position.
A tempting opportunity indeed, should his death be what Jerod seeks. And what a Prince would do in Jerod's estimation, for the grand gesture is very much the statement of one's life. Even if this one is not Huon, he would still be welcome.
"On behalf of my uncles, it is my honour to accept the hospitality of a son of Oberon and extend to you their greetings." Jerod replies, returning his spear to a standing rest position before offering a polite nod.
"It's good to hear from my brothers at last, even indirectly. Their last two sets of agents were less direct than you, Prince Jerod. Come, let us go to my pavilion." He sets off, still carrying the spear.
"I quite enjoyed the spear-work. It is an underutilized weapon on the surface."
"Indeed." Jerod says, keeping up with his host, using the spear as one would a walking stick even as it remains ready as always. "The waves place restrictions upon those from above that can become uncomfortable when they least expect it. I learned early that the quickest way to learn about a people are to study how they fight, or do not, in some cases. The simplest tool can speak volumes.
"I am curious as to who it is that you have encountered. Those I represent have not sent anyone to approach you. I was to be the first. Did you have any indication as to who they were associated to?"
"I did not," he says, "Your cousins are not as polished in their attempts at misdirection as befits the royal line of Oberon. I did not choose to help them learn the art."
They arrive at an open-sided pavilion next to a tent. Through the flap on the tent, Jerod sees the expected: travelling chests, a table, a cot. It is remarkably similar to Khela's, or for that matter to any commander's in the field.
There is a table and some chairs and Huon sends for some wine. "You have a message for me?" he prompts.
"Three actually." Jerod says, not taking any of the chairs just yet, taking a moment of looking around to collect his Court face.
Huon sits and lets Jerod stand if that seems to be his preference.
"The first is more a clarification of sorts so that the other two messages are clearer. Amber's Pattern is sundered, the kingdom is failing and your father Oberon is dead." Jerod's expression is straight forward and he waits only momentarily, enough to allow Huon to retort or make notice of his receipt of the news before he continues.
"Second, the current king, Random, bids me to offer greetings to his kinsman, and to inquire as to your intentions, to return from exile or to remain free and unfettered. If a return is desired, then something can be arranged. You will understand his interest if your plans should involve Bleys. The King has no desire to have his rule disrupted with feuds from the old days and battles between brothers. They have led to much hardship, though if it becomes necessary, to prevent further sorrow he is prepared to take action. He is supported in this matter by his brother Corwin, who is the King of Paris, and Benedict.
"The King has also bid me to make myself available to answer what questions you may have that are appropriate to answer. State secrets and all that. So I'm afraid the location of his secret scotch stash is off-limits." he says, with an absolute dry delivery.
Huon steeples his fingers before him.
"It is a tempting and interesting offer, and one that I thank your King Random for. It is an offer I wish to consider, for who would not. I could be convinced to relinquish my right to retribution on my cruel brother.
"I could, for the right price. How highly does King Random value peace?"
"Enough to risk your blood curse." Jerod replies blandly. "We already have Brand's to deal with. What's one more amongst Family.
"As for Bleys, the redheads are currently in hand. They were found to be part of a cabal that attempted to overthrow Oberon. Disaffections amongst them, primarily from Prince Brand, ultimately led Bleys and Fiona to re-consider their positions and they made their recompense to Oberon, who paroled them prior to his death. Random has extended that parole. They know well the consequences should they stray down that path again."
Jerod pauses just a moment to allow his comments to be absorbed before he continues, standing behind a chair and placing his hands upon it to lean forward slightly. His voice is clear, toneless and absolutely precise. "I would caution an uncle to consider carefully how he chooses to begin his negotations with King Random. It is not as you once remember. Our losses have united the family as such can only do. Too many have died because of the old ways...uncles and aunts, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters..." he stops then, his expression icy, flinty, the rage tearing in his chest restrained through force of will. There is a slight cracking, his knuckles white-hard on the chair. There is no anger towards Huon, only to the age for which he comes from, the time he represents. To this one, like all the others, the offer must be made. Their choice to reject is their's, but the offer must still be made. Or else the future is for naught and all their deaths are meaningless.
"We will not allow those ways to return." he says, forcing his hand open slowly, dominating the rage. "A different path awaits, for those courageous enough to choose it."
Huon nods. He is at ease as Jerod speaks. "The death of Oberon and his ways should not be allowed to be a wasted opportunity. Assuming I am open to rapprochement, how shall we enact it?"
"That would be up to you." Jerod says, keeping his breath under control. A part of him, a tiny part, adds a reproach to his thoughts, a derision that he should allow himself to approach a point of lacking control. The only consolation remains that it was for his sister. Another breath is drawn slowly, re-centering himself.
"All three that I have mentioned are prepared to speak to you. As I'm sure you understand, they offer nothing but a free ear and the opportunity to one prepared to take it. We both understand I think just how valuable that can be. Each has their advantages and disadvantages, though all have one ability in common, to be able to deal with Bleys should he prove troublesome.
"Prince Benedict is the most neutral of all. He desires continuity for the family and most likely would offer protection of a sort. He is also likely to be the most difficult to sway should you desire to do so. And he is certain to enforce any agreement that you might reach with him with absolute precision. He is on agreeable terms with both Random and Corwin, though currently as Amber's warmaster he favors Random.
"Corwin remains closer to Oberon's ways than any other, in more ways than one, though he also lost a great deal. He appears to have learned more than most, especially in the ways of compromise. His kingdom of Paris is like that of Amber. There is greatness to be had there, similar enough to feel comfortable if one should desire it. As with any kingdom, there are risks to dealing with it for places of power attract the powerful. Paris is like Amber in one important respect as well. It is the point of Corwin's Pattern." Jerod says, watching Huon for his reaction, before he continues.
Huon's eyebrows rise, slightly, and he gestures for Jerod to continue.
"The last is Random, in the kingdom of Xanadu. He was annointed the king of Amber by none other than the Unicorn itself, bearing to him the Jewel of Judgement after victory at the Courts of Chaos. He rules the kingdom of Amber, though with the sundering of its Pattern, you can expect it's people to be resettled. His kingdom is somewhat newer and I think you will find more radical than you would remember Amber. It would not be as you would expect and might prove unsettling, though there is opportunity in new things, challenges to be overcome in testing oneself. Like Corwin, Random has created his own Pattern. As the holder of the Jewel, I would not anticipate there being any further created.
"They are both forces to be reckoned with and they are both friends to each other. Surprising perhaps for brothers, but true nonetheless."
Huon nods. "Surprising indeed. I will speak to your King Random."
"As you wish. As his majesty's representative, I can arrange to trump you to him at a suitable time" Jerod offers.
"There is one more matter that I would like to discuss with you, concerning your army and its disposition."
Huon lets the pause extend for a long moment. "They are disposed, personally and collectively, for war, Prince Jerod." "Then a way must be found to redirect that disposition, Prince Huon." Jerod replies. "As the representative of King Random, I have discharged my duty to him with regards to your return, however you choose to undertake it.
"I must regrettably inform you that your forces such as they are, are outmatched, poorly positioned, and not prepared for what is awaiting them. They have already encountered part of our Triton force. I doubt it was a pleasant experience, even with your sharks." he adds, moving to collect a chair and sit down casually. "As Commander of the Guard of Rebma, I would prefer a peaceful solution, though a military one is already prepared and ready."
Jerod allows another pause here with a smile. "My apologies if I forgot to mention that last title in my original introduction. I wear so many hats, sometimes I forget which ones I'm supposed to have on at what time. I'm sure you understand, Uncle."
Huon nods. "Oh, indeed. I've understood for some time. Let me ask it to you thusly. 'What is your faction in the Rebman Civil War going to offer me to not side with her opponent?'"
"My faction will offer nothing, for I support the defense of Rebma." Jerod replies flatly. "I have already done what is needed to ensure the war ends. Moire has fled and the usurper will assume the throne, which means the other side is now my side. Which means that the Guard stands by my orders, the city is ready and waiting and the usurper's forces also stand ready to defend the kingdom, against you.
"There will be no more war here."
Huon nods. "That is a lofty sentiment, indeed. Your forces are impressive, Prince Jerod, but perhaps not as impressive as you think. 'King of Rebma' would give me a fine position to bargain with my brothers from. Tell your leaders that they can have peace from me for a price, and that I will continue to besiege the city while I await their answer."
Jerod shakes his head. "I had thought you smarter Uncle. You have not done your homework, for no male can wear the crown of Rebma. As Oberon was to Amber, so Moins is to Rebma. And you are neither.
"I will take your answer to Rebma. You will forgive me if I do not believe you will be speaking to Random any time soon I'm afraid, though not because I will not send you to him. I suspect you will not be around to send to him."
He turns to depart but stops. "Oh, and if you're looking for the blade, I'd reconsider. If it were available, I'd give it to you. But I learned something from Benedict about it, something that tells me it's not something one would want, unless death is something you seek. Good day uncle."
"You may go, nephew." He turns to an aide. "Please have my nephew escorted in safety to Rebma or past our lines wherever he will go." Looking back, he says "unless you wish to trump someone?"
"I will contact someone privately." Jerod says. "I need not be passed through your lines again. I garnered as much details as was required when I first arrived."
Huon nods once, "Of course you did. Please, don't let me delay you."
Last modified: 26 December 2008