Berlin Germania/Maiden Croft
Early-January
Trump call. And just when I'm standing behind the bar. I finish pulling the beer I'm getting for one of Goodman Cadogan's regulars, then I accept it. The Führer is at the other end of the link.
"I'm holding an execution party for Beyer. Would you like to join us?" he asks, "After all, I'm sure you'd like to put a final end to this whole sorry incident."
"I would. I really would."
"Then join me."
I glance over at my occasional employer and indicate that I need to go. He rolls his eyes slightly - 'can't get the help these days' - but nods. I grin at him, then offer Dieter my hand and step through. I arrive in his office in the Chancellery, and am suddenly very aware that I'm currently dressed for Amber. About the only thing that's appropriate is my black shirt, and even that isn't the right style for Germania.
"You're out of uniform."
"I was keeping bar," I say, probably more informally than I should.
But then, since my time on Dominion, I've found it harder to be subservient to him. It's not easy going from RFSS, and pretty much boss of my own destiny, back to 'on the Führer's personal staff'. Albeit on Hexenland I have more autonomy. And while I'm good at walking the walk and talking the talk, sometimes I slip up. Especially when I'm moving between two worlds as different as Amber and Germania.
"Excuse me?" he says, and I detect a trace of annoyance at what he perceives to be my insubordination.
Taking the hint, I shift my position into something closer to attention.
"It's a very long story, Herr Führer."
"Is it anything to do with the altercation you had with your father?"
"So you've heard about that?"
"From what my sources tell me, everyone in the Guildhall heard about that. Why did you let him embarrass you I public like that? And then agree to do...community service..." I can see the distaste as he says that, "and for the good of Low Bloods. I would have expected one of my senior officers to stand up for his own honour."
Why did I let him? That's a question I've been asking myself since then. No doubt brother Wolf would have given as good as he got. Mind you, I think a broken nose probably counts in that regard, and I learned two very important things in the exchange. It's always an experience to discover that you're both physically and mentally stronger than your father.
Probably not a good idea to mention that the Roads and Safety thing was my idea, though.
"I could understand the politics of why he had to do it," I answer, "and the all-out shouting match which ends in blows seems to be a rite of passage between Ian and his sons."
Dieter looks at me with a harrumphing noise. Obviously he's aware that I wasn't doing very much of the shouting at all.
"The execution is scheduled for 3pm in the public courtyard by Plötzensee Prison. I trust you'll be in uniform by then."
"Dress blacks or Feldgrau?"
"Feldgrau will be sufficient. No point honouring a traitor like that with anything more."
"Yes, Herr Führer."
"Good. Dismissed."
* * * * * *
It's stuffy when I get back to my apartment in Eisenzahnstraße 63, just off the Ku'Damm. I bought the place for a surprisingly good price about eighteen months ago, as a reward to myself after my efforts in the coup. It's up on the fourth floor, and far more modest than Armand's film star bachelor pad near Unter Den Linden. There's a lounge with a small balcony, a small study, kitchen, two en-suite bedrooms and a washroom. But at least it's somewhere I can lay my cap when I'm working in Berlin.
What with Hexenland and everything else that's been going on, it's been a while since I've been home. But at least the wards on the door haven't been breached. I let myself in, pick up the pile of post and the hand-delivered copies of Das Schwarze Korps, and put them on the table in the hall. Then, despite the fact that it's January, I open the lounge windows to get some air flowing through.
I head for my bedroom, strip off my Amber garb, and catch a shower. Once I've towelled myself dry, I dress in a set of Feldgrau. Wrong insignia of course, so a trip to Boss Dienstkleidung on the way is going to be necessary.
I hang my honour dagger on my belt, slip on my Ehrenring, and then consider swords. I've got used to the feel and weight of the one Geran made for me, but medieval cross-hilt really won't go with Feldgrau. Plus the Führer wouldn't take such a breach of protocol well. With regret, I leave it in the pile with my Amber clothes and buckle on my SS officer's blade.
Time to go. But at least the air in the lounge seems clearer now. I close the window, slip a book in my pocket for the train, and head out and lock up.
At least Boss Dienstkleidung is only on the Ku'Damm, in the unit next to a store with the same company's fashion brand fascia. I can't fault them for the subtle reminder to their customers of their good standing with the government. The store is about twenty minutes' walk from my place, but I arrive with enough time for the on-hand tailor to make the necessary adjustments to my uniform.
After a quick phone call to check my entitlement to the change of rank (approved), he gets to work. Twenty minutes later, I'm walking out of the store and heading for the U-bahn. I get one or two odd looks as I head down into Dieterplatz Station, as SS Generals don't normally take public transport. But when I meet the eyes of my observers, they suddenly seem to be in a hurry to be somewhere else.
I get off at Westhafen, and then walk the remaining distance to the Prison. When I see the guillotine, I smile inwardly as I realise that Beyer is going to receive a civilian's execution, not a military one. The public area has been cordoned off, and I see guards making sure the growing crowd of execution aficionados don't get out of line. However, on the prison side of the square I see a roped off area, and one or two familiar faces. I go over to the guard on the rope. I've been put on the authorisation list, and he lets me through without any more than the most cursory checks.
In the 'VIP' enclosure, I recognise Lucius, Geran and one or two other familiar faces from Amber, plus a handful of senior officers. Dieter himself isn't here yet. I greet the others, then wait to see what happens.
He arrives about five minutes later, and I smile as I see Armand with him as they step out of a diplomatic Mercedes. Like me, he's in Feldgrau, although he has the tired, drawn look of someone who's been on campaign. But at least Ian was willing to spare him from the Ostia crisis for this. My friend catches my eye, and returns the smile. He says a few words to Dieter, and then crosses to join me. We grip wrists, and I see him giving me the once over.
"Problem?" I ask.
"When did you get promoted again?" he says, curious.
"When I handed over Beyer."
"Nice," he answers, nodding appreciatively, then looks a little more serious, "I hear you and Ian had words though."
"Apparently everyone's heard Ian and I had words. Many of them first hand."
"So I gather. But you know, I would have loved to have been there when you stabbed the bastard in the back."
"You have no idea how good it made me feel, Armand," I say, "it was like...all my hate flowed out, and all my rage and frustration. It was cathartic. The closest equivalent I can explain it as, is when I was initiated into the Wewelsburg Group. I think you had something similar when you were brought into the Lyminge one"
It's obvious he doesn't know how to respond to that, so I save him the trouble by changing the subject.
"How's the war going? It's an interesting coalition Ian's mustered. Is he keeping it together."
"Thus far. It's been a while since I last did much military stuff with him, but his generalship is improving. And I suspect this mess isn't going to hurt me in that regard, either. I'm still playing catch-up on the whole Medieval to Napoleonic period, and while I've done some cross-training with Edward, it's very different having to deal with an actual war. But at least its dry. Gods help me, I'm off fish for the next five years."
"I'm a bit surprised Edward isn't involved."
"To be honest, so am I. Although he and Ian have a habit of trying to make sure that at least one of them is in Amber to stop Bleys doing anything stupid. Maybe that's why. However, he has sent the lovely Gilva and some of her friends down to help."
"Given you're up against Hellmaids, if the reports are right, that makes a lot of sense."
However, before he can say anything else, I hear the creak of the heavy door from the condemned wing of the prison, and Beyer is brought out into the square. To a chorus of shouts and boos from the crowd. He looks exceedingly sorry for himself, and I feel a warm little glow in my heart at his discomfort. My guess is that after I passed him through, he was given the most cursory medical treatment. Just enough to stop him dying and no more. He looks tired, and pale, and covered in bruises.
I glance over at Armand. Usually the most affable of individuals. However, as he looks at the man who tried to have him hanged, so many years ago, his expression is cold. I also note that his hand is on the hilt of sword. I raise my hand to his shoulder, and give it a gentle squeeze of support. He turns towards me with a weak smile on his face, then looks back at Beyer.
The execution is quick and disappointingly painless. A guard reads out his crimes, Dieter confirms his sentence, and the executioner pulls the lever. Moments later there's a squelch as the head hits the bucket below, and a large cheer from the crowd. And that particular chapter of our lives is over.
Dieter has a few words with the others, then comes over to us.
"I'm sure you two want to catch up. Consider your duties here done for today. And I'll play host to my brothers."
"Yes Herr Führer," we say in unison, offering the obligatory salutes, then make our way.
* * * * * *
No public transport for Armand. As we leave the Prison I see a second diplomatic Mercedes pull up, with a uniformed driver. He climbs out of the driver's seat and opens the doors for us.
"How the other half live," I comment to my friend.
"I'm sure you could do the same if you wanted," he says, with a shrug, but I shake my head.
"The film star life isn't for me. You're way better at it than I would ever be. Fancy a drink?"
"I'm going to have to get back down South. But you're welcome to come with me. I have a decent tent, a supply of booze, and its currently evening. I just need to get out of this uniform. Why don't I drop you at your place, and then you can call me when you're ready."
"Sounds good. What's the dress code for a war in Chaos."
"Pretty much anything that gets the job done," he answered, with a chuckle, and gave instructions to his driver.
* * * * * *
One laundry spell and a quick change later, I'm back in the clothes I arrived in. My uniform is back in the cupboard, my officer's sword is back on its stand, and my honour dagger is in the sheath in the small of my back. The weight of the long sword is comfortable at my waist after the lighter blade. I dig Armand's Trump out of my pocket and give him a call.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Come ahead," he answers, and offers his hand.
I step through into the hall of his apartment, next to the rack where everyone has to put their shoes. I note that he's now dressed in modern-style camo, without insignia. But under the jacket I see chain mail at his neck.
"Liking the whole Amber rake look," he says, as he looks me up and down again.
It's slightly disconcerting, and I wonder what's got him bothered. After all, he doesn't normally pay that kind of attention to men.
"I decided to go native," I answer, with a chuckle.
"You can actually get away with it, unlike some of us. And for goodness sake, my friend, when are you going to stop growing?"
As we weigh each other up, I realise that he's right. I am looking down on him a bit more than I did when we last saw each other. Not much, but a bit.
"I hadn't realised I was. Maybe it's because I've been working out. Not much else to do in Hexenland except admin and reading."
"Working out doesn't normally make you taller. Look at Dad. He could pretzel both of us, and he's shorter than me."
I shrug. I really don't have an answer for him.
"Maybe we should be going?" I suggest.
At which point, he looks a little sheepish.
"There is just one small problem..." he says, cautiously.
"Which is?"
"I need to call Ian to get us back to Chaos. Are you good with that?"
"Ian and I had a frank and honest exchange of views. He slapped me, I broke his nose and offered to do community service, and we called it evens."
"You broke his nose?"
"It surprised me, too. Apparently those dark nights in Hexenland have made a difference."
"Remind me not to get you mad."
"I'm not sure you could ever get me mad," I answer, quietly, and probably deserve the odd look he shoots me.
"What about your pretty AdC?" he says, after taking a moment to regroup, "I'm sure she'd help you pass the cold dark nights."
"Professional relationship, not personal."
"Seriously?"
"She's my subordinate. And I don't see Dieter approving."
He gives me another odd look, but this time I don't quite follow it. A fact which he quickly realises.
"We should go," he says, before things get any more awkward, and he gets out Ian's Trump.
* * * * * *
We arrive in a large tent. There's a table in the middle covered in maps and plans, and a small camp bed and stove to one side. I'm immediately struck by the sounds and smells of a battle from another time. Wood fires, horses and metal in the forge. Men shouting at each other. The clash of blades as they either practice or brawl. And as I look out of the tent's entrance, I can see that the sky is a dark red.
Ian looks about as medieval as I've ever seen him. Far more so than he ever does in Amber. A scaled leather breastplate over a mail shirt, dark woollen britches and a heavy woollen cloak. It's like seeing his astral form in the flesh, which is slightly disconcerting. He's obviously not expecting to see me, either.
"So is the bastard dead?" he asks, looking at the pair of us.
"And in two pieces," Armand answers.
"Then I guess you didn't kill him after all," Ian comments, looking at me, and I shrug.
"When you release the news to the press, call it 'apprehension of a known criminal'," I suggest, and he actually smiles.
"So I know why Armand's here. What about you?"
"I thought, as it was evening, we could do a bit of catching up," Armand offers, before I can say anything, "and hey, if we end up being attacked in the night, we already know he can swing a mean blade."
Ian looks at us both, and then bursts into laughter.
"You two are incorrigible," he says through the guffaws, "go, talk, and I'll see you later."
And I know he and I are good.
* * * * * *
Well, that could have gone a lot worse. As I'd said to Dieter, there were political reasons why I'd taken our shouting match without rancour. And as for proposing the whole Roads and Safety thing, that was my way of trying to placate him. I guess he'll also realise soon enough that rather to my own surprise, I actually enjoy tending bar at the Boar's Head. For a natural observer like me, it's better than TV. Which is probably just as well, given the lack of such luxuries in Amber.
Armand's tent is about three over from Ian's, and about a third the size. Pretty much all it contains are a small field desk, a lock box, a camp bed and a couple of folding chairs. There's also a small fire near the entrance which is burning low.
"I should make that up a bit," Armand comments, "so I can boil some water."
"What's wrong with using a spell?"
He looks at me and then sighs.
"I'm a lot newer to sorcery than you. It isn't always my first thought."
Moments later, I see the fire flare up somewhat, and soon it's burning brightly. Which wasn't quite what I meant, but if it got the job done.
"There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it?" I say, teasing him.
"I didn't do anything," he answers, and looks rather puzzled, "I thought it was you."
"Nope."
Which suddenly has me worried. Did someone else overhear us and fan the fire? As he puts some water on to boil, I sit down in one of the chairs. Then I drop into a Working trance and scan around to see if anyone's watching us. Mercifully, there don't seem to be signs of any other magical influences in the tent, aside Armand's own wards. I do take a moment or two to strengthen those for him...just in case, you understand. But by the time I come back, he's looking at me oddly again.
"Okay. What in Hel's name's got you so interested in me all of a sudden?" I ask, beginning to get annoyed, "that's the third time I've caught you staring. And while I could understand a woman staring at me in this get-up, I'm pretty sure I'm not your type."
"You're different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know," he says, with a sigh, and digs out a couple of mugs and some coffee. Obviously he doesn't want to risk booze when he's in the field, "and I can't even really explain it. But something's changed. We've known each other for a long time, but just now...surely you can't tell me you aren't acting strangely?"
"Is this the whole Beyer thing again?"
"That, and you're new acceptance of Amber, and various other things. It seems...out of character. You've always been the quiet one. The schemer. And suddenly...it's like you've come out of your shell with a vengeance."
"You're the one who's always told me to live life more. And now I'm doing that, you're criticising me?"
I feel surprisingly annoyed at him. What right does he have to question me like that?
"You're right. I'm sorry. It's none of my business," he answers, and I realise he sounds nervous. Then I realise he's looking at my hands.
I glance down and see what look like flames flicking around them. I stare at them, dumbfounded, and then try to wish the flames away. In a moment, they've gone.
"Now you're scaring me," he says, quietly, "what the Hell was that?"
But I haven't got any idea., and he obviously sees that in my face. Fear turns to concern, and he crosses over to where I'm sitting.
"Tuur, what's going on?"
"I have no idea."
"Has something like that happened before?"
"Nope..." And then I think back to Ian's office. The bloody handkerchief. "Maybe."
"You know, I would have thought it was something you'd have noticed."
The water is boiling, so he pulls the pan off the fire. He pours water into the coffee cups, and then pours brandy into the coffee. So much for not drinking on campaign.
"Here," he says, handing one of them to me and then sitting down on the other chair.
I take it gratefully.
"I have to ask," he says, after taking a sip from his coffee, and then nodding with approval, "Why did you do it? Why did you stab Beyer in the back in a public place...not that he didn't deserve it, but as I said before, it seems really out of character for you. Sure, you've done the sneaking around thing. But never something like this."
What in Hel's name should I say? That I did it out of love? That I didn't want him harmed by the Lynx again? That I wanted to kill the man who'd tried to kill him many years before?
"I did it to protect you," I say, finally, and I can see the expression of surprise on his face. After all, normally it's the other way around. "He was in Amber digging into Helgrams, bloodlines, and assorted other Lynx-style mischief. And as always, you were high on the list of priorities."
"I just can't shake that bunch of whack-jobs. Can I?"
I look at him and shake my head. I see pain, and anger, and helplessness cross his face. The last time I saw that was after the business with the dwarves, when he'd been delivered back to me in a box.
"At least, with Beyer dead, that's one less you have to worry about," I answer, gently.
"I suppose it is."
We sit in silence for a few moments, sipping our coffee, before he finally speaks again.
"I'm actually worried about you. Something's definitely off. Will you let me take a look at you...on the Second Road?"
"If you want. It's not usually known as a diagnostic tool."
"No, but spontaneous flaming hands seems more arcane than medical."
"If it would put your mind at rest, by all means."
I sit back and drink my doctored coffee, while I watch him go into a trance. He seems so much younger when he's in that state. And I note he seems to becoming more comfortable with the whole business of ritual. I don't work magic with him often, given our different traditions, so it's interesting to see how he's developing. Ian and Wolf have been teaching him well.
He says nothing, but I can see expressions of concern and puzzlement on his face. That doesn't bode well. I drop back into a trance and move up on to the Second Road.. And there we are, standing on the plane that both is and isn't. The sea-bleached blonde youngster on the way to the beach, and me.
At first glance, I don't think I look any different. My astral self has always been very different to my normal one, in both colouring and style of dress, and it seems much the same this time. Until I look at my hands, and see flickers of blue and yellow flame around them. It's like watching flambéed alcohol, burning on a Christmas pudding.
And then look at the rest of me, and see the same thing. It's like the fire has become part of me.
"What on earth...?" I hear Armand say in my mind, the link having formed when I joined him on the Second Road.
"No idea," I answer, and realise that I'm a lot further out of my comfort zone than I normally am in the world between. I've heard of people having a lot of weird experiences up there, but this one's new on me.
"Can you control it?"
I start concentrating, and try to consciously extinguish the flames. However, they seem to prefer the idea of accumulating around my hands. Soon there's a ball of blue/yellow fire in my hands, and I feel the urge to throw it somewhere and cause some harm. The feeling reminds me of what happened with Ian. When I tried to heal him, but had to fight down the desire to hurt him instead.
I try to die it down, but it just flames all the brighter.
"Bugger."
"So what now?"
"I have a really, really big desire to blow something up. But on the Second Road...I really don't know how good an idea that is. Still, by the feel of it, I might not have a choice soon. Which way is Ostia's force?"
He looks at me for a moment, as if I'm daft, and then twigs why I'm asking. He concentrates, obviously feeling for the equivalent geography, and then indicates a direction.
"That way...about ten klicks."
I send my astral self in that direction, and soon I detect what I guess to be the enemy below me. Their souls have a different feel to them. A different tang or texture. And the differentiation seems clearer than usual somehow. By the time I move to where I believe the centre is the ball of fire has grown even brighter between my hands. I can feel the power from it and know that I'm seconds away from losing control. I focus on it, and then push it away from me, downwards, like pushing away a volleyball.
I feel the shockwave rather than hear a bang, and the next thing I know, I've snapped back into my physical body. For a moment I feel like I've got fire running in my veins, rather than blood. I start to do a self-check, then realise that I am the fire. I throw a shield around myself, before I set to Armand's tent alight, and try to get control. Sadly, the chair my physical body was sitting on is a goner by then.
Okay. Don't panic. Whatever in Hel's name this is, I can control it.
Eventually I manage to impose my will over my somewhat rebellious body. I feel myself diminishing and am once again Artur. I feel sick and shaky. Like I've just come off the biggest adrenaline rush I've ever felt. I drop the shield and pull myself to a sitting position. But moments later I'm doubled over, holding my knees. It's all I can do to stop myself retching.
Moments later, Armand is back in his own body and on his feet, and I feel his arm over my shoulders. Concern is radiating off him. Which thankfully seems to stop him noticing the smell of burned chair.
"What did you do?" he asks, quietly, sitting down beside me, "It was like an atom bomb going off on the Second Road. Thank the gods there wasn't much there to destroy."
"I couldn't hold it any longer, so I let it go."
He grabs a blanket and wraps it around me, then passes me another cup of heavily doctored coffee. The water's gone cold, but if I concentrate on it, I can feel it warming up between my hands. Still, at least this time I don't see flames.
"Bloody Hel," I mutter, "can you see if my astral form's on fire again?"
He blanks out for a moment, then comes back.
"Not really. Very slightly around your hands, but that makes sense if you're warming the water. But nothing more than that. Maybe it's gone."
"Let's hope so. Because if I'm being honest, it was freaking me out."
Almost as much as getting back and realising I'd turned into some kind of fire elemental. But I thought only shape shifters could do that, and I'm sure as Hel not one of those. I sip my coffee, but it doesn't have the same restorative effect as it did earlier.
Before Armand can say anything, a messenger comes to the entrance. My friend gets to his feet and goes over to him, and they talk in hushed voices. Normally, I'd probably try to listen in, but right now concentration is difficult. And then he's back beside me again.
"I'm sorry, Tuur. I'm going to have to go. Something's happening in the enemy camp, and Ian's called an immediate war council. Do you want to stay here? You can kip on the bed..."
"No. I think I need to get back to Amber. This all seemed better under control there, and I don't want to risk hurting anyone we actually like."
"Just as well, because by the sound of it you've certainly hurt those we don't. But you're in no fit state to Trump back."
"Could you call Wolf for me? Then I can go through to him and leave you to get to Ian."
"You sure you're alright?"
"No, to be honest, I'm bloody certain I'm not alright. But I'm not going to figure out what's going on until I've had some serious sleep"
"Here..."
He offers me his hand, and helps me to my feet. I feel as weak as a kitten, and my limbs don't want to work properly. He pretty much holds me up as he calls his father.
It takes a while for Wolf to answer. Distance, I suppose. But when he does, he's expression instantly changes to one of concern.
"Armand, what on earth have you been doing? I thought you were supposed to be in Chaos."
"I am in Chaos."
"But Artur..."
"I'll explain later, Dad. But for now I need for you to pull him back to Amber."
"Of course," he says, and reaches out for me.
I only stay conscious long enough to take one step through to him. Then I feel my eyes roll up in my head, and I hit the floor.