9.       The Trial.

 

Walking the Pattern, either true or broken, is a unique experience, which leaves an everlasting impression on an initiate.  Whatever struggle it was and whatever went through Ambrose’s mind while he was slowly but steadily moving toward the center we would never know.  What is common is an overwhelming feeling of power as an initiate obtains control over Shadow.  This happens somewhere in the third and final veil of the true Pattern, as for a broken one – one must walk it to find out for oneself.

 

Ambrose was told that upon reaching the center he was to return to his room in Amber.  But to what end?  To resume his role of a virtual prisoner, at the whim of Fiona?   Scarlett was a nice girl, but she was of Amber, and they all seemed the same – just passing through, using people for their own purpose or pleasure and then forgetting all about them, like Elektra, or perhaps something worse, like that bully Bleys.  There was so much suddenly revealed, and so much to see and experience…  Also the affairs at home must be attended to, the stock market has been rather violent lately so the portfolios must be realigned.  What would Fiona know or care about that?  So he called the image of his own room on Earth, instead of the one in Amber.  Scarlett was still there by the wall… there was some commotion in the room…  But he was already in his own den, from where by chance he had established the contact with Fiona.  Perhaps, after exploring Shadow he would return to the “One and True World”, but this time on his own terms.  It did not occur to him that a way back to Amber might not be an easy one.

 

Scarlett felt much relieved seeing Ambrose standing in the center.  He had made it through!  But there was no time to celebrate, as the room suddenly filled with armed men.  Ambrose was already gone.  She was ordered to surrender, which of course she did not, but her opponents were just too many.  She got a few before a net was thrown over her and she was carried somewhere and eventually thrown on the floor of a small cell, which appeared to be cased with some kind of a blue crystalline material.  The fools left her the Trumps, but soon she discovered that none worked.  The only one, which produced a very faint contact, was that of Elektra, but still she could not get through.  Her Pattern magic did not seem to work either.  So there she was, sitting on a straw mattress from time to time making loud noises to attract some attention, idly contemplating that her recent adventures tended to lead her from one dungeon to another.  Though this time she was alone.

 

Hard as she tried, Elektra could not be contacted.  Her screams did not produce any response either.  Judging by the number of tasteless meals shoved into the cell, she spent at least three days in Kashfa’s jail before they finally came to drag her outside.

 

In the corridor there was a single file of prisoners – a dozen or so men and a few women connected by a long chain running through the metal collars on their necks.  The guards quickly cuffed her hands in front of her and locked a collar around her neck.  She was the last one on the chain.  They were walked through a few corridors, up some stairs, and finally ushered into a large, rather gloomy, room separated by a barrier where they were seated on a long bench by the wall.  Behind the barrier there was a table covered by black cloth and occupied by two black-clothed thin men with tired faces of unhealthy gray complexion looking pretty much alike, except for their age.  Scarlett realized that she was in a courtroom, and that the older man was apparently a magistrate, while the younger one – his clerk.  There was a small, somewhat anxious, crowd on the other side of the barrier – witnesses, victims, perhaps relatives of the defendants.

 

Kashfa’s justice was swift.  The guards unfastened her chainmates one at a time, and brought them toward the barrier where the magistrate read the charges from a paperwork handed to him by the clerk – mostly petty theft, prostitution, non-payment of debt, and such – and conducted a brief hearing.  While Kashfa was located on the outskirts of the Golden Circle, the language was still Thari, so she could follow the proceedings, which were rather informal but did not strike her as unfair.  A defendant was given a chance to dispute the charges.  Most plead guilty and begged for mercy, only a few actually contested, and all but one of those that did were quickly caught in a lie either by witness testimony or by the magistrate, whose questioning was much sharper than his appearance might have suggested.  The successful defendant was immediately released to much relief of his family, the others were sentenced to some period of hard labor and hauled out of the room by the guards.  In a few hours or so Scarlett was the only one left.  When she was brought forward, the magistrate shook his head with much sadness.

 

“Young lady, your crimes are grave indeed, that’s why you were left for the end.  You’re charged with trespass upon the Pattern, which is punishable by 3 years of hard labor.  You’re further charged with resisting arrest, which is punishable by 6 months of hard labor.  While resisting you’ve severely wounded 3 guards, which is punishable by 15 years of hard labor in each instance.  Further, you’ve also killed 2 guards, which is punishable by death…”  He sighed deeply.  “…In each instance.  But of course we can’t hang you twice.”

 

He paused as the clerk leaned over and whispered something in his ear.  “I stand corrected,” he sighed again.  “You wounded 2 guards and killed 3.  Another one’s just expired.  I’ll skip the pleading part as there’re plenty of witnesses.  Nevertheless justice requires me to entertain your defense, though I can hardly imagine one.  State your name and residence for the record, and say whatever you have to say for yourself.”

 

Scarlett thought hard of the events of the past few days.  Of Ambrose reaching the center of the broken pattern and departing abruptly.  Of the sudden onrush of armed guards screaming for her to surrender.  Of the way her sword had leapt, as if of its own accord, into her hand and the guards began falling before the swirling blade.  Uncle Bleys would be proud.  Of how the fools cheated by capturing her in a net rather than fighting fairly.  Of three long days spent cramped in a small cell cased with a blue crystalline material – time enough to escape via the Trumps which were strangely left in her possession, but for some reason failed to work.  And finally, of the words the magistrate had just spoken as she was brought before him, her hands still cuffed.  There was enough slack in her chains to be able to pull out and set aside the Castle Amber’s Trump, meaning to attempt one more time to use it should things not go well.  She held it in her hand.  She looked deeply into the magistrate’s eyes and smiled her sweetest smile.  With all the psyche she could master, she was tried psychic suggestion on him.  The image she was projecting into his mind was of her in her usual dress for the Court of Amber – a red-colored formal gown made of the finest silk.  Then slowly, carefully, in her most innocent voice and with flashing eyes, she began addressing the charges.

 

“Sir, I was brought to this strange place at sword point by a young man I knew not at all only a few days earlier.  He raped me in the cavern – surely your men observed on the ground in the cavern by our horses the imprint of but one bedroll.  Then he forced me into the room with that strange Pattern in it and left me standing there as he walked on it and disappeared.  To the first charge you must surely see I’m not guilty, for at no time did my foot or any other part of my body touch the Pattern, and I hadn’t voluntarily entered the room itself.

 

“Now, Sir, before the young man left, he assured me that his cohorts would be arriving soon to cut my throat.  He said that there’d be many armed men and threw me my father’ prized sword, which he’d stolen from our dwelling at the time of my kidnapping.  He laughed and said that if I fought well, that maybe they might allow me live long enough to taste my spirit in that way that men sometimes do with young and vulnerable girls such as I.  I’m a good girl, and I’ve been taught that I must resist rape at all costs – even my life.  As the many men entered the room, they were all screaming at once, so I couldn’t understand the meaning of any one thing.  These men, in my mind, were clearly my promised rape and death – so I was resisting rape not arrest.  As you see, I’m not guilty of the second charge.”

 

She looked deeply into the magistrate’s eyes and focused on the psychic suggestion that she was innocent, a helpless victim caught up in an unfortunate chain of events.  She added a tremble to her soft hypnotic voice and managed some tears from her bright blue eyes, her now-wet cheeks growing almost as red as her shoulder-length hair.  She worked the magistrate's mind hard, willing him to believe, but never losing her grip on the Trump of the Castle Amber.

 

“And finally, Sir, holding my father’s heavy saber awkwardly before me, I was suddenly surrounded by men pawing at my hair and pulling at my clothes.  Now my father’s sword’s very sharp, and I’m sure some of the men may have unfortunately touched its edge as they tried to force me to the ground – I thought so that I might be defiled.  I didn’t have the skill to move it out of the way.  And then an awful thing happened, a man was shoved by the other men onto the tip of my father’s sword – well onto it – to the hilt if you may.  I got blood on me!  I became most ill!  More men touched the edge of my father's sword as they clawed at me, and then it happened again – another man impaled.  It wasn’t long before the armed men decided they were too many to take me all at once, without stumbling over each other, so they threw a net over me instead.  They spent a short time deciding what to do with me, and threw me into the cell unmolested.  I thought they were obviously concerned as to how they would explain the many injuries they’d inflicted on each other.  And now I stand before you, accused of false charges. I’m not guilty of the third and fourth charges, for it was their numbers themselves, that caused them to injure themselves on my family heirloom.”

 

She channeled all her will, trying to make the Magistrate know that she was innocent, that, in fact, maybe the guards’ motives had been not entirely pure.  Tears were flowing well out of her puffy eyes onto her rosy cheeks.  She focused so much that her body was quivering – the magistrate must think that she was obviously not guilty.  He must think she was a poor innocent girl, fearful of unjust punishment.  She clutched the Trump and spoke again.

 

“Noble Magistrate, I’m alone in this land, and I’ve told you the truth – every word.  Your fairness as a judge is known throughout the surrounding lands.  They say the innocent shall not trouble themselves if they are so lucky as to stand before you.  I’ve met the charges against me as best as I may – I know not what the true intentions of those men who rushed upon me were.  If they were only carrying out their liege's orders, then I’m truly sorry they injured themselves.  I’ve done nothing wrong, however, and I’m already the victim of kidnap and rape and bid you not to add to this already terrible suffering.  Please!  Find me innocent of the charges against me, for I am.  Then release me and return my father's heirloom and horses so that I may find my way home to seek an old woman, who may somehow vouchsafe me from a child born from being forced – from being raped.  Please!”

 

As she spoke, she saw the clerk biting his lip, and heard suppressed noises from the guards behind her.  By the time she had finished, it was apparent that the effect was somewhat opposite to that she had intended.  The noises from behind grew into a loud laughter, and the clerk hid his face in his hands trying to maintain the decorum.  The magistrate seemed rather disturbed though.  He shook his head as if trying to drive something away before he addressed her.     

 

“Young lady, being on the bench for as long as I have, a thief contending to have found coins on the ground waiting to be picked up – is nothing new, but I have to admit no one’s ever claimed that coins jumped from the ground into one’s pocket.  Until now, because that’s, in essence, what you’re telling us.”  More laughter from the clerk and the guards.

 

“Many more die than succeed in walking the Pattern, so the law was passed prohibiting it without the King’s permission, and the guards were posted.  Now, all are tough veterans and somehow managed to survive a few battles without…hmm… helping each other to fall on their opponents’ swords.  In fact, those experienced swordsmen say they’ve never seen anyone as skilled as you’re.  As for the first part of your story, I tend to disbelief it as well.  A young man was indeed seen, but are we to believe that one intending to take you at a sword point would let you put on a chain mail first?  Not to mention, you came on your own horse, your clothes are not damaged and there’s no sign of struggle in the cavern you’ve spent a night in.”

  

“Let me tell you what really happened,” he continues.  “You and your companion sneaked into the Pattern chamber under the cover of darkness.  You waited till morning in the adjacent cavern and whatever you did to pass the time, I submit there was nothing forced about it.  In the morning you watched your companion’s success in walking the Pattern.  You were to follow but were interrupted by the guards, at which time you preferred to rely on your fighting skills, indeed remarkable from what I’ve been told, but hardly sufficient against the overwhelming numbers.  So I doubt not, you are guilty as charged…  But wait, what’s that you’re holding there?”

 

His lips kept moving, whispering what sounded as an incantation of some kind, though Scarlett could not make out the words.  The doors and the windows were closed tightly but a sudden gust of wind blew the Trump out of her hand, and, after making a few circles in the air, it landed on the table right in front of the Magistrate.  Actually when he smiled, he looked almost handsome.

 

“Yes, of course, I’m a sorcerer, though perhaps a minor one...”   The smile faded when he picked up the trump, his face slowly turning as white as the papers spread on the table.  “But I recognize the place…  Many years ago on a diplomatic mission… who can forget the golden spires of Amber…  And I can see you… dressed in a red-colored formal gown made of the finest silk… entering the Grand Dining Room… and at the head of the table, rising to meet you… King Random himself…   You kept mentioning your father…  Is it possible that…  Tell us, tell us your name and the name of your father, My Lady, so we wouldn’t make a horrible mistake!”

 

Scarlett looked up stunned at her attempt at manipulating the Judge having failed, and the Trump of the Castle Amber floating away from hers into his hands, feeling the noose tightening around her neck.  She would have thought it impossible for one of Shadow to resist her mental energy, magician or not.  Then she saw her chance.  She fidgeted for a moment trying to think of the appropriate answer.

 

“Err... Magistrate, I’m sure that in some Shadow a Shadow of myself did exactly as I testified, so what I said wasn’t quite the perjury.  As to my father, I’m sorry, I know next to nothing.  My mother’s said little about him, but I’ve some reason to believe he was some higher-up in the Courts of Chaos.  One doesn’t question my mother about such things.”  She gave him her best lost-little-girl look, tears still in her eyes and a quiver in her voice.  “Speaking of my mother, perhaps you met her while you were on your mission.  She’s Lady Fiona, sister of King Random, among others.  It’s she who sent me here with the boy.  I fear she’ll be troubled if I don’t return soon!”

 

Of course Fiona was well known in Kashfa, but the reaction to her words far exceeded her expectations.  The Magistrate started raising from his chair, but then fell back into it, his face completely white, his arms raised in front of him as if trying to dispel her somehow, or perhaps to embrace her, she could not be sure.  Apparently he was trying to say something but nothing intelligible came out except for some throat noises.  The clerk rushed to him with a glass of water and she could hear the guards behind her moving closer.  Were he to have a heart attack, the timing was extremely bad of course, as doubtless she would be the one to blame and perhaps even accused of witchery in addition to everything else.  But he got hold of himself, gulping the water, and then addressed her again.  Though his voice was still weak and trembling, she could understand his question this time.

 

“How… how old are you, my child?”

 

“Errr…Magistrate,” she answered softly, her voice getting stronger as she continued, “I’m rather young to be traipsing around in Shadow, much less be sent on an important mission.  But... well... you see…err... I’m rather headstrong.  I’m  20 years of age, Sir.  I hope, I’ve not broken some law for being so young.  And, Sir, I do recognize the kindness that you’re showing and appreciate your patience in this matter, but I really should think about getting back to Castle Amber.  Otherwise mother may come looking, for Lady Fiona isn’t known to be a patient woman when it comes to me and the affairs of Amber.”

 

The Magistrate had calmed down somewhat.  His smile was soft and sad and there was a trace of tears in his eyes.  “Yes, Lady Fiona isn’t known to be a patient woman when it comes to… hmm… many kinds of affairs.”  He gestured the guards to remove Scarlett’s handcuffs.  “All the charges against you are dismissed of course.  There’s no doubt the events took place exactly as you’ve described.  But we absolutely must keep you a little longer.  I’m sure His Majesty would never forgive me for letting you leave without being presented to him first.  After all, he’s your cousin, the only son of Lord Brand.”

 

He walked toward her and extended his hand.  “Please come, my child, rest in my office while I inform the King of your arrival.”

 

His office was unexpectedly large and well appointed.  He seated Scarlett in one of the comfortable armchairs facing his large ornate desk.  She noticed him quickly picking up something from the desktop and hiding it in the drawer before he left.  A small frame, a picture perhaps.  A Pattern sorceress she was not, but her skills were more than adequate to handle a Shadow lock.  It was a picture.  Not of a kind she was used to, but she had seen some of those lately on Shadow Earth.  A man on the photograph was doubtless the Magistrate, though much younger and rather handsome in his black tux.  He was flanked by two women.  A taller one at his left, in a low-cut off-the-shoulder purple gown, her blond hair forming an elaborate crown around her head was absolutely stunning.  But it was the other one, at the Magistrate’s right, with her arm around his waist and her eyes shining from under long lashes that Scarlett stared at.  Fiona was also dressed quite formally in a very elegant lavender gown, though somewhat less revealing than Flora’s.  Silhouettes of other people could be distinguished in the dark background, the snapshot having been made in a club or at a party.  Alone in the twilight of the late afternoon, she considered.

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