Subject: [FFML] Re: [Amber] Dog of War
From: David Johnston
Date: 2/11/2007, 9:11 PM
To: Matthew Miller

Matthew Miller wrote:
Amber is the creation of Roger Zelazney. It is fantastic. Go read it.

This is the complete chapter 1. The segment that dropped the day
before was more of a teaser. I anticipate this being three parts.

Dog of War

I was sitting at a table playing cards when something crashed into my
conscious and yanked. 

Obviously not the right word.  I'm not even fond of "consciousness". 
How about "psyche"?

I fell backwards, dropping aces, out of my chair
and rolled once before the floor seemed to turn mushy under me and I
was falling. There were lights and colors, strange smells and the
sounds of piping. Something strange was pulling me, keeping my
attention down as I fell. The lights and feelings didn't change, and
there was nothing to compare myself to, but the sensation of movement.
A shape flashed past me, a woman, dark and hard eyed, and the yank

She abducted him when he was winning at cards?  Geez, he oughtta be 
trying to kill her.  He needed that like a hole in the head.

She was gone in the lights behind as I plummeted into the
light in front.

I hit the ground and rolled. Without standing I looked around, seeing
the large, open plain covered in knee height grass and a scared horse.


The horse's nostrils were foamed, and it reared at me. I had to get up
to leap backwards, and that's when the bullet hit the side of my head,
killing me instantly. It hurt.

The End


I woke up. My arms were bound, there was a burlap bag over my head,
and the air was thick and insufferably hot. Fortunately, my hands were
bound behind me and my clothing had been taken. 

Oh, say that is luck.

I started picking at
the small bump in my skin. 

What small bump in his skin?

Soon it came loose and inside the mess was
knife blade, half the length of my finger. I cut myself free.

I was in a coffin. To my left was a furnace door, and a fat, sweaty
man was tossing wood onto it from a pile. The furnace door was
suspiciously wide, and radiated the heat and noise of the blasting
fire. I rolled out of the coffin and stood up behind the fat guy. I
grabbed a piece of wood and hit him with it in the base of the skull.
He dropped.

The fire in front of me roared. Inside was a metal grate, a few feet
wide and long enough to hold a coffin. Through the grate flames were
leaping and rising, not yet strong enough to incinerate me but
growing. The heat was unbelievable, burning my face and fingers, but
not warming. There was something chilling, terrible about the fire.
Burning to death would probably be the worst way to die. Intense, full
body pain like hell, blinding light, and no place to hide. In spite of
the fire, I froze. Without looking away, I retreated until my back hit
the coffin and then I covered my face. I was staring forward through
my hands, unable to see the burning but knowing it was there.

My fingers found the hole in my head. Tentatively, I poked at the side
of my skull. I could stick all my fingers in and touch soft, squishy
matter. On the other side of my head was a small, neat hole. I pulled
my hands down and stared at them. Little flecks of gray matter were in
the tips, with the blood and hair.

"This isn't possible," I said aloud. I tried to figure out what was
going on. There was something about a card game, falling, and then
searing pain. But before that, nothing. Not a blank wall but an
emptiness. It was like trying to see beyond my peripheral vision.
There just wasn't anything there.

The guy on the ground groaned. He was trying to roll over. I snapped
back and looked around.

There were half a dozen coffins stacked against the walls, and one on
a table besides mine. Inside was a corpse. His skin was waxy and blue.
I prodded him a few times but his body was stiff and he stayed dead.
There was no one else in the room, which looked like a basement or

The guy had managed to roll onto his hands and knees and leveraged
himself upright. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and that
obviously brought a spasm of pain. He winced and looked up, directly
into my eyes.

"You're dead!"

"Yes," I agreed. "I am. And you will be. Who shot me?"

"I saw the hole in your head! I put the bag over you so I wouldn't
have to see it. I'm sure of."

"You mean this hole?" I turned so he could see it again, and he gasped.


"Black magic." Probably, I thought. The hell if I knew but I was not
about to give that away. Besides, who argues with black magic? "Who
shot me?"

"There's no such thing as-" He didn't finish because I hit him when he
started arguing about black magic.

"Who shot me?"


"Where am I?"

"Castle Orpheus.


"Orpheus wouldn't believe you were dead until he dragged your body
back and had you burned. He'll be here to witness it when the fire's
hot enough."

"Good plan." I approved. "Now, Orpheus is going to see a body burning
so unless you want to be it, burn that guy now and tell Orpheus it's

The guy was scared, and talking fast and sloppy. His eyes were getting
wider and wider, and I wanted him to calm down before started
screaming. With something to do, he turned and began throwing wood on
the fire without looking at me, working franticly.

I do not like that word.  No, I don't.  Frantically?  Frenetically?  At 
a frenetic pace?

I looked myself over. I was naked, probably as a result of being
searched, and there was a good sized hole in my chest that sucked as I


breathed. Someone had been very thorough. I touched the side of my
head, and put my fingers part of my skull should have been. The hole
was still there.

There was a longish robe and boots in the corner of the room that I
put on. The only door was letting in flurries of snow, so no one
should be suspicious if I stayed bundled up. I peaked through the
crack, and saw a tall man with several attendants coming.

"Push him in, now." I ordered. "I'm going to be watching. You breath
one word of this, you mention me, if you imply I'm not in that fire in
any way, I will kill you and then find you in the next world and do

"Yes." He nodded franticly. The table holding the two coffins was on

Still don't like it.  Fearfully?

wheels, and he rolled it to the door of the furnace. There were
several piles of firewood and a good sized pile of uncured furs. I hid
behind it.

The door swung open and five men came in. The leader had a sword on
his hip and a hunting rifle on his back, while the other four had
swords and pistols. The fireman was just finishing pushing the coffin

"Is that him?" the leader asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Why is he burning already?"

"Because he scared me, sir. There was something unnatural, something
evil about the way he was dead, and I couldn't bear it."

"All dead men are the same." The leader snorted.

"Not that one." There was real fear in him, and the leader, Orpheus I
presumed, noticed it. The fireman's eye's were wide he was twitching
slightly. He was also making eye contact with desperation, scared to
let his eyes wander anywhere about the room.

"Coward," Orpheus muttered. "I didn't think you would ever believe
this childishness."

"Neither did I," the fireman said, truthfully and with feeling.
Orpheus scowled at him.

"We saw the hole in his head, sir," added one of the guards. "I put my
sword through his chest myself. He's dead."

That guy also needed to die. I decided to rush the lot of them. What
was the worst they could do, shoot me again? Stab me? Kill me?

"He was summoned by the witch when she fled." Orpheus replied. "I
don't make any assumptions about witches."

I stopped and settled back down.

"Look, the coffin's coming apart." A different guard pointed into the
fire. I looked in and the fear hit me, knowing it have been me in
there. What if I didn't stay dead for that either? Could I burn and
return, an eternity of fire and pain that even death couldn't stop?
The prospect was too hideous to contemplate, but I couldn't stop
thinking about it. Forever in the fire, forever in the searing, the
agony, the heat and the pain, that was the ultimate fear.

"He's already afire. See, his limbs are burning off." One guard
observed detachedly.

I shut my eyes and forced thoughts of fire out of my head. Orpheus had
four guards. If I was lucky I could drop one before the rest saw me.
The fireman would either run or fight with insane desperation. If he
stayed, that would be five on one, four of them armed and probably
competent. If I lost I would be killed again, and it took me a while
to come back last time. I would be fed to the flames, and that could
not happen.

I was starting to panic again, so I opened my eyes and fixed them on
the leader. He was taller than the others and had a short blond beard
and hair. Somewhere in early middle age, his face was beginning to
wrinkle at the edges of his eyes and mouth. He looked like a hard man,
and the careful way he had tried to assure himself I would stay dead
supported that.

They watched the cremation for a while. The guards were talking among
themselves in low tones. One finally referred to the leader as
"Orpheus, sir" and I locked his name to his face. Orpheus didn't
speak, he just watched the flames. When at last he was convinced I was
gone, he turned and without a word walked out into the night.

"Well done." I stood and walked back to the fireman. He stared at me.
"Now spit and speak the name you were born with."

He had to work his mouth and tongue for a while, since his mouth was
dry. Finally he got enough saliva to let a drop dribble to the floor
and said "Oman."

"Do you swear on your life that is you own, true name?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"Then by your name I can find you. Should you speak of me, I will
know, and I will destroy you. I bond you to your silence, Oman, I bind
you from speaking of me." I said it on a whim, but the words seemed
heavy and potent in the air. He shook violently as I said them, and
then went limp and almost fell over. I turned, swirled the cloak, a
walked outside.

Outside it was biting cold. The snow was about two feet deep in most
places, but there were paths stamped from doorway to doorway. The door
led to a small courtyard. Around were buildings but very few people.
The buildings were backed by a high wall broken with towers and one
deep gatehouse that looked like a tunnel. Nowhere looked more or less
inviting that anyplace else, but one place had no smoke rising from it
and the pathway to it had a light, undisturbed dusting of snow. I went
to the door, pushed it open like I knew what I was doing, and went in.

The room was large, and filled with shovels, plows, and bags of seed.
One wall was hung with disorganized tack and gear. The place smelled
of the earth and cow dung. A short search yielded some horse blankets
and pair of farmer's pants, which I put on.

My head and chest had both started to hurt, so after rubbing some
feeling back into my fingers and toes, I opened the cloak and checked
myself. The blood about my chest wound had frozen to the skin, making
it difficult to breath. I stared at it in shock. While I watched, it
thawed, and I began to drip blood into the floor. Another search
turned up a reasonably clean strip of cloth, so I bound my chest and
wrapped my head in that.

It had felt cold outside but not murderously cold. If it had been cold
enough to freeze blood that quickly, it must be truly frigid. Or my
blood had grown cold. I felt my skin. I didn't feel cold or warm.

So I must be dead. 

You could be a reptile.

I had a fatal head wound, a fatal chest wound, and
Orpheus, who seemed a thorough individual, was content that I had
gone. I checked my pulse. Nothing. I stopped breathing, and waited.
After a while, nothing happened, and I felt fine. I was dead.

Well, according to Orpheus I had been summoned by a witch. I had no
reason to doubt his honesty, so that meant I was a bad guy. 

Oi!  The Anti-Wiccan Defamation League will be on your case!

had shot me, and I intended to have violent, painful revenge. There
were no twinges of conscious. 


Moral and philosophical questions
solved, it was time for business.

By moonset what few people who were walking about the courtyard had
retired. The stars were bright above me, few clouds in the sky, and
the night had a clear darkness that was perfect for sneaking about.
High in a tower, one window was lit with a steady gold light. I stared
up from the courtyard, watching it. Torches and gave off red light.
Candles burned steady, if you had enough of them, and were the right
color. They were also expensive. The base of the tower was behind the
largest building within the keep, a hall most likely.

The doorway to the great hall was shut, but I opened it quickly and
went in. There was a wide, smoky room where dogs and peasants slept in
piles before two great hearths. A few of the dogs looked up and one
barked, but someone hit it and it went silent. I passed through.
Around back were a few corridors and rooms, and I passed through them
purposefully. It did not take long to find a stairway.

At the third landing, four or five doors branched off. Light was
coming from beneath one and a sleepy guard was sitting down beside it.
He looked up groggily and sniffed.

"Hey, farmer. What are you doing here?" He seemed too bored to care.

"Nothing," I replied seriously, looking around. "Just wondering and
not disturbing anyone." The landing was small, and when I faced the
guard, I took two inoffensive steps that put me within arms reach.

"Well you're bothering me."

"Then I'll be leaving." I shrugged, made it look natural.


I punched him in the throat. He gagged, made a hacking noise, and his
eyes bugged out. I grabbed the side of his head and spit loudly while
I put my knuckles into his temple. He went limp in my arms, and I set
him back in his seat.

The lit door was unlocked. I went in with the guard's sword and gun.
Orpheus was sleeping face down on his desk, a pile of papers and
documents spilled about him. Indecision warred within me. Ultimately I
went back out, pulled the guard in and dumped him in a corner.

"Orpheus," I said loudly, shutting the door.

"Eh?" He picked his head up and peered about. Before he recognized me
I hit him in the jaw with the sword hilt, but sideways so he tumbled
out of the seat to the floor. By the time the shock wore off, I had
the blade at his eye.

"Every moment you're talking is a moment you aren't dead."

Orpheus stared at me. His eyes went wide and his face white. He didn't
resist as I sat on his chest, the sword against his face.

"Good. Why did you kill me?"

"I obviously didn't."

"You did. I came back. Why did you do it?"

"You're a spawn of the devil."

I considered that. It seemed reasonable. "Who was the witch?"


'Anybody up here named Fiera?' I asked myself. No memories replied.
"Who's Fiera?"

"You don't know?"

That casual implication that I was somehow lessened by admitting
ignorance infuriated me. I shouldn't care because this guy's life was
over anyway, but I did. My eye twitched slightly and Orpheus started

"Fiera was one of the dark counselors of the King Nemoch of the north.
Last year we crushed his army, talking this castle, and he and the
witch fled."

'Nemoch?' I asked again. Nothing was there either.

"You weren't in charge, or you would have said I. Only underlings say
we. Who do you work for?"

"I work for no one. My lord is the King of Thanes."

I kind of liked "Thames" as a name for a not-England.

That didn't ring any bells either, so I dropped that line. "When
Nemoch and Fiera fled, where did they go?"

"To the west, across the sea."

"Why did she come back?"

"I don't know. My men caught her sneaking into the cellars and gave
chase, but she rides like the wind and escaped."

I scowled at him. There was nothing else to ask before I killed him. I
shrugged and was about to stab him through the face when he said
something interesting. "I have had time to search to cellars and think
I know what she was looking for."


"There's a room deep underground with all manner of strange devices. A
great number of paintings. When we took the castle, she may not have
had time to take everything. Perhaps she came back for her

"What is in the room?"

"Lots of stuff." He was desperate to keep talking. "There are several
large trunks of clothing of a most peculiar nature, as well as a large
number of small parchments and devices of no value. There are
paintings, all of which seem to be about a cycle of characters-"

He didn't finish because someone hit me in the back of the skull. It
hurt unbelievably and knocked me flying. I crashed into the desk and
brought it down about me.

The guard was holding a big metal pestle that I'd peripherally noticed
lying against the wall when I came in. Behind him, Orpheus was getting
to his feet. So much for this. I drew my gun and shot him.

The gun crack sounded like thunder in the enclosed space, and the
bullet came out at about three miles an hour. It moved stately and
deliberately across the room, and the guard negligently batted it
aside, still watching me.

I really can't figure out what that happened.  A spell cast by "Fiera" 
on the castle?  Bullets obviously work under normal circumstances here.

"Right," I said aloud. "Swords it is."

The guard stayed back, covering Orpheus as he stood. Orpheus clearly
wasn't doing too well, he had to brace against the wall to stand and
was bleeding from his forehead. I climbed upright myself and stepped

The guard retreated, keeping the pestle before him. That didn't make
any sense. He should have jumped forward and began beating me like a
red headed step child while I was down. I shrugged.

I feinted right, left, rolled past the pestle and kidney punched him.
Orpheus was already out the door now and I ran after. A couple of
guards were running up the stairs between me and my quarry, so I
didn't so much attack them as jumped over them, fell down two flights
of stairs, and crashed into the back of lord Orpheus' knees. We went
down in a pile.

Somebody grabbed my arm while I was trying to stab him and pulled me
off. I broke his fingers, he let go, and I stabbed another guard
through the leg. We were in another hallway, a long low ceiling
corridor full of the smell of torch smoke and stale sweat. People kept
getting in my way, but I finally had my feet under me and Orpheus in

Someone grabbed the back of my head and yanked. My hood and wrappings
came off, pulling clumps of frozen blood and scalp with them, and I
twisted to stay upright. The guard behind me was looking at the ruins
of my head in shock. I hit him in the jaw as hard as I could, lifting
him off his feet and throwing him five feet into a stone wall. He fell
and didn't move.

"We're finally alone, Orpheus." I smiled and checked around to be sure
it was true.

He was standing again, unarmed. His eyes were full of fear and
desperation. I ran forward and swung.

He rolled, I slashed again, and sparks shot off the wall as my blade
ground against the stone. Brilliant in the dark, I stopped and
involuntarily blocked my face from the fire. When I could see again,
Orpheus had grabbed a torch and was waving it before him. I feinted
over it but, unwilling to commit past the flames, couldn't swing far
enough to get him.

"Scared of fire, demon?" Orpheus sounded cocky as he kept me at bay.

I threw the sword at him. It hit him in the center of the chest, point
first, and stuck there. He looked at it in shock.

"Not enough." I replied, even cockier.

He stabbed me with the torch.

My blood caught fire like oil. Unbelievable pain filled my body and I
whirled, screaming until I had become a human beacon. Words cannot
describe the feeling of living immolation, but worse was the proximity
to fire. Total immersion in everything I dreaded while all of my dread
became manifest and my worst fears proved true. I didn't fall down. I
kept running about, unable to stop the pain, until I final burst out


to the central courtyard and tried to roll in a patch of snow.

The fire burned hotter and brighter. I lit the entire courtyard and
all around me guards and peasants watched my flailing. Orpheus, sword
still hanging from leather armor, stared also. The spectacle kept them
in shock and finally I fell backwards, tumbling down a dark hole and
splashing through the frozen surface of the well water. My burning
clothes remained on the surface as I sank.

Again, I didn't stay dead. Either that or death just didn't stop me.

That is one demon with an awesome capacity to take a licking.  Not all 
that strong, though.

Even underwater I smoldered for a while, but eventually that went out.
I was incapacitated and lay at the bottom curled in a fetal position
underwater in the dark. Sometime after it dawn, people pulled my
sodden cloak from the well with pikes and hooks and probed around a
bit. I remained still.

I began to reconsider this whole vengeance thing. It clearly wasn't
working out too well. I still couldn't remember anything past the card
game. All I could remember about that was having five aces, which
meant I cheated at cards. The fall, what must have been Fiera passing
me, my arrival to this place was clear but there was no meaning behind
it. I had the impression I deserved whatever I had coming.

Still, I might have very good reasons for everything, reasons that I
just didn't know. I had the impression that important parts of my
memory had been destroyed and probably weren't going to come back.
After carefully reviewing every detail of my conversation with
Orpheus, no new bells were ringing and no inspiration stepped up.

After nightfall I pulled myself to the surface of the water and pushed
my head up. I could see torchlight and flickering shadows. Guards must
be posted about the well, and they were armed with fire. I sank back
down and explored the underwater parts of my prison.

There was a hole in the stone wall, and I poked and prodded at that
for a while. A few stones around it came loose from their mortar.
Beyond that was earth, too deep to be frozen, and a single long tunnel
about the width of my hand. I followed it, widening it as I went.

The shaft stopped at another stone wall. I stuck my fingers through
the small opening, braced my other against a stone, and pushed.
Nothing happened as I cranked until my fingers buckled and my nails
broke. I reversed myself, pushing and pulling, and something began to
give. One of the stones twisted in its position. Another crank and it
moved back. A moment later I crawled through the hole.

It led to a small basin, only a few feet wide but almost ten feet
deep. Everything was pitch black. I surfaced and listened, but the
darkness was also silent.

I crawled out and felt my way around. It was a good sized room, the
walls had wood paneling and the floors were smooth. When I found a
door and cracked it, there was a dimly lit room outside. That had
light coming from under the main door and I could hear movement. I
carefully shut the door and continued searching the room.

Besides the door, chest high, was a small stick poking out of the
wall. Accidentally I pushed it down, and the whole room flared into
sight. I whirled and stared, but nothing moved.

Absolutely nothing moved. The light was strong and steady, steadier
than a host of candles or daylight. It seemed to be coming from a
series of things in the ceiling. When my eyes adjusted, I finished
inspecting the room.

This was definitely the room of paintings Orpheus had mentioned. There
was roughly two dozen, all done in the same hand. They were of ten
people, mostly men. I walked about, staring briefly of each in turn.

I recognized only one. The woman who passed me in the light stood
before a mirror, such that the painting looked like a reflection. Her
right hand was reaching forward, seeming almost about to come out of
the canvas, while her left painted something out of sight. The whole
image was so lifelike, so realistic that her large, bluish halo was
almost discordantly out of place. The halo was wrinkly, circular but
full of internal lines and swirls. Confused by the discordance in the
work of a clear master, I stared deeper into the painting. I could
make out the wrinkles in her skirt, the play of light and shadow on
her hands and face. It was undoubtedly Fiera, the witch who had
summoned me.

"Havok," the painting said.

I kept my wits together barely.

She was standing before me in the flesh, yet still in the painting.
The halo was gone, and I could see the way her red hair gleamed. But
more than anything else, I was fixated on her eyes. They seemed deep,
cold, and terrible.

"Havok, is Orpheus dead?"

"No." It was an effort to speak.

He might be dying.  He did take a sword in the chest after all.

"Why not?" she demanded. He eyes grew even harder, and I felt her gaze
pierce into my brain, tugging at my few memories.

"Well, he isn't really that bad a guy-"

"No excuses!" She glared at me, and my fledgling sense of identity was
blasted into pieces. "He has done you great harm." Which was true.
"That is unforgivable." I agreed with that. "You must kill him." That
also seemed to follow. "You must kill him now." Her logic was

"Think of him. Do you not crave his blood?" I considered Orpheus, and
from the back of my mind came a cold, burning rage that consumed me
and rendered me willing to pay unspeakable prices to inflict my
revenge. It dwarfed my previous malice. I had never noticed it before,
but the shear magnitude of my fury meant that it had always been a
part of me.

"Yes, Princess Fiera." I don't know why I called her that. It just felt right.

"What did you call me?" she demanded. My feelings were obviously wrong.

"Princess." I tried to look away.

"After that."

Her gaze had shifted from a drill, boring through me, to a rail I hung
on, holding me upright.


"Why did you call me that?"

"That is what Orpheus called you."

I was able to stitch together a few bits of memory. Orpheus, my sword
at his eye, some words that he spoke came together. They dispersed
like smoke on the wind when she spoke again.

"Why do you not know my true name?"

"My memory was shot out." I turned my head, still meeting her eyes but
enough to let her see my largest injury

Her expression changed, but it turned only more malicious and
skeptical. Defensively, I touched the hole in my skull. It was
missing. My head was clean shaven, but intact. I no longer had any
idea what was going on.

Since Trump contact is psychic, I doubt she'd be skeptical.

"It does not matter," she said. "You must kill Orpheus."

"I will."



Her gaze blasted into me again, searing every nerve like the fire,
testing me for weakness. There was none, and she found only total
commitment to my goal. While she remade my will in the reflection of
her own, I briefly glimpsed her purposes and powers, but fell away
from forces I could not comprehend.


"Yes, Princess Fiona."

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