back
, not from the front - and then came nothing.
His back hurt. He opened his eyes. A bulky brown drone hummed between him and a white ceiling. 'Gurgeh?' the machine said. He swallowed, licked his lips. 'What?' he said. He didn't know where he was, or who the drone was. He had only a very vague idea who he was. 'Gurgeh. It's me; Flere-Imsaho. How do you feel?' Flear Imsah-ho. The name meant something. 'Back hurts a bit,' he said, hoping not to be found out. Gurgi? Gurgey? Must be his name. 'I'm not surprised. A very large troshae hit you in the back.' 'A what?' 'Never mind. Go back to sleep.' '…. Sleep.' His eyelids felt very heavy and the drone looked blurred.
His back hurt. He opened his eyes and saw a white ceiling. He looked around for Flere-Imsaho. Dark wooden walls. Window. Flere-Imsaho; there it was. It floated over to him. 'Hello, Gurgeh.' 'Hello.' 'Do you remember who I am?' 'Still asking stupid questions, Flere-Imsaho. Am I going to be all right?' 'You're bruised, you've got a cracked rib and you're mildly concussed. You ought to be able to get up in a day or two.' 'Do I remember you saying a… troshae hit me? Did I dream that?' 'You didn't dream it. I did tell you. That's what happened. How much do you remember?' 'Falling off the stand… platform,' he said slowly, trying to think. He was in bed and his back was sore. It was his own room in the castle and the lights were on so it was probably night. His eyes widened. 'Yomonul
kicked
me off!' he said suddenly. '
Why
?' 'It doesn't matter now. Go back to sleep.' Gurgeh started to say something else, but he felt tired again as the drone buzzed closer, and he closed his eyes for a second just to rest them.
Gurgeh stood by the window, looking down into the courtyard. The male servant took the tray out, glasses clinking. 'Go on,' he said to the drone. 'The troshae climbed the fence while everybody was watching you and Yomonul. It came up behind you and sprang. It hit you and then bowled over the exoskeleton before it had time to do much about it. Guards shot the troshae as it tried to gore Yomonul, and by the time they dragged it off the exoskeleton it had deactivated.' Gurgeh shook his head slowly. '
All
I remember is being kicked off the stand.' He sat down in a chair by the window. The far edge of the courtyard was golden in the hazy light of late afternoon. 'And where were you while this was happening?' 'Back here, watching the hunt on an imperial broadcast. I'm sorry I left, Jernau Gurgeh, but that appalling apex was kicking me, and the whole obscene spectacle was just too gory and disgusting for words.' Gurgeh waved one hand. 'It doesn't matter. I'm alive.' He put his face in his hands. 'You're sure it was I who shot Yomonul?' 'Oh yes! It's all recorded. Do you want to wa-' 'No.' Gurgeh held up one hand to the drone, eyes still closed. 'No; I don't want to watch.' 'I didn't see that bit live,' Flere-Imsaho said. 'I was on my way back to the hunt as soon as Yomonul fired his first shot and killed the person on the other side of you. But I've watched the recording; yes, you killed him, with the guard's CREW. But of course that just meant whoever had taken control of the exoskeleton didn't have to fight against Yomonul inside it. As soon as Yomonul was dead the thing moved a lot faster and less erratically. He must have been using
all
his strength to try and stop it.' Gurgeh stared at the floor. 'You're certain about all this?' 'Absolutely.' The drone drifted over to the wall-screen. 'Look, why not watch it on your-' 'No!' Gurgeh shouted, standing, and then swaying. He sat down again. 'No,' he said, quieter. 'By the time I got there, whoever was jamming the exoskeleton controls had gone; I got a brief reading on my microwave sensors while I was between here and the hunt, but it switched off before I could get an accurate fix. Some kind of phased-pulse maser. The imperial guards picked up something too; they'd started a search in the forest by the time we took you away. I persuaded them I knew what I was doing and had you brought here. They sent a doctor in to look at you a couple of times, but that's all. Lucky I got there when I did or they might have taken you to the infirmary and started doing all sorts of nasty tests on you…' The drone sounded perplexed. 'That's why I have a feeling this wasn't a straight security-service job. They'd have tried other, less public ways to kill you, and they'd have been all set up to get you into the hospital if it hadn't quite worked… all too disorganised. There's something funny going on, I'm sure.' Gurgeh put his hands to his back, carefully tracing the extent of the bruising again. 'I wish I could remember everything. I wish I could remember whether I meant to kill Yomonul,' he said. His chest ached. He felt sick. 'As you did, and you're such a bad shot, I'd assume the answer is no.' Gurgeh looked at the machine. 'Don't you have something else you could be doing, drone?' 'Not really. Oh, by the way; the Emperor wants to see you, when you're feeling well.' 'I'll go now,' Gurgeh said, standing slowly. 'Are you sure? I don't think you should. You don't look well; I'd lie down if I were you. Please sit down. You're not ready. What if he's angry because you killed Yomonul? Oh, I suppose I'd better come the with you…
Nicosar sat in a small throne in front of a great bank of slanting, multi-coloured windows. The imperial apartments were submerged in the deep, polychromatic light; huge wall tapestries sewn with precious metal threads glittered like treasures in an underwater cave. Guards stood impassively around the walls and behind the throne; courtiers and officials shuffled to and fro with papers and flat-screens. An officer of the Imperial Household brought Gurgeh to the throne, leaving Flere-Imsaho at the other end of the room under the watchful eyes of two guards. 'Please sit.' Nicosar motioned Gurgeh to a small stool on the dais in front of him. Gurgeh sat down gratefully. 'Jernau Gurgeh,' the Emperor said, his voice quiet and controlled, almost flat. 'We offer you our sincere apologies for what happened yesterday. We are glad to see you have made such a rapid recovery, though we understand you are still in pain. Is there anything you wish?' 'Thank you, Your Highness, no.' 'We are glad.' Nicosar nodded slowly. He was still dressed in unrelieved black. His sober dress, small frame and plain face contrasted with the fabulous splashes of colour from the raked windows overhead and the sumptuous clothing of the courtiers. The Emperor put small, ringed hands on the arms of the throne. 'We are, of course, deeply sorry to lose the regard and the services of our Star Marshal, Yomonul Lu Rahsp, especially in such tragic circumstances, but we understand that you had no choice but to defend yourself. It is our will that no action be taken against you.' 'Thank you, Your Highness.' Nicosar waved one hand. 'In the matter of who plotted against you, the person who took control of our star marshal's imprisoning device was discovered and put to the question. We were deeply hurt to discover that the leading conspirator was our life-long mentor and guide, the rector of Candsev College.' 'Ham-' Gurgeh began, but stopped. Nicosar's face was a study in displeasure. The old apex's name died in Gurgeh's throat. 'I-' Gurgeh started again. Nicosar held up one hand. 'We wish to tell you that the rector of Candsev College, Hamin Li Srilist, has been sentenced to death for his part in the conspiracy against you. We understand that this may not have been the only attempt on your life. If this is so, then all relevant circumstances will be investigated and the wrong-doers brought to justice. 'Certain persons in the court,' Nicosar said, looking at the rings on his hands, 'have desired to protect their Emperor through… misguided actions. The Emperor needs no such protection from a game-opponent, even if that opponent uses aids we deny ourselves. It has been necessary to deceive our subjects in the matter of your progress in these final games, but this is for their good, not ours. We have no need to be protected from unpleasant truths. The Emperor knows no fear, only discretion. We shall be happy to postpone the game between the Emperor-Regent and the man Jernau Morat Gurgeh until he feels fit to play.' Gurgeh found himself waiting for more of the quiet, slow, half-sung words, but Nicosar sat, impassively silent. 'I thank Your Highness,' Gurgeh said, 'but I would prefer there be no postponement. I feel almost well enough to play now, and there are still three days before the match is due to start. I'm sure there is no need to delay further.' Nicosar nodded slowly. 'We are pleased. We hope, though, that if Jernau Gurgeh desires to change his mind on this matter before the match is due to start, he will not hesitate to inform the Imperial Office, which will gladly put back the starting date of the final match until Jernau Gurgeh feels fit to play the game of Azad to the very best of his ability.' 'I thank Your Highness again.' 'We are pleased that Jernau Gurgeh was not badly injured and has been able to attend this audience,' Nicosar said. He nodded briefly to Gurgeh and then looked to a courtier, waiting impatiently to one side. Gurgeh stood, bowed, and backed away.
'You only have to take
four
backward steps before you turn your back on him,' Flere-Imsaho told him. 'Otherwise; very good.' They were back in Gurgeh's room. 'I'll try and remember next time,' he said. 'Anyway, sounds like you're in the clear. I did a bit of over-hearing while you had your tête-à-tête; courtiers usually know what's going on. Seems they found an apex trying to escape through the forest from the maser and the exo-controls; he'd dropped the gun they gave him to defend himself with, which was just as well because it was a bomb, not a gun, so they got him alive. He broke under torture and implicated one of Hamin's cronies who tried to bargain with a confession. So they started on Hamin.' 'You mean they tortured him?' 'Only a little. He's old and they had to keep him alive for whatever punishment the Emperor decided on. The apex exo-controller and some other henchman have been impaled, the plea-bargaining crony's getting caged in the forest to await the Incandescence, and Hamin's being deprived of AGe drugs; he'll be dead in forty or fifty days.' Gurgeh shook his head. 'Hamin… I didn't think he was that frightened of me.' 'Well, he's old. They have funny ideas sometimes.' 'Do you think I'm safe now?' 'Yes. The Emperor wants you alive so he can destroy you on the Azad boards. Nobody else would dare harm you. You can concentrate on the game. Anyway, I'll look after you.' Gurgeh looked, disbelievingly, at the buzzing drone. He could detect no trace of irony in its voice.
Gurgeh and Nicosar started the first of the lesser games three days later. There was a curious atmosphere about the final match; a sense of anti-climax pervaded Castle Klaff. Normally this last contest was the culmination of six years' work and preparation in the Empire; the very apotheosis of all that Azad was and stood for. This time, the imperial continuance was already settled. Nicosar had ensured his next Great Year of rule when he'd beaten Vechesteder and Jhilno, though, as far as the rest of the Empire knew, the Emperor still had to play Krowo to decide who wore the imperial crown. Even if Gurgeh did win the game, it would make no difference, save for some wounded imperial pride. The court and the Bureau would put it down to experience, and make sure they didn't invite any more decadent but sneaky aliens to take part in the holy game. Gurgeh suspected that many of the people still in the fortress would as soon have left Echronedal to head back to Eä, but the coronation ceremony and the religious confirmation still had to be witnessed, and nobody would be allowed to leave Echronedal until the fire had passed and the Emperor had risen from its embers. Probably only Gurgeh and Nicosar were really looking forward to the match; even the observing game-players and analysts were disheartened at the prospect of witnessing a game they were already barred from discussing, even amongst themselves. All Gurgeh's games past the point he had supposedly been knocked out were taboo subjects. They did not exist. The Imperial Games Bureau was already hard at work concocting an official final match between Nicosar and Krowo. Judging by their previous efforts, Gurgeh expected it to be entirely convincing. It might lack the ultimate spark of genius, but it would pass. So everything was already settled. The Empire had new star marshals (though a little shuffling would be required to replace Yomonul), new generals and admirals, archbishops, ministers and judges. The course of the Empire was set, and with very little change from the previous bearing. Nicosar would continue with his present policies; the premises of the various winners indicated little discontent or new thinking. The courtiers and officials could therefore breathe easily again, knowing nothing would alter too much, and their positions were as secure as they'd ever be. So, instead of the usual tension surrounding the final game, there was an atmosphere more like that of an exhibition match. Only the two contestants were treating it as a real contest. Gurgeh was immediately impressed by Nicosar's play. The Emperor didn't stop rising in Gurgeh's estimation; the more he studied the apex's play the more he realised just how powerful and complete an opponent he was facing. He would need to be more than lucky to beat Nicosar; he would need to be somebody else. From the beginning he tried to concentrate on not being trounced rather than actually defeating the Emperor. Nicosar played cautiously most of the time; then, suddenly, he'd strike out with some brilliant flowing series of moves that looked at first as though they'd been made by some gifted madman, before revealing themselves as the masterstrokes they were; perfect answers to the impossible questions they themselves posed. Gurgeh did his best to anticipate these devastating fusions of guile and power, and to find replies to them once they'd begun, but by the time the minor games were over, thirty days or so before the fire was due, Nicosar had a considerable advantage in pieces and cards to carry over to the first of the three great boards. Gurgeh suspected his only chance was to hold out as best he could on the first two boards and hope that he might pull something back on the final one.
The cinderbuds towered around the castle, rising like a slow tide of gold about the walls. Gurgeh sat in the same small garden he'd visited before. Then he'd been able to look out over the cinderbuds to the distant horizon; now the view ended twenty metres away at the first of the great yellow leaf-heads. Late sunlight spread the castle's shadow across the canopy. Behind Gurgeh, the fortress lights were coming on. Gurgeh looked out to the tan trunks of the great trees, and shook his head. He'd lost the game on the Board of Origin and now he was losing on the Board of Form. He was missing something; some facet of the way Nicosar was playing was escaping him. He knew it, he was certain, but he couldn't work out what that facet was. He had a nagging suspicion it was something very simple, however complex its articulation on the boards might be. He ought to have spotted it, analysed and evaluated it long ago and turned it to his advantage, but for some reason - some reason intrinsic to his very understanding of the game, he felt sure - he could not. An aspect of his play seemed to have disappeared, and he was starting to think the knock to the head he'd taken during the hunt had affected him more than he'd first assumed. But then, the ship didn't seem to have any better idea what he was doing wrong, either. Its advice always seemed to make sense at the time, but when Gurgeh got to the board he found he could never apply the ship's ideas. If he went against his instincts and forced himself to do as the