Vance and Nearly Headless Borlak
It was 3 a.m. when the bell woke King Vance of Vulsara. The officer of the day in the Trump Room was on the screen. The look in his eyes was enough to get Vance out of bed.
“Lieutenant, I’m guessing you need me?”
“Sir… uh… I’m on duty in the Trump Hall, and I need you here immediately. Also, anyone else of the blood. My next call is to Admiral Vander, followed by Captain Agrom.”
Turning to summon his uniform, Vance added his sword—just in case.
“Is the world on fire? I think I would know… Will fifteen minutes be enough?”
The lieutenant looked away, then back. “Uh… no sir. It won’t.”
Sensing the pattern, Vance felt a wildly damaged presence imprinted with the Pattern. He nodded and let the lieutenant go.
Pulling out his deck, he reached for Vander’s Trump.
“I’m going to the Trump Hall. Not sure what’s going on, but it’s an emergency. Be there in a minute.”
Pulling the Vulsar Base card, Vance stepped through to the arrival room—one of the best-defended in the realm. But some battles were best left to the blood royale.
The Trump Hall was well stocked, but it was one face that shocked him first—Jacques.
He had never met the man, but he knew of him. A son of Oberon, not in the deck. A rebel son who hadn’t answered the call during the Black Road War. A brother of Random’s, but not in King Random’s deck.
Rumors said he’d been a marshal under Napoleon and served under Benedict. Supposedly, he had once told Oberon off to his face. Vance had read some of his battle plans at the academies. Hamilton had told him the two once had a knock-down, drag-out fight. His Trump in the deck had been warm.
And here he was—with a massive contingent of Mongols. A hundred or so swarthy horsemen on steppe ponies. Well outfitted, bloody from battle.
Looking around, there was also a contingent of ronin—thirty or so—coated in blood and mud.
Star Fleet medical moved among them, treating small wounds, but the air in the Hall was thick with danger, the kind rarely felt in Vulsara.
Jacques walked up to him.
“You are Vance, son of Delwin, lord of this realm. I am Jacques Abu Fala, First Marshal of the Flowing Horde. It is my understanding that I have no warrants of arrest or orders of execution against me in the Kingdom of Amber. As a Golden Circle King and servant of Amber, do I have your word these things are true?”
Vance nodded. “I am King Vance of Vulsara, son of Delwin, Patron of the Amber Star Fleet, and a member of the Privy Council of King Random. I know of no such orders concerning you, sir. You seem to have come from battle—how may we help?”
At that moment, Admiral Vander and Captain Agrom arrived, followed by Admirals Candle Hyle and Celecat. They arrayed behind Vance, but the Marshal took no notice.
“I have a soldier near death who, under no circumstances, can be allowed to die. Your medical personnel placed him in a stasis field—properly, and to my surprise, without question—then called you rather than treat him further. If you intend to arrest him for crimes he may have committed in Shadow, it will be a breach of long oaths between him and Amber.”
Looking to his staff, Vance saw they understood the weight of this moment.
“Let’s take a look, then.”
The crowd parted as he pressed forward to a medical station within a stasis field. What he saw shocked him, despite his many years spent in the Abyss.
On the table lay a Prince of Amber—Borlak. Helpless, defenseless, and nearly headless. His head lay at an unnatural angle. Examining the wound at the neck, Vance saw the spinal cord was intact, but the muscle, tendon, and skin had been ripped from it—as if by bare hands. His armor was peeled back, shimmering, as if uncertain whether to shield the wounded man or surrender him to death.
Jacques stepped beside him. “The Khan swore never to turn his blade against Amber and bound his oath to King Oberon. He has kept that oath. But Oberon is gone. Does King Random honor the oaths his father swore, or have I delivered my liege to his death?”
Legends rarely come in daylight—and this morning was no different. Here lay Prince Borlak, son of Oberon. One of the builders of Castle Amber. Great Khan of the Flowing Horde. Companion of the Tiger. Horselord of the Midshadows. Scourge of Regor. Wielder of Shieldbreaker.
Vance ought to have called Random immediately—kicked this upstairs, as it were. But Jacques had come to him. He could have used the Trump to Castle Amber just as easily, and received equally advanced care.
The call was his.
“I know he’s wanted across a million worlds, and Regor wants him most of all. But I serve Amber, not Regor. And as far as I know, there are no warrants for him there. Lieutenant, take the patient to my medical bay. Stabilize the equipment and prepare to move him to Deretal.”
As they began moving the station, Jacques halted it.
“What is Deretal?”
“It’s a nearby Shadow where we take the worst medical cases. Its facilities are more extensive than ours. It’s still part of my kingdom. Its very environment accelerates healing. The time ratio is better than Vulsara’s—60 to 1 against Amber.”
Allowing the stasis field to be moved, they followed.
“May I ask what on earth did that to him?”
“An unprovoked surprise attack by King Alexandir Kos Korag—who now wields Shieldbreaker.”
Vance turned to his yeoman. “Coffee. Tea. Prepare quarters. Ready my conference room. Uncle Jacques, we’ve established that no wants or warrants exist against you or your liege. We’ve used family terms—may I call you uncle?”
Jacques looked at him curiously, a slight smile forming. He glanced to his wounded prince.
“As long as such conversation occurs while I am in sight of my liege.”
Vance nodded to the yeoman. “Inform Deretal to prepare my conference room overlooking the observation room.”
A doctor approached as the portal to Deretal opened. “Sir, most of these injuries can be treated here—if they allow us. But if you're going to Deretal, we have a dozen who would benefit from full treatment.”
“Allow?”
Jacques replied, “These soldiers are Flowing Horde Elite. Each is a warrior of legend. They fought in the battle that laid the Khan low. They are here to protect him. Their own treatment will wait—even at the cost of their lives.”
Sighing, Vance turned to Jacques. “Your liege is under my protection. If Benedict himself comes to slay him, he’ll have to slay me first. That protection extends to everyone you brought. You have my oath.”
Jacques nodded, then turned to his troops. “All will go to this place.”
Vance agreed. Things moved quickly after that.
Borlak was moved through the portal into a medical suite. His followers were seen to and healed as quickly as possible.
Jacques turned out to have an arm and foot twisted completely around, out of socket, hanging loosely. While he entered the regeneration chambers, Vance entered the conference room overlooking the long observation gallery—capable of watching over 300 patients at once.
Vander, Agrom, Candle, and Celecat followed. Vance settled in the command chair. Agrom brought him coffee, a couple of bagels with a smear of lox and cream cheese. A small cup of Calrabon pepper sauce and a bottle of Tabasco stood beside them.
He sat with a similar plate. Silence ruled.
Vander broke it. “Damn…”
“To be sure,” Agrom added. “So what’s next? Call Random?”
Vance hesitated. Every second was procrastination. But he couldn’t risk Random panicking and seizing control of Deretal.
“Let’s get as many of the Horde Elites healed as possible. They can stand watch over the healing tank. We could put them all in stasis if needed. Second—medical report.”
He read aloud. “Jacques will be up in a few hours. Even here, with our best healing tech, Borlak will take years to recover. At least he won’t degenerate.”
Agrom said, “He should be at Diaganar—where I healed from my Abyss ordeal. Technological, and near the Pattern of Amber. The Vulsara Pattern might try to bind him.”
Vance looked around. Nods all around.
“Agrom, call Diaganar. Tell them we’re transferring our entire emergency center there. They have plugs; it won’t be a problem. Bring the conference room too.”
Leaning back, he finally took a sip of coffee and prepped his bagel—Calrabon sauce first, then cream cheese. The next got Tabasco and cheese.
No one spoke. All considered the enormity of their guests.
Hiroki sat in a Vulsaran prison for crimes committed there. His father had acknowledged the punishment without objection. And now Vance had two of the king’s brothers in healing tanks—one of them the ancient exile Borlak.
Vander broke the silence again. “We can think about Borlak in that tank all we want, but more importantly—the king needs to know Shieldbreaker has changed hands. Into the hands of a Tosian, no less.”
Vance nodded. That detail had slipped past him.
“Get one of those Mongols up here.”