Pyramid Schemes

by Peter David

  Helpers came running in from the sides as the horses continued to bang into one another, dragging the teams by their bridles to the side to clear them from the track. I had already circled the track twice and was embarking on my third go around, and of course my horses were in perfectly fine fettle. Nuskin had clearly bypassed my horses, or perhaps some agent whom she had hired or convinced to do her dirty work had taken that precaution. It certainly became easier for me to make my way around as fewer and fewer other teams took up space.

  What the hell are you going to do? That was the question that kept pounding through my mind. As benevolent and well-intended as Nuskin’s plan had been, it was insanely unlikely that this mass, staggering mess of horses was not going to garner commentary from the onlookers. Anyone with even half a brain in his head was going to be able to discern that something illicit had been done. And considering that I was the one who was benefiting from it, it would be painfully obvious—at least to them—who was responsible. Which, technically speaking, I was, even though I had done nothing to incite any of this. If an investigation was held, I had to pray that it would not wind up pointing to me. If the suspicion fell upon Nuskin, I would be fine with that. The fool had done nothing to consult with me and so I would not hesitate to throw her in front of her potential accusers and leave them to punish her however they saw fit.

  That was when I noticed something that surprised me: the red rider’s horses were doing just fine. There was no hint of anything the slightest bit the matter with them. They were pounding around the track as fast as they could and were gaining on me very rapidly.

  I snapped the reins, trying to drive the horses faster. But I was unable to shake the red rider, and the closer his chariot drew, the more clearly I was able to discern the markings. The face of Lucy Anno was etched in gold on the front; obviously he was her rider. And he was shouting at me.

  It was nearly impossible for me to make out anything he was saying, but the closer he drew, the more clearly I was able to discern his words. He must have been shouting at the top of his lungs for his voice to carry over the pounding of the horses’ hooves.

  “I knew you would do this!”

  I stared at him, not understanding. My puzzlement must have been evident on my face.

  “Don’t pretend! You did this! Just like you did before!”

  As I did before? Bloody hell. He knows what I did during Runcible’s joust. How in the name of all the gods on Earth could he possibly know that?

  We kept circling the ring. Four times, then five. I could see that the other rulers were angrily arguing with each other, clearly upset that their riders had fallen out of the race altogether. But the Rama and Lucy Anno were both continuing to shout and cheer, the Rama gesturing for me to hurry up.

  The red rider was starting to fall behind me, which was good news as far as I was concerned. Apparently the Rama’s horses really were the fastest. But then the red rider, who had been following at a relatively safe distance, endeavored to close the gap in what I could only say was a most dangerous fashion. He was drawing nearer, nearer, until he was almost beside me. I continued to snap the horses’ reins, trying to urge even more speed out of them. My staff rattled around in the holder strap that I had fashioned in the chariot, keeping it stable. I did not expect to have to use it for anything. At that point in my life, I kept it with me as much as a good luck charm as anything else.

  The chariot driven by the red rider hurtled directly toward me. I was horrified to see that he was setting it in a direct collision course. I did the only thing I could think of, which was to yank back on the reins, slowing the horses down. His chariot shot in front of me and quickly I guided the horses to the right, trying to jockey my way around him. But he cut hard back and seconds later our chariots had collided. The horses were running neck and neck, each trying to bypass the other, as our chariots locked, the wheels spinning against each other.

  “Are you out of your mind?!” I shouted.

  “You’re supposed to lose!” he howled back, and that was when I realized who it was. It was Mane. Mane was driving the official chariot of Lucy Anno. This had gone beyond him endeavoring to foster some sort of bet that would cost the Rama his kingdom. Mane was a full on traitor to his country.

  Except it wasn’t really his country, was it.

  That was when it all became abundantly clear to me. Mane was secretly Afrasian. He must have come to Rogypt at Lucy Anno’s behest and had willfully maneuvered the Rama in ways that would serve the interests of Afrasia, up to and including this ultimate plan of causing the Rama to lose his status.

  Was the Rama aware that Mane was driving the horses of his arch nemesis? The chances were that he was not. If he were, that would certainly not sit very well with him. On the other hand, if Mane won, then how it sat with the Rama would not matter in the least.

  He was doubtlessly expecting me to cut my speed and so disengage us. Instead I did the opposite, snapping the reins in order to get more speed out of my team. He endeavored to do the same thing, using his whip to hammer away at the poor creatures. Our wheels continued to bang up against each other.

  And suddenly he turned and swung the whip at me.

  It lashed across my chest and I let out a startled cry of pain. Again and again he brought it down on me and I had no choice, I had to yank back on the reins to slow my horses. Our wheels disengaged and he took the lead, and I started snapping the reins again. Gods only knew what the horses thought as I kept sending them mixed messages, ordering them to slow down and then speed up, but I had no choice.

  We completed our sixth revolution and I was coming up on him again. He glanced over his shoulder, saw my approach, and cut left to block off my progress. I cut right and so did he, doing everything he could to hold me back. I did the only thing I could think of, which was to tilt my body to the left as if I were going to guide the horses in that way. But at the same time I yanked hard with my right arm, keeping them on their course. My body language fooled him and Mane cut left as my horses galloped to the right. It brought us alongside again and we were pounding around the track as fast as we could muster our animals.

  And once again I felt the lash of his whip against my shoulders. Infuriated, I grabbed my staff out from the place where it was attached to my chariot and as he brought his lash around, it wrapped around the upper half, including the head. I pushed the hidden button and the dragon’s metal tongue snapped out. I twisted the staff and the knife sliced through the lash, cutting it loose from the handle. Infuriated, he threw the handle at me but I batted it aside.

  He angled his chariot toward me once more and he was shouting, “I was never going to free the slaves, you idiot! I can’t believe that you believed me!”

  “I should have known!” I bellowed back at him.

  Once more he tried to swing his chariot into mine, but now I had the advantage. My horses picked up speed and I started to pull ahead of him. Within moments I was going to leave him behind.

  And to my utter shock, he suddenly looped his reins around the upper part of his chariot and vaulted the distance into my chariot.

  He had a dagger in his hand and he attempted to drive it straight into my chest.

  Immediately I brought up the staff to block the downward thrust. There was no question in my mind that he was stronger than me, and only the angle of the staff was preventing the blade from striking home. I was pushing back with all my strength. I released my hold on the reins, but fortunately my horses didn’t need my guidance to keep running in the same direction.

  “You are going to die now,” he snarled. “You’ve had this coming for years.”

  I was hardly in a position to dispute him, but I certainly didn’t have to cooperate with him. Using what little strength I had left, I swung my left foot and knocked him slightly off balance. He stumbled slightly and I was able to actually lift him up and throw him back toward his chariot. He landed in it and his horses swerved from the impact.

  The chariots slamme
d together once more, and while he was scrambling to his feet, I saw my chance. I swung my staff toward him and the metal tongue of the dragon sliced right through the reins. They fell away and he no longer had control of his horses.

  My chariot barreled forward as I clutched onto my staff and suddenly I hit something. I never knew what it was, exactly: a rock or perhaps some manner of hole in the path. Either way, the abrupt jolt slammed me to one side and I lost control of my staff.

  The metal tongue slammed forward and into the eye of the foremost horse of Mane’s team.

  The horse screamed. I had never heard an animal scream in such a manner and hope never to do so again.

  The horse veered wildly, and the other horses had no choice but to follow it. Mane, no longer having reins to control it, was helpless to do anything except hold on for dear life.

  I yanked back on my reins and slowed my horses as Mane’s chariot hurtled right past me. The lead horse was out of its mind with pain and it was charging desperately across the track, bringing the others along with it.

  I saw where they were heading and watched in horror, unable to do anything except look on.

  They were barreling straight toward the seating area where the Rama and his guests were.

  Clea and Lucy Anno saw it coming and backpedalled as fast as they could. But the Rama was in his chair toward the front, and his lame leg prevented him from moving quickly. His guards were not near him; instead they were positioned at the back of the box, toward the entrance, presumably to prevent attackers from entering the box and coming at the Rama. So they were caught completely flatfooted.

  To the likely astonishment of the horses, I yanked hard on the reins and sent them galloping toward the box, but it was far too late for me to do anything to prevent the impending disaster. At the last second Mane leaped off the chariot and fell to the ground, rolling across the hard ground of the track and narrowly avoiding being trampled to death by the horses of my own team.

  The Rama was unable to dodge that fate. The berserk horse team of Mane’s chariot crashed through the front of the viewing stand and I saw the Rama’s terrified face before it disappeared under the horses’ hooves. The horses kept going, stumbling over the Rama and the furniture in there before grinding to a halt because there was nowhere else for them to go. The injured horse was still whinnying terribly and it reared up and slammed down again and again. I saw that its hooves were becoming covered with red and I knew where it was coming from.

  I yanked my horses to a halt, grabbed my staff and ran as fast as I could to the seating area. Onlookers from all sides were screaming, shielding their faces so that they could not see what was transpiring, although others were gazing raptly. No one, I noticed, was endeavoring to help him.

  I snapped out the blade of my staff and started hacking away at the harnesses that bound the horses together. It took long seconds but eventually I managed to cut the injured horse loose from its mates. It twisted around and I was able to dodge back just in time as it trampled its way through the debris and stampeded out into the track. The other horses, now separated from their mate, seemed to calm down and simply stood there as if waiting instructions.

  I clambered over the destruction and found the Rama. His poor body had obviously been crushed and yet, to my utter astonishment, he was still conscious. He wasn’t looking at anything in particular; instead his eyes were staring blankly upward. I wasn’t even sure he understood what had just happened. He was doubtlessly in shock.

  I dropped to my knees next to him and cradled his upper body. He stared up at me and his gaze focused on me. When he spoke, blood welled up from between his lips and his voice came out as thick and hoarse.

  “Did you win?” That was all he said.

  “Yes, Rama. I won. You beat Lucy Anno the Lucky. She has to pay you a fortune.”

  “I knew you would,” he managed to tell me. There were tears in his eyes and they dribbled down his face.

  He was a murderer. There was no question of that. He had thoughtlessly applied laws that slaughtered who-knew-how-many innocent children, and he had thought nothing of it. He was, at his heart, a creature with no conscience whatsoever. And yet I could not help but feel sorry for him as his soul slipped away from him and escaped his body. The boy died in my arms and I did not sob over his passing, but I mourned it nonetheless, for all that he might have been able to accomplish if he had only been allowed to survive.

  And then the fury within me began to build.

  It was Mane’s fault. All his fault.

  Slowly I lowered the Rama’s dead body to the ground and then stood. I scanned the track and saw that Mane was right where he had leapt out of the back of his chariot. I immediately saw the problem: he had broken his leg in the fall. It was sticking at an odd angle. Two doctors had come running out to him and were tending to him.

  I clambered out of the box and started toward him, running as best I could. There was fury on my face and the doctors saw it as I approached. Apparently it was intimidating enough that they stepped back, clearing a path to what was my obvious focus.

  The crowd had fallen eerily silent. They must have known that the Rama had died. Perhaps they were too stunned to believe it. Or maybe too joyful or unsure of how they should react lest angry guards wind up striking down anyone who celebrated.

  The doctors came toward me, trying to stop me in my tracks. They had no success. As lame as I was, my pure anger overcame any hesitation that my body might have instilled, and I shoved them aside. Mane saw me coming. He had removed his helmet, or perhaps the doctors had removed it, and when he perceived my approach he tried to reach for it, presumably so he could slap it back on his head to afford him some protection. That was not an option I provided him as I swung the bottom of my staff and knocked the helmet away from him.

  I had retracted the dragon’s tongue back into the head of my staff, but that did not make the staff any less lethal if it was employed with striking force. That was exactly what I did as I swung it down and around and struck Mane in the side of the head just as he was starting to sit up. The impact was a most pleasant loud “thunk” as it impacted with his right temple and knocked him backward. Blood and skin flew and now there was a large gouge in the right side of his head. Head wounds tend to bleed very easily and this was no exception as the red fluid cascaded down the front of his face. He tried to wipe it from his eye and was only partly successful. “Wait,” he tried to say.

  He was once again trying to sit up. I shoved the bottom of my staff forward into his chest. The impact was more than enough to knock him back. He cried out and I was sure I heard a rib break from the blow. He sobbed. I loved the sound of him suffering.

  The doctors tried to approach me but I froze them with a look and they quickly backed off. They were healers, not fighters, and neither of them was remotely interested in taking me on at that moment. That was very likely a wise move on their part.

  “You killed him,” I whispered. “You killed the Rama. That was your plan all along, wasn’t it.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Mane managed to ask. He winced as he spoke, his drawing in breath causing great pain in his chest. I hoped one of his broken ribs was stabbing him in the lung. “You’re the one who caused me to lose control of the chariot!”

  “After you tried to kill me!”

  “It was the race! I did what I had to do!”

  “And now I’m doing what I have to do.” I slammed my staff down upon his chest again and he shrieked. I could not begin to imagine the amount of pain that he was in. Actually I was beginning to worry that he was in so much agony that his brain might overload and not allow him to feel any. But his moans dampened that concern, at least for the time being.

  “You coward,” snarled Mane. He spat out a glob of blood. “You couldn’t even race me fairly! You had to drug the other horses!”

  He was wrong about that, but I was not about to finger Nuskin for what she had done. “What are you talking about? Your horses wer
e fine!”

  “Of course they were. I knew what you were likely to do and made sure to monitor everything they ate! I fed them myself from my own private stock of feed that you could never get to!”

  “What made you think I would do such a thing?”

  “Because you did it before! At a joust!”

  There was no way he could have known unless Nuskin told him. But why would she do that if she were going to embark on the course she undertook? This was making less and less sense. “Who told you that?” I demanded.

  His eyes narrowed and his voice choked. “My mother.”

  “Your mother?” I could not believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. Was Nuskin his mother? That would explain everything. “Who in the hell is your mother?”

  He grinned. He actually grinned.

  “The Princess Entipy,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “And you’re my gods damned father.”

  Chapter 13 Father Disfigure

  I rocked back on my heels, stunned at what he was saying. I stared at him, at first completely disbelieving his claim, but the longer I looked at him, the more I saw Entipy in his face. Yes, there was always the chance that he was lying, but that seemed insanely unlikely. He knew Entipy. He knew about the joust. How was that possible?

  She had told him. That was it. She had told him because I had told her. During our long winter together I had told her about many of the stunts that I had pulled in my life, and the joust had definitely been one of them. And if I had told her, then she very easily could have told him while she was raising him.