"Of course." Thomas seemed unperturbed by the line of questioning. "For that matter, I would like to know the answers to several of your questions myself...but I will tell you what I can.
"Am I, physically, your cousin? No. If I interpret the words of old Dworkin correctly, there may never have been a 'Thomas, son of Deirdre' in Amber; your memories of me may be the fabrications of Yggdrasil, in order to ease my acceptance into Amber for whatever reason."
"I would be sorry to think so," said Arathorn slowly. "I remember meeting you ... soon after my first arrival in Amber. I was feeling apprehensive still ... uncertain.
"And then there was that moonlit night when we walked together on the shore ... each with a flagon of wine in our hands, and making vague boasts about all the great deeds we would accomplish ... I would be sorry to think that was unreal."
Thomas offered a wry smile. "As would I. And yet, if we both recall the moment, I suppose it is as real as any memory, and as worth remembering."
He looked intently at both Arathorn and Christophe before continuing. "Doubtless you are both now thinking the same thing that I first thought upon hearing this news; if Yggdrasil, who may well be bent on Amber's destruction, has taken such pains to infiltrate me into Amber, should I not be regarded as a threat to the realm?" He shrugged his shoulders.
"Sadly, I have no better answer to that question than either of you. I have no conscious desire to harm Amber or any of its citizens; indeed, I find myself quite inexplicably loyal to the throne, especially given my apparent origin. While I am not physically your cousin, I do feel myself to be so mentally and emotionally. As fragmentary as my memories may be, they suggest a childhood and adulthood quite appropriate to a Prince of Amber. Whatever recollections of Thomas may have been crafted by Yggdrasil, they reside in my own mind as well as yours."
Thomas looked over to Arathorn and spread his hands apologetically. "There you have it, though doubtless I have raised as many questions as I have answered."
"You would hardly be able to give a convincing performance as a Prince of Amber if it were to be otherwise," replied Arathorn.
Thomas chuckled warmly at this.
"And I am certainly aware of the possibility that at the hour of the greatest need, you may well come to a realisation that your role is to see us defeated," Arathorn went on. "But still ... " He smiled suddenly. "I would choose you for my chariot driver, Thomas."
Thomas' brow furrowed as if he was trying to place the reference. After a moment, his expression cleared, and he leaned forward slightly to look at Arathorn.
"Thank you, Arathorn," he said in a mildly surprised tone.
After a thoughtful pause, he continues, "It's an appropriate analogy in more ways than one, I think. 'Let the motive for action be in the action itself, and not in the event,' wasn't it? Given as little as I know about my role in all this, perhaps I'm on my way to enlightenment after all."
Arathorn smiled. "Let us hope I am not unable to start the great battle until you have expounded a prolonged philosophy of life to me," he said. "I am not certain the Darke would wait patiently in their serried ranks for quite so long ... "
He lit a match to apply to his pipe, which had smouldered out.
"That, of course, lies some way in our future, after you have walked the Patt ... "
The match burned low in his hand - then the flame licked his fingers. Startled, he shook them and swore briefly. Then he looked thoughtfully at Thomas.
"Yes," he said. "That should indeed prove interesting."
"Well said," Thomas added dryly. "If Dworkin had not lobbied so strongly for me to walk the Pattern, I'd be rather reluctant to risk it. Of course, his recommendation may well not take my safety into consideration, but only what is best for Amber...if the old man is even sane at all. I sometimes worry that we're putting too much faith in his words."
"We set off on a dark and dangerous path," agreed Arathorn, "guided by Dworkin and Bleys. And with no disrespect intended to your father at all, Christophe, I am not sure I would trust either of them to direct me the straightest route across the large courtyard in Amber, let alone against the dark forces they expounded on so eloquently."
He sighed a little. "And yet ... with what I saw happen to Martin ... can I really doubt that the Darke is amongst us?"
Thomas cocked an eyebrow at this. "You were present when this...malady Befell him? Can you shed any light on just what did happen to him?"
"I can only furnish you with a description of what happened," said Arathorn slowly, his face darkening at the memory. "But I am far short of understanding it. Both of you - who are more versed in such matters perhaps - will have your own interpretation."
He took a long, slow, musing pull at the small pipe ... and a miasma of clove-scented tobacco rose.
"After my meeting with you, Christophe, I visited Vincent, as I told you I should, and found Isadora with him. Then - Caine joined us. The true Caine."
He frowned.
"Personally - I do not find his social manner much of an improvement over his imitation. He was ... ahhhh ... rather insistent that we should walk the Pattern. Preferring that to a rather unpleasant death, we accompanied him - and from the Pattern to Shadow - where we met my father, Corwin and Julian - as well as Cat and Martin."
Arathorn paused ... his face inscrutable for a moment - as if seeing again that woodland glade ... the unexpected sight of Corwin ... and of his father, after so many years ...
He sighed a little, and resumed.
"Kalaran joined us ... he had tracked us through Shadow - and Corwin insisted on testing him with Grayswandir. It seemed a little ludicrous - this insistence on proving we were all who we claimed ...
"Martin was restless ... he had been wounded in the hand. He seemed ... different somehow. Tougher. And yet ... "
He was frowning as he remembered. "He seemed to regret that damnable business in Foresthall. You two missed that, I recall. Believe me, a farce of mis-management. Not worthy of your good father, Christophe - at whose door Martin was anxious to lay all blame."
He smiled wryly ... remembering Martin's words ... and his own response ...
~~~~~~~~~~~
Martin nodded to this and shrugged his shoulders, "I understand the animosity
felt by all after my actions that night. I've been kicking myself ever
since. Martel and Bleys were quite…convincing. It did not help that I
never wanted to be in that position to begin with. I would not have called
my acts 'foolish,' but misguided. I tried to dodge the bullet, and stepped
right in front of the gun."
He flexed his throbbing hand lightly, wiggling the fingers. "Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn't it? I will not make the same mistakes again."
"It seemed to me," sais Arathorn
coldly, "that it was I, not you, who were in front of what in this case
was a crossbow, rather than a gun. I applaud your change of heart, but
find your choice of metaphor leaves something to be desired."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"At all events," Arathorn continued, "we had a general reconciliation that was quite nauseating in its expressions of repentance and forgiveness on all sides. Martin was eager to be off and search for his father ... I had even agreed to accompany him ... "
He sighed and tapped out his pipe.
"Then Corwin insisted that Cat and Martin too must be tested. I will admit, I was appalled. The sight of one of our Elders attacking him with a knife must have peculiar resonance for Martin ...
"Corwin, however, was quite correct. As soon as the blade touched Martin ...
"It was the damnedest thing ... His skin seemed almost to boil ... and there was steam ... His eyes - yes, he had been complaining about his eyes earlier, I recall - it was as though something like oil slid over his eyes ... And then he snarled, leapt for a tree. He was up it ... unbelievably fast. And what emerged at the top - was changed. Clawed ... snarling like an animal - and moving with remarkable speed.
"Still able to speak though - and threaten. He seemed to threaten Corwin - something I would be reluctant to do myself.
"Caine - I suppose it goes without saying - tried to shoot him. The other Elders were more phlegmatic. We ... well, I suppose the others were as stunned as I. I searched his saddlebags. Something I found there suggested that Martin might have been involved in the murder of Vincent's friend from Shadow, Marcus.
"His horse I brought back to Amber for my own use. If it could carry that which Martin was becoming ... it should not panic easily."
He looked at Christophe.
"Do you travel dry in this vehicle, or might you have some alcohol here? Suddenly I feel the need of something even more stimulating than tea."
"Oh, certainly," replied Christophe, who had sat with his hands folded across his chest, listening quietly to the two other men talk.
"I have a lovely port that I acquired on my way back from Begma, some sherry, a few cases of wine of various sorts, mostly red, of course. . ."
Then he stood and stepped over to the map case. Christophe let one of his fingers trail along the rack, counting off, until he reached the fifth one; he unscrewed the end and withdrew a long cut-glass bottle that seems filled with a rich golden yellow liquid.
"One must hide the best from the help, alas," he sighed, uncorking it and offering it, label facing out, to first Arathorn, then Thomas. The bottle bore a simple hand-written label with a year a century gone.
"I found it filed under 'C', and took it as a good omen," smiled the urbane diplomat before raising his voice and calling, "Mr. Zhou, three glasses!"
A split-second later Christophe's valet glided out of the rear of the carriage with a small oblong tray bearing three glasses, and stood quietly next to Christophe as he poured out portions of liquid into each.
Very soon the scent of old, old scotch filled the cabin, cutting through the redolence of the smoke. Arathorn took the proffered glass and swirled the old gold liquid for a moment, gazing down into the heavy crystal and softly inhaling the heady fumes. Then he raised the glass and took a long, slow pull. The peat and oak flavours warmed into life in his mouth, as the rich round fullness of the taste became apparent.
"A good choice," he said, smiling, and drank again. "No ... an excellent choice, Cousin. You must let me have the name of your supplier - if it's a Shadow that may be visited."
"If you please, continue, I must consult the charts," offered Christophe, his glass cupped in his palm. "The roads diverge as one passes into Arden, requiring some degree of attentiveness."
"May I see?" asked Arathorn, interested. He rose from the armchair and moved to the table where the charts were spread. His eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered the information there, standing slightly back so Thomas could approach and see the charts too.
"Hmmmmm," he said slowly, and moved slightly round the table to take advantage of a different angle. "Interesting."
He took the bowl of his pipe in his hand and leaned forward to tap the stem against one particular point.
"Just here ... have you thought about using skyscapes rather than the land? It wouldn't necessarily be ... swifter. But ... more certain somehow."
A tiny muscle jumped beneath his left eye. He reached up his hand and rubbed it into relaxation, without apparently noticing the gesture. Then he placed his pipe back in his mouth and reached in his jacket for his tobacco pouch.
"Just a suggestion, of course."
Thomas sauntered over to observe the charts. He stood between his two 'cousins,' swirling the whiskey in one hand, and observing the charts with an air of polite interest. He glanced at Christophe's charts, then cocked an eyebrow at Arathorn.
"Do you travel this route often?"
Arathorn shook his head. "Christophe's Shadow and mine seem to share similarities, but the routes through Shadow are different. I generally take another way altogether."
"Ah." Thomas turned away from the charts, gazing out the slitted windows of the coach. "I can only hope that one day, I shall travel to and from Amber often enough to have a preferred route."
Arathorn watched him with a faint frown. "And I suppose it is no consolation to suggest that at the moment, your presence in Amber with be ardently looked for, by most of your ... well, let us call ourselves relatives for convenience sake."
Thomas swirled his whiskey thoughtfully in his hand before taking a sip. "Indeed, I would enjoy spending time in Amber myself. Do you know that I have been to the city only twice in my life...and, given the uncertain nature of my memories, one of those sojourns may never have happened at all?"
"Memories are not always a source of happiness," said Arathorn quietly. "My memories of that damnable business at Foresthall, for example, I could well do without. You two missed that - Random's sons at their very worst."
"No doubt." Thomas turned back to Arathorn. "Since we have some time during this journey, perhaps you could recount those events for us? I have heard fragments of the tale, but since you were there, perhaps I have a better chance of hearing the truth of the matter from you."
He smiled at Arathorn to remove the sting from that 'perhaps.'
A frown cut a line on Arathorn's brow. "The truth? I can tell you how things appeared to me ... but you may judge my account biased ... and for good reason."
"I could ask no more; no man can give an unbiased account of any event, try as he might."
Thomas sat down and leaned back, awaiting Arathorn's story.
Arathorn sighed.
"It was the night Random died. The false Random, as we know now. But at the time, we believed him the true King - and Martin and Martel's father."
He frowned. "One thing we do have in common, Christophe. I believe that neither of us would be away and plotting to steal his power when either of our fathers lay dying."
A faint smile crossed his face. "Once they had died, however, I am sure the case would be altered ...
"At all events, be that as it may. That night - a night of terrible storms - a group of us gathered in Foresthall to await what news we could glean. Vincent was there - Rowan, Joshua - Kalaran too, I think. Then Martel and Martin appeared ... with Lord Chancellor Troice. Martin looked ill ...
"He read a declaration renouncing his rights to the throne. I remember ... I remember wondering if Martel had forced him in some way ... Martel always struck me as the more forceful of the two of them ... to put it mildly.
"Martin had barely finished speaking when Martel was on his feet - demanding we forthwith pledge our loyalty to him - to him! As though his father was dead already and he the only one with a legitimate claim.
"Cat followed them in. She was quick to pledge loyalty, but then, she's always been fond of Random's sons. The rest of us ... objected. I laughed in Martel's face."
His face twisted, a little wryly.
"I suspect, with hindsight, I could have been a little more tactful in my refusal," he admitted. "Although I have never found Martel to be particularly versed in the finer nuances of diplomatic language ... something you too have witnessed, Christophe.
"However, I refrained from going as far as Rowan, who basically accused him of responsibility for Random's assassination."
He laughed quietly and drained the goblet of Scotch. "I hope it is indeed for the good of Amber that those two have made common cause now ... "
He rose and refilled the goblet, his back to the other two as he continued.
"Well," he said. "There was, as you may imagine, an altercation. An argument, rather. Heated words - but no violence. Insults were traded - although Vincent tried to argue things rationally. I must admit, I was too angry for that, myself.
"And then, without warning, Martel whistled, and the room filled with his guards."
He frowned, remembering how the guards had had a hardened, hungry look to their eyes, and showed no hesitation at levelling a lethal bolt at a Royal family member. No ordinary guards were those ...
"We were ordered to disarm," he said quietly, his eyes darkening. "Told we would be sent into exile ...
"That was when Rowan blood cursed Martel and Martin. Another reason for my scepticism at their current alliance.
"Most of us lowered our weapons ... all but Joshua, I believe. We were heavily outnumbered. Then Gerard's men attacked the guards ... and Martel ordered the guards to fire ... "
He turned around and moved back to his seat.
"They took out Joshua first - as he was armed. Me next ... for all my sword was at my feet. A bolt took me in the shoulder - fortunate, for if I hadn't moved in reaction, the second would have got my head ... And then Martin came at me, sword levelled."
He smiled bleakly. "Rowan ... it was impressive. He seized one of the couches - you know, those mammoth over-stuffed things they keep in Foresthall - and threw it at the guards. And Kalaran and Flora did good work too. Vincent ... he probably came as near death as any of us. They had him pinned down with five blades against his back ...
"But it was clear that the odds were against Randon's sons. A last snarl at the lot of us, and then they fled ... like playgorund bullies. To fire on unarmed prisoners ... and then to run from superior forces ... " He shook his head.
"And Martin laid the blame at your father's door," he said, looking at Christophe. "Claimed the plan was wholly his ...
"I do not pretend to love your father, Christoiphe," he said slowly, "and his treatment of my father does nothing to make me regard him with more favour. But I really am surprised that he feels such a measure of hostility to me.
"Unless, of course," he added, "it was Martel's or Martin's ... refinement to attempt to kill as many of us as they could."
Thomas shook his head at Arathorn's tale. "Sometimes I am amazed that there are any of the Royal family left at all."
He glanced idly through the forward window of the carriage as he began turning back towards Christophe, then stopped, frowned, and looked again, squinting through the slitted aperture.
"Hello," he muttered, "what's this?"
As he moved closer to the window for a better look, Christophe's drivers began calling back to their master through the brass funnel.
"It would appear," Christophe said with a slight frown, "that our journey will be briefly delayed."
End of Chapter 2
The chapters in this story represent an episode in the Amber PBEM game
