Chapter 4 - The Gathering in the Forest

A mile of walking down the narrow trail passes quickly for Arathorn, Isadora and Vincent.

The pleasant spring air and the vibrant spring foliage is a relief to their souls after the particularly foul and gray winter that has stretched onward since Randoms' death a few months past. Yet, that they could experience spring in this shadow meant they were far from Amber..further out than the Golden Circle, which shared the seasons with the True City. Small birds flutter in clouds here and there, and somewhere not far off is the musical trickling of a stream or rivulet. The smell of burning wood grows stronger, though the trail of rising smoke is lost in the vernal greenery above their heads.

Close by, and getting closer, is the strains of a deep tenor voice raised in song...a distantly familiar ballad...

A moment later, they emerge into a clearing, Caine leading the three, his smile growing broader as he extends a hand forward to introduce a most improbable tableau.

The clearing is in front of a small ramshackle stone hut, as what a hermit might use in his seclusion. It is from this that the smoke rises through a hole in the roof. Outside, seated on logs laid out on the grass and dirt are a near half dozen figures.

Catriola and Martin sit together on one log, Martin's hand bandaged, his complexion pale as he slurps up a wooden cupful of water.

The familiar, though considerably more lean and hard-edged form of Julian is near some horses tethered to some trees nearby. At Caine's appearance, he grins, and places a hand upon his worn, tooled leather belt. Morgenstern, a great and pale beast of cyclopean proportions, merely snorts at the intrusion from over his shoulder.

Near Cat and Martin is a man seated on a log. It is he who was singing,and he stops as he takes in the newcomers with eyes as blue as the late noon sky and as wary as a hawk. His features are rugged, his face unshaved, his raven-black hair long past his shoulders. Upon his back was a shaggy black pelt like a cloak, and a pair of silver scaled gauntlets were tucked into his wide belt. It was Corwin...last seen by most when they were but adolescents, and even then, infrequently...

And closest to the hut doorway, covered in the shadow cast by the walls, was a tall, lean man, long of jaw and limb, his long hair as haggard and tangled as Corwin's own. He was barechested, even in the breezy spring weather, and wore bandages across the snake-muscled limbs and chest. Leather breeches garbed his legs, but his right arm ended in a mass of scar tissue.

It was Benedict.

As Caine, Isadora, Vincent and Arathorn emerged, Corwin stopped his song and stood up. Julian laughed. And Benedict merely regarded the scene from under his brow, unmoving.

Cat gives the approaching group a quick smile. Her body language shows a different story. Her pale cheeks seem to be losing some resemblence of a flush. Shoulders raised in a taut fashion, indicating either irritation or nervousness, perhaps even expecting some action. Her eyes dart quickly toward the ground to avoid looking directly at anyone and her right hand fidgets nervously with the left. The smile quickly fades as she moves apart from so many elders, not surprisingly to be at the very least out of arm's reach.

Martin glanced up at the sound of people approaching, resting the wooden cup on his knee. His smile faltered slightly when he saw Caine and his daughter were not alone. Storm-cloud eyes narrowed as he scanned the others. Recognizing his cousins' faces he relaxed-albeit it slightly. After a moment, he set the cup down and stood up. His wounded hand flexed again, the pain shadowing his already worn features.

Without looking at him, he speaks to Julian, "Well, at least your brother has good taste in travelling companions."

Arathorn, approaching, stopped, and for a moment stood perfectly still...

Then he moved on, his pace as relaxed and unhurried as before. But his face had paled and the skin around his nostrils was white; there was suddenly a certain fixity about his features ... Only his eyes were still alive, still moving from one point to another ... and always returning ... to the same fixed point.

"Oh, well done, Uncle," he said quietly, so quietly that it was possible that his words did not reach beyond Isadora and Vincent, let alone to the group in the clearing.

Now he was moving fully into the clearing, with a curt nod to both Martin and Julian, and a swift smile for Cat ... Then he stepped forward and held his hand out to Corwin.

"Uncle," he said and smiled. "I'm delighted to see the rumours of your death were fallacious."

Then he turned slowly, the smile steady on his face as he took two steps towards Benedict.

"Father."

A third step. He bowed his head briefly in greeting. When he looked up again, his face still held that fixed immobility, and was even a shade paler.

"I see you have been wounded. I trust it is not serious?"

Benedict's voice is dry and casual, as if no time had elapsed in his relationship with his son.

"I have suffered worse." He indicates the missing right hand with his eyes. "You are tall...and well framed. How is your mother?"

Arathorn hesitates.

"She ... died. About a year after you left. I thought you knew. I thought that was the reason ... "

Arathorn's words obviously affect Martin, the shadows in his eyes darkening. When his cousin has finished speaking, the young Prince simply shakes his head and sighs. His gaze drifts from Arathorn to Benedict and back again. When his eyes fall upon Arathorn, it is with a profound respect and camaraderie, light filtering through the stormclouds. As for Benedict, the clouds churn angrily. He squeezes his wounded hand tightly, the entire arm shivering with pain. Arathorn looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then smiles slightly, ruefully, aware of the realisation his cousin has experienced.

Turning away from the speakers, Martin moves closer to Cat. His thin lips move as if he is speaking, but no words come out; at least none that can be heard.

Arathorn breaks off and lifts a hand to his face, pushing back the dark untidy hair.

"A hunting accident. A fall ... a stake planted in a hedge by some fool farmer. It took a little while. She spoke of you ... at the last."

He does not look fully at his father as he speaks. Whether he wishes to avoid seeing his grief, or avoid seeing his lack of grief, Arathorn scarcely knows himself.

"Grandfather raised me," he goes on quietly. "You remember the General? He lives still, much afflicted by gout. The last time I saw him, he damned your eyes and bade me tell you, if I should ever see you, that there would be a glass of port and a cigar waiting for you by the fire if you chose to visit and fight over old campaigns with him."

He smiles a little bleakly.

"It was a good place to live and grow. But you were much missed."

He doesn't specify by whom.

Benedict's face hardens. "This farmer was duly punished, was he not?"

"Yes," says Arathorn curtly.

"And, I have missed much." Benedict eyes the watch at Arathorn's pocket, and smiles. "I see Wallace has not failed in his tenacity. You wear that well."

For the first time since he saw his father, Arathorn's smile reaches his eyes.

"I have been ... I take great pride in wearing it, Sir. And Wallace has not failed your trust ... or failed me either. For which, as for much else, my thanks."

Benedict nods. "I shall see Wallace is rewarded...I was not entirely sure my expectations would be met in a mishap."

Arathorn hesitates, then smiles.

"Mishaps there were, but we both proved equal to them. I ... I imagine I was not the easiest of charges. As for Wallace, well, he may not see it was a reward, but I would ask that he might remain in my service. Loyalty such as his is a rare quality, and I would not lightly part with it."

With the invigorating spring air filling his lungs, Vincent walked down the trail with his uncle and cousins in silence. His mind wandered lazily as he tried to relax, grateful for the relative lack of urgency at the moment. It's strange, the things that run through a man's mind when he least expects them: as he strolled down the trail, Vincent was struck with the realization that he was missing his planned meeting with the newly arrived Thomas, and he chuckled, wondering if the man was even who he said he was...

As the breeze wafted across his face, carrying his long black hair behind him, he hoped that it would cleanse him of the stench of death, which he feared still clung to him like a possessive lover. The day was barely half over, and the things he had experienced and discovered in that time had nearly driven him mad. But now they found themselves at play in a calmer mind... he breathed deeply and attempted to allow them room to free associate.

It was with this calm, detached frame of mind that Vincent strolled into the clearing, green eyes curious...

Nodding to Julian, Vincent's gaze next drifted to Cat and Martin. The surprise that he felt on seeing them was sharp, but he produced a weak grin and continued forward.

As his eyes fell upon Corwin, it took him a moment to register who it was, and when he did, a much sharper surprise befell him, and he stopped in his tracks. Standing stiffly, he looked into the man's eyes... through them, into the past. The last time he had seen Corwin in the flesh, he had been perhaps 4 or 5 years old. Since then, all he had to go on were stories... stories of his bitter rivalry with his father... stories of his heroism... often had Vincent wondered just how much truth lay in each of them, and how he might react if he ever laid eyes upon the man who had laid siege to his father's kingdom.

And now, there he stood. And Vincent was struck with the resemblance the man shared with his late father Eric. A letter came to mind then, the one which his father had left for him before he was killed. In it, Eric had explained that he was to trust Gerard in all things, and never to trust Corwin. But Gerard had proven much more clever and power-hungry than Eric had thought... would Corwin prove different as well? Was this even the real Corwin?

As he stood thinking, Vincent heard Arathorn's voice, and saw him brush by and greet his Uncle Corwin... and he felt foolish. Taking a deep breath, he followed after him, and nodded a friendly greeting to his Uncle Benedict as he made his way over. Finally, he stood before Corwin, bowed slightly at the waist, and extended a hand, "Uncle Corwin, I'm Vincent, son of Eric." His eyes studied Corwin with intensity...

Corwin takes the hand, oblivious of any apparant tension. "You have Eric's chin...I didn't want him to die. Not really. We took our feud with entirely too much emotion...he was the better man for the throne, young Vincent, not I. May I deal better with his son than I did with the father."

Conflicting emotions swirled within the young prince. Oh, how often he had dreamt of this! Of a confrontation with Corwin, the man that his father had opposed his entire life. But now, with Eric long dead, and the surprisingly fair words being spoken by Corwin, Vincent struggled with what was truly important, and as he shook the hand firmly, he realized that he could probably learn more about his father from this man than anyone else alive.

He nodded sharply, his face a study in control. "Thank you, Uncle. You words are appreciated. I'll do my best to get to know the real Corwin, and not rely on the whispered tales of my fiery youth."

The dark-maned prince laughs gently, his intense eyes softened. "Then I shall rest easier when I sleep."

A soft smile played across Martin's lips. He nodded to Vincent respectfully, as the man passes him. This close, both Arathorn and Vincent could see the profound change that had overcome their cousin since the Candlemas Ball. Gone was Martin's typical milksop manner. A darkened edge had sharpened the young prince's features.

Almost protectively, Martin steps to Cat's side. He smiles at her tenderly, then returns his attentions to the new arrivals.

Vincent glanced at Martin's hand, and his hardened manner, and then briefly at Benedict's wounds, before continuing, "I take it your escape from Chaos was difficult, even with Martin's aid?" The dark prince let his eyes dance from Martin to Benedict to Corwin, hoping to ascertain more from their reactions than their reply.

Benedict shakes his head. "Martin has no part in that. We had Julian pluck he and Catriola up, while we sent Caine to do his own work."

From his log-seat, Corwin speaks. "T'was Merlin who must have set us free - the guard was killed, our cells opened...and thus, we escaped, only to find my son awaiting us outside the compound by some several 'miles', or what passes for them, in Chaos. From thence we used Grayswandir to burst the prison of the Storm Wall through a sea route, but, alas, we were each torn asunder from our craft...and the rest, you surely must surmise - Merlin found by Christophe, us, to manage our way here, to surmise the situation in Amber, and see what our Chaosian friends have been up to since we were incarcerated."

Martin smiles softly to Vincent, his cheeks coloring. "Actually, they escaped without my help, I'm afraid. Sorry to ruin a good story." He flips the hand over, showing the wrapped palm. Beads of crimson stain the binding. "No, this came from..." he pauses, then shrugs. "Frankly, I have no idea where this came from."

"Merlin..." Isadora says his name with a strange sound for her, "Your son is a fine young man Corwin. I'm worried about him though. He left Amber as far as I know. Going to Rebma. He asked me to join with him, but I felt I had to stay in Amber. I believed the words of the man who claimed to be my father and I wouldn't leave Vincent." She looks at Vincent and then back to Corwin.

Vincent met her glance, a small, odd smile on his face. He nodded a silent thanks for her support, before she turned away.

"But we should try to find Merlin." Though she says 'we', even Caine might have been able to tell that she meant, 'I'.

"How much of the current situation have you heard?" asks Arathorn. "Of Gerard's claim to the throne, I am sure you are informed. Have you also heard of his death, or what has followed that?"

Martin cocks his head, but does not appear shocked by this announcement, as if having expected such to be revealed. "Out of curiosity, were you able to see the body?" His attention turns to Caine, "Your handy work, perhaps? Another one of those… things?"

Caine nods. "I saw the body, yes..when I heard he was dead among the servants this morning, I engaged in a slight..detour. He was not a double...he did not bear the appropriate stigmata upon death. I must resolve that it was indeed my brother that died last night."

Martin steps closer to Caine and places his hand upon his uncle's shoulder. "You have my sympathies, uncle. With all these doppelgangers and impersonators about, I had hoped that Gerard's death would have been another ruse. His loss will be deeply mourned." He squeezes Caine's arm then steps back.

Cat looks at Martin and says, "Then they must be working quicker than even I would have expected. I guess they couldn't risk him setting up a strong monarchy. Likely as not, Bleys will continue to try to pull the strings about with Martel, getting him to attempt an attack on Amber while she's at her weakest. I'd best look to setting myself toward Rebma and see if I can't stick a wedge between your brother and theirs." She points to the elders.

Martin nods faintly as Cat speaks, then takes her fingers into his good hand. He holds her hand as if it were made from the finest porcelain. "That is if this Gerard were even the real person. But yes, you should go to Rebma. Bleys has his fingers around my brother's strings, and has from the very beginning. While I cut my ties to him, Martel does not even realize how he is being played. Nor, I doubt, will he." A pained expression comes over him, more so than any discomfort provided by his infected wound. "Besides. You should be at his side during this. He will… need you."

Arathorn looks at her for a second thoughtfully, then shoots a quick look at Vincent.

Cat, in a half smile, half laugh asks, "What was that look for? Did I say something out of line? Or do you know something I do not in regards to Martel?"

He clears his throat a little diffidently and says, "When I ... er ...left Amber, there was talk of a new candidate emerging from the Shadows. A son of Eric, a hitherto unseen, unsuspected and, if I am to believe Christophe, unsupassed paragon of all the virtues. I believe both Bleys and Fiona know of his existence too - or were being informed earlier today."

He frowns for a moment, slides his watch into his hand, glances at it and slips it away. "I was to have met with Christophe this evening and learned more ... only I ... er ... unexpectedly discovered pressing business elsewhere."

He glances across at Caine, then gives a short laugh before reaching in to his pocket for his cigarette box. He flips it open and frowns again, this time at the contents, then extracts a clove cigarette and and lights it, before offering the box to the others.

Cat gives only a 'Hrumph' sound as to Bleys, Fiona and Christophe finding yet another lost Barimen. "I wouldn't believe Christophe if he told me the sky was blue," she grumbles.

Isadora had been quiet as the group came forward, but she now gives Cat a concerned look. "I've found that it's hard to know who is telling the truth and who is not. I don't care for Christophe anymore then you do, but this kid. I was totally fooled about my own father." she looks at Caine and then back to Cat, "Christophe himself might be fooled. I wouldn't take any unknown family members lightly."

Cat looks up at her admired cousin. "Oh, I don't doubt that they do have another family member up their conniving little sleeves, and I surely wouldn't take any newcomers lightly. However, I've noticed that Christophe is so full of... himself that it's hard to decipher whether he's being ernest or just blowing smoke for appearances."

She looks at Martin, "I swear to do as you ask, even if I disagree with your reasoning, but when things are settled, I want you to give me your word that you will sit with me and tell me all that has and will transpire, good and bad."

Martin nods to this, reluctantly releasing Cat's hand. "Thank you. I swear to what you ask. And remember, you may be heading into far more trouble than I am. Who knows what waits to strike at Amber's belly? At the very least, I will feel more confident that you are there. I can think of no greater person to watch our back, my angel."

He leans close to her and kisses her cheek. "Be careful, my angel."

Letting her go is an obvious struggle of pure will; one the young Prince barely wins.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as it were," Cat smiles wryly. "As likely as not, I will be left mostly to my own means. Bleys and Fiona have never bothered much with a pain in the butt niece neither of them particularly care for. I should be fine, but I'll keep my eyes open, as always. It's now my duty to guide Martel into more cautious behaviour. That in and of itself should be a full time job." She fiddles briefly with the ring that rests on her finger.

Martin laughs, although one cannot tell if it is in mirth or sorrow. "Martel is a handful all right. I'm sure with your council, he will act somewhat more responsibly. Besides, I'm certain Rebma could use a new Princess with some fire in her."

"As for Bleys and Fiona, the less they notice you, the better off you are. Trust me."

Stepping up to Cat and Martin, Vincent pushed a lock of dark hair behind an ear, and bowed before them quickly. "Please forgive the intrusion, but there may be no reason for anyone to go to Rebma. Apparently," Vincent said, with a dark glance at Arathorn, "our bereaved cousin and Regent, Rowan, has sent Aunt Flora to Rebma, that she may retrieve Martel. He is to be pardoned, and offered the throne. It seems Rowan realizes he is not Kingly material, and that I would not argue.... but I find his choice of replacement extremely odd, considering the fact that he went so far as to Blood Curse the man," Vincent concluded with disgust.

Martin turns to listen to Vincent, remaining silent throughout his remarks. As his cousin continues, the young Prince's face grows increasingly taunt and strained. At the announcement that his brother may become King, Martin nose wrinkles with distaste. "Offered the throne," he mutters, the words dripping from his tongue as if a toxin. He hides his face with his hand for a moment, shaking his head as Vincent finishes.

When he speaks again, his voice sounds like something bubbling up from a charnel pit. "Then there is even more reason for Cat to seek him out. He has no claim to the throne. Our father still lives. Nor does he possess the wisdom to undertake such a station. I know that now. Hell, I knew that then, but Bleys convinced me otherwise."

His hand drops away from his face like an autumn leaf, revealing a worn expression. It settles on the exact spot where years ago Brand ran him through. "While my brother may be an excellent soldier, he is far from being a King. At least Rowan possesses some humility and the proper tutelage. It made him the proper choice. He has enough sense to step down when the true King returns."

"While that may be true, I wouldn't say that makes him the best choice..." Vincent all but mumbled, amazed at how so many could fail to see Rowan's incompetence. But he said no more, aware of Martin's exclusion of any other choice, but stopping short of taking it as a slight. He was still feeling the sharp embarrassment of the situation... taken in by Oberon-knows-what, head filled with visions of grandeur, proud memories of his father, and a chance to rebuild a sickened Amber...

He realized then, that along with embarrassment, he felt relief. While he had considered himself to be the best choice at the time, as the weeks passed, he had become less and less comfortable with the thought of marching on Amber to make it so. And now, knowing that he had been completely had, he wondered at his own worthiness for the throne. It was one of those moments when you realize just how far you have left to go... when just before, you had felt so near to where you thought you needed to be. The dark prince chuckled to himself, and his eyes drifted to those of Isadora.

Martin glanced up and studied his cousin's features for a moment. He cocked his head once more in a quizzical manner, then smiled. The smile transformed into a chuckle and he sat back. "Take no offense in my words cousin. I only suggested Rowan for one reason. He is the wisest of the lot in Amber… at the moment. He would not have been my first choice. Indeed, my true choice stands before at this very moment."

Vincent's eyes rose to meet Martin's. A wry grin broke onto his face, and he chuckled back. Crouching down on his haunches to meet Martin's eye level, Vincent shook his head, still smiling. A small patch of flowers grew nearby, and he plucked one, inspecting it while he considered Martin's words. ~What are you attempting to accomplish, my cousin? What have you been through to have such a change of heart?~

He allows a minute to pass so that his words can sink into Vincent before speaking again. "That is correct. After my fall from grace, I rethought what I had done. When I spoke to Bleys once more, I told him to help you to the throne. I don't know if he took my advice, however. You have your father's blood in you, and with luck that means some of his wisdom is there as well. At least, that had been my thinking."

The raven-haired prince twirled the flower slowly between thumb and forefinger, as he listened. At the mention of Bleys, his eyes flicked up to meet his cousin's briefly, before turning absently back to the flower. When Martin had finished, he looked back up at him. "You flatter me, cousin. And my father's memory. I wouldn't think you would have cause to admire him, seeing as how he treated your father. But I thank you."

Martin shrugged faintly, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. His pale brow knitted, either in pain or deep thought. "You're welcome, but I rarely flatter," he says, "Except, perhaps, when it comes to my dear Cat. But after all, she deserves every flowery word of praise." He looks up at Cat for a moment, a shadow of melancholy staining his features. Then his eyes return to Vincent, a friendly smile erasing the frown. "Eric had have been misguided by old animosities, but he was a good king. Amber did well by him."

He shifted on the log, crossing his legs. "Now that the elders are back, I believe they can sort out who should be King far better than I. Besides, my father my still live and he is the Unicorn's chosen. It's enough to give you a headache, which is why I've been avoiding the whole thing to begin with. How do they say it on Shadow Earth? Better you than me."

"Yes, I believe that is the saying. And I agree, the circumstances have taken a turn for the convoluted. It seemed so cut-and-dried before..." he frowned, and shook his head, rising to his feet again. "Now I'm just burning to know the truth of what has befallen us," he added, while absently smelling the flower in his hand. Looking down at it thoughtfully,he then looked over at Isadora, before moving in her direction wearing a fresh smile born of some sudden purpose.

"Aren't we all Cousin," he said, "Aren't we all." He rubs his brow again, squinting his eyes. While Vincent moves away, the green-haired prince concentrates. Everyone feels the faintest hint of Shadow being manipulated, then it is gone. Martin reaches into his pocket and removes a pair of mirrored sunglasses, flipping them open. Slipping them on, he leans back and smiles. "Much better," he chuckles. He certainly looks a sight, a mixture of renaissance and modern Shadow Earth.

Looking over at Corwin and his brothers, he says, "Should not one of you return to Amber and become regent for the time being? My brother did not live through the War. You did. I saw first hand how these-creatures- fought. Better Amber have someone who knows what they're doing in command than someone who /thinks/ they know everything."

Caine adds, "All in due time...but first, I wish to hear your tale.First Isadora, then yourself, Catriola. If either Arathorn, Vincent, or Martin wish to elaborate, they may, but to simplify this discourse, it is best to leave it to just a pair of main narrators."

Extending a hand, as Benedict and Crowin draw closer, he says, "Pray, do lend us the benefit of your experience. Recall what occurred since Julian and I departed to search for Corwin and Benedict four years ago, only to return falsely."

Benedict eyes Corwin, who glances in return.

Then Corwin's eyes fall to Martin. "Perhaps you should be easier on your brother. The rancor you express is unhealthy. Granted, if the redheads have influenced him, and you, it is to neither's discredit - Bleys and Fiona are wise, cunning and treacherous. Their experience proves either of you for the relatively young and green princes you are."

Through newly narrowed eyes, Vincent regarded Corwin, ~You're one to speak of rancor between brothers...~ he thought in a rush, but then his gaze softened, as he considered further, ~But I suppose you must know what it brings about, and you have shown me and my father respect.~ A vision came to him suddenly then, one of hot pokers... he swallowed drily, hanging his head in thought.

"You have learned that cost, uncle," Martin says, "But my brother has not. It is not rancor that guides my words, but foreknowledge. He is much like yourself in many ways, especially his drive to sit upon the throne. I'm sure you remember well that such brashness and incentive did not serve Amber before. Why would they serve Amber now?"

"Now...as to the throne...I've no mind for it. I learned that at a hard cost, young Martin."

Julian laughs coldly. "And I mind my own business in Arden. What use would I have for a throne!"

Caine says nothing, but smiles, his dagger carving patterns in the air, absentmindedly.

Benedict replies in turn. "We spoke at long length when finally we did meet in shadow, some weeks ago. That none of our generation would hold the throne unless it be Randoom, and only if Random was in fact, chosen by the 'Corn."

"If not, we would hold council to decide upon an heir among your generation, and legitimize his rule with oath and law. From what you say, it seems Gerard was intent on this during our absence."

Caine cuts in, looking to Vincent. "Be mindful, young Vincent, you were falsely promised. Neither I nor Julian would willingly wage war against Amber...not at this time, not so close to our recent struggles. We may hav our motivations for aggression, perhaps, but neither are we fools to weaken what has not yet healed."

Almost wincing at the word "fools," Vincent nonetheless managed a curt nod. "I realize that I was taken in, Uncle. But while the means were quickly turning out to be distasteful, you must understand that the end was needed. Whatever it was impersonating Random was doing a bang-up job at dragging the realm into the gutter."

He glanced at Martin, and addressed him, "Cousin, I can't imagine how you must have felt... often during that time, my heart went out to you, as it was clear you were suffering. I must admit that the meeting in Foresthall turned me against you and your brother, but now I realize that we were all played for fools. Although in your brother's case, his actions are harder to dismiss."

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 flexes 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," says 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."

Martin does not look up as he speaks, his voice a hollow thing. "Forgive my choice of words. Although it was my brother's command and will that caused that tragedy… I do apologize. I should never have allowed him to take such steps. Seeing the blood of my family spilt sobered me that night. It is the main reason why I no longer support his claim to the throne."

Finally his eyes do rise, regarding all of his cousins sadly. "I do not expect forgiveness for that night, but I pray you will allow me to make amends. That goes for all of you… Arathorn, Vincent, Isadora. I have made my apologies to my dear Cat, but not to you. I now take the opportunity to rectify that error."

Arathorn hesitates. When he does speak again, his tone is milder. "Martin, we have all made mistakes at this time. I spoke earlier of the need to learn from them ... and one of the things we must learn is to forgive. Perhaps not wholly to forget, but to learn to understand, and to work with those who share our desire for the good of Amber."

He looks at Corwin.

"With such an example as my uncle before me, who has forgiven far worse than a bolt in the shoulder, who am I to bear a grudge against you, Martin?"

To these words Martin can find no fault, nodding in total agreement. Briefly, his gaze goes from Corwin to Vincent. Internal thoughts play behind his eyes, making them darken like shadows across fresh snow. Finally, his eyes return Arathorn.

"Forgiveness is a rarity in Amber, or at least it was when I first arrived there. I am glad to see that there is some hope it will find a place to grow. We will need it in the hard times to come. Perhaps the others will learn from the examples displayed here."

There is a pause, as Corwin regains the speaking position. Overhead, some birds fly by, chriping.

"We will sort wheat from chaff, now that we are back. Those loyal to Amber will number among us, and those disloyal will be discarded. Then, we will rebuild, as Benedict mentioned. In this, at least, my brothers and I are in unison. One king, one throne, one crown."

Arathorn looks thoughtfully, even gravely, at his father, his uncles.

"Sirs, your willingness trust in us ... or in at least one of us ...seems ... er ... most gratifying, when one considers how many of us have been led astray from the true path by strategms practised by those who have either their own ends, or even the harm of Amber as their motive."

"I think I would add 'a readiness to learn from mistakes' to the more usual list of kingly virtues you will be seeking," he adds wryly.

Martin goes to sit down upon a log near Cat. He picks up a water flask resting beside him and hurriedly guzzles down its contents. He shakes it as if to draw out another drop, but finds it empty. He mutters foully, and looks about for a source to refill it from. When he speaks again, his voice sounds like something bubbling up from a charnel pit. Cat reaches and takes the flask from Martin and dunks it into one of the nearby buckets. "Here," she says. "How's the hand feeling?"

Martin barely nods to Cat as she hands him the flask, hurriedly draining half its contents. He licks the water from his lips, with a fervent need. He looks at the flask again, an unnatural thirst in his eyes. Reluctantly, he pushes the flask aside, the strain on his features evident to all. He smiles up at Cat apologetically, "Thank you. I don't know what I'll do when you head back to Amber."

He lifts his hand and flips it over. The bleeding seems to have stopped for the moment. "How does it feel? Well, I'll put it to you this way. When I cracked my collarbone falling off Mount Erebus back on Scylla, I had a better time of it. If I put my hand in the fire, it would probably numb the pain." He winks up at Cat, "Not to worry, love. The herbs you gave me will undoubtedly take hold soon enough."

"I'll clean it once again before I leave," Cat says. "Then it will be up to you to look after it and to acknowledge your limitations. Should the infection worsen, I won't be able to keep after it for you."

Martin knows better than to disagree with Cat when she is in her 'mother-hen' mood, so simply nods. "I'll take good care of it, luv. After all, it will feel rather awkward only using one hand should I get duel. Besides, if I don't follow my doctor's orders, I'm sure she'll come kick some sense into me." He winks playfully at her, grinning like naughty child.

Without even thinking, he reaches over and takes another deep swig of water from the flask.

Cat arches an eyebrow, "I STILL think that drinking so much is helping that infection along a lot more than anything else."

Glancing between the water and Cat, Martin appears lost in thought. He shrugs his shoulders and takes another sip. "I see nothing wrong with being a little thirsty."

Cat raises both eyebrows in a bit of surprise. "A little thirsty is draining your skin once, not four times in the last two hours, plus draining the wine bottle from last night this morning... I see something very wrong with such an unnatural thirst, my Friend."

Martin grins from behind the black glass of his shades. "Like I said, love- you worry far too much." He stands up with a new purpose and wanders over to the firepit. Taking some choice pieces from the cooking meat, he sits down beneath a shaded tree and begins to eat with a renewed vigor. Wiping some crimson juice from his lips, he regards the group. "So, what exactly does everyone intend to do? Will I be travelling alone after my father? And who will escort Cat back to Amber? If we are to act, it should be now before our enemies' schemes come to fruition."

Vincent's eyebrows arched at the mention of Random's continued existence. ~But that would mean... by the Unicorn, another damned imposter!~ he thought, with some measure of irritation. Turning his thoughts back to Martin's words, he nodded slowly as he listened to Martin's opinion of his brother. ~Bleys,~ he thought. ~you and your petite sister are quite a formidable pair. That you didn't choose me to approach I will take as a compliment... and I look forward to matching wits with you both.~

Cat gives the group a grim smile, "Well, they are not going to appreciate me taking away one of their marionettes, of that I'm sure. My move is going to upset theirs in some fashion and probably create a hotbed. If either or both of them set their mind to it, I'll be toast in no time. To that end, once the versions of the past is settled, it's best if I've no information on the future actions of anyone here... just in case. Even though I've a strong tolerance for it, torture would eventually win out over my stubbornness."

Corwin steps forward as the group of newcomers settles down.

"If the redheads truly had as much control of the situation as is suspected, I do not believe there would be reports of a naval invasion, which Caine has heard of."

He looks around at the group. "There is something wrong - something unplanned. Bleys and Fi are culpable...but of exactly what and how much, we do not know."

"Amber will be under attack, however..." the dark-haired man says intently..."that much we know, for our captors in House Wyrding of Chaos taunted us with much delight in this regard."

Caine steps next to Corwin, who shifts slightly to regard his brother with wary eyes. "I suggest that we send two of our number, elder and younger, to the gates of the Castle to parlay. Trumps can easily enable their escape, and we may learn something, or perhaps, prompt a response that could be telling."

Fingers scrub at his dark goatee, as he looks first to Benedict, then Vincent. "I nominate Benedict and nephew Vincent. The rest of us remain in Trump contact while they make their appearance."

Settling up against a tree, Corwin pops a piece of apple in his mouth, regarding the young ones. "How say you all?"

Cat clears her throat, "I shall still be returning to Amber at any rate to keep Martel from doing anything tremendously stupid, as I have promised to. Ears may well bend to Benedict and Vincent on the matter of the upcoming attack. Anything I could say to anyone other than Martel would be dismissed as fancy or paranoia."

Isadora speaks next. "I said before that I believed that Vincent needs to go back and soon for the longer he is gone the more guilty he looks. I would like to stay in contact someway though so the trump would be good. And father, I would like to go over with you in private everything the other Caine said and told me and showed me. Also give you the layout and plans and singles they provided to me for contact including their fortress in Arden. It might help you or it might not, but I would feel better if you knew of all the information and was able to get a full picture of what they knew."

Eyes look to Benedict, but find him missing.

There is a scuffle of leaves and branches, and from the edge of the clearing, Benedict trails behind a newcomer, he sword held loosely in his hand, point downward, in his left hand.

The newcomer is blonde, with a touch of red highlight in the springtime sunlight. It is Kalaran.

Benedict remarks, "I found him up the trail, making his way here. Says he was trying to find Vincent..."

All eyes turn to Kalaran, who can see an unsual and unexpected gathering.

In the clearing of a springtime forest, several long hours out into shadow, just past the edge of the Golden Circle, is a tiny hermit's hut.

Seated on logs are Vincent, Arathorn, Catriola, Isadora, Martin, Caine, Julian and Corwin, dressed in a bearskin cloak, his long hair tossed messily over his shoulders.

Benedict himself is barechested, his ribs bandaged, his right arm ending in a stump of scar tissue.

Arathorn rises to his feet, his face showing some surprise.

"Kalaran! How did you find us in Shadow?"

He looks at Benedict. "Father, I believe he would seek to find us, once he discovered we were missing. That his efforts should be attended with success is a little more unexpected ... "

"Well, well, well met! Quite the family gathering we have here. I am, indeed, here to speak with cousin Vincent, but such a reunion is most intriging. Dare I ask the cause of such a meeting?" Kalaran says, stoking the neck of his dragonette Goldenwing.

"Really Uncle! I hope you'll grant me some credit? After all, my birthright grants a certain affinity with searching the shadow realms,." replies Kalaran in surprised tones.

Isadora looks to Caine and then back to Kalaran, "A serious change of plans and serious mistake. It seems the men I believed were my father Caine and Julian, were not. They were shapeshifters...from the Courts. And my father was in prision. The things the other Caine told me were lies. What frightens me is he knew so much about me, about Amber and about my father that he fooled me so well."

Caine interupts. "Not shapeshifters...corrupted shadows of ourselves. They could no more change form than that rock...and that they are our shadows, explains how well they could maintain their trickery. No doubt, they were promised some reward for their collusion."

"Then I suspect that time is pretty important here. If Kalaran can find us then others can." Isadora looks to Vincent and then to her other cousins, "How much do you know? About the killings and everything or should I fill you in later?"

"Of course," the eldest and leanest Uncle responds. "But my men would have finished Kalaran along the way if he were a threat. As it was, they allowed him to pass and issued me a signal."

Isadora looks to Vincent and then to her other cousins, "How much do you know? About the killings and everything or should I fill you in later?"

Caine simply nods. "That sounds wise - we'll speak while we await Benedict and Vincent's arrival at the Castle...it will take them several hours to make the trip back."

There is a snort from the crowd, and Julian smirks. "By the unicorn,what has befallen us? Four brothers acting in unison, and their children in concert, nonetheless."

He spits to the ground.

"Before you know it, we'll have campfire songs and birthday parties."

"I'm off to find out what state my men are in...they've been leaving trail signs all over Arden from what I could see...those that live, I presume. With my double dead, I should be able to take over my forces again."

Benedict just nods. "Remember what we discussed," he adds obliquely.

Saying nothing more, but giving his daughter a salute, Julian grabs Morgenstern and rides off.

Seeing Julian's salute, Cat's mouth forms the words, 'Be careful.' as he leaves. Cat quietly listened as the family spoke out their own plans and thoughts on various subjects.

Vincent nodded, but looked troubled... glancing in the direction that Morganstern had born his uncle Julian, he asked, "Are you sure it's safe for him to be riding off alone? How do you know that the doubles have all been eliminated?" His eyes drifted from Corwin to Caine to Benedict...

"He is not alone..." is all Benedict says Corwin grimaces at his brother's brevity, and holds aloft Grayswandir. "The touch of the blade reveals who is true, much as the Pattern does. It is the one method we have to ascertain our identities. We do so on a regular basis. However, that is an astute observation - keep your wits so well tuned, and it will prove your benefactor."

His eyes fall to Kalaran.

"Be so good as to approach, and bare the flesh of your forearm. Make it your offhand, I'd hate to ruin your swordwork should the need arise."

Kalaran draws his own sword and approaches Corwin. Pulling up the sleave of his other forearm.

"Should Grayswandir's touch prove heavy handed, I will return the favor Corwin."

A smile crosses Corwin's worn face, showing lines that none of the young ones can recall before. "You have nothing to fear if you are true."

Letting the heavy blade shimmer in the sun, Corwin lays the flat across the bare flesh of Kalaran's arm. It's touch is cool, almost chill, and in the bright silver blade can be seen a kind of pattern, like that produced by folding of carbon during forging...but more bright, more complex...and very familiar.

A bird chirps somewhere, and then Corwin grunts in satisfaction, before drawing the blade lightly across Kalaran's skin. A thin welt of blood stains the blade's edge, but nothing more untoward occurs.

Grayswandir is removed. "A son of Amber is revealed. It does not discount any trickery on your part, but at least we know you are one of us. For our sake, however, I must ask you to remain here in the camp - until Benedict and Vincent have made their parlay. Afterwards, you may come or go as you desire."

Vincent stepped closer, nodding a silent greeting to Kalaran, but his gaze was quickly fixed upon the blade... ~So that is the mighty Grayswandir...~ he thought, taking in its length with an odd tingle in his stomach. ~ I wonder if it ever tasted my father's blood...~

"If there is any trickery here, it won't be on my part. I came here to speak with Vincent, nothing more. Perhaps you could allow that small favor? Seeing now that I am 'A son of Amber'!"

Corwin laughs, tossing back his hair. "My goodness, you are quite easily ruffled! When all this is over, I hope to make my peace and leave all you brooding young vipers to your games. But for now, I do what I must."

He gestures with Grayswandir toward Vincent. "Say your peace, but say it loud enough for the rest of us - it's not polite to keep a secret."

Shooting a glance at Corwin, Vincent stepped up to Kalaran. "Cousin, pray hold your tongue... there are reasons for being wary. Find the patience to hear everyone out, and I think you will be amazed at the difference a day makes." With another glance at Corwin and Benedict, he continued, "I have to return to Amber, but I'll hear you out before I go. What news bring you?"

Corwin, Caine and Benedict listen for Kalaran's answer...

"I think I'll take my cousin's advice and hold my tongue on what news I bring. That news was meant for Vincent's ears." Kalaran addresses Corwin.

With a frown, Vincent turned to Corwin, rasing a palm, "Let me speak to him a moment, Uncle."

Then he appoaches Vincent with. "And why? Pray tell should I not be wary? Finding you all hiding out in shadow discussing Chaos and Amber, testing the blood of Amberites. I am already amazed at the differences I see in my generation this day! Though Vincent, if you return to Amber, give me leave to go with you. Perhaps, along the way, you could explain what has happened this day to bring about such strange behavior in cousins thought I knew."

Vincent took Kalaran by the arm lightly, leading him a step away from the group. His voice was not lowered, however. "Kalaran, listen to me. Nothing is as it seemed. The Caine that approached us in the morgue that day was not Caine, it was a shadow double set in place by those in Chaos who held our true Uncles in cells... where they have been trapped since the war. They have only just escaped. What you see here is a gathering of those of the true blood," Vincent glanced at the group as he indicated them with a sweep of his hand. "Dark clouds are gathering over the realm, drifting from Chaos once again. Time is precious, Kalaran. Please, if you would bring me news, then I would have the group hear it."

Kalaran regarded Vincent with an intense stare, then replied slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Mother bids you return to Amber quickly, cast aside all petty challenges to the throne, and aid Rowan in repelling invaders!"

Vincent met his gaze, listening to the words and considering them. It struck him as odd... but he couldn't put his finger on why. If Amber was being invaded, why would the message only be for Vincent? Was Fiona up to something? Trying to clean up loose ends perhaps? Maybe Kalaran had a different message, one that he was still withholding from the others...

Turning to Corwin, Vincent meant to gauge his reaction, as he was still unsure of what his Elders knew about the goings on and how this might fit in. It is Caine who speaks, however, not Corwin. "What is the she-devil up to, I wonder?"

He looks to Kalaran. "You should stay here - your mother understands that much. We will send Vincent to parlay while you keep us company as her son."

"Corwin, If you think I'm going to stay here and be a hostage to overly paranoid Amberites, while Rowan, my mother and others close to my heart, fend off invaders, your sadly mistaken! I was sent here to get Vincent's aid in time of need. If you others wish to hide in shadow, you will have to do so without me!" Kalaran says already moving away.

Corwin looks to the others. "It's best if Benedict and you go now, Vincent. Those who wish to remain with Caine and I may do so."

Martin has been listening to the conversation in silence. He cleans his hands with snow after tossing almost a dozen bones into the fire. Vincent's comment brings a deep chuckle to his lips. "Fear not, cousin. Unless our enemies are using siege engines, I doubt anything could dismount our uncle from Morganstern."

Standing up, he glances over at the new arrival, Kalaran, for a moment. Behind the mirrored darkness of his 'wrap-around' sunglasses, Martin's eyes are unreadable. "It is good to have you with us, cousin. Well met." He nods politely, then begins crossing the clearing towards his horse. "Time grows short. Unless anyone feels different, I will be off to find my father-or at the very least to locate him."

"Better met then last we did, Martin!.... Where but the grave go you to find your father? Unless Amber has buried a doppleganger?" Replies Kalaran.

Martin shrugs impartially, "It is good to see our family's love of grudges still runs deep in the younger generations. And yes, it was a doppelganger the rest of you buried. My father still lives-for the moment."

His gaze drifts to his uncles, "How long that remains true is left to be seen."

Half way across the clearing he nears Corwin. Martin's nose wrinkles up as if his dark-haired uncle has suffered from an acute attack of flatulence. He skirts around his uncle, leaving a wide-berth between him and his elder. Confusion, rather than animosity, colors his pale features. When he reaches his horse, young Martin returns to his normal composure. "Perhaps this is a job for one person. I could sneak into our enemy's camp, then have one of you Trump the pair of us out?"

Corwin shot a glance over to Benedict before looking once again at Martin. His long hair shadowed his strong features, but his blue eyes burned bright.

Arathorn has been watching Martin, a frown on his face.

"You should not go alone," he says suddenly. "You've been injured ...you hardly look fit enough to ride, let alone to take on enemies strong enough to hold and keep your father."

He glances around the camp ... his eyes resting briefly on Vincent ...a little longer on his father. Then he gives a slight shake of his dark head, as though coming to a decision.

He rises to his feet again and crosses the clearing, nodding at his uncle as he passes him. Then he rests his hand on Martin's horse as his cousin prepares to mount.

"If you must do this thing, you should have someone with you. I will come."

"And whom is it you wish to ambush this time?" Inquires Kalaran.

Martin appears about to speak, but thinks better of it. Instead, he turns his attention to his horse's wellbeing.

Benedict speaks. "If your father is alive, he is in Chaos - too far away, and too well protected for you to venture to help him at this time." Benedict continues. "You will best help him by securing Amber, then when we have solidified this front, we will attend to the matter of seeing to his welfare."

At Benedict's words, Corwin nods. "This is not the time - though I understand. When this is over, I will journey with you to recover my brother."

The dark-haired prince steps forward, the silver-scale gauntlets at his belt jingling in the clean air. "Why do you shy away from me, Martin? You have the air of one who has something to hide. Speak of it."

Arathorn moves a little to one side, to the horse's head. He reaches into his pocket and extracts a sugar lump, then allows the animal to lip it from his spread palm, his other hand moving to the bridle to steady the beast, murmuring soothingly, even as he awaits, with interest, Martin's response.

Martin chuckles softly, leaning back in his saddle. "Old habits die hard, Corwin. I have a thing about my uncles waving sharp weapons about. They have an unnatural tendency of finding their way into my back."

The young prince patted the side of his horse's neck. He grinned at Arathorn, "You'll spoil him, cousin. He'll keep nagging you for more if you keep giving him treats."

She moved silently yet quickly to ready her own mount for her trip back to Amber. Martel, having travelled into the Lion's Den as it were would certainly need her help to avoid getting himself killed, if he hadn't done so already.

She looks over to Martin, "Do heed their advice and wait until you are well before undertaking your father's rescue. I shall do all that I can in assisting your brother's better sense as he rarely listens to it on his own."

She mounts her horse and waits for Benedict and Vincent.

Martin stared back at Cat, a forlorn look painting his features. Carefully, he removes the sunglasses, immediately squinting in discomfort. He blinks once, twice, then keeps his snowshadow eyes fully open. He offers her a weak smile, "For you, I shall stay, love. I would not wish to have you worrying about me at a time like this. Now get going. I'm sure Arathorn will keep me out of trouble while you're gone."

He continues watching Cat as if looking upon her for the last time.

"Wait." Corwin advances to where Catriola is, atop her mount. Quickly, almost too fast for eyes, he lays the blade against the bare flesh of her hand, and removes it, leaving only a thin red line along the flesh.

Cat is more startled than anything else, and feels no pain, just the afterimage of the cold metal on her skin.

"All have been checked for falsehood, but for you and Martin, whom we recovered from the false Julian and Caine. Now you, Catriola, are shown to be of proper blood."

He turned to Martin, blue eyes holding his nephew's own. "What of you, Martin?"

The heavy blade of Grayswandir gleamed in the dappled sunlight, it's patterned length held aloft in Corwin's hand. "Will you not prove you are as hale and proper as the rest of us?"

Martin can feel Caine's gaze weighing on him, along with those of Benedict, Arathorn, Catriola, Vincent, Kalaran and Isadora.

Martin replaced his sunglasses as Corwin speaks, his face a mask of aggravation. "Do whatever you must, uncle," he mutters. Albeit reluctantly, he bears his good arm and offers it towards Corwin. "I'm sure you'll prove what you already know. That I am Martin, son of Random, and nothing more."

His nose wrinkles again as Corwin steps closer, looking at Grayswandir as if it were something gone bad.

At Martin's words, and his bared arm, Corwin approaches, Grayswandir gleaming dully in the tree's shade.

With a slow grace, the blade swings around so that it can lie flat on the green-haired prince's skin...

...Martin grimaces...

...the edge just touches his skin...

...and he screams in pain.

"Aaigh!"

Corwin jerks the blade backwards.

The flesh it had touched is boiling, steam wisping upwards as Martin clutches his forearm and leaps backward.

Something like oil slides over the young man's eyes, and Caine is heard to curse from somewhere off to the side.

Snarling in pain, Martin leaps upward into the tree. A moment later, a silver-tipped bolt 'thunks' into the bole of the oak where he was but a moment ago.

With unnatural grace and speed, Martin tears through the branches and leaves, emerging from the top as something...other than Amberite... His hands are twisted claws, his face twisted in rage. With an impossible leap, he hurles through the air, over the treetops, his form lost to sight in what must be mere heartbeats.

All that comes back of him are his words, drifting along the boughts of the spring trees.

"Take your damned blade and hide behind it - it shall soon be all you have to hold, Uncle!"

In the brief silence that follows, Caine pops a new bolt in his crossbow, looing suitably righteous.

Benedict stoops to don a shirt and a leather jerkin.

Caine sheathes Grayswandir, his face brooding. "How the hell does that fit in to all this? That was no double...that was the real Martin."

Upon hearing Caine's words, Cat considers going after him but after an obvious inner struggle of intellect versus emotion, remains behind watching Martin/ Not Martin escape from view.

"How do you know? Wasn't that what your test was for?" asked Vincent, who continued to stare into the woods, his rapier Rashfelt drawn.

He looks at Catriola. "I think you had better recount your last several days with that lad again....and this time, more carefully. All our lives could very well depend on this."

She looks to Corwin, swallowing as if it were his very words choking her.

After a moment, she replies, "I hadn't seen him in nearly six weeks before last night. He seemed fine until this morning. I accompanied him to 'Random's' gravesite where he seemed to genuinely mourn his father's death. We had dinner back in my room and talked. After a time, he left and I did not see him again until the morning. I recognized that something was different about him, but I didn't push for the truth perhaps as hard as I should have."

"This will bear some investigation -but not now," Corwin thinks aloud.

Vincent lowers Rashfelt, his body still tense. "Shouldn't we pursue him? Or will your people be able to handle him, Uncle Benedict?"

"Call it gut instinct, Vince. If he was a corrupted shadow, he wouldn't have made that eerie transformation...they weren't capable of it...he's something else entirely...but still Martin." Corwin remarks.

Benedict eyes the treeline. "My people will do what they can to follow his course and see where he flees...if anyone CAN keep up with his flight. I believe only Morgenstern truly is that swift."

Benedict steps up and puts his stump of his right arm on the reins of Kalaran's horse, before he can mount.

"This will not do. Please sit down and do not try Caine's patience," he says, evenly.

Caine, already dismissing the situation, begins to talk in low tones to Corwin, who motions over to Vincent to approach.

Vincent hesitated, wanting to speak further with Kalaran. But his behavior had been so odd that he decided to let Benedict deal with him for the moment, and instead just shrugged sadly in his direction and moved to speak with Caine and Corwin. On the way he glanced at his other cousins, wondering what they might be thinking. When his gaze fell last upon Isadora, he smiled softly. It had so far been a day like no other.

Trying to ascertain what his Uncles were discussing as he approached, Vincent remained silent as he stepped beside them...

Caine turned to match Vincent's approach with his eyes. "Nephew. We surmise that Kalaran's words are likely true enough - that Fiona does wish for some sort of peace with Vincent and Rowan. What we further surmise is that there is much left unsaid - either by Kalaran, or by his mother. Either way, we must tread carefully."

Hand to his chin, Corwin picks up as a slight breeze ruffles the treetops. "At first, my brothers and I simply believed that Bleys and Fiona had struck a deal with Chaos to continue the war - and removed us from the picture accordingly."

"But if so, why not strike Amber while we were gone? They had a puppet king...Amber's best warriors were removed from play...what held their final stroke?"

"Did they lack a Black Road? Did they intend to use shadow proxies the entire time?"

Broad shoulders shrug. "Truth is, Vincent, we are not sure. All this is rather tumultuous. What is certain, is that there is conflict between our enemies. None of them seem to be working together, even when the opportunity is ripe for their action. Everything is haphazard."

"I can only surmise that the redheads had a falling out with the chaosians, and without their support, Chaos could only hope to delay their own plans. Fiona and Bleys maintained the ruse of Random's double, unsure if perhaps, to kill him for angering their chaos partners - why? What hold did they have on them?"

Cain adds in. "Us...if chaos released us, we would have saught out the pair and skewered them for their treachery, proof provided by the Courts. It is why we were kept alive. Or something in that vein."

An amused expression crosses Corwin's handsome features. "Possible, and one can't help but take that a step further and consider blackmail against the redheads...Random was taken after he parted the Storm Wall, but before we crossed it, a period of perhaps 36 hours, during which he made a final visit to the Imperial Court with Flora, Julian and myself...and Random was the one who was protecting them from your vengeance, brother. If they feared Random's protection, for he offered pardon, not exile or death, they might play along with a substitution by Chaos, willing or unwillingly, in order to extend their lifespan."

Corwin adds. "Either way, Martin just fouls up the entire picture. He and the redheads were close for a while...could they have done something with him, do you wonder?"

Corwin turns to the young ones. "What do you think? Before a pair of us ride off, and call upon our relations in Amber tomorrow morning, I should like your thoughts."

"I think that while we have been squabbling among ourselves, we have left our land prey to a great and terrible danger," says Arathorn slowly. "We have been so concerned on looking within ourselves, that we have forgotten that our chief enemies lie outside."

He smiles suddenly, a little wryly. "Although I hardly think that is a fault that has sprung up in our generation, Uncle. The Barimens are a family that have ... by and large ... perfected the art of the destructive family feud." His eyes slide to his father, his crippled arm. "With a few honourable exceptions," he adds.

"I stand here for Amber," he says softly. "For the safety and security of the land we love. All lesser squabbles and petty fights can be ... must be ... put aside. What my lands needs, I will give ... what action she calls for, I will perform."

"And then, believe me Uncle - for I swear it in the name of the Unicorn - against the undivulged pretence of treasonous malice I shall ... I will fight."

"Well said Arathorn! AND... I think that while we have been squabbling among ourselves, we have left our land prey to a great and terrible danger, YET AGAIN! And regardless of what you think of my mother or myself, we still waste time here, while Amber is about to be attacked! Your time would better be spent preparing to defend the realm then to debate family shortfalls!

Are you Men of Action, or do you intend to beat the enemy down with your tongues? I believe the creatures of Chaos could withstand such DEADLY abuse!" Kalaran's growing irratation is begining to show in his coloring.

"Chaffing at the bit, are we?" Caine mused. "I applaud your enthusiasm, young Kal, but in this we must bide some time yet. When Vincent and Benedict have ascertained your mother and Uncle are truly ready to treat, then we shall move. After all, they could be the very enemy we seek - as before, Amber is weak only when one has been a traitor, and I find no better traitor than one who has worn that title in the past."

"Now, Corwin may endure your prattle, but if you insult me again, 'nephew', you shall do so without the facility of a tongue. At least until you grow a new one." Caine smiled, intensely, his fingers caressing the hilt of one dagger at his thigh.

Corwin sighed, "You'd best be careful, young ones - your uncles are not men to abide japes from their brothers, much less young pups. Unless you wish their ill will, you should adopt a more respectful attitude, deserved or not. If you speak so rudely, is it no wonder your own subordinates are restless and ill-mannered?"

Then he nodded to Benedict, then Vincent. "Go - the rest of us shall abide in shadow, then listen in by trump when you contact us. Take a roundabout path back to Amber no use creating another straight trail back here. You'll arrive at Amber in the morrow, I suppose, but for secrecy's sake, it shall be worth it. Meanwhile, with Martin off to whatever devilish business has taken him, we must move off to a new spot - for who knows what spies are about."

Arathorn now slightly relaxes his hand on the bridle he has held ever since Corwin first raised the blade to Martin's arm. He reaches out a hand, soothing Martin's horse, making sure he is still, calm. Then he moves to the saddle bags and, without the smallest trace of any emotion, begins to empty them out onto the ground methodically.

Sundry foodstuffs, a compass, a knife, and other mundanities fall to the grass. And a piece of cloth - white cloth, once fine, now soiled and spotted with blood...very similar to that found by the body of the forester in Arden so many months ago...but cleaner cut, as if sliced off a whole, not torn. It looks to have once been used to bind a wound, not many days ago.

Arathorn regards this last thoughtfully, testing an unsoiled corner of the cloth between his fingers.

Then he lifts his dark head.

"Vincent? Kalaran? I think you should look at this." He rises, the cloth still in his hands. "Remember the forester? And the scrap of silk you found, Vincent, when you pursued after Randon's death?"

He hesitates, then looks towards Benedict.

"Father ... I believe you should see this too ... "

Sheathing Rashfelt, Vincent cast a dubious glance at his shaggy uncle. "I agree he was no shadow. But the way he reacted to Grayswandir... and his 'transformation'... it would seem he was a shapeshifter, a Chaos denizen. Could they not take on Martin's form?"

"I'm no expert, lad," Corwin gruffs, "but I think not. Only Merlin, my son, and Dara could take a human form, and it was not to mimic -they have unique forms."

Brows raised, Vincent nodded slowly. "Unique forms... interesting. I suppose I just assumed that those creatures could choose any form... like, say, a unicorn, or a King..." Vincent trailed off, speaking mostly to himself as he rubbed his chin in thought.

Once again, Corwin shakes his head. "If they could, they would never have needed to use mere corrupted shadows. They are scary enough as is...without the benefit of being so versitile."

Glancing over at Kalaran and Benedict, Vincent moved towards his larger cousin. Taking the piece of cloth, he examined it carefully, beneath a furrowed brow. His eyes met Arathorn's, and he reached into a pocket, "I found this on Marcus this morning, it matches this and the others." From his pocket he produced a small, torn bit of what appeared to be the same fine silk.

His eyes darkened as he considered what this meant. With the image of Marcus running through his head, Vincent's hands closed into tight fists, the knuckles cracking in protest. ~Martin, or whatever you are... my sole reason for living now is to see you die. Rashfelt will know the taste of your foul blood soon...~ Taking a deep breath, the dark prince calmed, at least enough to act.

"Uncle Benedict, I would be very interested in hearing any news from your people concerning their pursuit of ... 'Martin,' especially if he takes to the ground. I pursued a creature through Arden that I believe now to have been the same creature... but at that time he moved along the ground, and left no tracks that I could find."

Benedict nods. "Of course, Vincent. We will keep an open council. Secrecy is the enemy's weopon."

Then he nodded to Benedict, then Vincent. "Go - the rest of us shall abide in shadow, then listen in by trump when you contact us. Take a roundabout path back to Amber -- no use creating another straight trail back here. You'll arrive at Amber in the morrow, I suppose, but for secrecy's sake, it shall be worth it. Meanwhile, with Martin off to whatever devilish business has taken him, we must move off to a new spot - for who knows what spies are about."

As Benedict mounts up, (clearly expecting Vincent to do so as well), Corwin highs up a hand, and utters, "Fare thee well - may Amber stand again united so that we may have a legacy to enjoy."

Many things have been said about Prince Vincent Barimen, but among them won't be found the charge that he can't take a hint. He eyed the horse next to Benedict's swiftly, stroking his neck. It wasn't Toshiro, but still a worthy animal, and he mounted gracefully.

Vincent smiled down at his new-found Uncle as he took up the reins. "Aye. Tis a shame though, that it is only in times of great danger that we stand united. Take care, Corwin."

His eyes drift to Arathorn nearby...

Arathorn had attached the loose reins of the horse that had been Martin's to a low branch, and was moving foward. As he reached Vincent, he lifted a hand towards him.

Vincent took it, gripping it firmly. "I don't have your eye for such things, cousin, but I'd be wary of that horse. Who knows what it might transform itself into at the worst possible moment..." he laughed.

Arathorn smiled slightly. "We shall see. It is said you can learn of the man through his mount ... There may well be more to learn of Martin."

Vincent glanced briefly and sadly at Catriola, but nodded.

Arathorn followed his gaze and said quietly, "I will look to her ... and to Isadora."

"In the mean-time, may your journey be swift and sure. Above all, may your endeavours be successful. I fear we have little time ..."

The dark prince nodded grimly. "As do I. Farewell, Arathorn."

For a long moment Arathorn stared at Benedict, his expression intent, almost hungry. At last he spoke, almost curtly.

"May the Unicorn be with you."

Benedict saluted with the stump of his arm. "And you, son."

And he stepped back, to watch them ride away.

Gazing up at the assembled group, Vincent raised a hand, "Until the morrow! Be safe!"

Corwin merely folds his arms, and then turns to the rest, as they prepare to depart for a more secluded spot. "Come..we've much distance to cover 'ere we cover our tracks. If all goes well, perhaps we'll win us back a kingdom to savor."

 

 

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