Disclaimer: Actually, technically Random owns the Roger Zelazny books as King of Amber and therefore Shadow as well...but I don't think copyright laws in our universe work that way. Sorry, Random.
A/N: Another chapter! First of all, a big thank-you to rct the deku nut, my first reviewer. Don't worry, I intend to do plenty more. *evil chuckle* Second of all, having read Prince of Chaos, I now know that Shadowmane is not Benedict's regular horse and was quite unconsciously stolen from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Two Towers, having read that also. Oh well, so Benedict has another horse he uses in my story because I'm the almighty author and I said so! Don't blame me for deviations in plot, this is kind of an alternate universe thing. Plus I may have just gotten stuff wrong, but alternate universe makes everything all right. So please don't kill me for the Chaos part of this chapter where I didn't have Blood of Amber in front of me and thus was forced to make up gibberish slightly resembling the original story line, minus the correct names of everything. You know, I was originally going to do this as a compare/contrast chart but I decided why do that when I could get so much more mileage out of separate chapters? After all, the Amber section needs all the stories it can get. Short recruitment spiel for folks who haven't written anything yet: We Need YOU To Write Amber Fanfiction. (Insert mental image of Corwin in black and silver top hat, pointing Grayswandir at you.) But for now, I'll settle for having you read mine and tell me how great you thought it was.
How to Cope With Sibling Rivalry
Corwin was mad.
Not only had his big brother Eric deliberately kept him on the shadow Earth for years as an amnesiac, he was now trying to take the throne of Amber. This was adding insult to injury, as Corwin obviously had a better claim to it—he was a much nicer, more considerate, and more moral person than any of his siblings. Which wasn't saying much, considering the dysfunctional family he had. But still...
He paused for a moment to think about the best way to take revenge, for that was surely the only thing to do under the circumstances. Should he try to take on Eric alone? He would dearly love to, of course, but he would also dearly love to keep his head on his shoulders for a long time to come.
As Corwin pondered his dilemma, his hand brushed something—his deck of Trumps. That was it! He would call some other family members that he somewhat trusted and get them to help him. Now the question was...who should he call? Mentally, he began to run through the list of people who would be relatively unlikely to stab him in the back.
Unsurprisingly, the list was extremely short. Coming to a decision, Corwin shuffled through his Trumps until he reached Caine's and held it in front of him, concentrating fixedly on the picture of his brother. Gradually, the card grew cold, a sign of imminent connection. Corwin waited patiently, fascinated by watching the two-dimensional portrait come to life and begin to move.
"Who is it? What do you want?" asked Caine suspiciously, eyes narrowed to distrustful slits. Wondering briefly if this was going to work quite as well as he'd thought, Corwin took a deep breath and plunged bravely into the fray.
"Um, hi, Caine, it's Corwin," he began. A rather good start, he thought. "You know, I just found out that our beloved brother Eric is taking the throne, and, well, really, to be frank...I don't like it one bit." Having gotten warmed up now, Corwin felt he could let loose with one of his inspiring, eloquent speeches.
Caine blinked slowly. "Who does?" Not exactly encouraging, but at least he hadn't broken contact yet.
"And I think I ought to do something about it. Yeah. So I'm gonna try to take over with one of those watchamacallit, coups. And what I really wanted to ask you is, since you're a relative and all, I thought I'd cut you in for part of the deal if you wanted to..." Feeling himself start to babble, Corwin shut up to see what Caine's reaction would be.
"Meaning...?" A man of few words, Caine. It was Corwin's turn to blink as he considered how best to phrase his offer, in reality a desperate plea. If Caine insisted on being this dense, this could be tougher than he had expected.
"I want you to help me overthrow Eric," he blurted, figuring he might as well just spit it out. Perhaps his brother would grasp the concept better when it was stated outright. While he waited for the meaning of what he had just said to percolate through Caine's head, he recommenced going over his list of folks he could more or less, mostly less, trust. After thinking about it for another minute or two, Corwin had decided that his list was comprised of exactly two people—Caine and Bleys.
"Ahem." Apparently, Caine had finally reached a decision. Corwin tried not to look too eager as he waited for the verdict. "I'll help," Caine announced, taciturn as always. Letting out the breath he had been subconsciously holding, Corwin resisted the strong impulse to punch the air in triumph. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the details of their arrangement.
"Great. Can you have your fleet ready to go in, say, three days?" Caine nodded silently. "Excellent. Well, gotta go. See you then." Corwin passed his hand over the Trump and broke contact. Then he sat and planned his next move, an evil little grin planted firmly on his evil little face.
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"—And your dad's an Amberite," Jurt ended with a satisfied nod, winding up a long string of slurs on Merlin's intelligence, father, looks, father, magical abilities, and father. He had run out of original insults about four years earlier, but in his experience even the oldest ones never failed to get a rise out of his half-brother.
"Yeah?" Merlin retorted promptly. "Yeah, well, you...you...your dad's not an Amberite! And I can beat you any day!" There, that was a good one. He'd have to remember that for next time.
Mandor put his head in his hands, wondering why all his brothers were such idiots. Honestly, sometimes he thought he was the only one in the family with any brains at all. It would be much nicer to go live in Amber where there were other people with intelligence and culture. Like Princess Fiona...
Jurt cocked an eyebrow mockingly, his usual sarcastic smirk spread all over his demonic face. "Aw, is wittle Merwin trying to play with the big boys? Bless your pointy little horns." He patted Merlin's head, ignoring the smoke beginning to rise from his brother's ears. "Now why don't you run along and tell Mother on me? I'm sure she'd love to hear from her favorite son..."
His mood changed abruptly from amusement to anger. "Would you like to know why you're her favorite son, Merlin?" Jurt taunted, beginning to circle him. "You think it's because you're so much better than the rest of us? THINK AGAIN!" Face twisting into that expression Merlin knew all too well was the harbinger of an insane rampage, he leaned his face in close, practically spitting with rage. "All she cares about is grooming you as the next King of Chaos!"
This had precisely the effect he had intended—Merlin's temper heated to match his own. "I've taken enough of this from you, Jurt," he hissed, finally showing some spine. "If you want to insult me, you're going to have to reckon with the wrath of THE ALMIGHTY MERLIN!"
Jurt suddenly switched moods again, his fiery anger dissipating into an ominous calm before the storm. "Fine," he replied almost lazily, shrugging. "You get the weapons, I get the hoverboards, and we meet back here in half an hour. Okay?" Merlin only jerked his head impatiently in response and turned away to prepare for what was quickly shaping up to be his most intense fraternal quarrel to date. Grinning with anticipation, Mandor went to get the rest of their approximately five dozen siblings, half-siblings, and stepsiblings. After all, they'd never forgive him if he let them miss all the fun.
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Fingering his Trumps absently, Corwin decided it was time to call Bleys and make more arrangements for his little coup. Encouraged by his sure, if slow, success with Caine, he selected Bleys' Trump and held it up, concentrating on the picture of his brother. He really hoped that he had another of those wine goblets, because he sure could use one.
Slowly, the picture of Bleys began to move, gaining dimensionality as the background changed to show an evening sky. "Darn," Corwin pouted as the goblet disappeared. His brother frowned slightly.
"Hello, you have reached Prince Bleys of Amber. To whom am I speaking?" Corwin rolled his eyes in exasperation. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who got involved in life on the Shadow Earth. Bleys was obviously way too used to using telephones instead of Trumps for everyday communication.
"Hi Bleys, it's Corwin," he replied, already resigning himself to another long conversation with an infuriatingly thick relative. Still, there was hope. If his opening was any indication, Bleys at least was feeling more talkative today than Caine, which was always a good sign.
"Corwin!" Bleys boomed jovially, breaking into a smile. "How've ya been, man? Because, ya know, I was just thinkin' about ya the other day. See, I'm kinda plannin' a takeover and, well, I might need your help somewhere along the way. Whaddaya say? Ya with me?"
Corwin blinked in surprise. How could Bleys dare to steal his plan? Of all the nerve...But this could still be helpful if he could take advantage of the hereditary family stupidity and con Bleys into being his loyal sidekick. Kind of like a big, shaggy dog that would loyally follow him around, the main difference being that Bleys could command an army under Corwin's direction.
"Well, actually," he started smoothly, "I was just thinking the other day, and I thought, well, I need some help doing a tough, dangerous job and I need someone with brains. Now who should I ask? And of course I thought, Bleys is obviously my man. So...here I am and, to be quite frank..." Laying the flattery on this thick was really starting to get on his nerves, but all he needed was a few more minutes and he would have all the help he needed to carry out his plan.
"I would be, uh, greatly honored if you would add your, er, unmatchable expertise in war, fighting, weapons, and stuff like that to my meager knowledge on the subject." He thought he should probably add something else in there to sweeten the deal and racked his brains for something Bleys would actually want. "In fact, I'll even offer you a regency if I—we—win. And if you don't want that, you can always kill me after we kill Eric." [When the Pit of Chaos freezes over...]
To his great relief, Bleys seemed to be thinking the offer over. His vacant blue eyes glazing over slightly with the effort of thought, he furrowed his brow and frowned slightly. "So, ya got an army?"
[No, you idiot!] Corwin raged silently. [Why do you think I'm asking for your help?] "Um...yeah, of course I do," he replied aloud, trying to sound insulted at the implication that he might not. "Would I be trying a coup if I didn't?" Hoping Bleys had the sheer idiocy to actually believe a line like that, he crossed his fingers and waited.
His brother smiled then. "Good point, Corwin. After all, ya oughta know by now ya gotta get up early in the mornin' to pull a trick like that on good old Bleys." Corwin suddenly had to stifle a strong urge to break out in laughter at the thought of Bleys having enough intelligence to outwit the common garden slug, let alone someone as wily and streetwise as himself.
"So," he said, very carefully hiding any trace of contempt for his newly recruited mindless crony, "if we rendezvous with our forces in the Shadow Earth in, say, two days, we can…" Suddenly realizing even Bleys would be somewhat curious if he showed up with a nonexistent army, he decided he'd have to come up with something. "Oh, darn! I just got a report that all…six—no, eight thousand, yeah, that's the ticket…anyway, um, all of them, uh, perished miserably in a…terrible…uh…"
"Yes?" Bleys prompted innocently, genuinely concerned for the welfare of the imaginary troops. Even in the midst of trying to think of a halfway-plausible disaster, Corwin had to marvel at his lack of intellect. Idly, he wondered if Bleys had ever had an IQ test and, if so, how soon afterward the psychologist had killed himself.
"…Uh…in a terrible…possum attack!" What in Shadow had possessed him to say that of all things? It was absolutely pathetic. Of course, what was infinitely more so was the fact that Bleys actually bought it.
"Oh, well, duh, sorry ta hear that. Guess it's just my army, then?" Corwin expressed his assent while doing his best to sound heartbroken at his devastating "news." With a friendly if idiotic goodbye, Bleys broke off contact, leaving Corwin to meditate on his surefire plan for domination of Amber.
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"Brothers and sisters, let me welcome you to the first official Jurt-Merlin match of the season!" Yep, Mandor was definitely enjoying his role as announcer way too much. The glade was packed with all the siblings he'd been able to gather on such short notice, all four or five marriages' worth of them. Merlin and Jurt were glaring machetes at each other across the clearing, ready and willing to begin as soon as Mandor noticed nobody was listening to him and just let them start.
It took a while, but he finally reached that point and broke off what had promised to be a long speech on the way duels were fought a long, long time ago when he was just a little imp himself. "Aaaaaand now…let the games begin!" he roared to the relieved cheers of the crowd. Raising their weapons, Jurt and Merlin leaped on their hoverboards and began to circle each other warily, looking for an opening.
"And helping me with the commentary this afternoon is our brother Despil!" The aforementioned Despil bowed modestly to his siblings in the impromptu stands, obviously never having gotten anything near this much attention before. The combatants ignored them and continued to circle in a time-honored strategy called Perhaps-If-I-Circle-Long-Enough-He'll-Get-Motion-Sickness-Before-I-Do.
Mandor and Despil settled comfortably in their chairs and commenced the kind of interminably cheerful banter that loses the world of sports thousands of fans every year:
"Well, Despil, what do you think of Merlin's chances of winning this time around?"
"Well, Mandor, I think he has a decent chance, being more than half Amberite and all."
Slight pause.
"Well, Despil, what do you think of Jurt's chances of winning this time around?"
"Well, Mandor, I think he's got a halfway decent chance, being insane and evil and all."
"Well, Despil, looks like the action's gotten off to a pretty good start." Merlin and Jurt continued to circle.
"Well, Mandor, it sure does."
Longer pause.
"Well, Despil, nice weather we've been having, isn't it?"
"Well, Mandor, I reckon so."
Luckily, nobody was paying the least bit of attention to this drivel. Instead, their eyes were riveted on the drama unfolding before them—Jurt had decided to actually take a stab at Merlin. The audience oohed and aahed as Merlin feinted in quarte, parried in sixte, and finished up with a fancy move he'd learned from Borel. He smiled at Jurt, one of those infuriatingly superior yet gracious smiles that boil the blood of insane evil half-brothers.
Jurt decided it was time to break out the taunts again. "Come on, Pattern-boy!" he hissed, smirking more maliciously than ever as he waited for Merlin to get distracted enough to be off his guard so he could just kill him and get it over with. "I can beat you at anything without trying!" Not exactly the most intelligent of insults, but then high quality slights were wasted on his idiot brother.
Amazingly enough, their siblings managed to catch this choice remark over the excited blabbering of Despil and Mandor, who were now talking about other fights they'd seen when they were younger. Realizing that this probably portended some speeding up of the action, they all stood up and began to cheer.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" Yes, there was nothing like a family feud to bring everyone together for some quality time. Why, brothers and sisters who hadn't spoken to each other for decades were standing side by side egging on the fighters, who might actually start fighting any minute now.
"Yeah?" Merlin panted in response to Jurt's challenge. "Well, I can...I can..." He cast about for something he could do. Nothing was forthcoming, so he focused once more on the fight. Trying another fancy move, he feinted in sixte and scored a hit as Jurt fell for the ruse.
Delighted, Merlin realized he'd found the answer he sought. "I can cut your ear off!" he yelled happily as Jurt's ear went flying off, trailing blood, guts, and gore. The spectators roared their approval. Jurt roared his dismay and anger.
"I'M GONNA TELL MOM!" he shrieked, lower lip trembling in a threat of tantrum that would give even the most battle-hardened warrior pause, to say nothing of someone like Merlin. Starting to feel extremely nervous, Merlin wondered how he was going to get out of this. He was getting absolutely no help from the spectators, who had stopped talking to watch this latest thickening of the plot with some amusement.
"No, Jurt, don't cry please please please," Merlin begged, knowing exactly how much trouble he would get into if Jurt got to their mother before he did and tattled on him. He tried to help his brother to his feet, hoping the old look-how-nice-I-am routine would work. It didn't, but then it never had. So what should he do? He could try to stop Jurt from getting to Dara...which would undoubtedly lead to even more trouble for him when she found out what he'd done. And at the moment, more trouble was really the last thing he needed.
Jurt was having none of his act. "Get your claws off me!" he howled, slapping Merlin's hands away as he continued to bawl in pain. Frantically, Merlin signaled to Mandor, who decided to make himself useful for once and rushed over to help. Together, they grabbed their protesting sibling and began to carry him back to the Ways of Sawall, the rest of the family trailing close behind.
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Corwin felt good about the state of affairs. Bleys had his army ready, and he himself was on the flagship of the fleet he was leading to rendezvous with Caine. What could possibly go wrong?
Initially, he had had some small, niggling doubts about trusting any siblings under any circumstances, but he was absolutely certain he could count on Caine and Bleys. Why, he had lived off his wits for years and if he didn't know exactly who he could trust by this time, he'd eat his cloak!
He felt someone calling him. Probably Bleys or Caine, he decided as he asked, "Yes? What is it?" Why would they need to call him at this stage of the proceedings?
"Caine here," his brother's laconic voice replied. "About our deal..."
Suddenly getting a bad feeling about this, Corwin prompted, "Uh-huh?" What was going on?
He got his answer as the cannons of Caine's fleet abruptly turned to aim directly at his ship. "I lied," Caine said flatly, then broke contact. Corwin stared in horror at the ships surrounding him and began to feel very dumb indeed. Why had he not seen this coming? [Oh, what a fool I've been...]
Of course, there were several options at this point. He could be unbelievably heroic and insist on dying with the idiots he had duped into coming along, or he could call Bleys and escape like a true yellow-bellied coward. Which was the right thing to do?
Whipping out his Trumps, he flipped hastily to Bleys' card and stared at it, willing the connection to work at warp speed. At last, after a seeming eternity, the picture of his brother came to life, looking rather confused as always. Since he didn't have time for small talk, Corwin plunged right in.
"Bleys," he panted, "get me out of here!" Bleys blinked in surprise, but wordlessly held out a hand. Corwin seized it, said, "See ya later, folks," to the nearest sailors, and stepped through to join his brother and safety.
Once safe in Bleys' camp, Corwin explained the situation to Bleys, who was slow to understand but terrible in his wrath when Corwin finally managed to pound it into his head. "That dirty double-crossin' cheatin' lyin' stealin'..." Bleys was amazingly creative in his description of Caine, but they had no time for such luxuries and Corwin, somewhat regretfully, had to cut him off.
"Look, we have to get to the palace now before it's too late," he explained hurriedly. Bleys nodded sagely and got his army moving in a surprisingly short time. One hour later they were on the road to the great city of Amber.
There followed a long and bloody battle in which about nineteen-twentieths of their forces were killed, leaving the two brothers in command of about two hundred men all told. As they fought their way through to the palace, this number slowly dwindled to a mere two dozen, but Bleys seemed not in the least perturbed by this. "Nothin' like a good battle, eh?" he boomed happily, clapping Corwin on the shoulder. Corwin wisely kept his mouth shut and concentrated on breaking the family record of seventy-nine enemy soldiers in one minute.
At last only Bleys and Corwin remained of the many troops they had set out with, but they continued fighting with undiminished bravery, energy, and strength like true Amberites. On their way up the steep, winding rock stair, Corwin killed eighty-six soldiers without pausing for breath, but Bleys was not so lucky. He inadvertently lost his balance and fell off the side of the staircase, beginning the hundred-foot plunge to the rocks below.
"Noooooooooooo!" Corwin cried, rushing to the edge. He could do nothing to prevent the fall, but on a whim he tossed his deck of Trumps over the edge after his brother. Then, as he watched them fall, he berated himself for being such an idiot, sighed, and continued upstairs.
Twenty minutes and three hundred sixty-three bodies later, Corwin had reached the palace and was looking around for Eric so he could properly challenge his right to the throne. Obligingly, Eric appeared with sword in hand and proceeded to try to run him through. This, of course, Corwin could not allow, so the battle was on. They fought hand-to-hand up and down hallways, in and out of bedchambers, and all the way down the length of the banquet hall.
At last they made their violent way to the caverns wherein the Pattern resided. Knowing that no coup would be complete without a swordfight on the Pattern itself, the brothers managed to steer themselves toward the intricate design while keeping up a professional stream of feints, parries, and lunges in quarte and sixte. When they reached the Pattern, Eric called contemptuously, "You'll never win, Corwin!"
"We'll see about that," Corwin replied confidently, forcing his brother back with a clever lunge. He placed his foot on the Pattern and took a cautious step along the route he had now traversed several times. The familiar curtain of blue sparks rose about him, higher with each step, but he persevered while somehow expertly fending off Eric's blows.
He reached and passed the First and Second Veils without trouble and came up to the Grand Curve, the part of the Pattern that could make or break him. Of course, having done it twice before he knew he could do it again, so it was really no biggie. Aside from the fact that he might die, but that was really a minor consideration...
After a supreme effort, he made it through the Final Veil and reached the center of the Pattern—the eye of the storm, as it were. Alas, he had no time to rest, for Eric was right on his heels. Gathering his thoughts, Corwin stepped onto the center and commanded, "Take me as far away from Amber as you can!"
This was a mistake, as he quickly realized. Looking around at the pretty psychedelic swirls, Corwin of Amber commented intelligently, "Wha...?"
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Merlin and Mandor, still dragging the earless Jurt, made their shamefaced way into the Ways of Sawall. Somehow Merlin wasn't in the least surprised to see his mother waiting for him, looking very angry indeed.
"And just what, pray tell, have you young hoodlums been up to?" Dara demanded, sparks flying from her eyes.
"Aw, Mom, we was just playin'!" Merlin protested, brushing out a small fire on his shirt collar. "Mom" was having none of it. She glared at him until he looked at the ornately tiled floor and hung his head in shame. "Honest, I didn't mean to—"
Dara cut him short with an imperious gesture. "Enough!" He fell silent, swallowing hard at the thought of what would become of him now. "Come with me," she commanded, taking his arm and propelling him down the hallway to the sitting room. Merlin glanced back once to see Mandor looking rather lost, still holding Jurt.
In the sitting room stood—could it be? No...it was! Corwin of Amber was sipping a cup of coffee, looking rather out of place amid the Chaos-style decorations. Merlin swallowed even harder. This was serious!
"Your father and I have talked this over," Dara said severely, "and we agree that a punishment is in order to teach you a lesson." Corwin nodded rather absentmindedly at this, obviously meaning something along the lines of "Yes, dear." Wondering what his punishment would be, Merlin wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and waited for the verdict.
"We've decided that..." She paused for dramatic emphasis, and he winced, wishing she would just get it over with. "...You are grounded from the Logrus for a month."
Merlin stared, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. How could this be? This was impossible...But there it was, and there he was, and there was clearly only one thing to say under the circumstances...
"Aw, Mo-om!"
A/N: I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to update, but as you may have noticed this is quite a bit longer than the first chapter was. Also, I'm working on about fifteen different stories at once, which tends to slow progress, but bear with me. I'll get them posted eventually and then I can spend more time on this. I've got six or seven ideas at the moment, and I've already started the third and fourth chapters, so it shouldn't take long. WE NEED FANFICTION! Sorry. As you may have noticed, at the moment the section is just a teensy bit small. In the interest of encouraging Amber writers, both new and experienced, I present the first in a series of Useful Amber Tools:
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10 Useful Tips for Writing Amber Fanfiction1. Give everyone at least 3 children they didn't know they had.
2. Have a family member go insane and evil and try to take over Amber.
3. When the action gets boring, spice it up with some juicy brother/sister stuff.
4. Always parry in sixte.
5. If you don't know what to write next, insert a hellride.
6. Have Corwin walk a Pattern, doesn't matter which one.
7. There are always more Trumps you don't know about.
8. Cut the Shadow Earth in for at least 10% of the action.
9. Nobody ever dies—they just rot in dungeons.
10. Time differential covers a multitude of niggling discrepancies—use it liberally.
With these general rules, you too can write Amber stories like a pro—the pro, to be exact. The next Useful Amber Tool, "Interchangeable Hellride Paragraphs", will come with the third chapter.
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Yes, I am rather irreverent, but hey, this is humor/parody. Take it or leave it. Either way, review! Coming Sooner or Later: How to Go Shopping.