“It is good to know that I was sought,” I said, “and it is very good to know that you are the defender of this land. I would like to see this place, for it does remind me of the Avalon that I knew. Would you have any objections to my visiting here?”
“That is all that you wish to do? Visit?”
“That is all that I had in mind.”
“Know then that what is remembered of the shadow of yourself that once reigned here is not good. Children are not named Corwin in this place, nor am I brother to any Corwin here.”
“I understand,” I said. “My name is Corey. Can we be old friends?” He nodded.
“Old friends of mine are always welcome to visit here,” he said.
I smiled and nodded. I felt insulted that he would entertain the notion that I had designs upon this shadow of a shadow: I, who had—albeit but for an instant—felt the cold fire of Amber‘s crown upon my brow.
I wondered what his attitude would have been had he known of my responsibility, when it came down to basics, for the raids. For that matter, I suppose, I was also responsible for the loss of his arm. I preferred to push things one step farther back, however, and hold Eric responsible. After all, it was his action that had prompted my curse.
Still, I hoped that Benedict would never find out I wanted very badly to know where he stood with respect to Eric. Would he support him, throw his weight behind me, or just stay out of the way when I made my move? Conversely, I was certain that he wondered whether my ambitions were dead or still smoldering—and if the latter, what my plans were for stoking them. So. . .
Who was going to raise the matter?
I took several good puffs on my pipe, finished my wine, poured some more, puffed again. I listened to the sounds of the camp, the wind, my stomach . . . Benedict took a sip of wine.
Then, “What are your long-range plans?” he asked me, almost casually.
I could say that I had not made up my mind yet, that I was simply happy to be free, alive, seeing. . . . I could tell him that that was enough for me, for now, that I had no special plans. . . .
. . . And he would know that I lied in my teeth. For he knew me better than that.
So, “You know what my plans are,” I said.
“If you were to ask for my support,” he said, “I would deny it. Amber is in bad enough shape without another power grab.”
“Eric is a usurper.”
“I choose to look upon him as regent only. At this time, any of us who claims the throne is guilty of usurpation.”
“Then you believe Dad still lives?”
“Yes. Alive and distressed. He has made several attempts to communicate.”
I succeeded in keeping my face from showing anything. So I was not the only one, then. To reveal my experiences at this point would sound hypocritical, opportunistic, or a flat lie—since in our seeming contact of five years ago he had given me the go—ahead to take the throne. Of course, he could have been referring to a regency then. . . .
“You did not lend support to Eric when he took the throne,” I said. “Would you give it to him now that he holds it, if an attempt were made to unseat him?”
“It is as I said,” he told me. “I look upon him as regent. I do not say that I approve of this, but I desire no further strife in Amber.”
“Then you would support him?”
“I have said all that I have to say on the matter. You are welcome to visit my Avalon, but not to use it as a staging area for an invasion of Amber. Does that clarify matters with respect to anything you may have in mind?”
“It clarifies matters,” I said.
“This being the case, do you still wish to visit here?”
“I do not know,” I said. “Does your desire to avoid strife in Amber work both ways?”