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Stern and exacting, Benedict is the eldest of Oberon's brood. He is easily the greatest swordsman. Benedict has not kept his desire to be overlooked in the arena of family politics a secret. After Random's assassination, Benedict refused the crown of Amber in favor of Gerard, refused the position of Minister of Defense in favor of Julian, and returned to Shadow.
Then came a fiery bearded, flame-crowned man, dressed all in red and orange, mainly of silk stuff, and he held a sword in his right hand and a glass of wine in his left, and the devil himself danced behind his eyes, as blue as Flora's, or Eric's. His chin was slight, but the beard covered it. His sword was inlaid with an elaborate filigree of a golden color. He wore two huge rings on his right hand and one on his left: an emerald, a ruby and a sapphire, respectively.
Memories are long in Amber, and the part that Bleys played during the Patternfall War has been far from forgotten. Regardless, when Gerard decided an Ambassador to Chaos was necessary, he chose Bleys with little hesitation. Bleys graciously accepted, has done single-handedly prevented war between the two kingdoms on several occasions. Naturally, his ego has only grown with his success.
Then there was a figure both like Bleys and myself. My features, though smaller, my eyes, Bleys' hair, beardless. He wore a riding suit of green and sat atop a white horse, heading toward the dexter side of the card. There was a quality of both strength and weakness, questing and abandonment about him. I both approved and disapproved, liked and repelled by this one.
Pensive, brooding, genius...all would describe the melancholy prince. Brand was a quiet sort, with a flair for poetry, an appreciation for art, and a talent with the violin. But unspoken was his wont of power, his need to increase his ability. This desire led him on a path of madness that would only be silenced by a pair of silver arrows from Caine's bow.
Then came the swarthy, dark-eyed countenance of Caine, dressed all in satin that was black and green, wearing a dark three-cornered hat set at a rakish angle, a green plume of feathers trailing down his back. He was standing in profile, one arm akimbo, and the toes of his boots curled upwards, and he wore an emerald studded dagger at his belt.
Creeping in the corners was Caine, who neither trusted nor elicited trust in anyone. His loyalty to Amber was unquestioned, as he feigned his own death to unmask the hidden enemy of Amber, then ended Brand's madness with two well placed silver arrows. Luck did not remain with him, however, as bullet through his heart ended his life in Deiga.
Green eyes, black hair, dressed in black and silver, yes. I had a cloak and it was slightly furled as by a wind. I had on black boots, like Eric's, and I too bore a blade, only mine was heavier, though not quite as long as his. I had my gloves on and they were silver and scaled. The clasp at my neck was cast in the form of a silver rose.
After the tumultuous times he had during Patternfall, his imprisonment by Dara, and later the murder of his son, Corwin retreated to the Pattern of his own making. He still blamed himself for Deirdre's death, and could not cope with Merlin's. He remained there until just recently, when he barely escaped the collapse of his Patternverse and returned to Amber.
...and then there was a black-haired girl with the same blue eyes, and her hair hung long and she was dressed all in black, with a girdle of silver about her waist. My eyes filled with tears, why I don't know. Her name was Deirdre
The one true tragedy of the Patternfall War. In Brand's final, maddened attempt to destroy the Patternverse, he held Deirdre hostage, a knife to her throat. When Corwin desperately tried using the Jewel of Judgment against Corwin, Brand slashed her face. She still had the strength to fight: to pull herself free before Caine's arrows landed true. Brand's last act was to take Deirdre with him into oblivion, grabbing her by the hair and falling...
Then there was Eric. Handsome by anyone's standards, his hair was so dark as to be almost blue. His beard curled around the mouth that always smiled, and he was dressed simply in a leather jacket and leggings, a plain cloak, high black boots, and he wore a red sword belt bearing a long silvery saber and clasped with a ruby, and his high cloak collar round his head was lined with red and the trimmings of his sleeves matched it. His hands, thumbs hooked behind his belt, were terribly strong and prominent. A pair of black gloves jutted from the belt near his right hip.
Since he was small, Eric envisioned himself King. He worked, strained, studied and bled to reach his goal. He was determined to become ruler of Amber. When Oberon disappeared mysteriously, Eric stepped in, taking the reins of the kingdom, fullfilling his quest. But all his study, all his paranoia, all his conflict with Corwin were for naught. The died defending the one thing he loved, his beloved Amber.
Fiona- five-two, perhaps, in height- green eyes fixed on Flora's own blue as they spoke, there beside the fireplace, hair more than compensating for the vacant hearth, smoldering, reminded me, as always, of something from which the artists had just drawn back, setting aside his tools, questions slowly forming behind his smile. The place at the base of her throat where his thumb had notched the collarbone always drew my eyes as the mark of a master craftsman, especially when she raised her head, quizzical or imperious, to regard us taller others. She smiled faintly, just then, doubtless aware of my gaze, and almost clairvoyant faculty the acceptance of which has never deprived of its ability to disconcert.
Amber's Minister of Sorceries. Random knew the importance of having someone see to the upkeep of the Castle's mystical defenses, the training of young minds, and the study and vigil of the Pattern. Fiona, now unmatched in Amber in the field of the arcane, was the perfect choice. She spends most of her time at home now, absorbed in her studies and the intrigues of court.
The woman behind the desk wore a wide-collared, V-necked dress of blue-green, had long hair and low bangs, all of a cross between sunset clouds and the outer edges of a candle flame in an otherwise dark room, and natural I somehow knew, and her eyes behind glasses I didn't think she needed were as blue as Lake Erie at three o'clock on a cloudless summer afternoon; and the color of her compressed smile matched her hair.
Flora. Amber's bright, shining star, embodying everything an Amberite should be...in her own mind. Deciding she needed responsibility, Gerard bestowed the position of Mistress of Protocol and Head Seneschal upon her, considering she already performed these duties whether it was official or not.
And a big, powerful man regarded me from the next card. He resembled me quite strongly, save that his jaw was heavier, and I knew he was bigger than I, though slower. His strength was a thing out of legend. He wore a dressing gown of blue and gray clasped around the middle with a wide, black belt, and he stood laughing. About his neck, on a heavy cord, there hung a silver hunting horn. He wore a fringe beard and a light mustache. In his right hand he held a goblet of wine.
Amber's rock. After Random's death, Benedict turned down the crown of Amber in favor of Gerard, who begrudgingly accepted. He was embraced by the people, and he rules justly and fairly. During the last few years, Gerard has seemed sullen. His visits to the city have become sporadic, and at home he buries himself in his work.
Next, there was the passive countenance of Julian, dark hair hanging low, blue eyes containing neither passion nor compassion. He was dressed completely in scaled white armor, not silver or metallic-colored, but looking as if it had been enameled.
The outdoorsman, Amber's Jack-of-the-Green. Julian's knowledge of the lands and of Arden makes him the perfect choice for Minister of Defense. He has taken the stress of the position in stride, coming to the aide of Golden Circle kingdoms, and defending Amber proper from invaders. He continues taking pride in his duty of making others feel foolish.
Next was Llewella, whose hair matched her jade-colored eyes, dressed in shimmering gray and green with a lavender belt, and looking moist and sad. For some reason, I knew she was not like the rest of us. But she, too, was my sister.
What is there to say about someone whom so little is known about? Llewella remains, as always, reserved and suspicious. She spends much of her time in Rebma, where she serves as Queen Moire's high advisor.
..a wily-looking little man, with a sharp nose and a laughing mouth and a shock of straw-colored hair. He was dressed in something like a Renaissance costume of orange, red and brown. He wore long hose and a tight-fitting embroidered doublet. And I knew him. His name was Random.
The murderous little fink, chosen by the Unicorn to rule. Who would have known he would have done his job so adequately? Unfortunately, his reign was transitional, and just as things started to settle down in earnest, Martin is found dead in Shadow: stabbed in the back. Three days later, Vialle finds the King dead under mysterious circumstances.