Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  “You saved my life. Thanks.”

  “You saved all our lives when you destroyed the gateway, sire.”

  “I knew there had to be a good reason why I did that,” said Jordan. He looked back at the suite’s open door. “Everything all right in there?”

  “DeGrange’s men are dead, and none of us are badly wounded. A few scrapes and cuts, nothing more. Prince Viktor is safe.”

  “Good. Good.” Jordan looked sharply at Sir Gawaine. “You know, we were lucky this time. We should have expected more treachery from within, and been better prepared to deal with it. The way things are at the moment, we can’t afford to trust anyone.”

  “I take your point,” said Gawaine. “But unfortunately, we don’t have any choice. We all need each other to make this deception work. And anyway, by taking part in this conspiracy, we’re all legally guilty of treason. If you’re proved an impostor, we’ll all hang beside you on the gallows.”

  Jordan shook his head slowly. “If I’d known things were going to get this complicated, I’d have asked for a raise.”

  “You did,” said Gawaine.

  “Let’s get the blood sample from Viktor,” said Jordan. “We’ve still got to get to Court yet.”

  The Great Hall was packed with nobles and courtiers, far more than would be expected to witness the Testing of one minor noble. He stood nervously before the throne, between the two seconds who would speak for him. He was unarmed, and naked to the waist, as tradition demanded. He was trembling slightly, possibly from the cold. There was a bitter chill to the air in the hall, despite all the several fireplaces could do. The hall was also decidedly gloomy. The overhead chandelier hadn’t been replaced yet. Prince Lewis stood to one side, together with the Monk and Ironheart, surrounded by a good number of heavily armed guards. They stood grim, silent and aloof from the brightly chattering courtiers, and paid the young noble no attention at all. Count William and the Lady Gabrielle stood on either side of the empty throne. There was no sign of Prince Dominic anywhere.

  “Just how badly did you burn him?” murmured Roderik to Jordan.

  “Pretty badly,” said Jordan quietly. “But with his High Magic he should have been able to heal himself.”

  “Magic is unreliable at the moment,” said Sir Gawaine. “The Unreal is affecting everything. That’s why so many of the people here are wearing swords. Swords always work.”

  The three of them stood closer together, inside a defensive circle of their own armed guards. The assembled courtiers and nobles had muttered uneasily at the presence of so many armed men at Court, but nobody made any objection. They all understood the realities of the situation. Jordan looked sympathetically at the young noble waiting for his Testing. It must be bad enough having to prove your parentage and your social position in public, without having so many unpleasant undercurrents in the Court as well. His two seconds were trying to chat cheerfully with him, to ease the tension, but none of them were really in the mood. The young noble’s mother and father stood by, prevented by law and custom from even approaching him. They both looked anxious, but composed.

  A sudden stir ran through the Court as the hall’s main doors flew open, and Prince Dominic made his entrance, surrounded by guards. Silence fell across the Great Hall. Dominic looked calmly about him, allowing the Court to study his ruined face, as though daring anyone to comment. When no one broke the silence, he moved unhurriedly forward to take up his usual position. He stopped as he drew level with Jordan, and the two men stared at each other past their guards. Half of Dominic’s face had been burned away, leaving nubs of discolored bone showing through the dark, shriveled flesh. His right eye had been sealed shut, and his right ear was a shapeless lump of burned flesh. Flashes of teeth gleamed whitely through the torn cheek. The pain must have been appalling, but Dominic showed no sign of it. Jordan felt sickened at the sight of what he’d done. Guilt would have prompted him to speak, but the memory of what Dominic had done to his own wife kept Jordan silent. After a while Dominic walked on, and took up a position with his guards to the right of the throne’s raised dais, opposite Lewis. The Regent stepped forward a pace, and everyone turned to look at him. His voice was calm and even.

  “My lords and ladies, Your Majesties, we are gathered here in ancient tradition to witness a Testing, an oath of fealty to the Stone. Jonathon of Virbrook, son of Michael and Clarissa Trelawney of Virbrook, claims the power and prestige of Blood through his father’s line. Let all here witness the truth or falsity of his claim.”

  The two seconds took it in turn to step forward and swear upon their Blood and upon their honor that the young noble was the man he claimed to be. There followed several more formal speeches and declarations, and Sir Gawaine took the opportunity to explain some of the background to Jordan.

  “Like so many of the customs at Castle Midnight, the Testing came about as a result of the time of inbreeding. For a while, it became very important to establish true claims of parentage, so that the Bloodlines could be salvaged without further endangering them. Over the years, the power of the Stone has also helped to stabilize and magnify the various elemental magics. And, of course, the Test also serves to show up any Unreal impostor who might try to replace a Real noble. And finally, it’s the main legal proof of parentage and inheritance.”

  He broke off as the speeches finally came to an end. The young noble stood alone before the throne, unaccompanied even by his seconds now. There was a tense, anticipatory silence in the Court. The Regent said something in a harsh guttural language that Jordan didn’t recognize. There was a sudden grating sound, and the Stone slid jerkily out from under the throne. Jordan looked at it curiously. From where he was standing, it looked like just another piece of rough-hewn granite. Except granite doesn’t come when you call it. Jordan tried to smile at his own joke, but couldn’t. There was a definite feeling of age about the Stone, an ominous, disturbing sense of antiquity, of having watched impassively as time passed and history became legend.

  What happens if he’s wrong about his having Blood?

  The Stone will kill him.

  Jordan looked away, and made himself think about something else. He pressed his arm lightly against his side, feeling the reassuring presence of the glass vial containing Viktor’s blood. Getting it had proved just as difficult as he’d expected. After DeGrange’s treachery, Viktor had become decidedly jumpy about letting sharp blades get anywhere near him. In the end, Heather had to hold his arm steady while Jordan made the necessary incision.

  Lewis leaned close to the Monk’s cowl, and spoke quietly to him while everyone’s attention was fixed on the Stone. “Use your magic, Monk. If that’s not really my brother over there, but only an actor, he must be under some kind of illusion spell. See if you can undo it.”

  The Monk’s empty cowl turned briefly in Jordan’s direction, and then back again. “There is no illusion spell there to undo, Your Highness.”

  Lewis glared at him, but still had enough sense to keep his voice low. “You swore to me that they were using a double in public!”

  “They are.”

  “Then who the hell’s that? If that’s not an illusion, then he really does look like that …” Lewis’s voice trailed away. “My God, could Dominic have been right after all? Could that be an Unreal double that’s replaced Viktor?”

  He fell silent as the Regent glared at him, and wrestled furiously with the possibilities. Count William gestured to the young noble, who knelt obediently before the Stone. The Court grew utterly silent to hear his words.

  “I, Jonathon of Virbrook, son of Michael and Clarissa Trelawney, swear allegiance to the Stone of Redhart, and the king who rules by its grace.”

  One of his seconds handed him a slender knife. The young noble’s hand shook slightly as he took it, and he stopped a moment to let his hand settle before continuing. He made a shallow cut on the inside of his left forearm, and blood ran down his arm and splashed onto the Stone. It looked very red and very bright against the
cold gray Stone. The young noble swallowed once, and then placed his left palm firmly onto the bloodstained Stone. He made a soft, puzzled sound, and then the breath went out of him and he fell limply backward. His head made a flat, final sound as it hit the floor. His two seconds knelt beside him and searched for a pulse, but they already knew they wouldn’t find one. The boy’s mother fainted. His father let her lie where she fell, his face slack and gray with grief. The Regent gestured urgently to his guards, and two of them went to carry out the body, while others saw to the father and the mother. The Court buzzed with shocked whispers as soon as the great doors closed behind them.

  “What happened?” said Jordan quietly.

  “It seems the boy had no Blood after all,” said Roderik. “Whoever his real father was, it wasn’t Trelawney. His mother must have been … indiscreet.”

  Jordan said nothing. Without turning around, he could tell the Court was turning to look at him. Word of Lewis and Dominic’s intentions had obviously got around. Well, thought Jordan, when in doubt, grab the bull by the horns. And if that fails, try a swift kick at his nuts as he runs past. He turned to face the Court, stepped forward a single pace to draw everyone’s attention, and raised his trained actor’s voice in a carrying declaration.

  “My friends, it seems there are those among us who have become confused by the Real and the Unreal, and are no longer sure who is who and what is what. Some have even declared themselves uncertain as to who I am. I would have thought myself easy enough to recognize, even if I have been … away … for a while. But, to set the fainthearted at rest, I shall prove to you all here and now that I at least am who I say I am. With your permission, Regent?”

  Count William bowed formally, and a path opened up in the courtiers as Jordan strode toward the throne. He held his head high and hoped he looked a damn sight more confident than he felt. Sir Gawaine moved quietly forward at his side, as they’d arranged; ostensibly as an honor guard, but actually to make sure no one got too close and saw something they shouldn’t. Jordan stopped before the bloodstained Stone, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Just another show, Jordan. Say your lines, make your moves, and don’t trip over the furniture. He could sense Lewis and Dominic watching him closely, confused by the unexpected turn of events but not sure what to do about it. Knowing him to be an impostor, they’d been sure he’d try to bluff or bluster his way out of the Test. His volunteering had shaken them. What was supposed to be their finest moment looked like it was becoming Viktor’s. Jordan smiled slightly and got down on one knee before the Stone. Better get on with it while everyone was still off balance. Give them time to think, and they might remember why candidates were supposed to be naked to the waist … He pulled back his left sleeve till it was rolled up just below the hidden glass vial, and then drew his knife from his boot. The Court stood still and silent.

  “I, Prince Viktor of Redhart, swear allegiance to the Stone of Redhart.”

  Jordan mimed making a cut with his knife, and opened the hidden vial by pulling gently at the slender string tied to its stopper. Viktor’s blood ran down his arm, and dripped steadily onto the Stone. Jordan licked his dry lips, and then placed his palm firmly on the Stone. Nothing happened. After a long moment, Jordan let out his breath in a quiet sigh, along with most of the Court. Jordan put away his knife and stood up, holding his left arm tightly as though to stop the bleeding. An old trick, simple but elegant. So simple it went right over their heads.

  Lewis and Dominic were looking at him uncertainly. Jordan grinned at them both, and dropped them a wink. Lewis flushed angrily and started forward. His guards stirred around him, hands reaching for weapons. The courtiers between Lewis and Jordan backed hastily out of the way. Jordan glanced at his own guards, and saw they were a lot farther away than he’d thought. The Monk and Ironheart pressed in close beside Lewis, apparently arguing with him, but his face was mottled with rage and he wasn’t listening. Jordan wondered if the wink had perhaps been a mistake. Even though it had been good theater. Beside him, Sir Gawaine had drawn his ax. Jordan’s guards finally arrived, and formed a defensive shield around him. He glanced quickly across at Dominic. It was hard to read expressions in the ruined face, but he seemed to be content just to watch, for the moment. Jordan let his right hand drop to his sword, and watched Lewis’s approach with the best cold sneer he could manage. It would have to be the sword or a smoke pellet. He couldn’t get to his flare pellets while his left sleeve was still rolled up.

  “That’s enough!” roared the Regent. “Stand where you are, or I’ll have my men open fire!”

  Everyone looked at the Regent, and then followed his pointing finger up to the spectators’ gallery that overlooked the Court. The gallery was lined with dozens of archers, each with an arrow ready to fire. The Court grew very still.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” said Lewis flatly. “Attacking a prince of the Blood is treason. The nobles would have your head.”

  “My position protects me from any such charge,” said William evenly. “While I am Regent, my word is law. Believe me, Lewis, I’m quite ready to order one or all of you killed, if that’s what it takes to prevent a civil war.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Jordan, “but I believe him.” He ostentatiously took his hand away from his sword, and gestured for his men to put away their weapons. After a pause they did so, Sir Gawaine last of all. Jordan bowed formally to the Regent. “My apologies for a creating a disturbance in this Court.”

  “You always were the gracious one, Viktor,” said Count William, “Well, Lewis, Dominic?”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I apologize to you,” said Lewis. “I won’t forget this, William.” He turned and walked out of the Court. The Monk and Ironheart followed him, and his guards brought up the rear, still with their swords drawn. Jordan thought for a moment that William would actually order his bowmen to open fire, but he didn’t. Instead he turned to Dominic, who smiled with half his face and inclined his head slightly to the Regent.

  “Make the most of your position, William. While it lasts.”

  He turned and left the Court, accompanied by his guards. They didn’t sheathe their swords either. Jordan noticed they were careful to leave in a different direction from Lewis. Apparently Dominic didn’t feel ready for a direct conflict just yet. The Regent stood by the empty throne, and for a moment looked very tired and very old. Jordan sympathized with him. Count William was in an impossible situation. No matter who finally claimed the throne, he wouldn’t get any thanks for his Regency. In fact, he’d be lucky to come out of it alive. Apart from his own elemental magic, his only power lay in the castle troops he commanded as Regent. He could of course protect himself by making a deal with one of the princes, but William wouldn’t do that. He was, after all, an honest man. That was why King Malcolm had made him Regent.

  Count William raised his head, forcing the tiredness out of his face and stance until he looked once again at the calm, efficient Regent. It was a good performance, and Jordan appreciated it as such. The Lady Gabrielle watched her husband silently, pride and support for him burning in her steady gaze. The Regent formally dismissed the Court, his voice firm and steady. The nobles and the courtiers began to drift away in small clumps, quietly discussing the implications of what they’d witnessed. Jordan gathered his people around him and made a grand exit, bowing and smiling as he went. It was important to keep up appearances, even if everything else was falling apart around him.

  Jordan hadn’t said anything to anyone yet, but he was beginning to feel somewhat depressed. For all his time in the castle, he hadn’t really accomplished anything. All right, he’d helped Geordie find his mother, and he’d helped stop an outbreak of the Unreal, but that wasn’t what he was here for. He was supposed to be taking the pressure off Prince Viktor and his conspirators so that they could get on with searching for the missing crown and sword. Instead, all he’d done was attract unwelcome attention, while the crown and seal remained as elusiv
e as ever. Jordan strode ahead of his people, his head bowed and his brow furrowed in thought. He was so distracted he didn’t react at all when someone hailed him as Prince Viktor, and Sir Gawaine had to elbow him smartly in the ribs. Jordan jerked his head up, and smiled belatedly at Catriona Taggert, who stood before him waiting to be noticed.

  “Sorry, Steward, I was miles away.”

  “I understand,” said Taggert. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot on your mind at the moment. Look, I need to talk to you, Viktor. Right now, in private. It’s very important, I promise you.”

  Jordan glanced at Sir Gawaine, who shrugged imperceptibly. Jordan knew what he meant. Of all the people he’d met at Castle Midnight, Taggert was the only one who’d struck him as being at all trustworthy, but he couldn’t honestly say he knew her well enough to be sure of it. She could be bait for a trap set by Lewis or Dominic. They’d love to get him off on his own, away from his protectors. But after all the intrigues and mixed loyalties, Jordan felt an overwhelming need to trust someone, and it might as well be the steward.

  “All right,” he said crisply. “Where did you have in mind?”

  Count Roderik coughed loudly, to get his attention. Jordan ignored him. Roderik coughed again, louder.

  “Nasty cold you’ve got there, Roderik,” said Jordan. “I’d take something for that, if I was you.”

  Gawaine stifled something that might have been a chuckle, and Taggert’s mouth twitched.

  “If I might remind Your Highness,” said Roderik tightly, “there are urgent matters awaiting your attention. Whatever the steward has to say, I’m sure it can wait.”

  “No, it can’t,” said Taggert, her eyes locked on Jordan’s. “There’s a room just down the corridor where we can talk, Viktor.”