Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  Roderik looked at Argent, his face twisted with grief. “Robert … why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you. I would have found … some way to help you.”

  Argent said nothing. Dominic smiled. “I killed him several months ago. It was quite easy, really. He didn’t suspect a thing until it was too late. My sorcery holds him at the very point of death. As long as I keep on renewing the spell, he’ll stay alive. Of course, if I should happen to forget … It’s the perfect form of blackmail, really. I have complete control over him. It’s a pity I can’t use the technique more often, but the sorcery involved is very draining.”

  “You miserable bastard,” said Jordan.

  Dominic raised a mocking eyebrow. “You’re a fine one to talk, Viktor. Before we came down here, I had my people search your quarters thoroughly. Just on the off chance we might turn up something interesting. And just guess what we found in your wardrobe.”

  “What’s he talking about, Viktor?” said Roderik. Jordan said nothing.

  “Oh go on,” said Dominic. “Do tell us why you decided to kill your actor double.”

  Gawaine looked at Jordan in horror. “What have you done, Viktor? Damn you, what have you done?”

  Jordan’s heart warmed a little at the shock and anger in Sir Gawaine’s voice, but he didn’t dare let the knight see anything in his face. He shrugged coldly. “He was plotting to take my place for real, so I killed him. We didn’t need him anymore, anyway.” He turned back to glare at Dominic. “Dad never meant for you to be king. He knew you were crazy. There’s bad blood in all our family, but you’re the worst, and always have been. You’re not fit to be king.”

  “You’re in no position to stop me,” said Dominic. “I, on the other hand, hold all your fates in my keeping. You live or die according to what I decide, here and now. And isn’t that, in essence, what a king’s power is?” He laughed suddenly. It was a flat, ugly sound. “Except, of course, I could always have you killed, and then bring you back again. If I really wanted to. Perhaps you’d like to beg me to save you. I’m quite prepared to listen. I’m a reasonable man. I can always use another slave.”

  Jordan’s hands flexed impotently at his sides. Dominic was out of reach of his sword, and his few remaining flare pellets were in the sleeve of the shirt he’d left in Viktor’s bedroom. His mind worked desperately, and he let his eyes wander around the crypt. A flaring torch crackled quietly on the wall to his left. Jordan’s gaze fell on Dominic’s ruined face, and an idea came to him. Without hesitating, he grabbed the torch and thrust it at Dominic’s face. The prince screamed and fell back a step, and Jordan threw the torch at him. It hit his chest and fell away, but Dominic’s robe had already caught fire. He screamed again, and beat at the flames with his bare hands. He fell back to the crypt’s doorway, and his guards formed a protective wall between him and the conspirators.

  “Kill them!” screamed Dominic shrilly. “Kill them all!”

  The conspirators drew their weapons, and the guards started forward. Argent drew his sword and blocked the doorway. His face was utterly blank. Jordan moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sir Gawaine, who seemed to hesitate a moment before accepting his presence. Jordan looked at the advancing guards and knew his luck had just run out. He wasn’t going to win, he wasn’t going to be a prince, and he wasn’t even going to get his money. All he could do now was take as many guards with him as he could. He just hoped he’d stay dead. It was a pity he hadn’t had a little more time. He was just beginning to get a feel for the part … And then the air echoed to a roaring challenge as Damon Cord burst through the door, throwing aside Argent and plunging into the guards. His mace gleamed dully in the torchlight as it swept viciously through the air. A troop of guards followed him in, wearing the Regent’s colors. And behind them came the steward, her balefire sword crackling and spitting in her hand.

  “Lucky I set some of my people to watching you, Viktor,” she called cheerfully. “Damn traitors are coming out of the woodwork these days.”

  Jordan grinned back at her, and then the two of them had to turn their attention to the matter at hand as Dominic’s guards fought back. The two sides were evenly matched, and the fight raged back and forth across the great stone chamber. The clash of steel on steel and the stamp of boots on stone echoed dully back from the low ceiling, and the cold faces of King Malcolm’s ancestors watched indifferently from their biers. Jordan and Sir Gawaine fought back-to-back, and dead and dying guards lay piled about their feet. Jordan swung his sword with cold desperation, and none of the guards were good enough to get close to him. At his back, Gawaine’s glowing ax spattered blood and brains on floor and ceiling alike. Jordan snatched a brief glance at Dominic, and was relieved to see that he was leaning weakly against the wall, too shocked by his fresh burns to think about getting involved.

  Slow tides moved through the battle, carrying the combatants in sudden, unexpected directions. Roderik found himself in the crypt doorway, face-to-face with Argent, and his sword faltered. Argent’s blade flashed forward, and Roderik gasped as a thin red line of blood appeared on his cheek. If he hadn’t flinched back, the point would have taken out his eye.

  Roderik’s sword moved automatically through a defensive pattern, but he made no move to attack Argent. He wasn’t sure he could. Whatever had happened to Argent, whatever he had said or done, Argent was still his lifelong friend. He couldn’t raise his sword against him. They’d been through too much together. It would have been like killing himself. But Argent pressed his attack more and more fiercely, and Roderik was hard-pressed to keep him at arm’s length. It slowly occurred to Roderik that he was getting tired, while Argent was as fresh and determined as when they’d started. Dead men don’t get tired. Angry tears burned in Roderik’s eyes as for the first time he began to press the attack. If he had to kill his friend, he swore to himself that come what may, he’d send Dominic down into the dark after him.

  Heather crouched down behind a stone bier, and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Just in case that didn’t work, she kept a dagger concealed in her hand. The battle raged back and forth before her, and she couldn’t tell who, if anyone, was winning. She could see Viktor right there in the thick of things, and her heart went out to him. She knew how weak he still was, despite his marvelous recovery, but he was swinging his sword with a verve that brought an appreciative smile to her lips. Viktor would defeat Dominic. It was inevitable. Dominic wasn’t fit to be king. It was a pity Viktor had killed the actor, but it wasn’t important. Jordan was just a jumped-up little nobody who wouldn’t be missed. There was no reason why anyone else should ever have to know about his death.

  Damon Cord led the Regent’s troops in a charge through Dominic’s men, but he couldn’t keep the impetus going long enough to reach the prince himself. The fighting became slow and fragmentary, and the battle swiftly degenerated into a confused melee. Cord swung his mace in great vicious arcs, trying to clear some space around him, but the press of bodies was too great, and he had to stop for fear of striking down his own men. Instead, he concentrated on working his way through the crush toward Dominic. The prince had opened the gateway in the West Wing. Hundreds had died, very nearly including his own Catriona Taggert. One way or another, he was going to have Dominic’s head for that. He met Dominic’s gaze for a moment, over the crush of bodies, and Cord grinned savagely as the prince had to look away. He struck out at the guard before him, and the man fell screaming to the floor with his face torn away by the mace’s spikes.

  The fight went this way and that as the two forces jostled for position. Blood soaked the ancient stone floor, and the living stumbled constantly over the broken bodies of the dead and the dying. Jordan wiped the sweat from his brow with a hurried sweep of the back of his hand, and glared about him for Dominic. His heart missed a beat when he couldn’t find him, and then he spotted the Prince inching his way along the wall toward the door. Time seemed to slow and stop for Jordan. There was no way he could re
ach Dominic in time: there were too many people in the way. Nobody else could get there either. Dominic was going to get away. Jordan howled with rage, lifted his sword, and threw it at Dominic. The whole battle seemed to hesitate as the sword went tumbling gracefully end over end through the air. Dominic caught a glimpse of something coming toward him out of the corner of his eye, and started to turn. The sword slammed into his chest, just below the left shoulder, and pinned him to the wall. He screamed once—the horrified, agonized sound rising clearly over the sound of battle.

  The fighting slowly stopped as everyone became aware of what had happened. Dominic looked disbelievingly at the blood spilling down his chest. He shook his head dazedly and tried to pull out the sword blade with his bare hands. Blood dripped from his lacerated fingers. For a moment it looked as though he might actually pull himself free from the wall, and then Cord stepped forward and crushed Dominic’s skull with his mace.

  For a while there was only silence, and then one by one Dominic’s men dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. The fight was over. Robert Argent gave a low moan, and fell to his knees. Blood spilled between his slack lips as he clutched at the horrid wound in his chest. He began to crawl toward Dominic’s limp figure, and all around him the guards fell back, horrified by the aura of death that hung around him like a palpable presence. Even Roderik could hardly bear to watch him. He finally reached Dominic, still hanging limply from the sword that pinned him to the wall. Argent raised his head painfully and pulled at Dominic’s leg.

  “Do something, Dominic. I’m dying! I’m dying!”

  The blood at his mouth suddenly stopped bubbling. A faint look of surprise crossed Argent’s face, and then he fell forward and lay still as his death finally caught up with him. Roderik looked away. The steward sighed quietly.

  “What a mess. All right, some of you men, get Dominic’s troops out of here. Escort those who can walk to the nearest cells, and drag the rest out and stack them somewhere. We’ll worry about identifying the bodies later, when we’ve got time. Now move it!”

  She made her way through the crowd toward Jordan. He was leaning on his sword and breathing hard, but he still managed a small smile for her.

  “Can’t seem to keep out of trouble, can you?” he said finally. “I’d have thought you had enough problems of your own, without getting involved with mine.”

  “Can I help it if I feel responsible for your being here?” said Taggert, smiling. “After all, I gave you the will. And besides, I’d been itching for an excuse to go after that bastard Dominic. Now if you could just find an excuse for me to go after Lewis as well, you’ll have made a friend for life.”

  “Funny you should say that,” said Jordan. He reached over to King Malcolm’s bier and picked up the crown and seal. He slipped the ring on his finger, and lowered the gold circlet carefully onto his head. The room went suddenly still and quiet. Jordan looked around him, as one by one the guards got down on one knee and bowed their heads to him. Taggert and Cord knelt and bowed, and then Sir Gawaine, and finally Count Roderik.

  “We have a King again,” said Gawaine. “Redhart has a King! Long live the King!”

  “Long live the King!” roared the guards, and there was a clash of steel as they drew their swords and raised them to him in the warrior’s salute. “The King! The King!”

  They cheered him again and again, until the crypt was full of echoes. Jordan looked at Sir Gawaine. The knight nodded simply, and bowed again. Jordan looked at Taggert, kneeling grinning before him, and made a sudden decision.

  “All right,” he said crisply. “Let’s strike while the iron is still hot. I may have the crown and the seal, but I’m not King until I’ve made my oath to the Stone. Gawaine, take charge of these guards, and clear a path between here and the Great Hall. Offer pardons to any man who’ll support me. Cord, you stick with the steward and me. No one is to get close to us unless you know and trust them personally. Roderik, you stay close as well, in case I need any political advice. Well, don’t just stand there, people, get moving! We’ve a throne to win!”

  The guards looked expectantly to Sir Gawaine for his orders. He sighed very quietly, and bowed to Jordan. In a matter of moments he’d taken charge of the guards quickly and efficiently, left one company as bodyguards, and led the rest out of the crypt. Cord and Taggert fell in on either side of Jordan, weapons drawn and at the ready. Roderik gave him a hard, measuring look.

  “You’ve got your confidence back in a hurry, Your Highness, but the fact remains that without me you haven’t a chance of holding onto the throne. You’re out of touch after your years in exile. There’s more to being king than wearing a crown and sitting over the Stone. You need to know who can trust and who you can’t: who’ll take a bribe and who’ll stay bought. I know these things. You need me, Viktor.”

  “Never said I didn’t,” said Jordan. “As long as you remember which of us gives the orders, I see no reason why we shouldn’t enjoy a long and profitable relationship. Right?”

  Roderik thought about it for a moment, and then bowed reluctantly. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here,” said Jordan. “Dominic might be out of the running at last, but there’s still Lewis to worry about.”

  “Just a minute, Viktor,” said a cold voice behind him. “What about me?”

  Jordan looked around and found himself facing the Lady Heather. Her gown was spattered with somebody else’s blood, and gore dripped from the knife in her hand, but she was apparently unhurt herself. She glared fiercely at Jordan, then looked at Taggert and if anything glared even harder.

  “I never knew you and the steward were such good friends, darling. So close, in fact, that you forget all about me the moment she turns up! Do tell me all about her, Viktor. Leave nothing out. I never realized you had a taste for slumming.”

  I don’t need this, thought Jordan tiredly. I really don’t need this right now.

  “We’ll talk about it later, Heather,” he said finally.

  “We’ll talk about it right now! Send this overmuscled cow about her business—I want to talk to you, Viktor. It seems to me you’ve had your first taste of power, and it’s gone straight to your head. You’ve forgotten who your real friends are!”

  “Overmuscled cow?” said Taggert.

  Uh oh, thought Jordan. He looked around him for some support, but everyone was ostentatiously studying the scenery. This was his problem, and no one else had any intention of getting caught in the firing line.

  “Overmuscled cow?” said Taggert again.

  “Heather,” said Jordan, very calmly, “I don’t have the time or the inclination to put up with this nonsense. Go back to your quarters and stay there. You’ll be safe there. I’ll come and see you as soon as I can, but right now I’m rather busy.” Besides which, I have a strong suspicion that if I don’t get you out of here right now, the steward is quite probably going to carve you up into handy bite-size chunks. “I can’t stay any longer. People’s lives are at stake, and I have to think of them first.”

  “Cut the nobility crap, Viktor. It doesn’t suit you.” Heather’s sneer made her look suddenly ugly. “I know you, Viktor. You can’t fool me.”

  “No,” said Jordan, “You don’t know me at all, Heather.” He nodded to two nearby guards, and they snapped to attention. “See that the Lady Heather gets safely back to her quarters, and then stand guard at the door until I send someone to relieve you.”

  The guards saluted crisply, and stepped forward to stand on either side of Heather. She looked at Jordan for a long moment, speechless with rage, and then turned and stamped away. The guards hurried after her. Jordan sighed silently. She didn’t really deserve treatment like that, but he had to do it. She was quite right: she did know Viktor well. Too well. It wouldn’t have taken her long to work out who he really was. He’d have had to break off with her anyway, and her making a scene had solved the problem nicely. He wouldn’t have felt half as guilty if he h
adn’t enjoyed it so much …

  “I’m sorry that happened,” said Taggert, tentatively.

  “I’m not,” said Jordan. “We were never really suited. It was bound to happen, sooner or later. Now let’s make a start for the hall, before something else happens to delay us.”

  Jordan hurried down the castle corridors with Cord and Taggert at his side. His company of guards moved before and behind him, making sure that everyone kept a respectful distance. Gawaine and his guards had done their best to open up a route for him, but there was chaos everywhere. Rumors were spreading like wildfire, half of them contradictory, and no one knew where they stood anymore. No one wanted to commit themselves to anything until they were sure which faction was going to come out on top, and, of course, there were always those ready to take advantage of the chaos for their own reasons. A good many people wanted to swear allegiance to Jordan when they saw the crown on his head, but he didn’t have time to stop. He just smiled, waved, and kept on running. A growing crowd followed on behind his guards. Jordan tried to step up the pace, and found he couldn’t. Air was burning in his lungs, and his breath rattled in his throat. A stitch ached in his side, but he didn’t dare stop for a breather. He didn’t think he’d be able to get started again if he did. And besides, Lewis could still get to the hall before he did …

  For a long time, he was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice what was happening to the corridor around him. In the end, Taggert hit him fairly hard on the arm to get his attention. He looked at her in surprise, and she jerked her head at the corridor walls. Jordan looked closely, and his skin began to crawl. The wooden wall panels were slowly writhing and twisting, as though they were alive. As Jordan watched, part of the wall split open like a rotten fruit, and something dark and spindly with too many legs darted out into the corridor. The steward’s balefire sword appeared in her hand, but Cord got there first. He bludgeoned the creature repeatedly with his mace, and it struggled fiercely as it died. Its saliva spilled onto the floor, and steamed like acid. Cord glared into the opening in the wall, but Jordan just kept on going, and after a moment Cord hurried after him.