Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  “Tell me,” said Emma, “have you seen Viktor’s double yet? What’s he like?”

  “Physically, he’s so like Viktor it’s frightening,” said Heather. “He even sounds like him, most of the time. But I don’t like him. He’s an arrogant sort, like all actors—full of himself and forgetful of his proper place. But he’ll do the job well enough. And afterward …”

  She smiled grimly, and Emma chuckled. “My dear Heather, if you followed through on every one of your dire threats, we’d have to build another cemetery. You can’t kill everyone you don’t like, or soon we’d have no one left to talk to.”

  Heather shook her head. “I’m right this time, Emma, and you know it. The actor has to die. We can’t risk his telling anyone about his part in our little conspiracy, can we? It’s not as if he was the only one marked for death. Once Viktor is king, he can’t allow anyone in a position of power to have undue influence over him. Argent is a tradesman; we can bargain with him. But Roderik …” Heather pursed her lips thoughtfully. “He forgets his place too often, the nasty little man. Just because he has some Blood, he thinks he’s as good as my Viktor. Sometimes he even seems to think that he’s in charge of this conspiracy, and Viktor is only there to follow his orders. We can’t have that, can we? No, once my Viktor is safely on the throne, there are going to be quite a few surprised faces at Court …”

  The two women laughed quietly together, the gentle happy sound at odds with the grim delight in their faces.

  Jordan was getting ready for bed when the dog reappeared. He’d just finished drawing back the bedclothes and laying out a tastefully embroidered nightgown, when something cold and wet nudged the back of his leg. He jumped, startled and looked down to see the bloodhound standing at his side, waiting patiently to be noticed. It stared up at him with its perpetually mournful face, and wagged its tail. Jordan took his hand away from his sword, and grinned at the dog. He knelt down beside it, and the bloodhound made a determined effort to lick his whole face spotlessly clean. Jordan laughed, and halfheartedly tried to fend the dog off.

  “So you’re back again, are you?” he said cheerfully. “Where have you been hiding yourself? Under the bed?”

  The dog laid down and rolled over on its back so Jordan could rub its stomach. He did so, and wondered what to do next. He’d never had a dog of his own. He’d had his horse for several years, but the two of them had quickly established a policy of live and let live, and had rarely strayed from it. Jordan supposed he ought to feed the dog, but he wasn’t entirely sure what bloodhounds ate, or where in the suite to look for it. And then he frowned, as he remembered Gawaine saying the dog definitely wasn’t Viktor’s. The prince hated dogs. Having met the prince, Jordan wasn’t in the least surprised. The dog had to belong to somebody, though; it was too well groomed to be a stray. Perhaps it had just wandered into his room by mistake, and couldn’t get out. He ought to call the guards outside his door and have them remove the dog, but it was a friendly animal, and Jordan felt in need of a little friendly support.

  There was a knock at the main door, and Jordan looked up sharply. He wasn’t supposed to have any visitors. The guards were under strict orders to turn everyone away until morning. Jordan hesitated, and whoever was outside knocked again. It was a loud, arrogant, demanding knock. Jordan decided he’d better answer it. The caller didn’t sound as though he was going to go away, and it might just be important. He looked around for the dog, to get it out of sight, and found it had disappeared again. Clever animal. It wouldn’t do for Prince Viktor to be seen being friendly with a dog. It wouldn’t be in character. Jordan walked quickly out of the bedroom and over to the main door, and pulled it open. The Regent, Count William Howerd, stood waiting impatiently before him, still dressed in his formal robes. Jordan shot a quick glare at the two guards for not having warned him who it was. They stared determinedly straight ahead, avoiding his eyes. Jordan supposed he couldn’t blame them. It was the Regent, after all.

  “Well?” said Count William. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “Of course, sir Regent,” said Jordan quickly. “My rooms are yours.”

  He stepped back out of the way, and the Regent swept in. He looked around the room distastefully, his gaze implying he’d seen more tastefully furnished slums. Jordan shut the door, and moved hesitantly forward to greet the Regent. He wasn’t quite sure what to do for the best. Private audiences with the Regent hadn’t been covered in any of his briefings.

  “Would you … care for a drink, sir Regent?”

  “Not at this hour, Viktor.”

  “Then what can I do for you?” Jordan suddenly decided he was being too polite. He was, after all, a prince of the Realm whose rest had been disturbed. He deliberately turned his back on the Regent, and walked unhurriedly over to the nearest chair. He sank down into it, and draped one leg idly over the arm of the chair. The Regent gave him a hard look. Jordan smiled blandly back.

  “I am here to see you on a matter of some importance, Viktor,” said the Regent coldly.

  “I should hope so, at this hour,” said Jordan. “Well, out with it, man. We haven’t got all night. What’s so important it couldn’t wait till morning, when my advisers could be present?”

  “You were at the Court this morning,” said the Regent slowly. “You were there when I proclaimed the Rite of Transference. No matter what you or your advisers may believe, I assure you, it wasn’t a move I made lightly, nor was it intended as a threat to you or your brothers’ position. I’ve never made any secret of my feelings toward you or your family, but I’ve never allowed my personal feelings to influence my duties as Regent.

  “Redhart needs a king. You saw what the steward uncovered at Court; the Unreal is loose in the Castle and growing stronger all the time. Only the king can put a stop to this, by drawing on the Stone; the rest of us are helpless. Viktor, any king is better than none. I’m not blind to the practicalities of the situation. If anyone other than a prince of the line is declared king, a civil war is all but inevitable. People are already choosing sides. They seem to have forgotten the horrors and bloodshed that such wars mean. Hundreds of thousands would die—not just guards and men-at-arms, but ordinary men, women and children, too. Farms would be burned, towns gutted, rivers poisoned. I don’t want that. And I’m hoping you don’t.”

  “I’ll do anything I can to avoid a civil war,” said Jordan carefully, “but you must understand that I may not have much say in the matter. If my brothers start raising armies, it will be impossible for me to stay neutral. They wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Yes,” said Count William. “I understand.” He sighed suddenly, and shook his head. “It’s late and I’m tired, so I’ll come straight to the point. You always used to be the most reasonable of the princes, so I’m going to appeal to your sense of honor, to your duty to the kingdom. Do you have the crown and the seal?”

  Jordan looked at the Regent blankly, while his mind worked furiously. By asking that question, the Regent was openly declaring that he didn’t have the crown or the seal, and he had no idea of who did have them. And by that very openness, he was also declaring the weakness of his position, and his need for allies. He was asking Jordan to work with him.

  “I don’t have the crown or the seal,” said Jordan finally. “And as far as I can tell, neither of my brothers have found them either.”

  The Regent waited, but Jordan said nothing more. The silence stretched on, pregnant and uncomfortable with hidden meanings, until the Regent nodded reluctantly. “I see. Thank you for being so frank with me. In return, I’ll be honest with you. You won’t have heard yet, but open fighting has broken out between Lewis and Dominic’s troops. My guards are doing their best to restore order, but there’s a limit to what they can do. Particularly since they’ve been spread so thin trying to contain the Unreal. Viktor, it seems to me that you’re bound to be drawn into the conflict sooner or later. If I were you, I’d start preparing against magical attacks. Your protective wards h
ere are excellent, but they have their limitations, as I’m sure you’re aware. I’ll just say one more thing, and then I’ll leave. Your time in exile seems to have mellowed you somewhat. I’m glad to see it. But as Regent for the kingdom, I can’t stand by and allow civil war to break out in Redhart. I will do everything in my power to support whoever eventually produces the crown and seal. And if that means having to order your brothers’ deaths, or yours, I’ll do it. For the sake of the kingdom, Viktor; don’t stand against me.”

  He turned suddenly and left, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. Jordan heaved a long sigh of relief. He’d been getting in over his head and he knew it. He was in no position to commit Prince Viktor to anything. He’d better talk to his advisers quickly, and let them decide what to do about the Regent’s warnings. He felt better almost immediately, now that he’d shifted the burden onto somebody else. He started for the door, and then stopped suddenly. He couldn’t go running to Count Roderik in the middle of the night; he was a prince. It would look very strange, not to mention suspicious. He’d be better off sending one of the guards with a message. Jordan froze suddenly as from behind him came a low, animal growl. He spun around, and saw that the bloodhound was back, and staring fixedly at an empty corner of the room. The dog stood stiff-leggedly, its head stretched out toward the corner, and growled ferociously. Jordan’s hackles rose, and a cold hand clutched at his heart. He couldn’t see anything in the corner, but when he was a child his grandmother had told him that dogs could often see ghosts where people couldn’t. And Castle Midnight was supposed to be full of ghosts …

  “Easy, boy,” he said quietly to the dog. “What is it? What can you see?”

  The air before him rippled and grew hazy, and the Monk appeared in the corner. The dog backed quickly away, growling and showing its teeth. Jordan’s hand dropped to the sword at his side. He wasn’t sure if there was anything inside the Monk’s robe that he could hit with a sword, but if the Monk came any closer, he was going to have a damned good try at finding out. He glared at the darkness inside the Monk’s cowl.

  “I don’t recall inviting you in.”

  “Doors and walls are no barrier to me,” said the Monk in his quiet, dusty voice. “I bring greetings from your brother Lewis, and a message.”

  “All right,” said Jordan, “Give me the message, and then get out.”

  “You waste your breath in threatening me,” said the Monk. “You have no authority here, actor.”

  Jordan’s heart stumbled in mid beat, and for a moment he thought he was going to faint. The moment passed, but he could feel his legs trembling uncontrollably. He felt as though he’d suddenly dried in the middle of a big speech, and forgotten all his words. “What do you mean, actor?” he said finally, and took a certain amount of pride from the calm evenness of his voice.

  “There are no secrets from me in Castle Midnight,” said the Monk. “You have Viktor’s face and body, but that’s all. I’ve seen the real prince asleep in another room.”

  “You said you had a message,” said Jordan, deliberately not replying to the Monk’s accusation. “Get on with it, messenger.”

  The long gray robe seemed to stir briefly, and Jordan wondered if he was pushing his luck. This was one of the most powerful sorcerers in Castle Midnight, and all he had were the flare pellets up his sleeve and a few spare smoke bombs. Jordan tried hard to think which door was the nearest, in case he needed to make a sudden exit. The Monk’s robe grew still again, and Jordan relaxed a little. He still kept his hand near his sword, though.

  “I bear this message from your brother Lewis,” said the Monk softly. “It’s time to choose sides. Those who are not with Lewis are against him. Those who will not kneel to him are his enemies. Lewis will be king of Redhart, and any who dare stand between him and the throne will die.”

  Jordan waited patiently awhile, and then raised an eyebrow. “Is that it? Lewis must be getting desperate. Tell him he can take his threats and stuff them where the sun don’t shine. And if you ever enter my rooms uninvited again, I’ll burn that mangy-looking robe of yours to ashes and then piss on the ashes. Now on your way, or I’ll set my dog on you.”

  He turned his back on the Monk, and ostentatiously studied his appearance in a nearby mirror. There was a deafening silence behind him. His back crawled, and then the Monk laughed. There was no humor in the sound, only an awful patient hatred. Jordan counted to ten slowly, and then turned around. The corner was empty, and the Monk was gone. There was also no sign of the dog. Jordan had a sudden horrid suspicion that the Monk had taken the dog with him as a kind of revenge, but even as he thought it he heard the animal snuffling somewhere nearby. He walked slowly around the room, calling encouragingly, and looking under chairs and behind hanging tapestries. There was no sign of the dog anywhere, and the snuffling sounds had stopped. Jordan came to a halt in the middle of the room and looked around him. The dog’s got to be here somewhere … He knelt down and crawled under one of the tables. There was a suppressed giggle behind him. Jordan straightened up suddenly, and banged his head on the underside of the table. He cursed feelingly, put his hand to his head, and sat down suddenly. The giggles stopped.

  “Sorry,” said a quiet voice.

  Jordan looked around, and found himself face-to-face with a young boy, about seven or eight years old. He was painfully thin, with a narrow pinched face and straight straw-colored hair. He was standing awkwardly in that plaintive stance young children adopt when they know they’ve done something wrong, but his pale blue eyes were bright and steady, and his timid smile brought an answering smile to Jordan’s lips. The boy was dressed in very conservative, somewhat old-fashioned clothes, but they looked neat enough. Hand-me-downs, thought Jordan sympathetically. We all go through it.

  He crawled out from under the table, got to his feet, and dusted himself off. “What’s your name?” he asked the boy kindly.

  “Geordie,” said the boy shyly. “Everyone calls me Wee Geordie, ’cause I’m small for my age. Mother says I’ll grow taller later on, though. Both my brothers are tall.”

  “Well, Geordie,” said Jordan, “I’m Viktor. Now what are you doing in my chambers at this time of night. You’re not really supposed to be here, are you?”

  Geordie bit his lower lip, and looked down at his feet. “I’m lost. I’m looking for my mother. We got separated, and I can’t find her. Have you seen her?”

  “I don’t know, lad. Can you tell me her name?”

  “Lady Mary of Fenbrook. She’s ever so pretty.”

  “I’m sure she is,” said Jordan. “But I don’t think I’ve met her. I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk to the guards outside my door, and one of them will take you to the steward. She’ll find someone to look after you, while they look for your mother to tell her where you are. Is that all right?”

  Geordie smiled, and nodded. “I know Kate. She’s nice.”

  I just hope she doesn’t mind my dumping you on her, thought Jordan, but I’m damned if I can think of anyone else.

  A small hand nestled trustingly into his, and Jordan gave it a reassuring squeeze. He led the boy over to the main door and opened it. The guards looked in surprise at Wee Geordie, and Jordan glared at them both impartially.

  “This young scamp managed to sneak in here without either of you spotting him. If you think you can stay awake long enough, I want one of you to take him to the steward and stay with him until they find his mother. Think you can manage that? Good. Because if I find out later that you just left him there on his own, I’ll have you both peeling potatoes in the kitchens until your fingers turn brown! Is that clear?”

  Both the guards nodded emphatically, and one of them held out his hand to the boy. Geordie looked up at Jordan, and he nodded that it was all right. The boy transferred his grip to the guard’s hand, and the two of them went off down the corridor. Jordan looked hard at the remaining guard.

  “See if you can remain alert from now on. Because if I get any more uninvited guests t
his evening, I am going to be distinctly peeved with you. Got it?”

  The guard nodded quickly. Jordan went back into his suite and slammed the door shut behind him. It had been a long day, and so far it had shown no signs of getting any shorter. He looked longingly at the door to his bedchamber, and thought wistfully about the deep soft mattress that awaited him. The next person who disturbs me, he thought grimly, had better have a bloody good reason. And even then I might not listen.

  He’d only taken a few steps toward his bedroom when the commotion began. Someone roaring threats and curses was charging up and down the corridor, apparently pausing now and then to hit the floor with something heavy. I am going to ignore this, thought Jordan determinedly. It’s none of my business, and I am not going to get involved. He waited hopefully for a few moments to see if the uproar would quieten down of its own accord. It didn’t. Jordan tapped his foot impatiently, and began to seethe quietly as it became clear he was going to have to deal with whoever it was, if he hoped to get any sleep that night. He strode over to the main door and jerked it open.

  Something about two feet high and dressed all in scarlet shot between his legs, scurried into his suite, and disappeared. Jordan barely had time to react before he looked up to see Damon Cord charging straight at him, brandishing the biggest solid steel mallet that Jordan had ever seen. He jumped back out of the way just in time to avoid being bowled over, and Cord roared into the suite in hot pursuit of whatever the small scarlet streak had been.

  “Shut the door!” snapped Cord. “Don’t let it get away!”

  Jordan shut the door. When he looked around again, Cord was standing very still in the middle of the room, his mallet poised and ready to strike.

  “Cord …”

  “Quiet, Your Highness, it’s gone to ground.”

  “I don’t care if it’s gone abroad for its holidays; what is it?”