Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) (4 page)

He stepped back a pace, lowered his ax, and sheathed it at his side again. Jordan put a hand unsteadily to his throat, and his fingers came away bloody. His hackles rose, and a cold breeze caressed the back of his neck. His legs were shaking slightly, as much from shock as fear. He’d seen his share of violence in his travels, and even been in a few sword fights himself when there was no other way out, but never in his life had he ever seen anyone move as quickly as Sir Gawaine.

What the hell have I got myself into this time?

He pulled out a handkerchief, cleaned the blood off his fingers, and then pressed the cloth to his throat. He was pleased that at least his hands weren’t shaking. He tried concentrating on the ten thousand ducats, but the thought didn’t comfort him as much as it once had. He turned his back on Gawaine, and climbed up into his caravan. He pulled the leather flaps shut behind him, and then sat down on his unmade bed and thought hard.

There was no doubt in his mind that Gawaine had meant every word he’d said. If he tried to back out now, the knight would kill him. On the other hand, there was obviously a great deal about this conspiracy he wasn’t being told. For example, what the hell had Viktor done to get himself sent into internal exile? Jordan took the handkerchief away from his throat, and looked sourly at the bloodstained cloth. Maybe he could sneak up on the knight while he was sleeping … But there was still the ten thousand ducats to consider. As long as there was a chance of getting his hands on that kind of money, he wasn’t sure he wanted to back out. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket, and looked around the crowded interior of his caravan. The rough-wooden walls weren’t even varnished, let alone painted, and the floor had disappeared under a confused mess of props and costumes. When he’d been at the top of his career, he’d had dressing rooms that were bigger than this. He looked at the package Roderik had left for him on his bunk, and sighed quietly. He’d go along with the others, for now. It wasn’t as if he had a choice.

The clothes turned out to be elegant, richly colored and a perfect fit. Well tailored, too. Presumably they’d been made especially for the prince he now resembled. Jordan fumbled a little at the unfamiliar hooks and fastenings, and stopped every now and again just to admire a particularly fine piece of attire, but finally he was ready. He strutted back and forth in the narrow space, sweeping his cloak around him, and wished he had a full-length mirror. He wore his own shirt underneath the long waistcoat, even though he had to leave half the buttons undone. He needed the hidden pockets sown into its sleeves to carry the flare pellets and smoke bombs he used to counterfeit his magic. He stuffed the pockets as full as he could. He didn’t know how long it would be before he’d have a chance to make any more.

He strapped his own sword on his hip. Roderik had provided a blade of far superior quality and workmanship, but Jordan preferred to stick with the sword he was used to. And just to be on the safe side, he slipped a throwing knife into the top of his knee-length boot. He’d always been good with a throwing knife. Better safe than sorry, as his dad always said. That left only one item to put on, and Jordan stared at it for a long moment. The chain mail vest stared blankly back at him. Given the circumstances, the vest was a sensible precaution, but he was still reluctant to put it on, as though by acknowledging the danger, he somehow made it real. He shook his head, took off the cloak, and put on the chain mail vest. It was lighter than it looked, but he could still feel its solid weight tugging at him every time he moved. He pulled on the heavy burgundy cloak again, hiding the vest from sight, but it didn’t help. Jordan looked around his caravan one last time, and then pushed past the leather flaps and jumped down onto the ground.

Sir Gawaine was still waiting for him. Jordan stood haughtily before him, and took up his best aristocratic stance. Gawaine bowed formally to him.

“If you’re quite ready, Your Highness, we should rejoin the others.”

Jordan nodded stiffly. A chill wind was blowing from the north, and he pulled his cloak around him. “I trust we won’t be traveling far tonight, Gawaine. It’s going to be bitter cold on the road once the sun goes down.”

“I think the sooner we leave Bannerwick behind us, the better, sire,” said Gawaine. “We aren’t the only ones who have agents out in the kingdom.”

Jordan nodded reluctantly. He turned to his horse and found Gawaine had her already saddled and waiting. He swung up onto Smokey’s back without saying anything. Gawaine reached up and took hold of the bridle, and led horse and rider back down the deserted main street to where the others were waiting. Their horses were fine Thoroughbreds, beside which Smokey in her battered trappings looked very much the poor relation. Jordan patted her neck and muttered a few comforting words as Gawaine moved away to mount his horse. They all looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Robert Argent started off and the others followed him. The quick hoofbeats sounded loud and distinct on the quiet as the small party left Bannerwick behind them and headed out into the falling dusk.

The evening was still and silent as they made their way out onto the moor. The sun was sinking below the horizon in a mass of bloodstained clouds. Sir Gawaine lit a lantern and hung it from his saddle horn, so that the small party moved in its own pool of amber light. A cold wind gusted across the open moorland, ruffling the tall heather with a heavy hand. It rose and fell like the slow swell of a purple sea. The thick smoky scent of the heather made a pleasant contrast to the open-sewered stench of the mill town, and Jordan began to relax a little. He’d always liked traveling by night, and the lonely moors held no horrors for him. Bandits and wolves tended to prefer the forests, and he was too old to believe in ghosts. Besides, away from the stage he liked his solitude. It gave him time to think, to be himself rather than one of the many masks he wore for other people, on and off stage. The moors had their own stark beauty, for those with eyes to see it, and yet for once their open grandeur had no power to soothe his soul.

It was all very well playing brave warriors and noble heroes on the stage, but he was well aware that out in the real world he had none of the qualities necessary to bring off such a role. He was an actor, not a fighter, and he was perfectly happy to leave it that way. In his experience, heroes tended to lead short and very dangerous lives, and usually came to a nasty end. Standing up to be counted just made you an easier target to hit. And yet here he was, heading into an arena more perilous than any battlefield: a Court torn by intrigue. Jordan decided he wasn’t going to think about it anymore, for the time being. It just made his stomach ache. He glanced surreptitiously at Sir Gawaine, riding close beside him. He wasn’t sure whether the knight’s presence made him feel more secure or more threatened.

“Roderik,” said Jordan finally, as much to break the silence as anything, “tell me about Prince Viktor. Just an outline to begin with, to give me a feel for the part. And I’ll need to know about his brothers as well.”

“Of course,” said Count Roderik. As he spoke, his voice remained casual and unhurried, but he never once looked at Jordan. “You are the middle of three sons. Prince Lewis is the eldest. He inherited earth magic by his Blood. There isn’t much call for earth magic inside a castle, so he’s spent most of his life training to be a warrior. He favors the sword, and is very good with it. In many ways he was King Malcolm’s favorite, but of late he and your father had grown distant. He has a vile temper, and won’t be crossed on anything. His private life is a scandal. In his position, he could have practically any woman for the asking, but instead he prefers to intimidate and take by force young ladies from the lesser nobility. Any who dare complain are dismissed from Court, and their families are disgraced. Few are prepared to make an enemy of the man who may one day be their king. He’s known to have strangled one girl when she declared she was pregnant by him. It was never proved, of course, but everybody knows.”

“Sounds a pleasant chap,” said Jordan. “What does he do for a hobby, poison wells?”

“Don’t underestimate his support,” said Roderik sharply. “He’s quite popular among the guards and men-at-arms, due to his undoubted martial prowess. They tend not to hear the rumors about his other exploits. And as the eldest son, and your father’s acknowledged favorite, he’s always commanded quite a large following at Court.”

“Could he have killed King Malcolm?” said Jordan, frowning.

“It’s possible, I suppose. If your father had threatened to disinherit him because of his behavior, I can see Lewis striking back at him in a rage. But poison … no, that’s not Lewis’s style. Now then, your younger brother is Prince Dominic. He inherited water magic by his Blood, but he’s never made much use of it in public. He’s the quiet, thoughtful one of the family, and has an unhealthy interest in sorcery. He’s had many teachers, and is rumored to be something of an adept, though again he’s shown little sign of this in public. Dominic has always been a very private person. He is also somewhat … strange.”

Sir Gawaine laughed shortly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“How would you put it?” said Jordan.

“He’s barking mad,” said Gawaine flatly. “And dangerous with it.”

“Like his brother Lewis, Dominic also has a following at Court,” said Roderik, continuing calmly on as though Gawaine hadn’t spoken. “Dominic is married to the Lady Elizabeth, a very ambitious woman. She helped to build Dominic’s following through a series of well-thought-out political deals. Many of us believe Dominic and Elizabeth to be the prime suspects in your father’s murder, though it must be said that so far no proof has been found to lay against their door.”

“How do I feel about my brothers?” said Jordan thoughtfully. “Are we close?”

“Hardly. In Redhart, inheritance of the throne is rather a complicated matter. In most countries the crown goes to the eldest son, and any other sons get nothing. But here the king chooses which of his sons he considers to be most fit, and that son inherits the crown. This is a throwback to the days of inbreeding, when many eldest sons simply weren’t … suitable. The dangers of that time are mostly past now, but the law and custom remain. However, if your father had made a choice, it remains unknown. The will has vanished without a trace. Since Lewis is no longer the favored son, all three of you now have an equally valid claim to the throne.

“Neither you nor Dominic care much for Lewis. He is arrogant and brash, and has always used his position as favorite to lord it over both of you. He in turn despises Dominic as a weakling, for spending most of his time as a scholar rather than a warrior, and considers you a fool for letting your emotions get the better of you. You detest Dominic, not least because of his choice of wife. The Lady Elizabeth was once … close to you, until Dominic won her away.”

“Tricky,” said Jordan. “Do I have any friends at Court?”

“Not really,” said Roderik. “Most of your followers were sent with you into internal exile, and for the most part they’ve chosen to remain there until the succession is decided. But Dominic and Lewis are also finding themselves more isolated than usual, for the same reason. No one wants to be remembered as having backed the losing side …”

Jordan rode for a while in silence, sorting out the new information as best he could. It was fine, as far as it went, but it wasn’t what he needed. If he was going to pass off this impersonation successfully, he was going to have to know not just the facts of Prince Viktor’s background, but also the secrets and motivations that underlay those facts. And interesting though Viktor’s family background was, there was still a great deal he wasn’t being told.

“Viktor’s been in internal exile for four years,” he said finally. “What exactly did he do that warranted such extreme punishment? I mean, you’ve already told me that Lewis once strangled a young woman of the nobility and got away with it.”

Argent and Roderik looked at each other. Sir Gawaine stared at the road ahead. Finally Roderik sighed and looked at Jordan.

“Forgive me, Jordan, of course you need to know. It’s just not something we normally talk about. In fact, we seem to have spent most of the last four years using every bit of influence we had to keep the truth of what really happened from ever coming out. Prince Viktor … has always been one for the ladies. However, unlike Lewis, Viktor was normally sensible enough to limit his wandering eye to the servant classes. Such assignations may be deplorable, but they’re of no real importance. But, as I said earlier, Prince Viktor somehow became involved with the Lady Elizabeth, at a time when she was officially betrothed to Prince Dominic. How they kept it a secret for so long in a Court noted for its love of gossip is beyond me, but of course it couldn’t last, and eventually Dominic found out. And that was when the tempers really began to fly. The Lady Elizabeth is a charming, beautiful young woman from an impeccable family background. Unfortunately, she is also a cold, calculating bitch. She delighted in playing the two brothers off against each other, possibly to determine which would make the better husband, but more likely just because she enjoyed it. Viktor and Dominic were on the point of a formal duel when the king finally discovered what was going on, and stepped in to put an end to it. He called all the parties before him in a private session, and apparently demanded that the Lady Elizabeth make her choice there and then. She chose Dominic.

“For a time, nothing happened. Viktor shut himself in his quarters and refused to speak to anyone, even Gawaine. We were all very worried about him. Viktor had never been one for brooding: when he was angry he spoke his mind, and let the sparks fall where they would. His continued silence was … disturbing. Meanwhile, Dominic and Elizabeth made the preparations for their marriage. The invitations went out, presents began to arrive, everything seemed perfectly normal. What happened next isn’t entirely clear. The full facts were only ever discussed with the king, behind closed doors, and Viktor still won’t talk about it. What is clear is that Viktor tried to murder Dominic. He almost succeeded. From all accounts, the king was frantic when he found out. A formal duel was one thing; that at least was honorable, if not strictly proper. But murder … to attempt to strike down one’s own brother by stealth and treachery, to steal his fiancée …