Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  “Don’t overdo it,” muttered Gawaine.

  “Don’t fuss,” said Heather, not taking her eyes off Jordan. She took his arm and looked around her. “Roderik thought you might need a little help and support. He can’t be here himself: he’s staying with Viktor to keep him company. Viktor insisted. He doesn’t like being left on his own. The poor dear hates being ill. I see Lewis and that creepy Dominic are here. Have you met them yet?”

  “We’ve had a few words,” said Jordan, casually. “I think I’ve got them both nicely rattled, and just a little bit off balance.”

  “So I should hope, actor.”

  Jordan took her hand in his and squeezed it hard. “I’m Viktor, Heather. In public, I’m always Viktor. Got it?”

  “You’re hurting me!”

  “Got it!”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve got it. Now let go of my hand before the fingers start dropping off.” Jordan let go, and Heather shot him a puzzled glare as she massaged her aching hand. “You didn’t have to be so rough about it, darling. A simple reminder would have been enough.”

  “Just remember that a slipup at the wrong moment could get us all killed.” Jordan glared at the closed main doors. “Have you seen DeGrange anywhere? Or Argent?”

  “No. Have you said anything to Elizabeth yet? How did she take it? Did she suspect anything?”

  “I had a few words with her, and put her in her place. She didn’t take to that at all.”

  “Good,” said Heather firmly. “She can be a rotten cow, that one. I’ve never known such airs and graces. And you should hear how she treats her servants. No, as soon as Viktor is safely on the throne, the Lady Elizabeth is going to have a nasty and very fatal accident.”

  Jordan looked at her sharply, but said nothing for the moment. He was still trying to make up his mind about Heather. She talked like a lovesick teenager, but her eyes were the hardest and most determined he’d ever seen. There was a sugarcoated ruthlessness to her that appalled him. She certainly didn’t make his job any easier. On the one hand he had to appear to be in love with her, while on the other there was no getting away from the fact that she made his flesh crawl.

  “Look at the Monk,” said Heather, clinging tightly to his arm. “Isn’t he the creepiest thing you’ve ever seen? Honestly, darling, I don’t think Lewis should be allowed to have him. He’s obviously Unreal. The only reason the steward hasn’t had a go at him is because Lewis has taken him under his personal protection.” She turned imperially to Gawaine. “Get me a drink, Gawaine, there’s a dear. My throat is absolutely parched.”

  Gawaine looked at Jordan, who nodded and held out his own empty glass for a refill. The knight said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. He turned away, and headed for the buffet table. Jordan had to grin. Gawaine obviously wasn’t happy about being used as a waiter.

  “Thank goodness he’s gone,” said Heather. “I need to talk to you, Viktor.”

  “Go ahead,” said Jordan. “But keep your voice down. If you can.”

  “I don’t like you either,” said Heather, “but that’s not important. What is important is your doing the best job you can, for Viktor’s sake. This is his big chance, his one and only chance to be king, and I won’t stand for anyone or anything getting in his way. Viktor will be king, whatever it costs. Is that clear?”

  “Very clear,” said Jordan. “I wonder what it is about Viktor that attracts such positive women—first Elizabeth, and now you …”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere,” said Heather primly. “The point is, you’re being paid a great deal of money, Viktor, and I intend to see to it that we get our money’s worth.”

  “You’ll get it,” said Jordan. “But my chances of pulling this off successfully would be a great deal better if you could fill me in on as much background detail as possible. Not on Viktor. I’ve had his life history drilled into me until I could recite it backward in my sleep. I need to know about his fellow conspirators: what moves them and what binds them to Viktor. Your motivations seem fairly clear, but how about Gawaine, for example. I don’t doubt his loyalty, but sometimes I get the impression he doesn’t like Viktor at all.”

  “You could be right,” said Heather. “Gawaine’s a funny sort. He came to Redhart about fourteen years ago. He was quite famous then, in a small way. I take it you know about the Border War and the High Warlock’s ax? Of course you do. Everyone does. It’s one of those stories men like to tell around the fire late at night, so they can feel all brave and honorable without actually having to do anything themselves. There was even a song about Tower Rouge once, though it’s been out of fashion for some time.”

  “Of course!” Jordan shook his head slowly, kicking himself for not having made the connection before. “The Ballad of Tower Rouge …”

  It wasn’t one of the great ballads, but in its time it had been very popular, and had been a standard in most minstrels’ repertories. During the Border War between Hillsdown and the Forest Kingdom, the fighting had bogged down temporarily around a long narrow valley called Hob’s Gateway. It wasn’t much of a valley, being mostly bare rock and scree, but strategically it was vitally important. Whoever controlled the valley controlled that whole section of the border. And the key to controlling the valley was Tower Rouge. There were seven of the towers, scattered along the boundaries of the Forest Kingdom. They’d been built by the first generation of Forest kings, long centuries ago, to cover weak spots in the kingdom’s defenses. Unfortunately, Tower Rouge had become cut off from the Forest army, and only a small group of five Rangers remained to man the tower. Hillsdown sent three full companies of guards to take Tower Rouge. The seige lasted five days. When Forest reinforcements finally arrived, they found two hundred and forty-seven dead guards, and two surviving Rangers: the Hellstrom brothers, Vivian and Gawaine. They’d held the Tower. King John had knighted them both, on the spot.

  “I always thought the song was overrated, myself,” said Heather. “All those verses about flashing swords, and blood soaking the ground like dew … when you’ve heard one battle song, you’ve heard them all. Anyway, Sir Gawaine came to Castle Midnight with his wife, the Lady Emma.”

  “He’s married?”

  “Very. They’re an inseparable couple, most of the time. In fact, Emma’s been a real pain in the neck all the time Gawaine was off looking for you. You’d have thought her husband had died, or run off with another woman, rather than just left her on her own for a few weeks. Anyway, when Gawaine first came here, he had a private audience with King Malcolm, and they talked together for hours. Nobody knows to this day what they talked about, but finally they came out together, and the king announced that Sir Gawaine was now a subject of Redhart, and a member in high standing of the royal Court. Well, my dear, everyone was very excited about that. Sir Gawaine was a famous figure even outside of the Forest Kingdom, and having him at our Court was a real coup. But what really made people prick up their ears and pay attention was that Gawaine had been appointed the special duty of looking after Prince Viktor. This was long before Viktor took up with Elizabeth, of course, but even then it was clear he needed someone to look after him and keep him out of trouble. Dear Viktor’s always been too impulsive for his own good. But for a man like Gawaine to agree to act as his guardian … It was a mystery then and it’s a mystery now why he agreed to do it.”

  Jordan frowned. “And nobody knows what Gawaine wanted to see the king about in the first place?”

  “No one has ever got a word out of him or Emma or the king. So it must have been something pretty important, mustn’t it?”

  “All right,” said Jordan. “That’s muddied the water nicely. See if you can be a little more helpful about Count Roderik.”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Heather. “But then, nobody does. He was supposed to be in line for the Regency, a few years back, but there was a big scandal about his intrigues with the grain merchant Robert Argent, and the king refused to have anything to do with him after that. No one was ever able to
actually prove anything against him, but everybody knew. He was ostracized at Court for simply ages. I mean, it was bad enough for him to be cheating over the grain prices, but to be caught at it … If it hadn’t been for his Blood and position, he’d have been a laughing stock. As it was, he was left very much to himself. People had been looking for a good excuse for years. Everyone expects a little intrigue at Court: it adds spice to what would otherwise be very boring occasions, but Roderik’s obsessed with intrigue for its own sake. He’s never happier than when he’s making plans to stab someone in the back, or throw them to the wolves.”

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. “And this is the man Viktor trusts to run his conspiracy for him?”

  “For the moment, his interests and Viktor’s are the same. And he is very good at conspiracies. He’s had a lot of practice.”

  “All right, tell me about Argent. He’s a grain merchant, and he’s had dealings with Roderik in the past, at least one of which went spectacularly wrong. What’s his connection with this conspiracy? What does he hope to get out of it?”

  Heather looked at him pityingly. “God, you’re dense sometimes. Dealing with Roderik the last time pretty much wiped Argent out. This is his chance to rebuild his fortunes. With a sympathetic king on the throne, all kinds of juicy contracts could come his way.”

  Jordan smiled slightly. “You’re right, that was an obvious one.”

  “Besides,” said Heather, “Roderik and Argent have been friends for years. He’s one of the few people Roderik knows he can trust. And vice versa, of course.”

  “All right, one last name, Heather. Tell me about Brion DeGrange.”

  Heather frowned unhappily. “He’s been head of castle security for seven years now, and as far as I know he’s done a very good job. It’s not easy keeping things under control in a castle like this at the best of times, and when the Unreal starts playing up, it can be a nightmare. Even with the steward to deal with the worst cases of the Unreal, there’s still a lot of general chaos seeping out of the woodwork. This Court loves its intrigues, but it’s hard to keep secrets in a castle where the walls literally do have ears on occasion, and ghosts walk through locked doors whenever they feel like it. So any man who can do a good job of security under conditions like that has to be respected. And yet … I don’t know anyone who feels comfortable around DeGrange. I mean, he was an evil bastard in his day, one of the worst outlaws Redhart’s ever known, and he only does a good job here because the geas says he has to. And now Roderik says control of the geas has passed to him. I don’t think I like that. If Roderik can mess about with the geas and get away with it, so could anyone else who knew how. And we wouldn’t know till it was too late.”

  “It would need someone with power,” said Jordan thoughtfully. “The Monk, perhaps?”

  “Or Dominic,” said Heather. “He may be crazy, but he’s been studying sorcery for years. He doesn’t use it much in public, but everyone knows he’s got the power.”

  “Great,” said Jordan. “Just great.”

  “Anything else you’d like to ask me?”

  “No, thanks. I think I’m confused enough for one day. Though I would like to know why the High Warlock made that ax for Gawaine …”

  “Simple enough, Your Highness,” said Gawaine, behind him. “He was my father, and he was proud of me.”

  He handed Jordan his glass of wine, and gave another to the Lady Heather. He then took up his position at Jordan’s side again, staring resolutely straight ahead of him. Jordan looked at him speechlessly. In all his research on the High Warlock, he’d never found any mention of the warlock having a son, let alone two as famous as the Hellstrom brothers. There was a scandal of some kind here, he could tell, but it was obvious from Gawaine’s rigid face and stance that he wasn’t prepared to discuss the matter any further. Pity. But if he was that sensitive about it, why say anything in the first place? Jordan sighed quietly to himself. That was all he needed, another damned mystery.

  What was the High Warlock really like? he’d asked Gawaine.

  He was a drunk who chased women, said Gawaine, coldly.

  Jordan was still chewing on that when he noticed that the Court’s mutter of voices had suddenly stopped again. He looked quickly around, and saw courtiers falling respectfully back as a black-cloaked figure made his way slowly across the hall toward him. Jordan let his hand fall casually to his sword belt, and then realized that the man’s attention was directed toward Sir Gawaine rather than him. Heather gripped his arm tightly, her face flushed with excitement and anticipation.

  “That’s Dark John Sutton,” she murmured breathily. “Sword for hire. He works for Dominic, mostly. I’ve seen him in action a few times—he’s very good with a sword. This should be fun.”

  Jordan checked again how far it was to the main doors. He’d heard of Dark John Sutton. Forty-seven kills to his credit, all of them with the sword. His past was pretty much a mystery, and it seemed he liked it that way. He had no politics, no scruples, and no friends. He killed for money, and he was expensive. And he’d never once failed to carry out his commission. Jordan glanced quickly at Gawaine. The knight had seen Sutton approaching, and was studying him coolly. Jordan looked back at Sutton. The man’s gaze was still fixed on Gawaine, and he was smiling slightly. Jordan thought furiously. This was all his fault. He’d insulted Dominic, so Dominic had sent his pet assassin to take on Gawaine. The question was, how close a contest was it? Gawaine was one hell of a fighter, and his ax gave him an edge, but Sutton was a professional killer and maybe thirty years younger. But when all was said and done, Jordan knew he couldn’t interfere. Firstly, he doubted Gawaine would let him, and secondly, the code duello was sacred in Redhart. If Gawaine backed down from a challenge, the Court would lose all respect for him. Jordan scowled fiercely. He couldn’t just stand by and watch Gawaine get cut down. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be …

  Dark John Sutton came to a halt a few yards short of Sir Gawaine. He was average height and average build, and his clothes were quiet and nondescript. His face was surprisingly bland, with little trace of strength or character in it, but his eyes were dark and steady. The sword at his side hung in a battered leather scabbard that had seen a great deal of use down the years. He could have been just another man-at-arms or mercenary, but there was an air of cold confidence about him that was subtly unnerving. His movements were calm, controlled, and very graceful. He nodded to Gawaine, ignoring Jordan and Heather.

  “So you’re Gawaine. Old man with a magic ax and a noble reputation. I could insult you, call you names, but what’s the point. We both know why I’m here. We don’t need an excuse to fight—it was bound to happen, sooner or later.”

  “It doesn’t have to happen,” said Gawaine. “You could turn and walk away.”

  “So could you.”

  “No. I don’t do that.”

  “Neither do I,” said Sutton. He smiled suddenly. “Besides, I’ve already taken half the money in advance.”

  “Don’t do this,” said Gawaine. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  Sutton chuckled softly. “Confident, old man. I like that.” He drew his sword. The brief rasp of steel on leather was very loud in the quiet. “Let’s make a start, shall we? It’s bad manners to keep our audience waiting.”

  Gawaine drew his ax. “Don’t do this, John. You can still return the money.”

  Sutton shook his head sadly. “Can this really be the great Gawaine Hellstrom? The hero of Tower Rouge? What’s the matter, old man, does your blood run a little more thin these days? Don’t worry—I’ll make it quick. And you needn’t worry about that nice little wife of yours. I’ll send her after you, as soon as I’ve got a free moment.”

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” said Gawaine. “Now you’ve made it personal.”

  Sutton grinned. “It’s more fun that way. Make room.”

  He didn’t raise his voice, but the courtiers around them fell back to form a wide circle. Heather tugge
d urgently at Jordan’s arm, and he reluctantly allowed her to pull him away from Gawaine to join the edge of the crowd. The courtiers watched eagerly as Sutton and Gawaine took up their stances opposite each other.

  Where the hell’s the Regent? thought Jordan angrily. If he was here, he could stop this.

  Except this was a duel, and therefore sacrosanct, above and beyond the law. The Regent couldn’t stop it now. Nobody could. The two men began to slowly circle each other.

  Don’t let him get you angry, Jordan said silently to Gawaine. He wants you to get mad at him and wear yourself out pressing the attack. Keep your cool, and make him do most of the work.

  Sutton’s sword swept out suddenly in a vicious blow at Gawaine’s throat. The knight parried the blow easily with the flat of his ax and then had to guard himself again as Sutton cut at him a second time without pausing. The two men stamped and shuffled back and forth, feinting and thrusting and parrying, feeling out each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and watching all the time for that momentary gap in the defense that would allow a killing stroke. The clash of steel on steel echoed loudly in the silent Court, underlined by the scuffing of boots on the polished floor and the quiet grunting of effort from the two men. Sutton thrust lithely at Gawaine’s gut. The knight slapped the blow aside, and then swept his ax back in a sideways cut that sliced through Sutton’s jerkin and left behind a thick red line of blood to mark its passing. Sutton grinned coldly, and his blade flashed out in a cut Gawaine couldn’t quite parry in time. The tip of the blade scored a razor-thin line just above Gawaine’s left eyebrow. Blood ran down past his eye, but he didn’t waste time trying to brush it away. The two men fought on, neither yielding an inch.