A man wrapped in a dark cloak appeared suddenly out of thin air to stand beside Dominic. Lewis jumped again, and flushed hotly. He didn’t take kindly to being made the butt of someone else’s humor. His hand dropped toward his sword hilt, but stopped a few inches short. He was in Dominic’s territory now, and he daren’t risk an open attack, even with the Monk at his side. On his own ground, Dominic was too well protected by his sorcery. Not to mention his Blood. Lewis turned his attention to the spy, and his stomach lurched. The man had no face. The eyelids were sealed seamlessly shut, and below the blind eyes there was only a blank expanse of smooth skin, with no trace of mouth or nose. He stood very still, waiting for Dominic’s orders.
“This isn’t how he usually looks,” said Dominic casually, “But I’m not quite ready to trust you with his identity yet. That would require a great deal more commitment on both our parts than I think we’re ready to give. But, I assure you, he is one of Viktor’s inner circle, trusted by everyone, and privy to all their secrets. Aren’t you, my dear traitor?”
“Yes, Prince Dominic.” A flat mouth opened in the blank face like a wound. The voice was flat and expressionless, with no trace of character in it to provide clues as to the spy’s identity. Lewis frowned.
“No offense, Dominic, but how do I know this … person really is who you say he is? He could be anyone.”
“No offense taken, dear brother. I’ve brought him here to tell you things; things only an inner confidant could know. Tell him, traitor.”
“Viktor is ill, and has been for some time,” said the faceless man. “He is being slowly poisoned, and is growing steadily weaker, despite everything his supporters can do. Of late, he is unable to leave his chambers without help.”
“He seemed strong enough this evening, in Court,” said Lewis sourly.
“There is a reason for that,” said Dominic. “But I don’t think I’ll share that with you just yet. I have to keep some secrets to myself.”
Lewis sniffed. “All right, I’ll accept the spy is genuine. I’d heard about Viktor’s illness from my own confidential source. But can you trust this spy? Traitors are notoriously unreliable.”
“He obeys my every whim,” said Dominic flatly. “Traitor, put your hand into the water and leave it there.”
The faceless man walked over to the swelling wall and thrust his hand into the water up to the wrist. He stood there unmoving, and Lewis’s hackles rose sharply as he realized what was going to happen. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the dark shadow of the shark appeared in the distance. It moved rapidly forward, jaws agape for the tasty morsel of flesh that hung unmoving in the water before it. The faceless man didn’t move an inch. At the last moment Dominic gestured sharply, and the traitor pulled his hand out of the water. The shark’s jaws snapped together a fraction of a second later, and water splashed down onto the dark green carpet as the shark turned sharply aside. It swam back and forth for a while, and then disappeared back into the depths. The faceless man moved back to stand beside Dominic, who patted him lightly on the arm, as a man might reward a dog that had performed some simple but amusing trick. Lewis’s breathing began to return to normal. He didn’t give a damn whether the traitor lived or died, but the inhuman control it must have taken for him to just stand there while the shark approached … A sudden thought came to Lewis, and he looked sharply at his brother.
“This spy of yours, is he Unreal?”
“Yes and no,” said Dominic, smiling. “Really, Lewis, you can’t expect me to tell you all my secrets. Do I ask you about the Monk? All you need to know is that my spy belongs to me, body and soul. He will do anything I require of him. Anything at all. Now then, Lewis, I think we finally come to the crux of your visit. You have come here, not for the first time, to propose an alliance between us against a common enemy. To be honest, I don’t see that anything has changed since your last visit. We both want the same thing, and neither of us is likely to step aside for the other.”
“Even so,” said Lewis, “we still have common cause for the moment. If we can’t get to the Stone, we can at least work together to make sure no one else can. There’ll be time to worry about each other once we’ve taken care of the competition.”
“I think you overestimate the strength of your position,” said Dominic calmly. “To put it bluntly, dear Lewis, you don’t have anything I need. My support among the Blood is far greater than yours, my troops are well armed and well trained, and I have my own spy in Viktor’s inner circle. You have the Monk, admittedly, but I have my own magic, and frankly I think I trust that more than I’ll ever trust the Monk. Particularly after that debacle of his at Barrowmeer. Releasing Bloody Bones from his grave really wasn’t a very sensible thing to do, Lewis. I think that’s all I have to say to you. You can go now.”
Elizabeth smiled sweetly at Lewis, and took Dominic’s arm. They started to turn away. Lewis flushed hotly as he realized he’d just been dismissed as casually as any servant.
“You never intended to go into partnership with me, did you, Dominic?”
“No,” said Dominic. He stopped and looked back. “If it weren’t for the Monk and Ironheart, Lewis, you wouldn’t even be in the game any longer. As it is, you’re merely a nuisance.”
“Then why did you agree to see me?”
“You’re a bright boy,” said Dominic, turning away. “You’ll work it out.”
Lewis’s hand dropped to his sword hilt, and then he froze as the sound of steel on steel came clearly to him from outside in the corridor. There were angry shouts and more sounds of fighting in the distance. Lewis drew his sword and started for the door. He looked back to curse Dominic, but he and Elizabeth and the faceless man had vanished without trace. Lewis swore briefly, then ran through the door and antechamber and out into the corridor.
The narrow passage was full of struggling men, and the air rang to the clash of swords on armor. A crowd of guards wearing Dominic’s livery swarmed around Ironheart, trying to drag him down by sheer force of numbers. More guards lay dead and dying all around him. Ironheart moved slowly but remorselessly through his attackers, his sword still sheathed on his back, perhaps because there wasn’t room to use it in the press of bodies, or possibly just because he preferred killing with his hands. His great mailed gauntlets swept back and forth, leaving a bloody trail of dying and crippled men in their wake. Flesh and bone tore and shattered under his inhuman strength, while swords and axes rang harmlessly from his armor. The guards fought like madmen, often scrambling over the bodies of their dead fellows to reach him, but all to no avail. He moved steadily forward, shaking off their clinging arms and slaughtering all those who came within reach of his blood-spattered fists.
Lewis roared a challenge and ran forward, sword at the ready. One of the guards turned to face him, and Lewis’s sword flashed out to sink deep into his gut. The guard groaned, and sank to his knees. Lewis tore out his sword in a flurry of gore, and kicked the guard in the face. He laughed breathlessly, and threw himself at the next guard. The smell of blood hung heavily on the air, and Lewis grinned like a wolf as his sword rose and fell.
Ironheart thrust his fist clean through a guard’s chest, and the bloody knuckles protruded from the man’s back. He died with a look of disbelief still on his face. Another guard ducked under a flailing metal fist, and leaned forward to swing his ax at Ironheart’s side. The huge steel blade punched through the armor and buried itself in Ironheart’s ribs. As he lurched to a sudden halt, a third guard seized his chance and thrust his sword through one of the eyeholes in Ironheart’s helm. The point of the sword jarred to a sudden halt against the back of the helmet. A great cheer went up from the guards, only to die raggedly away as they realized Ironheart wasn’t falling. He shook the dead guard free from his hand, and killed both the guards attacking him before they could fall back out of range. He reached up and pulled the sword out of his visor, but left the ax hanging from his side. No blood flowed from either wound. Dominic’s guards broke and ran
back down the corridor, leaving their dead and wounded behind them.
The last man to go struck out at the Monk in passing, as a final gesture of defiance. The sword didn’t even come close. The Monk gestured briefly with an empty sleeve, and the guard burst into flames. He screamed horribly, and careered off down the corridor. The other guards scattered to avoid him. His flesh boiled and ran away like wax from a candle flame. The light from his fire cast strange shadows on the corridor walls as he disappeared into the distance. Lewis wondered idly how far he’d get before the flames finally consumed him. He shrugged, put away his sword, and turned to face Ironheart. The knight pulled the ax free from his side and let it fall to the ground. His armor was battered, dented, and dripping with other men’s blood, but there was nothing to suggest that he had taken any hurt at all. Lewis didn’t even bother looking at the Monk. He glanced about him, taking in the extent of the carnage, and swore disbelievingly.
Dominic must have really wanted us dead, Lewis thought slowly.
“All right,” he said tightly to Ironheart, “report. What’s been happening while I was with Dominic?”
“Your brother’s men were waiting for us,” said Ironheart. “This was a carefully planned ambush, and we walked right into it.” The voice from inside the helm was quiet and distinct, but very slightly slurred, as though the knight had some carefully controlled speech impediment. “The guards you set to watch this corridor are dead. They were attacked the moment the antechamber door closed behind you. It seems likely that your brother has arranged further attacks on your men in your absence. I recommend we return to your quarters immediately, and see what can be done to protect your position.”
“I agree,” said the Monk. “For the moment my magic protects us from sorcerous attacks, but the rest of your people are unprotected.”
“I should have known!” Lewis hacked spitefully at the nearest corpse with his sword. “I’ll bet this was Elizabeth’s idea originally, the rotten little bitch. No wonder she hardly said a word while I was there! She just sat there, smirking at me, knowing that all the time I was talking to Dominic about cooperation and partnerships, my men were being butchered at his command! I’ll have their heart’s blood for this … Monk, I want a full defensive screen over the three of us, and over as many of my people as you can cover.”
“That will leave me unable to mount any sorcerous offensives,” said the Monk.
“I know!” snapped Lewis. “There’s no point in attacking Dominic on his own ground; he’s had all the time he needed to set up his own defenses. All we can do now is get the hell out of here, and salvage what we can. Damn them! I’ll have Dominic’s head for this. And Elizabeth’s. I’ll stick their heads on the railings outside the main gates and the ravens can eat their eyes! If my magic wasn’t just earth magic …”
His voice dried up as he came again to his old, familiar frustration. Out on the moors, or in the countryside, his Blood magic made him stronger than either of his brothers, but as long as they remained inside the Castle, Lewis’s magic was practically useless. And Viktor and Dominic had always been very careful never to be caught outside the Castle at the same time as Lewis … He controlled his anger with difficulty, and thought hard. There had to be something he could do to avenge this outrage … but he couldn’t think of anything.
He stalked off down the corridor, kicking furiously at the corpses as he went. Ironheart and the Monk followed, a short way behind. Lewis’s fury began to settle into a cold, calculating anger. When all was said and done, he had more gold and jewels than Dominic and Viktor put together. He’d always been the thrifty one in the family. Dominic might have cost him some men with this night’s treachery, but there were always mercenaries ready to be hired. If he could get word to them in time. Lewis scowled determinedly. The game wasn’t over yet. The real game was only just beginning.
Prince Viktor sat listlessly on the edge of his bed, his head bowed forward and his eyes half closed. The Lady Heather unbuttoned his shirt with gentle efficiency, and pulled it back off his arms. His torso was gaunt to the point of emaciation, and the skin was deathly pale. Heather forced herself not to pay it any attention. Viktor knew how ill he looked, but he couldn’t bear seeing the knowledge of it in her eyes. She made herself concentrate on the simple business of getting Viktor out of his clothes and into his nightshirt. At first he’d refused to wear one, claiming it was an old man’s garment, but as he became weaker, he quickly found the nights too cold without one. Heather did her best to keep up a steam of bright chatter as she undressed him, but she knew he wasn’t fooled. He was so feeble now he could hardly help her at all, and it was that simple helplessness that infuriated him the most.
Finally Heather had him ready for bed, and she turned away to the nearby medicine table. Vials and bottles of all shapes and sizes clustered together in an untidy mess, the various liquids, powders, and roots making a dull rainbow of colors. Viktor had tried them all, at one time or another. Heather picked up the latest bottle and gave it a good shake. Viktor growled something under his breath.
“What was that, darling?” said Heather brightly.
“Nothing. Just an idea as to where that muck probably comes from. Are you sure I’m not supposed to rub it on instead of drinking it?”
“You really are a baby when it comes to taking your medicine, Viktor.”
“Ah, shut up, or I’ll hit you with my rattle.”
Heather picked up a teaspoon, uncorked the bottle and poured out a generous dose. “Sooner or later we’re bound to find one that helps, my dear, if only by the law of averages. Now are we going to do this the easy way, or am I going to have to hold your nose again?”
Viktor glared at her, but didn’t have the energy for any more objections. Heather made herself keep smiling. It tore her heart to see him so down and defenseless. She brought the spoon carefully over to Viktor’s mouth, and he gulped the thick chalky stuff down. He swallowed hard, and pulled a face.
“That tastes so vile it must be doing me good. Well, where’s my sweetie? A good nurse always has a nice sweetie for afterward, to take the nasty taste away.”
Heather leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. Viktor smiled at her ruefully.
“Sorry, love. The spirit is willing, but it’s not in charge anymore. I’m tired. I’m always tired, these days.”
Heather smiled comfortingly, and nodded. She didn’t dare say anything for fear her voice would betray her. She carefully recorked the bottle and put it and the spoon back on the table. Then she leaned forward, took firm hold of his legs, and lifted them up onto the bed. He leaned backward, and she helped lower him the rest of the way. She pulled the heavy covers up over him, and his head sank exhaustedly back onto the pillow. Heather let her hand rest on his forehead for a moment. His skin was hot and dry to the touch.
“I never thought I’d die this way,” said Viktor quietly. “A battle that went wrong, or a dagger in the back … that was something I’d grown used to. I could cope with that. But dying in bed, by inches … I’m scared, Heather.”
“Don’t be, my love. I’m here.”
Viktor sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Heather. Very tired. I think I’ll sleep for a while. Are the guards and wards in place?”
“Yes, darling. Don’t you worry about anything; you’re perfectly safe here. Rest easy.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and he murmured something indistinct. She straightened up, and saw that his eyes were already closed and his face was slack. She stood by the bed for a while, watching his shallow breathing, then she turned and tiptoed out of the bedchamber. She shut the door quietly behind her, and sighed wearily. Her shoulders slumped. Being constantly cheerful and encouraging was hard work. She leaned back against the closed door with her eyes shut, gathering her strength. The Lady Emma Hellstrom looked up from her sewing, and smiled at her.
“Heather, my dear, you look tired enough to drop. Come over here and sit with me before you fall do
wn.”
Heather opened her eyes and smiled at Emma, and pushed herself away from the door. “He’s settled now. I think he’ll sleep for a while. I hope so, anyway.”
“Still no improvement?”
“Worse, if anything. I’ve tried him on every medicine the surgeons have come up with, and none of them have made a blind bit of difference. He’s so weak now, he can’t even walk unaided. Oh Emma, it breaks my heart to see him this way.”
The Lady Emma patted Heather comfortingly on the arm as she sat down beside her. “You must be strong, my dear. You have to be strong enough for both of you.”
“I know, Emma. You think he’s going to die, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“He’s not going to die. I won’t let him. I swear, if I ever get my hands on the bastards who’ve done this to him …”
“You still think it’s poison?”
“It has to be!”
“I don’t see how it can be, Heather. I mean, Argent tastes everything before Viktor even touches it.”
“I know, I know.” Heather’s tiny hands curled into fists, and frustration and anger made her face ugly. “Whoever it is, they’ve been very clever. When I find out who’s responsible, I’ll see to it that they die by inches.”
“I’ll help hold him down,” promised Emma. Heather smiled fondly at her.
When they’d first met, Heather had wondered what Sir Gawaine had ever seen in his wife. The Lady Emma was a plump, mousy woman in her early forties. Whatever beauty she might once have had in her youth had faded away into plain, unremarkable features and a more than comfortably padded body. At first, Heather had seen her as just another victim for her wit, someone else to take out the day’s frustrations on, but right from the beginning Emma had made a point of answering Heather in kind, and the two women quickly developed a surprisingly strong attachment for each other. As Viktor and Gawaine spent most of their time together, it was hardly surprising that Heather and Emma found themselves often in each other’s company, and their early friendship had long since hardened into an unbreakable bond.
Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) Page 17
