Geordie ran forward to join his mother at long last, and the bloodhound went with him. It looked back once for Jordan’s approval, and he nodded quickly. The boy and the mother fell into each other’s arms. The dog sat beside them, his head held proudly high. The silvery light faded away, and took the dead with it. Jordan raised a hand in farewell, ignoring the tears that trickled down his cheeks.
“Good-bye, Geordie,” he said hoarsely. “Good-bye hound. Rest easy, my friends.”
He turned and made his way back down the hall, heading back into the light, where he belonged.
When he emerged from the forgotten door, Gawaine and the steward were there waiting for him. He nodded silently to the question in their eyes, and they both bowed their heads for a moment. Jordan put the torch back in its wall holder, and used the move to take out a handkerchief and mop the drying tears from his face. He turned around quickly as he heard approaching footsteps, and stuffed the handkerchief back in his sleeve. Count Roderik appeared around the corner, accompanied by a dozen of his personal guards. They were all hard, professional fighting men, and Jordan knew without having to be told that their loyalty lay exclusively with Roderik, and not with Prince Viktor. Gawaine unobtrusively moved a step closer to Jordan, and let his hand rest casually on the ax at his side. Roderik stamped to a halt before them, glanced at the watching steward, and bowed curtly to Jordan.
“Pardon me for this intrusion, Your Highness, but it’s imperative that you return to your quarters and consult with your advisers. A special meeting has been called at Court, and your presence there was specifically requested. We need to discuss this, sire. If you will excuse us, steward …”
Taggert bowed formally, and turned to the prince. It was clear something was up between him and Roderik, but their quarrels were none of her business. Besides … Viktor could take care of himself. She bowed respectfully to the prince. “I’ll see you at Court, Your Highness. And … thanks again.”
Roderik watched silently until she’d disappeared around the corner, and then whirled angrily on Jordan. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to,
sire
, and right now I don’t care. Either you return with me immediately, or so help me I’ll slap a geas on you and compel you to follow me!”
“Temper, temper, Roderik,” murmured Jordan, in the most infuriatingly polite voice he could manage. “Not in front of the children. If you’re in trouble, of course I’ll come back with you. Now what’s this about my presence being required at Court?”
Roderik glared at him, and Jordan could tell the count had been hoping Jordan would give him an excuse to use the compulsion spell. Apparently being dragged backward down a corridor by Jordan’s guards hadn’t gone down too well with Roderik. Jordan carefully kept the grin off his face. Roderik finally stepped to one side, and indicated the way he’d come with an angry gesture. Jordan smiled languidly, and strolled off that way as though he’d been intending to do so all along. Roderik walked stiffly at Jordan’s side. Sir Gawaine followed close behind, and Roderik’s personal guards brought up the rear.
“A Testing is to take place at Court in an hour,” said Roderik eventually. “A young noble has reached adult age, and by law and tradition he is required to prove his claim to Blood. He does this by spilling some of his blood on the Stone, in front of witnesses. If his claim is genuine, the Stone will awaken the elemental magic within him, and he will be admitted into High Society.”
“What if something goes wrong, and it turns out he doesn’t have Blood after all?” asked Jordan.
“The Stone will kill him,” said Sir Gawaine.
Roderik nodded. “Our problem is that one, if not both, of your brothers believe you to be an impostor. They plan to demand you prove your identity by undergoing the Test yourself. Failure to do so would of course be an admission that you are not really Prince Viktor.”
“Tricky,” said Jordan.
“We have just under an hour to come up with an answer,” said Count Roderik. “For all our sakes.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. Of them all, only Jordan wasn’t thinking about the Testing. He’d already worked out a way around that. He was more worried about the worsening situation in Castle Midnight. As if the Unreal wasn’t enough trouble, it now appeared Lewis and Dominic had declared war. Their troops were fighting running battles in the corridors, and Dominic had sacrificed his own wife in an attempt to gain more power. And despite the Regent’s declaration of the Rite of Transference, there was still no sign of the damned crown and seal. Jordan sighed heavily. Trying to keep track of all the factions and their varying motivations made his head ache.
Back at Jordan’s suite, the conspirators gathered together for yet another desperate gamble. Robert Argent sat stiffly in a chair by the fire, his dour face as unreadable as ever. Brion DeGrange, the head of castle security, stood with his back to the fire, his face set and grim. Prince Viktor sat in the most comfortable chair, opposite Argent. He still looked painfully gaunt and drawn, but some of the color had come back to his cheeks, and he looked a little stronger than before. His mouth was firm and his eyes were clear and sharp, but he had to clasp his hands together in his lap to keep them from shaking. The Lady Heather sat on the arm of his chair, one arm draped protectively across Viktor’s shoulders.
Jordan stood with his back to the closed main door, and leaned against it. The more he dealt with his fellow conspirators, the more he appreciated the value of a nearby exit. He looked unobtrusively around for Sir Gawaine, and was relieved to see the knight was standing at parade rest, not too far away. Jordan felt a little better knowing he had at least one ally in the room. There was an air of barely suppressed tension among the conspirators, and everyone was talking too much and too loudly while they waited for Count Roderik to bring the meeting to order. He, on the other hand, seemed more interested in trying to fire up the apathetic Argent, who looked even more tired and unhappy than usual. Jordan didn’t blame him. If his entire livelihood depended on the success of this conspiracy, he’d be worried, too. It quickly occurred to Jordan that it did, and he was. He coughed loudly to get everyone’s attention, and went on coughing till he got it.
“I think perhaps I can save us all some time,” he said affably. “Yes, Roderik has told me about the Testing; and yes, I do have an answer. It’s quite simple, really. I’ll make a slight incision in Prince Viktor’s arm, and collect some of the Blood in a small glass vial. I will then conceal the vial up my sleeve. At the Testing, I will pretend to cut my arm, but actually spill the prince’s blood, from the vial. A simple enough illusion, but since they won’t be expecting such a thing, it should fool them completely. You may now applaud, or throw money.”
Roderik nodded slowly. “I can see a number of things that could go wrong, but given how pressed we are for time, I think we’re going to have to go with the actor’s plan. Unless anyone has a better idea …”
He looked around hopefully, but nobody said anything. Viktor stirred uneasily in his chair, and they all looked at him.
“I’m not sure I like the idea of being cut, like a pig being prepared for slaughter. It’s not dangerous, is it?”
“Don’t be such a baby, darling,” said Heather. “It’ll just be a little scratch, I promise.”
“You’re looking rather better, Your Highness,” said Sir Gawaine slowly. “Would I be right in thinking there’s been an improvement in your condition?”
“Damn right there has,” said Viktor. “I’m feeling a lot stronger. And do you know why? Because I’ve stopped eating food from the kitchens!”
“Your Highness, there can be no question of your meals having been poisoned,” said Robert Argent. “I’ve personally tasted everything you’ve eaten …”
“Then you must have a cast iron stomach,” snapped Viktor. “Over the past few days I’ve eaten nothing but raw fruit and vegetables that Heather gathered and prepared herself. And this morning, I actually woke up feeling hungry for the first time in days. I’ve had all the kitchen staff hanged, of course.”
Everyone looked at the prince speechlessly. Jordan was one of the first to recover, and took advantage of the moment to study the others’ reactions. They all looked shocked, but it was the raw hatred in DeGrange’s face that caught Jordan’s attention. It was one thing to know DeGrange only served Roderik because of the geas on him; it was quite another to see the rage and hate that lay under the spell written openly on the man’s face. The emotion was come and gone in a moment, but Jordan made a firm decision never to turn his back on DeGrange. Gawaine stepped forward to face Prince Viktor.
“You had them hanged, Viktor? All of them?”
“They supplied the food,” said Viktor. “It was their responsibility to see it was fit to eat.”
“There were twenty-five kitchen staff,” said Gawaine tightly. “Ten were women, and seven were child apprentices in training. And you had them all hanged.”
“Yes!” said Viktor. “It was my right! Now I don’t want to talk about it any more! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sire,” said Sir Gawaine. “Very clear.”
Viktor settled grumpily back into his chair, and looked hard at Jordan. “For the time being you look more like me than I do, so you’d better go on pretending to be me until I’ve got my strength back. Now then, we haven’t got long before you have to attend the Testing, so we’d better get on with this bloodletting nonsense. And be careful with the knife, actor. You leave a scar, and I’ll have you flogged.”
Jordan produced a slim glass vial from one of his hidden pockets. He usually used it as part of his Invisible Wine illusion, but it would serve here. Heather watched with interest.
“Just how much have you got hidden up those sleeves of yours, actor?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Jordan.
He drew the knife from his boot and started toward Prince Viktor. And then Brion DeGrange stepped forward to block his way.
“You don’t need to bother with that, actor.”
His voice was flat, almost emotionless, but his smile and eyes were openly mocking. Everyone stared at him. The air felt suddenly charged, as though something important had happened without them noticing. DeGrange had changed subtly. There was a calm, dangerous look to his face and stance. Jordan clutched his knife tightly, and checked how far he was from the main door.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak, DeGrange,” said Viktor.
“I don’t need your permission,” said DeGrange. “I don’t take orders from anyone, anymore. Those days are over.”
“Be silent, Brion!” said Roderik quickly. “The geas binds you to my will, and I order you to be silent!”
DeGrange stepped forward and slapped Roderik contemptuously across the face. The harsh sound was very loud in the quiet. Roderik stepped back a pace, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his nose. DeGrange smiled at him.
“Shut up, Roderik.”
He sauntered over to the main door and pulled it open. Ten men in assorted guards’ livery spilled into the room, swords in hand. There was blood on their swords, and no sign of Roderik’s personal guards.
“You should be proud of your guards, Roderik,” said DeGrange easily. “They put up quite a good fight, while they lasted. But now there’s no one left to stand between me and you. No one at all.”
“You can’t harm me,” said Roderik. “The geas won’t permit it.”
“The geas no longer exists,” said DeGrange. “Over the past few days, the Unreal has been growing steadily stronger throughout the castle. You people only ever notice the major outbreaks, but there’s a continuing run of smaller changes going on in the background all the time. Things like milk going sour, calves born with two heads, illusions failing, and the occasional breaking of magical agreements and bindings. My geas disappeared seven hours ago. I’ve been very busy since then. I spent a lot of time in your service planning what I would do to you, Roderik, if I ever got the chance. You’re going to pay for what you did to me—you and everyone else in this stinking castle. I’ve got my own army again: people like me who were held under a geas, or just servants with grudges. You’d be surprised how easy it was to build my army, Prince Viktor. You’d be surprised how many people hate your guts—you and all your damned family.”
“I hear a lot about an army,” said Viktor. “But all I see are ten men.”
“There are others,” said DeGrange. “And we’re going to tear your castle apart, stone by stone.”
“If you damage the castle, the Unreal will break free, without restraints,” said Sir Gawaine. “Redhart would be devastated. There’s no telling how many people would die.”
DeGrange shrugged. “What did they ever do for me? Where were they when your king’s magic turned me into something between a slave and a pet?” He turned to his men. “Kill them all.”
The renegade guards moved forward, and for a moment the conspirators did nothing, still shaken by the sudden turn of events. And then Sir Gawaine drew his ax and swung it in a blindingly swift arc at the nearest guard. The heavy steel blade punched into the guard’s ribs and out again, and he fell screaming to the floor in a welter of blood. Gawaine smiled coldly, and took up a stance between Prince Viktor and the rest of the guards. Roderik gestured sharply with his left hand, and a sudden wind roared through the suite, rocking everyone on their heels. Jordan palmed a smoke pellet from his sleeve and threw it into the midst of the guards. Choking black clouds enveloped them, and in a matter of moments the guards’ confident advance had deteriorated into bewildered chaos. Robert Argent stepped forward and punched out the guard nearest him. The man’s head snapped back, and the merchant snatched his victim’s sword before the body hit the ground. He looked around for another opponent, his face as calm and unmoved as ever. Jordan drew his sword and cut down a guard still confused by the shifting wind and smoke. Gawaine killed one of the guards facing him, but another drove him back with a desperate display of expert swordsmanship. Another guard headed for Viktor, who was still struggling to get up out of his chair. Heather waited to the last moment, and then kicked the guard in the groin. He bent forward, groaning, and Viktor drew a knife from his sleeve and cut the guard’s throat.