Blood and Honor (Forest Kingdom Novels) (23 page)

He didn’t have long to come up with an answer. This was water magic, and that meant Dominic. He must be watching somehow, despite the wards, and as soon as he realized why his water spell wasn’t working, all he had to do was increase the size of the globe of water, and the Great Jordan would have given his last performance. He had to get rid of the globe. But how? He didn’t have any magic. He forced himself to think calmly and logically. This was an attack by elemental magic. Certain elements canceled each other out, like fire and water … Fire. That was the answer.

He palmed one of his flare pellets and crushed it in his hand. Flames roared up around his fingers, and he thrust his hand into the water surrounding his head. There was a great burst of steam, and then both fire and water were gone. Jordan spat out the clay tube and slumped to his knees, gulping in air. His breathing finally slowed, and he shook his head disgustedly. He should have stuck to the theater—the worst you had to worry about there was the critics.

Jordan leaned back against an overturned table, and enjoyed the simple luxury of breathing. It would appear Dominic had decided not to give him twelve hours, after all. And yet … if Dominic had really wanted him dead, there were any number of other ways that he could have done it, most of them much more efficient. Filled his lungs with water, for example, or drained all the water from his body. Dominic might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid.

Dominic’s messenger, the faceless man, had known he was an actor. Or at least suspected it. Perhaps they weren’t sure one way or the other, and the water attack had been a test, to see if he had fire magic. If they were watching, they should be thoroughly confused by now. Jordan got slowly to his feet. He supposed he should be feeling scared or angry or both, but he was just too tired. All that mattered to him now was getting some sleep. Anything else could wait till the morning. He entered his bedroom and flopped down on the bed fully clothed, too worn out to even make an attempt at undressing. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and then his eyes slowly drifted shut.

Fifty thousand ducats … fifty thousand ducats … Stuff the bloody ducats
.

CHAPTER 5

Sanctuaries and Damnations

Prince Dominic sat alone in his private quarters, slumped elegantly in an ivory throne carved from the skull of a sea creature long since extinct. The room was dark and gloomy, lit only by a dull blue glow from the wall of water before him. Dominic stared into the endless depths with brooding, unseeing eyes. His water attack had failed, and Dominic wasn’t used to failing. It had only been a simple spell, but it should have been more than enough to take care of some overambitious actor pretending to be a prince.

Dominic had watched intently as the man staggered back and forth, slowly drowning … and then Viktor had destroyed the spell with his fire magic. From now on Viktor would be constantly on his guard, and his death would be that much harder to arrange. Moreover, Dominic had been made to look a fool. He frowned, and gestured sharply with his left hand. The air stretched and split open, and the man with no face appeared before him. He sank down onto one knee before the ivory throne, and bowed his blank head.

“You told me the man in my brother’s apartment was an impostor,” said Dominic. “You told me you had arranged an opening in the protective wards, and that this actor had no magic of his own. But my water spell failed, dispersed by fire magic. Why did you lie to me?”

The faceless man jerked silently as long hairline cracks appeared in the skin of his blank face. Blood ran sluggishly from the cracks, and dripped from his chin. He raised his hands to Prince Dominic in supplication, and more blood ran from hairline cracks in his palms and fingers. “I didn’t lie, sire. I swear, I didn’t lie to you. The impostor is a conjurer, and very quick of mind.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It didn’t seem important, sire.” Blood ran down his face in a steady stream, and his unfinished features twisted in agony.

“From now on,” said Dominic, “tell me everything. I’ll decide what’s important and what isn’t. How long before you can arrange another opening in the wards?”

“A few hours, sire. Maybe more.” The wounds on his face slowly began to close. The last of the blood began to dry on the blank face. He remained kneeling before Dominic, head bowed.

“Viktor’s death isn’t really important,” said Dominic finally. “He’s no threat to my position, as long as I have you to tell me his plans. And the poison will kill him soon anyway. But this actor annoys me. He has intruded into a situation where he doesn’t belong, and he seeks to meddle with my life, my destiny. And the low-born scum actually has the nerve to play at being a prince. His presence in my home offends me. I could kill him easily, but that’s not enough. I want him broken and publicly humiliated first.”

“There is a way,” said the faceless man. “There’s a Testing scheduled for tomorrow, before the Stone. A young man from one of the minor lines is laying claim to Blood. Traditionally, the royal line always attends such ceremonies. Even after everything that’s happened, a Testing is too important to be ignored, so both you and your brothers will be expected to be there. You can use the occasion to call out the actor as an impostor. He won’t dare spill his blood on the Stone; he’ll have been told that would kill him. So, when he refuses, everyone will know him for what he is. The use of such a double will also serve to discredit Viktor, and isolate him from any support in the Court, during whatever time he has left.”

“Yes,” said Dominic. “I like that. We’ll do it. Make the arrangements. You’ve done well, my slave. You can go now.”

The faceless man didn’t move. “Your Highness, you know I can’t leave yet.”

“Really? There’s nothing more we need to discuss, is there?” Dominic’s voice was calm and easy, but his eyes were mocking.

“I need you to renew the spell before I leave,” said the man with no face. “The spell that keeps me alive.”

“Of course,” said Dominic. “How remiss of me. How could I have forgotten that?” He gestured lazily with his left hand, and a great bloody wound appeared on the faceless man’s chest. It was an old wound, and the edges were crusted with dried blood, but at the base of the deep cut the heart muscle could clearly be seen, pumping wetly. “A very nasty wound, my friend,” said Dominic. “I think I judged the blow rather well. Deep enough to cause a mortal hurt, but not so deep as to kill you outright. Without my magic, you’d bleed to death within moments, but as it is, you may live forever. Or at least, for as long as I need you.”

He spoke a Word of Power, and a blinding light crackled fiercely around the faceless man. He screamed in agony, twisting and writhing in the grip of flames that did not consume him. And then the light was suddenly gone, and he fell forward onto his blank face, twitching and moaning. Dominic prodded him with the toe of his boot. “Get up and be quiet.” The faceless man rose shakily to his feet. The wound on his chest had disappeared again. Dominic smiled. “I’ve given you another day of life, slave. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll give you another day. If you please me. Now get out of here.”

He gestured impatiently, and the air split open and swallowed up the faceless man. Dominic leaned back in his throne, and ran one hand caressingly over the smooth ridge of bone that formed his arm rest. Soon the real throne would be his, and all of Redhart. And then the land would see some changes. All the kingdom would bow down to him, to his wishes and his whims. Everyone and everything would be his, to do with as he pleased. He wasn’t quite sure yet what he wanted to do with them, but no doubt he’d think of something. And if nothing else, at least then he wouldn’t be so horribly bored all the time.

He scowled at his wall of water. He usually found the subtle changes of light soothing, but today nothing seemed able to comfort him. For as long as Dominic could remember, he’d always been bored. As a prince, he’d soon discovered that nothing was really barred to him. Every action, every sensation could be explored and experienced. But when things come without cost or effort, they quickly lose their flavor.

Dominic had tried everything in his time, to keep his frenziedly active brain occupied. He’d tried sex and politics and magic, and all of them had failed him. His mind worked frantically on, never quiet, never letting him rest, until he felt like screaming. Boredom gnawed at him like a cancer, or a hunger that could never be satisfied. To feed that hunger, to stave off the boredom that tormented him night and day to the edge of hysteria, he would sacrifice anything and anyone. All that was left to him now, his only hope, was the Stone and the power it promised him. Power over the Unreal … the endless change and novelty of the Unreal.

His bedroom door suddenly swung open, and Dominic looked around to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway. She was wearing a clinging silky nightdress and a fur wrap that between them revealed as much as they hid. Dominic nodded politely to her, and looked back at the wall of water. Elizabeth chuckled softly.

“You’ve been brooding again, haven’t you, my love? Staring into the water and getting all depressed. Come to bed, my dear, and I’ll make the darkness go away for a while.”

Dominic smiled sadly, and got up from the huge skull throne. “Do you love me, Elizabeth? Really love me?”

“Of course, Dominic.”

“That’s nice.”

There had been a time when he’d thought she might be enough to keep away the darkness. Certainly he’d never wanted anything before as much as he’d wanted her. But in the end, even she began to pall on him, and the never-ending horror of boredom crept back over him. He kept her with him anyway, because he had a use for her, and it wasn’t the use she thought. He went to her smiling, and she only thought she knew what he was smiling about.

Catriona Taggert ran down the corridor at full pelt, struggling to keep up with the guard leading the way. This was going to be a bad one, she could tell. She hadn’t been able to get much sense out of the guard when he’d come to summon her, but from his pale face and stuttering voice she knew it had to be something really nasty. It took a lot to upset a Castle Midnight guard. Taggert fought for breath as she ran, and wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t resigned long ago. She’d never planned on being steward. Her father had been the previous steward, and he’d spent years training an apprentice. Then the Dark Horse had broken loose in the North Passage. Her father had been lamed, and the apprentice died. Catriona had started out helping her father just as an excuse to keep an eye on him while his injuries healed, but somehow she became his apprentice in spite of herself. Being steward of Castle Midnight was a hard job, even at the most peaceful of times. It killed her father when he was still in his early fifties. There was a bitter irony in that. All the terrors and creatures he faced, and he finally died at the dinner table, of a heart attack. That was seven years ago, and Taggert was only now beginning to realize that her father’s early death had left her dangerously unprepared. She just wasn’t experienced enough to handle this level of emergency. But with her father gone, there was no one left for her to turn to. She had to be good enough, because there wasn’t anyone else.

Cord tried to help, bless his heart, but he wasn’t what you’d call bright. If you couldn’t hit it or stab it, he was mostly lost for an alternative. Taggert almost smiled, but then she realized the guard was leading her into the South Wing. Up until now, the worst outbreaks of the Unreal had all been in the north. If it had established a foothold in the south as well, that could mean the beginning of the end. She couldn’t fight on two fronts at once. Taggert silently cursed King Malcolm’s murderer yet again, for having dropped her in this mess. She’d been kept so busy since the king’s death that she hadn’t even been able to help hunt down the murderer. Strictly speaking, that was security’s province rather than hers, but she’d never trusted Brion DeGrange, geas or no geas. And with the king’s death, she was cut off from the Stone, which meant she had to rely on her own High Magic. Which meant she had no time for anything but the job she’d grown to hate. She ran on after the guard, her sword slapping painfully against her leg. Her breathing was growing harsh and ragged, but she was damned if she’d slow down before the guard did. She had an image to maintain. Besides, sometimes a few minutes’ difference in getting to the scene was all that stood between saving someone from the Unreal, and standing helplessly by as they died horribly.

One of these days, we’re going to have to organize a better system
, thought Taggert determinedly.
There’s got to be an easier way. Or at least one that doesn’t involve so much running. I must have lost ten pounds in the last few days …

She finally rounded a corner and stumbled to a halt as her guide leaned against the corridor wall and gasped for breath. He gestured weakly at the group of guards ahead, and Taggert started toward them. She felt a little better as she saw the captain in charge was Matthew Doyle. She’d worked with him before. He knew his job, he didn’t panic easily, and his men trusted him implicitly. He didn’t bathe often enough, but you couldn’t have everything. Doyle left his squad of worried-looking guards and stepped forward to greet her. He was a tall, wiry man in his late thirties, with a shock of dark curly hair and a perpetually thoughtful expression. His uniform was scruffy, he’d been on report for insubordination more times than any other guard in the castle, and he was resigned to never rising any higher in rank than captain. If he gave a damn about it, Taggert had never seen it. Doyle grinned at her as she walked breathlessly toward him.

“Getting out of shape, Kate. Too much good living among the swells.”

“Stick it in your ear, Doyle,” said Taggert, managing a smile of her own as her breathing slowly returned to normal. “I’ll run you into the ground any day. It’s good to see you, Matt. What’s been happening here?”

Doyle nodded at a closed door halfway down the corridor. His guards were keeping it under close observation while being very careful not to get too close to it. “That’s the problem. We’ve been trying to open that door with everything from crowbars to curses, and the damn thing won’t budge an inch. From the smell of it, something very nasty’s going on behind that door.”

Taggert nodded, and walked over to inspect the door. Doyle stayed close beside her. She stood before the door, and sniffed the air cautiously. There was a sharp, acidic smell, like game meat that had been left to spoil too long. She looked closely at the door, being careful not to touch it, and then frowned as she saw that the door’s edges had grown into its surroundings. The wood flowed seamlessly into the stonework as though they had always been one piece. She glanced at Doyle.

“All right, it’s tricky enough, I’ll grant you, but a good ax’ll open it fast enough. What’s the emergency? What’s so special about this door that I had to be called in?”

“This is Count Penhalligan’s new chambers,” said Doyle. “He and his entire family were at home when the doorway became sealed. We haven’t been able to get an answer out of any of them since.”

Oh great
, thought Taggert disgustedly.
Just what I needed. The king’s cousin, and next in line to be Regent if anything happens to Count William
.

She glared at the closed door, and fought down an urge to kick it. “I take it you’ve sent for a sanctuary, Matt?”

“Sure, but most of them are busy. Laughing Boy is dealing with the sewers, Sweet Jenny is guarding the kitchens, and Mother Donna’s still stuck in the Musician’s Gallery.”

“Right,” said Taggert. She closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this tired. When she opened her eyes again, the door was still sealed. “I think we can forget about Mother Donna. You can’t hurry a mass exorcism. How about Grey Davey?”

Doyle shrugged. “I sent word, but you know what he’s like.”

“He’s good at his job.”

“When we can find him.”

“Quite. All right, Matt, it looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way. Have your men draw their swords and then fall back in a semicircle facing the door. If anything gets past me, kill it. I don’t care what it looks like; if it gets a chance it’ll kill you, so make sure you get it first. And Matt, if that smell is what I think it is, we can forget about the Penhalligans. If they’re lucky, they died quickly. Now let’s get on with it. Stay alert, and we might manage to contain this yet.”