Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

babble of sounds that warned of the approaching madness. He and Gawaine slowed to a halt as they drew near the barricade at the West Wing's boundary. Wee Geordie and the bloodhound were already there waiting for them. There was blood on the floor by the barricade. Some of it was still drying. A guard Captain came out of a side room and stared at Jordan for a long moment before raising his hand in a salute. He looked tired and drawn, and there was blood on his uniform that didn't look to be his.
    'Captain Doyle, at your service, Sire. You shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous.'
    'We know about the Unreal,' said Jordan. 'I hear the Steward's in there with it.'
    'That's right,' said Doyle slowly. 'She just went in, a few minutes ago.'
    Jordan looked thoughtfully at Wee Geordie. At least half an hour had passed since Geordie had told him the Steward was in danger . . . Perhaps time moved differently when you were a ghost. He looked back at Doyle, and smiled reassuringly.
    'We're here to help, Captain. How many guards do you command?'
    'Four guards, two walking wounded. I've been promised reinforcements, but God knows when they'll get here.'
    Jordan scowled, and looked at Sir Gawaine. 'We can't wait. According to Geordie, Taggert needs us now.'
    'You can't be thinking of going in there, Sire,' said Doyle quickly. 'There's nothing you could do. Even your brother Dominic would be hard pressed to stand against this much Unreality.'
    'The Steward's in trouble! She needs us!'
    'Your concern does you credit, your highness, but we've already lost a Sanctuary and a dozen good men. It's death to go in there now.'
    Jordan looked at Gawaine. 'He does have a point, you know.'
    'But you promised!' Wee Geordie looked accusingly at Jordan, and he sighed heavily.
    'Yes,' he said. 'I promised. Let's go, Gawaine.'
    He climbed up and over the barricade, with Gawaine close behind him. It gave uneasily under their weight, and Jordan couldn't help wondering how long it would hold if something nasty decided to leave the West Wing. On descending the other side, he was somewhat surprised to find Wee Geordie and the
    bloodhound already waiting for him. Jordan decided he wasn't going to ask. It seemed there were definite advantages to being a ghost. A thought struck him, and he turned to Sir Gawaine as they climbed down from the barricade.
    'Can Geordie be hurt by anything in the West Wing?' he said quietly.
    'I don't see how,' said Gawaine, just as quietly. 'I mean, he is dead, after all.'
    Jordan led the way down the corridor, frowning to himself as he realised for the first time that he wasn't at all sure what he was going to do when he caught up with the Steward. After what he'd seen her do in the Great Hall, his sword and conjurer's tricks weren't going to be much help. He shrugged mentally.
    He'd just have to improvise.
    And then they came to the boundary of the Unreal, and they stopped dead in their tracks.
    The corridor had given way to a nightdark forest, lit by dancing emerald fires that burned unsupported on the air. The holes of the trees were twisted and gnarled, the whorls of bark lorming horrid faces that looked at Jordan with knowing eyes. Bugs and insects the size of Jordan's hand scuttled across the ground in their thousands, forming a heaving living carpet. A Huard wearing torn chain-mail came running through the forest, screaming and howling wordlessly. A great wind came roaring after him and tore the flesh from his bones as he ran. The man was dead before Jordan could even begin to look away.
    'And this is just the edge,' said Gawaine quietly. 'It'll get worse the further we go in. Stay close beside me.'
    He hefted the axe the High Warlock had given him so long ago, and started forward. The runes on the heavy axehead began to glow. Insects crunched loudly under Gawaine's boots, and some ran up his legs, their antennae waving furiously. Gawaine ignored them, and kicked a path through the ones swarming on the ground. Jordan drew his sword and hurried after the knight, his lips curling in disgust. He'd never liked bugs. He tried to step gingerly around the worse concentra-tions, but there were just too many of them. Wee Geordie and the bloodhound brought up the rear. Jordan didn't notice it, but the insects drew back rather than approach the young ghost and the dog.
    Gawaine swung his axe at a tree that blocked his way. The bark oozed blood, and the branches thrashed angrily. Gawaine cut it down anyway. Branches from the