Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

thankful for that. They'll praise my name soon enough when I've made Redhart strong again. What do a few bad harvests matter? If we need food, we can always take it from Hillsdown, or the Forest Kingdom. After the battering they took in the Demon Wars, they're in no shape to stand against us.'
    'They're not that weak,' said Jordan. 'They'd fight back. There would be war.'
    'Does the word frighten you, actor?' said Viktor. 'I thought you made your living from tales of the glory of war, of the heroes and their battles. Or perhaps the raw meat of war is too strong for your stomach?
    War is the true test of Kings, where they can reveal their true strength and destiny. I've had a long time to think about all this, actor. All those years in exile, while another man had my woman as his wife. All those years in a backwater of boredom and idleness. But I didn't waste my time, actor. I made plans, forged partnerships, found willing allies for a man who would be King ... I have many enemies, I know, but they won't stop me. They've stolen my woman, banished me from Court, left me to rot, tried to poison me . . .
    but I'm back now, and I'll make them pay. I'll make them all pay! No matter how many I have to kill, they'll pay for what they did to me!
    His voice had risen to a shout, but Jordan no longer listened to him. Viktor was as mad as his brothers; his years in exile had driven him over the edge. In his search for people to punish for his own pain, he would bathe the Castle corridors in blood and plunge his country into a war it couldn't win. Thousands of innocents would die. And he, the Great Jordan, would have made it all possible. Because of him a madman would be King, and all the lands would be swept with blood and fire.
    Jordan closed his eyes for a moment, and visions of death and destruction filled his sight. He couldn't allow that to happen. He rose slowly to his feet, and stood behind Viktor. The Prince didn't even know he was there. He never saw Jordan draw the knife from his boot and drive it into his back.
    Prince Viktor died quickly, and Jordan knelt beside him as the breath and the life went out of him.

Chapter 7
    Wolves in the Fold
    Jordan looked at the bloodstained knife in his hand, and automatically reached for a cloth to clean the blade. His senses suddenly cleared, and he scrambled to his feet. His fellow conspirators could be back at any minute, and if he was found standing over the dead Prince with the bloody dagger still in his hand, the best he could hope for would be a quick death. Jordan swallowed hard, and tried to think clearly.
    The first thing to do was hide the body. He slid the knife back into his boot and crouched down beside Viktor.
    The Prince's head lolled suddenly to one side as Jordan struggled to pick him up. The glazed eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly. Jordan gripped Viktor by the arms and got him half off the floor, but
    had to drop him again almost immediately. The dead weight was too heavy and too awkward to lift.
    Jordan stooped down, swearing under his breath at the time this was taking, and grabbed Viktor under the arms. He took a firm hold and then dragged the body over to the bedroom. He kicked the door open, and hauled Viktor in. He got him as far as the wardrobe, and then let him drop.
    Jordan sat down on the edge of the bed to get his breath back. He felt a little easier now that the body was no longer in open view. His gaze fell upon the wardrobe before him, tall and wide and conveniently bulky. Jordan got to his feet and opened the wardrobe door. It was packed with clothes, but there was still a lot of spare room . . . Clothes. A thought struck Jordan, and he looked quickly down at his shirtfront.
    Incriminating crimson blotches stared back at him. He must have got them while dragging Viktor's body.
    Jordan took off his cloak and vest and pulled off the offending shirt. He couldn't stand the thought of being touched by Viktor's blood. The empty glass vial fell out of his sleeve, and Jordan froze as he saw the dried Blood that still marked his arm from the Testing. He screwed his shirt into a ball, and used it to scrub at his arm. It didn't help much. He threw the shirt on to the bed and turned his back on it. He grabbed a shirt at random from the wardrobe and pulled it on, his fingers fumbling clumsily over the buttons.
    Easy, Jordan, easy. Take your time and get it right. You can't afford to look flustered.
    He pulled on his vest and cloak, looked at himself.in the