Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

a barbed tentacle shot out of nowhere and scored a jagged red line across his shoulders. He gasped at the sudden pain and almost dropped his sword, but Gawaine was close behind him, urging him on, and a moment later they were both crouching beside the empty throne. Unreal life boiled all around the dais, but none of it dared draw near the Stone that lay beneath the throne. Jordan waited a few moments to get some of his breath back, and then pulled at the throne's arm. It didn't budge in the least. He looked at
    Sir Gawaine.
    'All right, Gawaine, how do we get to the Stone?'
    'Just say the words, your highness. The old words, handed down by tradition. Then the throne gives up the Stone, which rolls forward . . .'
    'I know all that, Gawaine, but what exactly are the damned words?'
    Sir Gawaine looked at him blankly, and then shook his head in disgust. 'I'm sorry, Viktor. Of course you don't know the words. The King would have told the Regent, but it was up to him to pass them on to whoever was designated as heir. Stand back, Viktor. I'll get you the Stone.'
    He thrust the head of his axe beneath one side of the throne and heaved upwards, using the axe's haft as a lever. The throne groaned and shifted, but didn't lift an inch. Gawaine put his back into it. Muscles corded on his arms and back, and he grinned mirthlessly as his face grew taut and strained. The axehead glowed brightly, its magic negating the spells that protected the throne. The Unreal began to press slowly closer. And then the throne suddenly heaved up and fell over on its side, revealing the ancient Stone. Sir Gawaine stood panting beside it, his eyes half closed with exhaustion.
    'Well done, Gawaine,' said Jordan. 'Now what do I do?'
    'Spill your Blood on the Stone, and swear allegiance to it as King. Then the Stone will accept you, and give you power over the Unreal.'
    Jordan looked at him blankly.'Oh my God,' he said softly.
    'What is it?' said Gawaine. 'What's the matter?'
    'I thought I just had to say the right words, once I had the crown and seal ... I never thought . . .'
    'What is it, Viktor? We don't have much time!'
    'I can't do it, Gawaine!'
    'What do you mean, you can't? You've got to!'
    'I mean I can't do it! I don't have any Blood!I'm Jordan, not Viktor.'
    Gawaine looked at him, and a slow horror crept across his face. 'You fool. You've damned us all.'
    Jordan looked back across the Hall. Taggert had fallen to the floor. Cord stood over her, and fought to keep the Unreal at bay with his war hammer. Roderik had been backed up against a wall, and was fighting a dogged but losing battle against a crowd of howling, shrieking creatures. Of the fifty or so guards who had followed Jordan into the Hall, barely a dozen remained, battling bravely in small clumps against overwhelming odds. The Unreal was growing stronger. More creatures crawled up out of the cracks in the floor, or stepped through the walls or fell from the ceiling. The light pulsing within the Monk's open robe was blindingly bright, and the power of the Unreal thundered on the air in a never-ending roar. Jordan swayed unsteadily on his feet, and shook his head to clear it. There had to be something he could do. There had to be something . . .
    Gawaine grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him round to face him. 'Why did you do it, Jordan? Why did you kill him? Did you want to be King so badly, you were ready to risk destroying us all?'
    'It wasn't like that,' said Jordan wretchedly. 'I never meant ... He was mad, just like his brothers. I thought I could save the Kingdom . . . He was crazy, Gawaine! He was going to start a war that would have destroyed Redhart!'
    'He had the Blood,' said Sir Gawaine. 'And without that, we're all going to die anyway.'
    He turned away, his face a mask of despair. Jordan felt sick. Was Gawaine right? Had he really killed Viktor only because he wanted to be King himself? It didn't matter. It was too late now for doubts and recriminations. He'd given it his best shot, and it hadn't been good enough. He'd failed his friends, and failed the Kingdom. He looked slowly around him. A dozen creatures swarmed over Damon Cord and pulled him down. He went down roaring and kicking, still trying to swing his hammer. Two of the creatures tore it out of his weakening grip, and threw it away, out of reach. Somehow Cord surged to his feet again, flailing about him with his fists. He was covered in blood, much of it his own. The Unreal milled around him, clawing and