Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

might be a hell of a lot more of them . . . He stepped forward to confront Roderik, and fixed him with an icy glare.
    'When I took on this impersonation, nothing was said about having to face bands of armed mercenaries.
    I'm an actor, a strolling player. I've damn-all skill with a sword, and no real interest in acquiring any. If I'd wanted a life of danger and excitement, I'd have joined the tax collectors. In short, either you give me one hell of a good reason to stay, or I'm for the nearest horizon and you can find some other halfwit to play Prince Viktor.'
    Roderik nodded slowly. 'I see. And what would you consider a good reason to stay?'
    Got him, thought Jordan gleefully. All I have to do is name a price they can't possibly meet, and I'm free!
    'Fifty thousand ducats,' he said flatly. 'Take it or leave it.'
    'Very well,' said Count Roderik. 'Fifty thousand ducats it is.'
    Jordan swallowed dryly. 'That's a good reason to stay,' he said finally.
    'There's really no need to worry,' said Roderik, as Gawaine came back with the horses. 'A week from now we'll be back at Castle Midnight. Our people can protect you there.'
    'A lot can happen in a week,' said Jordan darkly. He thought for a moment. 'What's Castle Midnight like? Will I be safe there?'
    'Depends what you mean by safe,' said Gawaine. 'Castle Midnight isn't exactly your average castle.'
    'How do you mean?' said Jordan.
    'You must have heard some of the stories,' said Roderik.
    'Well, yes,' said Jordan. 'But they're just stories. Aren't they?'
    'Are you going to tell him,' said Gawaine, 'or shall I?'
    'Castle Midnight is very old,' said Argent, 'and a place of power. Within its walls, what is Real and
    Unreal is sometimes largely a matter of opinion.'
    'Great,' said Jordan, shaking his head. 'Just what this job needed. More complications.'

Chapter 2
    Bloody Bones
    Castle Midnight stands alone, a lowering, brooding hulk of black basalt, set atop Brimstone Hill. The Castle is unspeakably old, but its walls are still as thick and sturdy as they ever were. No ivy clings to the smooth stones, and all the many years have left no trace on the grim walls to mark their passing. The tall dark towers look out over the surrounding land through narrow, watchful embrasures, sometimes lit with strangely coloured fires. The Castle did not always belong to the Kings of Redhart; they took it by force of arms and sorcery some seven hundred years ago. But it is theirs now, and they gave it the name by which it has been known and feared for centuries: Castle Midnight.
    Within the towering black walls, the Real and the Unreal exist side by side, drawing strength from each other. Midnight is, after all, the hour that divides day from night, light from dark, the waking from the sleeping. It is that fleeting moment when the reality of what is and the possibility of what may be lie in balance . . . and sometimes in harmony. Those who rule in Castle Midnight draw their power from the juxtaposition of Real and Unreal, but all who live there know the balance is at best precarious, and easily disturbed. And should things ever get out of control, one way or the other, there is no power in or out of this world that could put things back together again.
    Castle Midnight stands alone, unique and awful, ominous and powerful. Its shadow falls across all of Redhart. It has seen wonders and terrors beyond counting in its time, and known the passing of Kings. King Malcolm is four weeks dead, and the throne stands empty. Within the black walls the Unreal stirs, and grows strong.
    The Monk stood motionless before Prince Lewis, his cowled head bowed as though in thought. His long flowing robe was the pale grey of dirty cobwebs. Its hem brushed against the floor, and the billowing sleeves were linked together in front of him. Prince Lewis studied the bowed head warily. It wasn't natural for anyone to stand that still for so long. He wondered if he ought to say something, but decided against it. The Monk didn't like to be disturbed when he was working. Lewis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and scowled uncertainly. The Monk was his most powerful ally, and his only real hope against Dominic's sorcery, but Lewis wasn't blind to the risks involved in such an alliance. For some hidden reason of his own, the Monk followed Lewis's requests as though they were orders, but the Prince knew beyond any shadow of doubt that all his secular power and elemental magic wouldn't be enough to save him if