Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

was off. He was getting too old for one-night stands in backwater towns. At twenty-seven he was hardly an old man, but he just didn't have the stamina any more to put up with an endless round of poor food, hard travel and never enough sleep.
    He got to his feet, strapped the sword to his side, and walked unhurriedly over to the offerings bowl. For a moment be allowed himself to hope, but when he looked it was even worse than he'd expected. The dozen or so small copper coins barely covered the bottom of the bowl.Jordan emptied the coins into his purse, and glumly hefted the trifling weight in his hand. Bannerwick was only a small milltown deep in the desolate north country, but he'd still looked for better takings than this. If things didn't improve soon, he'd have to go back to card sharking and picking pockets to make ends meet. He hadn't seen takings this bad since he first started out on the stage as a juvenile. Maybe he was losing his touch. Or maybe his material was getting old; the Demon War had ended seven years ago.Jordanshook his head, and tied his purse securely on to his belt. It wasn't him and it wasn't his act; if truth be told it was simply that times were hard in theKingdomofRedhart. Money was scarce, and strolling players had become a luxury beyond the purses of most.
    It wasn't just Redhart, of course.Jordanhad spent most of his professional life in Hillsdown. He'd known good times there. Not once had he thought he might one day be forced by poor takings to leave the country of his birth. He'd appeared three times before the Duke himself, and known the company of great men and their Ladies. They'd been the first to name him the Great Jordan. He'd travelled widely, even to the Court of theForestKingdomitself, though that was some time before the Demon War. He hadn't been back since. The demons had been defeated, but not nearly as simply and easily as he made it sound in his performance as the High Warlock. The War had devastated theForest and much of the countries that bordered it. The land was slowly recovering, but there were those who said it would take a generation and more before trade fully recovered. In the meantime, Hillsdown and Redhart and theForestKingdomstruggled to keep their heads above water, and had little time or money to spare for the great players who once touched the hearts of all who heard them.
    Jordanfrowned as he tried to work out if he had enough money to buy provisions and to get drunk, and if not, which of the two was the more important. The mental arithmetic took a depressingly short time, and he scowled unhappily. It would have to be provisions. Bannerwick stood alone and isolated in the middle of Redhart's moorland, and it was a good two or three days' travelling to
    the next town. He could always pick up a few grouse along the way, but the local Margrave's men took a very dim view of poaching. When all was said and done, it might prove rather tricky trying to do his act with only the one hand . . . No, it would have to be the provisions.Jordanlooked about him at the squat little houses clustered around the narrow main street of Bannerwick. How had he come to this?
    The stone and timber houses huddled side by side as much for comfort as support. The rough and dirty walls were all much the same to look at, like so many defeated faces. Smoke curled wearily from the narrow chimneypots, and the bitter wind tugged at the tiled roofs as it came gusting in off the moors. The last light of evening was already fading away, and the main street was deserted. Country people awoke with the first light, worked while it lasted, and went to their beds when darkness fell. It was onlyJordan's show that had kept them up this late. He supposed he should be flattered. They hadn't been a bad audience, all told. They'd laughed and cheered in the right places, and even gasped in awe as his conjuring produced the illusion of magic powers.Jordansmiled slightly. He'd always believed in giving value for money. Of course there had been a time, and not that long ago, when he'd been able to include real sorcery in his act, but that time was past. Hiring sorcerers was always expensive, and of the few spells that remained toJordan, most were slowly wearing out.
    Still, there was no denying he'd been in excellent form tonight. The times might be hard, but he was still the Great Jordan, and the High Warlock was one of his best roles. He'd always prided himself on his choice of roles. He'd played all the