Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

untrustworthy, of course; he has no real reason not to be. I've no doubt he'd betray us in a moment if anyone put any pressure on him. But he seems competent enough. Have you left him alone at Court?'
    'Of course not. Gawaine's with him.'
    'That should help to keep him safe from assassins, but if the actor's to deal successfully with the courtiers, he's going to need some more subtle help. Perhaps the Lady Heather . . .'
    'Good idea. I'll go and see her now. What would I do without you, Brion?'
    Roderik smiled at him pleasantly, and turned to leave. DeGrange sat very still. Blood dripped slowly from his clenched fists. The door had just started to close behind Roderik when DeGrange surged to his feet and snatched for the sword at his side. The pain hit him before his hand could even close around the hilt, and he collapsed back on to his chair, moaning and clutching at his head. He glared dully at the closed door as the pain died slowly away. Roderik hadn't even noticed. DeGrange sat slumped in his chair, and his agonised breathing slowly settled.
    One day, he promised himself. One day . . .
    Jordan was getting impatient. He'd been waiting in the Great Hall for almost half an hour, and there was still no sign of the Regent, or Lewis or Dominic. The Court was buzzing with conversation, but he didn't dare join in. He didn't know enough yet to be sure of not saying the wrong thing. Gawaine stood at his side, calm and unmoving. Jordan had noticed that everyone else at Court tended to give Gawaine plenty of room. He didn't seem to be much liked at Court, but he was certainly respected. There was a stir among the nearby courtiers, and Jordan looked round in time to see Prince Lewis's entrance.
    His men came in first: a dozen guards in full chain-mail, with drawn swords. They all had the hard, untrusting faces and professional wariness of the trained bodyguard. They took their time assuring themselves there was nothing immediately threatening in the Great Hall, and then they fell back to either side of the doors, and Lewis walked in. He wore his usual brown and green, but a quiet murmur swept through the Court as they saw the chain-mail vest he was also wearing. For a Prince to wear armour at Court was an open insult to the Regent. Lewis was saying very clearly that he no longer trusted the Regent to protect his life or his interests at Court. The courtiers bowed and curtsied, and Lewis acknowledged them with a vague wave of his hand. The guards watched the courtiers carefully. Jordan studied Lewis as openly as he could without staring. He'd been told about Lewis till he could have recited the man's life history in his sleep, but Jordan was a great believer in first impressions. Lewis looked normal enough, even handsome in his way, but there was a strained, intense look to the man that grated subtly on Jordan's nerves. It was as though Lewis was on a tight leash that he might slip at any moment, and run loose, out of all
    control. Jordan also didn't like the sleek musculature of Lewis's chest and arms, that spoke of the trained swordsman, or the way Lewis's eyes lingered on some of the fairer Ladies at Court.
    Jordan turned his attention to the two companions that had followed Lewis into the Hall, Ironheart and the Monk. Ironheart was a tall knight in full battle armour, a strange enough sight at Court, but if he was strange the Monk was downright unnerving. Just looking at the Monk, Jordan felt a cold shiver run through him, as though someone had just walked over his grave. There was something almost arrogant in the impenetrable darkness that filled the Monk's cowl, in the blatant admission of his own supernatural nature. Jordan wasn't sure whether there really was a body inside the robe or not. The arms were folded across the chest so that the cuffs were hidden, and the end of the Monk's robe brushed against the floor.
    It could be nothing more than a simple illusion . . . the Monk was, after all, supposed to be a sorcerer.
    Jordan remembered the sudden thunderstorm at Barrowmeer, and Bloody Bones rising from his grave. If the Monk had been behind that, he could be more dangerous than Lewis and Dominic put together.
    Jordan looked hard at the Monk. There was something . . . wrong about him. And then Jordan swallowed dryly as he finally saw that the Monk, of all the people at Court, didn't cast a shadow.
    Jordan decided he'd rather look at Ironheart for a while. The knight stood motionless, a step behind Lewis, wearing full