Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

that they shouldn't think they had him at a disadvantage. According to the Count's graceful gestures, the man to his left was Robert Argent. He was short and sturdy, and wore a merchant's clothes. His stomach bulged out on either side of a wide leather belt. His peasant's cloak hung around him in drooping folds, as though it had been meant for a much taller man. His face was broad and ruddy, with the broken-veined cheeks of the heavy drinker. His eyes were a pale blue, and strangely dull and lifeless. His hair was straw yellow, cropped close to the skull. He looked to be in his late thirties, but the empty eyes made him seem much older. He wore a sword on his hip, but from the shiny newness of the scabbard, Jordan doubted the sword had seen much use. His eyes lingered on the man for a moment, though he wasn't sure why. There was just something about Argent, something . . . cold.
    Sir Gawaine stood to Count Roderik's right, leaning casually against the wall. He was chewing on a cold leg of chicken, and not being too careful about where the grease went. Jordan's stomach rumbled loudly, and he gave the knight his best brooding scowl to compensate. Gawaine looked at him briefly, and then gave his full attention back to the chicken leg. Sir Gawaine of Tower Rouge . . . Jordan had a feeling he knew the name from somewhere, but he couldn't place it. Maybe he was a minor hero from the Demon War . . . He was tall and well muscled, and though he had to be in his late fifties, his chest and shoulders were still impressively broad. Chain-mail glinted under the peasant cloak, and Jordan caught a glimpse of a heavy-bladed handaxe at the man's side. His hair was iron grey and cut in a style that hadn't been fashionable for at least ten years. His face was lined and weathered, and when he looked at Jordan his eyes were dark and cynical. His scarred hands looked disturbingly powerful, and for all his apparent casualness he was no more at ease than Jordan. Everything about Gawaine shouted to the observant eye that this knight was a trained warrior, and experienced in his craft. Jordan decided immediately that if
    these three men turned out to be villains after all, he'd better go for Sir Gawaine first. And he'd better be bloody quick, because he wouldn't get a second chance.
    'You mentioned an acting role,' said Jordan to Count Roderik.
    'The greatest role you'll ever play,' said Roderik.
    'What's the money like?' said Jordan.
    'Ten thousand ducats,' said Robert Argent. His voice was flat and unemotional, and his cold gaze fixed unwaveringly on the actor.
    Jordan kept his face calm with an effort. Ten thousand ducats was more than he'd ever earned in a year, even at the peak of his career. And that was a long way behind him. Ten thousand ducats . . . there had to be a catch.
    'Assuming, for the sake of argument, that I'm interested in this job,' he said carefully, 'what kind of role would I be playing?'
    'Nothing too difficult,' said Roderik. 'A Prince, the middle of three sons. There's a great deal of background information you'll have to learn by heart, but an actor of your reputation shouldn't have any trouble with that. After all, you are the Great Jordan.' He paused, and frowned slightly. 'Is Jordan your real name, or would you prefer I used another, offstage?'
    The actor shrugged. 'Call me Jordan. It's a good name, and I earned it.'
    'I was most impressed with your performance this evening,' said Roderik. 'Did you write the material yourself?'
    'Of course,' said Jordan. 'A strolling player has to be able to adapt his story to suit the level of his audience. Sometimes they want wit and eloquence, sometimes they want conjuring and fireworks. It varies. Did you like my High Warlock? I created the character after extensive research, and I flatter myself I caught the essence of the man.'
    'Nothing like him,' said Sir Gawaine. His voice was harsh, with bitter undertones. He looked at the ragged chicken leg in his hand, and threw it casually away over his shoulder. Jordan's stomach rumbled again, and he glared angrily at the knight.
    'Is that so, Sir Gawaine? Perhaps you'd care to tell me what he was really like?'
    'He chased women and drank too much,' said Gawaine.
    'He was a great sorcerer!' said Jordan hotly. 'Everybody said so! He saved the Forest Kingdom from the Demon Prince! All right, there were a few rumours about him, but there are always rumours. And besides ... it makes for a better show my way.'
    Sir Gawaine shrugged, and