Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

I'll just say one more thing, and then I'll leave. Your time in exile seems to have mellowed you somewhat. I'm glad to see it. But as Regent for the Kingdom, I can't stand by and allow civil war to break out in Redhart. I will do everything in my power to support whoever eventually produces the crown and seal. And if that means having to order your brothers' deaths, or yours, I'll do it.
    For the sake of the Kingdom, Viktor, don't stand against me.'
    He turned suddenly and left, pulling the door quietly shut behind him. Jordan heaved a long sigh of relief.
    He'd been getting in over his head, and he knew it. He was in no position to commit Prince Viktor to anything. He'd better talk to his advisors quickly, and let them decide what to do about the Regent's warnings. He felt better almost immediately, now that he'd shifted the burden on to somebody else. He started for the door, and then stopped suddenly. He couldn't go running to Count Roderik in the middle of the night; he was a Prince. It would look very strange, not to mention suspicious. He'd be better off sending one of the guards with a message. Jordan froze suddenly as from behind him came a low, animal growl. He spun round, and saw that the bloodhound was back, and staring fixedly at an empty corner of the room. The dog stood stiff-legged, its head stretched out towards the corner, and growled ferociously.
    Jordan's hackles rose, and a cold hand clutched at his heart. He couldn't see anything in the corner, but when he was a child his grandmother had told him that dogs could often see ghosts where people couldn't. And Castle Midnight was supposed to be full of ghosts . . .
    'Easy, boy,' he said quietly to the dog. 'What is it? What can you see?'
    The air before him rippled and grew hazy, and the Monk appeared in the corner. The dog backed quickly away, growling and showing its teeth. Jordan's hand dropped to the sword at his side. He wasn't sure if there was anything inside the Monk's robe that he could hit with a sword, but if the Monk came any closer, he was going to have a damned good try at finding out. He glared at the darkness inside the
    Monk's cowl.
    'I don't recall inviting you in.'
    'Doors and walls are no barrier to me,' said the Monk in his quiet, dusty voice. 'I bring greetings from your brother Lewis, and a message.'
    'All right,' said Jordan. 'Give me the message, and then get out.'
    'You waste your breath in threatening me,' said the Monk. 'You have no authority here, actor.'
    Jordan's heart stumbled in mid beat, and for a moment he thought he was going to faint. The moment passed, but he could feel his legs trembling uncontrollably. He felt as though he'd suddenly dried in the middle of a big speech, and forgotten all his words. 'What do you mean, actor?' he said finally, and took a certain amount of pride in the calm evenness of his voice.
    'There are no secrets from me in Castle Midnight,' said the Monk. 'You have Viktor's face and body, but that's all. I've seen the real Prince asleep in another room.'
    'You said you had a message,' said Jordan, deliberately not replying to the Monk's accusation. 'Get on with it, messenger.'
    The long grey robe seemed to stir briefly, and Jordan wondered if he was pushing his luck. This was one of the most powerful sorcerers in Castle Midnight, and all he had were the flare pellets up his sleeve and a few spare smoke bombs. Jordan tried hard to think which door was the nearest, in case he needed to make a sudden exit. The Monk's robe grew still again, and Jordan relaxed a little. He still kept his hand near his sword, though.
    'I bear this message from your brother Lewis,' said the Monk softly. 'It's time to choose sides. Those who are not with Lewis are against him. Those who will not kneel to him are his enemies. Lewis will be King of Redhart, and any who dare stand between him and the throne will die.'
    Jordan waited patiently a while, and then raised an eyebrow. 'Is that it? Lewis must be getting desperate.
    Tell him he can take his threats and stuff them where the sun don't shine. And if you ever enter my rooms uninvited again, I'll burn that mangy-looking robe of yours to ashes and then piss on the ashes. Now on your way, or I'll set my dog on you.'
    He turned his back on the Monk, and ostentatiously studied his appearance in a nearby mirror. There was a deafening silence behind him. His back crawled, and then the Monk laughed. There was no humour in the sound, only an awful patient hatred. Jordan