Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

more than I can say. But no, I wasn't just thinking about him. More and more I keep wondering if I'm doing the right thing. The Rite of Transference is a hell of a gamble, and it could all so easily go wrong. We could end up
    with a real villain for a King. And the alternatives may not be as bad as we thought. My little talk with Viktor went a lot better than I anticipated. Exile's changed him a lot, and all for the better. Maybe I was wrong to meddle in the succession after all.'
    'Now stop that,' said Gabrielle quickly. 'You and I spent months weighing up the pros and cons of what we might have to do when father died. This is the only way to save Redhart, and you know it. They're my family, William, and I know them far better than you ever could. None of my brothers is fit to be King, least of all Viktor. Oh, he's mellowed a lot, I'll grant you that, but if anything he's weaker and more indecisive now than he ever was. They're my father's sons, all three of them — worthless to the bone.'
    'Now, Gabrielle, that's not true. Your father and I had our disagreements, but there was still much in the man that I admired.'
    'He was a fool,' said Gabrielle flatly. 'He wasted his life on endless battles for a few extra miles of land.
    All he ever really cared for was bloodshed and slaughter. Never had any time for his family. My mother worshipped him, and she was lucky if she saw him one day in ten. And his children hardly saw him at all.
    If he'd spent more time with his sons, they might not have turned out the way they did.'
    'He can't have been all bad,' said William, smiling. 'He managed to produce you, didn't he?'
    'Don't change the subject. Redhart needs a strong King, a King it can rely on, and the simple truth is that none of Malcolm's sons are fit to rule. Were any of them to become King, Redhart would face utter devastation. You can change that. History will remember you as the man who put an end to the nightmare. I know it's been hard for you, my love, but it's nearly over now. Just hang on a little longer. I know how close you and Richard were, how much he meant to you, but you're not alone. You still have me.'
    'Yes,' said William, smiling gently. 'I still have you.'
    Grey Davey glared down the wide corridor that led into the West Wing. Oil lamps and flaring torches burned at regular intervals along the walls, but halfway down the corridor the light faded away into an impenetrable darkness. The tense air was hot and moist, like a midsummer night before a thunderstorm.
    It smelt vaguely of urine and burning cloth. There was something unsettling about the darkness that filled the corridor. The longer Davey looked at it, the more he began to feel dizzy and light-headed. It felt almost like vertigo, as though he was looking down from the top of a tall tower. He deliberately looked away for a moment, and the feeling began to fade. Davey glanced at the guard Captain beside him, who
    nodded understandingly.
    Captain Timothy Blood was a man of average height in his early forties, with short dark hair and unremarkable features. Put him in a crowd, and you could walk right past him without noticing. Which was why he'd spent most of his early career as a spy. He'd been very good at it. He worked mostly in Hillsdown and the Forest Kingdom, and they never even knew he'd been there, until they discovered something secret had gone missing. And by then he was always long gone. But eventually the life began to pall on him, as his need for thrills and excitement gave way to a deeper need to be able to trust someone. Anyone. His years in service had earned him a Captain's rank in the guards, and he took it with never a single regretful thought. It wasn't a bad life in the guards, all told. Or at least it hadn't been, until King Malcolm's death. Now he was kept busy from dawn to dusk trying to keep the Prince's troops from each other's throats, and the Unreal seemed to be breaking through everywhere at once.
    Blood stirred uneasily. None of the hard lessons he'd learnt playing the ancient game of danger and deceit was any use when it came to facing the Unreal. He tapped the flat of his sword against his leg, and wished he'd brought along something heavier as well, like a mace or a morningstar. He smiled slightly.
    Why not wish for a suit of armour while he was at it? The Unreal might be somewhat disturbing, but it was just a part of his job, and he'd deal with it in the same way he dealt with all the other problems his job