Jordan swayed on his feet, and Sir Gawaine was quickly there at his side. Jordan clung to the knight’s arm as his head slowly cleared, and his harsh breathing gradually returned to normal. He finally straightened up, and let go of Gawaine’s arm. He gave Gawaine a quick, grateful nod, and then stared in something like horror at his hands. He lifted them up before his face and looked at them, turning them back and forth before him. They weren’t his hands. The length, shape, and shade were wrong. But the fingers flexed obediently at his command, and he could feel the cool of the evening moving over them. He lowered his hands and looked down at his body. His clothes no longer fit him. He was taller now, and his arms and legs were longer. His shirt was tightly stretched across his new chest and shoulders, and his belt hung loosely about his flatter stomach. Jordan felt a brief surge of vertigo as his mind refused to accept the new body it found itself in, and then the feeling died away as he brought it under control. Jordan was used to being different people at different times. He was an actor. He looked at Count Roderik, who bowed formally.
“Your Highness. Would you like to see a mirror?”
Jordan nodded dumbly. Argent produced a small hand mirror from a pocket in his cloak, and handed it to Jordan.
The face in the glass was traditionally handsome, in a dark, saturnine way. The jet black hair was thick and wavy, and showed off the firm bony planes of the face. The eyes were a surprisingly mild brown, but the mouth was flat and uncompromising. Someone had broken the nose a long time ago, and it hadn’t been set quite right. The owner of the face looked to be in his midtwenties, but there was something about the eyes and mouth that made him look older.
Yes …
thought Jordan finally. I
can do something with this face. This … Prince Viktor
.
He handed the mirror back to Argent, who replaced it carefully in his pocket. Jordan scowled at Count Roderik, and let his new right hand drop to the sword at his side.
“When you said a glamour spell, Roderik, I thought you meant some kind of illusion.” The new voice sounded a little deeper than he was used to, but not enough to throw him.
Roderik smiled at Jordan, and shook his head. “Illusions are too easily seen through—especially at Castle Midnight. This spell is fixed, until such time as it is specifically reversed. Physically, you are now an exact duplicate of Prince Viktor of Redhart.”
Jordan looked at Argent and Sir Gawaine. “Well, what do you think? Will I pass?”
Argent nodded stiffly. “No one will be able to tell the difference. You even sound like him.”
“The voice is right,” said Sir Gawaine, “but you’ll have to learn Viktor’s way of speaking. The prince has been away from court for almost four years, and we can use that to explain away some differences in behavior, but you’ll have to study his background every chance you get. You screw up on this, and we’re all dead.”
Jordan looked quickly at Roderik. “I thought you said we had Prince Viktor’s permission for this little masquerade?”
“We do,” said Roderik. He shot an angry glance at Gawaine. The knight ignored him. Roderik looked seriously at Jordan, and the actor tensed up inside. He knew that look. It was that particular mixture of sincerity and hesitation that meant he was about to be told something necessary but unpleasant.
“The situation at Castle Midnight is rather complicated at present,” said Roderik. “King Malcolm died four weeks ago, some say by poison. His daughter, the Lady Gabrielle, found him dead in his chambers. It’s not clear yet which of his three sons will succeed him, so it’s vital that no one finds out that Viktor is ill, and … vulnerable. Once he’s well again, he’ll take over the necessary rituals and public appearances, but until then you’ll take his place. It’s really quite straightforward. However, should you be exposed as an impostor at any time, Viktor’s brothers will undoubtedly have you killed. Princes tend to be very sensitive about the use of doubles.”
“I can imagine,” said Jordan. “Look, are you sure you can get me away safely afterward?”
“We’ll take care of everything,” said Roderik reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry about anything but your performance.”
Jordan nodded slowly. “So, King Malcolm is dead. All those campaigns he led, all those battles he fought in, and he finally dies in his own castle, poisoned. A dirty way to die. How long before the news gets out?”
“So far, the Regent’s been able to keep a lid on things,” said Roderik. “No one outside the castle knows anything yet. It has to be that way. If the news gets out before the succession is decided, there’ll be panic in the land. There might even be civil war, and none of us wants that.”
“If Malcolm was poisoned,” said Jordan slowly, “who did it?”
“There are several suspects,” said Argent. “Not least Viktor’s two brothers, Lewis and Dominic. But there’s no proof against anyone, so far.”
“I doubt there’ll ever be any real proof,” said Gawaine. “It was a very professional job. The autopsy couldn’t find a trace of poison.”
Jordan frowned. He was getting too much information at once to be able to make sense of it. He decided to concentrate on the only details that mattered: those directly affecting the prince he had to play. He sighed silently. He hated politics, and Court politics in particular. Intrigues made his head hurt. He supposed he just didn’t think deviously enough. He thought hard about what he’d been told so far, and a question occurred to him.
“Gawaine, you said Prince Viktor had been away from Court for four years. Where’s he been all that time?”
“The king sent him into internal exile,” said Roderik, before Gawaine could answer. “A minor border city, called Kahalimar. Like his brothers, Viktor was never known for his self-control, and eventually he went a little too far. It was thought a few years in the back lands might help to cool his blood.”
“I see,” said Jordan. “So I’m playing a villain, am I?”
“Viktor’s not that bad,” said Gawaine quickly. “He’s headstrong, and too easily led for his own good, but at heart he’s a true prince. I’ve sworn to defend him with my life.”
Jordan made a mental note to talk to Roderik and Gawaine separately; their views on Viktor seemed to differ quite a bit, and that might be important. A new thought struck him, and he gave Roderik a hard look.
“You still haven’t said why you chose me for this job. All right, I’m an excellent actor, one of the best, but there are others almost as good as me. And most of them are much better known these days than I am.”
“That was part of the problem,” said Roderik. “If one of your more illustrious colleagues were to suddenly disappear, it would be bound to be noticed. Questions would be asked. However, in your case … well—you understand, I’m sure. And there was one other reason why we particularly wanted you.”
“Oh yes?” said Jordan. “And what might that be?”
“You’re a conjurer, as well as an actor.”
Jordan looked at him blankly for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Of course, the royal Blood …”
The kings of Redhart were magic users, and had been for generations. Every member of the royal line inherited the ability to manipulate one of the four elements: earth, air, fire, and water. The spreading Bloodlines were jealously guarded and nurtured down the centuries, as it was discovered that the purer the Blood, the more powerful would be the resulting magic. For a while, the royal line became dangerously interbred, producing monsters and mules more often than normal children. These days there were strict laws and traditions to protect the magic-carrying Bloodlines, and the elemental powers only remained truly powerful in the carefully monitored royal line.
“Prince Viktor has the fire magic,” said Roderik. “Whoever was to take his place had to be able to counterfeit this magic convincingly. You’re a conjurer, Jordan; a few flames on demand shouldn’t prove too difficult for you.”
Jordan frowned unhappily. “They’ll see through it. They’re bound to. My tricks are good, but they’re still only tricks and illusions.”
Roderik smiled, and shook his head reassuringly. “No one will suspect anything. They’ll see only what they expect to see.”
Jordan looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this, so I suppose you must know what you’re doing.”
“Then may I suggest, Your Highness, that we get a bloody move on,” said Sir Gawaine. “We’re pressed for time.”
Jordan nodded, and went to get his horse. Roderik sent Sir Gawaine with him, just to keep him company. They walked in silence. Jordan didn’t know what to say to the knight, and Gawaine seemed content to leave it that way. They walked quickly through the darkening evening, their steps echoing dully back from the stone walls on either side of them. The houses were silent, and no lights showed past the closed shutters, but Jordan had no doubt he and Gawaine were still being watched. People in small towns didn’t miss much, if they could help it. Jordan sneaked a few sidelong glances at Gawaine. He wasn’t sure yet what to make of the knight. The man was obviously competent, not to mention dangerous, but there was a bitter, brooding quality to Sir Gawaine that intrigued Jordan. If he was going to get answers from anybody in the conspiracy about what was really going on, Gawaine looked to be the best bet. It might pay to cultivate the knight …
Jordan found his horse still waiting patiently beside the parked caravan at the edge of the town. He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even hobble his horse these days; he didn’t have to. Smokey was well trained, and too lazy to go anywhere she didn’t absolutely have to. There was a time Jordan had worried someone might steal her, but of late the ominous runes and curses he’d painted on the sides of his caravan kept everyone at a respectable distance. After the Demon War, even footpads and outlaws had discovered a new respect for the supernatural. Jordan looked proudly at the runes he’d painted. He hadn’t a clue what they meant, but they looked great. He glanced at Gawaine, who was studying the grazing horse. His gaze suggested that he was used to companions who rode a better class of animal. Jordan had to agree that Smokey wasn’t exactly pedigree stock. She was mostly brown, with white patches, and reputedly even older than she looked. On a bad day, it was all she could do to break into a canter. But she pulled the heavy caravan for hours on end without complaint, once he got her moving, and she accepted resignedly the occasional hungry days that were a part of every strolling player’s life. Though having Smokey around meant he could keep the strolling part to a minimum. He reached into his pocket and brought out the half carrot he’d saved from his last meal. Smokey picked it daintily off his palm and crunched it up while staring vacantly into the distance.
Ungrateful animal
, thought Jordan, but smiled anyway. He and Smokey were used to each other’s little ways. He made to harness her up to the caravan, but Gawaine stopped him with a raised hand.
“You needn’t bother with the caravan. You won’t be needing it.”
“What do you mean, I won’t need it? How else am I supposed to carry all my stuff? There’s my stage, the costumes, the props …”
“We’ll supply everything you need to be Prince Viktor. Everything else gets left here. No arguments, Jordan. We know what we’re doing. You can’t afford to be found with anything that might give away who you really are.”
Jordan scowled unhappily. “What about Smokey? I won’t leave her behind. She’s a good horse, in her way.”
Gawaine looked at the horse, sniffed, and then looked away again. “We can always say your usual mount went lame. Now then, if you’ll look in the back of your caravan, you’ll find a parcel containing a set of Prince Viktor’s clothes. Get changed, and don’t take too long about it. I want to put a few miles between us and this town while there’s still some light left.”
Jordan looked at him for a long moment. “You put these clothes in my caravan before you’d even talked to me? You must have been pretty damned confident I’d agree to this.”
“Roderik wanted you,” said Gawaine. “And he usually gets what he wants.”
Jordan had several quick answers to that one, but decided it might be politic to keep them to himself for the time being. He started to unlace the back flaps of his caravan, and glanced irritably at Gawaine. “You don’t need to hang around, you know. I’m quite capable of getting dressed on my own.”
“Think of me as your bodyguard,” said Gawaine. “Anyone who wants to kill you has to get past me first.”
“A gray-haired bodyguard,” said Jordan. “Just what I always wanted. You’re not fooling anyone, Gawaine. You’re just here to make sure I don’t change my mind and run out on you. Right?”
“Of course,” said Gawaine calmly. “We can’t have you running around the countryside wearing Prince Viktor’s face, can we? That could prove very unfortunate.”
“Yeah, your little conspiracy would sink without a trace, wouldn’t it?”
Gawaine grinned and shook his head. “I was thinking more of how unfortunate it would be for you, Jordan. Because if you were dumb enough to run out on us, I’d track you down and kill you. Don’t let the gray hair fool you, lad. I may not be as fast as I once was, but I’m twice as mean when I’m annoyed. And don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re irreplaceable. We can always find another actor, if we have to.”
“Not like me,” said Jordan flatly. “I’m the best.” Gawaine glanced briefly at the small shabby caravan, with its peeling paint and mismatched wheels. “Sure you are, Jordan. You’ve just come down in the world, like me. Now hurry up and get changed, and forget any ideas about running. I’ve sworn to protect Viktor from any and all dangers, and that includes small-time actors with delusions of grandeur.”
Jordan’s hand dropped to the sword at his side, but before his fingers could even touch the hilt, Gawaine had drawn his ax and stepped forward to set its edge against the actor’s throat. Jordan started to back away, and the ax followed him. Its edge cut a little deeper, and Jordan stood very still and fought down an urge to swallow. He breathed very shallowly, and felt a thin trickle of blood run down his throat.
“Understand me, actor,” said Gawaine softly. “I swore an oath upon my life and upon my honor to protect Prince Viktor. I stood at his side when his father banished him, and I followed him into internal exile for four long years. If I even think you’re going to be a problem, I’ll cut you into pieces. Remember that, actor.”