Blue Moon Rising Read online

  Blays shook his head slowly as Guillam awkwardly made his knife disappear. Not for the first time, Blays wondered how he’d come to this: plotting treason against his King with a berserker and a pervert. It was all John’s fault, for being a weak King, If he’d been stronger, more capable, done what was so obviously needed, none of this would have been necessary. You should never have gone after the Curtana, John. Anything else, and we might still have struck a deal, but once you’d opened the Armoury there was nothing more I could do for you. Harald would do better. He understood the realities of power. A strong King on the Forest throne, working with the Barons, not against them, that was what was needed. And then the Darkwood would be driven back, the demons destroyed, and everything would be the way it used to be. Everything.

  Damn you, John! Damn you for making me a traitor!

  Cecelia glided confidently through the loudly chattering crowd, making bright conversation with people she couldn’t stand, and smiling till her jaws ached. The air was growing dull and stuffy despite the Hall’s many air vents, and the constant roar of massed voices grated on Cecelia’s nerves till she thought she’d scream. Finally she decided enough was enough, and taking Gregory firmly by the arm, she forcibly led him off to the punch bowl, in search of a little peace and a very large drink.

  “How many more do we have to talk to?” she demanded, gulping thirstily at her punch.

  “As many as it takes,” said Gregory calmly. “We can’t afford to let anyone leave who isn’t a hundred per cent convinced that it’s in his best interests to side with us.”

  Cecelia emptied her glass and held it out to be refilled. “You know, Gregory, I can remember when I could dance and sing and drink all through the evening and on into the early hours of the morning, sleep for four hours, and still wake up bright-eyed and cheerful, ready to do it all again. Look at me now, I’ve only been here a few hours and already I’m out on my feet. I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Nonsense,” said Gregory gallantly.

  “I am,” Cecelia insisted mournfully. “I’m forty-one, I’ve got a double chin, and my tits are sagging.”

  “Rubbish,” said Gregory firmly. “You’re as young and lovely now as you’ve always been. I should know.”

  Cecelia smiled, and leaned tiredly against the young guardsman’s chest. “Dear Gregory, you say the nicest things. I suppose that’s why I keep you around.”

  “Not the only reason, surely.”

  Cecelia chuckled earthily, and pushed herself away from him. “Later, dear, later. We have work to do.” And then she hesitated, and looked at him thoughtfully. “Gregory …”

  “My Lady?”

  “Why do you stay with me? You know I’ll never divorce Darius.”

  “Yes,” said Gregory. “I know.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Perhaps. What difference does it make, as long as we’re having a good time together? Worry about tomorrow when it comes. For now we have each other, and I’ve never been happier. Never.”

  Cecelia reached up, and taking his ears in her tiny hands, she pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him tenderly. “Thank you, my dear,” she said quietly, and then let him go. “Now do me a favour and go and talk to those ghastly people for a while. I’m going to sit here and have a headache until I get my stamina back.”

  Gregory nodded amiably, and strode manfully off into the milling crowd. Cecelia stared dubiously at the punch in her glass, and then shrugged and sipped daintily at it. One more glass wouldn’t hurt her. Darius came over to join her, mopping at his brow with a silk handkerchief that had seen better days.

  “How are we doing?” he asked, looking longingly at the punch bowl.

  “Not too bad,” said Cecelia. She offered him a sip from her glass, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry, Darius. Most of them are with us, the rest just need to be talked into doing what they want to do anyway.”

  “Let me know at once if anyone makes a move to leave.”

  “Of course. I take it you have your poisoned dagger handy?”

  “Of course. And the guards have their orders. No one gets out of here alive unless I vouch for them. We’ve come too far to risk being betrayed now. All our heads would roll.”

  Cecelia nodded soberly, and shivered suddenly. She reached out a hand to Darius, but he was looking round the Hall at his guests. Cecelia let her hand drop, and moved to stand beside him. The dancers had become a trifle unsteady on their feet, but seemed to be making up in enthusiasm for what they lacked in skill and timing. Voices were growing loud and raucous, and the ever-present laughter was boisterous and shrill by turns.

  “We’ll be running out of wine soon,” said Cecelia. “When do we start the unmasking?”

  “Soon, my dear, soon. It’s not something we can rush, it’s the first real sign of trust, the first commitment to our cause. When I think they’re ready I’ll give you the signal, and we’ll both unmask. Once we’ve broken the ice, the rest will follow. I hope.”

  “What if they don’t?” asked Cecelia quietly. “What if we haven’t convinced them?”

  “We must,” said Darius, just as quietly. “If we don’t, we’ll be the ones who won’t leave here alive.”

  Julia strode briskly down the brightly lit corridor, absently rubbing her bruised knuckles. No damn guardsman was going to tell her which passageways she could and couldn’t use. No doubt he would regret his insulting tone of voice, when he finally woke up. Julia grinned, and then stopped and peered cautiously about her. She could have sworn she heard something … She looked back the way she’d come, but nothing moved in the shadows between the torches. Julia shrugged, and continued down the corridor. She rounded a corner, and then jumped back, startled, as an armed guardsman appeared suddenly from a concealed doorway. Julia’s hand flew to the sword at her hip, and then she relaxed as she recognised the guard.

  “Bodeen! What are you doing here?”

  “Dying of thirst, mainly, Princess.” The short, stocky guard lowered his sword, and sheathed it. “Three hours I’ve been on duty, and not so much as a cup of mulled ale to warm my bones.”

  “It’s a hard life in the Guards,” said Julia amusedly. “What exactly are you guarding?”

  “Oh, just some party,” said Bodeen. “Private get-together for some of the Lord Darius’s friends. I didn’t know you’d been invited, Princess, I wouldn’t have thought you were the type.”

  “I wasn’t, and I’m not,” grinned Julia. “I’m just going to gatecrash the party to annoy Harald.”

  “Prince Harald?” said Bodeen. “I don’t think he’s in there. Certainly he hasn’t passed by me.”

  “Oh.” Julia frowned. She was sure she’d followed the servant’s directions exactly … the damn Castle must be up to its old tricks again. Ah well. “What are you doing here, though, Bodeen? With all those jewels you picked up in the counting house, you could have retired from the Guards and bought yourself a tavern.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Bodeen grimly. Unfortunately, the King made me hand over everything I’d found to the Seneschal.”

  “Not everything, surely?”

  “Everything, Princess, right down to the last gold coin. Makes you weep, doesn’t it? All those jewels … I mean, it wasn’t as if the King would have missed a few, after all. If it hadn’t been for you and me, he’d never have seen any of them again. Well, I’ve learnt my lesson. You can’t trust the aristocracy, not even your own King.”

  “But… didn’t you at least get a reward for helping rediscover the South Wing?”

  “Just doing my job, Princess. That’s what they pay me two silver ducats a week for.”

  “That’s disgusting,” said Julia flatly. “I think I’ll have a word with the King about this.”

  Bodeen raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had any pull with him.”

  “When you get right down to it, I don’t,” said Julia wryly. “But it’s worth a try.”

  “Yeah, sure. Than
ks anyway, Princess.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can do—I can break into Darius’s party and bring you back a drink. How’s that?”

  “It’s a nice thought, Princess, but if you haven’t an invitation I can’t let you pass.”

  “Oh, come on, Bodeen, you can let me sneak past. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m in enough trouble as it is, Princess, I don’t need any more. Thanks for the offer, but no.”

  “Bodeen …”

  “Get away from him, Julia.”

  Julia spun round to find King John standing at the corridor intersection, staring grimly at Bodeen. Behind the King, filling the corridor from wall to wall, stood a full company of guardsmen, each man wearing the distinctive scarlet and gold markings of the Royal Guard.

  “Stand aside, Julia,” said the King. “You don’t want to get blood on your dress.”

  Prince Harald wandered over to the punch bowl and refilled his glass. So far, the punch was the only thing that made this party bearable. He sat on the edge of the buffet table and stared sardonically about him, one leg idly swinging. Now that Darius and Cecelia had ostentatiously removed their masks, others were following suit. Mask after mask fell away as the revellers gained in confidence, but the faces revealed were flushed with anxiety and too much wine, and their laughter was forced and harsh. Harald smiled sourly and sipped his punch. Treason didn’t come easy at the best of times. He stretched tiredly, and wondered how much longer the party would last. He’d had his fill of the courtiers and businessmen and Lords and Ladies, and all their many promises of what they’d do for him when he became King. And, of course, what they expected from him in return. Harald grinned suddenly.

  He had a few surprises in store for them.

  “Prince Harald, if we might speak with you a moment?”

  Harald looked up at the three Landsgraves standing before him, and nodded curtly. “Of course, Sir Blays. After all, this is your party as much as mine. What can I do for you?”

  “We need your decision,” said Guillam, smiling unpleasantly. “And I’m afraid we must insist on knowing it now.”

  Harald surged to his feet in one smooth motion, and stood towering over the Landsgrave, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “You insist to me again, my noble Landsgrave,” said Harald quietly, “and I’ll cut your heart out.”

  Guillam flushed pinkly, and Blays stepped quickly forward to stand between him and the Prince.

  “I’m sure Sir Guillam meant no offence, Sire, it’s just that we don’t have much time. The unmasking has finally begun, and soon the party will be drawing to its close. You must understand that we are all at risk the longer we stay here. If by some chance we were to be discovered together, it might prove a trifle awkward to explain.”

  Harald laughed. “You do have a talent for understatement, Sir Blays.”

  “Quite,” said the Landsgrave, smiling mirthlessly. “We need an answer, Prince Harald, and we need it now. Are you with us, or not?”

  “I need more time to think about it,” said Harald.

  “Your time just ran out,” said Sir Bedivere. “What’s there to think about? If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And if you’re against us …”

  “Then what?” said Harald. “Then what, Sir Berserker?”

  A crimson glare came and went in the giant Landsgrave’s eyes, but when he spoke his voice was cold and emotionless. “If you’re not with us, Prince Harald, we’ll just find someone else and make him King.”

  “Like who?” Harald smiled crookedly and waved his glass around to indicate the crowded Hall. “Rupert’s not coming back, and there’s no one here with any claim to the throne. For better or worse, I’m the last of the Forest Kings. The line ends with me.”

  “Precisely,” said Guillam. “So what’s to stop us establishing a new line of Kings?”

  Harald looked steadily at Blays. “You’d have to kill me first.”

  “That’s right,” said Guillam, and he laughed richly, as though he’d just made an excellent joke.

  “There’s no need for all this talk of killing,” said Blays, glaring at Guillam. “The Barons would much rather have someone they can trust on the Forest throne, someone they know they can work with. They want you, Prince Harald. Everyone in this Hall wants you as their King. All you have to do is say yes.”

  “Supposing I did agree, just for the sake of argument,” said Harald. “What do you get out of it? I mean, you three personally. What exactly have the Barons promised you—money, power, or what?”

  Blays thought furiously as he stared impassively at the Prince. Something was happening here, and he wasn’t sure what. Harald seemed … different … somehow. When he’d gone to summon Harald to the party, Blays would have sworn the Prince’s spirit was all but broken. And yet now Harald stood before him, his usual mask of flippancy thrown aside, his voice cold and unyielding. He was far too self-assured for Blay’s liking, and his steady gaze seemed almost mocking, as though he knew something the Landsgraves didn’t. Blays scowled. For the time being he’d play Harald’s game, but later … later, there would be a reckoning.

  “We serve the Barons,” he said slowly. “That is our duty and our privilege. No doubt we’ll all be well rewarded for our part in this, but our loyalty lies with Gold and Silver and Copper.”

  “Bull,” said Harald. “No one’s listening, my dear Landsgrave, no one can overhear us. For once in your life, forget diplomacy and tell me the truth. You know what I stand to get out of this deal, but if we’re to work together I want to know where you’re going to be, and what you’re going to be doing, while I sit on the Forest throne. In other words, I want to know what’s in it for you, my noble Landsgraves.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Blays bowed coldly to the Prince. “I speak for Gold, Prince Harald, as I have always done. In return for my part in this rebellion, and for my many past services, the Baron has most graciously named me as his successor. A marriage has been arranged between myself and the Baron’s eldest daughter. A most charming young Lady, perhaps you remember her? She was most upset when you broke off your engagement to her, in order to marry the Princess Julia. Her father was even more upset. Still, at least now the Baron has a son-in-law he knows he can trust.

  “When he dies, I will be Baron Oakeshoff. I have no wish to take over a demesne crippled by debt and overrun by darkness, just because the Forest has a weak King. With you on the throne, and the Barons to guide you, the Forest Land will grow strong again, and with it Oakeshoff demesne. That’s what’s in it for me, Prince Harald.”

  “Sir Bedivere,” said Harald, turning slightly to face the tall Landsgrave.

  For a moment it seemed he might not answer, but finally he stared at Harald and said simply, “I shall serve you as your Champion, Sire. It is all I want. It is all I have ever wanted. Your enemies shall fall before me, and I will bring you their heads to set upon your gates. I shall be your right hand, dealing out death and destruction, blood and terror, to any who dare oppose you. I will be your Champion, Sire, and all who live will fear your justice.”

  There was an unfocused, faraway look to his eyes, and Harald shivered suddenly. He’d always known Bedivere was a killer, but now he stared into the man’s eyes and saw a bloody madness staring back. There was something in the giant Landsgrave that called for murder and sudden death, and would never be satisfied. Harald swore silently to himself that come what may, Sir Bedivere would have to die.

  “Sir Guillam?” he said coldly.

  Guillam looked up from his glass of wine, spilling some down his chin as he tried to empty his mouth too quickly. He swallowed hard, and then dabbed daintily at his mouth with a folded silk handkerchief. “The Barons promised me I could have anything I wanted,” he said finally, “and I’ve seen what I want. She’s tall and graceful and very beautiful, and she’s going to be mine. She’s too proud to have anything to do with me now, but she’ll come to heel quickly enough once I’ve broken her
spirit. They always do.” He giggled suddenly, fingered the skinning knife in his sleeve, and drank more wine.

  Harald turned away in disgust, pitying whichever poor woman the Landsgrave had set his mind on.

  “Lovely girl,” said Guillam softly, his eyes very bright. “Julia’s such a lovely girl.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” demanded Julia.

  Bodeen drew his sword and stepped back a pace, blocking the narrow passageway. Behind the King, several of the Royal Guard raised their swords, and Julia could see fresh blood on the blades.

  “Treason,” said the King. “And this man is a part of it. Aren’t you, Bodeen?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you pass, Sire,” said Bodeen calmly. “I have my orders.”

  “Will you cut it out, Bodeen,” hissed Julia. “These people are serious.”

  “So am I,” said Bodeen. Candlelight shimmered on his sword as he hefted it, and the nearest of the Royal Guard stirred restlessly.

  “I trusted you,” said King John. His voice was flat, but his eyes were confused and angry. “You taught my son swordsmanship, you fought beside me in the Border campaign. And now you betray me. Put down your sword, Bodeen, at least that way you’ll live to stand trial.”

  “That’s not much of a choice,” said Bodeen.

  “You can’t fight a whole company of guards,” said Julia urgently. “Come on, Bodeen, do as he says. If you don’t they’ll kill you.”

  “I think you may well be right,” said Bodeen, and before anyone could react he grabbed Julia by the arm and pulled her to him, twisting her arm up behind her back. The King and his guardsmen surged forward, and Bodeen set his sword against Julia’s throat.

  “One more step and she dies!”

  “Stay where you are!” thundered the King, and the guardsmen stopped. The King stepped forward.

  “That’s far enough,” said Bodeen. His sword moved slightly, and Julia felt her skin part under the blade’s keen edge. Blood trickled down her neck to stain the high collar of her tunic. The King stopped where he was. Julia tried to breathe as lightly as possible.