Blue Moon Rising Page 9

  Rupert glared at his brother, who was busily gathering the remaining shreds of his composure.

  “Is that right? You’re supposed to marry her?”

  “Well yes, dear boy, at least I was, but …”

  “But what?”

  “Well she did run away, after all,” said Harald huffily. “That being the case, father quite naturally arranged another marriage for me, with one of the Barons’ daughters. Nice little filly. Damn fine dowry, and good political connections. Now, thanks to you …”

  “Thanks to you, Rupert,” said the King, his dry, even voice cutting effortlessly across Harald’s, “since the contract with the Duchy of Hillsdown still stands, technically, the original marriage will have to take place after all. Any other disastrous news you’d like to share with us?”

  “Give me a moment,” said Rupert. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  Harald stalked off to have several quiet words with the King, while Rupert did his best to mollify the fuming Julia.

  “I’m not marrying him,” she snapped furiously. “I’ll enter a nunnery first.”

  Rupert boggled at the thought of Julia in a nunnery, and strove to remain calm.

  “You won’t have to marry him,” he promised soothingly. “I’ll sort something out.”

  Julia sniffed, unconvinced, and studied Harald dubiously.

  “He’s your brother—what’s he like?”

  “Rich, good-looking, and successful with women. Three good reasons to hate anyone. Harald, however, is also a pompous, meticulous, occasionally hard-working twit who thinks fun should be outlawed for everyone not actually of noble birth. When I was a boy, he made my life hell. I still have some of the scars. Basically, he’s a hard-headed, ruthless creep who’ll make a great King.”

  “Your average Prince,” said Julia solemnly, and Rupert had to grin.

  The Court, meantime, had finally gathered its collective wits. Rupert’s return alone would have provided the courtiers with enough gossip to last out the year, but his dramatic entrance via an exploding doorway was an unexpected bonus. The arrival of Julia and the dragon had sent them into a positive frenzy of speculation, though as yet nobody had quite worked up the nerve formally to introduce themselves to either the dragon or the Princess. In fact, there was much lively discussion as to which of the pair it would be safer to approach first. A few braver souls had started to edge casually forward when everyone suddenly discovered what happens when thirty feet of dragon breaks wind. The nearest courtiers fell back in disarray, desperately clapping perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses, and there was a general rush to open windows. Rupert and Julia looked at each other resignedly. It was obviously going to be one of those days.

  The King was on his feet, rage darkening his face. “Get that dragon out of my Court! Get him out before he does it again!”

  The dragon did it again. Rupert glared at him.

  “Must you?”

  “Yes,” said the dragon firmly.

  “Are you going to do it again?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then go outside and do it; there’s a whole Castle to choose from.”

  The dragon shrugged indifferently. “Can’t be bothered. I think I’ll take a little nap instead.” He stretched his massive wings, sending several courtiers diving to the floor for safety, and then he curled up in the middle of the Great Hall, his chin resting comfortably on his tail. The great golden eyes closed, and he was soon snoring steadily, like a thundercloud with indigestion.

  “Has your friend finished now?” asked the King icily, settling back on to his throne.

  “I hope so,” said Rupert. “But let’s keep our voices down, and let sleeping dragons lie.”

  The King sighed, and shook his head slowly. “Approach the throne.”

  Rupert did so, followed by Julia. The Astrologer stood to the King’s left, Harald to his right. They both bowed politely to Julia, who ignored them. The King stared silently at Rupert for some time.

  “Rupert, can’t you do anything right?”

  “Not much,” said Rupert. “Sorry I couldn’t oblige you by getting killed during the quest, but being dead is so boring.”

  “I was referring to the dragon,” said the King.

  “Sure you were,” said Rupert coldly. The King didn’t look away.

  “I did what was best,” he said softly.

  “You mean what the Astrologer told you was best.”

  Thomas Grey bowed formally, but his pale blue eyes glittered dangerously. “I advise the King to the best of my poor ability,” he said silkily. “We both felt a successful quest might do much to help your standing in this Court. A Prince who had slain a dragon would, at the very least, be somewhat easier to arrange a marriage for.”

  Rupert grinned mockingly. “What’s the matter—still a glut of second sons on the market?”

  The Astrologer started to say something, but was cut off by the King, who was studying the unicorn narrowly, and frowning.

  “Rupert, what happened to the unicorn’s horn?”

  “He lost it in a fight.”

  “Careless of him,” said Harald. They all looked to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.

  “Harald,” said the King, “why don’t you start thinking about what you’d like to eat at your wedding? You know debate isn’t your strong point.”

  “Neither’s thinking,” muttered Rupert.

  “At least he would have had more sense than to bring back a live dragon,” snapped King John. “Or a Princess we were well rid of. Now we’ll have to go through with the damn marriage, or Hillsdown will break off diplomatic relations.”

  “I’m not marrying Harald,” said Julia defiantly.

  “You will do as you’re told,” said the King, “or you can spend the time until your wedding day in the dirtiest, most dismal dungeon I can find.”

  Julia locked eyes with the King, and she was the first to look away. She turned uncertainly to Rupert.

  “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

  “He’s my father,” said Rupert.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “It’s not the end of the world, your highness,” said the Astrologer smoothly to Julia. “There’s no need to rush things; after all, the marriage needn’t take place immediately. I’m sure that once you’ve got to know Harald you’ll find him a decent, upstanding young man who’ll make you a fine husband. And remember, he will be King one day.”

  “If there’s a Kingdom left,” said the Champion.

  Everybody jumped. The Champion had moved silently forward to stand on Rupert’s right. He’d left his war axe behind, but he now carried a sword on his hip.

  “I see you’re still good at sneaking up on people,” said Rupert.

  The Champion smiled. “One of my most useful talents.” He turned and inclined his head slightly to King John. “Your majesty, we do have a serious problem to discuss. The Darkwood—”

  “Can wait a minute,” said the King peevishly. “I haven’t finished with Rupert yet. Rupert, you were supposed to bring back the valuable parts of a dead dragon and at least some of his hoard. Haven’t brought back any gold?”

  “No,” said Rupert. “There wasn’t any.”

  “What about the dragon’s hoard?”

  “He collected butterflies.”

  They all stared at the sleeping dragon. “Only you, Rupert,” said the Champion quietly. “Only you …”

  “Haven’t you brought back anything of value?” asked the King.

  “Just this,” said Rupert, drawing his sword. Everyone studied the gleaming blade warily.

  “It has a strong magical aura,” said the Astrologer dubiously. “What does it do?”

  “It summons rainbows,” said Rupert, just a little lamely.

  There was a long pause.

  “Let’s talk about the Darkwood,” said King John. “Suddenly, it seems a preferable topic of conversation.”

  “Suits me,” said Rupert,
sheathing his sword.

  “Time is running out, your majesty,” said the Champion earnestly. “We’ve already lost three of the outlying villages to the demons, and every day more of the Forest falls under the shadow of the long night. The trees are dying, and rivers are fouled with blood. Babes are stillborn, and crops rot before they can be harvested. Demons run ahead of the Darkwood, slaughtering all in their path. My men are dying out there, just to buy us a little more time. I respectfully beg your permission to levy the Barons and raise an army. We must make a stand against the darkness, while we still can.”

  “So you keep telling me,” said King John testily, “but you know as well as I that the Barons won’t supply me with men for an army, for fear I’d use it against them. The way they’ve been acting lately, I just might. No, Sir Champion, an army is out of the question.”

  The Champion shook his head stubbornly. “I must have more men, your majesty.”

  “The Royal Guard—”

  “Aren’t enough for what needs to be done!”

  “They’ll have to be,” said the King flatly. “All my other guards and men-at-arms are scattered across the Kingdom, protecting my people and keeping the roads open. Shall I recall them to build you an army, and leave the villages and towns to be overrun by the darkness?”

  “If need be,” said the Champion evenly. “You don’t cure a disease by treating its symptoms. The demons are born of darkness; the only way to stop the long night spreading is to lead an army into the Darkwood and destroy its heart.”

  Rupert’s stomach turned suddenly as he realised what the Champion was saying. If the guardsmen were recalled, that would leave the villages unprotected, and the demons would roll right over them. A cold sweat beaded his brow as he remembered leaping, clawing demonkind surging into the Darkwood clearing where he and Julia stood back to back, swords in hand. He remembered waiting to die, and hoping it would be quick. The demons were of the dark, and knew nothing of honour or mercy. Villagers armed with scythes and pitchforks wouldn’t stand a chance against the darkling tide that swarmed ahead of the Darkwood. Blood would fly on the night air, and the screams would last till morning …

  “There has to be another way,” he blurted out, glaring at the Champion’s impassive features.

  “There is,” said Thomas Grey. “When might of arms is not enough, there is still Magic.”

  The Champion smiled contemptuously. “Same old song, Astrologer. All your prophecies and illusions won’t rid us of the Darkwood; sooner or later, it always comes down to cold steel.”

  “You talk as if the dark were some wild animal, to be despatched with sword and lance,” snapped the Astrologer. “Darkness can only be dispelled by light: white magic against black, reason against ignorance. Send an army into the Darkwood, and you’ll never see it again.”

  They stood glaring at each other across the throne. The Champion stood proud and tall in his gleaming chain-mail and yet his broad, muscular frame seemed almost dwarfed by the dark, imposing presence of the black-clad Astrologer, whose icy blue eyes were full of a secret knowledge. An aura of power and foreboding hung around him like a shroud. Rupert studied the Astrologer, puzzled. In the few short months he’d been gone from the Court, Thomas Grey seemed to have grown in stature and influence. Not to mention bravery; there were few indeed who dared to contradict the Champion to his face. Rupert frowned. The Astrologer was too confident for his liking; magic might be the only answer to the darkness, but only a full sorcerer could hope to turn back the Darkwood. And Thomas Grey wasn’t a sorcerer.

  “Your majesty!” called a resonant, commanding voice from among the nearest courtiers. Rupert turned to look as a short fat man in gorgeous gravy-stained robes pushed his way forward. Sharp, piggy eyes peered from under plucked eyebrows, and his rouged mouth was pursed in a constant scowl. He stopped opposite the Champion, and bowed perfunctorily to the throne. “Your majesty, as Minister for War, I really must protest …”

  “All right,” said the Champion equably, “you’ve protested. Now beat it, we’ve got work to do.”

  The Minister’s face flushed with rage, but his voice was cold and hard. “Whether you approve or not, sir Champion, I am the King’s Minister for War. Address me in such an insolent fashion again, and I’ll have you flogged.”

  The Champion’s hand dropped to his swordhilt. The Minister paled suddenly and fell back.

  “Sir Champion,” said the King, “draw on one of my Ministers and I’ll have your head.”

  For a moment it seemed the Champion would ignore him, but the moment passed, and he took his hand away from his sword. The Minister started breathing again.

  “He insulted me,” said the Champion.

  “You insulted my Minister,” said the King icily. “An insult to him is an insult to me. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, your majesty,” said the Champion, inclining his head slightly. “I live only to serve you.”

  The King turned his attention to the Minister. “If you have something to contribute to the discussion, Lord Darius, by all means do so.”

  “Your majesty is most gracious,” said Lord Darius, glaring at the Champion. “It seems to me that both sir Champion and the Astrologer have overlooked the most obvious answer to our present difficulties. Since neither force of arms nor magic can hope to stand against the Darkwood, we must clearly fall back upon the one remaining course of action—diplomacy.”

  There was a short pause. Rupert didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “The man’s insane,” said the Champion. “Talk with demons? You might as well argue with a thunderstorm. Demons kill to live, and live to kill.”

  “For once, I agree with sir Champion,” said the Astrologer, staring coldly at Lord Darius. “The Darkwood is the incarnation of darkness upon the earth. All that thrives within it is evil. Demons are not living creatures such as us; they exist only to serve the Darkwood.”

  “They don’t serve just the Darkwood,” said Darius softly. A sudden silence fell over the Court. Rupert stared at the Minister with growing horror as he realised what Darius was implying.

  “You can’t be serious,” said the Astrologer.

  “Why not?” said Darius. “How else do you explain the Darkwood’s sudden growth? There’s only one possible answer. The Demon Prince has returned.”

  “A legend,” said the Champion, too quickly. “A tale told to frighten children.”

  “Some legends are true,” said Rupert quietly, but only Julia heard him. She took his hand, and squeezed it briefly.

  “Men have struck deals with the Demon Prince before,” said Darius, persuasively. “Why else would demons haunt the Castle grounds night after night, so far from the Darkwood? They’re waiting for us to go to them and make a compact.”

  “I’ll strike no bargains with the dark,” said King John.

  “But what if we give the Demon Prince what he desires …” The Minister’s voice died away beneath the King’s cold, angry gaze.

  “What do you suggest, Minister? That I surrender the villages to him, in the hope he’ll spare this Castle?”

  “Why not?” said Darius flatly. “As sir Champion has already pointed out, what are the lives of a few peasants against the security of the Forest Kingdom?”

  “This is madness!” roared the Champion. “I meant we should fight the darkness, not surrender to it! Set a blood sacrifice for the Demon Prince and we’ll never be free of him!”

  “Such a plan would destroy us all!” grated the Astrologer. “We either stand against the dark or fall beneath it!”

  “Your majesty, as Minister for War I must protest …”

  “Shut up!” yelled Rupert. A sudden silence fell across the Court as everyone looked at Rupert in surprise, having forgotten in the heat of the argument that he was still there.

  “Thank you, Rupert,” said King John. “It was getting a little noisy. According to the Champion, you passed through the Darkwood on your quest.”

  “Twi
ce,” said Rupert curtly.

  A ripple of barely suppressed laughter ran through the Court. The Minister for War sniggered openly, his dark little eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

  “Oh, come now, Rupert,” said Lord Darius, dropping a podgy hand on Rupert’s arm. “Surely you don’t expect us to believe you passed through the Darkwood twice. Even with a dragon in your party, the demons would have ripped you to pieces.”

  “They tried,” said Rupert evenly. “We got lucky. Now get your hand off my arm, or I’ll feed you your fingers.”

  The Minister removed his hand with exaggerated care, and bowed sarcastically.

  “And how many demons did you meet in the Darkwood, sir hero? Ten? Twenty?”

  “Too many to count,” said Rupert angrily. “Demons hunt in packs now.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped the Astrologer. “Everyone knows demons haven’t the intelligence to work together. They prey on each other when food grows scarce.”

  “I was there,” said Rupert grimly, struggling to remain calm. “There were hundreds of the bloody creatures, fighting side by side.”

  “Hundreds?” sneered Darius, his gaze openly contemptuous. “Don’t waste our time with such obvious lies. You were never in the Darkwood. I’ve no doubt the Princess Julia was most impressed by your pretty stories, but don’t think to deceive us as well. You’re a coward and a failure, and everyone here knows it. Now run along, and tell your tales to the scullery maid. You’ve no business here.”

  Rupert drove his fist into the Minister’s sneering mouth. The court gasped as Darius fell backwards into the crowd and lay still. A guardsman moved forward to restrain Rupert, and Julia kicked him between wind and water. The guard bent in two, and Julia rabbit-punched him. More guards came forward, and the Champion drew his sword. Rupert and Julia drew their swords and stood back to back. For a long moment, nobody moved.

  “Think you’re up to it, lad?” said the Champion, softly.

  “Maybe,” said Rupert. “You said yourself I’d improved, and Julia’s pretty good with a sword too. Who knows, we might just get lucky.”