Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

  “All too soon, magic will be gone from this world, Rupert; driven out by Man, with his need for logic and reason and simple, understandable answers. Science will replace magic, and we’ll all be a damn sight better off. Science always works. All we’ll have lost will be a little poetry, a little beauty … and perhaps a little of the wonder of the world. No more dragons. No more unicorns, or goblins, or wee folk.”

  “No more demons,” said Rupert.

  “Win some, lose some,” said the Warlock. He started to lift his bottle to his mouth, but stopped when Rupert looked at him. He shrugged, and put it down again. “It’s ironic, really. The one thing that could ensure the survival of magic is the Blue Moon itself. But that’s Wild Magic, and a world ruled by the Wild Magic would have no room in it for Man. There’s nothing rational or logical about the Wild Magic, no subtlety, no control; just sheer naked power. Power to reshape reality itself. It we lose this battle to the Demon Prince, Rupert, it’ll be the end of everything. The Darkwood will be all there is, and nothing will move in it save the demons.

  “Nothing human, anyway. Some life will survive. It always does. There’s something unusual living in the moat, under the ice. A fascinating creature.”

  “The moat monster!” said Rupert.

  “If you say so,” said the Warlock. “He used to be human, you know. I put a change on him, a long time ago.”

  “That’s right,” said Rupert. “If nothing else, that’s one thing I can see put right. Change him back.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said the Warlock.

  “Change him back,” said Rupert flatly. “He was born a man, and it’s only right he should have the chance to die as a man, not … some creature.”

  “He doesn’t want to be changed back,” said the Warlock firmly. “He’s quite happy as he is. In fact, he was most insistent about it when I talked with him.”

  Rupert looked at him incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

  “I never kid,” said the Warlock frostily. “It was only a temporary spell, after all. He could have changed back any time after it wore off. If he hasn’t, it’s because he likes his new form better.”

  Rupert looked at the Warlock, but his face remained serious.

  “I think I’ll go and have a word with my unicorn,” said the Prince finally. “If you’ll excuse me …”

  The Warlock chuckled quietly as Rupert disappeared back into the milling crowd, shaking his head slowly in a confused kind of way. The Warlock took a long drink from his bottle. When he lowered it again, King John was standing before him, his face twisted with open disgust. Torchlight gleamed ruddy on the shining chain mail that wrapped the King from head to foot, and the Warlock didn’t miss the ancient leather-bound swordhilt standing up behind the King’s left shoulder.

  “Hello, John,” he said politely. “You’re looking very … impressive. I’d offer you a drink, but I’ve only the one bottle.”

  “Can’t you leave that stuff alone even for a moment?” said the King harshly.

  The Warlock shrugged. “I need a drink.”

  “You always did,” said the King.

  The Warlock looked sharply at the King. “I see you’re carrying Rockbreaker. Who’s idea was that?”

  “Mine,” said the King flatly. “The Infernal Devices are our last hope against the dark.”

  The Warlock smiled sardonically. “I thought that was me.”

  “No,” said the King, looking at the bottle in the High Warlock’s hand. “Not anymore.”

  “Don’t use the sword, John,” said the Warlock quietly. “You can’t trust the Infernal Devices; between them they have the power to destroy the world. If you awaken that power, you don’t have a hope in hell of controlling it.”

  “We’ll use the swords,” said the King. “We have no choice any more.”

  The Warlock sighed quietly, and looked away. “You’re quite right, you know,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t drink as much as I do. It’s affecting my mind, distorting my spells, and I suspect it’s slowly killing me.”

  “Then stop,” growled the King.

  “I can’t,” said the Warlock simply. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I don’t drink because I want to, John; I drink because I need to, because I can’t get through the day without it.”

  “Same old excuse,” said the King, and the Warlock looked at him pityingly.

  “You never did understand, John. But then, you never wanted to. You never needed a drink in your life. You’ve never needed anything. To hell with it. We can’t all be perfect.”

  “You’re nothing but a drunkard!”

  “I’m what you made me, John. You and your damned family. Pulling your precious hides out of one damn scrape after another. I wasn’t always a drunkard.”

  “Only when it mattered.”

  “I got the job done, drunk or sober!”

  “All except once,” said the King. “The one time it really mattered.”

  “Don’t,” whispered the Warlock. “Please.”

  “My Eleanor was dying, and you were nowhere to be found. I had to send men out to search the ale-houses and taverns and drag you back. And all the time I waited by her bed, my wife … my Eleanor … You could have saved her!”

  “I didn’t get back in time.”

  “You were drunk!”

  “Yes,” said the High Warlock. “I was drunk.”

  He looked at the bottle in his hand, and after a moment he started to cry.

  * * *

  Prince Harald stood impatiently before the closed main gates, hiding his growing irritation behind his usual calm mask while a servant fussed around him, adjusting the buckles on his armor. The many layers of interlapping chain mail were hot, heavy, and very restricting, but Harald was a great believer in armor. No matter how good you were with sword and buckler, sooner or later you were bound to face someone better or luckier than you, and that’s when a good suit of chain mail came into its own. Harald frowned slightly as he remembered his last fight with Rupert, here in the courtyard. His armor hadn’t saved him then. Harald’s face slowly cleared as he dismissed the thought. Things were different, now. Now, he had Flarebright. The Infernal Device hung down his back, the long hilt standing up behind his left shoulder. He kept catching glimpses of the hilt out of the corner of his eye every time he turned his head. Flarebright was eerily light for so large a blade, but Harald could still feel its presence with every move he made. There was a dull, unpleasant warmth the length of his back, as though the sword burned constantly like a hot coal in its scabbard. And sometimes, for no reason at all, Harald thought of how good it would feel to draw the Infernal Device, and cut down enemies without number …

  The servant finally finished his work, and Harald waved him away. He drew his usual sword from its scabbard at his side, and began a series of warming-up exercises. The solid weight of steel in his hand was a comfort to him, and he could feel some of the tension going out of his muscles as he moved gracefully through the familiar routine. He’d been taking his training a lot more seriously since Rupert beat him, and he could feel the difference. He’d always been good, but now he was even better. Rupert’s grinning face hung before Harald’s eyes as he stamped and lunged and circled, his sword sweeping from cut to parry to slash and back, over and over again. Flarebright’s scabbard slapped against his back with every movement, as though reminding him it was still there. Harald whirled and spun, his sword flashing brightly in the torchlight, but still he knew that once he was out in the long night, his own sword wouldn’t be enough, for all his skill and training. His only chance against the demons was to use the Infernal Device. Somehow, he wasn’t as eager to use it as he’d thought he’d be.

  He saw the King making his way toward him, but deliberately continued his exercises. He waited until the King had almost reached him; and only then looked up and came to a stop. He lowered and sheathed his sword in one fluid movement, and leaned casually back against the closed gates. He mopped at his sweating face w
ith a handkerchief, and bowed slightly to the King, who nodded brusquely in return.

  “Ready for the battle, Harald?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  King John stood silently a moment, as though waiting for Harald to say something more. Harald let him wait.

  “You wanted to speak to me, Harald?”

  “That’s right, Father.” Harald wiped the last of the sweat from his brow, and slipped the handkerchief back into his sleeve. “I want you to marry Julia to me before the battle. There is still time.”

  King John looked at him incredulously. “You want what?”

  “I want Julia as my wife, and I want the ceremony performed now. It will do wonders for the morale of our people, and settle once and for all the somewhat nagging question as to whether I or Rupert is the favored son. I need to be sure the people will follow me.”

  “Your marriage has been postponed,” said the King evenly. “Apart from the fact that this is neither the time nor the place for a wedding, I don’t want Rupert upset. It won’t be long before he’ll be riding out into battle alongside us, and there are those who will follow him where they won’t follow you.”

  “Precisely my point,” said Harald. “I am the eldest son, the firstborn. I am the one whose orders they should follow. Besides; there are other reasons for the marriage. It’s entirely possible that you and I and Rupert could all die in this battle, leaving the Forest Land without a ruler. If Julia and I were married, the Royal line could still continue through her. And if, by some calamity, you were to die while Rupert and I both survived, my being married to Julia could well ensure my succession to the throne. Either way, holding the marriage now would make your wishes in the matter quite clear. Otherwise, we could win this battle against the darkness, and still lose the Land to civil war.”

  “No,” said the King. “I’ve given you my answer, Harald, and I don’t like to repeat myself. The wedding is postponed; indefinitely.”

  “I see,” said Harald. “So that’s the way the wind blows.”

  For a long moment the two men faced each other silently, their eyes locked. From all around them came the clamor and hubbub of the last army of the Forest Land, as it slowly readied itself for battle, but Harald and the King were deaf and blind to everything but the moment of conflict between them. King John studied his eldest son coldly. Harald and Rupert had always been at odds; it was only to be expected, given their situation. But this sudden vehemence on Harald’s part had caught the King by surprise. In the past, Harald had always been ready and able to deal with Rupert on his own. He never lost his temper, and he knew how far he could go. But now … this was the first time Harald had ever turned to his father for help. King John frowned thoughtfully. Either Harald was genuinely fond of the Princess Julia, or he was seriously worried about Rupert’s rising influence in the Court. The latter was by far the most likely reason, but you could never tell with Harald. You could never tell anything with Harald.

  King John sighed, and looked away. He was sorely tempted to just turn and walk away, but he knew he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t do to have Harald thinking the King was afraid to face him. It wouldn’t be … safe.

  “You are my eldest son,” said the King slowly, carefully meeting Harald’s gaze again. “When the gates finally open, you will ride out beside me, at my right hand. But Rupert is also my son, and he will ride at my left hand. It is vital for the morale of our troops that the three of us present a united front against the dark. Our army is going to have enough to worry about without having to decide whose orders they will and won’t obey. We don’t have time for politics any more. So; there is to be no more open dissension between you and Rupert. Is that clear, Harald?”

  “Perfectly clear,” said Harald.

  “Good,” said the King. “Then there’s nothing more we need to discuss, is there?”

  “I saw you speaking with the Warlock,” said Harald. “Is he still drinking?”

  “Of course. But he’ll do what’s needed, when he has to.”

  “Tell me,” said Harald easily, “I’ve always wondered; were the stories true?”

  “Stories?” said the King. “What stories?”

  “The stories about him and mother, of course. They say he loved her. They also say …”

  King John lifted his hand to strike Harald across the face, and then slowly lowered it again. Harald didn’t flinch, but his eyes were wary and watchful. The King sighed quietly.

  “Harald …”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You’ve the makings of a good King, Harald. You know politics and intrigue and law. You even understand the paperwork, which is more than I ever did. But you’ll need more than that, if the people are to support you. Oh, you’ve charm enough, when you choose to use it, but … I don’t know where your heart really lies, and I doubt if anyone else does, either. Sometimes I worry about you, lad. You’re my son. My blood and kin. Yet I swear you’re as much a stranger to me now as the day you were born.”

  “I’m what you made me,” said Harald, and then wondered why his father flinched at the words.

  The main stables stood dark and abandoned on the far side of the courtyard. Its doors gaped open, unattended, and the horses and the grooms were gone. Inside the stables, a single lantern shed a golden glow over the end stall as Rupert saddled his unicorn. All around them small sounds magnified strangely on the quiet, and echoes seemed to whisper on forever. The still air was thick with the smells of dirt and hay and horse dung. Rupert knew he should find the abandoned stable disturbing, but somehow he didn’t. If anything, he rather liked the quiet. It felt good to get away from everything and everybody, even if only for a while. Outside the stable doors, the constant babble of voices rose and fell like the dim, far-away pounding of surf on a beach; something too far away to have anything to do with him.

  Rupert settled the unicorn’s saddle comfortably into place, and then set about the many dangling straps. The unicorn looked a lot better than the last time Rupert had seen him. His wounds had been cleaned and roughly stitched, his mane and tail had been cleaned and combed, and there was even a little barley left in his feeding trough.

  “So how are you feeling?” asked Rupert.

  “Bloody awful,” said the unicorn. “If I felt any worse you’d be making glue out of my hooves. I can’t believe we’re actually going to fight the demons again. Who’s bright idea was that?”

  “Mine, actually,” said Rupert.

  “I might have known,” muttered the unicorn.

  “There’s no need to be like that. Just once more into battle, and then it’ll be all over.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Isn’t there something else we could try?”

  “Like what?”

  “Running away leaps to mind.”

  Rupert laughed tiredly as he tightened the cinch strap. “Where could we go? The darkness is everywhere now. No, unicorn; we either stand and fight, or wait to die. There’s nothing else left to us.”

  For a long while, neither of them said anything. Shadows pressed close about the lantern’s golden glow, and the air grew steadily colder. Rupert finished readying the unicorn, and then sank wearily down onto a pile of dirty straw. An hour at most, and then he’d have to go out and face the Darkwood again. Face the demons and the darkness and the horror of the endless night. Rupert yawned, and leaned back against the side of the stall. He was too tired to be really scared. The unicorn snorted suddenly, as though in response to some inner argument, and turned his head to stare at Rupert with calm, bloodred eyes.

  “Rupert …”

  “Yes?”

  “You once asked me my name. I told you then I’d sworn never to use my name until I was free again, but now … well, it seems to me that if I don’t tell you now, there might not be another chance.”

  Rupert shifted uncomfortably under the unicorn’s steady gaze. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

  “You’re my friend,” said the
unicorn. “My name is Breeze.”

  Rupert got to his feet, and hugged the unicorn’s neck tightly. “Breeze,” he said, and then had to stop. When he felt he could trust his voice again, he let go of the unicorn and stepped back a pace so that he could meet the unicorn’s eyes. “Breeze, if by some miracle we actually survive this mess, you’re free. I swear it, by Blood and Stone. I’ll check the records to find which valley you were taken from originally; some of your old herd might still be there. Perhaps we could … go and look for them. Together.”

  “Yeah,” said Breeze. “I’d like that, Rupert.”

  “You don’t believe we’re going to survive this one, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “All right, then. By the authority vested in me, by blood and kin, by Blood and Stone, I hereby free the unicorn named Breeze from any and all obligations to me, and to my family. Okay, Breeze; that’s it. You are now a one hundred percent independent individual. Or as near as any of us ever get to it.”

  “Is that all there is to it?”

  “What did you expect; a fanfare of trumpets? Or isn’t my word good enough for you?”

  “Your word has always been good with me, Rupert. But is it legal?”

  “Of course. I am a Prince, after all.”

  “I had noticed,” said the unicorn dryly. “Free. Free. I always thought I’d feel different.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Strange. Naked. I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, if nothing else, you don’t have to go back into the Darkwood again. I freed you from all obligations, remember?”

  “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me.”

  “That’s not the point, Breeze.”

  “Yes, it is,” said the unicorn firmly. “I could have left you any time in the past. You gave me enough chances. When all is said and done, I stayed with you because you were my friend, and you needed me. No other reason. So let’s have no more nonsense about you going back into the Darkwood without me. We’re a team, and don’t you forget it.”