One of the mercenaries reached out an eager hand toward Fisher’s bosom, and she punched him right between the eyes. His head snapped back, and he hit the ground like a falling tree. Two more mercenaries reached for her, and Hawk flattened them both before they even knew he was there.
“So much for reason,” Fisher said calmly.
“Ah, what the hell,” said Hawk easily. “There’s only twenty of them.”
The other mercenaries were already surging forward, swords in hand, and Hawk and Fisher went to meet them, weapons at the ready. It was a short and not especially bloody battle, as Hawk and Fisher were still on what passed for their best behavior. Chance kept dancing around the mayhem, shouting to Hawk and Fisher, “Don’t kill them! Please don’t kill them! They’re only doing their job! Oh, God, the Queen will have my balls for this.” Hawk and Fisher could have inquired whether the mercenaries would also be observing such guidelines, but didn’t have time or the breath. It’s actually quite difficult to stop a man just by wounding or disarming him, especially when he’s doing his very best to kill you, but Hawk and Fisher had years of experience of bringing in suspects more or less alive. Not too much later, twenty semiconscious or heavily bleeding mercenaries were sitting together, mumbling, moaning, and holding their heads while they tried to remember what day it was, while the Customs Officer looked on with bulging eyes. Hawk and Fisher examined their work with quiet satisfaction.
“Start as you mean to go on,” said Hawk.
“You have to be firm,” said Fisher.
They turned to look at Stout, and all the color drained from his face. He would clearly have liked to fall back several steps, but his legs were shaking too much. Hawk smiled at him, and Stout actually whimpered. “We don’t do Customs,” Hawk said firmly. “We also don’t do taxes or duties or any kind of strip search that isn’t entirely consensual. Now go and sit down with your little soldier friends and don’t bother us again, or Fisher and I will validate your credentials with something large and heavy and pointed. Go.”
The Customs Official went. Chance shook his head slowly, and gestured urgently for Hawk and Fisher to join him a little distance away. Hawk and Fisher did so, cleaning the blood from their weapons with dirty pieces of rag. Chappie lay down by the subdued mercenaries and kept a hopeful eye on them, just in case. Chance kept his voice low, but his voice was sharp and severe.
“That was really not a good idea. Those soldiers were operating on the Queen’s authority, and so was Stout. He may be a prick, but he’s the Queen’s prick. … I can’t believe I just said that. Look, the point is, you have very little authority here in the Forest. You’re not Guard Captains anymore, and you’ve refused to claim your Royal prerogatives, so all you have left to back you up is your letter of intent, purportedly from Prince Rupert. That, and my support as King’s Questor, will buy you some leeway, but you can’t go on acting like this! You don’t have the justification, and there’s a limit to how much I can protect you. You’re on your own here.”
“Best way,” said Fisher calmly.
“If I learned anything from my time in the Forest Kingdom,” said Hawk, “it’s that you have to come on strong, or they’ll walk right over you. If Isobel and I act as though we have the authority to take names and kick arses, everyone else will let us. We are Rupert and Julia by proxy, and people will respect that as long as we act the part.”
“And if they don’t?” asked Chance.
“Then we start throwing people off the Castle battlements until they do,” said Fisher.
“I wish I thought you were joking,” said Chance. “I can’t promise to protect you. I’m only the Questor.”
“That’s all right,” said Hawk. “We’ve had lots of experience protecting ourselves. You worry about who’s going to protect the Court from us.”
“Oh, I am,” said Chance. “Trust me, I am.”
Leaving burning Customs tents behind them, they journeyed on through the Forest. The Forest Castle was still several days’ hard riding away, but Hawk and Fisher were in no great hurry to get there. It had been a long time since they’d seen the rich colors and splendor of the Forest, and they were enjoying the slow return of old memories. Their horses easily followed the open path, and they were free to just sit back and look around them, drinking in the sights and sounds. It was summer, and the great tree branches were heavy with greenery. The trees soared up into the sky, their highest reaches bending over to form an interlocked canopy through which golden sunlight fell in thick shafts, full of swirling dust motes. The air was comfortably warm, almost drowsy, and full of the clean, fresh smells of living things. Birds sang, insects buzzed, and from all around came the slow cautious sounds of game on the move.
“God, this is a change after Haven,” Hawk said finally. “No more soot and sewers and sorcery; just the woods. It smells like home.”
“You’re right,” said Fisher, almost dreamily. “I’d forgotten how … alive and uncomplicated the Forest is. It’s a hell of an improvement over Haven, with all its stinks—”
“Trust us, we noticed,” said Chappie, padding along beside the horses. “Place smelled so bad, I was beginning to wish my nostrils would heal over. I mean, I like a good roll in some muck as much as anyone, but there are limits.”
“It’s good to be back,” said Hawk, not really listening. “Despite everything that happened here, this is still my home.”
“I never really thought of it that way,” said Fisher. “The Forest is only special to me because that’s where I met you. I’m from Hillsdown, remember?”
Hawk turned in the saddle and looked at her uncertainly. “We could go visit Hillsdown afterward, if you want.”
“No,” said Fisher. “There’s nothing for me there. What memories I have aren’t happy ones. You’re my home, Hawk—wherever you are.”
They smiled at each other, then rode on for a while, enjoying the sharp staccato singing of the birds, and the endless low drone of insects. The horses meandered along, happy to be taking their time, while Chappie made brief darting journeys off the trail into the trees in search of food or amusement. Chance was quiet, watching in what he hoped was an unobtrusive way as Hawk and Fisher remembered who they had once been. For the first time he really began to see them as the legendary Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, who had saved the whole Forest from almost unimaginable horrors and evils. They seemed almost to grow in stature as their memories came back to them.
“I know this place,” Hawk said suddenly. “I’ve been here before, on my way to Dragonslair Mountain. I was so determined to prove myself by finding and slaying a dragon. I thought that if I could do that, all the problems of my life would be solved. I’d be appreciated, respected, and all the rest of my life would be … sorted out. I was so young then.”
“We both were,” said Fisher. “And I was so frightened of my father. Duke Alric of Hillsdown, undisputed monarch of all he surveyed. Except maybe his own family. I had seven sisters, all of us searching for our own identity by challenging our father in different ways. When he sent me off to die in the dragon’s cave, I was almost relieved. It meant the worst was over, and I’d never have to be scared of him again. He could be terrible when he chose to be. At least there was a chance the dragon might be kind, and kill me quickly instead of by inches, like my father was doing. I wonder if I’ll still be scared, when I meet him again at Forest Castle. It’s been twelve years, and I’m so much more than I was then, but still … do we ever really see our fathers differently than when we were children?”
“Oh, I think so,” said Hawk. “My father and I never really got to know each other till we were both adults, and better able to appreciate and understand each other. I suppose that’s true for lots of people. You never talked much about your father before. It’s hard to believe you were ever afraid of anyone.”
“You never knew Duke Alric,” said Fisher. “And I wish I never had, either.”
Hawk smiled at her. “Don’t you worry about your fat
her, lass; if he even looks at you funny, I’ll kick him up one side of the Court and down the other.”
Fisher looked at him fondly. “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”
“Damn right,” growled Hawk.
“You worry me,” said Chance. “Please remember that Duke Alric is an honored guest of the Forest Court, and as such has been promised all diplomatic courtesies and full protection from all forms of harm and harassment.”
“That’s all right,” said Hawk. “I didn’t promise him anything. And as Hawk, I’m not a citizen of the Forest Land, so the Court can’t be blamed for whatever terrible thing I might do to him. Don’t look so gloomy, Chance; we know how to behave diplomatically, if we have to.”
“Right,” said Fisher. “We didn’t kill any of those Customs soldiers, did we?”
“And that’s your idea of being diplomatic, is it?” asked Chance heavily. “Not actually killing anyone?”
“Well, mostly, yes,” said Hawk.
Chance looked at the trail ahead of him. “If I had any sense at all, I’d turn around and ride away right now.”
They rode on through the Forest. Days and nights passed, and all was quiet and peaceful. They met no one, but Chappie always found fresh game from somewhere, and they ate and slept well under the Forest canopy and the starry night sky. Bubbling streams ran fresh and clear, and long summer days were calm and pleasant, and Hawk and Fisher began to relax, almost against their will. They’d never been able to let their guard down in Haven, even when barricaded inside their own quarters. Chance saw the slow change in them, like soldiers home from the war at last, and approved. It was all going well, until they came to the borders of the Darkwood.
The Darkwood, the one place in the Forest where it was always night and the sun never rose. Where the trees were always dead and rotting, and nothing lived but demons. The Darkwood had returned to its original boundaries after the Blue Moon passed and the long night collapsed, but it was an ancient place, and could never be entirely destroyed. Hawk reined in his horse and sat there for a long time, staring into the darkness that fell like a curtain before him. The day ended abruptly in a straight line, the impenetrable dark turning aside the daylight with contemptuous ease. A cold breeze gusted eternally out of the blackness, carrying with it the stench of corruption and death. Hawk’s horse wanted to back away from the dark and the smell, but Hawk wouldn’t let it. Twelve years had passed since he’d last looked upon the Darkwood, but now he was back, and the horror in his heart was as fresh as yesterday. Fisher moved her horse in close beside him, knowing what he was feeling. They had both journeyed through that long night, and they still carried the scars on their souls.
“Why did you bring us here, Chance?” Fisher asked angrily. “We didn’t need to see this.”
There was a sudden harshness in her voice, a cold and dangerous edge that Chance had never heard directed at him before, and he paused a moment to be sure his voice would be calm and measured when he answered.
“We had to pass this way to reach the Forest Castle. And I thought we might perhaps use it as a short cut. Just passing through the edge would save us two days’ journey.”
“You’ve never been through the Darkwood, have you?” asked Hawk, not looking away from the darkness before him.
“Well, no—it’s forbidden. But you’d been through it so many times, I thought you might want to—”
“No,” said Hawk. “Been there, done that. I have nothing to prove to myself anymore. We go around.”
“We go around,” said Fisher.
And so they turned their horses aside, and rode around the boundary of the Darkwood. The cold and silent blackness frightened the horses, and they kept their heads turned away from it. Hawk kept his head turned away too. In his day, there had been a barrier between the Forest and the Darkwood; the Tanglewood. But that was long gone now, destroyed in the Demon War. There was no warning now, to give you a chance to prepare yourself; just a sudden transition from light and life and living things to the soul-destroying horror of the endless dark. Hawk could still remember his first journey through the Darkwood, along with his then companion, the unicorn called Breeze, and how close it had come to overturning his reason. In the cold and rotten heart of the Darkwood he had encountered a spiritual darkness, a stain on his mind and on his soul, and he carried the mark of it with him still.
Even after the driving back of the long night, it had been many years before Hawk and Fisher could bear to sleep without a nightlight.
“I’m sorry,” Chance said finally, disturbed by the brooding silence Hawk and Fisher had fallen into. “I should have realized how much this place would affect you. Of course you must have terrible memories, terrible … I should have understood.”
“You still don’t,” said Fisher. “It’s partly because we don’t want to have to kill any more demons, now that we know what they are. Or were. But it’s more than that. Asking us to go back into the dark is like asking us to re-experience our own deaths. Haven’t you ever talked to anyone who went through the Darkwood?”
“Very few people will speak of it,” said Chance. “The only real hero left from that time is the Landsgrave, Sir Robert Hawke, and he can get quite violent if anyone’s dumb enough to raise the question with him. He’s always happy to talk about his heroics during the Demon War, and his close personal friendship with the legendary Prince Rupert, but …”
Hawk snorted, amused. “We were never really friends. We went through a lot together, fought side by side against appalling odds, but I can’t say I ever really knew the man. There wasn’t time. I respected him, certainly; he was a brave man and a fine warrior. I even took his name for my own when I went south. But we were never friends.”
“Be that as it may,” Chase said diplomatically, “he parlayed that famous friendship with a legend into a strong political career. Everyone loves a hero.” He paused, and then risked another question. “Can you tell me what it was like, in the Darkwood?”
“Dark,” answered Hawk. “Dark enough to break anyone.”
“I was here once before,” Chance said. “This is where I met Chappie. The Shaman had a vision; said he saw demons spilling out of the Darkwood. He made a hell of a fuss about it, so to shut him up, the King sent me to take a look. Just me, mind you; no soldiers or Rangers for backup. Luckily, it turned out the Shaman was only partly right. There was just the one demon, who’d sneaked out of the long night and was now lurking on the outskirts of a small town not far from here. The townspeople were terrified, naturally, but as far as I could tell, the demon hadn’t caused any real damage yet. So I went to sort things out.”
Chance paused for a moment, looking straight ahead, remembering. “I didn’t want to kill it, not knowing what it had once been, but I was prepared to, if I had to. If I couldn’t persuade or scare it back into the Darkwood, where it belonged. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I’d never actually encountered a demon before, close up. But I figured, one demon out of the long night, how much trouble could it be?”
Fisher snorted, amused. “Hell, some of the things we faced in the long night were bigger than houses.”
“And even the ones most like humans could still be real trouble,” said Hawk. “Where do you think I got these scars on my face from?”
“I was just saying how I felt then,” Chance said quietly. “I soon learned better. I found the demon easily enough. Once darkness fell, there it was, sitting in the town cemetery, squatting before the tombstones and reading the names aloud. It was white as a shroud, pale as a corpse, naked as a grub, with a twisted form and a face that was as much human as not. It had long curving claws on its hands and feet. It had trouble speaking because of all the fangs filling its mouth, but I could understand it. The demon made no move to attack as I approached; instead it just sat and studied me, as though trying to remember what I was. We talked for a while. The poor bastard had started to remember that it had once been human, and lived in this town. It had come out of the lo
ng night in search of its memories, its past life. It just wanted to go home, basically.
“Of course, it couldn’t be allowed to. It was still a demon, with all its drives and appetites. Several pet cats and dogs had already disappeared. So far, it hadn’t been able to remember exactly who it used to be, which was just as well. You can imagine the horror of its old family, if this misshapen thing had come hammering on their door, demanding to be let in.
“So I told the demon it had to go back where it belonged now, back into the Darkwood. It pointed out several of the headstones, and read the names aloud in its thick, guttural voice. They were all members of the same family. Maybe the demon’s family, back when it had been human, maybe not. It was still very confused. And then it turned and looked out over the sleeping town, and it started crying.
“I patted it on the shoulder, reassuringly, and suddenly it turned on me, all teeth and claws and vicious strength. I should have drawn my axe the moment I saw the damned thing, but it had looked so pathetic. I hit the ground hard, with the demon on top of me, and it didn’t take me long to realize the demon was much stronger than I was. Its clawed hands fastened round my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. I pulled at its wrists with all my strength, and couldn’t budge them. And then this huge snarling fury came flying out of nowhere and slammed into the demon, knocking it off me. And that’s how I met Chappie.”
“What happened then?” Fisher asked after Chance had paused for a long time. “What happened with the demon?”
“I killed it,” said Chance. “What else could I do? I couldn’t let it stay anywhere near the town, and it would have been cruel to make it go back into the Darkwood, remembering what it had once been. So Chappie pinned it down, and I cut its head off. Afterward, it turned back into a human form, so I buried it in the cemetery, next to what might have been its family. No marker, of course. I never knew its name, and I couldn’t ask in the town. It would only have upset people.”