“Father,” said Prince Cameron, “I’ve come home, at your request. You look well. War suits you.”
“Welcome home, Cameron,” said King William. His voice was cool, even cold.
The Broken Man made a point of looking around him. “You’ve made changes to the Castle while I was away. I don’t like them.”
Christof bristled at that. “Did you think the world would stand still while you were away, Brother?”
“Christof . . . ,” said the Broken Man. “You’re still looking very . . . yourself. Still every inch the peacock. And just as . . . civilised as ever. But I wasn’t referring to the Castle’s furnishings.” He looked steadily at the King. “You have brought back the Unreal, Father. I can feel it. The whole Castle is full of ancient voices, calling out to me. And I can feel the old Blood Magic, moving within me . . .”
He frowned, thoughtfully, and the great marble floor of the Court split suddenly, jaggedly, from one end to the other. The whole Court shook as a great crevice opened up, running from the Court doors to stop just before the throne. Christof and Malcolm had to grab onto the throne to keep themselves from falling. The Steward had to grab the Broken Man’s arm as the floor rocked, and the Broken Man let him. King William sat on his throne, unmoved and unaffected even as his Court rocked and rumbled before him.
“Stop that,” he said, and just like that the rumbling stopped. The two sides of the crevice slammed back together, leaving only a long crack in the marble floor. The Court grew still again. Christof and Malcolm let go of the throne, and the Steward quickly took his hand away from the Broken Man’s arm. Christof sneered at Cameron.
“No one likes a show-off.”
“Earth magic,” said Prince Cameron, not listening. “A useful tool, perhaps, in battle.” And only then did he look at Christof. “You mustn’t worry, Brother. I’m not staying. I’m just here to fight a war.” He looked at the King again. “So what’s the plan, Father? A full-scale invasion of the Forest Land would take weeks, maybe even months, just to organise. And probably take years to carry out, with massive loss of life and widespread destruction on both sides. I have to assume you have something more . . . speedy in mind.”
“Exactly,” said the King. “I have a much better idea. It is my intention to use the power of the Unreal to open a gateway between Redhart and the Forest Castle. Rather like the door that brought you here, Cameron. We will take our army straight to Forest Castle and lay siege to King Rufus.”
This was news to everyone else in the Court, and they all looked at one another for some time.
“What power, exactly, would we be using to make such a great jump through space?” said the Champion. “This isn’t just another dimensional doorway we’re talking about. Van Fleet couldn’t do it. We’d have to transport troops, horses, weapons, supplies, siege engines . . .”
“The Unreal has only just returned, Father,” Christof said carefully. “It might well be able to open such a door, but who knows how long it will take to master the Unreal? It certainly doesn’t seem to be under any control at the moment . . .”
“Fortunately, we have help,” said the King. “You will all remember, I am sure, the ancient Standing Stone in my ornamental gardens? The one the peasants like to call The God Within. Well, it turns out they were right, after all. There was a god sleeping within the Stone, and I have woken him and brought him forth. See!”
He gestured grandly at the far end of the hall, and they all turned to look. And there, standing at the farthest edge of the pool of light generated from the throne, was a tall, commanding presence. A good ten feet tall, supernaturally slender, handsome, and magnificent. He had moved on from his original shape in the gardens in favour of something more nearly human. Or at least, more acceptable to humans. His skin was bloodred, and so were the formal clothes he wore so splendidly. He looked like a wingless angel, dipped in fresh blood. He smiled broadly, in a very nearly human way.
“I am the Red Heart,” he said, in an aristocratic and even Royal tone of voice. “Founder of this Kingdom, Lord of the Elements, Progenitor of your Royal line. Your Blood Magic was a gift from me, long and long ago. So there’s a little bit of me in all of you. I was locked away, imprisoned in Stone, before your present history began, because your ancestors were afraid of me. But now I’m back, to make you all strong again.”
“Oh dear God,” said Christof. “Father . . . what have you done?”
“How can we hope to control . . . that?” said Malcolm.
“You can’t,” said King William. “But I can. Van Fleet! I know you’re listening! Stop skulking about and come forward!”
They all waited for the sorcerer to appear out of nowhere, as he usually did, but instead the great doors of the Court swung open just a little, and Van Fleet squeezed through the crack, followed by two heavily armed guards. The sorcerer had put his colourful wizard’s robes back on, but now they seemed too big, too good for him. Like a child who’s been caught playing grown-up and now expects punishment. The guards escorted him all the way through the empty, shadowed Court, right up to the throne, as though to make sure he didn’t wander off and get lost along the way. They stood behind the sorcerer as he bowed listlessly to the throne.
He barely spared a glance for the Steward and Prince Cameron. And he didn’t look once at the Red Heart, even as he passed him by.
It was clear to everyone that Van Fleet was no longer a trusted ally and willing servant of the King. Events had moved on and left Van Fleet behind. He looked around for his brother, the Prime Minister, and when he realised Gregory Pool wasn’t there, he seemed to shrink into himself even further, as he realised he stood alone before his King. He nodded almost sadly to Prince Cameron.
“Welcome back, your highness. Welcome home. You won’t like it. I’d run, if I were you.”
“That’s enough,” said King William. He nodded to the two guards, and waited till they had walked back through the Court and left, before giving his full attention to Van Fleet. “I have work for you, sorcerer.”
Van Fleet bowed briefly to the King, like a sullen dog brought to heel. “How may I serve you, Sire? What can I do for you that your new ally cannot?”
“You know what I want from you,” said the King. “You’ve been studying it long enough.”
“There is a way,” said Van Fleet, almost reluctantly. “Not a good way, but then, that’s never bothered you before, has it, my King? Basically, you need to bring all of Redhart’s magic-users together in one place, and then have them channel and focus the power of the Unreal to produce a teleport spell capable of transporting all your armed forces straight to Forest Castle. Of course, most of the men and women involved in this great working will almost certainly wither up, or burn up, or just die from the strain, but . . .”
“All the magic-users?” said the Champion, frowning. “I thought one of our main problems was the general shortage of such people in Redhart these days.”
“They just didn’t want to make themselves known,” said Van Fleet. “But with the Unreal at the King’s command, I’m sure he can track them all down easily enough. Of course, herding them together in one place and then getting them to work together, and do what you want . . .”
“I am their King,” said William. “They will do as I command.”
Van Fleet glanced at the Red Heart, standing still and silent. “Yes, I’m sure you can make them do anything you want, now. Sire.”
“But is this really feasible?” insisted Malcolm. “A single dimensional gateway big enough to transport an entire army?”
Van Fleet shrugged. “Technically speaking . . . I would say so. No one’s ever done it before, but then, it’s been a long time since anyone had the power of the Unreal to draw on . . . Have you discussed this with my brother, and with Parliament, Sire?”
“In time of war,” said King William, “I rule, and Parliament supports. That is Redhart law.”
Van Fleet nodded tiredly, as though he’d expected nothing less.
He looked at the Broken Man.
“Looks like you’ll get your siege after all.”
“Good,” said Prince Cameron. “I will tear down the walls of Forest Castle and make the survivors of the Forest Royal line kneel before me. I wonder what it will feel like, to kill a King . . .”
NINE
EMOTIONAL ENCOUNTERS
King Rufus sat on his throne, in his Court, surrounded by people, some of whom he thought he knew. They were all shouting at one another and making a lot of noise, and he wished they wouldn’t. All the raised voices did was make his head ache, and make it even more difficult for him to think. He had to concentrate; there was something important he had to do . . . but he couldn’t think what. He sat slumped on his throne, looking at his hands trembling in his lap. He wanted to go back to his room and lie down. He was almost sure it was time for his nap.
Peregrine de Woodville, First Minister of the Forest Land, strode up and down before the throne, talking at the top of his voice and wringing his hands together. His eyes were wide and wild, like a trapped animal. “We can’t go to war!” he said loudly. “We just can’t! Why isn’t anyone listening to me? We haven’t got the troops and we haven’t got the money . . . If we do go to war, we’ll lose! Why do you think we all worked so hard on that bloody Peace agreement? Raven . . . Raven! Where are you? Get the Redhart Court back, at once! We have to talk them out of this. Promise them anything, buy us some time . . . Why did you break contact?”
“I didn’t,” said Raven. The young sorcerer in black appeared out of nowhere, right in the middle of everyone. Most of whom fell back a few steps at his sudden reappearance, despite themselves, and then tried very hard to look as though they hadn’t. Raven noticed, because he noticed everything, but he didn’t smile. “The connection between the two Courts was broken at their end. And without the willing cooperation of their sorcerer, Van Fleet, I can’t reestablish the connection. I’m afraid it’s very clear, First Minister, that they don’t want to talk to us.”
“And what would you say to them anyway, Peregrine?” Prince Richard said caustically. “What could we promise them? It’s obvious William wants this war. That he’s been planning for it all along. Whatever you offered, he’d turn it down. While laughing in our faces. Anything we might come up with now would just be seen as begging for mercy, and we can’t afford to look weak. Not now.”
“I can’t believe he’d go to war over me,” said Princess Catherine. She was hanging on to Richard’s arm with both hands, as though to hold herself up. “If I’d known he’d go so far . . .”
“This was never about you, Princess,” said the Sombre Warrior immediately, his cold voice flat but certain. “Your father was determined to have this war. You said it yourself; you were just his excuse. Even if you had volunteered to go back . . . he’d still have found some reason to declare war.”
The Seneschal gave the huge armoured Warrior a hard look. “You were his man. How much did you know about this in advance?”
“I had my suspicions,” said the Sombre Warrior, “but no proof.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the Warrior,” Peregrine said dismissively. “He works for me. Has done for years. He’s been my secret agent in Redhart all along.”
Everyone looked thoughtfully at the Sombre Warrior, who stood impassively before them, not giving an inch. Catherine thought she should feel shocked, even outraged, that one of the great legends of her land should prove to be a lie; but she was just too tired. Her whole life had been turned upside down in a few days; what was one more person who wasn’t who she thought they were?
“He works for us?” said Richard. “The Sombre Warrior? I never knew that.”
“You didn’t need to know,” said Peregrine, just a bit haughtily.
“Well, that’s not exactly true, is it, given how things have turned out!” said Richard, giving the First Minister glare for glare. “What other secrets have you been keeping from us, Peregrine? Anything that might prove useful in time of war? No? Then a lot of use your secrets were.” He deliberately turned his back on the First Minister, to nod to his father. “If it is to be war, then we’re going to need weapons. Really powerful weapons—”
And then he stopped, as he realised King Rufus was just staring at him blankly. Everyone looked at the old man sitting slumped on the oversized throne, and no one said anything. Rufus’ face was tired and slack, his eyes were dazed and uncomprehending, and it was clear he hadn’t been listening to anything anyone was saying. Richard sighed quietly, and turned to the Seneschal.
“We’re going to have to open up the Castle Armoury, Seneschal. The old part, that no one likes to talk about. We need the ancient weapons . . .”
“Most of the legendary weapons are gone, your highness,” the Seneschal said carefully. “Lost, or forgotten, long ago.”
“I know some people who could help with that,” said Raven. Everyone looked round, surprised to find the Necromancer now standing by the closed doors to the Court. “With your permission, Sire?”
He was talking to Richard, not Rufus. Everyone knew that. Richard nodded, stiffly. Raven gestured at the two great doors and they swung open on their own. And in walked Hawk and Fisher, Jack and Gillian. Richard made a loud, exasperated noise, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
“The day’s champions, from the Tourney? Great fighters I’m sure, but . . . I don’t have time for this right now!”
“Then make time,” said Hawk flatly. “You need us.”
“We know a lot about war,” said Fisher. “We’ve done this before.”
“I had them wait outside,” Raven said smoothly. “I was sure they had a contribution to make.”
Richard made an effort to be polite to the newcomers. “No doubt there’ll be a place for you in the ranks, when the fighting starts, but right now we have important decisions to make, so . . .”
“Cut the crap,” said Hawk, not unkindly. “You haven’t a clue what to do, or what needs doing. You need us. You need our experience.”
Richard just stood there and gaped. No one had ever spoken like that to him before. But even as he was struggling to find the right words to crush this rude outsider, something in Hawk’s voice seemed to pierce the fog in King Rufus’ mind. He sat up straight and turned abruptly on his throne, to look at Hawk and Fisher.
“I know you . . . ,” he said. “I do! I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
“Yes, Father,” Richard said tiredly. “These are the champions from the Grand Tourney. You met them earlier—”
“No, no, no,” Rufus said testily, not looking away from Hawk and Fisher. “I met both of you, long ago, when I was just a small child. You wouldn’t think I could remember something like that, would you . . . when I have so much trouble remembering where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. But all my old memories are still here, in my head, sharp as crystal. Listen to those people, Richard. They can help us. They may be the only people who can.”
Richard moved in close to the Seneschal so he could murmur quietly in the man’s ear. “The old man’s getting confused again. Get him out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” snapped Rufus.
“I am Hawk, your majesty,” Hawk said carefully. “And this is Fisher.”
“Are you sure?” said the King. “You don’t look old enough.”
“Father, these aren’t the original Hawk and Fisher,” Richard said loudly. “That was a long time ago.”
“Oh,” said the King. “Pity. We could have used them, right now.” He looked meaningfully at Jack and Gillian. “But I definitely know you two. Jack and Gillian Forester. Yes? Yes. Son and daughter of Rupert and Julia. Your reputations precede you. The Walking Man and the Warrior Woman. Legends in your own right. And here you are, back home where you belong, come to help in your country’s hour of need. Let me look at you . . . Oh. Oh dear. You’ve got old, like me. Don’t get old. No one takes you seriously anymore.”
“We know a lot about what’s
in the Armoury,” said Jack, as much to Richard as to the King.
“What’s really in the Armoury,” said Gillian.
“Well, yes,” said Richard, “I suppose you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Richard!” said the King. “You need to listen to me. I need to tell you something!”
“Yes, Father,” said Richard. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, son,” said King Rufus, “but I think . . . you’re going to have to take charge of things, for a while. See to the raising of our armies, to the defence of Forest Castle . . . all the things that need doing. There’s just enough of me left to know how much I’ve lost. I’m not up to the job any longer. I’d hoped you’d have more time, but . . . I’m sorry, Richard. Sorry to leave you on your own. To stand on your own, against so many enemies. But I’m tired, so tired. It’s all up to you now, son. And there’s something I have to do. I can’t quite seem to remember what, just yet, but I’m sure there was something . . .”
His voice trailed away as he mumbled to himself, sitting on his throne, looking like he didn’t belong there. Lost in his own thoughts . . . The Seneschal came forward, helped Rufus down from the throne, and led him away. Everyone bowed to the King as he passed, but he didn’t notice. He was still muttering querulously to himself as the Court doors closed behind him.
“I’m going to the Armoury,” Hawk said bluntly. “I know what I’m looking for. Gillian, you come with me.”
“Why me?” said Gillian.
“Yes, why her?” said Fisher. “Why aren’t I going with you to the Armoury? I know it just as well as you do!”
“You have to go to the Cathedral,” said Hawk. “Because you know what’s there.”
“Ah,” said Fisher. “Yes. Of course.”
Richard stepped forward to glare at both of them. “Where the hell do you get off, making decisions in my Court?”