Blue Moon Rising

  She broke off, and frowned thoughtfully. “You know, that’s part of what I mean. If I’d said that to a Lady-in-Waiting, she’d have had a fit of the vapours and called for her smelling salts. Being blunt and direct isn’t just unfashionable, it’s unfeminine. Do you think I’m un-feminine?”

  The dragon chuckled. “Julia, I’m hardly an expert on human behaviour, but it seems to me that if you’d been just another helpless domesticated female, you’d never have survived the Darkwood. Or your journey through the South Wing this afternoon.”

  “Damn right,” said Julia. “So why can’t they just leave me alone?”

  “You’re a Princess,” said the dragon. “You have responsibilities. Even I know that.”

  Julia sniffed disdainfully, picked up a straw from the floor, and chewed on the end. “A Princess. And because of that I’m not supposed to think or feel or hope? Because of that I have to take orders from everyone on how to dress, how to talk, how to act? Because of that I have to marry a man I don’t love? I’ll see them rot in hell first!”

  The dragon slowly turned his head to get a better look at her. “We’ve finally come to what’s really bothering you, haven’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Julia quietly. She looked at the straw in her hand, and threw it away. “Rupert should have been back ages ago.”

  “It’s a long trip, there and back. And from what I’ve heard, the High Warlock will take a lot of persuading.”

  “I should never have let him go back into the Darkwood. You know what that place is like.”

  “Yes,” said the dragon softly. “I remember.” He flexed his wings slightly, and Julia reached up to scratch the recent scar tissue.

  “Do you still have nightmares?” she asked suddenly. The dragon shook his head. “I do, sometimes. Only now I dream about Rupert, dying, alone in the darkness.”

  “Rupert can take care of himself,” said the dragon.

  Julia sniffed. “You could have fooled me.”

  “Do you love him, Julia?”

  Julia stared out the open stable door. “Looks like the rain’s finally going off.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I know.”

  “Humans,” said the dragon, and chuckled wryly. “If you care for him, why not tell him?”

  “Because he’s not here! He went off and left me behind!”

  “He could hardly take you with him into danger, could he?”

  “He could have if he’d wanted to! I’m as good with a sword as he is! Anything would have been better than leaving me here. He’s not coming back, dragon, I know it. The demons finally got him, and I wasn’t there to help him …” Julia pressed her face against the dragon’s side, and let the tears come.

  The dragon lifted a wing and wrapped it gently round her, holding her close until the tears finally slowed and stopped.

  “You’re tired,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go back to your room and rest?”

  “I don’t want to go back to my room,” Julia said to the dragon’s side. “I’m afraid of the dark. Of the demons.”

  “Then stay here with me. Sleep. You’ll be safe here, I promise you.”

  “Thank you,” said Julia, so quietly only a dragon could have heard her. She settled herself against his side, riding his slow breathing, and soon she was asleep.

  “Humans,” said the dragon, affectionately. He lowered his great head on to his tail, and waited patiently, watchfully, for the night to pass.

  Chapter Five

  THE DARK TOWER

  Deep in the Darkwood, in the hidden heart of the unending night, there lay a clearing. Far above, the inward-leaning trees bowed down to darkness, mingling and intertwining their gnarled, misshapen branches until the bower was safely protected from the light of day. Phosphorescent lichens spotted the tree trunks, spreading a dull, eerie, blue light. Fungi and oily mosses carpeted the clearing floor, in the middle of which stood a single, rotting tree stump, roughly fashioned into the shape of a throne. And in that darkness, on that corrupt throne: the Demon Prince.

  In his way, the Demon Prince seemed human. He resembled a man, but his features were blurred, his delicate fingers ended in claws, and his burning crimson eyes showed no trace of human thoughts or feelings. He looked like a man because it amused him to do so. Once he had looked like something else, and might again, but for now he lived in the world of men. If lived could be applied to a creature that was never born.

  Even seated, he was obviously unnaturally tall, and slender to the point of emaciation. His pale flesh had a lambent pearly gleam, and he dressed in rags and tatters of purest black. He wore a battered, wide-brimmed hat, pulled down low over the eyes, and as he sat upon his throne like some terrible gore crow, he gnawed lazily at something that still feebly kicked and squealed. The Demon Prince had no need to eat but he liked to kill, and was compelled by his nature to terrify.

  Surrounding the rotting throne, filling the clearing like so many crooked shadows, lay the demons of the Darkwood, abasing themselves before their Lord. They sat or crouched or lay upon their bellies in the dirt, watching if they had eyes, listening if they had ears, or just … waiting. They were of the dark, and the dark was patient.

  A glowing silver sphere suddenly appeared before the throne, shimmering and pulsating as it floated on the stinking air. The Demon Prince smiled horribly, fresh blood trickling down his chin, and threw aside his meal. Two demons squabbled briefly over the remains. The Dark Lord beckoned languidly to the glowing sphere, and it drifted closer.

  “Master,” said a quiet voice from the sphere, and the Demon Prince grinned bloodily.

  “Yes, my dear traitor, I await your report.” His voice was soft, sibilant and subtly grating on the ear.

  “Prince Rupert and his party approach the boundary of your Kingdom, Master. They intend to pass through the long night on their way to the Dark Tower. You must stop them before they reach the High Warlock…”

  “He is of no consequence,” said the Demon Prince amusedly. “No man can stand against the dark. Or perhaps you think otherwise?”

  He slowly closed one hand into a fist, and agonised screams echoed from the sphere. The waiting demons shifted uneasily, disturbed at any threat of violence from their Lord. The Demon Prince opened his hand, and the screams died away, to be replaced by laboured, tortured breathing.

  “I’m sorry, Master, I …”

  “You forget your place, my dear traitor. Once, you sought power over me, but now your body and soul are mine, to do with as I please. Fail me, and I will transform you into the least of my demons. Obey me in all things, and all the kingdoms of the world shall be yours …”

  “Yes, Master. I am your most faithful servant.”

  “You are my slave.” The Demon Prince rested his chin on his bony hand and stared thoughtfully at the floating sphere. The wide-brimmed hat plunged his face into shadow, an impenetrable darkness in which only his burning eyes still showed. “Well, traitor, do you have the Curtana?”

  “Yes, Master. It’s safely hidden, here in the Castle.”

  The Dark Lord chuckled quietly, and the demons stirred. “You have done well, dear traitor. Without that sword, they have no hope against me. I have the touchstone. I have the unicorn’s horn. I have my pretty demons. And now, after all the many centuries, the Blue Moon rises, and my time comes round again.”

  “But what of the High Warlock, Master?”

  The Demon Prince closed his hand, and again screams rang from the sphere. “For all his learning, and for all his power, the Warlock is just a man. I have faced such men before, and broken them at my pleasure.”

  He slowly opened his hand, and the screams stopped. For a time, the only sound in the clearing was the heavy, ragged breathing from the sphere. The Demon Prince smiled.

  “Return to my work, slave. Be my eyes and ears at Court. Be my darkness in the heart of their light.”

  The sphere shimmered and was gone, and once again darkness lay
across the clearing, broken only by the dim blue glow of the phosphorescent lichens. The Dark Lord stared out over his waiting demons, and laughed softly.

  “Soon,” he promised them. “Soon …”

  Prince Rupert reined the unicorn to a halt, and stared grimly at the Darkwood boundary before him. Darkness hung on the air like a curtain, marking the new beginning of the long night. Rupert shivered, and pulled his cloak tightly about him. Lowering clouds hid the midday sun, and the bitter wind was thick with sleet. The air was tainted with the smell of corruption, and the surrounding trees were gaunt and twisted, withered and malformed by the approaching night. Their desiccated bark was flecked and mottled with a dozen kinds of lichen and mould, and dead leaves choked the ancient trail. Behind him, Rupert could hear his guards shifting nervously as they got their first good look at the Darkwood. He frowned, and gestured for the Champion to join him. The sooner he led his guards into the long night the better, before the darkness destroyed what little confidence they still had. Rupert glared through the driving sleet, unable to tear his gaze away from the rotting trees that bordered the Darkwood. He could feel his hands shaking, and the smell of his own sweat was strong in his nostrils. He’d hoped this journey would be easier. He’d already survived the darkness twice. He had a troop of guards to back him up. But still his breath caught in his throat, and his heart hammered against his breastbone. His hands closed tightly on the unicorn’s reins until his knuckles showed white, and he shook his head quickly to clear it. He was going back into the Darkwood come what may, and this time he’d leave the demons a sign to mark his passing they’d never forget.

  The Champion guided his armoured warhorse in beside the unicorn, and nodded briefly to Rupert. “So this is the Darkwood,” he said slowly, a strange excitement stirring in his cold, dark eyes. “It’s everything you said, Sire, and more. It’s like a nightmare thrust into the day, a pathway to hell itself.”

  Rupert raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the Champion. “Are you telling me you’ve never seen the Darkwood before?”

  “I’m afraid so, Sire. As Champion, my duties have always kept me close to the Castle, and the Darkwood hasn’t been a real threat to the Forest for centuries; the Tanglewood saw to that. I’ve read all the reports, of course, but …”

  “Yes,” said Rupert. “I know.”

  The Champion studied him closely, as though seeing him for the first time. “And you braved that darkness twice. No wonder you came back changed.” He turned away before Rupert could comment, and brought out a leather map from one of his saddle panniers. Rupert waited impatiently while the Champion unrolled the map, and then he leaned over to point out their position.

  “You can see for yourself, sir Champion, we have to go through the Darkwood. There’s no other way. Head east, and we come up against the Starshade Mountains; west, and we’ll have to cross the Brightwater rapids. Either route will cost us weeks of travel we can’t afford. But, if our intelligence reports are right, the Darkwood’s spread pretty thinly here. We should be able to punch our way through and out the other side in two or three hours, if we’re lucky.”

  “And if we’re not lucky, Sire?”

  “Then we won’t make it at all,” said Rupert evenly.

  The Champion grinned suddenly, and turned to study the darkness waiting before them. “Has it occurred to you, Sire, that the Darkwood may have been left deliberately thin, as a temptation to travellers?”

  “Oh sure,” said Rupert. “It’s almost certainly a trap. That’s why speed is so important; we have to get in and out before the demons even know we’re there.”

  The Champion shrugged resignedly, and rolled up the map. “A pity. I was hoping I’d get the chance to try my steel against a demon or two.”

  Rupert rubbed briefly at the thick scab that marked the right side of his face. “It’s an overrated pastime. If the demons find us, sir Champion, we’re as good as dead. All of us.”

  “I’m sure they seemed fierce enough when you had to face them alone, Sire, but …”

  “You didn’t understand the Darkwood until you saw it,” said Rupert harshly. “You won’t understand the demons until you’ve seen them gather in the darkness. Now get the men ready to move off, we’ve wasted enough time talking. I’m not sure how the horses will react to the long night, so to begin with everybody walks, leading their horses on a short rein. Light every lantern and oil lamp we’ve got, and strap them to the guards’ saddles. From the moment we enter the Darkwood every man carries his sword and buckler at the ready, but our only real defence against the darkness will be the light we bring in with us.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little over-cautious, Sire?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, Sire. Which path do we follow through the Darkwood?”

  “According to all the legends there’s only ever been one path, and that’s miles away. No, sir Champion, we hack our way into the Darkwood, and cut out a path for ourselves as we go. It shouldn’t be too difficult, those trees are rotten to the core.”

  The Champion studied him narrowly. “If there are any demons nearby, they’ll be bound to hear us, Sire.”

  Rupert shrugged. “I’ve tried stealth, sir Champion. It doesn’t work. Our only hope is speed.”

  The Champion nodded impassively, thrust the map back into his pannier, and moved away to give the guards their orders. Rupert turned his attention back to the Darkwood boundary, and then had to look away. The darkness brought back too many memories. He looked instead at his guards, already dismounted from their horses and searching for flint and steel to light their lanterns. The men seemed calm enough, but the horses were nervous. They stamped their hooves and tossed their heads, their snorting breath steaming on the chill air. They seemed fascinated by the darkness, but rolled their eyes wildly if any guard tried to lead them closer to the boundary. Rupert frowned, and called to the guards to wrap cloaks or blankets round the horses’ heads, to keep the animals from panicking when they were led into the Darkwood.

  The guards nodded respectfully, and moved quickly to obey. Seeing the Darkwood close up had impressed the hell out of them, and knowing that Rupert had already been through it twice and survived suddenly meant a great deal more to them than it had. Rupert smiled grimly. The guards might see him as some kind of expert, but he knew better. He swung down out of the saddle and strolled casually among them, talking quietly and calmly, and answering what questions he could about the Darkwood. His answers weren’t exactly reassuring, but the guards listened carefully to everything he said, laughed politely at his jokes, and without actually saying anything themselves, made it very clear that they appreciated his not lying to them about the dangers ahead. Several of the men clapped him on the back, and told him they’d had worse leaders. Rupert went back to his unicorn with tears stinging his eyes. He’d never been more proud of his men, or felt less worthy to lead them.

  Finally everything was ready, and Rupert leaned against the unicorn’s shoulder as he looked his guards over one last time. Lamps and lanterns hung from every saddle, glowing palely in the daylight. Smoke drifted on the air from half a dozen torches. Swords gleamed dully in every guardsman’s hand. The horses stirred restlessly, disturbed by the Darkwood’s stench, but the thick cloth round their heads kept them manageable. Rupert bit his lip thoughtfully, checking for anything he might have forgotten. Provisions wouldn’t be a problem this trip, but he’d had the guards fill their canteens from the nearby brook, just in case. Rupert sighed. Everything that needed to be done had been done. Anything else would just be an excuse, to help him put off the moment when he’d have to go back into the darkness again. The darkness that had laid its mark upon him.

  He shook his head angrily, and looked to the Champion, who stood waiting patiently at the Darkwood boundary, his huge double-headed war axe in his hands. The two massive blades flashed brightly as the Champion hefted the axe. He looked at Rupert enquiringly, and grinned when Rupert nodded curtly. The Ch
ampion took a firm grip on the axe’s oaken shaft and turned to face the darkness. For a moment he hesitated, and then with one swift movement he raised the axe above his head and brought it savagely down on the first Darkwood tree. The steel blade sank deep into the rotting wood, and the stench of corruption was suddenly worse. The Champion jerked the axe free and struck again, shearing clean through the tree. The trunk was hollow, eaten away from within. The Champion worked on, swinging the giant war axe effortlessly, and then he stepped forward into the Darkwood, and the darkness swallowed him. The sound of his axe cutting into rotten wood could still be heard, but only faintly, as though from far away. Rupert gestured to the first half-dozen guards, and they set about widening the new path into the darkness.

  Rupert watched uneasily as their swords rose and fell in a steady rhythm, cutting quickly through the decaying wood. The scars on his face ached fiercely, throbbing to the rhythm of the sword blows. He didn’t have to go back into the darkness. He could still change his mind, and go the long way round. Rupert clenched his hands until the nails dug painfully into his palms. He’d beaten the Darkwood before, he could beat it again. He had to. If only because his men trusted him to get them through safely. He realised he was holding the unicorn’s reins too tight, and slowly relaxed his hands.

  “Rupert,” said the unicorn quietly, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “No,” said Rupert. “If you’ve got a better one, let’s hear it.”

  The unicorn sniffed, and tossed his head. “I’m just the transport, who listens to me?”

  “Don’t start that again,” said Rupert wearily. “You’re my friend, and right now I need all the help I can get. If there was any other way to reach the Dark Tower in time, I’d take it. Do you think I want to go back into the darkness?”