The Champion shook his head slowly. “I’ve sent word of your arrival to the Court, Sire. I think you’d better pay your respects to your father.”
Rupert winced. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m afraid not.” The Champion’s voice was polite, but his cold, inflexible gaze allowed no room for disagreement. “As you may have gathered, Sire, we have a problem on our hands.”
Rupert nodded warily. “You mentioned the Darkwood …”
“Yes, Sire. It’s spreading.”
Rupert stared at the Champion in disbelief. The Darkwood’s boundaries hadn’t shifted by so much as an inch in centuries. “How fast is it moving?”
“Half a mile a day. The Tanglewood has already fallen to the long night, and demons are loose in the Forest. The Darkwood will be here in a matter of months. Unless we find a way to stop it.”
“Stop it? You couldn’t even slow it down!” Rupert didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He fought down an impulse to grab the Champion and shake some sense into him, and struggled to keep his voice calm. “We came back through the Darkwood, sir Champion. The place is crawling with demons. We were lucky to get out alive, and we had a dragon with us.”
“We have trained soldiers,” said the Champion mildly.
“Oh yes?” said Rupert, “Where?” He glared pointedly round the deserted battlements, but the Champion’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Demons have been attacking the outlying farms and villages, Sire; we’ve had to send out every guardsman and man-at-arms we can spare to protect them. The outermost settlements are being evacuated, but since no one dares travel by night, it’s a slow process. Too slow. Every night we lose more men. The demons have grown … cunning.”
“Yes,” said Rupert quietly, remembering. “They hunt in packs now.”
“That’s not possible,” said the Champion flatly.
“Bull,” said Julia. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Demons don’t co-operate,” the Champion insisted, ignoring Julia.
“They do now,” said Rupert. “Why have you sealed the Castle?”
“Demons have been here,” said the Champion. “When night falls, they appear at the clearing’s edge, watching from the shadows, their eyes glowing in the night like coals. So far they’ve made no move against the Castle, but every night there are more. It’s as though they’re … waiting for something.”
Rupert bit his lower lip thoughtfully. If the Darkwood was still months away, what were demons doing so far ahead of the darkness? And where were they hiding during the day? He shook his head slowly in disgust.
“Since I’ve had the most recent experience of the Darkwood, I suppose that makes me an expert … I’d better see my father.”
“Yes, Sire. The Court is waiting. With respect, Sire, don’t expect too much. Every faction in the Court seems to have its own plan for dealing with the Darkwood, none of them worth a damn. Your father listens to all of them, which is why nothing’s been done. Try to make him understand, Sire; there are decisions that must be made. He can’t go on putting them off.”
Rupert stared at the Champion thoughtfully. He was being set up for something; he could tell. The last time everyone started calling him Sire, he’d ended up travelling through the Darkwood in search of a dragon.
“Where’s Harald?” he asked suspiciously. “He’s always been the practical one of the family.”
The Champion shrugged. “I don’t think your brother really believes in the Darkwood.”
Rupert snorted. “I’ll change his bloody mind for him. All right, take me to the Court. No, wait a minute; I’ve a bone to pick with you. That guard at the gatehouse …”
“Has been replaced,” said the Champion. “Now, Sire, I think we’ve wasted enough time here. The Court is waiting.”
“Let them,” said the dragon. “I want a word with you.”
His massive head swung down till the great golden eyes were on a level with the Champion’s. The armed escort fell back in disarray, but the Champion stood his ground.
“Rupert is my friend,” said the dragon. “You threatened to kill him.” Bright sparks glowed suddenly in the dragon’s nostrils, and two thin plumes of smoke drifted up on the still evening air. The Champion didn’t move a muscle.
“I have my duty,” he said steadily.
“To hell with your duty,” said the dragon.
The Champion glanced at Rupert, who was watching the scene with undisguised glee. All his life he’d walked in the Champion’s shadow, knowing he lived or died at that man’s whim. Now the shoe was on the other foot, and he intended to enjoy it while it lasted. The Champion took in Rupert’s grin, and turned reluctantly back to the dragon.
“If anything happens to Rupert,” said the dragon, “I’ll level this Castle to the ground. Got it?”
“Got it,” said the Champion. “Anyone ever tell you your breath stinks of sulphur?”
“Dragon!” said Rupert quickly, as the creature’s claws flexed ominously. “I appreciate the thought, but much as I hate to admit it, we need him.”
“Thank you,” said the Champion, dryly.
The dragon glared at the Champion a moment longer, and then pulled back his head. Smoke continued to seep from his nostrils as he ostentatiously sharpened his claws on a convenient piece of brickwork. The Champion glanced at Rupert.
“I think you’d better teach your pet some manners, Sire.”
Rupert shrugged. “When you’re thirty feet long and breathe fire, who needs manners? And sir Champion; don’t ever call my friend a pet. You might upset him.”
The dragon smiled widely. The Champion studied the many rows of gleaming serrated teeth, and pointedly turned his back on the dragon.
“If you’re quite ready, Sire, your father …”
“I know,” said Rupert. “He hates to be kept waiting. Let’s go, Julia. Julia?”
“Over there,” said the unicorn.
Rupert looked round just in time to see Julia knee a guardsman in the groin and punch out a Lady-in-Waiting.
Julia had been having an interesting time. Fed up with being ignored by everybody, she’d wandered off on her own to see what there was to see. She hadn’t got far before being intercepted by a delicately pretty Lady-in-Waiting in her late thirties, and a bored-looking young guardsman.
“A Princess?” said the Lady Cecelia, glancing disparagingly at Julia’s battered leather jerkin and trousers. “From … where, precisely?”
“Hillsdown,” said Julia, taking in the Lady Cecelia’s ornate gown with a sinking heart. Intricately stitched, and studded with hundreds of semiprecious stones, the shaped and padded gown covered the Lady from shoulder to ankle, and was so heavy she could only move in little mincing steps. The massive flared cuffs were wide enough to swallow a small dog, and the bulging cleavage was at least partly supported by the ribbed corset responsible for the Lady’s tiny waist. The Lady Cecelia looked rich, aristocratic, and gorgeous. And she knew it.
I don’t give a damn, thought Julia. I’m not wearing a corset.
“Hillsdown,” said the Lady Cecelia thoughtfully. “Possibly I’m mistaken, dear, but I always thought Hillsdown was a Duchy. And strictly speaking, a Duchy isn’t entitled to have Princesses. Still, country titles aren’t like the real thing, are they? I mean, they don’t count for anything in Polite Society.” She bestowed a gracious smile on Julia, to underline the point that whilst Julia might not be a part of Polite Society, the Lady Cecelia most definitely was.
I’d better not hit her, thought Julia. Rupert’s got enough problems as it is.
She leaned forward and studied the Lady Cecelia’s dress closely. In addition to the corset, there were definite traces of bone stays built into the dress itself, to help maintain the hourglass figure.
“How do you breathe in that thing?” asked Julia.
“Daintily,” said the Lady Cecelia, coldly.
“Does everybody dress like this?”
“Anybody who is Anybody.
I’m not going to hit her, thought Julia determinedly.
“You arrived with young Rupert, I believe,” said the Lady Cecelia.
“That’s right,” said Julia. “Do you know him?”
“Oh, everyone knows Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia, with an unpleasant smile. The guard at her side sniggered.
Julia frowned. “Did I say something funny?” she asked, ominously.
The Lady Cecelia giggled girlishly. “Rupert, my dear, is a Prince in name only; he’ll never inherit the throne. That falls to his elder brother, Prince Harald. Ah, dear Harald; now there is a Prince. Tall, handsome, charming, and a devil on the dance floor. And when it comes to the Ladies … oh my dear, the tales I could tell you about Harald …”
“Never mind Harald,” said Julia. “Tell me about Rupert.”
“Prince Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia crossly, “is no earthly use to anybody. He can’t dance, or sing, or write poetry, and he has absolutely no idea how to treat a Lady.”
“Right.” The guard grinned. “He still rides a unicorn.”
“He’s not a real man,” purred the Lady Cecelia, “Not like my Gregory.”
The guard smirked, and flexed his muscles under the Lady’s admiring gaze.
“Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia, “Is a dull, boring …”
“Spineless little creep,” said the guard. And they both laughed, very unpleasantly.
So Julia quite naturally kneed the guard in the groin and punched the Lady Cecelia in the mouth.
On the other side of the courtyard, Rupert watched in amazement as the guard sank to his knees, and the Lady-in-Waiting stretched her length on the courtyard floor. One of the Champion’s escort drew his sword and started forward. Rupert kicked the man’s feet out from under him, and set his sword point at the guard’s throat.
“Nice moves,” said the Champion. “You’ve improved, Sire.”
“Thank you,” said Rupert tightly. “Keep an eye on this clown while I take care of Julia.” He sheathed his sword, and hurried over just in time to stop Julia slamming a boot into the Lady Cecelia.
“Julia, not here! Please, come with me to the Court and meet my father. There are lots of people there you can hit, I’ll be happy to point them out to you, but don’t waste your spleen on amateurs like these. The real creeps wouldn’t be seen dead outside the Court.”
Julia sniffed angrily, but allowed Rupert to lead her away.
“I suppose they insulted you,” said Rupert.
“Something like that,” said Julia.
“Forget about it,” said Rupert soothingly. “I’m sure they won’t do it again.”
“Never,” promised a faint male voice from the ground behind them.
Rupert grinned, and shook his head. It was obvious that Julia wasn’t going to take easily to being a lady again.
The Champion bowed to Julia as she and Rupert rejoined him. “If you will follow me, Princess Julia, the Court is this way.”
Julia inclined her head regally, accepted the Champion’s proffered arm, and allowed him to assist her up the steps to the entrance hall. The four guardsmen followed at a discreet distance. Rupert turned to the dragon and the unicorn.
“I thought the escort was for you,” said the dragon.
“Hardly,” said Rupert. “Well, don’t just stand there; come with me to see the King.”
“You want both of us?” said the unicorn timidly.
“Damn right,” said the Prince, smiling. “I’m going to need all the support I can get. Now let’s go and look after Julia. Before she kills someone.”
Rupert paced impatiently up and down the Court’s narrow antechamber, shooting seething glances at the securely locked double doors that led into the Great Hall itself. The Champion had gone in first to inform the King that his son had finally arrived, and then, as so many times before, the ancient doors had been slammed in Rupert’s face. Once again, the Court was busy deciding his future. Whatever they want, the answer’s no, thought Rupert determinedly. I didn’t survive the Darkwood just to get killed off by my own scheming relatives.
He stopped pacing and listened at the doors. A constant hubbub seeped through the solid wood, indicating that most of the Court were still present, despite the late hour. Rupert grinned. Courtiers hated having to work late; it interfered with the important things of life, like hunting, drinking, and wenching. Rupert stretched slowly, and thought longingly of the deep-mattressed bed waiting for him in his room. But, tired as he was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d discovered what new deviltry the King and his Court had come up with. He threw himself into one of the exquisitely uncomfortable chairs provided, and looked to see what his friends were doing.
Julia had her dagger out, and was using the family portraits for target practice. Her aim was pretty good. The dragon was lying partly in the antechamber, and partly in the outer hall. He was practicing blowing smoke rings from his nostrils, and chewing absently at a centuries-old tapestry Rupert had never liked much anyway. The unicorn was … Rupert winced.
“Unicorn; couldn’t you have done that before you came in?”
“Sorry,” said the unicorn. “I get nervous inside strange buildings, you know that. I keep thinking the roof’s going to fall on me.”
Rupert shook his head, and looked back at the closed double doors. How many times had he stood before those doors, waiting for permission to speak to his own father? His mind drifted back through yesterday, and found nothing pleasant there. Born seven years after his brother, Rupert had been a surprise to everyone, and bad news to most. A King needed a second son as insurance in case something happened to the first, but two healthy adult sons meant nothing but trouble. Rupert had known that from an early age; everyone had taken great pains to make it clear to him. He scowled, as memories crept out of the shadows. The tutors, who beat him for being brighter than his favored elder brother. His instructors-at-arms, who beat him for not being as strong as his brother. The courtiers, who flattered or insulted him according to the fashion. The Barons, who intrigued in his name. And the Champion, whose cold dark eyes were full of death.
Foxfire moss glowed steadily in several lamps hanging from the low ceiling, but the antechamber was still full of shadows, as though darkness had followed him into the Castle. Rupert leaned back in his chair and sighed, wearily. Out in the Forest it had all seemed so simple and straightforward. He had to go back to the Castle because the Forest Land needed him. He smiled bitterly. The Forest didn’t need him. It never had. The only people who’d ever needed him were Julia, the dragon, and the unicorn. His friends. Rupert’s smile softened at the thought, and he rolled it back and forth in his mind, savoring it. He’d never had friends before. His position had kept him apart from other children, and his family … His mother died when he was five years old. His brother insulted and tormented him. And his father sent him out on a quest, to die.
Rupert shook his head to clear it. He’d passed through the Darkwood twice, fought off demons, and called down a Rainbow. Stuff his father, stuff the Court, and stuff the bloody Champion. They’d tried to get rid of him, and it hadn’t worked. He was back, and they could like it or lump it.
“How much longer?” asked Julia, retrieving her dagger from an ancestor’s eye.
Rupert shrugged. “They like to keep me waiting; it helps put me in my place.”
“And you put up with that?”
Rupert looked at Julia, and then at the unicorn and the dragon.
“I always used to,” he said thoughtfully, “But things have changed since then. Dragon …”
The dragon looked up from sharpening his claws on a handy suit of armor. “Yes, Rupert?”
“See those double doors?”
“Yes, Rupert.”
“See how many matchsticks you can make out of them.”
The dragon studied the doors a moment, and then grinned broadly. He surged to his feet, and reached out to tap the doors with one clawed hand. They shuddered under the dragon’s touch, and nodding solemnly, he backed carefully out of the narrow antechamber and turned himself around in the hall outside. Rupert, Julia, and the unicorn squeezed themselves into a far corner as the dragon cautiously introduced his rear end into the antechamber. He peered over his shoulder to check his friends were safely out of the line of fire, and then lashed out with a vicious swing of his tail. The doors exploded inwards, splinters flying on the air like grapeshot. Rupert nodded with satisfaction as screams and curses erupted from the packed Court. Slam the doors in my face, will they? He grinned, and ducking past the dragon’s tail, moved forward to check the damage. One door hung crookedly from its only remaining hinge, whilst the other had given up the ghost entirely and was lying facedown on the floor. Rupert took a deep breath and stepped forward into the gap where the doors had been. The Court’s uproar died away to an astonished silence.
Rupert looked about him. Several hundred assorted courtiers and Ladies-in-Waiting stared back with a fair mixture of fear, outrage, and curiosity. Half a hundred foxfire lamps shed their silver glow across the Court, while at the far end of the vast, spacious Hall, the last of the evening light fell through gorgeous stained-glass windows onto a massive throne, set high on a raised dais and carved in its entirety from a single block of oak. Sitting on that throne, unruffled and unmoved, was his father, King John IV. The King’s great leonine head seemed almost too heavy for his frail body, and his richly patterned robes and proud golden crown couldn’t disguise the ragged mop of gray hair and uncombed beard. Even on his better days, Rupert’s father still looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. And yet, despite the strong impression of age and tiredness that hung about him like an old, familiar cloak, King John carried himself with dignity, and his deep-set eyes were calm and steady.
At his side stood Thomas Grey, the Court Astrologer. Tall, broad-shouldered, and darkly handsome, the black-clad magician had every aspect of regality save the barest essential; noble birth. Born the son of a blacksmith, he’d been the King’s companion since childhood, and on John’s ascension to the throne, Thomas Grey had cut short a promising career at the Sorcerers’ Academy to return and stand at his friend’s side.
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