Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Simon R. Green

  “You should be in your room, resting,” he said sternly.

  Julia smiled, but didn’t look round. “I’m all right. A few more interesting scars to add to my collection, that’s all. The Seneschal took the worst of it; I don’t know how he stayed on his feet long enough to get us out of the South Wing. The surgeon took one look at him and ordered him to his bed, but he wouldn’t go until he’d spoken to the King. Bodeen and I were all that was holding him up, but he wouldn’t give in. He’s a tough old bird, that Seneschal. Didn’t pass out until he’d told the King everything he knew and suspected about the Armory break-in. Bodeen and I carried him back to his rooms. He’s sleeping now. Tough old bird.”

  “You should get some rest yourself,” said the dragon. “I can smell the pain and tiredness in you.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” said Julia. “Not yet. I need to talk to someone.”

  “What is it this time?” said the dragon gently. “Someone threatening to make you take etiquette lessons again?”

  “Hardly. I’ve been excused from lessons since all my tutors refused to enter the same room as me unless they were granted an armed escort first.”

  “What is it, then? What’s troubling you?”

  “I don’t know.” Julia turned away from the stable door, and moved over to sit down beside the dragon. The thick layer of straw softened the earth floor as she leaned back against his huge, comforting side. The falling rain became a pleasant background murmur, and the constant drip of water from the thatch was strangely soothing. The scent of freshly scattered hay hung heavily on the air, rich and earthy, and the dragon could feel Julia’s muscles slowly relaxing.

  “Dragon,” she said finally, “What happened to the horses that used to live here?”

  “Delicious,” said the dragon solemnly.

  Julia elbowed him sharply in the side, and he grunted obligingly, through she doubted he actually felt it. “You didn’t really eat all those lovely horses, did you?”

  “No, Julia; I moved in and they moved out. At the gallop, as I recall.”

  Julia laughed, and snuggled back against his smooth scales. Sometimes it seemed the dragon was the only friend she had left in the world; an island of calm in an ocean of storms. After Rupert had left, the dragon had wandered aimlessly round the Castle, sleeping where he felt like it, and eating anything that didn’t either run away or actively fight back. Eventually he’d settled down in one of the old stables, and showed every sign of staying there as long as someone brought him his meals regularly. The Castle staff quickly volunteered to take care of that, and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Between the dragon’s appetite and Julia’s sudden rages, they’d never done so much running and dodging in their lives.

  “How are you feeling?” Julia asked the dragon, and he shrugged slightly.

  “Better, I suppose. Casting the spell to summon the Rainbow Run took a lot out of me. Then the demons swarming over me, tearing at me with their fangs and claws. And finally I had to breathe fire, and that hurt me, Julia; hurt me deep down inside. By the time Rupert called down the Rainbow I was dying, and it seems there’s a limit to how much even the Wild Magic can do. It saved my life, but only time can heal me. I’m going to have to hibernate soon, and sleep until I’m healed. If I can still heal. Magic is going out of the world, and magical creatures like myself are having a harder time of it.” The dragon smiled sadly. “Or perhaps I’m just getting old, even for a dragon. I haven’t seen or heard of another of my kind in over three hundred years. perhaps I’m the last. The last dragon in the world of men.”

  “Three hundred years,” said Julia slowly. “Didn’t you ever get lonely?”

  “As a rule, dragons aren’t particularly gregarious. We each have our territories and our hoards, and we guard them both jealously. But yes; there have been times this last century when I would have welcomed the sight of another of my kind. It’s been so long since I soared on the night winds with my brethren … so very long.”

  “When all this is over, we’ll go and look for some more dragons,” said Julia.

  “Yes,” said the dragon kindly. “When all this is over.”

  Julia stared up at the thatch overhead, and listened to the falling rain. “Dragon, do you think there’s something … wrong with me?”

  “No. Why?”

  “It’s those damn Ladies-in-Waiting. They make me feel like a freak, because I don’t want to get married and settle down to raising a family. I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

  “Then don’t,” said the dragon.

  Julia scowled. “It’s just that sometimes … sometimes I wonder if they’re right. If there is something wrong with me. All my friends and most of my sisters are married, and they seem happy enough. Mostly. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am missing out on something. I just don’t see why I have to give up being me to get married. I’m supposed to marry Harald, but all he wants is a combination lover and serving-maid. Well, he can forget that for starters. And if he gooses me one more time, I’ll raise his voice with a well-placed knee.”

  She broke off suddenly, 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 vapors and called for her smelling salts. Being blunt and direct isn’t just unfashionable, it’s unfeminine. Do you think I’m unfeminine?”

  The dragon chuckled. “Julia, I’m hardly an expert on human behavior, 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 around 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 rooms 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 onto 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 carrion 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 agonized 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 labored, 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 around 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 dessicated bark was flecked and mottled with a dozen kinds of lichen and mold, 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 armored war horse 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 scars 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 defense against the darkness will be the light we bring in with us.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little overcautious, 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.”

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