Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Simon R. Green

  The demons threw themselves at him, and he stood them off easily, sweeping his axe in wide killing arcs that tore through flesh and bone alike. The demons tried to go around him, only to fall and scramble helplessly on the moat’s ice. The drawbridge was the only way into the Castle, and they had to get past the Champion first. The demons came boiling up out of the shadows in a never-ending stream, but still the Champion stood his ground, and would not retreat.

  Rupert stopped at the inner gates, and looked back. The banks of the moat were thick with demons, and a small knot of dark, twisted figures were swarming around the beleaguered Champion. He was fighting well and strongly, but it was clearly only a matter of time before the demons would drag him down. Rupert started forward, and Harald was suddenly at his side.

  “What’s happening out there?”

  Rupert pointed wordlessly, and Harald turned quickly away to shout orders to the gatehouse. Rupert moved out into the Keep.

  “Sir Champion!” he yelled desperately. “We’re all in! Get back here, dammit; they’re raising the drawbridge!”

  The Champion didn’t hear him. The demons fell again and again under his axe, and there were always more. It felt good to be fighting, to be proving himself as Champion, to be killing those who threatened the Realm. The demons came at him without end, and he met them with cold steel and a colder smile. He knew he was going to die, and he didn’t care at all. The Castle needed him, and that was enough. The huge axe was weightless in his hands, and the demons fell before it like over-ripe wheat. Demon blood flew on the air, and the drawbridge became slippery with gore and offal. The Champion fought on, one man against an army, and the army slowed and was stopped.

  But in the end he was only one man, and no man can stand against an army for long. The demons tore at him again and again, ripping through his armor. He never felt the wounds, or the blood that streamed down his sides and legs. The Castle was under his protection, and he wouldn’t turn and run.

  He wouldn’t run away.

  The demons surged forward, and pulled him down. He never felt the claws that tore out his throat, and he died still trying to swing his axe. The demons poured over his body, and raced across the drawbridge toward the Keep.

  There’s no time to lower the portcullis, thought Rupert suddenly, and the demons will be here before they can close and bar the gates … unless somebody stops them …

  He ran through the Keep to meet the demons, sword in hand. All he had to do was hold them back for a few minutes, and then the gates would be securely shut. He reached the base of the drawbridge, and the first few demons jumped him. He cut them down with swift, savage strokes. Why me? he thought bitterly. Why does it always have to be me? And then he was facing the main body of the demons, and they came to a sudden halt as he blocked their way, hacking about him with his sword.

  “Shut the gates!” he screamed hoarsely. “Shut the bloody gates!”

  The demons ripped and tore at him, and he sobbed aloud at the pain, but still he held the demons back. A few more minutes; just hold them off for a few more minutes. Julia, my love; if only we’d had more time together … And then the demons dragged him down, and he fell beneath them, still clinging to his sword.

  In the courtyard, Harald and a handful of men-at-arms stood ready to slam home the heavy steel bolts, once the main windlass had closed the gates. Julia leaned against the inner South wall, and stared Wearily about her.

  “Rupert? Where are you, Rupert?”

  She straightened up when she realized he wasn’t with her anymore, and glanced quickly around the packed courtyard. She couldn’t see him anywhere, and a sudden cold panic seized her heart. Julia pushed herself away from the wall, and started toward Harald. He’d know where Rupert was. And then she stopped dead as she glanced between the slowly closing gates, and saw Rupert brought down by the demons. Julia ran over to Harald, and grabbed at his arm.

  “Stop the gates! Rupert’s still out there!”

  “He’s already dead,” said Harald harshly. “He died buying us the time we needed to close these gates. Now either help us with these bolts or get out of the way.”

  “You wanted him to die out there!” screamed Julia, and snatching her old sword from its scabbard, she ran unsteadily between the closing doors, and out into the Keep. She heard running feet behind her, and glanced back to see King John close on her heels, Rockbreaker in his hands. They just had time to share a brief smile, and then they were among the demons. The first few fell easily to Julia’s rage, and those she missed or never saw were no match for Rockbreaker. Julia swung her sword with both hands, and a demon folded forward in midair, trying in vain to stuff its guts back into the wide slash in its belly. It fell squirming to the ground, and Julia kicked it out of her way as she fought her way down the narrow stone tunnel to the place where Rupert had fallen. The King was at her side, Rockbreaker cutting a wide swathe through the demonkind, but Julia could tell he was at the last of his strength. They forced the demons back to the drawbridge, step by step, and then Julia and the King slammed into a small knot of struggling demons. The creatures fell away as Julia and the King pressed forward, and a tall blood-soaked figure surged to his feet, scattering the demons in all directions. He swayed unsteadily and one arm hung limply at his side, but he was still swinging his sword. He wiped away some of the blood that masked his face, and grinned crookedly at Julia.

  “What kept you?” asked Rupert, cutting down a demon that tried to get between them.

  Julia laughed, and moved in beside him, swinging her sword with fierce abandon. The demons came at them in never-ending numbers as Rupert and Julia and the King retreated back through the Keep, a step at a time. Blood splashed against the stone walls, and streamed along the ground. Julia didn’t look back at the Castle gates. She didn’t think they’d actually slam the gates on their own King, but if they had, she didn’t want to know about it. As long as there was still hope, she could go on fighting. There are worse ways to die than fighting to save the one you love, she thought suddenly, and realized she was grinning crazily even as tears ran down her cheeks. Rupert, my Rupert; we’ve gone through too much together for me to lose you now.

  The demons surged forward, and Rupert and Julia and King John met them with their swords.

  Balefire blazed suddenly against the darkness, scattering the demons as it exploded among them. Lightning jumped and crackled the length of the Keep, striking down those demons in its path. Rupert looked back at the gates, and saw a brightly glowing figure standing alone in the narrow gap between the two motionless doors. The glare was so blinding Rupert had to look away, but he knew who it was. He could feel the High Magic all around him, beating strongly on the night. Julia took him by his good arm, and began hurrying him back toward the gates.

  “The Champion,” he said thickly.

  “He’s dead, lad,” said the King, moving in close on Rupert’s other side. “The demons didn’t leave enough of him to bury.”

  Together, Julia and the King half-led and half-carried Rupert back to the open gates, while the glowing figure’s balefire threw back the demon horde again and again. A grimy smoke rose from the growing pile of demon dead that lay blocking the entrance to the Keep. Julia and the King hustled Rupert through the gates and into the courtyard. The glowing figure stepped back to join them, and the huge oaken doors finally slammed together. Harald and the men-at-arms pushed home the steel bolts, and began pulling barricades into position.

  Rupert collapsed by the inner East wall, and Julia hadn’t the strength to hold onto him. He stretched out full length on his back on the cobbles, and blood welled steadily out from beneath him. Julia sank down at his side, cradled his head in her lap, and gave herself up to what few tears she had left. King John sat with his back to the inner wall, his head hanging wearily down. Rockbreaker lay unnoticed by his side. The glowing figure at the gates moved slowly toward them, his light dying quickly away to reveal the High Warlock. His face was drawn with fatigue, and his ha

ir was entirely gray.

  Outside, the demons hammered on the closed gates till they sounded like some huge, unearthly drum.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the Darkwood

  Rupert lay on his back in the courtyard and wondered who was crying. The tear-choked voice seemed somehow familiar as it called his name, but he couldn’t quite place it. He wanted to comfort whoever it was, but he didn’t know how, and after a while the tears died away. Rupert knew he was in the courtyard, he could feel rough stone cobbles pressing into his back, but everything else seemed vague and far away. He didn’t seem to hurt much anymore, and for a moment that worried him; but only for a moment. There was blood on his face and in his eyes, and when he tried to wipe it away, his hands wouldn’t obey him. Someone was tugging at his chain mail, and the voice was calling his name again, but he didn’t respond. It didn’t seem important, and he was tired, so very tired.

  Julia tried to remove Rupert’s mail vest so that she could get at his wounds, but the buckles were slippery with blood, and she was so tired she couldn’t even see straight any more. She struggled stubbornly with the buckles, cursing her clumsy fingers. Rupert hadn’t moved since he collapsed, and the more Julia examined him, the more frightened she became. There was so much blood she couldn’t tell one wound from another, and she couldn’t seem to wake him. She started to wipe the blood from his face with a piece of rag, only to stop suddenly when she discovered he didn’t have a right eye anymore. The empty socket stared blindly up at her, and she would have broken down and cried again, if there’d been any tears left in her. She started to call for help, but the words died unspoken on her lips as she stared around her.

  The courtyard was a slaughterhouse, with the dead and the dying and the wounded lying side by side. Some of the army survivors just lay where they had fallen, too tired or too shocked by what they’d been through to move, even for food or water or help for their injuries. A few servants moved among the wounded, helping where they could, and women and children guarded the Castle battlements with improvised weapons.

  High above the courtyard, the Blue Moon stared pitilessly down from the starless night, and outside the gates the demons beat unceasingly against the shuddering oaken doors.

  King John got slowly to his feet, picked up Rockbreaker, and sheathed the sword without even looking at it. For all their legendary power, the Infernal Devices had been no match for the Darkwood. Now two of the blades were lost, and he had nothing left to set against the endless night. It’s all over, he thought slowly. We’ve lost. I tried everything I could think of, and we still lost. For a moment he wanted to run away and hide, to barricade himself in his quarters and wait till the demons came for him, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He was the King, and he had to set an example. Even if there was no point to it anymore. He nodded brusquely to Harald as his son approached, and then the two of them turned to look at Rupert and Julia.

  “How is he?” asked the King, and then had to fight not to look away as he realized the extent of Rupert’s injuries.

  “He looks bad,” said Harald, and Julia rounded on him fiercely.

  “You left him out there to die, you bastard!”

  Harald met her furious gaze calmly. “If the demons had got past him, we’d never have been able to close the doors in time. By holding the demons back, even if only for a few minutes, Rupert helped to save the lives of everyone in this Castle. He knew he didn’t stand a chance when he went out into the Keep, but he also knew his duty. My duty was to get the gates closed, so that his sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain. I did what was right, Julia. I did what was necessary.”

  “You always do, Harald,” said the King. He knelt painfully beside Julia, and put an arm round her shoulders.

  “There must be something we can do,” pleaded Julia. “We’ve got to do something. He’s dying!”

  “Yes,” said King John softly. “I think he is. It was a brave stand, while it lasted. The bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “You can’t die!” shouted Julia suddenly, and taking Rupert by the shoulders, she shook him desperately. “Wake up, damn you; I won’t let you die!”

  Harald and the King tried gently to pull her away, and she fought them.

  “Let me through,” said a tired voice, and Julia stopped struggling and looked quickly round as she recognized the High Warlock’s voice.

  “Help him! You’re a sorcerer; help him!”

  “If I can, lass.” The Warlock moved slowly forward, walking carefully and deliberately, like an old man whose bones pained him. And then Julia realized with something of a shock that the Warlock was an old man. The hair that had been jet black was now a dirty gray streaked with white, and his face had sunk back to the bone, the flesh heavily lined and wrinkled. His hands were gnarled and twisted, and they trembled constantly as he held them over Rupert’s bloodied chest. A brilliant light flared briefly at the Warlock’s fingertips, and Rupert’s wounds knit gradually together. The bleeding slowed and stopped, and Rupert’s face relaxed a little, but he didn’t waken. The High Warlock nodded grimly, and turned to Julia. She felt a warm glow move swiftly through her body, and then it vanished, taking her pains with it. Only her tiredness remained; that, and the bone-deep despair that tore at her heart every time she remembered how close she’d come to losing Rupert.

  “Is that it?” she asked the Warlock anxiously. “Will he be all right?”

  “I don’t know, Julia. There’s not much magic left in me now, but I’ve done all I can for him.”

  “What happened to your magic during the battle?” growled the King.

  “We were betrayed,” said the Warlock simply. “Just before the gates opened, a servant appeared with several jugs of wine, and presented them to us with your compliments. We were all very touched at the gesture, so we joked and laughed and drank you a toast. Several toasts, in fact. There was enough poison in that wine to kill an army. My magic was strong enough to throw off the effects, eventually, but the others never stood a chance. They started to fall just after the gates opened, choking and clawing at their throats. I held on as long as I could, and then the poison took me. When I finally recovered consciousness, I was surrounded by bodies, and the battle was over. I did my best for you, John, for as long as I could. I only wish it could have been more.”

  “Thomas Grey!” said the King suddenly. “He was with you!”

  “He was lucky,” said the Warlock. “He didn’t care for the vintage, so he only drank a little. He and I were the only survivors; just the two of us, out of more than fifty.”

  “Who did this?” said Harald. “Who stabbed us in the back? I thought all the traitors were dead.”

  The Warlock shrugged. “The servant who brought us the wine is dead. Somebody used him, and then killed him so that he couldn’t tell us who it was.”

  He broke off as Rupert suddenly stirred, and tried to sit up.

  “Julia?”

  “I’m here, Rupert.” She put an arm around his shoulders to support him, and he shook his head slowly to clear it.

  “How do you feel, son?” asked the King.

  “Terrible,” said Rupert. “But I’ll survive.”

  “Of course,” said Harald. “You always do.”

  “My eye hurts,” said Rupert, and then froze as his fingers found only sealed eyelids where his right eye used to be. “My eye; what’s happened to my eye?”

  “Easy, lad,” said the King, and Julia quickly grabbed Rupert’s hand to stop him clawing at his face.

  “I’m sorry, Rupert,” said the High Warlock, quietly. “There’s nothing more I can do.”

  Rupert swallowed hard, fighting back his panic. He felt maimed, crippled, even more than if he’d lost an arm or a leg. The world looked strange and different, seen through his one eye; it looked flat and somehow unreal, and he couldn’t seem to judge distances properly. He remembered an old guard with one eye, who’d once told him something about depth perception, and how it had stopped him being a swordsman, and the panic surged up in him again.

  “How the hell am I going to use a sword, with only one eye to guide me?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” drawled Harald. “There are so many demons, all you have to do is keep swinging and you’re bound to hit one, sooner or later.”

  For a moment Julia thought she would kill him for being so callous, and then she took her hand away from her sword as she realized Rupert was laughing.

  “You bastard, Harald.” Rupert grinned. “Trust you to put things in perspective.”

  “One of my more useful talents,” said Harald. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to make sure the battlements are secure.”

  He bowed politely, and moved off into the courtyard. Julia watched him go, and shook her head.

  “There are times,” she said slowly, “when I don’t understand that man at all.”

  “You’re not alone,” said the King dryly. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Julia looked at him closely.

  “You look exhausted, John. How did your part of the battle go? Are you hurt?”

  “Just cuts and bruises, my dear. And there’s not much to tell about the battle. I led my men out, and I brought some of them back. For a time, I almost felt like a King again.” He looked unflinchingly at the bodies lying heaped together on the bloodstained cobbles, and shook his head. “It wasn’t worth the price.”

  “You went back with me to help save your son. I’ve never seen anything braver.”

  “Bravery isn’t enough anymore,” said the King. “Look around you, Julia. My army is broken, the Castle’s under siege, and I haven’t even got enough men left to guard the battlements. Twelve generations of my family built the Forest Kingdom and kept it strong. It only took one generation to see it all destroyed; one incompetent King.”

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