“No,” said Jack. “I thought my son and I might go walking through the world, and see what there is to see. We’ve both got a lot on our consciences, and a hell of a lot of penance to be getting on with.”
“And God help the guilty,” said Matthew solemnly.
Mercy turned away, quite deliberately, and smiled on Van Fleet. “Will you be going back to Redhart, sir sorcerer?”
“Not if I can help it,” said Van Fleet. “There’s nothing there for me now. William’s lost it . . . God knows what he’d want me to do for him if I did go back. No, I always saw myself as a scholar first, and I understand Forest Castle has an excellent library.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Richard. “We’ve been looking for someone to help compile a decent index.”
“I think I may join you, Van,” said Raven. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do if I’m going to make a new reputation for myself as a sorcerer.”
Richard realised that Catherine had moved away from the group, and he went over to join her. She was staring coldly at the dragon, who was lying curled in a great circle. Everyone was giving him plenty of room. His eyes were shut, and two thin plumes of smoke rose up from his nostrils in perfectly straight lines. Catherine started angrily towards him. Richard took her by the arm and stopped her. She turned her glare on him, and he immediately let go of her arm.
“Don’t,” said Richard.
“He killed my people!”
“If he hadn’t,” Richard said steadily, “I would have had to do it. I would have had to order my men to kill your men. And how would you have felt about me then? The dragon stopped the war and saved a lot more men than he killed. Leave it at that.”
“You think I should be grateful?” said Catherine.
“I think you should be glad we escaped something much worse,” said Richard.
They both looked round sharply as Prince Christof came forward, along with the Champion Malcolm Barrett. They all bowed politely to each other. Christof and the Champion might be the only Redhart men left alive, and surrounded on all sides by those who had once been their enemies, but Christof seemed entirely calm and at ease. The Champion . . . did his best to imitate Christof.
“I was just wondering,” said Prince Christof, “if you knew what had happened to the Sombre Warrior? He doesn’t seem to be around . . . I did wonder if he might have taken off his helmet at last, and retired.”
“I’m sorry,” said Prince Richard, “but the Sombre Warrior lies among the honoured dead. Catherine saw him die.”
Christof looked at her. “Did he die well, and honourably, Sister?”
“He died protecting me,” said Catherine.
They could all tell there was more to it than that, but no one felt like pressing the point.
“Would you like us to send the body back to Redhart, once it’s been recovered?” said Richard. “He did live most of his life in your country.”
“No,” said Catherine. “The Forest was his chosen home. We’ll put him to rest here.”
“Next to his parents?” said Richard.
“Yes,” said Catherine. “He’d have liked that.”
“I have no objections,” said Christof. He turned his attention to Malcolm. “It’s time we were going. If you have any final words to say to the Princess Catherine, you should say them now.”
He looked meaningfully at Richard, who nodded stiffly in return, and the two Princes moved away, talking quietly on matters of state. Malcolm Barrett stood before Catherine and shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know what to say, Cath. Except how did everything change so quickly? Just a few days ago . . . you and I were in love and planning our marriage. We had a life and a future, and the whole world made sense. We’ve loved each other since we were children, Cath!”
“Children grow up,” said Catherine. “I never wanted to hurt you . . . but the world moved on, and left us behind.”
“I know you love Richard,” said Malcolm. “But what am I supposed to do?”
“Find someone else, and move on,” said Catherine. “Be happy, Malcolm.”
“The world moved on, the great wheel turned, and one of us got crushed underneath it,” said Malcolm. “But I’m alive, and most of my people aren’t . . . Be happy, Catherine.”
He turned away abruptly, and walked over to join Richard and Christof, who were talking with Raven and Van Fleet.
“Oh, hello, Mal,” said Christof quite casually. “I think I’ve arranged a lift home for us. These two sorcerer fellows seem convinced they can open a dimensional door and drop us off right back at Castle Midnight!”
“No problem at all,” said Raven, equally casually. “Right in the Court . . .”
“If that’s what you want,” Van Fleet said quickly.
“Oh, I think so, yes,” said Christof. “I have a lot to say to Father.”
“Let’s do it,” said Malcolm. “There’s nothing to detain us here.”
The two sorcerers worked quickly together, with much muttering under the breath and many grandiose gestures, and a door appeared suddenly. A real door, solid and wooden, standing alone and entirely unsupported in the middle of the clearing. Christof strolled over, deliberately unimpressed, and pushed the door open. Through the opening they could all see King William, sitting alone on his throne, in an empty Court. The King looked around, startled, as Christof and the Champion strode through the door and into Castle Midnight’s Court. The door slammed shut behind them and disappeared.
• • •
The Court seemed a much darker place without the magical lighting supplied by the Green Man. Presumably that had disappeared when he did. The old magic lighting hadn’t returned either. The throne was now surrounded with dozens of candles, in old-fashioned brass candelabra, dripping wax everywhere. King William stared at his newly returned son, ignoring the Champion.
“What the hell are you doing back here, boy? What’s been happening? I’ve heard nothing from Van Fleet, or the Green Man . . .”
“It’s all done, Father,” said Christof, strolling easily forward to stand before the throne. “The war is over.”
“Nothing’s over until I say it is!” snapped the King, leaning forward on his throne to glare at his son. “My army . . .”
“Your army’s dead!” said the Champion, as he moved up to stand beside Christof. “A dragon burned them all alive.”
“What?” said the King. “All my soldiers . . . No. No! It doesn’t change anything! I’ll send another army . . .”
“I don’t think so,” said Christof. “There’s no point. I’ve talked with Richard, and we’ve agreed to give Peace another chance.”
“Do you defy me, boy?” said the King.
“Why not?” said Christof. “Who are you? Just some mad old fool who sold this country’s soul to the Green Man. Who turned out, in the end, to be the Demon Prince in disguise! So much for your famous wisdom, Father.”
King William sat silently for a long moment, then sank slowly back into his throne, digesting what he’d been told. He looked more angry than anything else. Finally, he shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need the Green Man. And I can always raise another army. If you don’t want to lead it, Christof, I’m sure I can find someone who will.”
Christof turned to the Champion. “Leave us, Malcolm. Please. My father and I need to speak privately.”
“You don’t go anywhere except where I send you, Malcolm Barrett!” said the King. “You’re my Champion!”
“Not anymore,” said Malcolm. “You gave away everything that might have kept me here.”
And then they all looked round sharply, as the Court’s doors opened and the Steward, Elias Taggert, looked in.
“I have been waiting outside for some time,” he said. “I heard raised voices, so . . .”
Malcolm strode over to join him. “What’s been happening with the Unreal, Elias?”
“Some have come running home,” said the Steward. “Muc
h diminished and a lot less threatening. Shouldn’t have much trouble with them. A lot of them are going back to sleep again, by their own will. We can cope with what’s left.” He looked at Christof, and then back at the Champion. “Is Prince Cameron really dead?”
“Yes,” said Malcolm.
The Steward nodded sadly. “He should have stayed in his cave. He was safe there.”
The two men left the Court, talking quietly, and the great doors closed behind them. Christof was left alone in the empty chamber with his father. They looked at each other coldly.
“You always wanted this war,” said Christof. “Why?”
“Because of you,” said the King. “You, and Cameron. My two useless sons. Neither of you worthy to sit on my throne. Cameron, because he was broken. You, because you’re homosexual. Yes, I know. I’ve always known. The Royal line would have come to an end with either of you as King. An end to our line, and the Blood Magic that goes with it! There had to be an heir! And the only child I had who could produce one was Catherine. Who was bound to marry some outsider Royal. That’s why I sent her out of Redhart; otherwise it would have been some foreign King who sat on my throne.
“I couldn’t allow that. Not after so many Redhart Kings, of pure Blood, had held this throne. So I used Catherine as an agent for war. So that when we won I could make her my heir and she would be Queen of both countries. As a conqueror, she could have taken a Prince Consort instead of a King when she married. And then her son would be King of both Redhart and the Forest, and the Royal line could have continued unbroken.”
“That’s it?” said Christof. “That’s what this has all been about?”
“Blood is all that really matters,” said the King. “You should have worked that out by now, boy.”
“And what about me, Father?” said Christof.
“I expected you to be killed in the fighting,” said the King. “You never were as good with a sword as you liked to believe. The Broken Man would have gone back to his cave quite happily. And Catherine would have done what I told her to do. I had it all worked out . . . But no, you couldn’t do anything right, could you, Christof? You’ve ruined everything!”
“You started a war,” said Christof, “just because you wanted a grandson? Why, Father? You never cared for any of your children!”
He drew his sword and lunged forward, stabbing his father through the heart. The long blade punched right through King William’s chest and out the back of the throne. For a moment neither man moved: Christof extended in full lunge, William’s eyes wide with surprise. And then the King died, all the breath going out of him, and he suddenly seemed so much smaller. Christof pulled his sword free, a few inches at a time, breathing heavily. He shook a few drops of blood from the blade and sheathed the sword. He took his father by one arm and pulled him steadily forward, off the throne. William’s body fell heavily onto the floor.
King Christof sat on his throne, made himself comfortable, and looked around his empty Court.
“What the hell,” he said. “I can always adopt.”
• • •
Outside Forest Castle, Richard and Catherine talked with Hawk and Fisher. Most people were already heading back into the Castle. The night was almost over, with dawn soon on its way. Raven and Van Fleet were talking with Roland the Headless Axeman and the witch Lily Peck. What remained of the fighting force from the Hero Academy stood patiently to one side, waiting to go home.
“What will you do now?” said Richard, looking from Hawk and Fisher to the Academy people and back again. “Will you be going back with them, to run the Academy?”
“Been there, done that,” Fisher said briskly. “Time for something new.”
“We’ve been talking,” said Hawk. “Neither of us can stand the thought of the Demon Prince getting away with all this, going unpunished after everything he’s done, and meant to do.”
“We keep putting him down, and he keeps coming back,” said Fisher. “To cause misery and destruction, and the ruin of all our dreams.”
“Humanity will never get anywhere,” said Hawk, “as long as the Demon Prince is free to return.”
“But your father banished the Demon Prince!” said Catherine.
“There’s always the possibility some well-meaning fool will summon him back,” said Fisher. “He has to be stopped. Permanently.”
“But how can you hope to do that?” said Richard. “I mean, as I understand it—and I’m perfectly ready to be told I don’t—he’s one of the Transient Beings. An idea, made flesh and bone. How can you kill an idea?”
“You can’t,” said Hawk. “But you can go where he comes from and make his life hell.”
“There is another world,” said Fisher. “Called Reverie. The Land of the Blue Moon. Where all the Transient Beings come from. A place of dreams and legends.”
“We’ve been there before,” said Hawk. “I’m pretty sure we can find our way back. And then we’ll find the Demon Prince and stamp him into the ground, as many times as it takes, to punish him properly for what he’s done. And then we will stand guard between that world and this. And nothing will get past us.”
“But the Transient Beings are immortal!” said Richard. “You’d have to fight them forever!”
Fisher shrugged. “We like to keep busy.”
“Can Raven and Van Fleet open a dimensional door for you?” said Catherine.
“Probably a bit beyond them,” Hawk said kindly. “Though they’d never admit it. No, I have a way to get us there.”
“You do?” said Fisher.
“Trust me,” said Hawk. “Reverie . . . is the land of legends. I think we belong there now, more than here.”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “We gave up being Rupert and Julia, but even Hawk and Fisher are legends now. That’s what happens when you live as long as we have. We belong in Reverie.”
“What about me?” said Chappie. “I’m a legend too, aren’t I?”
They all looked round as he came limping forward, his great hide marred by claw marks and his grey fur caked with dried blood. But he still carried his head high, and his tail wagged happily as Hawk and Fisher hugged him and made much of him. Chappie took it all as his due.
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he said firmly. “You’ll always need me, to watch your back.”
“Of course you’re coming with us,” said Hawk. “How could we leave the legendary immortal dog behind?”
“Right,” said Fisher.
“Damn right,” said Chappie.
Fisher looked across at the dragon, who immediately opened his huge golden eyes to look back at her.
“Well?” said Fisher. “Are you coming too? The legendary last dragon?”
“No,” said the dragon. “Because I don’t think I am the last. Ever since you woke me up, I’ve had this feeling . . . that I’m not alone in the world, after all.”
Fisher squealed with delight, which made everyone else jump. She ran over to hug the dragon round his great neck and press him for details.
“Girls and their ponies,” Hawk said solemnly.
He left Fisher to it, and walked away to talk with Lily Peck and Roland the Headless Axeman. Hawk was honestly shocked at how old and frail Lily looked.
“Don’t worry about it, dear,” she said calmly. “Easy come, easy go. I can always get some more youth. Years are just currency to a witch.”
“You and Fisher aren’t coming back with us, are you?” said Roland.
“No,” said Hawk. “You don’t need us anymore. Would you like to run the Academy?”
“No,” said Roland, and Lily shook her head quickly.
“I’ve never been one for responsibility,” she said. “Witches aren’t, mostly.”
“We’ll just find somebody else,” said Roland, “to be the next Hawk and Fisher. Someone worthy. And everything will go on as before. I will make it a point to choose someone who can annoy the Administrator properly, to keep him on his toes. No one will ever know there’
s been any change at all.”
Hawk called Raven and Van Fleet forward, and had them open up a dimensional door back to the Millennium Oak. Hawk stood before the assembled force of the Hero Academy and bowed to them all.
“You have done great work here. Always remember, Fisher and I are so proud of every one of you.”
And all the men and women of the Hawk and Fisher Memorial Academy drew their swords and thrust them into the air in salute. Hawk nodded in return. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
“You trained us well,” said Roland.
Prince Richard had finally found Peter Foster among the many wounded being treated by the Castle surgeons, on the open ground of the clearing. Peter lay on his back, staring up at the night sky, swathed heavily in bandages that were already soaked in blood. For the first time, Richard realised just how badly his old friend and bodyguard had been hurt by putting himself between his Prince and all harm. Richard knelt down beside Peter and tried to thank him, but he couldn’t get the words out.
“It’s all right,” said Peter. “I know, I look a mess. But I can’t die. Not while you still need looking after.”
“I still haven’t been able to find out what’s happened to Clarence,” said Richard. “Why he wasn’t with us . . . He missed it all! Probably sleeping off a drunk somewhere.”
“Yes,” said Peter.
“He would have written some great songs about all this.”
“Well,” said Peter, “he would have written some songs . . .”
They laughed quietly together.
Not far away, Roland the Headless Axeman watched Richard talking with Peter. He would have liked to go and talk with them, but knew he couldn’t.
“Goodbye, Richard, Peter, my old friends,” he said quietly. “You were right; I made a much better warrior than a minstrel.”
He went back to join the witch Lily Peck.
“Indulge an old woman’s curiosity,” she said, “while I am still an old woman. Where is your head?”
“I keep it in a box, under my bed,” said Roland. “Never know when it might come in handy. I have to say, being killed was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
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