Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  “Where were you when Harald was murdered?” Hawk asked bluntly.

  “Alone. In my tent, meditating. I miss the solitude of the woods.”

  “So no witnesses?” asked Fisher.

  “Only the Creature,” Shaman said. He grinned widely, showing terrible teeth. “You can ask him, but he doesn’t have much to say for himself.”

  “So you have no alibi,” said Hawk.

  “Suspect me if you like,” said the Shaman. “I don’t care. I’ve said all I came to say. I’d wish you luck, but I don’t care who killed Harald. All that matters is who and what replaces him. That Hillsdown woman’s not fit to be Queen. Vicious, conniving slut. Sleeps around. Thinks no one knows. I know! I know everything that matters. Sooner she’s removed as Regent, the better. Send her back to Hillsdown, where she belongs.”

  “And the Prince, Stephen?” Fisher asked.

  “Give him a new life,” suggested the Shaman. “Set him free. Give him hope and a fair chance. Don’t damn him to be King.”

  He turned abruptly and stalked away, the Creature swaying along beside him. Hawk and Fisher watched them go till they were safely out of sight.

  “In a Castle full of eccentrics and head cases, that has to be our strangest encounter yet,” said Fisher. “And did you get a whiff of him? I’m surprised the hanging tapestries weren’t turning brown and curling up at the edges.”

  “Hermits aren’t known for their love of soap and water,” Hawk pointed out. “Or their social graces. I’m more concerned with his Creature. You did recognize him, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. The transformed Astrologer. Do you think we should have warned the Shaman?”

  “How could we without revealing who we are? And they seemed happy enough together. Besides, what could we do? Send him back to the Darkwood? Kill him in cold blood?”

  “He was a traitor,” Fisher said coldly. “He deserves to die.”

  “I think killing him would be a kindness,” said Hawk. “There’s probably just enough of the old him left in that body to remember what he used to be and can never be again. I’m more worried that he seemed to know us.”

  “Who could he tell?” asked Fisher.

  “I can’t help thinking, what else might be left over from our past? What other old, unsuspected ghosts might be watching from the shadows?”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, remembering other days when they had been Rupert and Julia, and things had seemed a whole lot simpler.

  There was a sudden noise to one side, and they both looked around automatically. And that was when someone hidden in the shadows set off a flare. There was a sudden blinding flash of light, so sharp and painful to the eyes that both Hawk and Fisher cried out in spite of themselves. The flare was come and gone in a moment, but to eyes grown used to the dim lighting of the Castle corridors, the bright light was overpowering. Completely blinded, Hawk and Fisher staggered back and forth, rubbing uselessly at their tear-filled eyes. And while they were blind and helpless, a weighted net was thrown over them from a side passageway. Hawk and Fisher struck out at the heavy strands enveloping them, but their struggles only tangled them further in the net. And once it was clear they were helpless, a dozen men anonymous in black hoods ran forward and attacked Hawk and Fisher savagely with heavy wooden clubs.

  Hawk and Fisher heard approaching footsteps, but their eyes were still full of the flare’s light. They tried to draw their weapons, but the net’s close embrace wouldn’t let them. A club slammed down on Hawk’s shoulder with sickening force. He heard as much as felt his collarbone shatter under the impact, which drove him to one knee. His eyesight was slowly starting to clear, but he wasn’t given time to recover. Clubs fell again and again, hammering against his back and his shoulders and the arm he managed to raise to protect his head. The blows fell with vicious force, and Hawk could hear the harsh breathing of his attackers. The continuing assault drove him down onto both knees. Hawk could hear Fisher crying out beside him. He fought to draw his axe, but the weighted strands had no give in them.

  Bones broke in the arm and hand protecting his head. Another club slammed into his ribs, and his whole side came alive with pain. He cried out and there was blood in his mouth. He tried to crawl away from the attack, but there was nowhere to go. The clubs hit him again and again, from every direction, and the accumulated torment was almost beyond bearing. He could still hear Fisher crying out beside him. So he pulled her close to him, and covered her body with his own, denying their enemy one victim. He held her close, his body rocking to the increased punishment, gritting his teeth and refusing to cry out. Refusing to give the unknown enemy the satisfaction. His whole body burned with pain now, and still the blows fell and fell. Blood filled his mouth and spilled from his slack lips. It had been a long time since he’d taken a beating like this, since he’d felt so helpless. He hugged Fisher to him, putting himself between her and the beating. Part of him knew that the enemy wasn’t here to kill him and Fisher; swords would have done the job more quickly. No, this was a warning, a punishment beating. If he held out, he would survive. Or Fisher would. And then someone would pay for this with their life’s blood. A club got past his shattered arm and slammed against the side of his head. Hawk actually felt the bone of his skull give under the blow, and then the world went away for a while.

  And then he came back to shouts and raised voices, and the beating stopped. There was the sound of running feet, departing and approaching, and Hawk slowly allowed himself to believe the ordeal was over. He said Fisher’s name, or thought he did, but couldn’t hear her reply. He could feel blood running down his face. He forced his eye open, and through tears and blood he saw Sir Vivian and his guards coming to save them. They pulled and tugged at the net, trying to untangle it, and Hawk cried out despite himself as the sudden movements shook and jerked his punished body. After that the guards moved more carefully, but in the end they had to use their swords to saw through the strands of the net. Hawk heard Fisher say his name, and tried to tell her he was all right, but there was too much blood in his mouth. Finally Hawk and Fisher were cut free from the net, and sat with their backs against the cold stone wall. Fisher took Hawk’s undamaged hand in hers, and squeezed it reassuringly. Sir Vivian crouched down before them, and Hawk could tell from his expression how bad they must look. He took a breath to speak, and his left lung cried out as broken ribs pressed against it. Hawk groaned and blood came out of his mouth along with the sound.

  “Don’t try to speak yet,” said Sir Vivian, surprisingly gently. “And for God’s sake don’t try to move. We’ve sent for a healer.”

  “Men … in black hoods,” said Hawk, forcing each word past pulped and swollen lips. “Isobel?”

  “I’m here,” said Fisher. “You protected me. Saved me. My hero.”

  “Next time … you protect … me.”

  “Deal.”

  They both laughed breathlessly, wincing as the small movements hurt them. Sir Vivian shook his head in wonder.

  “All right, so you’re both hard cases. I’m impressed. Now shut the hell up till the healer gets here. No one dies on my shift. Captain Hawk, your partner’s hurt, but doesn’t look too serious. You, on the other hand, look like shit. Broken arm, busted ribs, God knows what internal injuries. And you don’t want to know what your face looks like. So save the jokes. I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

  “This was a lesson,” said Hawk, spitting out a mouthful of blood so he could speak more clearly. “To show … we’re not untouchable. And just maybe … to distract us. We were getting too close … to someone, or something.”

  “Right,” said Fisher, peering blearily past swollen-shut eyes. “We got sloppy, Hawk. Too used to relying on our reputations to keep the wolves at bay.”

  “There’s no telling who your attackers were,” said Sir Vivian, since it was clear they weren’t going to shut up and sit quietly. “They ran like rabbits the moment they saw us coming. All we got were glimpses of some black hoods. And
since they had the sense to take their weapons with them, the only evidence we have is some bootprints in the blood on the floor. These guys were professionals. You’ve made a lot of enemies in your short time here, but my best guess would be Duke Alric’s men. Punishment beatings are a way of life where they come from. And you did humiliate the Duke of Court, in front of everyone.”

  “And you can’t touch him … because he’s the Duke,” said Hawk.

  Sir Vivian scowled. “If I can put together enough evidence, I will find the men responsible and make them pay. Diplomatic immunity only goes so far. No one does this on my watch and gets away with it.”

  “You sound angry, Sir Vivian,” said Fisher. “I thought you didn’t approve of us.”

  “I don’t. But while you’re here, you’re under my protection, just like anyone else. I take my responsibilities seriously. And this kind of cowardly ambush is beneath contempt. I will not stand for this. Ah, here comes the healer at last. Where the hell have you been, LeMark?”

  “I got here as fast as I could,” said a calm, unhurried voice. Hawk turned his head painfully slowly to see an elderly, white-haired man bearing down on him, carrying a bulging black bag and the air of competence that all the best healers have. In fact, Hawk always suspected that learning to fake that air was one of the first things all healers were taught. LeMark looked at Hawk and Fisher, and then knelt before Hawk, studying him carefully without touching him. “Damn, you look bad. I’ve seen men trampled by horses that were in better shape than you are right now.” He felt for the pulse in Hawk’s wrist, and looked closely into his eye. “Where does it hurt, son?”

  “Where doesn’t it?” asked Hawk. “Hit me with everything you’ve got, sir healer; I need to be up and about. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Lot of my patients say that,” said LeMark, unmoved. “But quick fixes are nearly always a bad idea in the long run. I’m a healer, not a sorcerer. My magic won’t actually mend you, just assist your body in repairing itself by speeding up the natural healing process. From looking at you, I can see a dozen broken bones and a probable concussion. The blood dripping off your chin tells me all I need to know about your internal injuries. In my professional opinion you need at least a couple of weeks in bed, recovering naturally.”

  “We don’t have a couple of weeks,” said Fisher harshly. “Do whatever you have to. We can take it.”

  “Any spell strong enough to put you two back on your feet will drain your life forces to dangerous levels,” LeMark said sternly. “It could put you closer to death than your present injuries would. And, incidentally, it will hurt like hell. I really do recommend—”

  “Do it,” said Hawk.

  LeMark looked at Sir Vivian. “Can’t you make them see sense?”

  “Probably not,” said Sir Vivian. “Do your work, healer.”

  LeMark shook his head unhappily, and rummaged in his bag before bringing out a slender wand of what looked like pure ivory, with two green snakes coiled around it. LeMark nodded to Sir Vivian, who gestured for half a dozen guards to come forward and hold Hawk and Fisher firmly in place. The healer then bent over Hawk and Fisher, muttering under his breath. Hawk just had time to study the two snakes curled around the wand, and admire how realistic the carving looked, when LeMark stopped muttering and thrust the wand forward. The snakes’ heads leaped out from the wand, and sank their fangs into Hawk’s and Fisher’s cheeks. They both cried out as harsh, unrelenting energies surged into their bodies, pumped through the serpents’ fangs. Their whole bodies jumped and shook as the energies did necessary, painful things to them, while the guards did their best to hold them still.

  Broken bones reset themselves with agonizing precision, splintered ends fitting together as torn muscles reformed around them. Bruised and damaged organs grew whole again, and Hawk’s left lung reinflated itself. Blood raced through Hawk’s and Fisher’s veins as their hearts hammered painfully fast in their chests. The healing process hurt more than the beating they’d just taken, compressed into a few unbearable moments. And then it was over. The snakes released their grips, the green heads drew back onto the wand, and the guards let go and stood back. Hawk and Fisher were left gasping and shaking, their hands jumping and twitching uncontrollably in their laps. Their faces were slick with cold sweat instead of blood, and they could see so clearly, it was almost painful. Hawk swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. He felt he’d just run several marathons, back to back, all of them uphill. A bone-deep weariness pinned both of them where they were, but deep inside they felt whole and intact again, as though they’d been washed through with ice cold spring waters. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other and grinned shakily. Their faces were back to normal again, no more pulped mouths and puffed eyes, and the dripping sweat was already washing away the blood. They forced themselves to their feet, leaning on each other for support. Sir Vivian knew better than to offer help. He sniffed heavily and glared at LeMark.

  “They still look like shit. A good breeze would probably blow them over.”

  “Well, yes,” said LeMark, closing his black bag. “They’ve both used up a month’s resources in a few moments. Their strength will return, but only slowly.” He looked chidingly at Hawk and Fisher. “I’d tell you to take it easy, but we all know I’d just be wasting my breath, so what’s the point? I will say this: Push yourselves too hard too soon, and you could die, just from simple exhaustion. You don’t have any reserves to rely on anymore.”

  “Understood,” said Hawk. “Thanks for your help, sir healer. Send your bill to the Regent. Technically we’re her guests, so we might as well get something out of it.”

  “Knew I was wasting my breath,” said LeMark. He turned and strode off down the corridor with an air of washing his hands of the whole affair.

  “How do you feel?” Sir Vivian asked.

  “Like a good sneeze would throw me off my feet,” Hawk admitted, feeling his ribs gingerly. “But I can still do my job.”

  “Same here,” said Fisher. “Whoever sent those thugs is going to have to get away with it for the time being. Revenge can wait. After all, delayed revenge is always the sweetest.”

  “We need to talk privately, Sir Vivian,” said Hawk. “Is there somewhere secure we can go?”

  “Of course,” said Sir Vivian. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to do the sane thing, and rest a little first?”

  “If we sit down, we’ll never get up again,” said Fisher. “Long as we keep moving, we’ll be fine.”

  “As you wish,” said Sir Vivian. “I have a place not far from here. My guards will ensure our privacy.”

  Hawk and Fisher followed Sir Vivian down a side corridor, walking slowly and steadily and no longer leaning on each other. Hawk found he had to place his feet very carefully because his head felt a long way away from the rest of him. He also felt like he could sleep for a week, but that could wait. He probed cautiously at a loose tooth with the tip of his tongue and winced. He hoped he wasn’t going to lose another of the back ones. Fisher was right—in Haven their reputation had protected them and their authority as Guard Captains. In Forest Castle they were just two strangers and fair prey for anyone who thought they could get away with it. Hawk frowned. He couldn’t throw his weight around and intimidate people anymore; he’d have to use his wits to outthink and outmaneuver people. Strangely, the thought did not displease him. He’d increasingly disliked the kind of man Haven had made of him. It was one of the main reasons he’d been so ready to leave.

  Sir Vivian ushered them into a small room, sparsely furnished with characterless furniture and a single portrait of King Harald hanging on the wall. Sir Vivian lit the only light and then gestured for his men to stand guard outside the door. He closed the door and locked it. He yawned once, shrugged apologetically, and then sat down on the most comfortable chair. Hawk and Fisher chose to lean against the wall.

  “The Magus has to be involved in Harald’s death,” said Sir Vivian, diving straight into what he knew they wan
ted to talk about. “Either he dropped the wards to let the killer in, or they were never what he claimed in the first place. It’s the only explanation. And only a really powerful magic-user could have gotten past me and my guards without being seen. I had all the ways to the King’s chambers sewn up tighter than a flea’s arse.”

  “Is the Magus the only magic-user in the Castle powerful enough to have done such a thing?” asked Hawk.

  Sir Vivian frowned. “Technically speaking, yes. No one knows just how powerful the Shaman is if he’s pushed. He’s done some very disturbing things in his time. Harald worried about him. Wouldn’t see him or speak to him. In fact, I was under strict orders not to allow the Shaman anywhere near the King at any time. I tried giving the Shaman bodyguards, ostensibly for his own protection, so I could keep an eye on him, but he lost them so quickly, there was no point in continuing.”

  “And there’s no one else?” Fisher asked after a pause. “We walked through a hall packed with magic-users when we first arrived.”

  “None of them are worth a damn,” Sir Vivian said flatly, “or they wouldn’t still be in that hall. The Land has a crying need for competent high-level magicians, and the Throne pays good money for their services. If they were any good, they’d have brought themselves to our attention and they’d be out in the field earning their keep. And the Magus always has an eye for fresh competition. I know a few things about magic. You know who my father was? Of course you do. Everyone does. No, the only other name that comes to mind is Tiffany. The Academy is very proud of her. Practically forced her on the Court. And she did show up really well against the darkness yesterday. Suspicious that she never evidenced such power before.”

  “You don’t care much for magic-users, do you?” asked Fisher. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  “You can’t trust them,” said Sir Vivian. “Their magic is always going to be the most important thing in their lives. You never knew my father or my mother. The famously unreliable High Warlock and the infamous Night Witch. A drunk and a monster. When the Blue Moon was full, and the long night threatened all who lived, it wasn’t the magic-users that saved the day. It was Prince Rupert and Princess Julia. And all the rest of us, good men and true, fighting the demons with cold steel and steadfast hearts. We don’t need magic to run our lives. We just think we do, because it makes things so easy, so convenient. Well, some things aren’t meant to be easy; they’re there so we can become strong by overcoming them. Our reliance on magic makes us weak. We’d all be much better off without it.”