Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Simon R. Green

  “We need him,” Felicity said firmly. “He’s our only defense, our only weapon against the growing forces that threaten the Forest Land. If we can get him to commit to the Throne …”

  “That’s a hell of a big if.”

  “Then no one else would dare attack us directly. And if the Blue Moon really is on its way back, you can be sure that bunch of self-abuse experts in the magic-user’s hall won’t be enough to save us.”

  “I don’t know that the Magus is necessarily up to it, either,” said Cally. “All right, he created the Rift, but in all the time he’s been here, he hasn’t done a single damn thing about the Inverted Cathedral.”

  “One problem at a time,” said Felicity. “I have to concentrate on one thing at a time or I’ll go crazy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough to be Queen.”

  “You have to be,” said Cally. “Because all the alternatives are worse.”

  Felicity smiled humorlessly. “How the hell did I end up here? I spent all my youth fighting authority, and now I’m Queen. Do all children become their parents?”

  “Now there’s an idea!” said Cally. “Take a leaf from your father’s book. Declare war and invade Hillsdown! Or Redhart. Nothing brings a country together like a good war!”

  Felicity shook her head. “You’re really not helping, Cally.”

  Sir Robert Hawke, once a bladesmaster and a hero famed in song and legend, but now only a minor politician with a largely discredited background, sat alone in his quarters, and cursed the world quietly with tired but explicit venom. It had been a long, hard day, and it showed no signs of being over yet. His desk was piled high with assorted crumpled papers, information his carefully chosen and bribed sources thought he ought to know about.

  The Duke was a threat, Hawk and Fisher were intimidating, but Jericho Lament was genuinely scary. Everyone had heard a story about the Walking Man’s never-ending vengeance, and everyone in the Castle had something to feel guilty about. People were talking anxiously in private and in public, and preparing for the worst. No one believed he was just in the Castle to deal with the Inverted Cathedral. Lament came after guilty men. Everyone knew what he’d done in the hall of the magic-users. Conspirators were gathering together and saying now or never. Strike now, or we may never get another chance. No one was actually saying civil war yet, but it was in everybody’s thoughts.

  Sir Robert scowled. If civil war did break out in the Forest, there’d be so many sides, so many factions, the fighting would drag on for years. It would tear the Land apart, split up families, set neighbor against neighbor. The Land would be reduced to burnt-out villages and blood-soaked fields. And God alone knew who’d be left alive to see the end of it. Sir Robert swore angrily. He hadn’t fought in the Demon War all those years ago, putting his life on the line again and again, to see the Land he loved and fought for destroyed in a stupid, needless war. There had to be a way to stop this insanity, before it all got out of hand. There had to be something he could do … if only he wasn’t so damned tired …

  He needed some sleep. Even a nap would help. To just lie down, stretch out, and relax, if only for a while, but he couldn’t stop thinking, planning, plotting … His mind was working at frantic speed even as he sat there, urged on by all the uppers he’d taken. You couldn’t be just a man in Forest politics these days; there was too much to do, to process, to cope with, to be only, merely, human.

  Sir Robert unlocked and opened the secret door in his desk, and looked at all the assorted colored pills laid out before him. All the colors of the rainbow to help him sleep and to wake him up, to make him eloquent and to keep him sharp. But where was he, in the midst of all this chemical brilliance? Was all he had left the choice of which pill to take next? He sighed, and selected three black pills. Just a few downers, to help him sleep, help him rest, soothe the clamoring thoughts in his head. In the end he took four, washing them down with the last of the good brandy.

  He sat down heavily on the edge of his unmade bed and slowly pulled off his boots. A delicious languor seeped through his body, sweeping away the cares of the day, as he lay back on the bed, not bothering to undress any further. It felt so good to not have to care for a while. But still, tired as he was, with sleep tugging at him like a determined child, thoughts swirled sluggishly through his head. The three would-be Landsgraves had disappeared. Which just had to be bad news. It meant they’d gone to ground, and were even now busily plotting something he just knew he wouldn’t approve of. But when all was said and done, they were amateurs. They shouldn’t have been able to disappear so completely that even his network of spies and informers couldn’t find them.

  There was always the possibility something had happened to them. The three Landsgraves had many enemies in Forest Castle. Well, if he was lucky, they were just dead. If he was really unlucky, they’d been handed over to Sir Vivian, that paragon of duty and honor, and were even now telling him everything they knew under intense interrogation. And there were all kinds of things they could be saying to incriminate their good friend and confidant, Sir Robert Hawke.

  And they owed him money.

  He supposed he should be worried, but he couldn’t seem to make the effort. Why look on the dark side? They’d probably turn up eventually. They always did. Like bad pennies, or a case of the crabs that wouldn’t go away. Maybe he should just cut them loose. He didn’t need their money that badly. Well, actually, he did, but there had to be somewhere else he could find it. Somewhere without so many risks involved. It wasn’t as if he had any expensive tastes to support. He’d never had the time or the inclination to develop any really interesting vices. Most of the money he collected went straight to the various democratic causes he supported. Democracy was about the only thing left he still believed in. Even when he wasn’t sure he believed in himself anymore.

  It had been a long time since he’d considered himself anyone worth believing in.

  His thoughts were floating now. Slowly drifting apart. The black pills were really kicking in. His old bed seemed luxuriously soft, and his body was too heavy to move. Some days this fleeting moment of ease and pain between waking and sleeping was the only thing he had to look forward to all day. Sleep beckoned with a languorous finger, promising relief from all the cares of the day, and he was almost there when some bastard knocked loudly on his door.

  Sir Robert’s first clear thought was to ignore whoever it was, and hope they’d take the hint and go away, but whoever it was knocked again, almost immediately, and twice as loud. It had that urgent, arrogant sound of a messenger whose message was so important, he was prepared to go on knocking until hell froze over, or a merciful and sympathetic God struck him with a bolt of lightning. Since neither event seemed particularly likely in the immediate future, Sir Robert groaned loudly and forced himself up and off the bed. It took him a while. His body now seemed to weigh a ton or more, and his feet seemed a long way away from his head. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he lurched across the room toward the door and leaned against it before unlocking and pulling it open. He was still leaning on the doorframe as he gave the messenger before him his best scowl.

  “This had better be important, or I swear I am going to rip out your spleen and eat it right in front of you.”

  The royal messenger looked back at him, entirely unmoved, and handed Sir Robert a scroll closed and sealed with the Queen’s personal seal. He accepted it automatically and looked at it numbly as the messenger looked him over with a critical eye.

  “I am required to wait for your answer, Sir Robert,” he said formally.

  “Keep your voice down,” growled Sir Robert. “If you wake me all the way up, we’ll both regret it.” He turned his back on the messenger and stumbled over to his desk. He had to grab the edge of the desk at the last moment to stop himself from falling, and lowered himself carefully into his chair. He fumbled at the scroll’s wax seal, his fingers numb and clumsy. He should never have taken that many blacks. He scrabbled at the wax seal for embarrassin
gly long moments, then finally was able to break it, tearing the thick paper in the process.

  The messenger watched it all from the doorway, stonily silent.

  Sir Robert made himself concentrate on the handwritten note. It was a summons from the Queen. He was commanded to attend a special Court. Right now, if not sooner. No excuses accepted. Since it was written in Felicity’s own hand rather than that of a Court scribe, it meant this was a private summons. Secret. Sir Robert felt stupidly pleased that he was able to follow all the implications of that. A special, secret Court session meant that important things would be said. Things he needed to know. So of course he had to go. Except … was this good news or bad? A commendation or an accusation? Just how much did the Queen know about all the things he’d said and done in his time?

  His thoughts were whirling all over the place now, and he had no idea how long he sat there, staring blankly at the torn scroll, until the messenger in his doorway cleared his throat loudly. Of course, a reply was expected. He had to say something.

  “Tell Her Majesty … I’m delighted to … be delighted to accept her kind invitation. I’ll be there.” His tongue felt like it was drunk, and his words were so slurred, even he could hardly make them out. Sir Robert could have wept. It wasn’t fair. He was in no shape to deal with this. Why did the Queen have to send for him now? He needed to sleep. He swayed in his chair.

  “Jesus, you’re a mess,” said the messenger, and there was as much disappointment as contempt in his voice. “Come as you are. If you can.”

  He turned and left, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him was almost unbearably loud. Sir Robert fumbled out his keys with numb fingers, searching for the key that would open the secret door in his desk. He needed more pills. Something to wake him up, to make him sharp again. Something to make him the man he used to be.

  Sir Vivian was talking with the Lady of the Lake. He’d brought her to one of his favorite and most secret places, an indoor Forest glade deep in the heart of the North Wing. It was a long way off the beaten track, so far off that only a few people even knew it existed. Sir Vivian was happy for it to stay that way. The glade was entirely self-sufficient, an oasis of greenery inside the cold stone of the Castle. There were trees and shrubs, grassy lawns and mossy banks around a slender chuckling river that ran to and from nowhere, all centered around a delicate stone fountain whose gushing waters rose high into the air. Rich scents of earth and grass and growing things hung heavily on the air, and all the trees’ branches hung down with the weight of summer greenery. The glade was a peaceful place, the only sound the gurgling of the fountain. Sir Vivian came here when he needed quiet, a place to clear his thoughts and listen to his own heart. He’d been a bit shy of revealing his special place to the Lady, but she loved it immediately. She was currently manifesting within the fountain’s waters, standing tall and proud as water streamed down from her outstretched hands.

  “This is a wonderful place,” she said happily, her voice giving shape and meaning to the sounds the fountain made. “I don’t remember it from when I was last here.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Sir Vivian. “It’s only twelve years old. During the Demon War goblins came to live in the Castle for a while, after their home, the Tanglewood, was destroyed by the encroaching long night. They created this place from cuttings they brought with them. This is all that’s left of the Tanglewood now. The goblins are long gone, and given their obnoxious nature I can’t say anyone really misses them. But they left this behind, and anyone who could fashion and appreciate a small miracle like this couldn’t be all bad.”

  The Lady laughed, and suddenly it was raining. A soft, gentle sprinkling of rain that fell out of nowhere like a delicate haze on the air, just cool enough to be refreshing. The glade blossomed as the rain touched it, and the grass became almost unbearably green, and flowers were bursting out of everywhere in bright and glorious colors. Sir Vivian looked about him, awed and wondering and happily enchanted, and laughed quietly.

  “That’s more like it,” said the Lady approvingly. “You look quite handsome when you smile. You were always a grim and brooding one, as I recall, but that was many years ago. Haven’t you found anything to be happy about since?”

  “Not really,” said Sir Vivian, and his smile was gone as quickly as it had come.

  “How did you recognize me?” asked the Lady of the Lake. “I am much changed from what I once was.”

  “I’d know you anywhere,” said Sir Vivian. “I recognized your smile. You were always very special to me. I would have died for you.”

  “I’d much rather you lived,” said the Lady. “My true and gallant hero. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Sir Vivian grimaced, and half turned away from her. “Then you know I was a traitor. I betrayed my King.”

  “And was Pardoned by another King,” the Lady said gently. “Look at me, Vivian. You have done many remarkable things. You were a hero at Tower Rouge, and a hero again to the peasants you fought beside in the Demon War. They still sing songs about your exploits. The Forest Land still stands, in part because of you. You should be proud of what you have achieved.”

  “I always wanted to be a warrior,” said Sir Vivian. “To prove myself worthy by my own actions. But now even that is being taken away from me. I thought the Walking Man had come for Queen Felicity. I couldn’t trust my swordsmanship to stop him, so I used magic against him. The magic I inherited from my notorious parents. It didn’t stop Lament, of course. I doubt even the Magus could stand against the Walking Man. But I had to try to protect my Queen, and now the magic I never wanted runs loose within me, a constant burning temptation. It’s almost a physical need to use that power to make the world make sense, by force if necessary. To shake some sense into the world whether it wants it or not.”

  “And into people, too?” said the Lady.

  “Especially people,” said Sir Vivian.

  “I feel the same way sometimes,” said the Lady. “I felt it when I was alive, and even more when I was reborn in this form. When I see people abuse the Land or each other, and the anger rises within me, I could make it rain for fifty years, cause the rivers to break their banks and flood the fields, and drive the people from the Forest. But I don’t. My role is to protect the Land, and those who live in it. It would be wrong for me to interfere too much, for then people would grow dependent on me, and learn nothing. And so I do the most good I can, quietly, from a distance, with the minimum of magic. I wouldn’t have revealed my existence even now, but events here are drawing to a climax, and at the end, I will be needed to do what no one else can.”

  “Your life, or after-life, has purpose and meaning,” said Sir Vivian heavily. “I’m still looking for mine. By my age most men have found a shape or direction to their lives. They have a job they’re good at, an end to aim for, or at least the simple pleasures of wife and family. I have none of those things. I was a hero once, but it wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. I found something to fight for when I was defending the peasants against the demons, but it didn’t last. I left them for what I thought was a greater cause. But defending them against the Court proved too much for my limited diplomatic abilities. And the one thing I’d always set my heart on, becoming High Commander of the Castle Guard and personally responsible for the safety of my King, turned out to be the one thing that damned me. I failed, and in failing I betrayed another King. He died because I wasn’t up to the job he gave me.

  “My life is so empty, Lady. So cold. Nothing and no one to care for, or care for me. This isn’t the life I hoped and fought for when I was young and still had dreams. You’ve been dead, Lady. What was it like? Would I find peace there at last?”

  “You know your trouble?” asked the Lady of the Lake. “You need to get out and meet some girls.” She laughed at the almost shocked expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Vivian, I know you were expecting something more mystical, but sometimes the obvious answers are the right ones after all. You need
to open your eyes and look around you, Vivian. The answer could be closer than you think. Now stand up straight and make yourself look presentable. There’s a royal messenger on his way with something important to tell you.”

  As he scrambled to his feet and tugged more or less randomly at his uniform, the Lady merged into the waters of the fountain, her shape disappearing until there was only water, pouring smoothly from stone mouths. The gentle rain stopped. A messenger knocked on the closed door, and entered uncertainly at Sir Vivian’s command. His eyes widened as he took in the green glade, and then he saw Sir Vivian and marched smartly forward to stand before him. They exchanged formal bows and then Sir Vivian gave the messenger his best glare.

  “I thought I gave orders I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

  The messenger nodded, unmoved by the glare. He was used to people not being pleased to see him. “Sorry to intrude, High Commander, but I bear a personal message from the Queen. I am to wait for your answer.”

  Sir Vivian nodded grimly, and all but snatched the scroll from the messenger’s hands. He broke the wax seal with a quick twist, and quickly scanned the message. Special Court … your earliest convenience … matters of urgency … no exceptions. Just what he didn’t need right now. He rolled up the scroll and stuck it in his belt. A summons from the Queen in her own handwriting was unfortunately too important to be ignored, or even put off.