Beyond The Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

  "I know," said Hawk. "I've heard some of the songs about your exploits in the Demon War."

  "Believe everything you've heard," said Sir Robert. "And after the long night, there's not much left that scares me anymore."

  They stood and looked at each other in silence for a long while. Two men who had once been closer than brothers, but had grown apart in such different ways. The years had not been kind to Sir Robert. Up close he looked a lot older than his age, and there was a harshness to his face, as though he had been much beaten about by life. He looked more like the father of the man Rupert had once known. Hawk couldn't help wondering if he'd changed that much, too.

  "We're here on the authority of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia," he said carefully. "And we have the backing of your Queen. Do you defy them?"

  "Not necessarily," said Sir Robert. "Not just now. I'll give you enough rope to hang yourselves. But tread carefully, Captains. There's a lot going on here you don't know about. There are secrets within mysteries, and not everyone's truth is the same. Not everyone is always who or what they appear to be."

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, unsure whether that was a hint of recognition or not. Certainly nothing in Sir Robert's face or gaze suggested that he recognized Rupert and Julia. Perversely, Hawk felt almost disappointed. How could Rob Hawke have forgotten him so completely, after all they'd been through together?

  Sir Vivian stepped forward to fix Sir Robert with his icy gaze. "You seem to know so much about this tangled situation, Landsgrave. Perhaps you would be so good as to suggest how it should be investigated?"

  Sir Robert shrugged. "You know my feelings on the matter, High Commander. I've made no secret of them. The only way to get the truth is to question everyone, from the highest to the lowest, under a truthspell."

  "That would take months," said Sir Vivian flatly. "And besides, it would be a deathly insult to all those of standing who had given their word they knew nothing of King Harald's death, sworn it on their name and their blood and their honor. And besides, who would you trust to administer such a truthspell anyway? The Magus? I don't know of anyone in this Court or out of it who trusts him entirely. The Shaman, with his well-known prejudices? Or perhaps some Academy witch, chosen at random? No, given the circumstances of the murder, no magic-user can be trusted. It's clear to me, and to anyone who's studied the matter, that the King's murder must have involved some use of magic. There's no other way the assassin could have reached him, past my guards and the Magus' wards. No, the first step to getting anywhere has to be the rounding up and imprisoning of all the magic-users currently infesting this Castle, and put them all to the question under a truthspell."

  "Any magician powerful enough to get past the Magus' wards would have no trouble shrugging off a truthspell," said Sir Robert patiently. "And besides, magic has become too integral a part of our society. The Castle and the Land couldn't function without magic-users. We can't afford to antagonize them. It makes much more sense to vigorously interrogate all of your compromised guards, who continue to swear they saw and heard nothing of the King's murder, even though they were right outside the room when it happened! We could always replace them with the more independent members of our armed forces."

  "You might be willing to place your trust in foreign mercenaries," said Sir Vivian. "But then, your commitment to the Throne has always been dubious at best. My people remain. They are the only ones who know the Castle and its people well enough to be able to investigate this matter thoroughly."

  "As always, we remain opposed," said Sir Robert. "The old versus the new."

  "Honor versus practicality," said Sir Vivian.

  "Why don't we get right down to it?" asked Sir Robert. "With the King, regrettably, gone, this is the perfect opportunity to change the system. We can put aside the monarchy, which serves only itself, and replace it with a more democratic system that serves the people."

  "King Harald stood fast against any real changes while he was alive," Sir Vivian pointed out. "And I support what remains of his family. Your words, however, sound more and more like a motive for murder. Did you tire of waiting for change, and decide to start the process yourself with Harald's death?"

  Both Sir Robert and Sir Vivian had their hands on their swordhilts now, and imminent violence crackled in the air. Sir Vivian's guards moved quickly forward to support him, and just as quickly stern-faced courtiers emerged from the crowd to back up Sir Robert. And then Queen Felicity cleared her throat, and everyone stopped and turned to look at her.

  "Harald never allowed anyone to go armed in his Court." she said coldly. "And it's temper tantrums like this that explain why. Sir Questor?"

  Chance stepped forward. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

  "Do you still serve the Throne and your Queen?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  "Then do us the favor of killing the first damned fool to draw his sword."

  "Delighted, Your Majesty." Chance had his father's huge double-headed axe in his hands, bearing the great weight as though it were nothing, and Hawk felt a sharp frisson of memory as he saw the dead Champion's cold killer's smile on Chance's lips. The dog Chappie was at Chance's side, fur bristling, growling loudly. Everyone very deliberately took their hands away from their swords, including Sir Robert and Sir Vivian. Chance nodded slowly.

  "That's better. See how much more fun sanity is? Everybody calm down, right now. Or they'll be clearing up what's left of you with a mop."

  "How typical of the monarchy, to settle debate with the threat of violence," said Sir Robert calmly. "Just another sign of how intellectually empty its position is. Take Hawk and Fisher, only here because Rupert and Julia declined to return. What are they but bullies with a little power? The Prince and Princess knew the days of monarchy are over, that's why they're not here."

  "Bullshit," said Hawk. "They just have other responsibilities."

  "Yes, well," said Sir Robert. "You would say that, wouldn't you?"

  "In all the songs and stories I heard," Hawk said slowly, "Rupert was your friend. Your comrade in arms. Together you fought the darkness to preserve the Forest Kingdom. Do you think he'd approve of what you're doing now? Of what you've become?"

  "That was a long time ago," said Sir Robert, meeting Hawk's gaze steadily. "Everything has changed since then. Rupert was a hero because of what he did, not because he was a Prince. He fought for justice, and the preservation of the Forest people. If he was here now, I'd follow him into hell itself, just on his word. But he isn't here, and I don't know you, Captain Hawk."

  "Company's coming," said the Magus. And there was something in his voice that made everyone shut up and turn around.

  Through the open doors of the Court came Duke Alric of Hillsdown, last in the line of Starlight Dukes, striding into the Forest Court like he owned the place. Or at the very least was thinking seriously of leasing it. Twenty armed and armored guards accompanied him. The packed Court shuffled backward to open up a wide aisle for the Duke and his guards to walk down on his way to the Throne. Queen Felicity's guards snapped to attention, and moved quickly in to stand on either side of her, glaring openly at the Duke and his guards. Alric ignored them all as he made his slow way toward the Throne.

  He was an old man now, in his late seventies, not much more than skin and bone. His face was deeply lined, dominated by a jutting chin and nose. His mouth was a grim flat line, the lips pressed so tightly together, they could hardly be seen. His eyes were sunken, but still sharp and bright. He'd lost his hair long ago, save for a few white wisps over each ear. Hawk's first impression was that the Duke looked uncommonly like a vulture.

  The Duke was dressed in dusty gray formal attire, and his stick-thin body was held together by a series of leather straps and metal braces, encompassing his torso like a cage, and extending down both arms and legs. Straps and hinges creaked loudly as he walked. More sounds came from within him, and he grunted now and again with the simple effort of walking. But for all the obvious frailty of his wo
rn-out body, there was no mistaking the fire, arrogance, and determination that kept him moving. The Duke was still a dangerous man, and everyone there in the Court knew it.

  "Damn," Fisher said quietly, and Hawk could hear the shock in her voice. "He's gotten old since I last saw him. He used to be such a fighter, such a warrior. Now look at him. Time's eaten him away. Oh sure, he's still the Duke. He'll still be deadly as a coiled snake till the day they nail his coffin lid down. But I'm not afraid of him anymore. I don't know this man. This old man. I wonder if he'll know me."

  Duke Alric crashed to a halt before the Throne and glared at Queen Felicity, ignoring everyone else. He was breathing heavily and his hands trembled, but his gaze was perfectly steady. The Queen did her best to look imperiously down on him, but it was clear to everyone how much of an effort that was.

  "Well, Daughter," the Duke said finally, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant. "You've been drinking again. I can smell it."

  "Well, Father," said the Queen. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Found something else in your quarters to complain about?"

  "Don't get smart with me, Felicity. I put you on this Throne. I can remove you from it if I have to."

  "You are addressing the Queen of the Forest Land," Chance said calmly. "The correct form of address is Your Majesty. Do try not to forget again. I'd hate to have you dragged from this Court in chains for disrespect. Really. I'd hate it."

  "Muzzle your dog, Felicity," said Alric, not looking around. "Word has come to me that you are considering accepting these Guard nobodies in place of Rupert and Julia. You can't do that. They're not fit to investigate your husband's murder. Send them away. Then send your faithful hound back to fetch Rupert and Julia, and demand they come home. Be a Queen, dammit."

  "You just want me out of the way!" Chance said angrily, but the Duke still ignored him, his unwavering gaze fixed on his daughter, who was beginning to squirm under the pressure of his regard.

  "All right, you have a point," she said reluctantly. "Rupert and Julia—"

  "Aren't coming," Hawk said flatly, moving forward to stand between the Queen and the Duke. Fisher was quickly there at his side, glaring at her father. "Fisher and I are here, and we will investigate this murder and uncover the guilty. We're not going anywhere. We're needed here. If just because we're the only ones here without an axe of our own to grind. So back off, Starlight Duke, or I'll cut your braces."

  The Duke looked at him in silence. It had clearly been a long time since anyone had dared to openly defy him. Fisher seized the advantage.

  "Why would you want to see your daughter Julia again anyway, Duke Alric? Didn't you condemn her to death all those years ago?"

  The Duke shrugged slowly. "She disobeyed me. She disappointed me. And since I had seven other daughters, I had to keep them in line somehow. Trust Julia not to do what was expected of her. Perhaps she's afraid to come back and face me again."

  Fisher grinned. "I rather doubt that. She faced the Darkwood, the long night, and the Demon Prince. An old man held together with knotted string and sealing wax isn't much of a threat after that."

  "I am the sovereign monarch of Hillsdown. You will not speak to me that way."

  "Sure we will," said Hawk. "You're not the first ruler we've faced down, and you won't be the last. You have no authority over us. We're Hawk and Fisher. And we don't bend the knee to anyone."

  "Damn right," said Fisher.

  Duke Alric turned to his guards. "Kill them."

  The Hillsdown guards drew their swords and surged forward, silent and focused. Hawk and Fisher drew their weapons and went to meet them. Everyone else watched with open mouths as swords clashed, blood flew on the air, and Hawk and Fisher wiped the floor with all twenty guards. Chance hopped around the perimeter of the action shouting, "Don't kill any of them! Please don't kill them!" The Hillsdown guards were trained, experienced men, but they were no match for Hawk and Fisher, who were shaped and trained under harsher conditions than anyone in Hillsdown had known in generations. Soon there was a lot of blood on the floor, and more on the clothes of those courtiers who hadn't stood far enough back, and there were moaning, wounded, and unconscious guards everywhere. The last few threw down their swords and surrendered, despite angry orders from their Duke. Hawk and Fisher looked around them, quietly satisfied, flicked drops of blood from their blades, and sheathed their weapons, not even bothering to look in Alric's direction. Sir Robert Hawke started the applause, and most of the courtiers joined in. Queen Felicity looked as if she would have very much liked to. Chance approached Hawk and Fisher, and sighed heavily.

  "Can't you two get on with anyone?"

  "We didn't kill anyone," said Hawk innocently.

  "And that's your idea of diplomacy, is it?"

  "Well, mostly, yes," said Fisher. "Think of it as a statement of principles. Or not. See if we care. Now, where were we, Alric?"

  Chance moved quickly to stand between them and the Duke. "That's enough. The Duke is a guest of this Court, and as such is under my protection. Guards are one thing. I can't let you threaten the Duke."

  "Spoilsport," said Fisher.

  And then everything stopped as there came the sound of an awful iron bell, tolling far away. The terrible sound reverberated on the air like slow thunder, and everyone in the Court could feel it in their hearts and in their souls. The sound affected them all, like nails scraping down their bones. The awful bell rang on and on, like the Devil calling the damned to worship at his cloven hooves.

  "What is that?" asked Fisher. "What is that sound? Where's it coming from?"

  "It is the great bell of the Inverted Cathedral," said the Magus, raising his usually quiet voice to be heard above the din. "It hasn't been heard in centuries."

  "Then why is it ringing now!" asked Queen Felicity, almost desperately.

  "Something new has come into the Castle, something that changes everything," said the Magus. He didn't look at Hawk and Fisher.

  "Who's ringing the bloody thing?" Lightfoot Moonfleet asked, her tiny hands clapped to her pointed ears.

  "I don't know," said the Magus. "The Burning Man, perhaps?"

  "The hell with who's ringing it," said Hawk. "How do we make it stop?"

  The Magus had no answer. Everyone in the Court had their hands over their ears now, but it didn't help. The tolling of the awful bell of the Inverted Cathedral could have been heard by a deaf man, and a dumb man would have cried out in horror at the sound of it. People were crying now. Some were shaking or vomiting. Everywhere in the Court the light was dimming, and the shadows were growing darker. There was a sense of terrible presences moving inside the shadows. Everyone who had a weapon had drawn it. Panic was growing in the packed hall, held back only by lack of a common cause to attack or run from. And then the people on the edges of the Court, those nearest the shadows, began to sway and stumble like drunken men. The color went out of their faces and their eyes became vague, and there was something almost insubstantial about them, as though their very life was being sucked out of them. Their faces twisted with a terrible disgust, as though they were being drained by giant leeches. Some fell into the shadows, which swallowed them and consumed them like inky waters. The courtiers nearest those lost to the shadows fought each other in their desperate need to get away from the hungry darkness. The shadows grew larger, darker, deeper. The whole crowd was dangerously close to stampeding now. A few people cut at the shadows with their swords, but the steel slipped harmlessly through the darkness. Hawk and Fisher stood back to back, weapons at the ready, looking for an enemy they could fight.

  The Queen stood up before her Throne. "Do something, dammit! Somebody do something!"

  "The only spells I know strong enough to throw back an evil like this would probably kill the Court," said the Magus. "If the situation deteriorates further, I may have to do that, but for the moment I think we'd be better off organizing a controlled evacuation of the Court."

  "If they run, half of them will be
crushed and trampled to death anyway!" snapped the Queen. "Do something!"

  "Alas, Your Majesty—"

  "You're standing there making excuses, and people are dying!" said the witch Tiffany, bursting out of the crowd. "Typical sorcerer. Get out of my way."

  She floated up into the air, the slippers falling from her rising feet, her long red hair floating around her untroubled face like a great crimson cloud. She rose above the noise and turmoil of the panicking crowd, her hands crossed on her breast, like some old Romantic's vision of an angel. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed in concentration. The iron bell missed a beat. And then Tiffany spoke, but the words were huge and magnificent, as though something greater spoke through her, with her voice.

  "Fiat Lux!" said Tiffany. Let there be light. And there was.

  A bright light, shining and brilliant beyond any color, swept through the Court like refreshing rain on a hot afternoon. It bathed everyone in its blazing glory, sleeting light through their bodies in a rush of calm and forgiveness. It filled the Court, bright as mercy, vivid as justice, driving out the dark and the shadows, which could not stand against it. Those people who had been swallowed up by the dark returned, blinking bemusedly, unharmed. And then the dark and the light were both gone, and the tolling of the awful bell stopped. The Court was just a great hall again, and the shadows were just shadows. People murmured to each other, holding hands and hugging one another. And only Chance saw Tiffany fall out of the air like a stone.

  He fought his way through the crowd to reach her, shoving aside personages far greater than he without a backward glance. He knelt beside the fallen witch, lying crumpled on the floor like a discarded handkerchief. He checked her breathing and her pulse, and then let out his breath in a relieved sigh as he found them both normal. He chaffed her hands and gently called her name, and Tiffany slowly opened her eyes, green as the most luscious grassy meadows of the Forest Land, and twice as warm. They smiled at each other, and for a long moment that was all they needed.

  "I wasn't sure that would work," she said indistinctly. "I never tried it before. Found the spell in an old forbidden grimoire I wasn't supposed to know about. Technically, only a sorceress should have been able to power a spell like that. But somehow I knew that I could do it. Because it was needed. Am I making sense?"