Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Green, Simon R.

  The Champion suddenly put up a hand, and the column of guards came to a ragged halt. Rupert reined in his unicorn and stared quickly about him, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

  “Why have we stopped, sir Champion?”

  “We’re being watched, Sire.”

  Rupert frowned. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “They’re here,” said the Champion softly. “They’re waiting for us.”

  For a long moment, nobody moved. The guards sat stiffly in their saddles, eyes testing the Forest shadows, ears straining for the slightest noise. The gaunt, spectral trees crowded about them, guarding ancient secrets in an impenetrable gloom. The only sound was the whinnying and snorting of the restless horses, and the low murmur of the wind in the bare branches. And then Rupert felt his hackles slowly rise as he made out dim, furtive movements in the shadows ahead.

  There was a susurrus of steel on leather as the guards drew their swords. Demons, came the murmur, passing swiftly through the ranks, Demons in the shadows. Rupert drew his sword, and swore under his breath as he realized his buckler was still securely fastened to his backpack. He fumbled at the straps, his eyes straining against the gloom ahead. Half a dozen lancers moved forward to flank him and the Champion, light gleaming on the deadly steel shafts. Rupert slipped on his buckler, glanced at the Champion, and then urged the unicorn forward. The troops moved with him, slowly gathering speed.

  Demons in the Forest Demons by daylight. The Darkwood must be closer than we thought.

  Rupert shook his head quickly to clear it, and hefted his buckler to a more comfortable position. He realized he could barely feel the swordhilt with his numbed fingers, and tightened his grip. And then a single tiny figure darted out into the trail ahead, and raised both its hands in surrender.

  “We give up!” it called plaintively. “Honest!”

  Rupert brought his unicorn to a sudden halt, the guards piling up behind him. A sudden suspicion entered his mind, and a broad grin spread slowly across his face as out onto the Forest trail stepped a great crowd of goblins. Their leader took one look at Rupert and winced visibly.

  “Oh no. Not you again.”

  The other goblins peered shortsightedly at Rupert, and then crowded together in the middle of the trail, shaking in every limb. There was a general dropping of weapons, and several of the smaller goblins burst into tears.

  “Friends of yours?” asked the Champion.

  “Not exactly,” said Rupert. He gestured for the goblin leader to approach him, and the goblin did so reluctantly.

  “It’s not fair,” he said bitterly, glaring up at Rupert. “I’ve spent weeks turning that bunch of knock-kneed idiots into a crack fighting unit. I’ve taken farmers and herders and leechmen and turned them into warriors. Two days ago we fought off a demon pack. Morale’s never been higher. And then what happens? You come along and demoralize the whole damn bunch without even using your sword! It’s not fair!”

  “Calm down,” said Rupert.

  “Calm down? It’s not enough that you’ve become a legend among us, as the only human ever to have defeated a whole pack of goblins. It’s not enough that some of that pack are still having nightmares about you. It’s not enough that goblin mothers now frighten their children with tales of the nasty human who’ll come for them if they’re naughty. Oh no, not content with all that, you decide to hunt us down with a whole troop of guards! What are you going to do for an encore; set fire to the Forest?”

  Rupert grinned. It was obvious that the goblins he’d scared off had built him up into a mighty hero, to justify their running away. Maybe legends had their uses after all.

  “What are you doing so far from your home?” he asked, and the goblin leader scowled.

  “The Tanglewood’s gone,” he said gruffly. “The dark came, and demons overran the narrow paths. They wrecked our homes and butchered our families. We ran before them, carrying what we could. Goblins aren’t brave; we’ve never needed to be. It’s not in our nature. But after what we’ve seen, some of us have learned to hate.

  “We’re an old race, sir hero, remnants of an earlier age. It was a simpler time, then. No humans to make us afraid, no Darkwood to blight our Forest. An age when magic was strong in the world, and cold iron lay safely in the ground, no danger to the small folk. Then man came, using steel against our bronze, forcing us from our ancient homes. We created the Tanglewood with the last of our magic, and made it our new home. Few of us survived the move; we live long and breed slow, and we don’t like change.

  “We’re not fighters, sir hero; it’s not our way. We don’t even make good footpads, as you no doubt remember. We farm, and tend our herds, and leave the world be. All we’ve ever asked is to be left alone. But now the night is spreading, and our day is finally over. Once, our numbers were beyond counting. Then there were thousands of us, living in the Tanglewood. Now there are hundreds, and we have no home. So we’re going to the Forest Castle. We may not be strong and brave or carry cold steel, sir hero, but we can fight, and if the Castle will shelter our families, we’ll defend it with our lives.”

  The goblin leader glared defiantly up at Rupert, as if expecting an insult or a blow for his presumption in claiming his people to be warriors. Rupert looked past him, and saw that the listening goblins had drawn strength from their leader, and were standing calmly in the middle of the trail, awaiting Rupert’s answer. They were not proud or brave, but there was something about them that might have been dignity.

  “Go to the Castle,” said Rupert, his voice breaking a little. “Ask admission in my name; Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom. Your families will be safe there, and the King can always use warriors like you.”

  The goblin leader stared at him, and then nodded briefly. “And where might you be off to, sir hero?”

  “We’re going to the Dark Tower,” said Rupert. “To summon the High Warlock.”

  The goblin leader’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know who I feel more sorry for; you, or him.”

  He turned on his heel and marched back to his waiting people. More goblins emerged from the Forest shadows; women and children, carrying what few possessions they had left. The goblin leader coaxed and bullied his people into a single ragged line, and then led them past the silently watching, somewhat bemused troop of guards. Slowly, wearily, the goblins headed down the dirt trail that led to Forest Castle.

  “I take it you’ve encountered these … persons … before,” said the Champion.

  “Several of them tried to kill me in the Tanglewood,” said Rupert. “I showed them the error of their ways.” He realized he was still holding his sword, and sheathed it.

  “I see,” said the Champion. His tone of voice made it clear that he didn’t.

  Rupert grinned, and then looked down as somebody tugged impatiently at his stirrup. The smallest goblin smiled cheerily up at him.

  “Good day, sir hero; remember me? Thought I’d just say thanks. Our glorious leader’s pretty damn good at fighting, but he’s not much of a one for the social graces. Not that I’ll hear a word said against him, mind; it’s thanks to him we’ve learned to kill demons. We saw off a whole pack of them, not so long ago.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Rupert slowly. “You people fought a pack of demons? Where?”

  “Place called Coppertown,” said the smallest goblin. “Chopped them demons into chutney, we did. Not very tasty, mind; all bone and gristle. Now then, don’t you worry about the Castle, sir hero, we’ll look after it for you. We know all kinds of nasty things to do with boiling oil.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” said Rupert. “About Coppertown …”

  “Nice little place, that. Many’s the night me and the lads would steal calves and chickens from the townspeople. Not any more, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Demons,” said the smallest goblin. “Ripped the village’s guts out, they did. No more humans. All gone. Can’t stop, sir hero; got to catch up with the lads. Have
a nice trip.”

  “Thank you, sir goblin. But remember; if I hear you’ve molested one lawful traveller between here and the Castle, I’ll personally have you strung up by the heels for the moat monster to gnaw on. Got it?”

  “Oh sure,” said the smallest goblin. “Us Forest folk got to stick together. Oh yes. Definitely. Not even one?”

  “Not even one.”

  “Spoilsport,” said the smallest goblin. He grinned, bowed quickly, and hurried after his friends. The guards watched the goblins depart, and glanced respectfully at Rupert. Anyone who could intimidate an entire pack of armed goblins without even raising his voice was clearly a leader to be reckoned with.

  “Coppertown,” said the Champion slowly. “We could be there by evening.”

  “You know the place?” asked Rupert.

  “Small mining town, Sire. Eight hundred people live there, including half a company of guards. It’s not possible Coppertown could have fallen to the darkness …”

  “The Darkwood must be closer than anyone thought,” said Rupert. “Eight hundred people … we’d better check it out.”

  The Champion nodded grimly, and led the way deeper into the Forest.

  The sun was sinking fast when Rupert and the Champion rode into Coppertown. No lights glowed in the miners’ houses, and the narrow streets were full of shadows. The guards eyed the silent houses warily, and eased their swords in their scabbards. Muffled hoofbeats echoed hollowly back from the thick stone walls, the dull sound eerily loud in the quiet. The horses tossed their heads and whinnied nervously. Rupert stared about him as he led his men deeper into Coppertown, and the unshuttered windows stared back like so many dark, unseeing eyes. There was no sign of violence or destruction, but every house lay still and silent and abandoned. Somewhere out in the growing dusk, a door banged lazily as the wind moved it, and there was no one to shut it. Rupert signalled for his men to stop, and reined in his unicorn.

  “Sir Champion …”

  “Aye, Sire?”

  “Hold my unicorn. I’m going to check out one of these houses.”

  “I’d be more use guarding your back, Sire.”

  Rupert studied the Champion a moment, and then nodded shortly and swung down from the unicorn. There was a general rustling of chain mail as the guards drew their swords and moved quickly to block off both ends of the street. Rupert unstrapped the lantern from his saddle and struggled to light its candle with flint and steel.

  “Rupert …” said the unicorn.

  “Ah,” said Rupert, “You’ve finally decided to stop sulking and talk to me.”

  “I have not been sulking! I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “You mostly. You’ve changed, Rupert.”

  “Oh yeah? How?”

  “Well, you used to have more sense, for one thing. There could be any number of demons hiding in these houses.”

  “I know,” said Rupert, grinning broadly as the candle-wick finally caught. “That’s why I’m going to check one out.” He closed the lantern and held it high as he moved cautiously forward to study the nearest house. The unicorn made as though to follow him, and then stopped and turned away as the Champion joined Rupert before the gaping doorway.

  “Ready, Sire?”

  “Ready, sir Champion.”

  Rupert padded forward, slipped silently past the open door, and then slammed it back against the wall in case there was something hiding behind it. There wasn’t. The heavy crash echoed loudly on the still air, and the timbered ceiling creaked in sympathy. Rupert moved away from the door and stared about him, the Champion close behind. Dirty straw matting covered the earth floor, and the bare stone walls were discolored by lichen and running damp. The smoke-blackened hearth held nothing but a little coal and some ashes. Four mismatched chairs, one obviously a small child’s, surrounded a roughly hewn table. Wooden platters had been set, as though for a meal. The whole room couldn’t have been more than ten feet square, and the ceiling was so low Rupert kept wanting to duck his head. The smell was appalling.

  Rupert wrinkled his nose in disgust. “How can people live like this?”

  “They’re a miner’s family,” said the Champion, “which is just another way of saying poor. If a miner doesn’t dig enough ore to meet the overseer’s quota, he doesn’t get paid. If he meets the quota too easily, they raise it till he can’t. Wages are low, and prices are high; the overseers run the only stores. A miner digs enough copper in a day to feed his family for a year, but the penalty for stealing ore is death.”

  “I didn’t know,” whispered Rupert. “I just never … thought about it …”

  “Why should you?” said the Champion. “You have your responsibilities, the poor have theirs; that’s the way of things.”

  “Nobody should have to live like this,” said Rupert flatly.

  “We can’t all live in Castles, Sire. Somebody has to mine the copper.”

  Rupert glared at the Champion, and then they both froze as a door slammed shut somewhere above them. The Champion hurried over to the only other door at the back of the room and pulled it open, revealing a narrow, rickety stairway. He peered up into the dark, and then slowly mounted the stairs, each step creaking loudly under his weight. Rupert glanced round the empty room, and then followed the Champion, sword at the ready.

  The stairway led to the second floor; the same tiny room, this time containing two simple beds, separated by a hanging curtain, only half drawn. The Champion pushed the curtain back to reveal a window, the flimsy wooden shutter banging in the wind. He shook his head, put away his sword, and closed the shutter. Rupert frowned at the two beds; they appeared to have been made up, but not slept in. He thought about looking underneath them, but they were too low to hide anything but a chamberpot. He held his lantern high and stared about him. Something lying on the far bed caught his eye, and he moved over to get a better look. It was a child’s toy; a ragged cloth doll, with crudely drawn features. Rupert sheathed his sword, and picked the doll up.

  “Sir Champion; look at this.”

  The Champion studied the doll, and frowned. “It’s well past a child’s bedtime.”

  “Right. So where is she?”

  The Champion shrugged. “With her family. Whatever happened here, I’d say they left together, of their own free will. There’s been no fight or struggle in this house.”

  Rupert scowled. “The goblin said Coppertown had been visited by demons.”

  “Goblins,” said the Champion, “have been known to lie, on occasion.”

  Rupert looked at the doll in his hand, and then thrust it under his jerkin and headed for the stairway. “I want every building in Coppertown searched, sir Champion. Get the guards moving, while there’s still some light left.”

  “They won’t find anything.”

  “Do it anyway!”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  The Champion followed Rupert down the stairs, his silence clearly indicating his disapproval. Rupert didn’t give a damn. All right, maybe the goblin had lied to him; certainly demons would have left more traces of their passing. But there had to be some good reason why eight hundred people would just walk out of their homes and disappear into the falling night. Somewhere in Coppertown there was an answer to all this, and Rupert was going to find it.

  He stalked through the house and out into the street. The evening was fast becoming night, the darkening sky streaked with crimson from the setting sun. The Champion barked orders to the waiting guards, and soon the town was alive with running figures. The distant sound of banging doors carried clearly on the still air, and lanterns danced through the empty houses like so many will-o-t he-wisps. And one by one the guards returned, having found nothing and no one. Coppertown lay silent and deserted beneath the ebon sky.

  “This is a mining town,” said Rupert finally. “Where’s the mine?”

  “Just down that road, Sire,” said the Champion.

  Rupert shook his head resignedly. “We might as we
ll check it out; it’s the only place we haven’t looked.”

  “Aye, Sire. It’s not far; half a mile at most.”

  Rupert looked at him thoughtfully. “How is it you know this place so well?”

  “I was born here,” said the Champion.

  A pale sliver of moon shone in the starless night as the Champion led Rupert and the column of guards down a steep hillside. Lanterns hung from every saddle, glowing golden against the dark, the pale light barely sufficient to show the path the Champion followed. Tall crooked shadows loomed menacingly out of the darkness as the company wended its way through the sparse trees. The wind had finally dropped, but the night air was bitter cold. The slope flattened out suddenly, and the Champion reined in his horse.

  “This is it, Sire. The mine.”

  Rupert held up his lantern, but the dim light hid more in shadow than it revealed. The mine workings looked old; centuries old. A few ancient half-timbered buildings surrounded a main entrance barely wide enough to admit three men walking abreast. The Champion swung down out of the saddle and stood quietly, his cold dark eyes fixed on the entrance. After a while, Rupert dismounted and moved forward to stand beside him.

  “I was ten years old when my father first took me down below,” said the Champion quietly. “The motherlode was running out, and the Barons had cut our wages, to reduce the overheads. My family needed the money, and there was always work for children down the mine. The tunnel that led to the main face was so small my father had to crawl through it on his hands and knees. All I had to do was duck my head. The only light came from the candles in our caps, and the air was thick with dust. That first day the shift was only six hours, but it seemed forever.

  “I ran away, that night. I thought I was brave, but I couldn’t face another day down the mine. I haven’t been back here in over thirty years, but that mine still has a hold on me. Funny, isn’t it, after all these years.”