“If anything happens to Rupert,” said the dragon, “I’ll level this Castle to the ground. Got it?”
“Got it,” said the Champion. “Anyone ever tell you your breath stinks of sulphur?”
“Dragon!” said Rupert quickly, as the creature’s claws flexed ominously. “I appreciate the thought, but much as I hate to admit it, we need him.”
“Thank you,” said the Champion, dryly.
The dragon glared at the Champion a moment longer, and then pulled back his head. Smoke continued to seep from his nostrils as he ostentatiously sharpened his claws on a convenient piece of brickwork. The Champion glanced at Rupert.
“I think you’d better teach your pet some manners, Sire.”
Rupert shrugged. “When you’re thirty feet long and breathe fire, who needs manners? And sir Champion, don’t ever call my friend a pet. You might upset him.”
The dragon smiled widely. The Champion studied the many rows of gleaming serrated teeth, and pointedly turned his back on the dragon.
“If you’re quite ready, Sire, your father …”
“I know,” said Rupert. “He hates to be kept waiting. Let’s go, Julia. Julia?”
“Over there,” said the unicorn.
Rupert looked round just in time to see Julia knee a guardsman in the groin and punch out a Lady-in-Waiting.
Julia had been having an interesting time. Fed up with being ignored by everybody, she’d wandered off on her own to see what there was to see. She hadn’t got far before being intercepted by a delicately pretty Lady-in-Waiting in her late thirties, and a bored-looking young guardsman.
“A Princess?” said the Lady Cecelia, glancing disparagingly at Julia’s battered leather jerkin and trousers. “From … where, precisely?”
“Hillsdown,” said Julia, taking in the Lady Cecelia’s ornate gown with a sinking heart. Intricately stitched, and studded with hundreds of semi-precious stones, the shaped and padded gown covered the Lady from shoulder to ankle, and was so heavy she could move only in little mincing steps. The massive flared cuffs were wide enough to swallow a small dog, and the bulging cleavage was at least partly supported by the ribbed corset responsible for the Lady’s tiny waist. The Lady Cecelia looked rich, aristocratic and gorgeous. And she knew it.
I don’t give a damn, thought Julia. I’m not wearing a corset.
“Hillsdown,” said the Lady Cecelia thoughtfully. “Possibly I’m mistaken, dear, but I always thought Hillsdown was a Duchy. And strictly speaking, a Duchy isn’t entitled to have Princesses. Still, country titles aren’t like the real thing, are they? I mean, they don’t count for anything in Polite Society.” She bestowed a gracious smile on Julia, to underline the point that while Julia might not be a part of Polite Society, the Lady Cecelia most definitely was.
I’d better not hit her, thought Julia. Rupert’s got enough problems as it is.
She leaned forward and studied the Lady Cecelia’s dress closely. In addition to the corset, there were definite traces of bone stays built into the dress itself, to help maintain the hour-glass figure.
“How do you breathe in that thing?” asked Julia.
“Daintily,” said the Lady Cecelia, coldly.
“Does everybody dress like this?”
“Anybody who is Anybody. Surely even country gentry know High Fashion when they see it?”
I’m not going to hit her, thought Julia determinedly.
“You arrived with young Rupert, I believe,” said the Lady Cecelia.
“That’s right,” said Julia. “Do you know him?”
“Oh, everyone knows Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia, with an unpleasant smile. The guard at her side sniggered.
Julia frowned. “Did I say something funny?” she asked, ominously.
The Lady Cecelia giggled girlishly. “Rupert, my dear, is a Prince in name only; he’ll never inherit the throne. That falls to his elder brother, Prince Harald. Ah, dear Harald—now there is a Prince. Tall, handsome, charming, and a devil on the dance floor. And when it comes to the Ladies … oh my dear, the tales I could tell you about Harald.”
“Never mind Harald,” said Julia. “Tell me about Rupert.”
“Prince Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia crossly, “is no earthly use to anybody. He can’t dance, or sing, or write poetry, and he has absolutely no idea how to treat a Lady.”
“Right,” grinned the guard. “He still rides a unicorn.”
“He’s not a real man,” purred the Lady Cecelia, “not like my Gregory.”
The guard smirked, and flexed his muscles under the Lady’s admiring gaze.
“Rupert,” said the Lady Cecelia, “is a dull, boring—”
“Spineless little creep,” said the guard. And they both laughed; very unpleasantly.
So Julia quite naturally kneed the guard in the groin and punched the Lady Cecelia in the mouth.
On the other side of the courtyard, Rupert watched in amazement as the guard sank to his knees, and the Lady-in-Waiting stretched her length on the courtyard floor. One of the Champion’s escorts drew his sword and started forward. Rupert kicked the man’s feet out from under him, and set his sword point at the guard’s throat.
“Nice moves,” said the Champion. “You’ve improved, Sire.”
“Thank you,” said Rupert tightly. “Keep an eye on this clown while I take care of Julia.” He sheathed his sword, and hurried over just in time to stop Julia slamming a boot into the Lady Cecelia.
“Julia, not here! Please, come with me to the Court and meet my father. There are lots of people there you can hit, I’ll be happy to point them out to you, but don’t waste your spleen on amateurs like these. The real creeps wouldn’t be seen dead outside the Court.”
Julia sniffed angrily, but allowed Rupert to lead her away.
“I suppose they insulted you,” said Rupert.
“Something like that,” said Julia.
“Forget about it,” said Rupert soothingly. “I’m sure they won’t do it again.”
“Never,” promised a faint male voice from the ground behind them.
Rupert grinned, and shook his head. It was obvious that Julia wasn’t going to take easily to being a lady again.
The Champion bowed to Julia as she and Rupert rejoined him. “If you will allow me, Princess Julia, the Court is this way.”
Julia inclined her head regally, accepted the Champion’s proffered arm, and allowed him to assist her up the steps to the entrance hall. The four guardsmen followed at a discreet distance. Rupert turned to the dragon and the unicorn.
“I thought the escort was for you,” said the dragon.
“Hardly,” said Rupert. “Well, don’t just stand there; come with me to see the King.”
“You want both of us?” said the unicorn timidly.
“Damn right,” said the Prince, smiling. “I’m going to need all the support I can get. Now let’s go and look after Julia. Before she kills someone.”
Rupert paced impatiently up and down the Court’s narrow antechamber, shooting seething glances at the securely locked double doors that led into the Great Hall itself. The Champion had gone in first to inform the King that his son had finally arrived, and then, as so many times before, the ancient doors had been slammed in Rupert’s face. Once again, the Court was busy deciding his future. Whatever they want, the answer’s no, thought Rupert determinedly. I didn’t survive the Darkwood just to get killed off by my own scheming relatives.
He stopped pacing and listened at the doors. A constant hubbub seeped through the solid wood, indicating that most of the Court were still present, despite the late hour. Rupert grinned. Courtiers hated having to work late; it interfered with the important things of life, like hunting, drinking and wenching. Rupert stretched slowly, and thought longingly of the deep-mattressed bed waiting for him in his room. But, tired as he was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d discovered what new deviltry the King and his Court had come up with. He threw himself into one of the exquisit
ely uncomfortable chairs provided, and looked to see what his friends were doing.
Julia had her dagger out, and was using the family portraits for target practice. Her aim was pretty good. The dragon was lying partly in the antechamber, and partly in the outer hall. He was practising blowing smoke rings from his nostrils, and chewing absently at a centuries-old tapestry Rupert had never liked much anyway. The unicorn was … Rupert winced.
“Unicorn, couldn’t you have done that before you came in?”
“Sorry,” said the unicorn. “I get nervous inside strange buildings, you know that. I keep thinking the roof’s going to fall on me.”
Rupert shook his head, and looked back at the closed double doors. How many times had he stood before those doors, waiting for permission to speak to his own father? His mind drifted back through yesterday, and found nothing pleasant there. Born seven years after his brother, Rupert had been a surprise to everyone, and bad news to most. A King needed a second son as insurance in case something happened to the first, but two healthy adult sons meant nothing but trouble. Rupert had known that from an early age; everyone had taken great pains to make it clear to him. He scowled, as memories crept out of the shadows. The tutors, who beat him for being brighter than his favoured elder brother. His instructors-at-arms, who beat him for not being as strong as his brother. The courtiers, who flattered or insulted him according to the fashion. The Barons, who intrigued in his name. And the Champion, whose cold dark eyes were full of death.
Foxfire moss glowed steadily in several lamps hanging from the low ceiling, but the antechamber was still full of shadows, as though darkness had followed him into the Castle. Rupert leaned back in his chair and sighed, wearily. Out in the Forest it had all seemed so simple and straightforward. He had to go back to the Castle because the Forest Land needed him. He smiled bitterly. The Forest didn’t need him. It never had. The only people who’d ever needed him were Julia, the dragon and the unicorn. His friends. Rupert’s smile softened at the thought, and he rolled it back and forth in his mind, savouring it. He’d never had friends before. His position had kept him apart from other children, and his family … His mother died when he was five years old. His brother insulted and tormented him. And his father sent him out on a quest, to die.
Rupert shook his head to clear it. He’d passed through the Darkwood twice, fought off demons and called down a Rainbow. Stuff his father, stuff the Court, and stuff the bloody Champion.
They’d tried to get rid of him, and it hadn’t worked. He was back, and they could like it or lump it.
“How much longer?” asked Julia, retrieving her dagger from an ancestor’s eye.
Rupert shrugged. “They like to keep me waiting; it helps put me in my place.”
“And you put up with that?”
Rupert looked at Julia, and then at the unicorn and the dragon.
“I always used to,” he said thoughtfully, “but things have changed since then. Dragon …”
The dragon looked up from sharpening his claws on a handy suit of armour. “Yes, Rupert?”
“See those double doors?”
“Yes, Rupert.”
“See how many matchsticks you can make out of them.”
The dragon studied the doors a moment, and then grinned broadly. He surged to his feet, and reached out to tap the doors with one clawed hand. They shuddered under the dragon’s touch, and nodding solemnly, he backed carefully out of the narrow antechamber and turned himself around in the hall outside. Rupert, Julia and the unicorn squeezed themselves into a far corner as the dragon cautiously introduced his rear end into the antechamber. He peered over his shoulder to check his friends were safely out of the line of fire, and then lashed out with a vicious swing of his tail. The doors exploded inwards, splinters flying on the air like grapeshot. Rupert nodded with satisfaction as screams and curses erupted from the packed Court. Slam the doors in my face, will they? He grinned, and ducking past the dragon’s tail, moved forward to check the damage. One door hung crookedly from its only remaining hinge, while the other had given up the ghost entirely and was lying face down on the floor. Rupert took a deep breath and stepped forward into the gap where the doors had been. The Court’s uproar died away to an astonished silence.
Rupert looked about him. Several hundred assorted courtiers and Ladies-in-Waiting stared back with a fair mixture of fear, outrage and curiosity. Half a hundred foxfire lamps shed their silver glow across the Court, while at the far end of the vast, spacious hall, the last of the evening light fell through gorgeous stained-glass windows on to a massive throne, set high on a raised dais and carved in its entirety from a single block of oak. Sitting on that throne, unruffled and unmoved, was his father, King John IV. The King’s great leonine head seemed almost too heavy for his frail body, and his richly patterned robes and proud golden crown couldn’t disguise the ragged mop of grey hair and uncombed beard. Even on his better days, Rupert’s father still looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. And yet despite the strong impression of age and tiredness that hung about him like an old, familiar cloak, King John carried himself with dignity, and his deep-set eyes were calm and steady.
At his side stood Thomas Grey, the Court Astrologer. Tall, broad-shouldered, and darkly handsome, the black-clad magician had every aspect of regality save the barest essential: noble birth. Born the son of a blacksmith, he’d been the King’s companion since childhood, and on John’s ascension to the throne, Thomas Grey had cut short a promising career at the Sorcerers’ Academy to return and stand at his friend’s side.
Rupert disliked the man intensely; he smiled too much.
The courtiers watched with hostile eyes as the Prince moved forward into the Court, his footsteps echoing loudly in the hush. He stopped almost immediately and turned to the Court usher, who was still staring slack-jawed at the ruined doorway.
“Well, don’t just stand there, usher; announce us.”
“I think they know we’re here, Rupert,” said an amused voice behind him. Rupert grinned, but shook his head firmly.
“That’s not the point, Julia. We have to be announced.”
“I have absolutely no intention of announcing you,” said the usher haughtily. “You can’t come barging in here and …” His voice died away as the dragon’s head peered interestedly over Rupert’s shoulder. Colour drained from the usher’s face as the dragon squeezed his bulk slowly through the door frame, widening it somewhat in the process. The usher swallowed heavily.
“Announcing you right away, Sire.”
He stepped hastily forward and, striking his best formal pose, declaimed: “Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom, second in line to the Forest throne, defender of the weak, warrior of the Realm, and collector of lesser taxes!” He then glanced nervously back over his shoulder and added in a smaller voice, “…and friends…”
Julia curtsied daintily, and then realised she was still holding her dagger. She grinned and, lifting her trouser to show a generous amount of leg, stuffed the weapon unconcernedly into the top of her boot. The dragon smiled widely, light gleaming prettily on his pointed teeth. Several of the nearer courtiers had a sudden attack of modesty, and faded quickly back into the crowd. The unicorn bobbed his head nervously, and christened the door jamb.
“Do that again,” muttered Rupert, “and so help me I’ll tie it in a knot.”
“Rupert, dear fellow, so good to see you back safe and well,” boomed a deep voice from the rear of the Court. Rupert turned to see an aisle open up in the courtiers as his brother Harald came striding confidently forward to greet him. Tall, classically handsome and loaded with muscle, Harald looked every inch a hero out of legend, and he knew it. He clapped Rupert on the shoulder and shook his hand firmly. They both tried for the knuckle-crusher and Rupert lost, as always.
“Interesting dragon you’ve brought us, dear boy,” said Harald brightly, “but you are supposed to kill them first, you know.”
“You’re welcome to try,” smile
d Rupert, surreptitiously trying to shake the blood back into his fingers. Harald glanced at the dragon, who was licking his lips with a long forked tongue and eyeing the elder Prince hungrily.
“Perhaps later,” said Harald, and turned quickly away to smile charmingly at Julia. “Well, Rupert, at least your taste in women has improved. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“I have a feeling one of us is going to regret this,” said Rupert. “Princess Julia of Hillsdown, may I present my brother, Prince Harald of the Forest Kingdom.”
Used as he was to violent reactions to his friends, Rupert was still rather taken aback when the entire Court gasped with what sounded suspiciously like shock. Julia took one look at Harald’s outstretched hand, and let fly with a scream of pure rage. Harald looked at Julia’s right hand, and his jaw dropped. He fell back a pace, making helpless little shooing motions with his hands. Julia was all set to lunge at Harald and punch him out, but Rupert recognised the build-up and grabbed her from behind.
“Now what’s the matter?” he demanded wearily. “Can’t you get on with anyone?”
“It’s him!” shrieked the Princess, fighting to break free.
“I know it’s him!” snapped Rupert. “I introduced you, remember?”
Julia stopped struggling, and Rupert warily released her. “You don’t understand,” she said dully. “He’s the Prince I was supposed to marry; the one I ran away from.”
Rupert closed his eyes briefly in disgust. Every time he seemed to be getting the hang of things …
“Why didn’t you say something earlier, Julia?”
“I never knew his name, Rupert. They never told me. I was promised in marriage when I was still a child; the ceremony was supposed to take place once I came of age. Your father and mine exchanged rings of engraved white gold as a token of the arrangement. I’ve worn mine since I was four years old, and Harald is still wearing his. I saw it on his hand. It bears exactly the same design as mine.”
Blue Moon Rising Page 8