Blue Moon Rising

by Simon R. Green

  “Well, Julia, how are you getting on with Castle Society?”

  “Settling in. Slowly.”

  “Hit anybody recently?”

  “No one important.”

  Rupert laughed. “That’s all right, then.”

  They stood together a while, neither of them sure what to say for the best, and then Julia leaned forward and kissed him. Rupert took her in his arms, and held her close. He could feel her heart beating against his. After a while, he pushed her gently away.

  “It’s almost time to go, Julia.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d take you with me if I could.”

  “I understand.”

  “Wait for me?”

  “Of course. Do you still have my favour?”

  Rupert reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a very battered and bloodstained handkerchief. “My lady’s favour. I wouldn’t be parted from it for all the Forest Kingdom.” He looked up and found there were tears in Julia’s eyes too. He turned quickly away, and stared out across the packed courtyard as he put the handkerchief away again. He heard Julia move in close behind him, felt her breath warm the back of his neck as she spoke.

  “No goodbyes, Rupert. Just … come back safely. Or I’ll never forgive you.”

  There was a pause, and then he heard her turn and walk away. He wished there was something else to say, but there wasn’t. He put his hand over his heart, and felt the soft pressure of the handkerchief under his jerkin. It seemed the minstrels weren’t always wrong, after all. He grinned, and made his way across the courtyard to rejoin the unicorn.

  “Are you all right now, Rupert? You look a bit flushed.”

  “I’m fine. Fine.”

  “Julia’s gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “I like her,” said the unicorn.

  “So do I,” said Rupert.

  “I had noticed,” said the unicorn, dryly.

  Rupert laughed, and put his cloak back on. “Ready to move out?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. Why isn’t the dragon coming with us? I’d just started to get used to him.”

  “He’s resting. I think the demons hurt him more than he’ll admit. The Rainbow should have healed him, but I suppose he’s just… not as young as he was. Last night, it was all he could do to walk to the stables. I’ll miss him, but he’s not up to a long journey, let alone fighting off demons.”

  “Demons?” said the unicorn sharply. “What demons?”

  “Well, when we go back into the Darkwood …”

  “The Darkwood? Nobody said anything to me about going back into the Darkwood. Right. That’s it. Get that saddle off me, I’m not moving.”

  “We’re only going into it a little way …”

  “So I’ll suppose we’ll only be killed a little bit. Forget it!”

  “Look, unicorn, either we go and fetch the High Warlock, or the Darkwood will come looking for us. It’s that simple.”

  “There has to be another alternative.”

  “Like what?”

  “Run away?”

  Rupert laughed, and patted the unicorn’s neck. “Are all unicorns as chicken as you?”

  “The ones with any sense are. The only reason unicorns are so rare is that most of us haven’t the sense to come in out of the rain. Or to stay clear of humans.”

  Rupert studied the unicorn thoughtfully. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

  The unicorn shifted his feet. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’ve got used to having you around.”

  “I have to go back into the Darkwood again. It’s my duty.”

  “I know,” sighed the unicorn resignedly. “And I have to go with you.”

  Rupert patted the unicorn’s neck again. “Thanks. I’d hate to have to do it without you.” He frowned suddenly. “Unicorn …”

  “Yes?”

  “I just realised … all this time we’ve been together, and I don’t even know your name.”

  The unicorn turned his head slowly, and fixed Rupert with a blood-red eye.

  “My name? I’m a slave, Prince. Slaves don’t have names.”

  The courtyard seemed suddenly colder, and Rupert looked away, unable to meet the unicorn’s steady gaze.

  “You’re not a slave …”

  “No? You think I wear this saddle and bridle by choice? I was taken from my herd by men with ropes and whips. They beat me till they broke my spirit, and then they sold me to you. That’s not slavery?” The unicorn laughed bitterly. “You’ve been good to me, Rupert. I’m fond of you, in my way. But I’m still a slave, and you’re still my master. And slaves don’t have names. I used to have a name. When I was free, I had a name.” The unicorn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “One day, I’ll have a name again.”

  “I’m… sorry,” said Rupert lamely. “I just… never thought about it before.” He looked up to meet the unicorn’s gaze. “I led you into the Darkwood, and nearly got you killed. You could have run off and left me any time, but you didn’t, because I needed you. You’re my friend, unicorn. If you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to. But I wish you would.”

  Man and unicorn stared at each other.

  “Climb aboard,” said the unicorn finally. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

  Rupert nodded, set his foot in the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. Not back twenty-four hours, and already on his way again. Julia was right, he thought suddenly. We shouldn’t have come back to the Castle. We were happy together, out there in the Forest. We didn’t know about Harold’s marriage contract, or the spreading Darkwood. I could have loved you, Julia. I could have loved you, then.

  He sighed and shook his head, and then looked up as the slow clatter of approaching hooves caught his attention. The Champion drew up beside him, astride an armoured charger. The horse stood a good ten hands taller than the unicorn, and carried the heavy armour with nonchalant ease. Impressive, thought Rupert. Great for jousting. But not a lot of use against a pack of demons.

  “Expecting trouble, sir Champion?” he asked, solemnly.

  “Always, Sire. I take it you’re ready to leave?”

  “Of course. You did an excellent job, sir Champion. I’m hurt, but not actually damaged.”

  “I try to be professional.”

  “One of these days …”

  “You’ll what, Sire? Slip poison in my cup, or a dagger in my back? I doubt it, that’s not your way. You want to beat me sword to sword, like you did Harald. And you’ll never be good enough to take me that way.”

  “Don’t put money on it,” said Rupert calmly. “There was a time Harald thought the same.”

  The Champion gave him a hard look, but said nothing. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, feeling the change in their relationship, and for the first time Rupert realised that he wasn’t afraid of the Champion any more. For as long as Rupert could remember, the Champion had seemed to him the personification of death—a cold-eyed killer with a bloody sword who would one day come for him as he had come for so many others. But not any more. Rupert had gone sword to sword with him under the worst possible conditions, and he’d drawn blood twice. He might have lost the fight, but nobody had let the Champion’s blood in over twenty years. The man was good, very good, but he wasn’t unbeatable. And one day, thought Rupert, I’m going to prove it. He grinned mockingly at the Champion, who studied him thoughtfully, and then turned his horse away.

  “One moment, sir Champion.”

  “I’m busy, Sire.”

  “I don’t give a sweet damn how busy you are, sir Champion—you turn your back on me again and I’ll have your head.”

  The Champion turned his horse back, and then dropped his reins to leave his sword hand free. A slight smile jerked at his mouth. “I think you forget your place, Rupert.”

  “Do I? Last evening, my father ordered you to accept my authority during the journey to the Dark Tower. Are you going to break your word to your King?”

  The Champion sat very still, and Ru
pert sensed wheels turning behind the impassive face. Then the Champion looked down, and took up his reins again, and Rupert knew that he’d won.

  “My word is my bond, Sire,” said the Champion slowly. “On this journey, you command.”

  “Good,” said Rupert, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. “Because if you try to undermine my authority over the guards again, I’ll cut your throat while you’re sleeping.”

  “Threats aren’t necessary, Sire. I gave my word.”

  Rupert nodded ungraciously. “Have you told the men we’ll have to pass through the Darkwood to reach the Warlock’s Tower?”

  “Aye,” said the Champion. “I’ve never actually travelled through the long night, Sire. What’s it like?”

  Rupert let his mind drift back. He remembered fear and pain that weighed on him still, like chains wrapped around his soul. “It’s dark,” he said finally. “Dark enough to break anyone.”

  The Champion waited a while, and then realised Rupert wasn’t going to say any more.

  “I’ll assemble the men, Sire. You’ll want to address them before we set out.”

  “Do I have to?”

  The Champion raised an eyebrow. “It is customary to brief the men on what dangers they’ll be facing, Sire.”

  “Oh, yeah. All right, line them up, sir Champion.”

  “Right away, Sire.”

  The Champion rode off. Rupert watched him bark orders to the aimlessly milling guards, and strove to collect his thoughts. How the hell was he supposed to explain the dangers of the Darkwood to men who’d never even seen it? Most Forestmen never set foot in the long night; the Tanglewood saw to that. Rupert scowled thoughtfully; according to the Champion, the Tanglewood had fallen to the darkness, and demons roamed the Forest Land at will. Rupert shrugged, and let his hand drop to the pommel of the rainbow sword. If all else failed, he’d just have to summon another Rainbow.

  The guardsmen slowly assembled before him in ones and twos, their horses stamping and whinnying in their eagerness to be off. Breath steamed on the chill morning air, and the odd shaft of sunlight gleamed golden on shining chain-mail. The guards looked hard and competent, and Rupert knew they’d never understand the true horror of the Darkwood until they met it face to face. It was too personal a horror to bear explanation. But he had to try.

  “The Darkwood,” he said finally, “is dangerous. Always. Even when you can’t see the demons, be sure they’re watching you. There’s no light, except what we take in. There’s no usable food or water, except what we collect beforehand. I’ve passed through the Darkwood twice, and each time it came close to killing me. I had a dragon with me on the second journey, and it didn’t make a blind bit of difference.”

  He paused and looked about him, the echoes of his voice dying quickly away in the courtyard’s silence. The guards stared impassively back, their eyes wary, but perhaps just a little respectful. In all Forest history, no man had passed through the Darkwood twice and survived. And I’m going to try it again, thought Rupert sourly. I must be mad. He smiled grimly at the guards before him.

  “It’s a hard, bloody journey to the Dark Tower, my friends, and you’ll be facing the worst odds of your career. Most of you won’t be coming back. But we have to go, the Forest is depending on us to bring back the High Warlock. If we fail, darkness will spread over all the Land, and there’ll be nothing left to come back to. If we make it, they’ll sing songs about us for ever.

  “Anyone who wants, can back out now. The Darkwood’s no place for unwilling heroes. But for once in your life, you have a chance to make a difference—the Forest Land needs you. And I need you.”

  He looked around, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for their answer. And one by one, the guards drew their swords and held them aloft in the ancient warrior’s oath of fealty. Rupert slowly nodded his acceptance, unable to hide how much the gesture meant to him, and half a hundred swords crashed back into their scabbards.

  “Sir Champion!”

  “Aye, Sire?”

  “Let’s go.”

  Rupert headed the unicorn towards the inner gates. The Champion fell in beside him, and the guards followed close behind in tight formation. The huge oaken doors swung slowly open, and massed hoofbeats shook the thick stone walls as Rupert led his men through the Keep. And then the portcullis lifted, the drawbridge slammed down across the moat, and Rupert and his party rode out into the early-morning mists.

  Rupert shivered, and wrapped his cloak tightly about him. He’d been travelling all morning, but though the mists had finally cleared, the day grew no warmer. A dull, blood-red sun glowered down from the dark, overcast sky, ominous with the threat of thunder and sudden storm. A heavy frost had bleached the grass verges of the trail he followed, and the uneven ground was hard and unyielding beneath the unicorn’s hooves. Stark leafless trees stood brooding to every side, and silvered cobwebs shrouded what little greenery remained. No animals moved among the trees, and no birds sang. The Forest lay still and silent in that bleak afternoon, and the dull muffled hoofbeats from Rupert’s troop of guards seemed an unwelcome intrusion on the unnatural quiet.

  Rupert beat his fists together to get the blood moving, but the cold still gnawed at his fingers, despite his thick leather gloves. He’d long ago lost all feeling in his feet. It’s barely autumn, he thought dazedly. It’s never been this cold so early in the year… The bitter wind lashed his face, chafing his cheeks raw. Rupert felt a familiar chill growing in his bones, and knew that the wind had its beginnings in the endless night. The Darkwood’s influence moved ahead of it, falling like a blight on land soon to be claimed by the darkness. Rupert started to shiver, and for a long time, he couldn’t stop.

  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 against 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 realised 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 realised 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 on to 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 short-sightedly at Rupert, and then crowded together in the middle of the trail, shaki
ng 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 demoralise 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.