“Sorry,” said Rupert, as he carefully placed his chair midway between Harald and the King.
“Not at all,” said John politely. “It is a little cluttered in here.”
He waited patiently while Rupert settled himself in his chair, and then tugged thoughtfully at his beard as he wondered how best to start. The silence lengthened, and still he hesitated. He knew what he planned to do was both right and necessary, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“You wished to see us, father,” said Harald, eventually. “Is it about the wedding?”
“No,” said the King, not missing the way Rupert’s hand rested casually on his swordhilt. “Though the wedding will have to be postponed again, I’m afraid.”
“Oh dear,” said Rupert. “What a pity.”
“Yes,” said Harald. “Isn’t it.”
“So why are we here?” demanded Rupert. “Is it something to do with my plan to fight the demons?”
“I’d hardly call it a plan,” said Harald. “Mass suicide would be closer to the mark.”
“If you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it!” snapped Rupert. “What would you rather do—hide behind these walls until the demons come looking for us? Believe me, Harald, it’s better to die fighting.”
“It’s better not to die at all,” said Harald. “There has to be another way. Perhaps the High Warlock …”
“No,” said the King flatly. “Even at his peak, he was never that powerful. But you’re right, Harald, there has to be a better way. And I think I might just have found it. If nothing else, it should improve our chances against the demons.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rupert, frowning. “If there is another way, why didn’t you mention it at Court?”
The King met his gaze squarely. “Because the Court wouldn’t have approved.”
“It’s something to do with the Curtana, isn’t it?” said Harald suddenly.
“In a way,” said the King. “I had planned to use the Curtana against the demons, but that sword is lost to us now. There are, however, other swords just as powerful, if not more so.”
Rupert and Harald looked at each other, and John found a small amusement in their equally shocked faces, as they realised what he was talking about. If nothing else, it seemed he’d finally found something they could agree on.
“You’re talking about the Infernal Devices,” said Rupert, incredulously. “You can’t be serious, father!”
“Why not?” said the King.
“The Infernal Devices are forbidden to us,” said Harald, but King John didn’t miss the cold calculation that had entered Harald’s eyes.
“We can’t use them,” said Rupert. “The Curtana was bad enough, but those blades … I’m not sure which scares me most, the demons or those cursed swords.”
“Understandable,” said Harald. “But then, you’re scared of a lot of things, aren’t you?”
Rupert looked at him, and Harald stirred uncomfortably in his chair. “Keep talking, Harald,” said Rupert calmly. “It’s all you’re good for.”
“That’s enough!” snapped the King. “Save your feuding until we’ve found a way out of the darkness. That’s an order!” He glared at his sons until they both reluctantly inclined their heads to him. John leant back in his chair, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured. “The Infernal Devices are swords of power, power great enough to save the Land from the long night that threatens it. Nothing else matters.”
“But we don’t even know what the swords do,” protested Rupert. “It’s been so long since anyone dared draw the blades that even the legends have grown vague. Rockbreaker. Flarebright. Wolfsbane. Those names could mean anything! For all we know, we could be waking an evil greater than the one we already face.”
“Even an evil sword can be put to good use,” said Harald. “Providing it’s kept under careful control.”
Rupert shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t trust magic swords.”
“What choice do we have?” said John quietly. “You said it yourself, Rupert—the Darkwood’s strength is based on magic, and it must be fought with magic. According to the legends, the Infernal Devices were the most powerful weapons ever created by man.”
“And the last time they were drawn,” said Rupert, “they laid waste to half the world before they could be sheathed again. According to the legends.”
“This time, they could save the world!”
“Or damn it, for all time.”
“What difference does it make?” said Harald. “Outside these walls, there’s nothing left but darkness now. The Land has fallen. The Infernal Devices may be our last chance, our last hope … or they may destroy us all. It doesn’t really matter. We’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t. Personally, I think I’ll settle for a chance to take our enemies down with us.”
Rupert scowled, and slowly shook his head. “There has to be another way.”
“No,” said John simply. “We’ve run out of choices, Rupert. The Infernal Devices are all that’s left.”
“Then God have mercy on all our souls,” said Rupert.
John, Harald and Rupert sat in silence a while, staring into the fire rather than face each other. They knew that shortly they would have to make their way to the South Wing, there to draw the forbidden swords from their ancient scabbards, but not yet. Not quite yet. They stared at the sinking flames of the guttering fire with quiet desperation, each lost in his own thoughts. Rupert found himself remembering the Coppertown pit, and the worm he found there, but most of all he remembered the magic sword that had failed him.
Rockbreaker. Flarebright. Wolfsbane.
Rupert started to shiver, and found he couldn’t stop.
In the silent, deserted hall that marked the boundary of the South Wing, the Castle grew a little darker. There were blazing torches, and oil and foxfire lamps, but none of them made much impression on the gloom that filled the air like a dirty fog. Rupert stood in the hall’s north doorway, staring dubiously at the closed double doors on the opposite side of the vast, echoing chamber. Somewhere beyond those doors lay the Armoury and the Infernal Devices, perhaps the only hope left for the Forest Land. Rupert frowned, and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The hall was the beginning of the South Wing, and he didn’t like it at all; it reminded him too much of the Darkwood.
Rupert had made a point of arriving before the others, partly because he needed some time to himself, but mainly because he wanted a damn good look at the newly discovered Wing before he ventured into it. A great many rumours had accumulated about the South Wing in the thirty-two years it had been missing, and all of them were bad. Over a hundred parties had sought to plumb the secrets of the lost Wing at one time or another, but the only ones that came back had been those who’d failed to find a way in. And now Julia and the Seneschal had found a way in, and returned to tell of it. Rupert looked about him, and shook his head slowly. From what he’d seen of it so far, the South Wing should have stayed lost.
One of the lamps suddenly guttered and went out, and the shadows grew that much darker. Rupert stirred uneasily. Rather than give in to his nerves, he strode determinedly into the hall and took the lamp from its niche. A quick shake revealed that the lamp had run out of oil. Rupert smiled dourly, and relaxed a little. The hall didn’t seem quite as large and forbidding now that he was actually inside it, but there was still something disquieting in the silence, and the utter stillness of the air. Rupert was suddenly aware of soft dragging footsteps behind him, and he spun round sword in hand to discover the Seneschal glaring acidly at him from the north door. Rupert smiled apologetically, and sheathed his sword again.
“Sorry, sir Seneschal.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” said the Seneschal, leaning heavily on his stout walking stick as he limped into the hall. “I’m just a servant, after all. No one else pays me any mind, so why should you be any different? I mean, I’m only the man who single-handedly discovered and destroyed the barrier
that kept people out of the South Wing. But does anybody listen to me? Stay out of the South Wing, I tell them. It’s not safe in there, I tell them. But does anybody listen? Do they [sic] hell as like. I’d have a nervous collapse, if I could only find the time.”
“Has somebody upset you, sir Seneschal?” asked Rupert diffidently.
“Ha!” said the Seneschal, bitterly. “Upset! What is there to be upset about? I’ve only been dragged from my bed and escorted to the Great Hall by half the Royal Guard! When I finally got there, a Neanderthal with dragging knuckles and the lowest forehead I’ve ever seen curtly informed me that I had been granted the signal honour of leading the Royal family back into the South Wing, starting Now. No Please, or Would you mind?” The Seneschal slumped his shoulders, and looked tired and defeated and put upon. He was very good at that; he’d had a lot of practice recently. “Never mind I haven’t had a free moment to myself since the refugees arrived. Never mind I’ve been run ragged chasing up and down the corridors looking for somewhere to put them all, because the King keeps changing his mind. Now he wants me to lead him to the Armoury, at an hour in the morning when any man with half a brain in his head is fast asleep! The old man’s getting senile, if you ask me. He’ll be needing help to find his own privy next.”
Rupert grinned happily as he listened to the Seneschal rant and rave. It was nice to know some things didn’t change.
“Now then, sir Seneschal,” said Rupert finally, when the Seneschal had slowed down enough for him to be able to get a word in edgeways, “aren’t you going to tell me what happened to your leg?”
“My leg?” The Seneschal stared at him blankly, and then glanced down at the thick oaken staff he was leaning on. “Oh, that. Julia and I found some demons hiding in the South Wing. Not to worry, though, they’re all gone now.”
He didn’t volunteer any details, and after a moment Rupert decided not to ask. He didn’t think he really wanted to know.
“I haven’t even had time to say hello to my own grandfather,” grumbled the Seneschal. “Not that we’ve ever had much to say to each other, but still …”
“Your grandfather?” said Rupert.
“The High Warlock,” said the Seneschal. “Must be twenty years since I last saw him.”
Rupert heard footsteps behind him, and looked round just in time to see Harald and the King entering the hall. The Seneschal sniffed angrily, and pointedly turned his back on them all. Rupert and the King shared a knowing look.
“Has somebody upset you, sir Seneschal?” asked the King, politely.
“Ha!” said the Seneschal.
“Rupert,” said the King, “why is the Seneschal sulking?”
“I am not sulking!”
“Then what’s keeping us?” said Harald. “The South Wing is waiting.”
“Just a minute,” said Rupert. “Is this all of us? No guards, no escort? According to what the Seneschal’s been telling me, the South Wing is still pretty dangerous.”
“You can always stay behind,” said Harald, “if you’re worried …”
“I was thinking of the King’s safety,” said Rupert.
“Of course you were,” said Harald.
“That’s enough!” said the King sharply. “We aren’t taking any guards, Rupert, because if the Court were even to suspect what we plain to do in the Armoury, they’d probably try to stop us. And we haven’t got time to put down another rebellion.”
“What happens when we come back with the swords?” said Rupert. “The Court isn’t going to take kindly to being kept in the dark on this.”
“You can say that again,” muttered the Seneschal.
“We’ve been through this already, sir Seneschal,” said the King firmly. “You have agreed to help.”
“Besides,” said Harald, “once we’ve got the swords, what the Court thinks won’t matter any more.”
“There’ll be time for discussion later,” said the King. “The dawn is drawing steadily closer, and we haven’t even got to the Armoury yet. Sir Seneschal, if you please …”
“Oh, very well,” said the Seneschal grudgingly. “We might as well make a start, I suppose, since I’m here. It’s my own fault. I’m just too easy-going, that’s my trouble. I let people take advantage of my good nature.” the Seneschal continued to mutter and grumble under his breath as he led the way out of the hall, and into the South Wing. Harald and the King followed close behind him, and Rupert brought up the rear, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He stared covertly about him as the small party moved briskly through the dim, foxfire-lit corridors and passageways, and at first he was almost disappointed that everything seemed so … ordinary. After all the songs and legends he’d heard about the missing Wing, he’d been expecting something more intimidating. Rupert smiled sourly; he of all people should have known that songs and legends were wrong more often than they were right. And yet there was something about the South Wing … something disturbing. Rupert had felt it first in the hall at the boundary, but as he made his way deeper into the heart of the rediscovered Wing, it seemed to him more and more that there was an unfinished air to the empty, echoing corridors, as though something was about to happen, or was already happening; something that had no end … A cold breeze stirred the hackles on the back of Rupert’s neck, and he shook his head quickly. This was no time to be letting his paranoia get the better of him. And then a new thought came to him, and he increased his step so that he could walk alongside the Seneschal.
“Sir Seneschal, why is this Wing still empty, when the rest of the castle is packed with refugees? Can’t we billet some of them here?”
“Nobody will live here,” said the Seneschal quietly. “Thirty-two years ago, something happened in this Wing, something so terrible that the echoes still remain. It’s in the floor and in the walls and even in the air itself, a sense of something evil, that happened here long ago and is still happening, even after all these years. The Stones remember. You feel it too, don’t you, Rupert? Everybody does, after a while. The first people we settled here came running out after only a few hours. The others we tried didn’t even last that long. Eventually, we gave up, and left the South Wing to itself. Whatever’s in here, hiding in the dark, it doesn’t want company.”
Rupert swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. “So this Wing’s completely empty?”
“Apart from your disgusting friends,” said Harald.
“Ah yes,” said the Seneschal. “I’d forgotten about them. The goblins live here, Sire. They seem quite happy and unaffected. Either they’re simply not superstitious, or they’re all completely insensitive.”
Rupert smiled. “That sounds like them.”
“Got it in one,” growled a deep bass voice from the shadows. “Welcome back, Prince Rupert.”
Rupert’s party came to a sudden halt as the goblin leader stepped forward into the dim light, followed by half a hundred other goblins from the surrounding shadows. They all wore some kind of armour, and knives and short swords and axes gleamed in every hand. For a long moment nobody moved, and then, as one, the goblins knelt and bowed to Rupert. Even the goblin leader tucked his head quickly in and back, in what might just have been a bow. Rupert looked around him, a delighted grin spreading slowly across his face. Regular food and better living conditions had put meat on the goblins’ bones, and removed some of the gauntness from their faces. More important, most of them now handled their weapons with the quiet competence of the seasoned fighter. Altogether, the goblins looked a great deal more impressive than when Rupert had first met them, back in the Tanglewood. He almost felt that he should be kneeling to them.
“On your feet,” he said finally, not even trying to hide the warmth in his voice. “You’re warriors, now.”
“Well, they try,” growled the goblin leader, glaring disgustedly around him as the goblins scrambled awkwardly to their feet. “It’s good to see you again, Sire. They told us you were dead, but we didn’t believe them. Not one of us.”
; “Thank you,” said Rupert. “It’s good to be back among friends.”
Harald chuckled mockingly. “Trust you to make friends out of goblins, Rupert. But then, anyone else wouldn’t need to associate with such creatures, would they?”
The goblin leader made a casual gesture, and the nearest half-dozen goblins took a firm hold of Harald and unceremoniously turned him upside-down. Harald sputtered with outrage and reached for his sword, only to stop short as the smallest goblin stepped forward and pressed a jagged-edged knife against his throat.
“Just say the word,” said the smallest goblin cheerfully, “and we’ll skin him for you, Prince Rupert. Or just nod, if you like, we’re not fussy. Dead informal, that’s us. Or maybe you’d like him fricasseed? We can do some very nasty things with a banked fire.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,” said Rupert. “Unfortunately, we need Harald alive, for the time being. You can let him loose now, I’m sure he’ll mind his manners in the future.”
“Can’t we at least bounce him off the walls a little first?” pleaded the smallest goblin.
“Maybe later,” said Rupert.
The goblins dropped Harald in a heap on the floor and moved reluctantly away, muttering disappointedly. Harald sat up and glared about him. He made a tentative move towards drawing his sword, but stopped as he realised half a hundred well-armed goblins were glaring back at him. Harald decided to ignore them. He scrambled to his feet, and set about rebuilding his injured dignity.
King John studied Rupert as the Prince spoke quietly with the goblin leader. At first, the King had been rather amused by the goblins’ awe of his son, but he was slowly coming to see that underneath the ridiculous adoration, there was a very real respect and reverence. In all the time they’d been at Court, the goblins had never once bowed to their King. If anyone had ever suggested it, the revolting little creatures would probably have split their sides laughing. But they bowed their heads to Rupert. So did the guards who’d come back with him out of the long night. To hear the stories they’d been telling in their barracks, you’d think Rupert was one of the great heroes of legend. Even the Champion’s report had been full of praise for Rupert’s valour and skill in battle. Even the Champion … King John scowled, and tugged at his beard. He was going to have to think about this. Rupert was finally showing signs of becoming a warrior and a hero, and that … was dangerous.
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