The Forgetting Moon

by Brian Lee Durfee

  “I cannot risk her being killed. Not now.”

  Spiderwood bowed. “I will speak to Jondralyn for you. I harbor her no ill will. Plus, no use you falling prey to some foul trap this princess may have planned.”

  Aeros studied the Bloodwood, chain no longer twirling in his hand. “You will wear my armor, don my helm, and bear my sword, Sky Reaver. This princess must be convinced that it is indeed me she parleys with.”

  Everything the Angel Prince was saying had a strange sordidness that Gault couldn’t quite place. For his part, something about this hastily thought-out plan did not feel right.

  “As long as I’m allowed to ride my own horse, Scowl,” the Bloodwood added, “if it pleases my lord.”

  Aeros raised his brow at that, a rueful smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “It would certainly unbalance Jondralyn to see the White Prince atop such a demon steed.”

  “I beg of you, my lord,” Spades said, eyes aflame. “Let me do this. Do not send the Spider.”

  Aeros turned to his newest Knight Archaic, Mancellor Allen. “You will go too, Mancellor.” Then his gaze fell upon the Gallows Haven lad, Jenko Bruk. “And you shall accompany the Bloodwood also. Get a look at your princess’s face. I hear she is most beautiful. If it comes to battle or treachery of some kind, and she is captured, it will be you, Jenko, I give her to. What do you say to that? Would you like a chance to rut with the famed Jondralyn Bronachell?”

  Enna Spades stormed away. Gault knew nothing good could possibly come of her being kept from this parley with Jondralyn Bronachell. Nothing good could possibly come of her going, either. Aeros was right to keep her out of it.

  The Bloodwood stepped toward Jenko Bruk and whipped out a handshake, quick and firm. “Welcome to the adventure,” he said.

  With some hesitation, Jenko shook the Bloodwood’s hand. With that one gesture, it was now clear: Jenko was slowly being welcomed into their fold.

  “Make your preparations.” Aeros motioned for Spiderwood to enter his tent. “Gather sixty Knights of the Blue Sword. You know my armor. Put it on. And find some Sør Sevier colors for Jenko Bruk.”

  As the Bloodwood vanished into Aeros’ tent, Gault bowed to his lord and prepared to follow Spades back into camp. But Aeros latched onto his cloak and pulled him aside.

  “Prepare yourself,” Aeros whispered. “I am sending you, too, with the Bloodwood. I do not fully trust him. And get a sense of Jenko Bruk for me. See if he is made of the same material as Mancellor. I’ve a premonition he can become a great warrior for Raijael someday.”

  Gault could not rid himself of the vague aura of anxiety he felt under Aeros’ immediate scrutiny. His mouth filled with a bitter taste. He did not want to go on this mission. None of it sat right with him. He could not stop thinking of those things Ava Shay had told him.

  “Rest easy.” Aeros let go his cloak. “The Bloodwood will not know you are there. You will go disguised as a Knight of the Blue Sword. I’ve already commandeered a suit of armor your own size. The armor awaits you in Hammerfiss’ tent. You are my eyes and ears, Gault. I fear that Black Dugal and his gaggle of Bloodwoods have been meaning to betray Sør Sevier for some time now. This is why I have kept the Spider so close.” Aeros’ eyes were narrowed, unblinking. “But Dugal forgets who I am. I can sense when those nearest me plot betrayal.”

  Ravenker. The view of it was desolate, empty. The roadway into the village was a patchwork of cobblestones and dirt. The streets of this strange place were lined with buildings, two, three, sometimes four stories high, most built of thick stone and wooden gables, leaning walls crawling with blossoming ivy. High, jagged cliffs and steep, mountainous terrain rose above the town for miles both north and south.

  As he rode, Gault’s visor was down, as were the visors of the other sixty Knights of the Blue Sword with him. They were all of them indistinguishable. Ahead, atop the black stallion with the glowing red eyes, rode the Bloodwood. He was dressed as Aeros Raijael: white cloak, shimmering pearl-colored chain mail, silver helm, Sky Reaver sheathed at his hip. Riding next to Spiderwood at the head of the column were both Mancellor Allen and Jenko Bruk. The Gallows Haven lad also wore the armor of a Knight of the Blue Sword. He bore the standard of Sør Sevier—the white flag with the blue cross. Gault had positioned himself in the middle of the column of sixty knights, uncomfortable on a horse not his own, a dun-colored destrier. He missed the reassurance of having Spirit under him.

  A few Ravenker banners flapped wildly from atop the buildings round about. The gray flags with a black raven in the center were the only moving things in sight. The silence of the place was unnerving. Gault’s skin crawled. A phantom sensation coiled around him like smoke; he felt someone was watching them from the windows above. But when he risked a glance upward, there was nothing. That he should be so wary in an abandoned town was odd. Gault detected some nervousness among the other knights too. Why? He did not know. They had sacked hundreds of such towns in Wyn Darrè. Still Gault’s eyes continually looked up, checking every nook, his trained eyes surveying every building for hidden archers. But for all intents and purposes, Ravenker was vacant.

  The Bloodwood marched them down a long and winding street and into the center of town, where he held up his hand, bringing the column to a stop. The town square was an open space devoid of trees, with a ten-foot-tall statue of Laijon leaning on a grayken spear in its center. Directly across the square were sixty or so silver-and-blue-clad knights of the Lord’s Point Ocean Guard, several bearing banners of blue, a group of squires huddled behind the knights. Before the sixty in silver and blue were three knights in the silver and black of Amadon, one bearing the black flag of Amadon with the crest of the silver tree, and a fourth in the silver armor and blue livery of the Ocean Guard.

  It didn’t take long before one of the three in silver and black removed his helm. It was a woman. In fact, it was the most beautiful woman Gault had ever seen—Princess Jondralyn Bronachell. No wonder Hawkwood had fallen in love with this Jondralyn. Even astride a lightly armored bay palfrey, with hair fresh tousled from under a helm, she radiated beauty.

  The Gul Kana princess motioned for the three knights next to her to remove their helmets. They followed suit. And the three rode out to the center of the square behind her, stopping in the shadow of the Laijon statue, waiting.

  The Bloodwood, atop his red-eyed steed, unmoving, looked high and regal in Aeros Raijael’s armor. He wheeled his black steed around, facing the column of Sør Sevier knights. He raised his hand and pointed directly at Gault, motioning him forward.

  Gault froze, his legs and heels unable to spur his mount. Sweat rose on his brow under his helm.

  “Damn it, soldier,” Spiderwood snarled from under the silver helm. “Come forward. We can linger no more. Four of us must ride out to parley with the enemy—me, Mancellor, the standard-bearer, and one other—come!”

  The Bloodwood whirled his mount and rode up beside Jenko Bruk and Mancellor Allen. Gault reluctantly spurred the unfamiliar mount forward. There was a bitter, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He reined his warhorse up beside those of Spiderwood, Mancellor, and Jenko.

  The Bloodwood reached up and removed Aeros’ helm, revealing his face and short-cropped black hair to all. There was darkness living in the Bloodwood’s eyes as he stared at Gault. “They do not wear their helms,” he said, his hard expression melting into a wry smile as he spoke. “We too must remove our helms here as a sign of good faith.”

  Good faith? Mancellor and Jenko removed their helms as ordered. You deceive the Gul Kana princess by pretending to be Aeros. Gault remained motionless. And I deceived my lord Aeros by falling in love with his slave.

  “Off with it,” Spiderwood commanded.

  Gault’s heart pounded. The warhorse, sensing nervousness, shifted under him. With a jerk of the reins he brought the unfamiliar beast under control. He was bristling with disgust and rage now.

  “Off with it, soldier,” the Bloodwood hissed.


  Gault reached up and removed his helm. Spiderwood favored him with a cordial smile, eyes boring into Gault’s.

  “Let us go then and meet with this princess.” The Bloodwood whirled and spurred his mount forward. Mancellor followed, as did Jenko, the Sør Sevier standard snapping in the wind. Gault allowed himself a tight grin. Cursing inwardly, he set spurs to flanks.

  When the four of them reined up in the center of the square, the four from Gul Kana gaped at the Bloodwood, their eyes transfixed on his ghastly mount with its oily coat and demonic eyes.

  “Where is the White Prince?” Jondralyn broke her gaze from the horse and asked.

  Up close she was young and more sullen-looking than Gault had first imagined—still utterly gorgeous, though. She wore silver armor of a fine polish, far brighter than the black-lacquered armor of the two to either side of her. The fourth man, clearly a knight of Lord’s Point, was just a few steps behind the others.

  The Bloodwood answered flatly. “Much like your brother, Jovan, our Angel Prince could not find sufficient reason to attend this meeting.”

  “This is a disgrace.” She turned to Leif. “This is not what was agreed upon.”

  “Who is to say what is disgraceful and what is not?” Leif answered. “He is an emissary of the White Prince. You are Jovan’s emissary. What would you have me do about it?”

  A breeze, stiffer than before, washed over them, ruffling Jondralyn’s dark, lustrous hair and making Gault blink away dust and grit.

  “Who are you?” Jondralyn asked the Bloodwood. “You’ve a familiar look about you. I don’t like it.”

  “I am the emissary of the Angel Prince,” Spiderwood answered. “Who are you?”

  “I am Jondralyn Bronachell,” she answered impatiently, then nodded to the long-haired man with dark-rimmed eyes to her left. “This is Ser Leif Chaparral, prince of Rivermeade, to whom your White Prince has already spoken. My standard-bearer, Ser Culpa Barra of Port Follett.” She nodded to the stern blond fellow to her right. “And Ser Revalard Avocet of Lord’s Point.” She motioned to the man in blue.

  Of the four, Gault judged the one named Culpa Barra to be the real fighter. There was a cold detachment in the eyes of that one. Leif looked the same as last night, capable but overconfident. Ser Avocet looked fierce. Jondralyn Bronachell, the princess of Gul Kana, though stunning to behold, was nothing as a fighter. He could see that. He’d always assumed that the women of Gul Kana were forbidden to learn sword craft and fight in the armies, yet here this princess was, armored up and looking serious.

  Jondralyn demanded, her brow furrowed, her voice rising in pitch, “Introduce these men with you.”

  The Bloodwood did not answer her. He turned to Mancellor. “Go back,” he ordered. “Tell the knights they must retreat to Aeros’ camp, tell them that Jondralyn Bronachell has refused to negotiate with me.”

  “I’ve said no such thing,” Jondralyn said, her voice more strained. Confusion covered her face as she watched Mancellor turn and ride away.

  “Go with him.” The Bloodwood slapped the flanks of Jenko Bruk’s mount. With a lurch it bolted, galloping away. Gault watched the Gallows Haven captive race across the square and rein up before the Knights of the Blue Sword with Mancellor.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Jondralyn spurred her mount forward, facing Spiderwood. “Where is the White Prince? Why did you give those two orders to send all your knights away? I mean you no harm.”

  But the Bloodwood held up his hand, hushing the Gul Kana princess, eyes still trained on Mancellor, Jenko, and the Sør Sevier knights in the distance. It wasn’t long before the sixty Knights of the Blue Sword wheeled their mounts and followed Mancellor and Jenko back up the street around the corner and out of sight.

  “What are you doing?” Gault’s voice was a menacing whisper.

  The Bloodwood whirled his black horse around. “As we agreed earlier?” he addressed Leif Chaparral. The prince of Rivermeade nodded.

  There was a sudden iciness breeding in Gault’s muscles. His hand gripped the hilt of the unfamiliar sword at his side. He felt a queasy rumbling in his stomach as he looked at Spiderwood coldly. The Bloodwood’s eyes appeared aloof and vaguely amused as he said, “As I promised you, Leif, I bring you one of Aeros’ own Knights Archaic for your king to slake his lusts upon.”

  Then a black dagger was in the Bloodwood’s hand, the blade slicing through the straps of Gault’s saddle, then sweeping up, burying itself into his warhorse’s eye. As the saddle slid from the destrier’s broad back, Gault lost his balance. He tried to right himself, but the horse, now dead, dropped out from under him. At the same time, Spiderwood whirled his own black mount and raced away.

  Gault, now plummeting to the ground, lost sight of the fleeing Bloodwood as the destrier crashed down on his left leg and rolled up his body. And just like that Gault found himself trapped, staring up from under the dead horse at the Laijon statue above and the few white, fleecy clouds passing by beyond it.

  As he struggled to crawl from under the dun-colored destrier, Gault realized the Gallows Haven girl, Ava, had been right all along, and the Bloodwood had indeed been quick about his betrayal, brutally efficient, even.

  * * *

  Both man and woman and Vallè alike will ascend into heaven to sit upon the heights of the stars and exalt Laijon’s throne. Thus I, your Blessed Mother Mia, do promise the truth in all things, for I knew Laijon Autour De Lukè and Dashiell Dugal and Morgand Raybourne and Jabez Van Hester and Savon Bronachell. I will tell you everything that I know of them, for I also knew them as the Five Warrior Angels.

  —THE MOON SCROLLS OF MIA

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  JONDRALYN BRONACHELL

  21ST DAY OF THE MOURNING MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON

  RAVENKER, GUL KANA

  As the dark-haired man and his red-eyed stallion disappeared around the corner, Jondralyn could do nothing. Rage clawed its way from deep inside her, emerging from her mouth in a torrent. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted at Leif.

  Leif, a smug smile on his face, looked down at the Sør Sevier knight trapped under the dead destrier. “Looks like your countrymen have abandoned you, Ser Gault.”

  The bald man continued to struggle under the horse.

  Leif barked an order and the sixty knights behind Jondralyn trotted their mounts forward, their swords now drawn.

  The Sør Sevier knight freed himself from under the dead horse and lurched to his feet, sword out, unbridled anger on his face. But it was too late. Sixty mounted Ocean Guards surrounded him. His skin was tan and his eyes icy as they ranged over those who now held him captive. He did not launch an attack. It looked as if he desired to but had weighed the odds and had wisely chosen against it.

  “May I introduce Ser Gault Aulbrek!” Leif’s shout echoed in the somber air. “Knight Archaic and bodyguard of the White Prince! Our king will soon do unto him what those Sør Sevier bastards did to Jubal Bruk!”

  Jondralyn knew the name Gault Aulbrek. The Sør Sevier knight’s eyes scanned the surrounding Ocean Guards, sword still poised in front of him.

  “Are you truly Gault Aulbrek?” Jondralyn asked, her mind traveling back to Rockliegh Isle. “Roguemoore mentioned you—” She stopped talking, realizing she could not remember exactly what it was the dwarf had told her about this man Gault.

  “Why was Aeros not here?” she demanded of Leif through gritted teeth. She sat atop her horse, motionless. Her fists, she noticed, kept clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. She shouted the question at Leif again. “Why was Aeros not here?”

  Leif gave her something approaching a defiant smile. Disgusted, confused, she looked down at the Sør Sevier man and snarled, “I say, is your name Gault Aulbrek?” But the bald knight’s steely eyes remained fixed on Leif.

  Then she remembered: the dwarf had claimed Gault was Squireck’s cousin. “Are you Aeros’ bodyguard, Ser Gault? Are you the cousin of Squireck Van Hester?”


  Again, Gault just stared at Leif, who drew back his own palfrey a few steps. “I think he means to kill me,” Leif chuckled. “Protect me, princess. I beg of you.”

  “You made a deal with death,” the bald man said calmly, unamused eyes fixed on Leif. “That Bloodwood is not your friend. In time he will kill you.”

  “I doubt that.” Leif’s laughter rang through the square.

  “He will kill you and take back the gold he must have paid you to take part in this ruse. I doubt you will live long enough to spend it.”

  Leif shrugged. “Someone must really dislike you, Ser Gault Aulbrek. The Bloodwood was quick to betray you. But you are correct on one account. He indeed paid me handsomely to deliver you to Jovan.”

  Jondralyn raged at Leif. “You arranged with our enemy for this man’s betrayal?”

  Leif’s wide grin was long in fading. “What would you have done?” he asked. “A hundred lifetimes’ worth of gold to do this one small task that will please Jovan greatly. What have I to lose?”

  “Only your life.” Gault’s mouth curled in a mirthless smile. “If Spiderwood doesn’t kill you, I soon will.”

  Leif raised his brow. “You’re in no position to threaten me.”

  “I could kill you before your men could even draw their swords.”

  “I welcome you to try.”

  “Enough!” Jondralyn shouted, glaring at Leif. “Whatever the White Prince has against this man matters not. What you’ve done is dishonorable, Leif. We will let Gault go. Let him settle his own disputes with Aeros. I want no part of it.”

  “He is your prisoner now, princess,” Leif said. “A gift to send to your brother. He is one of Aeros’ most celebrated warriors. You will be hailed as a hero after such a grand capture. Is that not what you seek? Heroism? Adventure? He shall be tortured as was Baron Bruk. Jubal Bruk’s shame will then be made right and his honor duly satisfied.”