Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  “Well, whoopie,” growled the dog, but made no other objection as Hawk and Fisher took Chance by the arms and hurried him off down a side alley. No one around seemed particularly surprised. They were used to seeing Hawk and Fisher hustle people away, whether they wanted to go or not. The dog took one last look around, muttering under his breath, and then followed the others into the alley.

  The Dead Dog was a nearby watering hole, seedier than most, which took some doing in the North Side. You could only get in by intimidating the doorman, and the establishment prided itself on its bad reputation. You got no frills, fancies, or comforts at the Dead Dog; just good booze at reasonable prices, guaranteed privacy, and bar snacks if you were feeling adventurous. Two large and burly bouncers with muscles on their muscles kept the peace. There were isolated tables with clusters of chairs, and plenty of shadows for people to disappear into. It was never really full and never really empty, and the constant murmur of conversations rose and fell like the tides of the sea. Someone was planning a revolution, someone was planning a bank job, and someone was getting the shaft, though he didn’t know it yet. Just another day in the North Side.

  No one looked around when Hawk and Fisher barged in with Chance between them, though Chappie drew a few uncertain glances. The bouncers drew back just a little to give the two Guard Captains plenty of room. Then they looked at Chappie and drew back even more. Hawk and Fisher chose a table in a particularly dark and distant corner, and sat down with Chance between them. Chappie turned around a few times and then lay down at Chance’s feet.

  The messenger peered about him into the gloom as those people sitting nearest Hawk and Fisher got up and moved away to other tables. The crowded room was a hot and sweaty place, with many kinds of mostly legal smoke drifting on the still air. A row of shrunken heads with sewn-together eyelids hung over the bar by their hair. Rumor had it they were all that remained of those who hadn’t paid their bar bills. Chance looked back at Hawk and exhibited polite distress.

  “You used to drink here regularly, Your Highness? What happened, did you lose a bet or something? This looks like the kind of place where plagues start. There aren’t any rats here, are there? I can’t stand rats.”

  “I like them,” said Chappie. “Crunchy.”

  “No rats,” said Fisher. “If any hang out here, they get sick and die.” She looked around her. “Mind you, this place has definitely gone downhill since we were last here.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Chance.

  “Right,” growled Chappie. “I’ve been down sewers that had more ambiance, not to mention better company.”

  Other people sitting nearby got up to move to other tables. Hawk didn’t blame them. Part of him wished he could, too. But if Harald was dead … Hawk had always understood duty. Especially where his family was concerned. He leaned forward and fixed Chance with his best glare.

  “All right, this is as private as we’re going to get. Talk to me, Champion’s son. But don’t take anything for granted. We may be who you think we are, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we care to be reminded of it.”

  “Damn right,” said Fisher. “We had good reasons for leaving the Forest Land, and I doubt very much that it’s changed. Even if Harald is dead.”

  “You are sure about that?” asked Hawk. “I’m damned if I’m going to be dragged all the way back home on a rumor.”

  “The King is dead,” said Chance. “I’ve seen the body.”

  “Damn,” said Hawk softly. “I never cared much for him, but he was still my brother.”

  “He was murdered four months ago,” said Chance. “No one knows how or why or who. That’s why I was sent to find you.”

  “We were close once,” said Fisher. “He wasn’t all bad.”

  She broke off as the innkeeper strode over with a bottle of the very best wine and three glasses. He slammed them down on the table one after the other, just to show he wasn’t intimidated, then he glared down at Chappie, who glared right back at him.

  “No dogs!” said the innkeeper. “I’m allergic.”

  “Really?” said Chappie. “What a coincidence. I’m allergic to fat, stupid innkeepers with piggy little eyes. Now piss off, or I’ll bite off your balls and gargle with them. Better still, piss off and come back with something tasty and meat-based. I’m definitely feeling peckish.”

  The innkeeper blinked a few times, gave Hawk his best martyred look, and then disappeared quickly back behind his bar. Chappie looked smug as he laid his head on his paws. Chance looked down at him accusingly.

  “You can’t be hungry already. It’s only a few hours since dinner.”

  “I have a large and fast-moving metabolism, and a very low boredom threshold,” said Chappie, not looking up. “Blame the High Warlock; he designed me.”

  “Well, try and wait till we get back to our lodgings,” said Chance. “I don’t want you eating the kind of muck they undoubtedly serve here. I’ve got something special waiting for you back at the lodgings.”

  “Oh, I’ve had that,” said the dog, licking his chops reflectively. “Ate the lot. All gone.”

  “That was for this evening!”

  “Who’s to say this evening would ever come? Live for the moment, that’s my motto. We could all die at any minute. Especially now that we’re in Haven. I never wanted to come here in the first place. Poxy bloody hole. When are we going hunting rabbits again, Chance? You promised we could go hunting rabbits again.”

  “All right,” said Hawk. “I give up. You have my complete attention, sir dog. Let’s start with your history. What did you mean when you said we’d met before?”

  The big dog sighed patiently. “Try and keep up with the rest of us, Your Ex-highness. Remember your first visit to the Dark Tower, when you came to enlist the High Warlock’s aid against the encroaching darkness of the long night? Well, if you cast your mind back, you might just remember that the Tower was packed to the rafters with animals. The High Warlock always had a whole bunch of animal experiments going on, mostly for the company, I think. He had a great deal of curiosity about the natural world, a whole lot of magic, plus a complete lack of scruples when it came to asking, What if? I was born there, the only survivor from my litter, and I was managing my first few words almost before I could walk. Mostly complaints about the quality of the food.

  “And then you came along, full of heroics and high ideals and all those other things that get you humans killed well before your time, and suddenly nothing will do but he’s got to go rushing off to fight in the Demon War. He couldn’t take his animals with him, so he put us all into hibernation till he returned. Not that any of us were consulted, of course. One minute I’m getting on with some important scratching and wondering what’s for dinner, and the next minute it’s a whole different season, and he’s come back to the Tower to die.” Chappie paused, his great dark eyes far away, fixed on yesterday. “I always thought he’d live forever. Powerful bloody magician like that. But no. He used up all his magic fighting your war, and what was left of him didn’t last long.

  “I saw you again, when you and blondie here came to say good-bye, before leaving the Forest, and he gave you that axe. He was dying even then, but he put on a good show for you, so you wouldn’t be upset. Once you were gone, he let all of us loose. Most went charging off into the woods and the wide world, keen to find some trouble to get into, but I stayed. I thought somebody should. The High Warlock ate a good meal, drank most of a bottle of wine, settled himself in his most comfortable chair, then he went to sleep and never woke up. Not a bad way to go, I suppose. I waited till he was cold, just in case anything … unusual happened, and then I left the Tower and set off to see the world. Eventually I met Chance, and hooked up with him. It’s a dog’s life on your own.”

  “We heard he died,” Hawk said quietly. “We never knew how.”

  “What happened to the other animals?” asked Fisher. “Were they all as smart as you?”

  Chappie sniffed loudly. “Of course th
ey weren’t as smart as me! I’m a dog. But they were all pretty special, one way or another. They’ve been loose in the Forest for some time now, spreading their genes and generally improving the local wildlife, and making life hell for the local poachers.” The dog sniggered. “If you go down to the woods today, you’d better go in disguise and be bloody well armed. There’s toads that can spit lightning, deer that can be in two places at the same time, and one particular bunch of teleporting squirrels have been driving the trappers into nervous breakdowns. Sadistic little buggers, squirrels. I’ve always said so. Mind you, rabbits are worse. Bastards!”

  “So the High Warlock went easily,” said Hawk. “I’m glad. He looked pretty frail the last time we saw him. And very tired. He’d been through a lot, because I asked him to. I hope he made it to heaven, for all his faults.”

  “All dogs go to heaven,” said Chappie cheerfully. “It’s in our contract. We agree to be your best friends, and try to keep you out of trouble, and in return for that arduous job, we all get a guaranteed place in paradise. Cats go to the other place, and serves them bloody well right. Probably feel right at home there, tormenting the sinners.” He stopped suddenly, distracted by the one man still sitting at a nearby table. He’d pushed away his plate with half the food still on it. The huge dog stared at the meal as though mesmerized, and then lurched to his feet and advanced on the table. The customer looked around and found himself almost face to face with a huge dog. He went pale. The dog cleared his throat. It sounded a lot like a growl. The customer went very pale. Chappie looked meaningfully at the food on the plate. “You’re not going to leave all that, are you? Perfectly good food, going to waste? There are millions starving in Cathay!”

  The customer looked at the dog, almost afraid to move. “I’m … really not very hungry. Couldn’t manage another bite.”

  “Well,” said Chappie, “I suppose I could help you out. Rather than see good food go to waste. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Oh, no. Go right ahead. I’m sure there’s somewhere else I have to be. Very urgently. If you’ll excuse me …”

  He made a dash for the door. Chappie wolfed down all the food on the plate and then licked it clean before padding contentedly back to collapse at Chance’s feet. The messenger looked at him sorrowfully.

  “You have no shame, do you, Chappie?”

  “Of course not. I’m a dog. You tell these people your story, while I have a little nap. And don’t embellish it. I’ll be listening.”

  Chance sighed and turned back to Hawk and Fisher. “I am the son of the late Champion of the Forest Kingdom. His only child. I don’t think my father liked women much. Or men, come to that. Apparently he encountered my mother while searching the taverns for the High Warlock, when he was off on one of his drinking binges. He wasn’t usually that hard to find. Just look for a window with fireworks coming out of it. Anyway, by the time the Champion found him, the Warlock had passed out cold. It had been a long night, so the Champion made arrangements for them both to spend the night at the tavern. I get the impression he’d had to do this before. My mother was working there, as a tavern slut. She got the Champion drunk … and nine months later presented him with a rather unexpected son. Me. He wouldn’t acknowledge me at first, though he sent my mother money for my upkeep, in return for her silence and keeping her distance.

  “When I was ten, he came for me. No warning. Just this huge, terrifying figure in heavy armor whom everyone, including my mother, bowed low to. He took me away with him. We spent the best part of a week traveling, and I don’t think he spoke ten words to me. He finally dropped me off at St. Jude’s, a very well-regarded and even more expensive private school on the border between the Forest and the kingdom of Redhart. He rode off without saying good-bye. I never saw him again.

  “I inherited his broad shoulders and a tendency to rather more muscles than is usual, but not his killer’s rage. My red hair and green eyes came from my mother, along with my somewhat calmer disposition. I never saw her again, either. The school wouldn’t let her visit, and she died before I was old enough to leave. Tavern sluts don’t tend to live long lives. My father died during the Demon War, but of course you know that. You were there.

  “I was twelve years old and all alone. King Harald sent me my only inheritance, the Champion’s great double-headed axe. I couldn’t even lift it then. There was no money; what little my father left went to settle his few debts. Luckily he’d paid my tuition fees in advance, and I was able to stay on at the school. They supplied bed and board at no cost, in return for the privilege of having a legend’s son attending their school. I left the moment I’d graduated, because I wanted to be my own man, not just someone’s son.”

  Chance paused for a moment and took a long drink from his wineglass. It was a very poor vintage, all piss and vinegar, but he politely pretended not to notice.

  “I wandered here and there, discovering the world and looking for my place in it, and finally ended up where I always knew I would—at the Forest Castle. King Harald was very gracious, but he made it abundantly clear he had no use for a Champion. He’d abolished the post. Instead he offered me a new position, that of King’s Questor. Basically, my job is to be the reasonable voice at Court, to see all sides of every argument and provide a disinterested voice where necessary. Answerable only to the Throne, I have the authority to settle all arguments and disputes, by force if necessary. I am an arbiter, a judge, defender of lost causes, and the court of final appeal. I serve no single cause or faction, only justice. This has made me very unpopular in certain quarters, which I take as a sign that I’m doing my job right. I have to say, I much prefer being Questor rather than Champion. I admire my father’s legend, but I don’t want to become him.”

  He drank more wine while Hawk considered what Chance had said and what he hadn’t. If Chance had been twelve at the time of the Demon War, he had to be twenty-four now. Which made Hawk feel old, but he decided he wasn’t going to think about that just now. He’d heard about St. Jude’s School. It was famous for being the toughest school in the Forest Kingdom, or out of it. The pupils had to learn to be even tougher, just to survive it. If you failed a course, they sent your remains home in a sealed coffin. The school mascot was a werewolf, and the swimming pool had crocodiles in it. Rupert’s father, King John, had often threatened to send him and his brother, Harald, there, when they were getting out of hand or had displeased him greatly, and it was one of the few threats that actually brought them in line.

  St. Jude’s would make a man out of you, or kill you trying. The school specialized in turning out legendary heroes, great scholars, and famous leaders of men. And not a few first-class villains. Only the truly exceptional survived to graduate from St. Jude’s.

  Men like Allen Chance.

  “What academic qualifications did you end up with?” Fisher asked, just to show she was keeping up with the conversation.

  “I have degrees in law, philosophy, literature, and military strategy,” said Chance diffidently.

  “And a fat lot of use any of them were when it came to getting you a job,” said Chappie from under the table. “I notice you didn’t mention you only went to the Forest Castle because you were desperate for any kind of salaried position.”

  “I would have gotten around to that,” said Chance, a little snappily. “There’s a lot of unemployment in the Forest Kingdom, struggling as it is to recover from the long night and the Demon War, and I was … overqualified for most positions. The point is, I was very happy being King’s Questor. I served Harald faithfully, and I hope well, for four years. I always considered myself to be a reasonable man first, and a warrior second, and the position enabled me to be both.”

  “Tell them how you got the job,” said Chappie.

  “Look, who’s telling this story? Do you want to tell it?”

  “Then get on with it,” said the dog. “And hurry it up. I’m getting hungry again.”

  “There were other applicants for the pos
ition of Questor,” Chance said carefully. “Many of them famous men, already building their own legends. Quite a few were St. Jude’s men. But they all had political backing and not-so-secret agendas. All I had was my late father’s reputation, which frankly was as much a hindrance as a help. Everyone agreed he’d been one hell of a fighting man, but the Champion had always been famous in his distaste for all kinds of politics. There were even those who murmured that his sanity wasn’t all that it might have been, too. It quickly became clear to me that either I found some backing of my own, or I might as well leave before I was asked to go.

  “And that was when the Landsgraves of Gold and Silver and Copper came to me. Their position at Court was much reduced from what it had once been, and they saw in me a chance to regain influence and power. They provided me with all kinds of dirt on my rivals, and those we couldn’t discredit, I challenged to duels. Most withdrew from the competition rather than face the Champion’s son. But I still killed some good men, just because they wouldn’t back down. In some ways it seems I am my father’s son. So, I became King’s Questor as a result of blackmail and spilled blood. Not at all the bright and glorious future I’d envisaged for myself at the Forest Castle.

  “But once appointed Questor, the first thing I did was to reveal the Landsgraves’ plotting. They were banished from the Court in disgrace, and I was able to establish myself immediately as a truly impartial Questor, and a bit of a bastard to boot. King Harald found the whole business highly amusing. The Landsgraves swore revenge, of course. For a time I had to have my own food taster, but after I killed the first half dozen assassins the Landsgraves sent after me, they pretty much gave up. They had gambled and failed, and no one at Court had much time for a bad loser. I was Questor, and I had proved I was my own man, but my betraying of the Landsgraves isolated me at Court. No one would be my friend, or even my ally. No one but the King.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” said Hawk. “Tell me how my brother died.”