Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  “It’s been four months since the murder,” said Chance. “And still no one knows how it was done, or why, or by whom. Cause of death was a single blow from a knife or short sword, directly into the heart, in the King’s private chambers. No weapon was ever found. There were no signs of any struggle. Some have whispered darkly of suicide, but they can’t explain the missing murder weapon. The most thorough investigations have failed to turn up any clue, or any clear motivation that would single out a specific culprit.

  “Strictly speaking, the murder should have been impossible. King Harald was guarded on all sides by armed men, all of whom were examined under truthspell, all of whom saw and heard nothing suspicious. The King was also protected by strong magical wards, courtesy of the Magus, through which only the Royal Family could pass; and the queen was very definitely in Court at the time of the murder, in front of hundreds of witnesses. But someone got to the King anyway, silent and unseen as a ghost.

  “The longer the investigation went on without any result, the more gathering tensions threatened to tear the Court apart. So I volunteered to go out into the world and bring back the legendary Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, in the hope that once again they would save the Forest Kingdom in its time of greatest need. As the Champion’s son, I was indirectly a part of that legend, so my offer was accepted. And here I am, and here you are.”

  Hawk stirred unhappily. “Trust me, Chance; there’s nothing legendary about Isobel or me. We just … did what we had to. Over the years we’ve heard many variations of the story, of the legend, of what we did in the long night. Most of them expanded and distorted by minstrels and saga writers till I hardly recognize us anymore. Minstrels have always preferred a good story to the truth, and romance over reality. His strength is as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure, and all that bullshit.”

  “Traveling players have been presenting the great romantic drama of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia for years,” said Fisher, nodding. “And not once did I ever get top billing. Sometimes the names were the only things they did get right. We saw the Great Jordan’s version once. Can’t say I was impressed.”

  “The songs and stories always make it sound as though we defeated the Demon Prince all on our own,” said Hawk. “Through the goodness of our hearts. That the whole country rose up to follow me, as its natural leader. That I could have been King, but heroically gave up the Throne for my legendary love of Julia. That I tamed the dragon by taking a thorn out of its paw. It was nothing like that.

  “It was running and fighting, and stumbling from one desperate crisis to the next, with no guarantee we’d live to see another hour. It was wading through blood and guts, and seeing good men and women die all around you. For us, the long night was very dark; darker than you can imagine. We all came close to breaking, to going mad from the sheer horror of what we faced. You don’t know the whole truth of what happened in the long night, Chance. No one does. Only Julia and I remain of those who were there at the end, and even after twelve years, we still don’t sleep well at night sometimes.”

  “Hush,” said Fisher. “Hush.”

  A thought struck Hawk, and he gave Chance a hard look. “What happened to the Rainbow sword I left behind? Is it still in the Old Armory?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Chance. “And much revered. Though no one seems too sure just what it actually does. According to some versions of the legend, you called down the Rainbow through your own inherent goodness.”

  “How come it’s always his inherent goodness, and never mine?” said Fisher plaintively.

  Hawk shook his head slowly. “It’s only been twelve years, dammit. How could the truth have been forgotten so quickly?”

  “Be fair,” said Fisher. “It was a hell of a mess then, especially at the end. We only knew what was going on because we were right there in the thick of it all. Everyone else only saw their own small part of it. And like you said, most of the people who did know the truth are dead and gone. Maybe that’s for the best. The legend is probably a lot easier to live with than the truth would ever have been.”

  “And afterward,” said Hawk, “no doubt dear Harald had the story rewritten by his minstrels, to play up his part in it. A King rules as much by his reputation as his armed forces. And people have always needed their heroes. Since we weren’t around to tell our side of things, we ended up being tailored for the traditional roles of hero and heroine. I can’t help feeling we’d be a terrible disappointment in the flesh.”

  “You should hear what they say about the High Warlock,” said Chappie, scratching briskly at his ribs with a back foot. “They’ve conveniently forgotten all about his boozing and his wenching. Or the romance he’s supposed to have had with your mother.”

  “Chappie!” chided Chance quickly. “Sorry about that, Your Highness.”

  “It’s all right,” said Hawk. “There are always stories. I know about them. How could I not? But whatever happened between them was over a long time ago, and no one knows anything for sure now. The only people who could have told us the truth are all dead. Now it’s just another story—of no more importance than the ones they tell about Rupert and Julia. Truth becomes history becomes legend, and the real people at the base of it all are soon forgotten.”

  “But… you did destroy the Demon Prince,” said Chance. “That much at least we can be sure is true.”

  “Actually, no,” said Fisher. “The Demon Prince was a Transient Being. All we could do was banish him from the world of men. He’ll be back someday. Some evils are eternal.”

  For the first time Chance seemed taken aback, even shocked. “But … all the deaths, all the destruction of the Forest Land … and it’s not over?”

  “It’s over for now,” said Hawk. “Settle for that. That’s the trouble with legends; we demand they have a neat, comforting ending. The truth is rarely that obliging.”

  “What about my father?” asked Chance. “Are any of the legends about him true? Did he fight heroically and die bravely?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Hawk. “That was true. He was a great warrior, and a true hero, and he gave up his life defending the Castle, and his King. Bravest damned thing I ever saw.”

  Chance nodded slowly, looking down at the wine glass on the table before him, and then he clearly decided to change the subject. “So; how did the two of you end up here, in Haven? And why are you both masquerading as commoners when you’re Royal born? Even here, in the arse end of the world, surely such an inheritance would bring you social and economic advancement.”

  “It’s a long story,” said Hawk.

  “No surprise there,” said Chappie. He was lying on his back now, paws in the air, eyes closed. “Try for the condensed version, or I’ll heckle you.”

  “We left the Forest Kingdom and headed south,” Hawk started. “We wanted to start new lives, as new people. Free ourselves of the baggage of our past. And contrary to what you may have been told, Harald and I did not part amicably. Julia and I were determined to put ourselves well out of his vindictive reach.”

  “The King has always said you left with his blessing,” said Chance.

  “Like hell,” said Fisher. “He wanted me as his wife, and he wanted Rupert dead so he wouldn’t be any challenge to the Throne. We left him lying unconscious in a pile of horseshit in the stables.”

  “I didn’t want the Throne,” said Hawk. “But there were any number of people and factions who would have made me King if I’d stuck around. The Forest Castle just wasn’t big enough for Harald and me; one of us would have had to kill the other, eventually. And I didn’t want that. For all the anger and bitterness between us, he was still my brother, and we had fought side by side in the Demon War. He was a hero, in his way. So we left the Forest Land. After one last stop at the Dark Tower, to say good-bye to the High Warlock.”

  “I remember that,” said Chappie’s voice from floor level. “He prophesied that one day you would both return to the Forest Kingdom.” The dog snorted loudly. “Hardly a di
fficult one, that. Unfinished business has a way of creeping up on you, evade it as you may.”

  “He gave us gifts,” said Hawk. “He gave me my axe, to replace the sword I could no longer wield. I was a first-class swordsman in my time, even gave your father a run for his money, Chance, but all that changed when a demon clawed the eye right out of my head. You can’t be much of a swordsman with damn-all depth perception. But axes don’t depend on subtlety; all you need is a strong right arm and a certain amount of bloody-minded determination. And this axe has other attributes, too; it cuts through magical protections. Mostly.”

  “He gave me a gift, too,” said Fisher. “I could have had a magical weapon as well, if I’d wanted. But I wielded one of the damned swords, the Infernal Devices, in the Demon War, and that was more than enough for me. I still remember the evil blade called Wolfsbane. It nearly ate my soul. So instead, I asked for a prophecy. I asked the High Warlock whether Rupert and I would always be together. And he said yes; until the day we died.”

  “I never knew that,” said Hawk. “I never asked what you asked him; I figured that was your business. I’m touched. But I could have told you the same thing, if you’d asked.”

  Hawk and Fisher held hands across the tabletop, smiling into each other’s eyes, and for a moment Chance caught a glimpse of Rupert and Julia, and their legendary love.

  “The High Warlock told us we’d never see him again,” said Hawk. “We’d already guessed that. He looked old and tired, and so frail, a gust of wind could have blown him away. Magic ate him up and spat him out, destroying him even as he’d used it to destroy his enemies. He probably could have saved himself even then, if he’d really wanted to. He could have regenerated himself one more time. But I think … he was allowing himself to die. Magic, Wild and High, was going out of the world, and he knew it. There was no room left for the kind of man he’d been. He’d had one last great adventure, and I think he wanted to go out on a high, while he was still remembered as a hero of the Demon War, rather than the bitter recluse he’d been before I found him. All his old friends, and all his old enemies, were dead and gone, and Julia and I were leaving, too. He was alone.”

  “He had me,” said Chappie. “But he said it was well past time I struck out on my own. After all his animals had left, and he was dead, the Dark Tower sealed itself around him, the many windows disappearing one by one, and the Tower became his tomb. But then, it always was, wasn’t it?”

  “We took the unicorn Breeze back to his own kind,” said Fisher. “Back to the herd he’d been taken from, so long ago. Rupert had promised him that. It took a while, but we found them in their hidden valley; and no, I’m not going to tell you where. The few people who knew, who captured Breeze, are all dead, and their knowledge died with them. Let it stay that way. Breeze is happy now, running free with the unicorns. That’s all anyone needs to know.”

  Hawk looked down at Chappie, seeing how he stayed close to his companion, Chance, and he remembered how close he and Breeze had been.

  “The hero always has a companion in his travels,” Hawk said finally, smiling down at the upside down dog. “I had Breeze and you have Chappie.”

  “I beg your pardon,” the dog said immediately. “He doesn’t have me; I have him. And a bloody nuisance he is, sometimes. I only stick around because God only knows what trouble he’d get into if I wasn’t there.” The dog rolled over onto his side, sniffed at the air, and was suddenly back up on his feet again. He padded over to a table and stared accusingly at the occupant. “You’re never going to eat all that, are you? It’s not good for you. Here, let me help you out.” And the dog ate everything on the plate. The table’s occupant watched him do it, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment. The dog licked the plate clean, and then swaggered back to sit beside Chance again. “You know, the food’s terrible here. And such small portions.”

  Fisher couldn’t keep from grinning as she looked at Chance and the dog. “How the hell did you two get together?”

  “I took a thorn out of his paw, gave him a bowl of milk, and he’s been with me ever since,” said the dog. “Actually, we both got a little too close to the Darkwood, for reasons that seemed good at the time, and ending up fighting a bunch of demons together. We made a good team, so I let him hang out with me. Now tell me what happened to the dragon. He was always my favorite part of your legend. Was he really as big as they say?”

  “Bigger,” said Hawk. “Thirty feet long if he was an inch, and God alone knows how many tons in weight. He was the last of his kind, the last dragon in the world of men. Wild magic personified. He was already dying when he left the Castle with us. He hung on just long enough to reach his old cave in Dragonslair Mountain, and then he just laid down and waited for Lady Death to find him. He was very old, older than the Forest Kingdom itself, and he had suffered so very much in its defense. He’d flown to the top of the mountain; the rest of us had to get up there the hard way. By the time we arrived, he was fast asleep, surrounded by all his precious things. Watching him die was like watching all the wonder going out of the world. Afterward we set a fire in his cave, as he’d asked. He didn’t want his dead body being plundered for the valuable hide and organs.”

  “I remember the fire,” said Chance. “You could see it burning at the top of Dragonslair for days, like a great beacon in the night. What happened to his hoard? Was it tons of gold and silver and precious jewels, as everyone said?”

  “It was butterflies,” said Fisher. “He collected butterflies. He had dozens of cases of the things, all carefully mounted and labeled. I never did figure out how he caught them. I mean, I can’t see a thirty-foot dragon chasing across the fields in hot pursuit, brandishing a bloody big butterfly net. Well, actually I can, but I very much prefer not to.”

  “He was good at sneaking up on things,” said Hawk.

  “He’d have to be,” said Fisher. “Anyway, his butterflies burned with him.”

  “Dammit, isn’t anybody you knew still alive?” asked the dog.

  “Well, the goblins were fine when we left them,” said Fisher. “Every bit their usual obnoxious selves. Are they still making a nuisance of themselves in the Forest?”

  “Surprisingly enough, no,” answered Chance. “The fate of the goblins is something of a mystery. They disappeared into the woods soon after you left, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since. Their old home, the Tanglewood, never grew back. No one’s sighted a goblin anywhere in the Forest Land for years, and mostly everyone’s just rather relieved. I mean, they were …”

  “Yes,” said Hawk. “They were. But still they fought beside us in the last great siege of the Forest Castle, and not one of them broke or ran. I was always very proud of the appalling little creatures.”

  “Move it on,” said the dog impatiently, “Or we’ll be here all bloody night. Your companions are gone or dead, and you’re traveling out of the Forest with a sackful of jewels you liberated from the Castle. What happened next?”

  “The jewels didn’t last long,” said Fisher. “Rupert always did have a soft spot for a hard-luck story. He gave it all away, little by little, for this cause or that, trying to do good or just help people who needed it. A whole lot of it went to hiring an army of mercenaries. Not one of our better decisions. There was this Prince we met, who’d been thrown off his throne, and out of his own country, so that a bunch of bad guys could seize control and run things their way. As you can imagine, this struck something of a chord with us, so we put together an army of mercs for hire, led them into battle, and put the Prince back on his throne. Only to discover that he was an even bigger bastard than the ones we’d overthrown for him.”

  “Right,” said Hawk. “Our first clue came when he had us both arrested, dragged off in chains, and thrown into the dungeons. Where we met a very interesting class of people, most of whom had very interesting stories to tell us about just why the Prince had been chucked out in the first place. We escaped from the dungeons, took to the hills with our
own mercenaries snapping at our heels, and used most of what was left of our money to fund a popular uprising that threw the Prince out of power again. He was beheaded this time, and a distant cousin took power, saying all the right things … but at the end of the day there were a lot of dead people, a country devastated by civil war, and not a lot of real change to show for it all. We stayed out of politics after that.”

  “With most of the jewels gone, we didn’t have much choice,” said Fisher. “I don’t think we’re meant to have money.”

  “We used what was left to buy passage on a ship sailing down the coastline to the Southern Kingdoms,” said Hawk. “The Revenge wasn’t exactly a luxury ship, and the crew were one step up from pirates, but we didn’t have a lot of choice. There aren’t many ships or crews brave or foolhardy enough to risk the long journey down the coastline, past the Deadlands.”

  “What are they like?” asked Chance, leaning forward eagerly. “The Deadlands, I mean. There’s hardly any real information about them, even in the great libraries at St. Jude’s.”

  “What are they like?” Hawk repeated. “Hell on earth. Centuries ago, or at least so long ago that no one now can say when with any certainty, two wizards fought a duel. The last great clash of Wild Magic in the world of men. The wizards’ names and motivations are lost to us, but their battle destroyed thousands of miles of territory, leaving it horribly transfigured. Whole countries and their populations were wiped out, their very names lost to history and legend. To enter the Deadlands even now is to die, slowly and horribly.

  “We only ever saw the edges of it, from a distance, but that was more than enough to shake us. The land … it’s never still, never settled. Mountains rise up and then fall again, great cracks open and close, and tides move slowly across the disturbed earth. Awful things live there, bigger than houses, howling and screaming in voices loud as thunder. Life still somehow survives in the Deadlands, but it is altered and transformed by terrible unseen energies. It’s not life as we would recognize it.”