Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  Fisher nodded, and followed Hawk back into the parlor. Chance kept a straight face while Tombs openly boggled. Chappie hid behind Chance’s legs and had a prolonged coughing fit.

  “So, what now?” asked Chance brightly.

  “We ride for the city limits at full speed, and we don’t stop for anything,” said Fisher. “How far do we have to travel to reach the Rift? More than a day?”

  “I have a special charm from the Magus,” said Chance. “Once we’re outside the city, I can summon the Rift opening right to us. Then all we have to do is ride through, and we’ll be back in the Forest again.”

  “As simple as that,” said Hawk. “Assuming we get out of the city alive. We’ve made a lot of enemies here over the years.”

  “For all the right reasons,” said Fisher.

  “Are you people ever going to leave?” asked Tombs. “All this talk of enemies is making me very nervous. I can think of any number of people who’d cheerfully firebomb this whole street just to get at you. I’ve sometimes felt that way myself.”

  “Relax,” said Hawk. “We’re on our way.”

  “Don’t I get any payment for my hard-earned expertise?”

  “What do you think?” said Fisher.

  “Grrr,” added Chappie.

  Hawk, Fisher, and Chance rode their horses full tilt through the crowded streets, Chappie loping along beside them, while arrows and knives and blunt objects of all kinds rained down from above, and spells and curses crackled helplessly on the air, repelled by the protective mannikin peering out of the top of Hawk’s backpack. People threw themselves out of the horses’ way, shouting threats or encouragement, or just the latest official betting odds on their getting out of the city alive. The few Guards they encountered looked the other way, determined not to get involved. Hawk and his companions ran the gauntlet, come and gone so quickly, no one could touch them. But the mannikin was burning out fast, and the horses couldn’t maintain such a pace for long. And more and more horsemen were taking up the chase behind them.

  Hawk led the way, trusting to his extensive knowledge of the city streets to get him out of Haven by the fastest possible route. The streets flashed by, buildings and crowds nothing more than a blur. He could see the edge of the city from where he was, but he couldn’t get at it. There was no direct route, only a maze of narrowing streets and alleyways.

  And then he rounded a corner at top speed, and saw that the end of the street ahead was blocked by a massive barricade. Armed men stood waiting before it. They’d clearly dragged all the furniture out of the surrounding tenements and piled it up into one great impassable wall. Hawk kept going. He couldn’t even slow down, with the pursuing riders so close behind. The barricade drew closer. No way around, too high to jump. The jagged ends of broken chair legs thrust out of the barricade like so many vicious spikes.

  And Hawk remembered another barricade, in the long night of the Demon War, in the last great battle outside the Forest Castle. The Blue Moon burned sickly overhead, blue and diseased, and the only barricade between Prince Rupert and the legion of demons was the increasingly high pile of his own fallen dead comrades.

  Fisher pulled alongside him, reining her horse in close as they raced forward. “You see that barricade?”

  “Of course I see it!”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We’ll have to jump it,” Fisher told him.

  “We can’t! It’s too high!”

  “We don’t have any choice!”

  And then someone stuck a blazing torch into the mostly wooden barricade, and the whole thing went up in soaring flames. Fisher scowled.

  “All right, we won’t jump it. We need an idea, Hawk. And you’d better come up with it bloody soon, because that barricade is getting really close now.”

  Another minute and they’d be on top of it. Hawk’s horse was already beginning to slow, despite his urging, as the flames leapt high into the sky. Quick glances around showed that the only side streets were blocked with armed men. Someone had put a lot of thought into this. There was no way out. So if you can’t go through, or around …

  “Follow me!” yelled Hawk, and steered his horse sharply to the left. Right in front of them was a bulky steel fire escape, leading up to the second story and the roof. The horse took one look and tried to balk, but Hawk drove him on with spurs and oaths and a merciless grip on the reins. The horse plunged forward, its steel-clad hooves striking sparks as it clattered up the fire escape. The whole structure shook under the sudden weight, but held. Fisher and Chance urged their mounts after Hawk’s, and Chappie brought up the rear. Two armed men darted out of the shadows at the base of the fire escape.

  “They’re getting away!” yelled one. “At least kill the bloody wolf!”

  Chappie gave them his best snarl and a really hard look, and both men stopped sharply in their tracks. “You kill the bloody wolf!” said the second man. Chappie grinned as he followed the horses up the steps and onto the sloping tiled roof.

  The whole stairway tried to tear itself away from the supporting wall, but somehow it held long enough for all of them to reach the roof. Hawk’s horse was growing increasingly upset, but he drove the animal on, whooping wildly with the thrill of it all. Slates and tiles shattered under the horses’ hooves as they plowed on, leaping recklessly from one roof to another. The shock and startled cries from down below seemed very far away. This high up, Hawk could see the city boundary clearly, agonizingly close. He spotted another fire escape plunging steeply down to the ground, and headed his horse toward it. He could hear Fisher and Chance following close behind. Fisher was laughing. Chance sounded as though he was praying.

  They thundered down the fire escape and slammed back into the street again, the blazing barricade safely behind them. There was hardly anyone left now between the riders and the edge of the city. No one had really thought they’d get this far. One last heavy-duty curse crackled on the air around them, and all of Hawk’s hair stood on end. He could feel the magic struggling to find a hold on him, slow and vile and malevolent, but the charm in his backpack still protected him. And then the mannikin screamed shrilly, waving its raffia arms, and burst into flames. The curse had been deflected, but their protection was gone.

  Hawk and Fisher and Chance left the city port of Haven at a gallop, and never once looked back. Chappie was still right there with them, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he panted for breath. He was built more for stamina than speed. Before them lay the ragged coastline and the sea, and a whole lot of open ground. If horsemen came out of the city after them, there was nowhere they could hide, or defend, and their horses were too exhausted to run much further away. Hawk looked across at Chance.

  “We need the Rift. Now!”

  “We’re too close to the city! I need a few more minutes!”

  Fisher pulled in close beside Hawk on his other side. “So. We’re really going back. Back to the Castle, and the Court, and all its intrigues and formalities. At least Haven was open and honest in its evils.”

  “The Forest Castle was my home,” said Hawk.

  “We’re not going back to stay, are we? Tell me we’re just going back to solve Harald’s murder.”

  “If my duty calls….” said Hawk.

  “What about your duty to me?”

  Before Hawk could answer, Chance seized their attention by drawing from his pack a Hand of Glory. A severed and preserved human hand, cut from a hanged man right after his execution, the fingers turned into candles. Old magic. Bad magic. The kind that damns your soul. A Hand of Glory could open any lock, find hidden treasures, reveal concealed doors. Hawk and Fisher watched intently as the five candle fingers lit themselves, burning with a warm yellow flame. From behind them came the sound of hot pursuit, but none of them looked back. Just being this close to a Hand of Glory was like having someone drag their fingernails across your soul. And then Chance said a Word of Power, activating the Hand, and everything changed.

>   Day became night. The sights and sounds around them seemed suddenly far away. Sunlight vanished and darkness slammed down. They were riding through the gloom now, and the stars were out. The horses fought their reins, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes. Night became day, became sunlight, blindingly bright. Day became night again, and the moon above was tinged with blue, like the first signs of decay. Night became day, and the world split open before them, space itself cracking apart to reveal an endless tunnel lit with its own eerie silver light. Hawk had seen this before, when the High Warlock used his teleport spell. He forced his almost hysterical horse on, into the tunnel, and the others were right behind. They all felt as much as heard the tunnel entrance slam shut behind them.

  They slowed their horses to a walk in the tunnel. Time and space meant different things here, and with the tunnel closed, they were safe from pursuit. Being in the silver tunnel was like being back in the place where you were before you were conceived and earthed in flesh, so it should have come as no surprise when the dead came to talk with Hawk and Fisher. Ghosts from the past they had turned their backs on.

  To Prince Rupert came his dead father, King John. He seemed old and tired and defeated, and when he looked at his son, his gaze was full of sadness. His voice was a whisper, and his words cut like a knife. My sons have always been a disappointment to me. And then he was gone, replaced by the awful pale face of the Demon Prince, who smiled his terrible smile and said, I have always been well served by traitors. The Champion came and walked beside Rupert, still bloody with his death wounds, and wouldn’t look around as he said, Courage can only take you so far. And finally there was Harald, dead Harald, who looked at him accusingly. You always said I’d make a better King than you.

  To Princess Julia, dead King John said kindly, Never trust anyone. Especially those you love. Her dead friend Bodeen, his chest still pierced with the death wound she gave him, gave her a friendly nod and said, Everyone’s a traitor to someone. And then there came the dragon, dead and gone and consumed by fire, who studied her with the empty eye sockets of his charred skull as he said, Magic is going out of the world. But that doesn’t mean it’s lost. And finally to her came Harald, who was once her lover, if not her love, and he held her hand in his cold dead fingers and said, I did love you, Julia. In my way.

  The ghosts spoke in calm, distant voices, suffused with the knowledge that only comes to the dead, and Rupert’s and Julia’s hearts hammered painfully in their still-living breasts as they remembered things and feelings they thought long lost. Somehow they knew they were being told things they needed to know, but the presence of so much death diminished them, with their memories of loss and failure and things left unsaid but never really forgotten. The living were not meant to hear the dead, because the human heart cannot bear too much truth.

  And then the silver tunnel opened up with a roar and threw them back into the real world, and the Forest slammed into being before and around them. Bright green with the lush foliage of summer, the great trees stood tall and proud. The air was full of the song of birds and the drone of insects, and the rich scents of grass and earth and mulch. It smelled like home. Hawk reined his horse to a halt as the silver tunnel disappeared behind him, and the others stopped with him. He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily with the strain of long-suppressed emotions, and then glared at Chance.

  “Why didn’t you warn us?”

  Chance looked back at him uncertainly. “I’m sorry. I was given to understand you’d traveled through the silver tunnel before.”

  “Not that,” said Fisher heavily. “You should have told us. You should have told us about the dead.”

  “What dead?” asked Chappie, looking quickly about him.

  “They came and talked to me,” said Hawk. “Ghosts of the past, long since buried.”

  “The dead,” said Fisher. “Trying desperately to warn me about … something.”

  Chance shook his head slowly. “No one has ever reported such side effects before. The Rift is just … a means of transport. Hundreds of thousands of people have gone back and forth through the Rift, and no one ever reported hearing voices. Perhaps it’s your exposure to the Wild Magic again.”

  “And perhaps it’s just us,” said Hawk. “Still haunted by our past, and the things we had to do in it.”

  “Who spoke to you?” Chance asked curiously. “What did they say?”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “Maybe we’ll tell you. Someday,” said Fisher.

  “That’s far enough!” said a new voice, arrogant with the privilege of command. “You will have to declare everything you’ve brought with you from the south before you can be allowed to proceed any further.”

  They all looked around, and there were half a dozen tents and twenty or so heavily armed men. Hawk and Fisher looked at Chance.

  “Customs and Immigration,” he said apologetically.

  “Welcome home,” said Hawk. “Nothing ever changes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  Not Really Like Coming Home at All

  Hawk looked at the Customs and Immigration people, and just knew he wouldn’t get along with them. The owner of the officious voice, a broad, portly specimen dressed in a bright and gaudy uniform of gold and russet, had the upturned nose and supercilious scowl of every civil servant who knows he’s been promoted well past his point of competence, but is damned if he’ll admit it. The kind of official who knows every rule in the rulebook that will stop you getting what you both know you’re really entitled to, all the while saying he’s only doing his job. And that it’s more than his job’s worth to make an exception in your case; unless, of course, you might be willing to grease the wheel a little. The armed men backing him up were wearing traditional Forest trappings and colors, but their voices as they murmured together had distinct Redhart accents. Mercenaries. Certainly they were experienced enough to recognize a possible threat in Hawk and Fisher, and they all had their hands somewhere near their swords as they watched the Customs Officer advance importantly on the new arrivals. Chance dismounted and stood patiently beside his horse, and after a moment Hawk and Fisher joined him, just to show willingness. Chappie scratched vigorously at a flea until Chance nudged him hard with a foot.

  The Customs Official stopped just in front of Hawk and tried to stare him down, which was his first mistake. When Hawk calmly refused to be stared down, the official turned his stare on Fisher, which was his second mistake. Fisher glared back at him so venomously that the official actually fell back a step. Somewhat desperately, he turned to the third new arrival, and immediately his manner changed. A wide ingratiating smile took over his face, and he bowed low to Chance.

  “Sir Questor, forgive me for not recognizing you immediately! Customs Inspector Ponsonby Stout, at your every service! The whole Kingdom has been anxiously awaiting your return, but no one expected you back so quickly. Did you find them? Have you brought back our beloved Prince and Princess?”

  He looked eagerly past Chance, ignoring Hawk and Fisher, as though Rupert and Julia might be hiding behind them somewhere. He’d clearly already dismissed the scruffy figures of Hawk and Fisher as being unworthy of his expectations. Hawk didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted. The mercenary soldiers took a new interest in what was going on, and strolled forward. Some bowed politely to Chance; some didn’t.

  “The Prince and Princess will not be returning to the Forest land,” Chance said carefully. “They have instead sent these two … personages in their place, to investigate King Harald’s murder. They are Hawk and Fisher, Guard Captains from the Southern city-state of Haven.”

  “Haven? Never heard of it!” snapped Stout. He looked reluctantly back at Hawk and Fisher, and tried out his best sneer on them. “But if they are from the south, they’ll have to be inspected for forbidden contraband, and pay all relevant taxes and duties on whatever they’ve brought with them. You, Hawk! Show me your travel documents.”

  “They don�
�t have any,” Chance said quickly. “I brought them through the Rift myself, bypassing Southern Customs by use of the Magus’ charm. As Questor, I vouch for them both.”

  “This is all very irregular,” said Stout, quite pleased at having found something he could exercise his authority over. He sneered condescendingly at Hawk’s and Fisher’s admittedly somewhat grubby outfits, and then his gaze fell on their bulging backpacks. “I want both of those opened! Now! I have to be sure they don’t contain any of the prescribed items of contraband.”

  “What counts as contraband?” Hawk asked Chance, ignoring the Customs Officer.

  “Practically everything these days,” said Chance. “Let me handle this, Hawk.”

  But by now Stout had spotted the burned-out mannikin protruding from the top of Hawk’s backpack, and his eyes bulged excitedly. “Sorcery! Magical paraphernalia! You must know trafficking such items across the Rift is forbidden, Sir Questor. This is very serious, very serious indeed. Who knows what else such people might have about their persons.” He gestured importantly for the armed men to come even closer, and they did so, clearly pleased at the prospect of a little excitement. Stout smiled unpleasantly at Hawk and Fisher while addressing his mercenaries. “I want both their bags searched, and I want these two strip-searched! Be very thorough, gentlemen. I don’t like the look of these two at all.”

  Chance covered his face with his hand. “Oh, no.”

  Fisher looked at Hawk. “Just how messy do you think we should make this?”

  “Minimum necessary,” said Hawk. “There’s still time for everyone to be reasonable.”