Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels)

by Green, Simon R.

  “Don’t worry,” said Hawk. “We know how to be diplomatic.”

  “Sure,” said Fisher. “We just don’t bother, usually.”

  Sir Vivian looked deeply unhappy, and just a little shocked. It had been a long time since anyone had dared talk back to him. As High Commander of the Guard, his position and his legend had always been enough to intimidate anyone not actually of Royal birth. He was about to launch into a ferocious diatribe on correct behavior that would have seared their ears, when his gaze suddenly fell on the axe at Hawk’s side. He studied the wide axe head in silence for a long moment, taking in the runes etched into the steel, and then he looked at Hawk with new eyes, and something very like respect.

  “My brother, Gawaine, had an axe like that. Our father, the High Warlock, gave it to him after Tower Rouge. Because he wanted to show how proud he was of his bastard sons. I could have had one, too, but I asked for something else, which I later threw away. Where did you get that axe?”

  “From the High Warlock,” said Hawk. “I did him a service once.”

  “But how did you get it?”

  “Mail order,” said Fisher briskly. “Look, are you going to invite us in, or not? We’ve got a hard job ahead of us, and we’d like to make a start.”

  “Very well,” said Sir Vivian. “Against all my better judgment, I’ll take you in and present you to the Court. Though what they’ll make of you is not my problem. Follow me. Stay close and don’t wander. And, Sir Questor, we will have words about this later.”

  “Looking forward to it immensely, Sir Vivian,” said Chance, smiling widely and just a little desperately.

  “Lies like that will take you straight to hell,” said Chappie.

  “Shut up,” said Chance.

  They followed Sir Vivian in through the main door, and the (possibly) ceremonial guards fell in around and behind them. The door slammed loudly on the continuing quiet in the courtyard. Fisher moved in close beside Hawk.

  “If Gawaine got an axe from the High Warlock, what did Vivian get that he lost?”

  “His lordship,” said Hawk.

  Sir Vivian gave orders for all further celebrations to be canceled immediately, and led Chance, Hawk, and Fisher to Court by the least traveled route, working on the assumption that the fewer people who knew Rupert and Julia weren’t coming back, the better; at least until Hawk and Fisher had been presented and, he hoped, accepted, at Court. He also sent guards off with orders for the rest of his people to prepare for possible civil unrest and even rioting. Many people had invested a lot of faith in Rupert and Julia’s return, and there was no telling how they might express their disappointment.

  Hawk had to keep from looking happily about him. It was the first time he’d been inside his old home for twelve long years, and everywhere familiar sights and objects leaped out at him, bringing back memories; from old family portraits to suits of ancient armor to assorted bric-a-brac that apparently no one had gotten around to throwing out. Even the most worthless junk can acquire a patina of worth and history if people hold on to it long enough. Especially if there’s a story attached to it. Or people think there is, or used to be. The old familiarity of home came flooding back, and it was only with an effort that Hawk remembered how glad he’d always been to get away from the Castle. Prince Rupert had rarely been happy here, and with good reason. Most of the people who persecuted him and made his life miserable were dead and gone now, lost in the Demon War, but their ghosts still haunted his memory. He glanced across at Fisher to see how the Castle was affecting her, but she seemed to be taking it all in her stride, as she did most things.

  From Sir Vivian’s reluctant answers, Hawk discovered that the Court was still in session, despite the late hour of the evening, under the Regent, Queen Felicity. The day’s business should have been concluded long ago, but apparently with so many factions, political parties, and causes all demanding to be heard, or at least noticed, it was taking longer and longer to reach an agreement on anything. Raised voices and hot tempers were commonplace, and it was a rare session that ended without some level of bloodshed, despite all Sir Vivian’s guards did to maintain order. Hawk had to get most of the details from Chance, after Sir Vivian decided he wasn’t talking to Hawk anymore. Anyone would think he was upset.

  On their way to the Court, they passed through a great hall crammed full of magic-users of every and any persuasions, all of them eagerly demonstrating their powers and abilities to anyone who showed an interest, or would at least stand still long enough. The raised voices, flaring lights, and sudden transformations made for a unique form of bedlam, and Hawk and Fisher stopped to watch, fascinated. Most of the Forest Land’s previous magicians had died during the last great battle of the Demon War, poisoned by the treacherous Astrologer. Afterward, rather than be left helpless in the face of possible magical attacks from neighboring Hillsdown and Redhart, King Harald had put out a call for all magic-users in the Land, of whatever cause or quality, to come to the Forest Castle and serve the Land. And so they all came, eager for a chance to be put on the Royal payroll. Since most of them turned out to be meagerly talented, incompetent, or outright frauds, the search went on, even today. The Forest couldn’t afford a magic gap.

  Everyone in the hall now was waiting to be seen, to be granted an audience at Court to show what they could do. Hedge witches, conjurers, summoners, warlocks, necromancers, and enchanters, and one self-proclaimed messiah. Some had been camped out in the hall for days, and small stall-holders were doing a brisk trade in food, wine, and toilet essentials. The noise was appalling, not least because the Court hadn’t actually gotten around to viewing anyone that day. In this, as in so many things, the Court was running well behind schedule.

  One magician had apparently duplicated himself several times by accident. He was now standing in a small crowd of himself, arguing loudly over which was the original, or at least the most real. Another magician waved his hands theatrically over an upturned top hat, chanting loudly. The chant was suddenly interrupted when a huge clawed hand shot up out of the hat, grasped the magician by the throat, and then pulled him inside the hat. Those watching studied the rocking top hat for a moment, but there was no sign of the magician reappearing. A few clapped tentatively. One braver soul picked up the hat, turned it over, and shook it, but nothing fell out.

  Not far away, a self-proclaimed conjurer of devils and apparitions was loudly offering to teach magic to anyone with the right price. As proof of his abilities he produced several impressive objects apparently out of midair. There was great applause, some cheers, and even a few startled cries. Hawk was not impressed. He’d seen street conjurers in Haven, and knew how most of the tricks were done. Conjurers had to be really impressive in Haven, because if they weren’t, the audience would kill them. Of course, if they got too good, there was always the chance someone or something would turn up from the Street of Gods, and do something terribly unpleasant to them for trespassing on godly territory. Miracles belonged in churches. Hawk strode over to the conjurer, spun him around twice, and slapped him hard on the back. Several startled doves shot out of the conjurer’s sleeves, a firework went off, and an unconscious rabbit dropped out the back of his coat. People began closing in on the conjurer, loudly demanding their money back, and Hawk left them to it. Chappie ate the rabbit.

  Sir Vivian invited Hawk, in a somewhat strained voice, to continue on to the Court, and Hawk nodded amiably. Illusions snapped on and off around them as they made their way through the mob of magic-users. Falls of multicolored hail contended with the pale wisps of ghostly butterflies. Here and there clumps of the more intellectual practitioners were having animated discussions over the merits and/or drawbacks of Wild, High, and Chaos magics, and threatening to turn each other into things. One had actually conjured up a blackboard so he could prove his point with angrily chalked mathematics. Somebody else was making women’s clothes vanish. Hawk shook his head bemusedly.

  “I thought magic was supposed to be going out of t
he world,” he murmured to Fisher.

  She shrugged. “If it is, it’s not going quietly.”

  The Academy of the Sisters of the Moon was well-represented, with its own stall, a registration drive, and several graduated witches in their familiar silver gowns, trying hard to look mysterious. According to Chance, the Academy had been turning out witches for some time now, but they had yet to produce anything even approaching a sorceress. But witches had their uses, and their low-level magic made them welcome at hospitals, churches, and in the army. Any witch was potentially capable of becoming a sorceress, but that took time and study and experience, and apparently most witches just didn’t survive that long. The world was a dangerous place, and the unseen world even more so.

  Chance suddenly broke away from the group and surged forward through the crowd as he recognized a familiar face among the witches. She turned to meet him, smiling sweetly. She was tall and buxom, in a low-cut russet gown, with a magnificent mane of flame-red hair, and huge green eyes full of a happy personal magic. Her name was Tiffany. Hawk and Fisher knew this because Chance had been talking about her all the way through the Forest to the Castle. It seemed he was much taken with Tiffany, though it wasn’t clear how she felt about him. Still a teenager, she was the youngest witch ever to graduate from the Academy of the Sisters of the Moon, and great things were expected of her. Powerful but naïve, she believed in everything, from crystals to tarot to channeling past lives to the healing powers of certain aromas. She was prone to wandering in the woods, picking flowers to give to the poor, whether the poor wanted them or not, and having long conversations with squirrels and birds and butterflies. Chance told Hawk and Fisher all of this at some length, even when they asked him very firmly not to.

  By now Chance and Tiffany were clasping hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. Hawk and Fisher wandered over to get a good look at this most praised person. Sir Vivian tried to protest, but they just ignored him. Start as you mean to go on. Chance and Tiffany were so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t even notice Hawk and Fisher’s approach. They tried coughing loudly, but when that didn’t work, they just stood there and studied the young witch thoughtfully. Up close, there was no denying Tiffany’s beauty, but her gaze and smile were just a little too vague for Hawk’s liking.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Tiffany,” said Chance, grinning like an idiot. “You’re looking beautiful, as always.”

  “That’s nice,” said Tiffany. “So, Allen dear, what have you been doing with yourself?”

  “I’ve traveled through the Rift into the south, in search of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia,” said Chance importantly.

  “Oh, have you been gone? I hadn’t noticed.” Tiffany turned her happy smile on Hawk and Fisher, not seeing Chance’s crestfallen look. “Are you friends of Allen’s?”

  “We’re Hawk and Fisher,” said Hawk. “We’re here to investigate King Harald’s murder.”

  “Oh, good,” said Tiffany. “Welcome to Forest Castle. I could have told Chance he wouldn’t be able to bring back Rupert and Julia. I often channel the Princess, and we have long talks.”

  “No, you don’t,” Fisher said firmly. “I know the Princess, and I can tell you right now she’s never bloody heard of you.”

  There was no telling where this conversation might have gone, so it was lucky for all concerned that it was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a large and blocky man in an impressive magician’s gown of deepest black. He’d shaped and trimmed his black beard to within an inch of its life, and wore a large golden medallion around his neck. He ignored everyone else to scowl ferociously at Tiffany, who just smiled sweetly back at him. If anything, this seemed to upset the newcomer even more.

  “I’ve told you before, witch, I won’t have you spreading your infantile nonsense here! I don’t care if you have graduated from the snobby Sisters’ Academy, all this new-age waffle is a waste of everybody’s time, and threatens to bring us all into disrepute. Crystals! Flower scents! Pyramid power! Nonsense, all of it!”

  “Have you had a good bowel movement recently, Mal?” asked Tiffany. “You know missing one always makes you grumpy.”

  “I am not grumpy!”

  “Did you try the enema purge I recommended?”

  “Never mind the enema! I want you out of this hall right now!”

  “I think we can assume the enema didn’t work,” said Chance. “Who is this … person, Tiffany?”

  “I am Malvolio the Magnificent!” roared the magician, pulling himself up to his full height. “Master of the mathematics of the universe! All who live shall bow before my genius!”

  “What do you want to bet he’s an ex-boyfriend?” Hawk asked Fisher, who nodded solemnly.

  “I broke it off,” said Malvolio haughtily. “She was too immature for me. Right now, all this flower child frippery is undermining the mystery and awe of magic, and could affect all our chances of making a proper impression before the Court. I want this child out of here, and I want her out now!”

  “Have you considered personal counseling?” asked Tiffany. “Just lying down and talking to someone can be very therapeutic.”

  “You see what I mean!” The Magnificent Malvolio’s face took on a dangerous shade of purple, and his eyes bulged half out of their sockets. “Therapy? What kind of talk is that for a real magic-user? Magic is power! And glory! It’s all about the domination of the universe and everything in it through the superior will of the adept, and I will not allow this little chit—”

  “Tell me something,” Chance broke in. “When did you last get your ashes hauled?”

  Malvolio glared at Chance. “I take pride in keeping myself pure and inviolate. Power comes from the disciplined mind.”

  “Thought so,” said Chance. “Personally, I’ve always thought there’s more to life than power. I suggest you find yourself a nice healthy girl and settle down together. In the meantime, I think you should leave, right now. Before I decide to show you a trick I know, involving this battle axe and your lower intestines.”

  “Oh, don’t hurt him, Allen!” Tiffany said immediately. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude. His aura’s obviously out of balance. His spleen must be overproducing.”

  “If he’s still here when I’ve stopped talking to you, I’m going to get his spleen out so we can all get a good look at it,” Chance said firmly.

  He looked around slowly and deliberately, just in time to see Malvolio the Magnificent stalking away, his chin held up so high, it must have hurt his neck. Tiffany looked at Chance reproachfully.

  “You’ve upset him now.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Chance. “Some people should be upset as a matter of principle, on a regular basis. It’s good for their souls. You never told me he used to be your boyfriend.”

  “He was just a friend,” Tiffany said guilelessly. “I have lots of friends.”

  Chance decided to change the subject before it went somewhere he might not like. He reached inside his jerkin. “I brought back a present for you, Tiff. All the way from Haven. That’s a powerful city-state in the south.”

  “Oh, how sweet of you, Allen! I love presents. What have you brought me?”

  Chance smiled and brought out from inside his jerkin a flat red box tied with a pink ribbon. Tiffany all but snatched it from him, cooed over the ribbon, and then ripped it away, dropped it to the floor, and pried open the box. She dropped that unceremoniously to the floor, too, as she concentrated on the glowing blue crystal in a delicate silver filigree setting. Tiffany cooed over that as well, turning the crystal back and forth to catch its gleam in the changing light. She leaned forward to peck Chance on the cheek, and he blushed like a child. Tiffany didn’t notice. She was already studying the crystal again.

  “Oh, Allen, it’s lovely! How thoughtful of you. This crystal has very positive vibrations.”

  And then she peeled away the intricate silver setting with her fingers and let it drop to the floor, so she could hold the una
dorned crystal up before her eyes and stare into its depths. Chance looked at the crumpled silver setting on the floor, and then bent down and picked it up.

  “We’re on our way to Court, Tiffany. I can’t stay. See you later?”

  “If you like, Allen.” Tiffany waggled her fingers at him in a good-bye, nodded briefly to Hawk and Fisher, then stopped and stared at them thoughtfully. Hawk felt an unpleasant prickling at the back of his neck. Witches had the Sight, and were reputed to be able to see the future, as well as other things. Witches often knew things they weren’t supposed to. Tiffany looked from Hawk to Fisher and back again. She frowned. It looked out of place on her pleasant, unlined face. “You have both been touched by Wild Magic,” she said slowly. “I can see it hanging about you, like chains to a terrible past. You bring blood and change. You have two shadows, behind and before you. I see you going down and down … to an awful place …” She shuddered suddenly. “You scare me. I can see the Blue Moon in your eyes.”

  “That’s enough, Tiffany,” said Chance. He took her by the arm and pulled her firmly away from Hawk and Fisher. “We have to be going now.”

  He gathered up Hawk and Fisher, and led them away. Tiffany watched them go with wide eyes. Chance looked at the silver filigree in his hand, the delicate workmanship crumpled and ruined, and put it back inside his jerkin. “Maybe she’ll want it later,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Humans in heat,” said Chappie disgustedly. “Is there anything more embarrassing?”

  Sir Vivian looked thoughtfully back at the young witch, and then at Hawk and Fisher, but he waited till they’d left the magicians’ hall before raising the subject. He leaned in close, his voice low, as though he didn’t want his own people to hear what he was saying.

  “What was that all about? What did she mean?”

  “Damned if I know,” Hawk said easily. “Sounded like a prophecy of some kind, but I’ve never put much faith in such things.”