Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Simon R. Green

  “He did,” said John. “I persuaded him to carry on with the deception, but keep me informed. The party was Harald’s idea, and thanks to him we caught all the rats in one fell swoop. Now I know who I can trust, and who is false. And, I know my son is loyal.”

  Harald raised an elegant eyebrow. “Was there ever any doubt?”

  “No,” said King John fondly. “But it was nice to be proved right.”

  “What’s going to happen with the Barons now?” asked Julia. “More plots; more conspiracies?”

  “They won’t be any trouble,” said John, smiling grimly. “They wanted to find out which of us was the stronger, and now they know. They’ll just disown their Landsgraves, publicly condemn the rebels, and promise me anything as long as I don’t withdraw my troops and leave them to face the demons on their own. No, Julia; they won’t risk rocking the boat again.”

  “Then it’s all over,” said Julia. “The rebellion is dead.”

  “Not quite,” said Harald. “There’s still no sign of Lord Darius. We did finally force that damn bookcase open, but all we found was a tunnel leading into the air vents, and they go on for miles. I’d no idea so many of the interior walls were hollow.”

  “But that means he could be anywhere,” said Julia. She stared quickly about her, and shivered.

  Harald shrugged. “Just another rat in the walls. We’ll get him, Julia; never fear. The guards are searching the tunnels for him even now. We’ll have him by morning.”

  “How’s Gregory?” asked Julia suddenly.

  Harald and John looked blankly at each other.

  “Who?” said Harald.

  “Cecelia’s lover.”

  “Oh, him.” Harald frowned. “Hanged himself in his cell, poor bastard.”

  “I never liked him,” said Julia. “But somehow I felt sorry for him. He wasn’t a bad sort, at the end. He deserved better than Darius and Cecelia.”

  John shrugged. “I’ve no doubt he would have killed any one of us, if the Barons had ordered it. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

  “And he loved the wrong woman,” said Julia.

  “Yes,” said Harald. “I suppose he did.”

  “I’m tired,” said Julia. “Unless you want me for anything else, I’m going back to my chambers and get some sleep.”

  “I’ll walk part of the way with you,” said Harald.

  Julia looked at him. “All right,” she said finally. “I think I’d like some company.”

  She levered herself up out of her chair, and Harald was there to steady her as she swayed tiredly on her feet.

  The King nodded benignly. “Get yourself some rest, my children; you’ve earned it. It’s been a long hard day for all of us.”

  They were almost at the door, when the King suddenly stirred in his chair.

  “Julia … Bodeen was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

  “No,” said Julia. “I didn’t really know him at all.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Long Night

  Darkness lay across the Forest Land from boundary to boundary, complete and unbroken save for an uncertain pool of light surrounding the Forest Castle. Demons moved silently through the smothering dark, sharpening their claws on the decaying bark of dying trees. No sun shone, and though a moon sailed endlessly on the night skies, its light was foul and unhealthy. Plants died for lack of sunlight, and wildlife either starved or fell prey to the demons’ never-ending hunger. Snow and ice covered all the ground, and the freezing air drew the warmth from everything it touched. Men barricaded themselves and their families inside whatever shelter they could find, and prayed for a dawn that never came. Cold and dark and utterly merciless, the long night held dominion over all.

  A new sound suddenly rang forth into the Darkwood: a deep sonorous tone like the peal of a huge iron bell. The sound grew steadily louder, building into a mighty roar that reverberated through the long night, shaking the ground and the trees, and challenging the silence. Demons snarled and shuddered and tried to flee, but the unrelenting sound came from everywhere and nowhere, and there was no escaping it. And then the great bass roar climaxed and fell silent as space itself ripped open, and a blinding silver light poured out in the Darkwood, Prince Rupert and his party had finally come home.

  Rupert stared dazedly about him as he floated down from the shimmering silver tunnel, and staggered slightly as the ground rose suddenly up to slam against his feet. He was sure he’d spent no more than a few seconds in the tunnel, but in that brief moment the world had moved on, and everything was changed. A familiar stench of decay and corruption filled his nostrils, and the horrid numbing oppression fell upon him like an old familiar cloak. He gripped the unicorn’s reins tightly as he stared wildly around, convinced the Warlock had bungled the spell and dropped them back in the Darkwood they’d just passed through, but then the last of the guards landed safely on the uneven trail, and the silver tunnel suddenly snapped together and disappeared, taking its brilliant light with it. Abandoned in the unrelenting dark, Rupert’s eyes went automatically to the only remaining light; the dim wavering glow surrounding Forest Castle.

  For a moment Rupert hurt so bad he couldn’t breathe, and he shook his head in wordless denial. He’d made it to the Dark Tower in time; there was no way in which the long night could have reached this far into the Forest. But there before him stood the Castle, shimmering whitely under a thick blanket of snow and ice and hoarfrost. Long jagged icicles hung from every window and turret, and the moat seemed no more than a single great slab of ice. Torches flickered at regular intervals along the battlements, but their dirty yellow glow did little to throw back the encroaching night. Rupert shuddered uncontrollably, but it had little to do with the bitter cold that was already seeping into his bones. It was one thing to fight his way through the Darkwood as part of the quest, or because it stood between him and the High Warlock, but it had no right to be here, threatening his home. The Darkwood had always been something that happened somewhere else; somewhere comfortably far away. Until now, he’d never actually believed that the Castle which had served the Forest Kings for thirteen generations could ever really fall to the darkness. It was impossible; it couldn’t be happening … Rupert fought hard against his rising hysteria, and slowly brought himself back under control. His mind turned frantically this way and that, searching for an answer, any answer, as to what had gone wrong. How could the Darkwood have spread so fast? And then, finally, Rupert looked up.

  Directly above him, floating on a starless night that went on forever, hung the Full Moon. Its color was that of tainted cheese or leprous flesh; the only color the eye can see at dead of night. The Blue Moon had risen.

  Time moves differently in the Darkwood.

  Rupert turned slowly to stare at the High Warlock. “What have you done?” demanded the Prince, his voice little more than a whisper. “Damn you, what have you done?”

  The Warlock looked at him, and swallowed dryly. His face was blank with shock. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Something must have interfered with my teleport spell. This is the right place, but the wrong time. I can’t understand it …”

  “We can discuss this later, Sire.” The Champion’s voice was calm and even, but his knuckles showed white where they gripped the long shaft of his double-headed war axe. “There are demons all around us. Our arrival seems to have startled them almost as much as it did us, but they won’t stay startled much longer. We’d do well to get out of here while we still can.”

  Rupert glanced briefly at his guardsmen, already set up in a tight defensive circle of drawn sword and glowing lanterns, and nodded slowly. Their quiet competence steadied him, and he ruthlessly suppressed the last vestiges of fear and panic that still moved deep within him.

  “You’re right, sir Champion; let’s get the men moving. You and I will take the lead, the High Warlock will guard the rear with his magic. You can do that much, can’t you, sir Warlock?”

  The High Warlock flinc

hed, and then nodded stiffly. Rupert drew his sword, hefted the familiar comforting weight, and turned to his guards.

  “Stay close together, watch your backs, and once we’ve started don’t stop for anything. It can’t be more than five hundred yards to the Castle, and after all we’ve been through, it’s going to take more than a few damn demons to stop us going home! All right; let’s go. Last man in pays for the beer.”

  It wasn’t much of a pep talk, and Rupert knew it, but the guards raised a ragged cheer, anyway. Rupert grinned savagely back, fiercely proud of all of them, and then turned abruptly away so they wouldn’t see the tears that stung his eyes. He took a firm hold of the unicorn’s reins and started forward; not hurrying, but not dawdling either. If the demons thought the party was running from them, they’d attack. A show of confidence might just hold the creatures off while the party gained some precious yards. At this stage, every little bit helped. Rupert glanced surreptitiously about him. The Champion strode at his side, hefting his massive war axe as though it was weightless. The guards and the Warlock padded quietly along behind him in a tight bunch, alert and ready for any sudden sound or movement in the surrounding dark. The Warlock made more noise than all the guards put together. Rupert couldn’t hear the demons that moved along with the party, but every now and then there was a sudden gleam of watching bloodred eyes, glaring in the dark like angry coals, or a fleeting glimpse of silent misshapen figures as they darted from shadow to shadow before and behind the party.

  Rupert scowled, and tried to shrug his cloak more comfortably around him. The bitter cold grated painfully in his bones, and he couldn’t seem to stop shivering. It had been a long time since he’d known anything but the snow and sleet and freezing air of the winter come early. He was beginning to forget what it was like to feel warm. A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye, and he glared helplessly into the darkness. The Castle was drawing steadily nearer, but its light didn’t penetrate far into the Darkwood. Rupert smiled grimly. He didn’t need to see the demons to know they were there, and it didn’t matter a damn how many there were. If it came to a fight, the odds were that none of his party would survive to reach the Castle. Their only hope was to get as close to the Castle as possible, and then make a run for it. It wasn’t much of a hope.

  Rupert gripped his swordhilt until his fingers ached, but his hand still shook. The unremitting weight of the Darkwood beat down on him in all its old familiar horror, and it was no easier to bear now than it had been before. Every time his duty forced him back into the darkness, he hoped against hope it would be easier to deal with, but it never was. Every time, it was worse. Fear and panic and mind-numbing despair sank into him like icy water in his soul, until all he wanted was to lie down, curl into a ball, and scream for it to go away. But he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He hadn’t brought his men this far, just to give up on them when they were nearly home. Rupert stared at the Castle before him, drawing nearer with every step. Nearly there. Nearly home. So bloody near …

  The unicorn lurched tiredly beside him, and Rupert reached up and patted the animal’s neck comfortingly.

  “Not much longer now,” he muttered gruffly. “One last stretch of the legs, and then we can all take a rest.”

  “You keep telling me that,” said the unicorn dourly. “A nice long rest in a warm, dry stable … I’ll believe it when I see it, and not before. I just hope they’ve got some decent food. I’ve had nothing but grass for weeks. I think I’d kill for some barley.”

  “Once we’re safely in the Castle, I’ll bury you in barley.”

  “Given our present situation, I don’t think that remark is in the best of taste.”

  Rupert and the unicorn shared a look, and then chuckled quietly together.

  “It’s been a strange journey, all told,” said Rupert.

  “I wouldn’t argue with that,” said the unicorn.

  “You know we’re probably not going to make it.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “I just want to say … thanks. For being with me, when I needed you.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You’re not a bad sort, Rupert. For a human.”

  “Thanks; I think. Friends again?”

  “Sure; why not.”

  “Great.”

  “I still want that barley you promised me.”

  Rupert laughed aloud, and the Champion looked at him strangely. Rupert hefted his sword, and was pleased to discover that his hand was now a little steadier. In a way, he almost wished the demons would attack, and get it over with. When he was fighting, there wasn’t time to be scared. He breathed deeply to calm himself, and instantly regretted it as the Darkwood’s constant stench of decay was suddenly strong in his nostrils again. Rupert shook his head grimly, and glanced back over his shoulder. The guards were still moving silently along behind him, swords at the ready, but Rupert’s heart missed a beat when he realized the High Warlock was no longer with them. For a moment panic froze him in place, and then he relaxed with a great sigh of pent-in breath as he looked up and saw the Warlock had taken to the air, floating silently and serenely a good ten feet above the ground. The Warlock’s eyes were closed, and a deep scowl furrowed his brow, as though he was concentrating on some problem not immediately apparent. His hands seemed to be glowing slightly, and for the first time Rupert realized his party was moving in its own narrow pool of light. Rupert looked away. At least the Warlock’s magic was good for something.

  The Castle drew steadily nearer, shimmering palely like a giant stone ghost in its own torchlight. There were no guards on the battlements, but the drawbridge was up. Rupert smiled dourly. If the demons ever decided to overrun the Castle, they wouldn’t bother using the drawbridge, they’d just swarm right over the walls. He remembered the last time he’d ridden into the Castle courtyard, only to find it silent and deserted … He shook his head angrily. He couldn’t have come this far, only to find he’d returned home too late; he just couldn’t.

  Where the hell are the demons? What are they waiting for?

  The Castle was three hundred yards away. Two hundred. One hundred. And then the demons came for them.

  Rupert barely had time to raise his sword before the demons were all around him, and then there was only a confused melèe of steel and blood and reaching clawed hands. He swung his sword in short, vicious arcs, cutting through demon flesh with controlled, economical strokes, and the fresh stink of demon blood was heavy on the air. They came from every direction; twisted, malformed creatures with fangs and claws and eyes that knew nothing but an endless, never-sated hunger. The earth trembled under Rupert’s feet and then cracked sluggishly open. Hundreds of pale slimy tentacles whipped up out of the broken earth and reached for the struggling guardsmen with a horrid single-mindedness of purpose. Rupert glared down into one of the wider cracks as he cut through a writhing tentacle; the crack was filled with hundreds of needle-fanged mouths and a single great staring eye, easily a dozen feet across. Rupert shrank back, and the eye moved slightly to follow him. Three tentacles wrapped themselves around a guard and tore him to pieces, all in a matter of seconds. He barely had time to scream. Something with wings and black-furred spider legs swooped down onto a beleagured guard, tore out his throat, and disappeared back into the dark before the body hit the ground. Exhausted almost beyond the point of pain, Rupert put his back to one of the gnarled dying trees, and swung his sword mechanically back and forth before him. The demons were packed so closely about him, it was impossible to miss.

  And still the demons came; some on two legs, some on four, and some came slithering on their bellies in the dirt. In the unsteady light it seemed to Rupert that many of the nightmare shapes shifted and ran like watery clay even as they pressed slightly forward to attack the beleaguered party. Strange unhealthy hybrids of plant and animal and insect rose and fell before him, loathsome creatures that could never have survived in the natural world. Rupert fought on. There were always more to replace those who died under his blade. A heavy weight fell on him from above, and something cold and scaly clung tightly to his shoulders while its slender clawed hands groped eagerly for his eyes and throat. Rupert howled in fear and rage, and reached desperately for the creature with his left hand. The demons ringed before him surged forward, and he cut frantically at them with his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert saw the grinning elongated head behind him swing suddenly forward, and then hundreds of jagged serrated teeth buried themselves in his left shoulder. He cried out sickly as the long jaws snapped shut, and dropped his sword as the creature on his back tightened its grip. The demons before him leapt for his throat, and then a blast of searing white light ripped through them, leaving behind nothing but a few charred, distorted bones.

  Rupert lurched forward, still feebly clawing at the demon on his back, and another blast of balefire tore the creature from him. Only the head remained, clinging grimly to his shoulder even in death. Rupert fell to his knees, and retrieved his sword from where he’d dropped it. He tried to get up again, and couldn’t. The Champion was suddenly at his side, prising open the demon head’s jaws with his dagger. Rupert looked away, unable to watch. All around him, the demons were falling back into the surrounding shadows, unable to face the High Warlock’s balefire. The blood-smeared tentacles withdrew into the earth and were gone, and within seconds the Darkwood was once again utterly still and silent. The Champion finally worked the demon head loose, and threw it to one side. He helped Rupert to his feet, and the unicorn moved quickly forward to stand beside the Prince. Rupert leaned thankfully against the animal’s side as some of his strength slowly returned to him. The pain in his shoulder showed no sign of dying away, but at least now he could think through it. He could feel blood running down his left arm in a steady stream, but there was no feeling at all in his left hand.

  I’ll worry about that later, he thought determinedly. I’ll worry about a lot of things later.

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