Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Simon R. Green

  “Looks like it,” said Rupert.

  “Ready for the fray?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. How’s the Warlock?”

  “Doing his best to appear confident, but it’s an uphill struggle. The Astrologer’s rounded up half a hundred minor sorcerers and witches, but none of them are worth much. The Warlock’s got them working together to support his spells, but there’s no telling how successful that’ll be.”

  “Julia, do you think my plan’s going to work?”

  She laughed. “Not a chance. But we’ve got to do something, haven’t we?”

  Rupert sighed. “It would be nice if somebody believed in my plan.”

  “Would you rather we lied to you?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “Stand ready, the army!” roared the Champion, and a sudden quiet fell across the courtyard, broken only by the stamping and snorting of the impatient horses. Rupert eased his buckler into a more comfortable position, and gripped his sword firmly. All around him, the combined breathing of more than five hundred men and women seemed strangely loud and distinct on the hush, rising and falling like an endless tide. Swords and maces and lances gleamed blood-red in the flickering torchlight. The fear and the tension that had filled the courtyard was gone, replaced by a fierce determination that ran through all the army, binding them together like a single giant heartbeat. A simple determination; to make the demons pay dearly for what they’d done to the Forest Land. King John held up his sword.

  “Open the gates!”

  The heavy steel bolts slammed back into their sockets, the huge oak doors swung open, and the last army of the Forest Land surged forward to meet its destiny.

  The horses’ pounding hooves echoed thunderously back from the Keep’s walls, and then they were out and charging across the lowered drawbridge. The torchlight fell away behind them, and the army plunged forward into the endless night. The leprous moon floated overhead, blue and full and malevolent. Demons rose in their thousands from the concealing shadows of the Darkwood, twisted and malformed and horribly eager. Not one monstrous shape was much like any other, but the same hunger filled their glowing eyes, and they moved in obedience to a single dark purpose. The mark of foulness was upon them all, the mark of the Demon Prince. Sickly blue moonlight gleamed dully on the fangs and claws of the creatures of the night as they walked and crawled and slithered up out of gaping cracks in the earth. And then the army slammed into the waiting demons, and the slaughter began.

  Swords rose and fell against the seething darkness, and demon blood flew on the stinking air, but the first force of the charge was quickly soaked up by the sheer numbers of the demon horde. The lancers pressed stubbornly onward, followed by some of the guards, but the vast bulk of the army soon found itself trapped only a few hundred yards from the ice-covered moat. Horses reared and screamed as the demons swarmed around them, and often it was only the press of bodies that saved the animals from hamstringing or worse. The army milled confusedly at the edge of the Darkwood, already broken apart into a dozen embattled groups, fighting desperately to hold their ground against the never-ending tide of demons that came pouring out of the darkness. The air was full of shouts and screams and war cries, and the harsh tearing sound of steel biting into flesh, but the demons attacked in silence, never making a sound, even when they died. In the unreal light of the Blue Moon, the demons seemed like monstrous ghosts, or nightmares come alive and solid. And bravely though the army fought, more than half of them were pulled down and butchered in the first few minutes, their screams mercifully short. There were just too many demons.

  Light blazed suddenly against the night, a crackling white flame that burned unsupported on the air high above the battle. Jagged bolts of lightning stabbed down into the Darkwood, scattering the demons. Dozens of the creatures staggered blindly through the battle, howling silently as they burned like torches. Other clutched at their throats and fell choking to the ground as the air suddenly vanished from their lungs. Balefire blazed silver on the night, and the High Magic was everywhere. Demon turned on demon and tore each other to pieces, the few survivors running amok through the demon horde until they too were brought down. Slowly the demons began to give ground, and the army pressed forward, cheering the High Warlock’s name as they eagerly pursued the retreating demons. And then the balefire was suddenly gone, and the High Magic no longer beat upon the air. Darkness returned to the Forest, and the only light was that of the Blue Moon.

  Rupert leaned out of his saddle and cut through a leaping demon, and then had to duck sharply as a barbed tentacle lashed at him from an overhanging branch. He started to aim a blow at the tentacle, but the unicorn had already carried him out of reach. The battle had degenerated into an unholy mess. There was no pattern or structure to the demons’ attack; they came from every side at once, and for every creature that fell there were a hundred more to take its place. The army and the demons surged back and forth in a bloody confusion of swords and axes and fangs and claws, and the ground grew thick with unmoving bodies. Rupert glared about him, searching for some kind of cover. His guardsmen were gone, separated from him when the army fell apart. He swore harshly, and cut viciously at the demons that milled around the unicorn. With the High Warlock’s magic gone, the army had lost what little advantage it had seized, and already some of the smaller groups were falling back as the demons tore into them with renewed ferocity.

  Rupert hewed at a demon that clung tenaciously to his boot even as he hacked it in two, and looked quickly about him. Less than half of the Forest army were still on their feet and fighting, and all but a few were being forced steadily back by the demons. There were no wounded, on either side; the demons were hungry. Rupert swallowed sickly as he realized how many of his army were already dead, with the battle barely begun.

  They never had a chance, he thought slowly. I promised them a chance to save the Forest Land, and all I did was lead them to their deaths. Damn it all to hell! There’s got to be something that’ll stop the demons! There’s got to be.

  He slashed about him with his sword, trying to open up a space around him, but no matter where he turned there were always more demons, closing in on the unicorn from every side. Slowly, foot by foot, the demons pushed the army back, the battle now nothing more than a slow, dogged retreat to Forest Castle. Blood streamed across the torn ground, dark and viscous. Some of the demons turned aside to drink it, thrusting their muzzles deep into the dripping mud. The army fell back and the demons went after them; leaping from the shadows, falling down from out of the night, reaching up from cracks in the earth. The night grew steadily darker, and the shadows were pus-filled with distorted life.

  Harald gutted a demon with one well-calculated blow, and then clung tightly to his horse’s reins as it trampled the writhing creature under its hooves. His gleaming chain mail was scarred and broken and soaked in blood, some of it his own. His sword rose and fell steadily, and still the demons came at him. He met them coldly, calmly, as hard and unyielding as the sword in his hand, but still the demons came. He glanced quickly behind him every chance he got, checking and rechecking how much farther it was to the edge of the moat. The King hadn’t given the order to retreat yet, but the battle was lost, and everyone knew it. Harald felt no guilt, or even regret; no one could have won against such overwhelming odds. The Forest army had been beaten even before it crossed the drawbridge. The moat wasn’t far away now, and Harald tried to turn his horse around, but the sheer press of bodies made it impossible. All he could do was back his horse away from the demons, step by step, following the rest of the army back to the moat. He felt suddenly trapped and helpless, and panic flared up within him. He fought it down, using all his old habits of self-control. Lose his head now, even for a moment, and he’d live just long enough to regret it. He glanced to his right, and saw Rupert slowly retreating on his unicorn. Rupert’s sword was a silver gleam against the darkness, cutting through the demons like a scythe through wheat. Harald looked away. He al

ready knew his brother was good with a sword. He still had some of the scars to remind him.

  You could be the better swordsman, whispered a quiet voice in his mind. All you have to do is draw Flarebright.

  Harald shuddered, and hacked savagely at the nearest demon. He’d draw Flarebright when he had to, and not before.

  King John fought to stay in the saddle as his mount plunged this way and that, half out of its mind with fear and pain. He lashed about him with his sword, missing as often as not, but somehow still managing to keep the demons at bay. The sword grew heavier and more awkward with every blow. His breath was getting short, and his heart hammered painfully against his breastbone. Sweat ran down into his eyes, and he had neither the time nor the energy to wipe it away. Too old, thought John bitterly. Too damn old.

  Rockbreaker slapped at his back with every movement, as though reminding him it was still there. King John ignored it. He wasn’t ready to draw the Infernal Device yet. Not quite yet.

  Princess Julia looped her reins around her arm and swung her sword with both hands, holding back the demons by sheer ferocity. Her fighting women were scattered among the army, but Julia had already seen most of them fall to the demons. They’d fought well and died bravely, but they never had a chance against so many demons. If only I’d had more time, thought Julia. What an army I could have made of you. Her horse suddenly lurched beneath her, and screamed shrilly. Julia kicked free of her stirrups and threw herself clear as the horse collapsed. It kicked briefly as the demons tore its throat out, and then lay still. Some demons were already feeding at the great rip they’d torn in the horse’s belly. Julia was quickly on her feet and fighting, but the fall had shaken her. Everything was happening so fast. She backed quickly away as the demons moved to surround her, cutting her off from the main bulk of the army. Julia set her back against the trunk of a decaying tree, and glared desperately about her. The army was being forced farther away with every movement, and there was no way she could rejoin them. The demons moved slowly forward, taking their time, enjoying her fear. Julia swept her sword back and forth, her breathing coming short and hurried. Alone and on foot, all her strength and skill with a sword wasn’t going to be enough to save her, and she knew it. She swore harshly, sheathed her sword, and drew Wolfsbane.

  The sword seemed almost to leap into her hand, clearing the long silver scabbard with ease. The wide steel blade gleamed dully before her, and then pulsed with a sudden sickly yellow light. The demons froze in their tracks, staring at the glowing sword as though mesmerised. The hilt was unpleasantly warm in Julia’s hands, and there was a new feeling in the night as something stirred, something that had slept for centuries and was now awake, and aware …

  A demon leapt for Julia’s throat, and she cut it in two with one easy sweep of the blade. The huge sword weighed almost nothing in her hands, and its edge didn’t even grate on the demon’s bones. Julia grinned harshly as the demon fell, and then her grin disappeared as the two halves of the demon’s body rotted and decayed and fell apart, all in a few seconds. More demons threw themselves forward, only to collapse into putrid decay when the sword bit into them. The Infernal Device glowed with an unhealthy yellow light, like a corpse fire on a cairn. The demons fell back uneasily, but something made Julia pursue them, cutting viciously at anything that moved. The demons died screaming silently as corruption took them.

  Wolfsbane, thought Julia. Bane; that which causes death, ruin, destruction, or decay.

  She swung the blade in wide, eager arcs, killing all within her reach. The demons did not die cleanly, and yet Julia found nothing of mercy in her. The creatures of the night fell beneath her sword in ever-growing numbers, and a bleak savage grin slowly fixed itself to her face. There was no humor in that smile, and only a distant coldness in her eyes. It felt good, killing demons; hurting them as they’d hurt others, destroying them as they’d destroyed the Forest Land. Her sword rose and fell, and the demons died horribly. She laughed aloud, though no one would have recognized her voice in that awful sound.

  Harald clearly heard the snap of breaking bone over the battle’s roar, and then his horse collapsed under him. He swung easily out of the saddle and down onto the blood-soaked ground, and moving quickly forward, he killed the grinning demon that had broken his horse’s leg. The horse moaned and rolled its eyes piteously as the demons closed in around Harald and the fallen animal. Harald sheathed his sword and drew Flarebright. The demons hesitated, and Harald thrust the Infernal Device deep into his horse’s chest, killing it instantly. He waited a second, and then withdrew the sword. The long steel blade dripped a vivid crimson flame. The demons fell back a little. Harald bowed briefly, regretfully, to his dead mount. He’d always been rather fond of the animal, but he couldn’t leave it to suffer. And besides, he’d needed the horse’s blood to activate Flarebright. The demons pressed suddenly forward, and Harald went to meet them, sword in hand. And wherever Flarebright bit into demon flesh, the creature immediately burst into searing crimson flames that left behind nothing but ashes. The sword drank the demons’ blood, and their blood fueled the sword’s flames. It seemed to Harald that he had always known this, and he couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so reluctant to use the sword.

  He moved confidently among the demons, leaving death and destruction in his wake, but he found no joy in it. For perhaps the first time in his life, he could feel events slipping out of his control. He shook his head constantly, as though to clear it, and it slowly came to him that he was no longer sure whether he was using the sword, or the sword was using him. Flarebright’s flames grew more and more intense as the Infernal Device sated itself on demon blood, until Harald could barely stand the heat blazing from the sword. He held the blade at arm’s length, and still the bloodred flames rose higher, higher. Flarebright burned against the dark, but it was not a healthy flame, or a natural light. And Harald knew, deep down, that as yet the sword was barely awakened, and was using only a fraction of its power. Demons burned around him like so many misshapen candles, and the sweat that ran down his face was only partly due to the heat from the sword’s flames.

  King John’s sword shattered on a demon’s scales, and he threw the broken stub in the creature’s face. The demon fell back a step, and before it could come at him again, the King drew Rockbreaker and cut the creature in two. The longsword was unnaturally light in his hands, and the great steel blade had a curious golden sheen. King John hacked viciously at the demons that clustered round his horse, trying to drag him down, and the blade sliced cleanly through their flesh without even pausing in its arc. The King frowned, impressed, but knew there had to be more to the Infernal Device than a keen edge. He could feel the ancient power stirring impatiently in the long blade, waiting for him to use it. He scowled uneasily, and then, without quite knowing why, King John swung down out of his saddle and stood beside his horse. The animal reared suddenly, pulling the reins out of his grasp, and in a moment it was off and running, back to the safety of the Castle. The demons dragged it down before it made twenty feet. King John turned away from the horse’s dying screams, and holding Rockbreaker high above his head, he brought the blade swinging down to sink deep into the Forest floor.

  The ground split apart with a grating roar, long jagged cracks opening up for hundreds of yards in every direction. The earth groaned loudly as it rose and fell like a great ponderous wave. Demons disappeared into gaping holes, and were crushed to death as the sides of the chasms slammed together again. Deep in the earth, something huge and alien stirred uneasily in its sleep, and then screamed horribly as the earth moved around it, grinding it unmercifully beneath the overwhelming weight of the Forest. The King stared grimly about him, satisfied at the destruction he’d wrought, and then his slight smile vanished as he saw men and women from his own army struggling to climb out of the huge crevasses before the sides slammed shut again. King John quickly pulled Rockbreaker out of the ground, and the broken earth grew still.

  There is power in this sword, thought the King slowly. Power to break and reshape the earth itself. Power that could level mountains, or raise up new ones. Rockbreaker.

  And it wasn’t until later that he remembered how many of his own people had died under that power.

  The demons died in their hundreds under the three Infernal Devices, and still they came swarming out of the darkness. The army came to the bank of the moat, and there made its stand, as best it could. The Castle drawbridge was raised, and would not be lowered until the King called the retreat. Of the five hundred and fifty men and women who had followed King John out of the Castle, less than a hundred now remained. The lancers were gone, pulled down and slaughtered in the first few minutes. Most of the farmers and traders and townspeople were dead, along with half the guards and men-at-arms. The survivors now huddled together in a single defiant knot at the edge of the frozen moat, and swung their crimson blades with savage desperation. The demons were everywhere, filling the night, and there were always more to replace those who died.

  Rupert swayed tiredly in his saddle, and almost fell. He caught himself just in time, and took a firmer hold on the reins. His muscles ached fiercely, and his head was swimming with fatigue, but still he continued to fight. At first he thought of his duty, and then of survival, but finally he carried on fighting simply because he was damned if he’d give in to the darkness. He’d been beaten many times before, but he’d never once given in, and he wasn’t about to start now. He could see the Champion to his left, standing at the head of the army and swinging his massive war axe like a toy. There was no sign of his war charger, and his armor was rent and bloodied, but the swarming demons broke about him like the pounding surf on a rocky shore, unable to wear him down. Rupert supposed he ought to find the sight inspiring, but somehow he was just too damn tired to care.

  The ice covering the moat suddenly exploded, as the moat monster roared up out of the freezing waters. Forty feet long from jaws to tail, it snatched up the nearest demon threatening Rupert, and tore it to pieces. The moat monster’s vicious jaws gaped wide as it threw back its gargoyle head and howled a challenge to the darkness. Its long scaly body bulged with thick cables of muscle, and the earth of the moat’s bank seemed to sink a little under the monster’s immense weight. It glanced quickly at Rupert to make sure he was all right, and then threw itself at the demons. Its foot-long claws and rending fangs ripped through the demons in a flurry of blood and gore.

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