“Sire, you can’t!” said the Prime Minister, and just like the Champion he so forgot himself as to take a step forward, towards the King on his throne. But unlike the Champion, when Gregory Pool realised what he’d done, he didn’t immediately retreat. He stood his ground, glaring at the King, and actually raised his voice. “You can’t just throw away a Peace we all worked so hard to put together!”
“I think you’ll find I can, Prime Minister,” the King said coldly. “I have no choice. Honour dictates the necessity of my actions.”
“Your honour, Father?” Christof said calmly. “Or Redhart’s honour?”
The King glared at him. “In a situation like this, they are one and the same thing, boy.”
“Of course they are, Father,” said the Prince.
Malcolm’s thoughts were far away, divided and at war with one another. At first he was simply delighted that the arranged marriage had been cancelled, at the very last moment, against all the odds . . . and that Catherine would be coming home. To him. He’d never dared let himself believe he would ever see her again. But now everything had changed in a moment. The Forest Court could never have any claim on her, not after this; she might even become his fiancée again . . . But then he made himself push such thoughts aside. He had no right to think of his own happiness when his country was about to be plunged into a huge and bloody war. He waited for the Prime Minister to break off his ranting for a moment, then quickly put in a question of his own.
“Do we know who was responsible for the attacks on the Princess, Sire?”
“Extremists,” said King William. “From both countries, apparently. The Sombre Warrior is still investigating. We’ve always known there are factions on both sides who don’t want this Peace at any price, and would oppose it to the death. To my daughter’s death, as it turned out.”
“It is war, then?” said Gregory Pool. The oversized man in his colourful clothes suddenly looked tired, and old, and defeated. “No way out?”
The King shrugged, still smiling his cold, implacable smile. “There is still the possibility of future negotiations . . . but my daughter’s safety is not negotiable. I have put her in harm’s way, and that cannot be allowed to continue. She must return home.”
“The Forest Court will take her removal, and the cancellation of the marriage, as an open insult,” said the Prime Minister.
“Let them,” said the King. “I no longer care what they want. Once my daughter is safely back under my protection, then, perhaps . . . we will see if it is still possible for us to speak together. Now. Van Fleet!”
The moment the King raised his voice in command, the sorcerer Van Fleet appeared out of nowhere, standing stiffly beside the throne in his wizard’s robes. Everyone standing before the King jumped just a little. Malcolm glared at the sorcerer. He had to wonder how long the man had been standing there, unseen and unsuspected, watching and listening in secret. The Prime Minister looked at his brother blankly, concerned that his brother had sided with the King in not warning Gregory about this meeting in advance.
“Have you arranged the summit connection, my sorcerer?” said King William.
“Of course, your majesty,” said Van Fleet, bowing low to his King while ignoring everyone else, especially his brother, the Prime Minister. “I have been in contact with the Forest Land’s greatest sorcerer, Raven the Necromancer. A most powerful and puissant magic-user. A strange, even disturbing sort, but exceedingly talented for one so young. But then, given his parentage and descent . . .”
“Enough,” said the King. “Make contact with the Forest Court. Do it now.”
“Yes, Sire,” said Van Fleet.
The sorcerer gestured quickly at the far end of the Court, beyond the four men, and they all turned to see the farthest half of the Redhart Court disappear. Gone, in a moment, replaced by half the Forest Court. Not a broadcast vision, but the real thing; they could all feel it. As though one-half of each Court had been joined to the other. The intervening space folded and slammed together, by the combined wills of two very powerful men. Malcolm looked at Van Fleet, and a cold chill ran up his spine. He’d never even suspected the man could do anything like this. Christof leaned in close beside him, to murmur in his ear.
“Did you know Van Fleet could do things like this?”
“No,” Malcolm said quietly. “This is really very impressive from someone who’s supposed to be just studying the High Magic.”
“Yes,” said Christof. “Does rather make you wonder what else he might be capable of . . .”
The Forest Court was as empty as their own, with just a few significant figures standing around the Forest Throne. Almost protectively. King Rufus sat stiffly upright on his throne, his head held high, but he still looked like he’d just been dragged out of bed, dressed quickly, and had the crown jammed on his ragged head at the last moment. He was clearly doing his best to concentrate his failing faculties, to be the King the situation demanded. But it was equally clear to all present that he really wasn’t up to it. His eyes were clear, but his mouth was weak, and his hands trembled in his lap.
The Seneschal stood beside him, on his left hand, while Prince Richard and Princess Catherine stood close together on the King’s right hand. The Sombre Warrior stood to one side, huge and imposing in his full ceremonial armour and featureless steel helmet. Standing opposite him was the Forest’s First Minister, Peregrine de Woodville, his face screwed up in desperate lines, all but wringing his hands. But all Malcolm could concentrate on was how closely Richard and Catherine were standing together. As though they still belonged together. Catherine was holding on to Richard’s arm. Almost possessively. And she wasn’t looking at Malcolm. She only had eyes for her father.
“All the assassins are dead, William,” King Rufus said immediately. Not bothering with any of the usual courtesies. His voice was firm enough. “Your daughter is safe; I assure you. None of the killers even got close. My people saw to that. My own son, Richard, put his life on the line, to stand between your daughter and the assassin’s knife.”
“He looks fine to me,” said King William. “Positively undamaged. Glowing with health, I would have said.”
“That’s not fair, Father!” said Catherine; but her father just talked right over her, drowning her out.
“I must insist that you return home immediately, Catherine,” said the King. “It is clear Rufus cannot protect you.”
“Oh, I’m fine, Father!” said Catherine. “No thanks to you!”
“What?” said Malcolm immediately. “What are you saying, Catherine?”
“Do you see my companion, Lady Gertrude, anywhere here?” said Catherine, still glaring fiercely at her father. “No, of course you don’t. Because she’s dead! She was one of the assassins! My own companion put poison in my cup, and then tried to stab me with a magic blade!”
“Dear God,” said Gregory Pool, honestly shocked. “How deep are these fanatics placed? How deep does this poison go?”
“Sombre Warrior!” said Malcolm. “Is this true?”
The huge figure inclined his steel helmet slowly. “Yes.”
“Doesn’t change anything,” said King William. “Come home, Catherine, where you can be properly protected.”
“But I wouldn’t feel safe with you, Father,” said Catherine, and her face and voice were every bit as cold and determined as his.
“I don’t understand,” said Malcolm. “Why don’t you want to come home, Catherine? I’ll protect you; you know I will.”
She looked at him properly for the first time, and her face softened into something that meant to be kind. “I can’t come home, Malcolm. Because I’ve fallen in love with Richard, and he with me. Not something either of us expected, I’ll admit, but true, nonetheless. I’m staying here and I’m marrying Richard. I’m sorry, Malcolm. Really I am.”
“You can’t mean that!” said Malcolm. He didn’t understand anything that was happening. He felt like he was going mad. “Look, Catherine . . . you don
’t have to stay there any longer. Nothing holds you there. You’re free to come back. To me!”
“I’m so sorry, Malcolm,” said Catherine. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Malcolm turned his face away from her, to King William. “That’s not my Catherine speaking. They’ve done something to her. They must have a hold over her, forcing her to say these things!”
“I can assure you that is not the case,” said the Sombre Warrior.
“Whose side are you on?” said the Champion, his voice rising and almost breaking from all the passions raging within him.
“I side with the Princess,” said the Sombre Warrior. He seemed to be looking directly at King William. “I have seen things and heard things in this place . . . And I no longer have any faith in the truth or honour of King William of Redhart.”
“What?” said Gregory Pool. “What is he talking about, William? What does the Sombre Warrior know that I don’t? What have you done, William?”
“Be still, Prime Minister!” said King William, his voice like thunder. “I am your King! You will address me as Sire!”
“Of course, Sire,” said Gregory, bowing quickly. He looked dazed, his eyes a little wild. “It’s just . . . This is all so . . .”
King William ignored him, staring directly at his daughter in the opposite Court. “Return home immediately, daughter. That is an order.”
“Go to hell, you two-faced piece of shit,” said Catherine.
There was a long silence. The Princess’ words seemed to hang on the air.
“This is unacceptable,” King William said finally. “Rufus, if you will not give my daughter up, we will come to you in force of arms and take her. I hereby declare that from this moment on, a state of war exists between our two countries.”
“No! Don’t you dare use me as your excuse!” blazed Catherine. She started forward and Richard had to grab her to hold her back. Catherine immediately pulled free of him but stood her ground, glaring at her father. “Your master of assassins, Lady Gertrude, told me you were the one behind all the attacks on me, Father! You wanted this war all along!”
“The child’s gone mad,” said King William. “What are you talking about, girl? Lady Gertrude was a sweet old soul. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Everyone knows that.”
“I told you,” said Malcolm. “They’ve worked a spell on her! The Forest Court has always had a taste for compulsion, and the enslaving of souls. We all remember the Curtana, the legendary Sword of Compulsion!”
“Are you seriously suggesting we would use such a thing?” said Peregrine de Woodville.
“Everyone knows the Sword of Compulsion was destroyed by the Demon Prince, at the end of the Demon War!” said Prince Richard.
“Yes, well, you would say that,” said King William. “Wouldn’t you?” He looked at the Sombre Warrior. “Can you do nothing, my Warrior? Can you not free my daughter from this unnatural control?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the Princess,” said the Sombre Warrior, his voice sounding hollow but firm from within his steel helmet. “She is not controlled by any outside force. She speaks her own mind, and she speaks the truth. You are a liar, a corruptor, and a conspirator; and you are not fit to sit on the throne of Redhart. I forsake all ties to you, and to Redhart, for as long as you remain King. I choose to remain here, with the Princess, and to serve King Rufus. Reduced as he may be, he is still a better man than you, William.”
There was a long silence. No one had expected such an open renunciation from the famous Sombre Warrior. Everyone looked at King William to see what he would do.
He laughed harshly. “So, they’ve got to you too.”
“You should never have threatened the Princess, William,” said the Sombre Warrior. “You should never have put your own daughter’s life at risk. There are limits, even for men such as us.”
The Forest Court disappeared, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by the dark shadowy reaches of the Redhart Court. King William turned savagely on Van Fleet.
“Get them back!”
“I am afraid . . . I cannot, Sire,” said the sorcerer. His face was pale, and slick with sweat. He didn’t look at all well. “The connection was broken from the other end, by the Necromancer, and without his cooperation I am unable to reinstate it.”
“But Raven wasn’t even there!” said King William.
“Oh, he was . . . present,” said Van Fleet. “He just didn’t choose to show himself. Raven is a surprisingly accomplished sorcerer. I could not hope to overcome his will. Not yet . . .”
“Are you saying this Necromancer is more powerful than you?” said King William in a quiet and very dangerous voice.
“His sources of magic are very different from mine, Sire,” said Van Fleet. Which everyone present could tell wasn’t really an answer. The sorcerer didn’t want to look at the King. “His true capabilities have yet to be determined, your majesty. Give me time to prepare myself properly, and then . . . we shall see what we shall see.”
King William turned away from his sorcerer and fixed his gaze on his Prime Minister, Gregory Pool. Whose large face had set into hard and dangerous lines of its own.
“What was the Sombre Warrior talking about there, Sire?” he said. “Did you really . . . ?”
“Of course not!” snarled the King. “They’ve got to him! Same as they did with my daughter! You all saw, you all heard! Did that even sound like them? Leave me now, all of you. I must think on this.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Sire,” said Gregory Pool. “You can’t just declare war on the Forest Land unilaterally! Parliament has to discuss this first!”
“Let Parliament talk all it wants,” said the King, leaning back on his throne. He was smiling that cold, implacable smile again. “I will not leave my daughter in the hands of those barbarians. When the country hears what has happened, the people will rise up and demand that I go to war, to rescue her!”
“And we shall finally have an end to the border problem,” murmured Prince Christof.
“Go,” said King William. “I’ve said everything I intend to. I’m sure you all have much you want to say to each other. Leave. Now.”
And they all bowed and left, because there was clearly nothing they could say to the King that would change his mind, and because there were a hell of a lot of things they needed to say to one another that they wouldn’t have felt at all comfortable saying in front of the King. When the great doors finally closed behind the four men, only the sorcerer Van Fleet remained in the Court with the King.
“Open a door for me, sorcerer,” said the King. “One that will deliver me directly to the Standing Stone, in my ornamental gardens.”
“Sire,” Van Fleet said carefully, “I have invested many hours searching through every old book and scroll and manuscript in my possession, trying to divine some spell or magic that might let me discover what, exactly, lies within the Stone, but . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the King. “I can’t wait any longer. Open the door.”
Van Fleet bowed briefly, muttered under his breath, and a door appeared, standing directly before the King on his throne. Just an ordinary, everyday sort of door of old, stained wood, standing unsupported on its own. The King rose from his throne, stretched his aching back for a moment, and then stepped down to stand before the door. He looked back at Van Fleet.
“Is it always the same door? It always looks like the same door . . .”
“It isn’t a door at all, Sire,” said the sorcerer. “It just looks like a door, because if it didn’t, no one in their right mind would agree to step through it.”
The King shrugged, and stepped forward. The door opened silently before him, and he passed through. The thing that only looked like a door closed behind him, with a quiet, satisfied sound.
• • •
The great ornamental gardens stood open and empty, silent and deserted, under a full moon; and blue-white moonlight fell heavily across the wide-open lawns. King William looke
d slowly about him. The gardens felt even less familiar, and certainly far less friendly, at night. He was directly before the Standing Stone, that ancient thing, with its almost human shape, that might or might not have been the remains of a sculpture. Older by far than Castle Midnight itself. The basic proportions in the Stone suggested a human form, but not on any scale a living man could be comfortable with. It too seemed even more forbidding in the cold quiet of the night. Some of the peasants still referred to the Stone as The God Within, and King William hoped they were right. Nothing less could help him now. The huge stone shape certainly seemed much more than human. More powerful than any human King. William smiled briefly. He wasn’t the type to feel intimidated.
“Who are you, in there?” he said, and his voice seemed a very small thing in the empty night garden. “What are you?”
A voice came to him then, in answer. Just a whisper, like a breath of air. “What am I? Older than your Castle, King William. Older than your country. Older than your human kind. I am the rock on which Redhart is based. I am the heart of Redhart. And I have been waiting for you to come to me.”
“Some say you’re an ancient pagan god,” said the King.
“They flatter me,” said the voice. It seemed clearer, nearer, now. “I am the source of the Unreal, which once powered the whole of Castle Midnight like a mighty engine. The Unreal has slept for many years, but I can awaken it for you.”
“And the price?” the King said steadily. “What do you want in return? I am not a fool; I know there is always a price to be paid in bargains such as this. I am not afraid. I will do what I must, for Redhart, and the Royal line.”
“I will give you power,” said the voice. “And all I ask in return is that you use it. Is this agreeable to you?”
“It is necessary,” said King William. “I agree.”
Once In a Blue Moon Page 46
