Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Green, Simon R.

  He rested a while, and then clambered painfully to his feet. His whole body ached from fighting the scree, and he’d torn his hands on the jagged rock. Without the water canteens he’d left with the unicorn, Rupert couldn’t even clean his wounds, so he did the next best thing and ignored them. He hoped like hell they wouldn’t get infected; he was a long way from the nearest healer. He shrugged the thought aside, turned his back on the scree, and trudged tiredly along the uneven path that would lead him eventually to his dragon.

  Some time later the trail suddenly disappeared, replaced by a seemingly endless series of narrow steps cut into the sheer rock face. Rupert turned away from the sight, and looked out over the long drop, taking in the view. Beyond the many miles of tended fields, the Forest seemed very small, and very far away. Rupert sighed once, regretfully, and then turned back to the steps and began the long climb.

  The steps were crooked and uneven, and pain blazed through Rupert’s legs and back as, for hour after hour, he fought to maintain his pace. The stone stairway stretched out behind and before him for as far as he could see, and after a while Rupert learned to keep his head down, and concentrate only on those steps directly ahead of him. The air grew steadily colder as he made his slow way up the mountain, and the driving wind carried sleet and snow from the summit. Rupert huddled inside his thin cloak and struggled on. Vicious gusts tugged at him as he climbed, and the bitter wind blew tears from his eyes. The cold numbed his hands and feet, his breath steamed on the chill air, and still he climbed, step after step after step, fighting the cold and the surging wind and his own pain.

  He was Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom, and he was going to face his dragon.

  The stairway ended in a narrow ledge before a vast cave mouth. Rupert stood swaying on the ledge, ignoring the freezing wind that wrapped his cloak about him, and the harsh breathing that seared his throat and burned in his chest. The cave gaped before him like some deep wound in the sheer rock face, filled with darkness. Rupert moved slowly forward, fatigue trembling in his legs. The Night Witch’s map hadn’t lied; he’d finally found his dragon. Ever since leaving the Court, he’d wondered how he’d feel when he finally had to face the dragon. If he’d be … scared. But now the time had come, and he didn’t feel much of anything, if truth be told. He’d given his word, and he was here. He didn’t believe he could beat the dragon, but then he never had. Deep down, he’d always known he was going to his death. Rupert shrugged. The Court expected him to die; maybe he’d live, anyway, just to spite them. He drew his sword, and took up the best position he could on the narrow ledge. He tried not to think about the long drop behind him, and concentrated instead on the correct form of the challenge.

  All in all, he’d never felt less heroic in his life.

  “Hideous monster, I, Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom do hereby challenge ye! Come forth and fight!”

  There was a long pause, and then finally a deep voice from far inside the cave said, “Pardon?”

  Feeling slightly ridiculous, the Prince took a better grip on his sword and repeated his challenge. There was an even longer pause, and then Rupert dropped into his fighting stance as the dragon emerged slowly out of the darkness, filling the cave mouth with his massive bulk. Long sweeping wings wrapped the creature like a ribbed emerald cloak, clasped at the chest by wickedly clawed hands. A good thirty feet from snout to tail, with light slithering caressingly along his shimmering green scales, the dragon towered over the Prince, and studied him with glowing golden eyes. Rupert hefted his sword, and the dragon smiled widely, revealing dozens of very sharp teeth.

  “Hi,” said the dragon. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  Rupert blinked resentfully. “You’re not supposed to say anything,” he told the dragon firmly. “You’re supposed to roar horribly, claw the ground, and then charge upon me breathing fire.”

  The dragon thought about this. Two thin plumes of smoke drifted up from his nostrils. “Why?” he asked finally.

  Rupert lowered his sword, which was becoming heavier by the minute, and leaned on it. “Well,” he said slowly, “It’s traditional, I suppose. That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Not with me,” said the dragon. “Why do you want to kill me?”

  “It’s a long story,” said the Prince.

  The dragon grunted. “Thought it might be. You’d better come on in.”

  He retreated into his cave, and after a moment’s hesitation Rupert followed him into what quickly proved to be a tunnel. In a strange way, he felt almost angry that he hadn’t had to fight; he’d spent so long preparing for the moment, and now it had been taken from him. He wondered if the creature might just be playing with him, but it seemed unlikely. If the dragon had wanted him dead, he’d be dead by now. He stumbled clumsily on down the tunnel, a cold sweat beading his brow as the light fell away behind him. The unrelieved gloom reminded him of the Darkwood, and he was glad when the darkness soon gave way to the cheerful crimson glow of a banked fire. He hurried toward the light, and burst out of the tunnel mouth to find the dragon waiting patiently for him in a huge rock chamber easily five hundred feet across, the walls of which were covered with the largest collection of preserved butterflies Rupert had ever seen.

  “I thought dragons collected hoards of gold and silver,” said Rupert, gesturing at the hundreds of highly polished display cases.

  The dragon shrugged. “Some collect gold and silver. Some collect jewels. I collect butterflies. They’re just as pretty, aren’t they?”

  “Sure, sure,” said the Prince soothingly, as sparks glowed hotly in the dragon’s nostrils. He sheathed his sword, sank down onto his haunches opposite the reclining dragon, and studied him curiously.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the dragon.

  “You’re not quite what I expected,” Rupert admitted.

  The dragon chuckled. “Legends rarely are.”

  “But you can talk!”

  “So can you.”

  “Well yes, but I’m human …”

  “I had noticed,” said the dragon dryly. “Look, most of the legends, that we’re big and strong and nasty and eat people for any or no reason, all those stories were made up by dragons, to frighten people away.”

  “But …”

  “Look,” said the dragon, leaning forward suddenly. “One on one I’m more than a match for any human, but no dragon can fight an army.” The huge creature hissed softly, golden eyes staring through Rupert at something only they could see. “Once, dragons filled the skies, masters of all that was. The sun warmed our wings as we soared above the clouds and watched the world turn beneath us. We tore gold and silver from the rock with our bare claws, and the earth trembled when we roared. Everything that lived feared us. And then came man, with his sword and his lance, his armor and his armies. We should have banded together while we still could, but no; we fought each other, and feuded and squabbled, and guarded our precious hoards. And one by one we fell, alone. Our time had passed.”

  The dragon lay brooding a moment, and then shook himself. “Why did you come to challenge me?”

  “It’s supposed to prove me worthy to be King.”

  “Do you want to kill me?”

  Rupert shrugged, confused. “It’d be easier if you were the monster you’re supposed to be. Haven’t you slaughtered women and children, burned property to the ground, and stolen cattle?”

  “Certainly not,” said the dragon, shocked. “What kind of creature do you think I am?”

  Rupert raised an eyebrow, and the dragon had the grace to look a little sheepish. “All right, maybe I did raze the odd village, devour an occasional maiden, but that was a long time ago. I was a dragon; they expected it of me. I’m retired now.”

  There was a long pause. Rupert frowned into the gently crackling fire. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

  “Do you want to kill me?” he asked the dragon.

  “Not particularly. I’m getting a little old for all this nonsense.”
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  “Well, don’t you want to eat me?”

  “No,” said the dragon firmly. “People give me heartburn.”

  There was another long silence.

  “Look,” said the dragon finally, “Killing me is supposed to prove your worth, right?”

  “Right,” said the Prince. That much he was sure of.

  “So, why not bring back a live dragon? Isn’t that an even braver thing to do?”

  Rupert thought about it. “That might just do it,” he said cautiously. “Nobody’s ever captured a real live dragon before …”

  “Well then, that’s our answer!”

  “Don’t you mind being captured?” asked Rupert diffidently.

  The dragon chuckled. “I could do with a bit of a holiday. Travel to strange lands, meet new people; just what I need.” The dragon peered about him and then beckoned for Rupert to lean closer. “Er … Prince …”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you by any chance rescue Princesses? Only I’ve got one here, and she’s driving me crazy.”

  “You’re holding a Princess captive?” yelled Rupert, jumping to his feet and clapping a hand to his swordhilt.

  “Keep your voice down!” hissed the dragon. “She’ll hear you! I’m not holding her captive; I’ll be glad to see the back of her. Some Court’s elders sent her up here as a sacrifice, and I hadn’t the heart to kill her. She can’t go back, and I can’t just throw her out. I thought maybe you could take her off my hands …”

  Rupert sat slowly down again and rubbed gently at his aching brow. Just when he thought he was getting the hang of things, somebody changed the rules.

  “She’s a real Princess?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked Rupert warily.

  “Dragon!” yelled a strident voice from a side tunnel. The dragon winced.

  “That’s what’s wrong with her.”

  The Princess burst into the cavern from one of the side tunnels, and then stopped short on seeing the Prince. Rupert scrambled to his feet. The Princess was dressed in a long flowing gown that might once have been white, but was now stained a dozen colors from dried mud and grime. She was young, barely into her twenties, and handsome rather than beautiful. Deep blue eyes and a generous mouth contrasted strongly with the mannish jut of her jaw. Long blonde hair fell almost to her waist in two meticulously twisted plaits. She was poised and slender and easily six feet tall. As Rupert considered the right courteous words with which to greet a Princess, she whooped with joy and rushed forward to throw her arms around him. Rupert staggered back a pace.

  “My hero,” she cooed, bending down to nuzzle his ear. “You’ve come to rescue me!”

  “Well, yes,” muttered Rupert, trying to break free without seeming too discourteous. “Glad to be of service. I’m Prince Rupert …”

  The Princess hugged him fiercely, driving the air from his lungs. I was safer with the dragon, thought Rupert, as bright spots drifted before his eyes. The Princess finally let him go, and stood back to take a good look at him.

  He couldn’t have been much older than her, she thought, but the recent scars that marred one side of his face gave him a hard, dangerous look. His long slender hands were battered and torn, and covered with freshly dried blood. His leather jerkin and trousers had obviously seen a great deal of use, his cloak was a mess, and all in all the fellow looked more like a bandit than a Prince. The Princess frowned dubiously, and then her mouth twitched; all in all, she probably didn’t look much like a Princess, either.

  “Where’s your armor?” she asked.

  “I left it in the Tanglewood,” said Rupert.

  “And your steed?”

  “At the base of the mountain.”

  “You did at least bring your sword?”

  “Of course,” said Rupert, drawing the blade to show her.

  She snatched it out of his hand, tested the balance, and swept it through a few expert passes.

  “It’ll do,” she decided, and gave the sword back to him. “Get on with it.”

  “Get on with what?” asked Rupert politely.

  “With killing the dragon, of course,” said the Princess. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  “Ah,” said Rupert, “The dragon and I have talked it over, and I’m going to take him back to my Castle alive. And you too, of course.”

  “That’s not honorable,” said the Princess flatly.

  “Oh yes it is,” said the dragon.

  “You keep out of this,” snapped the Princess.

  “Gladly,” said the dragon.

  “Who’s side are you on?” demanded Rupert, feeling he needed all the help he could get.

  “Anybody’s who’ll rescue me from this Princess,” said the dragon feelingly.

  The Princess kicked him.

  Rupert closed his eyes a moment. When he got back to Court, he intended to give the minstrels some explicit instructions on how to sing their songs. This sort of thing needed to be pointed up more. He coughed politely, and the Princess swung angrily back to face him.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Julia. Princess Julia of Hillsdown.”

  “Well, Princess Julia, you have two choices. Come back to my Castle with me and the dragon, or stay here on your own.”

  “You can’t leave me here,” said the Princess. “That wouldn’t be honorable.”

  “Watch me,” said Rupert.

  Julia blinked, and then peered at the dragon, who was staring at the cavern ceiling and blowing different colored smoke rings from his nostrils.

  “You wouldn’t leave me here alone. Would you?”

  The dragon grinned widely, his many teeth gleaming crimson in the firelight.

  Julia glared at him. “You wait,” she muttered ominously.

  “Can we make a start now, please?” asked Rupert. “My unicorn’s only going to wait two days for me to return.”

  “You ride a unicorn?” asked the dragon. Rupert glanced at the Princess, and felt his face grow hot.

  “It’s not easy being a Prince. It’s to do with Bloodlines; the last thing any dynasty needs is bastard pretenders to the throne popping up all over the place. So unmarried royalty have to be kept … pure.”

  “Right,” said the Princess. “That’s why the elders sent me up here.”

  The dragon coughed tactfully. “Is it far to your Castle, Rupert?”

  Rupert started to answer, and then had to grab Julia’s arm for support as his head suddenly started to swim. His legs trembled violently, and he sat down quickly to avoid falling.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Julia, as she helped Rupert lower himself to the cavern floor.

  “Just need a bit of a rest,” he muttered groggily, passing a shaking hand across his aching temples. “Hot in here. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  The dragon regarded the Prince narrowly. “Rupert; how did you get up the mountain?”

  “Followed the trail until the scree blocked it. Then I sent my unicorn back, crossed the scree, and used the stairway.”

  “You came all that way on foot? In this weather?” Julia looked at Rupert with new respect. “I came in mid-summer. I had an escort of seven guards and a pack mule, and it still took us the best part of four days to manage it.” She took his battered hands in hers, and winced. “You’re so cold you can’t even feel your wounds, can you? You must be frozen to the bone; it’s a wonder you were still on your feet.”

  Rupert shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m all right. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

  Julia and the dragon exchanged a glance.

  “Sure,” said the dragon. “Look, why don’t you warm yourself at the fire a while, and then I’ll fly you both down. It’s a lovely day for flying.”

  “Sure,” said Rupert drowsily. “Lovely day … for flying.” His chin sank slowly forward onto his chest, and sleep rolled over him like a tide. The Princess lowered him gently to the floor, wrapped furs around him,
and then washed and bandaged his hands. Rupert knew nothing of this, but for the first time since leaving the Darkwood, his rest was free of nightmares.

  * * *

  A few hours’ sleep did much to restore him, and all too soon Rupert found himself perched awkwardly on the dragon’s shoulders, hugging the creature’s neck like he’d never let go. The Princess Julia was sitting right behind Rupert, and holding him just as tightly, if not more so.

  “I hate heights,” she confided in a small voice.

  “You’re not alone,” Rupert assured her. He looked around at the dark clouds filling the sky, and shivered as a bitter wind swept over the narrow ledge outside the cave mouth. “If this is a good day for flying, I’d hate to see a bad one.”

  “Ready?” asked the dragon, flexing his wings eagerly.

  “Uh …” said Rupert.

  “Then hold tight,” called the dragon, and running quickly forward, he threw himself off the ledge and fell like a stone. The wind whistled past them as they hurtled down, and Rupert squeezed his eyes shut. And then the breath was knocked from him as the dragon suddenly spread his wings, and with a series of bone-shuddering jolts, the fall quickly became a controlled glide. After a while, Rupert cautiously opened his eyes and peered past the dragon’s neck to take in the view. He then rather wished he hadn’t. The cultivated fields far below lay stretched out like a pastel-shaded patchwork quilt. The Forest lay to the North, with the Darkwood clearly visible, like a canker feeding on the body of which it was a part. Rupert swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth as the base of the mountain rushed up to meet him at harrowing speed. On the whole, he just might have preferred to walk down after all. The dragon’s massive wings beat strongly to either side of him, and then stretched to their full extent as the creature soared in to a slightly bumpy landing that jarred every bone in Rupert’s body. The dragon folded his wings and looked about him.