Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

by Green, Simon R.

  “Kneel,” said the Astrologer, and Sir Bedivere fell forward on all fours, tears of agony and helpless rage streaming down his face. The two other Landsgraves watched horrified as the giant warrior cried like a child.

  “And now, bow to your King,” said the Astrologer, and Sir Bedivere bowed. King John looked down at the sobbing, trembling Landsgrave, and found no pleasure in the sight. Instead, he felt tired and soiled and just a little sick.

  “Enough,” he muttered, and the Astrologer lowered his hand and stepped back beside the throne. Sir Bedivere collapsed, and lay shuddering on the rich carpeting as the pain slowly left him.

  King John looked slowly round his Court, but the courtiers for the most part avoided his gaze. Those few who didn’t look away showed a profound horror and disgust at what the Astrologer had done in his name. King John sighed, and glanced at the black-clad figure standing patiently beside his throne. The dark, saturnine features were calm and relaxed, with only the faintest of smiles playing around his mouth. Thomas, old friend, thought the King suddenly, What’s happening to us? We once swore we’d die rather than use such magics as these. The thought disturbed him, and he shook his head querulously, as though annoyed by a buzzing insect. His gaze fell upon Sir Bedivere, struggling to raise himself on one knee. The King gestured to two nearby men-at-arms.

  “Help the Landsgrave to his feet.”

  “No!” gasped Sir Bedivere. “I don’t need your help!”

  Slowly, painfully, he got his feet under him. He rested there a moment, breathing harshly, and then rose clumsily to stand swaying before the throne. His legs trembled uncontrollably, but somehow he still held himself proudly erect. Dried tears showed clearly against the pallor of his face, but his steadfast refusal to be beaten by his own weakness leant him a kind of dignity. And then the red glare filled his eyes, and he threw himself at the King. He just made it to the steps, and then the Astrologer raised his hand, and a bolt of lightning slammed into the Landsgrave, hurling him back from the throne. The blinding flash dazzled everyone for a moment, and when they looked again, Sir Bedivere was lying in a crumpled heap some twenty feet from the dais. Where the lightning had struck him in the chest, the intense heat had melted away his chain mail and seared through the jerkin beneath. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the scorched leather. Sir Blays knelt beside the fallen warrior and checked his pulse and breathing.

  “He’s alive,” he said finally. “His armor protected him.”

  The King gestured to the two men-at-arms. “Get the Landsgrave out of here. Have my surgeon attend him.”

  The men-at-arms hurried forward, picked up Sir Bedivere between them, and carried him out of the Court. King John shook his head wearily, leant back in his throne, and eyed the two remaining Landsgraves dourly.

  Sir Guillam blinked unhappily at the King and smiled tentatively, obviously out of his depth. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow, and he constantly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like a small child too shy to ask his way to the privy. King John frowned, and studied Sir Guillam more carefully. The man couldn’t be entirely useless, or the Barons wouldn’t have sent him. The King’s frown deepened as he considered the various possibilities. Sir Bedivere had already tried to kill him, so Sir Guillam could be a back-up assassin, versed in spells or poisons or curses. He could be a spy, sent to contact any disloyal elements within the Court. He might even be a highly skilled diplomat, behind the timid facade. King John smiled tightly; there was only one way to find out …

  “Sir Guillam.”

  “Aye, Sire?” The Landsgrave started violently, and peered shortsightedly at the King.

  “You are new to my Court.”

  “Aye, Sire; I’m the new Landsgrave for the Birchwood demesne. I speak for the Silver Barons.”

  “And what do they wish of me?”

  Sir Guillam glanced furtively at the sternly brooding Astrologer, and swallowed dryly. He smiled nervously at the King, and ran a finger round the inside of his collar, as though it had suddenly grown too tight.

  “The Silver Barons also … require … assistance, Sire. They need, uh …”

  What little confidence he had left seemed to desert him entirely, and he fumbled quickly for a parchment scroll tucked into his belt. He unrolled it, found he’d got it upside down, grinned foolishly in embarrassment, turned the scroll the right way up, and read from it aloud.

  “My masters instruct me to inform you that they are in dire need of the following; seven troops of guardsmen from your own Royal Guard; four troops of conscript militia; weapons, mounts and supplies for these troops …”

  “That’s enough,” said the King.

  “There’s a great deal more yet,” protested Sir Guillam.

  “Really?” said the King. “You do surprise me. Answer me a question, my noble Landsgrave.”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Sir Guillam blinked confusedly, gestured helplessly, and nearly dropped his scroll. “I represent the Silver Barons, Sire; I carry their words to you.”

  “No, Sir Guillam; I meant why did they select you as the new Landsgrave? You don’t appear to have had much experience in this line of work.”

  “Oh no, Sire. Before my appointment, I was Chancellor of the Exchequer to Baron Ashcroft.”

  The King winced. An accountant; that was all he needed. On the whole, he’d rather have faced another assassin.

  “Pass your list on to my Seneschal, Sir Guillam; he’ll supply you with whatever weapons and provisions we can spare.”

  “There is also the slight matter of eleven troops …” Sir Guillam’s voice trailed away as the Astrologer chuckled darkly. The Landsgrave smiled weakly. “We could compromise and call it seven …”

  “No compromises,” said the King. “And no troops. Do you wish to argue the point?”

  “Oh no, Sire,” said Sir Guillam hastily. “Not in the least. Not at all. Absolutely not.”

  He rolled up his scroll, bobbed a quick bow to the King, and then stepped back to hide behind Sir Blays. The King nodded politely to the third Landsgrave, and Sir Blays bowed formally in return. Control and discipline showed in his slow, deliberate movements, and his voice was calm and even as he glared coldly at the Astrologer.

  “Your powers have increased since I was last here, sir Astrologer, but don’t think to intimidate me. I don’t frighten that easily. I am Sir Blays of Oakshoff demesne. I speak for Gold.”

  The King inclined his head slightly. “You are welcome in my Court, Sir Blays. Do you also demand troops from me?”

  “I carry my master’s words,” said Sir Blays carefully. “We must have more troops if we are to stand against the dark. Our borders have fallen to the long night, and already demons swarm across the land like so many rabid wolves. We can’t hold out much longer; even the stone and timber of our Keeps are no defence against the darkness when it falls. You know my words are true, Sire.”

  “Aye,” said the King tiredly, “I know. But my answer must remain the same, Sir Blays; I have no more men to send you.”

  “I will carry your answer to my master,” said the Landsgrave slowly, “But I tell you now; he won’t accept it.”

  “He’ll accept it,” said the Astrologer calmly. “He has no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” said Sir Blays. His quiet words seemed to ring ominously on the silence, and for a long moment nobody said anything.

  “Very well,” said the King finally. “You came to this Court to petition my help, noble Landsgraves, and whilst it is not in my power to grant you what your masters desire, I can perhaps offer them a message of hope and comfort. Even as we speak my Champion and my youngest son, Prince Rupert, are on their way to summon the High Warlock, that he may return to the Forest Land and set his sorceries against the darkness.”

  “You’d bring him back?” asked Sir Blays softly. “After what he did “

  “It’s necessary,” said the Astrologer.


  “Desperate situations call for desperate remedies,” said the King. “I have therefore also decided to reopen the Old Armory, and draw the Curtana from its scabbard.”

  For a long moment everyone just stared at him, frozen in shock as though carved from marble, and then the Court erupted into bedlam. Suddenly it seemed everyone was shouting and cursing, fighting desperately to be heard over the deafening clamor. Those courtiers nearest the throne surged forward angrily, and had to be driven back at swordpoint by the men-at-arms. And still the uproar mounted merging into a solid wave of sound that echoed and re-echoed from the high-timbered ceiling.

  Julia stared in bewilderment at the heaving, frightened mass that had once been a Court. Shock and outrage were stamped on every face, underpinned here and there by naked fear. She turned to Harald, who seemed almost as confused as her.

  “Harald; what the hell’s going on?” The din was such that she had to practically bellow in his ear to be understood, and even then he just shook his head curtly. She searched his face for an answer, but as the first shock passed his features quickly became an impassive mask. Only the whitening knuckles on his dagger hilt betrayed the depth of his feelings.

  “Enough!” thundered the Astrologer suddenly, and fire roared up around him, smoking thickly on the stuffy air as the flames sought in vain to consume him. His night-dark cloak belled out like spreading wings, and an awful knowledge seemed to stir within his icy, impenetrable eyes. An all-pervading silence fell across the Court, broken only by the crackling of the dancing flames surrounding the Astrologer. He glanced round the quiescent Court, and smiled grimly. The leaping flames flickered and went out, and once again Thomas Grey seemed nothing more than a lean old man dressed in black.

  “Thank you, sir Astrologer,” said King John evenly. “Now listen well, my noble Lords and Ladies; I will not tolerate these disturbances in my Court. Any more such outbursts, and my headsman will earn his pay. I will have order in this Court! Is that clear?”

  One by one the courtiers knelt and bowed their heads to their King, and then the men-at-arms, and even the Astrologer, himself, until in all the Court only two men remained standing; the Landsgraves of Silver and Gold. Sir Guillam trembled when King John’s gaze fell upon him, but although he couldn’t meet the King’s eyes, he wouldn’t kneel. King John knew better than to try and stare down Sir Blays; they’d known each other too many years.

  The King leaned back in his throne and studied the two men thoughtfully. There was a time Sir Blays would have taken his own life to prove his loyalty to the Forest Land, and cut down any man who questioned it. Set against his past fealty, his refusal to bow was practically a declaration of war. The King turned his attention to Sir Guillam, and frowned. Scared half out of his wits, and still the man defied him. Why? King John closed his eyes, and sighed tiredly. He knew why. Frightened as he was, Sir Guillam was far more frightened of the Curtana.

  I have to do this, King John thought stubbornly. It’s necessary.

  He opened his eyes and stared cynically out over the sea of bowed heads before him. The sight did not impress him in the least; they bowed because they were afraid of the Astrologer’s magic, not because they were loyal. The King smiled grimly. If he couldn’t have loyalty, he’d settle for fear. He had a war to wage, and with the darkness pressing closer all the time he could no longer afford to be choosy over which weapons he used.

  “Rise,” he growled finally, and the Court scrambled to their feet amid a rustle of silks and the clatter of chain mail. A rebellious murmur started among a few of the courtiers, only to die quickly away when the King frowned. He smiled sourly, and then turned to glare at Sir Blays, who stared calmly back.

  “So, noble Landsgrave; you object to my drawing the Curtana.”

  “The Sword of Compulsion has been forbidden to your majesty’s line for over four centuries,” said Sir Blays coldly.

  “The situation has changed since then,” said the King reasonably. “The darkness must be stopped, and since we can’t hope to do it by force of arms …”

  “The Curtana is forbidden!” said Sir Blays stubbornly. “A King rules by the consent of his people, not because he has a magic sword that compels their obedience. We’ve already seen how your Astrologer uses such power. For all his faults, Sir Bedivere was a warrior; he fought and bled for you in a dozen campaigns. And your pet sorcerer treated him like a rabid dog! So you think the Barons will stand idly by while you employ such power?”

  “When the King wields Curtana, the Barons will do as they’re told,” said the Astrologer silkily, and for a long time nobody said anything.

  “Your majesty!” said a deep, resonant voice from among the courtiers, and the King groaned silently.

  “Yes, Lord Darius?”

  “With your permission, Sire; I think I may have a compromise that will satisfy both you and the noble Landsgraves.”

  “Very well, Lord Darius, approach the throne. But if this compromise is anything like your last brilliant idea, you’d be much better off staying where you are.”

  The Minister for War chuckled appreciatively as he made his way forward, his plump figure moving with surprising grace as he threaded his way through the wary courtiers. He stopped before the throne, took up a position carefully midway between the Landsgraves and the King, and bowed to them both. King John frowned impatiently.

  “Well, Lord Darius?”

  “It seems to me, your majesty, that Sir Blays and Sir Guillam are mainly concerned as to how the Curtana is to be used. If you could perhaps explain a little of your strategy …”

  “A King doesn’t have to explain anything,” said the Astrologer. “A loyal subject obeys without question.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Lord Darius quickly. “I merely seek to clarify matters, nothing more.”

  “It’s a reasonable request,” said the King mildly. “And if it will help to set Sir Blays’s mind at rest …” He glanced at the Landsgrave, who nodded stiffly. “Very well. As Sir Blays has already pointed out, the nature of the Curtana is to compel obedience. I propose to turn this power on the demons, and force them to return to the darkness from which they came. It’s a simple enough solution to the problem.”

  “Almost elegant in its simplicity.” Lord Darius smiled. “Would you not agree, Sir Blays?”

  “It might work,” said Sir Blays grudgingly. “If the Curtana can affect nonhuman minds. Far as I know, no one’s ever tried that before. But even if it does work, what happens to the sword after the demons have been routed?”

  “Afterwards, it will be returned to the Armory,” said the King. “And there it may stay till the end of time, as far as I am concerned.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” said Lord Darius, smiling and bobbing his head and clasping his podgy hands across his vast stomach. “I fear, however, that the noble Landsgraves will require more concrete evidence of your majesty’s intentions.”

  “You dare?” roared the Astrologer, stepping forward.

  Lord Darius paled, but stood his ground. “Your majesty …”

  “Let him speak,” said the King, and the Astrologer resumed his position beside the throne.

  Lord Darius bowed gratefully. “When all is said and done, your majesty, a sword is just a sword. Since you agree it should never be used again, might I suggest hat once the demons’ threat has been disposed of, the Curtana should be publicly melted down and destroyed, once and for all.”

  The King frowned thoughtfully. “My instinct is to say no. The sword has been in our family for generations, and might be needed in the future … but I see your point. The Curtana is too dangerous a weapon to be trusted with anyone. Would such an answer satisfy the Barons, Sir Blays?”

  “It might,” said Sir Blays carefully, “but I speak only for Gold.”

  King John smiled coldly. “Where Gold leads, Silver and Copper follow. Isn’t that right, Sir Guillam?”

  The Silver Landsgrave bobbed his head nervously. “I’m sure my master
s will find it an excellent scheme, Sire.”

  “Then I’ll consider it,” said King John. “You’ll have my answer before you leave tomorrow.”

  Sir Blays nodded, his face carefully impassive. “Thank you, Sire. Our business now being at an end, with your permission Sir Guillam and I will withdraw to our chambers. It’s been a long day.”

  “That it has,” said the King. “Very well, my noble Landsgraves; you are dismissed.”

  Sir Guillam and Sir Blays bowed to the throne, turned, and left the Court. The courtiers watched them go, and muttered quietly to each other.

  “Be silent,” said the Astrologer, and they were.

  “Before I dismiss this Court for the day,” said King John, “I have a pleasant duty to perform. Princess Julia …”

  “Ah, you’ve remembered me at last,” sniffed Julia. “I was beginning to think I was invisible.”

  “Julia, my dear, you are never far from my thoughts,” said the King earnestly. “Harald; I trust you’ve been keeping the Princess entertained?”

  “Oh sure,” said Harald. “She’s getting quite good at tic-tac-toe. A little more practice, and she’ll be able to beat me without cheating.”

  Julia stabbed at his foot with her dagger, and grinned as he moved it quickly out of range.

  “If you’ve quite finished,” said the King, “I have an announcement to make.”

  “Then get on with it,” said Julia.

  The King sighed quietly to himself, and then stared out over the Court. “My Lords and Ladies, I announce this day the betrothal of my eldest son, Prince Harald, to the Princess Julia of Hillsdown. I wish them every happiness and all good luck.”

  “He’s going to need it,” muttered a voice at the back.

  Julia was on her feet in a second. “I’m not marrying Harald!”

  “Yes, you are,” said the King. “I’ve just announced it.”

  “Then you can damn well unannounce it!”

  “Princess Julia,” said the King, entirely unperturbed, “You can marry him willingly or unwillingly, but whatever you say and whatever you do, your marriage will take place four weeks from today. Harald is a fine young man and a credit to his line. I’m sure that, under his tutelage and discipline, you will become a credit to him and to this Court.”