Blue Moon Rising

by Simon R. Green

  “Let her go,” said the King.

  “I don’t think so,” said Bodeen calmly. “She’s my way out of here. I’m going to back down this corridor, and you’re going to let me do it. Because if you don’t, you’re going to have to invite the Princess Julia’s father to a funeral.”

  Julia tried to ease the strain on her twisted arm, but Bodeen immediately hauled it back into place. Her head jerked as she cried out in pain, and more blood ran down her throat.

  “Keep still, Princess,” said Bodeen. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

  He means it, thought Julia wildly, he really means it.

  King John gestured for his guardsmen to stand steady, and glared at Bodeen. “All right, traitor, how do you want to play this?”

  “First of all, everybody puts their swords on the ground,” said Bodeen, unperturbed. “Then Julia and I are going for a little walk. I have some people to warn. And Sire, if I see anyone following me, I’ll cut this young lady’s throat from ear to ear.”

  Julia slammed the back of her head into Bodeen’s face. There was a muffled crack as his nose broke, and his grip loosened as he groaned with pain. Julia elbowed him sharply in the ribs, ducked under the threatening sword, and broke free of Bodeen while he was still off balance. He lashed out blindly with his sword and Julia threw herself to one side. The blade whistled past her face, and Julia’s sword flashed from her scabbard as she dropped automatically into her fighting stance. Bodeen shook his head to clear it, and cut at her again. There was the ring of steel on steel as Julia parried the blow, and then she beat aside his blade, lunged forward, and stabbed him just under the heart. For a moment the tableau held: Julia in full lunge, Bodeen staring down at the sword piercing his chest. He tried to lift his sword, and then blood gushed from his mouth, and he crumpled limply to the floor. The King started forward with his guardsmen, but Julia waved them back. She eased the sword from Bodeen’s chest, and knelt beside him. He grinned up at her with bloody teeth.

  “I forgot what a fighter you are,” he said indistinctly. “Damn. Damn.”

  “Would you really have killed me?” asked Julia.

  “I don’t know,” said Bodeen. “Probably.”

  “Why?” said Julia fiercely. “Why did you betray the King?”

  Bodeen chuckled painfully. “The Barons paid me better.”

  And then he died.

  Julia looked up as King John laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come away from him, Julia. It’s over now. One of my guards will see you safely back to your chambers.”

  “It isn’t over yet,” said Julia. She got to her feet and stared steadily at King John. “I want to meet the men who bought my friend.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” said the King. “This isn’t really your business.”

  Julia put her hand to her throat and showed King John the blood on her fingers. “Isn’t it?”

  The King looked at her a moment, and then looked away. “Very well, then. But don’t get in our way. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  “Treachery never is,” said Julia, wiping her bloodstained hand on her leggings.

  The King signalled to his guards, and he and his party moved purposefully down the corridor, heading deeper into the East Wing. Again and again the King’s men discovered others guarding the corridors, but none of them put up a fight. Faced with a full company of the Royal Guard, a few ran and were cut down, most surrendered. Finally the party rounded a corner and surprised two guardsmen standing before a closed door. The King watched broodingly as the two guards were disarmed and taken to one side, and then he gestured brusquely to his Guard Commander, who bowed formally, walked forward, and hammered on the closed door with his mailed fist. “Open, in the name of the King!”

  Chaos filled the Hall as the revellers ran frantically back and forth, shouting and screaming, and drawing swords and daggers. Some clapped their masks to their faces again, as though the flimsy disguises could still somehow protect them with anonymity. Tables were overturned as the crowd surged this way and that, and those who fell in the crush were trampled blindly underfoot. Lord Darius tried desperately to quell the panic, but his voice was lost in the shrieking din. Cecelia clutched at his arm, her face pinched and white with shock, but Darius didn’t even know she was there. Gregory fought his way through the milling crowd to join her, but the sheer press of bodies slowed his progress to a crawl.

  The three Landsgraves stared at each other.

  “The bookcase in Darius’s study,” said Blays. “We’ll use the secret passage to escape, and then …”

  “And then what?” whimpered Guillam, the cold sweat of fear already running down his face. “We’ve been betrayed! The King will have us all executed!”

  “He’s got to catch us first,” snarled Blays. “Pull yourself together, you’re supposed to be a Bladesmaster, dammit. If need be, you should be able to fight your way out of here, unless you’ve been exaggerating your abilities all this time. Now calm down, and think. That door is solid oak and bolted top and bottom, it’ll take the King’s men a good hour and more to cut their way through and by then we’ll be long gone. All we have to do is get to the stables, and we can be on our way back to Oakeshoff demesne before the King even knows we’ve left the Castle. Once we’re safely inside my master’s Keep, no one can touch us.”

  “Where’s Harald?” said Bedivere suddenly.

  The three Landsgraves looked quickly about them, but Harald had disappeared. The huge door shuddered under another thunderous knocking, and once again the voice without demanded entry in the name of the King. Businessmen and courtiers drew together into their tight little cliques, swords at the ready. Lords and Ladies stood together, and strove for dignity. The cries of fear and rage died quickly away, replaced by sullen mutterings and grim bravado. And then everyone in the hall was silent as a new sound cut across the quiet, the unmistakable sound of a heavy steel bolt being drawn from its socket. They looked to the main door just in time to see Prince Harald pull back the second bolt, and then casually throw open the door. King John nodded calmly to his son as he walked slowly into the Hall, his company of guards fanning out around him. Harald raised an eyebrow when he spotted Julia among the guards, but shook his head when she started to say something to him. Julia nodded understandingly, there’d be time for explanations later. The King moved slowly forward into the Hall and the silent conspirators fell back before him, until only Darius, Cecelia and Gregory remained to face him. Darius stared blankly at Harald, who leaned against the door jamb and shook his head sadly.

  “Sorry, Darius,” said Harald. “You can’t trust anyone these days.”

  The conspirators stared at the Prince speechlessly. Darius stepped forward, his mouth working.

  “Why?” he asked finally. “Why? We would have made you King!”

  Harald shrugged casually, but his eyes were cold. “If you’d betray one King, no doubt you’d betray another if it suited you. Did you think I was blind, Darius? You threatened my father, you threatened me; your schemes would have endangered the whole Forest Land! I know my duty to the Land, Darius, it’s more important than you or I will ever be. Did you really think I’d give it into your keeping? You’ve never cared for anyone but yourself in your whole damn life.”

  “Enough, Harald,” said the King. “You’ve done well. Are there any other exits from this Hall?”

  “Just the one, father, the door in the far right-hand corner, it leads to Darius’s private chambers. They can’t escape that way, it’s a dead end.”

  Darius spun round to face his fellow conspirators. “Don’t just stand there, damn you! We outnumber the guards three to one. Kill the King, and the Land is ours. Kill the King, or we’ll all face the Headsman!”

  The conspirators stared at Darius, and then at the King.

  “Put down your swords,” said King John calmly. “Those who surrender to me now will be granted exile. I give you my word on it.”

  The c
onspirators looked at each other.

  “Fight, damn you!” howled Darius, his face mottled with rage. “We can still win!”

  One by one, the businessmen and the courtiers and the Lords and Ladies dropped their swords and daggers on to the polished wooden floor. Darius stared at them unbelievingly, his eyes wild and desperate. Gregory moved in close beside Cecelia, his sword at the ready.

  “It’s over, Darius,” said Lord Vivian, his slow chill voice echoing on the silence. “Better an honourable exile than a traitor’s death.”

  Darius turned and ran for the far door. Cecelia and Gregory followed him.

  “After them!” roared the King, and twenty of the Royal Guard set off in hot pursuit. Julia ran with them, sword in hand. Bodeen was dead because of Darius and his schemes, and Julia had promised herself a vengeance. Pursued and pursuers disappeared through the far door, and once again a tense stillness fell across the Hall. Together, side by side, King John and Prince Harald walked slowly forward to confront the three Landsgraves, the only men in the Hall still holding swords. Half the Royal Guard moved protectively after the King.

  “Hello, John,” said Blays. “All in all, it’s been an interesting day, hasn’t it?”

  King John smiled sadly. “Did you really think my son would betray me, Blays?”

  The Landsgrave shrugged. “It seemed a reasonable possibility.”

  “We’ve know each other more years than I care to remember, Blays. Time was when you were one of my staunchest allies, as close to me as my own family. And now this. Why, Blays? Why did you turn against me?”

  “Curtana,” said Blays simply. “When you decided to draw that cursed sword, you became a threat to my master. You must have known I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

  “And so you took the Curtana, for fear I’d use it against the Barons.” King John shook his head wearily. “That was never my intention, Blays. Now more than ever, I need the Curtana to throw back the darkness. Return the sword to me, and I promise you’ll face nothing more than exile.”

  Blays’s eyes narrowed, and his smile was openly contemptuous. “What kind of a deal is that, John? You know we don’t have the sword. Or are you just looking for an excuse to order our execution?”

  “I order you to hand over the Sword of Compulsion, Blays.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “You stole it from my Armoury, traitor!”

  “Liar!”

  Blays threw himself at King John, the point of his blade seeking the King’s throat. Harald parried the blow, and two guardsmen ran Blays through. The Landsgrave fell heavily to the floor, and lay still. Blood welled out from under his body in a widening pool. Sir Bedivere roared and charged forward. Blood flew on the air as his heavy sword sheared through one guardsman’s chain-mail, and then buried itself in another’s chest. Harald cursed under his breath and stepped forward, putting himself between Bedivere and the King. Bedivere jerked his blade free from the dying guard, and cut savagely at the waiting Prince. Harald ducked under the swinging sword, and lunged forward. His sword punched clean through Bedivere’s chain-mail and slammed between the giant Landsgrave’s ribs. Bedivere growled once, and then knocked the Prince flying with one blow of his arm. Harald fell backwards, still hanging on to his sword, and Bedivere cursed once as he jerked the sword out of his side. Blood streamed from the jagged wound as Bedivere cut down guard after guard, doggedly fighting his way forward to where King John stood grimly waiting, sword in hand.

  The King stared at the blood-spattered Landsgrave with horrified fascination. The sword in his hand was a comforting weight, but he knew it wasn’t going to be enough to stop Bedivere. His Guard Commander had already suggested he should withdraw rather than risk himself, but he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t enough for a King to be brave, he had to be seen to be brave. Besides, if he didn’t face Bedivere now, he’d always wonder if he could have beaten the man. And then the guards nearest him fell suddenly away in a flurry of blood as Bedivere burst through their ranks. For a moment the two men stared at each other, no more than a few yards between them. Bedivere’s chain-mail hung in bloody tatters, but his sword was still steady in his hand and his eyes were filled with a constant crimson glare. King John could see more of his guards moving forward to attack the Landsgrave, but he knew they’d never reach Bedivere in time. The man was going to kill him. Bedivere drew back his sword, and King John braced himself for the blow he’d never feel. And then Harald stepped in and hamstrung Sir Bedivere from behind. The giant Landsgrave screamed with rage as he fell heavily to the floor, his severed leg muscles no longer capable of supporting him. The impact of his fall knocked the sword from his hand, and King John watched grimly as a dozen guardsmen ran Bedivere through again and again while he lay helpless on the floor. Sir Bedivere died frothing at the mouth and trying to bite the hands that wielded swords against him.

  “Sorry, father,” said Harald. “But he would have killed you.”

  King John nodded curtly, and turned to Sir Guillam. The sole surviving Landsgrave stared desperately about him, his sword trembling in his hand. John wondered briefly why the man hadn’t made a run for it, and then realised that both Blays and Bedivere had fought and been killed in less than a minute. He glared tiredly at Guillam, and then turned away. There’d been enough killing for one day. He nodded to the two nearest guards, and they snapped to attention.

  “Take Sir Guillam away,” he said gruffly, and the two guardsmen moved confidently forward.

  Guillam stabbed the first guard through the heart, and cut the throat of the second while his first victim was still crumpling to the floor. For a moment nobody moved. The Landsgrave had moved so quickly his attack had been little more than a blur. And then somebody screamed, and everything happened at once. More guards moved forward, and Sir Guillam met them with his blade. He moved among the guards with murderous ease, deflecting every blow aimed against him with movements almost too fast to be seen. Guardsmen died without ever knowing what killed them.

  “Dear God,” said King John faintly. “The man’s a Bladesmaster. I wondered why the Barons made him a Landsgrave … What better assassin could there be than a man who’s unbeatable with a sword in his hand? I should have guessed … but they’re so rare these days. So very rare …”

  “You’d better get out of here,” said Harald quietly. “Those guards aren’t going to hold Guillam long, he’s more of a danger than Bedivere ever was.”

  “I think you may well be right,” said the King. “But I’m not running until I have to. Sir Guillam may be unbeatable with a sword, but let’s see how he fares against a couple of crossbows.”

  He gestured to the two waiting guardsmen, who stepped quickly forward, loaded crossbows already in their hands. At the King’s nod they moved a few feet apart, to be sure of catching Guillam in a crossfire, and then each man nestled the heavy wooden stock of his bow comfortably into his shoulder, and took careful aim. Guillam shrieked when he saw them, and without any warning turned and ran for the far door at the end of the Hall. He lashed out viciously at those courtiers who didn’t get out of his way fast enough, and unarmed men and women fell in bloody heaps to mark his passing. And then two bowstrings twanged as one, and Guillam was slammed violently against the right-hand wall. He whimpered once, quietly, and then his sword fell from his limp fingers, and he hung still and silent from the two heavy steel bolts that pinned him to the wall.

  Julia burst into Darius’s private chambers just in time to see the huge bookcase swing slowly open, revealing a concealed passage. Darius stood beside the bookcase, waiting impatiently for it to open wide enough for him to enter. Cecelia clung frantically to his arm, sobbing uncontrollably with shock and panic. Gregory turned to face Julia, sword in hand. She hesitated in the doorway, sweeping her sword back and forth before her. She’d easily outdistanced the guards, weighed down by their heavy armour, and Julia quickly realised that they weren’t going to catch up in time to help her. She smiled grimly; at best the
odds were only two to one against her. Gregory hefted his sword and glanced back at Darius.

  “Get Cecelia out of here,” he said quietly. “I’ll hold them off.” Darius tried to force his bulk into the slowly widening gap between the wall and the bookcase. Cecelia pressed close beside him, sobbing and clinging tightly to his arm as though for comfort. Darius pushed her away, but she only tightened her grip, wedging them both into the narrow gap. There was a rising clatter of approaching feet, and then the first of the guards burst into the room, followed quickly by a dozen more. Gregory moved forward to block their way. His sword trembled in his hand, but in his eyes Julia could see a determination to sell his life dearly. He grinned mockingly at the guards and then glanced back at the bookcase, just in time to see Darius draw a dagger from his sleeve and stab Cecelia again and again until she let go of his arm and fell limply to the floor. Gregory screamed her name, threw his sword away, and ran over to crouch beside Cecelia’s unmoving body. Darius disappeared into the concealed passageway, and the bookcase slowly closed itself behind him. By the time the guardsmen got to it, the gap was once again too narrow to let them pass. They couldn’t even stop the bookcase closing.

  Julia approached Gregory cautiously, her sword held out before her, but he just sat on the floor, cradling Cecelia’s body in his arms. Her eyes stared wildly, and blood seeped steadily from her tattered bodice, staining Gregory’s tunic where he held her to him. He looked up at Julia, and she realised sickly that the young guardsman was crying.

  “There wasn’t any need for this,” said Gregory. “No need for this. Cecelia? Cecelia, love?”

  Julia sheathed her sword. “Come on,” she said gruffly, “leave her. There’s nothing you can do for her now.”

  “Cecelia?”

  “She’s dead, Gregory.”

  He didn’t hear her. He just sat there, rocking Cecelia in his arms, and crooning to her as though she was a sleeping child. The tiny bells on her dress chimed, quietly, with every movement. Tears ran unheeded down Gregory’s cheeks, and his eyes saw nothing, nothing at all.