“Get the hell away from me!” roared the Prince, and drew his sword. The guardsmen immediately fell into their fighting stance, and waited for the order to attack. The men-at-arms levelled their pikes, and the Champion hefted his war axe thoughtfully. The blood-smeared blades and heavy pike-heads gleamed dully in the torchlight as the refugees fell suddenly silent. The uncertain hush lengthened as Rupert glared round at the sullen faces ranked before him.
“I’m tired,” he growled, finally. “I’m going up to my chambers now, to get some rest, and anyone who disturbs me will regret it. I don’t care what your problems are, they can all damn well wait until I’ve got some sleep. Now get out of my way, or I’ll have my guards open up a path for me.”
There was a long, strained silence.
“Ever the diplomat, eh, Rupert?” said an amused voice, and Rupert looked over the heads of the crowd to see Harald walking unhurriedly down the steps from the main entrance hall. He strode casually among the refugees, positively oozing reassurance and competence, and weary as he was, Rupert had to admire the performance. Harald’s calm voice promised everything but committed him to nothing, and yet it seemed to satisfy the refugees, who slowly drifted back to their fires and their animals, muttering to each other and shaking their heads dolefully. None of them so much as spared a glance for Rupert.
Their returning hero had let them down by being only human. Rupert watched Harald moving confidently through the dispersing crowd, and shook his head slowly. Harald had always had the gift of words, when he chose to use it. That empty-headed routine of his might fool the Court, but Rupert knew better. Ever since they were children, Harald had always been able to manipulate people and situations so that he came out on top, usually at Rupert’s expense.
For all his faults, and there was no denying Harald had many, he was an excellent organiser. Before the evening was over, he’d have drafted a list of all the refugees’ complaints, and set up a system for dealing with those that really mattered. Rupert sighed disgustedly, sheathed his sword, and leaned back against the Castle wall. There was a time when he’d thought Harald only did such things in order to look good, while still leaving the bulk of the work to other people, but now he saw it was just another reason why Harald would some day be King, while he never would. Harald was a diplomat. Rupert shrugged. Stuff diplomacy. Try using tact and reason with a demon, and it’d rip your head off.
He turned away and nodded gratefully to Chane and his men-at-arms. “Thanks for standing by me. It could very easily have turned nasty.”
The men-at-arms hefted their pikes bashfully, and bowed quickly in return.
“Sorry about the refugees, Sire,” said Chane. “You can’t really blame them, they lost everything they had when the dark came. I doubt there’s a family here that hasn’t lost a child or a parent to the demons. They’ve been frightened and helpless for so long, they needed someone they could strike back at. It just happened to be you.”
“Yeah, well,” said Rupert tiredly. “Thanks anyway.”
“Sure,” said Chane. “If you ever need us again, you know where to find us. We’d better get back on duty, I suppose; the demons could come any time.”
He bowed again, and led his men-at-arms back to the gatehouse. Rupert watched them go, and frowned thoughtfully. Either Chane was the most forgiving man he’d ever met, or there was something going on here he didn’t know about. Or maybe … Rupert smiled suddenly. Or maybe he was just getting paranoid again; coming home to the Castle could do that to you. He sighed, and turned back to his waiting guardsmen. At least he didn’t have to worry about them, they’d been loyal to him since the very beginning. Even though they had no real reason to be … After all, the Champion only obeyed him because the King ordered him to … Rupert shook his head angrily, but the thought wouldn’t go away. He knew he had to ask the question, if only because he was so afraid of what the answer might be. Either way, he had to know. He ignored the patiently waiting Champion, and moved on to confront Rob Hawke.
“Why have you remained loyal to me?” he asked bluntly. “When I started out I had a full troop of fifty guards. I’ve brought only ten of you back. Don’t you blame me for your friends’ deaths?”
Hawke shook his head slowly. “We don’t blame you for anything, Sire. We didn’t expect to survive the Darkwood, never mind the Dark Tower. We figured to stick with you till we were safely out of sight of the Castle, and then we’d all desert. No offence, Sire, but what little we’d been told of you wasn’t exactly encouraging. According to the Castle gossip, you’d never led guards before, you told impossible lies about having been through the Darkwood twice, and you were a coward. We’d no intention of following a man like that into battle.
“And then we saw you take on your brother and the Champion, right here in the courtyard. You drew the Champion’s blood—twice! No one’s done that since he became Champion. After seeing that, it seemed likely the gossip was wrong. Taking on the Champion wasn’t a particularly bright thing to do, but it proved you were a fighter. So, we figured we’d stick with you just long enough to talk you out of going to the Dark Tower, and then you could desert with us. The Champion would just have woken up one morning, and found us all gone. Simple as that.
“And then we came to Coppertown. We saw what lived in the pit, and we saw you fight it, and win. After that … well, we started to believe in you, and your mission. And maybe we started to believe in ourselves, as well. It hasn’t worked out too badly, all told. No one’s ever faced the odds we have, and survived. We don’t blame you for anything, Sire. We’re proud to have served with you.”
Rupert nodded stiffly, too overcome with emotion to speak. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. I’ll talk to my father; assuming we survive the darkness, there’ll be a grant of land for each of you. My word on it.”
“Just doing what we’re paid for,” said Hawke. “Mind you, the combat bonuses on this little jaunt should add up very nicely. Assuming you’d be willing to do one small favour for us, Sire.”
“Anything,” said Rupert.
“Well,” said Hawke carefully, “if the Champion were to report anything about our planning to desert, we wouldn’t get a penny.”
“He won’t report you,” said Rupert. “Will you, sir Champion?”
The Champion looked at him thoughtfully, and then bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, Sire.”
The guards grinned broadly at one another, and then Hawke suddenly held up his sword in the warrior’s traditional oath of fealty. The other guards were quick to join him, and within seconds there were ten swords raised in the ancient salute. For a moment the tableau held, and then the blades crashed back into their scabbards, and the guardsmen turned and left, heading for their barracks and some much-needed rest. Rupert watched them leave, and wished he could go with them, back to the security and camaraderie of their fellows. But he couldn’t. He was a Prince, which meant he was going back to an empty room, and the politics and intrigues of his family and his Court. He looked away, to discover the Champion regarding him speculatively.
“Something wrong, sir Champion?”
“I don’t know, Sire. I’ll have to think about it.”
“I’m still only a second son.”
“Yes,” said the Champion. “I know.” And then he turned, and walked away.
Rupert thought about going after him, and then decided it could wait till tomorrow. Come to that, everything could wait until tomorrow. Or the day after. Hurrying footsteps close by caught his attention, and he looked round to see a tall, portly young man in flashing silks bearing down on him. His shoulder-length blond hair was carefully styled in the latest fashion, and in a courtyard full of hungry people, he looked almost indecently well fed. He drew himself up before Rupert, struck a dignified pose, and then bowed elegantly. Rupert nodded warily in return, and the man straightened up again.
“Your pardon for intruding, Sire, but on hearing of your miraculous return, I dro
pped everything and rushed here immediately.”
“You did?” said Rupert. ”
“But, of course, Sire! You have come back to us out of the very darkness itself, come back to save us all! What a song I shall make of this!”
Rupert looked at him. “A song?” he said, slowly.
“Well yes, Sire. I’m the new official Court minstrel. But not to worry, Sire, the song I shall make of your daring exploits will be a tale of great heroics and selfless deeds, of honour and adventure and miraculous escapes …”
His voice trailed away as he caught sight of Rupert’s face. He started backing away when Rupert drew his sword, and then turned and ran as Rupert advanced on him with murder in his eyes. Rupert gave up after a few steps, but the minstrel had the good sense to keep on running.
“Was that really necessary?” asked the unicorn.
“Definitely,” growled Rupert, sheathing his sword and leaning back against the Castle wall. “It was minstrels and their damn stupid songs on the joys of adventuring that got me into this mess in the first place.”
“You don’t look too good,” said the unicorn.
“You might well be right about that.”
“Why don’t you go and get some rest, Rupert. Before you fall down.”
Rupert closed his eyes, and for the first time allowed himself to think luxurious thoughts about a hot bath and a soft bed. He sighed contentedly, and then opened his eyes and looked at the unicorn. Bloody streaks covered the animal from head to haunches where the demons had clawed him. His head was hanging down, and his legs were trembling with strain and fatigue.
“You don’t look so good yourself,” said Rupert. “You’re a mess, unicorn. Those demons really got to you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” said the unicorn. “I’ll be fine in the morning, it’s just a few scratches. You’re in worse shape than I am. I’ve seen people being buried who looked healthier than you do right now. For once in your life, listen to reason and go to your bed, damn you. I’m looking forward to my first good night’s sleep in weeks, and I’ve enough to keep me awake as it is, without having to worry about you as well.”
“I’ll walk you to the stables.”
“No, you won’t. The condition you’re in, I’d end up having to carry you, and my back’s killing me. Go to bed, Rupert. I’ll be fine once I get to the stables. With luck I’ll find a groom I can terrorise into giving me some barley. Assuming I can stay awake long enough to eat it.”
“All right, I give in,” said Rupert, smiling in spite of himself.
“About bloody time,” growled the unicorn, moving slowly away. “And get that shoulder seen to!”
“Yeah, sure,” muttered Rupert. He leaned his head back against the wall as a sudden chill rushed through him, shaking his hands and chattering his teeth. The chill passed as quickly as it came, leaving him weak and dizzy. He pushed himself away from the wall, but managed only a few steps before he had to stop. The ground seemed to drop away from under his feet, and he had to fight to keep from falling. The world grew blurred and indistinct, and then snapped back into focus as he concentrated. Rupert breathed deeply, blinking away the sweat that dripped steadily into his eyes. Having fought his way through the Darkwood and an entire horde of demons to get home, he was damned if he’d cap it all by fainting away in the middle of the courtyard. He’d walk out of here on his own two feet all the way back to his own chambers. Then he’d faint.
He moved slowly and cautiously through the tightly packed refugees, taking it one step at a time. Whenever anyone tried to talk to him, he just glared at them and dropped his right hand on to the pommel of his sword, and that took care of that. His left arm was completely numb again, but he could see the fresh blood coursing down his sleeve and dripping from his hand. He carefully tucked the numb arm inside his jerkin and laced it tight, forming a makeshift sling. The pain in his shoulder flared up with every step, hut he was so tired now he could almost ignore it. Many of the refugees shrank away as he passed, and Rupert began to wonder what kind of picture he presented to them. No doubt their precious hero looked rather different when seen close up, tired and irritable and covered in blood and gore, most of it his own. He tried keeping his hand away from his swordhilt, but it didn’t make any difference. The steps to the main entrance hall loomed up before him, and Rupert started towards them. He’d just put his foot on the first step when Harald appeared out of the refugees to block his way.
“Welcome home, dear boy. We were getting a little worried about you.”
Rupert looked at his brother tiredly. “Were you, Harald? Were you really?”
Harald shrugged. “You’ve been gone a long time. We’d pretty much got used to the idea that you wouldn’t be coming back. I was beginning to fear I’d have to go out and avenge you.”
Rupert looked at him closely. “Why should you risk your life to avenge my death?”
“You’re family,” said Harald. “I know my duty. You’d do the same for me.”
“Yes,” said Rupert slowly. “I suppose I would.”
He nodded gruffly to Harald, genuinely touched. Harald smiled briefly in return, his face as impassive as ever.
“Well,” said Rupert. “What’s been happening while I’ve been away?”
“Not a lot,” said Harald. “The Darkwood’s been here almost a week. It could just as easily be more than a week, I suppose; it’s hard to keep track of time when there’s no sun in the sky. We’ve been using marked candles and water clocks, but they’re not exactly reliable. Still, now you’ve brought the High Warlock back to us, no doubt things will take a turn for the better. You did bring the Warlock back, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes,” said Rupert. “He’s back.”
“I don’t remember much about him, to be honest,” said Harald. “Is he really as bad as he’s painted?”
Rupert thought for a moment. “Yes and no,” he said finally. “Does it matter? He’s got the power, and that’s all anyone here will care about.”
“Power enough to throw back the long night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Rupert turned away, and looked out over the crowded courtyard. “How many refugees are we sheltering here in the Castle?”
“About twelve thousand. God knows how many more are trapped out there in the dark, unprotected. We took in as many as we could when the darkness fell, but then the demons came, and we had no choice but to bar the gates and raise the drawbridge. It all happened so suddenly, Rupert, we had no warning at all. The demons haven’t mounted any kind of attack yet. They just sit outside our walls, watching and waiting. From time to time they call to us in human voices, begging to be let in. We don’t open the gates to anyone any more.”
Rupert looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “What led you to make an exception in our case?”
“We didn’t,” said Harald. “The drawbridge lowered itself, and the gates swung open of their own accord. That’s why I assumed the High Warlock must be with you.”
“Where’s the dragon?” asked Rupert suddenly. “Why didn’t he come out to help us against the demons?”
“Apparently he still hasn’t got over his last encounter with the demons. According to Julia, he was hurt much more seriously than any of us realised. He’s been hibernating for months, trying to heal himself. It’s beginning to look as if he may never wake up again.”
Rupert looked sharply at Harald. “Julia. How is she?”
“Oh, she’s in excellent health, I’m happy to say. Actually, you got back just in rime. Julia and I were to have been married weeks ago, but what with one thing and another, there just hasn’t been the time. Still, father assures me the ceremony will finally take place tomorrow. It’ll do no end of good for Castle morale. I’m so glad you’re back, Rupert, it wouldn’t have been the same without you there beside me, as my best man.”
Rupert stared at him silently, and Harald stepped back a pace. The tiredness and pain had vanished from Rupert’s face and been replaced by
a cold, calculating rage. Harald’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand to his swordhilt.
“Do you think,” said Rupert thickly, “that I fought my way through all the demons in the long night, and braved the High Warlock in his Tower, just so that you could take Julia away from me? I’ll see you dead first.”
Harald fought down an urgent need to step back another pace. He couldn’t afford to appear weak. He swallowed dryly, remembering the last time he’d fought his brother in the courtyard. He still carried some of the scars. This time, Rupert was obviously weakened by his wounds and loss of blood, but still Harald hesitated. There was something in Rupert’s eyes, something cold and dark and very deadly.
Blue Moon Rising Page 37
