Rupert finally came to a halt before the throne. The King and the Warlock went on arguing, too wrapped up in each other to notice either Rupert’s presence or the sudden hush that had fallen over the Court. Rupert stared past the King, and caught Harald’s eye. His brother stirred uneasily, and a slight frown marred his placid features. Rupert’s time in the Darkwood had changed him, and for the first time Harald felt a faint prickling of fear run down his spine. The blood-spattered, cold-eyed stranger before him had nothing in common with the quiet, indecisive brother he’d dominated for so many years. Harald looked away, unable to meet Rupert’s gaze any longer. Without really knowing why, Harald was suddenly frightened. Death seemed to hang about Rupert like a shroud, as though he had brought something of the endless night with him into the brightly lit Court. Or perhaps it was simply that his eyes held more pain and horror than any man should ever have had to face. Harald started to shiver, and found he couldn’t stop. He tried to concentrate on what the King and the Warlock were arguing about, and ignored the cold sweat beading his forehead.
“We can’t hide behind these walls for ever!” shouted the King. “If we don’t take the battle to the demons, it won’t be long before they come looking for us!”
“You’re either mad, or blind,” growled the High Warlock. “You’re talking as though the Forest was still under siege from the Darkwood. Get used to the idea, John. The Forest is gone. There’s nothing left but the night. Outside these walls there’s no light, no life, nothing hut the dark, and the demons that live in it. And there are an awful lot of demons in the dark. The creatures of the night outnumber any force you could hope to put together by more than a thousand to one. Anyone who leaves this Castle isn’t coming back. Ever.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” demanded the King tightly. “Hide in our little bolt hole while the dark grows even stronger? Wait until the Demon Prince himself comes to fetch us? I don’t have enough men to guard the Castle walls as it is. It’s only a matter of time before the demons come swarming over the walls and slaughter us all!”
“I need time,” said the Warlock. “There are spells I can use, spells that should drive the demons back, but they take time to put together. Surely you can hold off the dark just a little longer?”
“What with?” howled the King, his face mottled with angry patches of red. “My men are dying. I’m running out of food, water, firewood … if the demons were to storm us right now, I couldn’t be sure we’d throw them back. You’ve got to do something, damn you! You’re the High Warlock! Do something, or we’re all dead!”
“It’s always me, isn’t it? It always comes down to me, and my magic. Did you ever stop to think that just possibly I get bloody tired of having to clean up your messes for you? Just once, why don’t you try taking responsibility for your own foul-ups? You know, you haven’t changed a bit, John. You sit on your damn throne and mumble and dither until things get really out of hand, and then I’m supposed to step in and put everything right again, just like that! Never mind I’ve got my own life to lead. Never mind how much I have to risk my life in the process. Well this time we’re going to do things my way. I’m not putting my neck on the chopping block just because you’re too impatient to wait!”
“I’m your King! I order you …”
“You can take your order and—”
“Shut up!” Rupert’s sudden roar cut across their voices, bringing them both up short. Silence descended on the Court. A courtier standing beside Rupert opened his mouth to say something, and found himself staring with horrified fascination at the sword point pressing lightly against his belly.
“One more word from anybody,” said Rupert quietly, “and I’ll gut them.”
Everybody looked at his determined face, and the blood-smeared sword in his hand, and quickly decided he might just mean it. Rupert stared about him at the silent, watchful Court, and grinned tightly.
“Now that I’ve got your attention, perhaps we can discuss the situation calmly, instead of screaming and shouting and running around like a chicken that’s just had its head chopped off.”
He sheathed his sword, and a quiet sigh of relief travelled round the Court, not least from the courtier Rupert had used to make his point.
“You’re learning, Sire,” said the Champion approvingly.
Rupert looked round and wasn’t particularly surprised to find the Champion standing just behind him. Rupert nodded politely to him, and turned away. He wasn’t altogether sure how much support he could depend on from the Champion, now that their mission was over, but for the moment at least it seemed he had an ally in his father’s Court. If only because they both disliked the courtiers so much … Rupert stepped forward a pace, and bowed curtly to his father. The King stared at him for a long moment, his face and cold steady gaze giving nothing away.
“I thought you were dead,” he said finally. “After so many months, and no word of you from anyone, I was sure I’d never see you again.”
“So I gathered,” said Rupert dryly. “In the courtyard, half of them acted like they’d seen a ghost. Hey, wait a minute, didn’t the goblins tell you I was still alive? They did get here all right, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” said the King. “Unfortunately. But that was months ago. You were supposed to be back long before this.”
There was a pause as they looked at each other, their faces carefully impassive, each waiting for the other to say something.
“You could at least say you’re glad to see me again,” said Rupert, finally. “Or wasn’t I supposed to come back from this quest either?”
“You haven’t changed,” said the King. “You haven’t changed at all, Rupert.”
“Don’t bet on it,” said Rupert, and there was a sudden, unyielding harshness in his voice that startled the King, and drew another thoughtful frown from Harald. Rupert ignored them both, and turned on the High Warlock. “Now you’ve had time to think about it, sir Warlock, perhaps you’d care to tell me what the hell went wrong with your teleport spell. We should have arrived here long before the Blue Moon was full. You promised me your spell would get us here in time. I trusted you, High Warlock.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” said the Warlock, almost defiantly. “Somebody in this Castle interfered with my spell, so that we arrived at the right place, but the wrong time.”
“Somebody here?” said Rupert. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! I’m the High Warlock! Whoever it was, he isn’t very powerful. He couldn’t break or distort the spell, just deflect it. As far as I can make out, we were supposed to arrive even further in the future, after the Castle had fallen, but his magic wasn’t strong enough, compared to mine.”
Rupert shook his head slowly, trying to follow the explanation. “How could anyone here have interfered with your spell? Nobody here knew we’d be coming back by teleport.”
“The Demon Prince knew,” said the High Warlock.
A quiet murmur rustled through the Court, and several courtiers looked nervously about them, as though just the mention of his name might somehow be enough to summon the Dark Prince in person. The King leaned forward on his throne, scowling and tugging angrily at his beard.
Rupert looked closely at the Warlock. “Are you saying the Demon Prince himself had something to do with your spell going wrong?”
“Indirectly, yes. He has no power outside the Darkwood, but he can work through human agents. Somewhere in this Castle, there is a traitor who serves the dark.”
“That much we already know, sir Warlock,” growled the King. “But can you name him?”
“Not easily, he’s covered his tracks too well. Given time, perhaps—”
“We don’t have the time,” snapped Rupert. “We can worry about unearthing traitors after we’ve done something about the demons outside our walls. Father, how many armed men can we put in the field at one time?”
“Not many, Rupert, the plague hasn’t left us much in the way of manpower.”
“Plague?” Rupert’s skin crawled suddenly, and a cold breeze seemed to caress the back of his neck. “What plague?”
The King smiled sourly. “A great deal has happened since you left, Rupert. The plague has been with us for months, a sickness and a fever that weakens and finally kills. We’ve tried everything, but nothing works against it. It swept across the Forest like a flash fire, and entered the Castle a good week or more before the darkness finally fell.”
“How many people have we lost?” asked Rupert quietly.
“Hundreds,” said the King. “Possibly thousands. There’s no way of telling any more.”
“Damn!” The High Warlock screwed up his face, as though he’d just bitten into something sour, his eyes burning with sudden insight. “I knew it! As soon as Rupert told me about the unicorn losing his horn to the demons, I knew there had to be a reason!”
“I don’t follow you,” said Rupert. “What has the unicorn’s horn got to do with the plague?”
“Everything,” said the Warlock. “Two facts, Rupert. First, it is the Demon Prince’s nature to corrupt. Second, a unicorn’s horn has one special property, to detect and cure poisons. Put these two facts together, and the source of the plague becomes obvious—a debased unicorn’s horn that spreads poison instead of curing it. In the Demon Prince’s hands, that horn has produced a sorcerous plague, spread by his demons, incurable by any natural or unnatural means.”
“If there is no cure,” said the King slowly, “then we’ve no way of stopping it. Eventually, everybody in the Land will be dead, no matter what we do. I can’t accept that, sir Warlock. There must be something we can do!”
“There is,” said the High Warlock. “Destroy the Demon Prince, and his plague will perish with him.”
“This is all very interesting,” said Harald dryly, “but we do seem to be drifting away from the point. The Demon Prince and the plague are problems for the future, assuming we have one. In the meantime, in case everybody has forgotten, we are still under siege from the demons outside our walls. As I recall, Rupert, you claimed to have some kind of answer to that problem. That was, after all, why you halted our discussion of the matter so … abruptly.”
“Discussion?” said Rupert derisively. “Far as I could tell from the babble, your discussion had done nothing but divide you into two trains of thought—Brute Force And Ignorance, and Close Our Eyes And Maybe It’ll All Go Away. Keep thinking like that, people, and we’re all going to end up dead.”
“I take it you’ve got a better idea?” said Julia.
Rupert looked at the Princess, who was clinging ostentatiously to Harald’s arm. “Yes,” he said finally. “I have. Father, where’s the Astrologer?”
“In seclusion,” said the King. “He’s using his magic to try to discover who stole the Curtana, and where it’s hidden.”
“The Curtana?” Rupert blinked confusedly. “How could anybody steal that? It’s still in the lost South Wing!”
“Not any more,” said Julia. “I helped discover a way into the South Wing. Unfortunately, when we finally got to the Old Armoury, the Curtana was missing.”
Rupert’s head whirled as he struggled to take all this in. A great deal has happened since you left, Rupert. He sighed, and firmly suppressed an urge to begin a series of questions he could tell would probably last for hours, with no guarantee he’d be any better off at the end.
“You have been busy, haven’t you, Julia?” he said finally. “Still, we can talk about that later. In the meantime, father, you’d better send for the Astrologer. If my plan’s to work, we’re going to need all the magic we can muster.”
“What do you want the Astrologer for?” growled the Champion. “What’s he going to do—read the demons’ horoscopes and tell them it’s a bad time of the month for attacking castles?”
“He’s a sorcerer,” said Rupert. “And magic is the key to this whole mess.”
“Sorcery is the Demon Prince’s way,” said the Champion, glaring at the silent High Warlock. “Fight fire with fire, and we’ll all get burned. This is a time for cold steel, Sire, for human strength and valour.”
“We tried that in the Darkwood, remember?” snapped Rupert. “Cold steel isn’t enough any more! Demons don’t care how many of their number they lose, as long as they bring us down. There are thousands of the damned creatures outside our walls, and God knows how many more waiting to replace them when they fall. No, sir Champion, the Darkwood is a thing of magic, and must be met with magic.”
The King opened his mouth to say something, and then looked round, startled, as the Court’s double doors flew open, and the Astrologer entered the Court.
“Sorry I’m late, Sire. While searching for the Curtana, I had something of a breakthrough. As far as I can tell, the Sword of Compulsion no longer exists. Whoever took it from the Armoury must have destroyed it. I have to admit, I’m not sure whether that’s a bad thing or not.”
A quiet muttering among the courtiers suggested they weren’t sure either.
King John pulled thoughtfully at his beard, frowning. “That sword might yet have saved us from the darkness, Thomas. I take it there’s no way of telling who stole the sword?”
“Without the Curtana, no, your majesty.” The Astrologer turned to the High Warlock, and bowed deeply. “It’s good to see you again, after all these years, sir Warlock. What small magics I possess are yours to command.”
“Thank you, sir Astrologer,” said the High Warlock politely. “I’m sure you’ll be a most valuable ally.”
“Look, we can all shake hands later,” said Rupert testily. “Right now, we’ve still got a few hundred thousand demons to deal with.”
“Ah,” said Harald, “we’re back to your famous plan again, are we?”
“Harald,” said Rupert slowly, “you’re getting on my nerves. One more interruption from you, and I’m going to knee your balls up around your ears. Got it?”
There was an uncomfortable silence, as everyone pretended not to have heard that.
“Your plan, Rupert,” said the King finally.
“It’s fairly straightforward,” said Rupert. “Unlike most of you here, I’ve fought the Darkwood before. Swords aren’t the answer, and neither is magic, but put them both together and we’re in with a chance. So, first we put together the biggest army we can—anyone who can still stand and wield a sword. Second, we back them up with spells from the High Warlock and the Astrologer, plus any other sorcerers and magicians we can find. Then, we attack the demons outside our walls and hit them with everything we’ve got. If we can drive back the darkness just this once, we can turn the tide. The demons aren’t unbeatable: kill enough of them and they’ll retreat. And without the demons to lead the way, the long night can’t advance. If we make a stand, here and now, there’s a chance we can throw back the night. It’s not much of a chance … but … well, what have we got to lose?”
There was a pause.
“That’s not really much of a plan,” said the King, tactfully.
“It’s a bloody awful plan,” said Rupert, “but it’s the best chance we’ve got. The demons aren’t going to get any weaker. But hit them hard enough and often enough, and you’ll find they die just as easily as any other creature.”
The King nodded reluctantly. “Unless anyone has anything constructive to add … constructive, Harald … very well. In just over three hours from now, the clocks say it will be dawn. Half an hour before that time, I want to see all able-bodied men assembled in the courtyard. With luck we’ll have found somewhere to put the refugee families by then. Don’t anyone be late; if you’re not there we’ll start without you. The gates will open at dawn. And then we’ll show the demons a fight they’ll never forget. That’s all. Court is dismissed. Rupert, Harald, join me in my private chambers, please. Now.”
The King rose from his throne, nodded curtly to the bowing courtiers, and strode briskly off to his private quarters, followed at a respectful distance by his guardsmen. The Court buzzed f
or a while in it subdued fashion, and then broke up into its various factions, and left. The High Warlock and the Astrologer went off together, calmly discussing magical tactics. The courtiers filed out in their little cliques, heading back to their quarters to ready their swords and their armour and their courage, knowing that in a few short hours they would have to go out and face the demons and, most probably, die. For all his contempt of the courtiers in general, Rupert was quietly impressed by the way they took it. For once in their life, they didn’t whine and they didn’t argue. They were clearly scared spitless, but when the time came, Rupert had no doubt most of them would be waiting in the courtyard, sword in hand. And those few too scared to turn up probably wouldn’t have been much use in a battle anyway.
He looked over to where Julia stood talking with Harald. They both seemed very interested in each other, and not at all in him. Rupert wanted to look away, and couldn’t. At first, he’d thought Julia was just playing up to Harald to make him jealous, and that deep down she still cared for him. But now he knew better. For the first time, he realised how natural Julia looked in her formal gown and cloak. She looked somehow right beside Harald, as though she belonged there. Rupert glanced down at his own torn and bloodstained clothes, and the thought of that tall, stately Princess on his arm was totally ridiculous.
I’m a second son, he thought bitterly, and that’s all I’ll ever be. It didn’t take Julia long to discover where the real power is in this family. He took one last look at the gorgeous blonde Princess laughing with Prince Harald, and turned away. That’s not the woman I knew, he thought tiredly. That’s not the woman I fought beside in the Darkwood … the woman I came to love. That Julia was just an illusion, a dream born of need and shared danger … and loneliness. I should have known better.
Blue Moon Rising Page 40
