Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) (64 page)

High above the courtyard, the Blue Moon stared pitilessly down from the starless night, and outside the gates the demons beat unceasingly against the shuddering oaken doors.

King John got slowly to his feet, picked up Rockbreaker, and sheathed the sword without even looking at it. For all their legendary power, the Infernal Devices had been no match for the Darkwood. Now two of the blades were lost, and he had nothing left to set against the endless night.
It’s all over
, he thought slowly.
We’ve lost. I tried everything I could think of, and we still lost.
For a moment he wanted to run away and hide, to barricade himself in his quarters and wait till the demons came for him, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He was the King, and he had to set an example. Even if there was no point to it anymore. He nodded brusquely to Harald as his son approached, and then the two of them turned to look at Rupert and Julia.

“How is he?” asked the King, and then had to fight not to look away as he realized the extent of Rupert’s injuries.

“He looks bad,” said Harald, and Julia rounded on him fiercely.

“You left him out there to die, you bastard!”

Harald met her furious gaze calmly. “If the demons had got past him, we’d never have been able to close the doors in time. By holding the demons back, even if only for a few minutes, Rupert helped to save the lives of everyone in this Castle. He knew he didn’t stand a chance when he went out into the Keep, but he also knew his duty. My duty was to get the gates closed, so that his sacrifice wouldn’t have been in vain. I did what was right, Julia. I did what was necessary.”

“You always do, Harald,” said the King. He knelt painfully beside Julia, and put an arm round her shoulders.

“There must be something we can do,” pleaded Julia. “We’ve got to do something. He’s dying!”

“Yes,” said King John softly. “I think he is. It was a brave stand, while it lasted. The bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You can’t die!” shouted Julia suddenly, and taking Rupert by the shoulders, she shook him desperately. “Wake up, damn you; I won’t let you die!”

Harald and the King tried gently to pull her away, and she fought them.

“Let me through,” said a tired voice, and Julia stopped struggling and looked quickly round as she recognized the High Warlock’s voice.

“Help him! You’re a sorcerer; help him!”

“If I can, lass.” The Warlock moved slowly forward, walking carefully and deliberately, like an old man whose bones pained him. And then Julia realized with something of a shock that the Warlock was an old man. The hair that had been jet black was now a dirty gray streaked with white, and his face had sunk back to the bone, the flesh heavily lined and wrinkled. His hands were gnarled and twisted, and they trembled constantly as he held them over Rupert’s bloodied chest. A brilliant light flared briefly at the Warlock’s fingertips, and Rupert’s wounds knit gradually together. The bleeding slowed and stopped, and Rupert’s face relaxed a little, but he didn’t waken. The High Warlock nodded grimly, and turned to Julia. She felt a warm glow move swiftly through her body, and then it vanished, taking her pains with it. Only her tiredness remained; that, and the bone-deep despair that tore at her heart every time she remembered how close she’d come to losing Rupert.

“Is that it?” she asked the Warlock anxiously. “Will he be all right?”

“I don’t know, Julia. There’s not much magic left in me now, but I’ve done all I can for him.”

“What happened to your magic during the battle?” growled the King.

“We were betrayed,” said the Warlock simply. “Just before the gates opened, a servant appeared with several jugs of wine, and presented them to us with your compliments. We were all very touched at the gesture, so we joked and laughed and drank you a toast. Several toasts, in fact. There was enough poison in that wine to kill an army. My magic was strong enough to throw off the effects, eventually, but the others never stood a chance. They started to fall just after the gates opened, choking and clawing at their throats. I held on as long as I could, and then the poison took me. When I finally recovered consciousness, I was surrounded by bodies, and the battle was over. I did my best for you, John, for as long as I could. I only wish it could have been more.”

“Thomas Grey!” said the King suddenly. “He was with you!”

“He was lucky,” said the Warlock. “He didn’t care for the vintage, so he only drank a little. He and I were the only survivors; just the two of us, out of more than fifty.”

“Who did this?” said Harald. “Who stabbed us in the back? I thought all the traitors were dead.”

The Warlock shrugged. “The servant who brought us the wine is dead. Somebody used him, and then killed him so that he couldn’t tell us who it was.”

He broke off as Rupert suddenly stirred, and tried to sit up.

“Julia?”

“I’m here, Rupert.” She put an arm around his shoulders to support him, and he shook his head slowly to clear it.

“How do you feel, son?” asked the King.

“Terrible,” said Rupert. “But I’ll survive.”

“Of course,” said Harald. “You always do.”

“My eye hurts,” said Rupert, and then froze as his fingers found only sealed eyelids where his right eye used to be. “My eye; what’s happened to my eye?”

“Easy, lad,” said the King, and Julia quickly grabbed Rupert’s hand to stop him clawing at his face.

“I’m sorry, Rupert,” said the High Warlock, quietly. “There’s nothing more I can do.”

Rupert swallowed hard, fighting back his panic. He felt maimed, crippled, even more than if he’d lost an arm or a leg. The world looked strange and different, seen through his one eye; it looked flat and somehow unreal, and he couldn’t seem to judge distances properly. He remembered an old guard with one eye, who’d once told him something about depth perception, and how it had stopped him being a swordsman, and the panic surged up in him again.

“How the hell am I going to use a sword, with only one eye to guide me?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” drawled Harald. “There are so many demons, all you have to do is keep swinging and you’re bound to hit one, sooner or later.”

For a moment Julia thought she would kill him for being so callous, and then she took her hand away from her sword as she realized Rupert was laughing.

“You bastard, Harald.” Rupert grinned. “Trust you to put things in perspective.”

“One of my more useful talents,” said Harald. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to make sure the battlements are secure.”

He bowed politely, and moved off into the courtyard. Julia watched him go, and shook her head.

“There are times,” she said slowly, “when I don’t understand that man at all.”

“You’re not alone,” said the King dryly. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Julia looked at him closely.

“You look exhausted, John. How did your part of the battle go? Are you hurt?”

“Just cuts and bruises, my dear. And there’s not much to tell about the battle. I led my men out, and I brought some of them back. For a time, I almost felt like a King again.” He looked unflinchingly at the bodies lying heaped together on the bloodstained cobbles, and shook his head. “It wasn’t worth the price.”

“You went back with me to help save your son. I’ve never seen anything braver.”

“Bravery isn’t enough anymore,” said the King. “Look around you, Julia. My army is broken, the Castle’s under siege, and I haven’t even got enough men left to guard the battlements. Twelve generations of my family built the Forest Kingdom and kept it strong. It only took one generation to see it all destroyed; one incompetent King.”

“It wasn’t your fault …”

“Wasn’t it? The King is the Land, and the Land is the King. I failed as King, and now the Land is paying the price.”

“Bull,” said Julia. “You’re a man like any other, and you did the best you could with an impossible situation. You mustn’t blame yourself, John. The Darkwood doesn’t care how brave or strong you are; it’s a part of Nature, like an earthquake or a storm. You can’t hope to beat it with swords and axes and armies.”

“So what should I do? Give in?”

“No,” said Julia sharply. “We go on fighting, but in a different way. We’ve tried armies and we’ve tried magic, and they’ve both failed us. Now there’s only one way left. Think, John; what’s the real heart of the Darkwood, what gives it life and purpose? The Demon Prince! Destroy him, and you destroy the Darkwood!”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” said Rupert. “It’s all we can do to hold the Castle against the demons, and you expect us to go traipsing off into the Darkwood in search of the Demon Prince himself? We wouldn’t last five minutes out there!’”

“We’ve got to try!” said Julia. “It’s our only hope now.”

“Wait a minute,” said Rupert. “I hate to suggest it, but how about another teleport spell? If he got it right, the Warlock could take us straight to the Demon Prince.”

“No,” said the Warlock quietly. “I don’t have enough magic left to power that kind of spell.”

“The dragon!” said Rupert. “He could fly us over the Darkwood!”

The High Warlock looked at him. “You’ve got a dragon? Here?”

“Sure,” said Julia. “He’s sleeping in the stables.”

The Warlock shook his head slowly. “Nobody tells me anything.”

“The last time I tried, I couldn’t wake him,” said Rupert. “Maybe you can, sir Warlock.”

“It’s worth a try. But I’ll need to rest first.”

“Very well,” said King John. “I suggest we all get whatever rest we can. We’ll meet again in an hour’s time. Unless, of course, the demons get here first.”

“You always were a gloomy bastard, John,” said the High Warlock.

The Warlock sat alone at the bottom of the main entrance steps, brooding over the empty wine bottle in his hand. Only a few hours ago, he could have called up another bottle just by thinking about it, but now … He sighed glumly, and put the bottle down, carefully out of his line of sight. He remembered the drugged wine the servant had brought him, and smiled wryly. Maybe it was time he gave up drinking wine. Right now, he’d settle for a good brandy. He wistfully considered raiding the King’s wine cellars, but decided against it. The demons could come swarming over the walls at any time, and he had to be ready for them. He sighed again, and then glanced up as King John appeared before him.

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks a lot, John.”

“Your hair’s gone gray.”

“That’s what being sober does for you.”

King John smiled in spite of himself. “You’re losing your magic, aren’t you?”

“Looks like it. It’s hardly surprising; I’ve cast more spells in the last twenty-four hours than I’d normally cast in a year. And fighting off the poison took a hell of a lot out of me. Now, every spell ages me a little more. I can feel the winter in my bones, and I’m starting to forget things. I hate it when I can’t remember things.”

“I know,” said the King. “I feel the same way, sometimes. But in a way, it’s a kind of blessing. After all, we both have things we’d rather not remember.”

Julia unstrapped the long, silver scabbard from her back, and studied it thoughtfully. It looked different, now that it no longer contained the Infernal Device. The silver itself seemed dull and lusterless, and the ancient runes set deep into the metal held no meaning at all. Julia hefted the scabbard in her hands, and then threw it away. It fell among a pile of discarded weapons left by the returning army and, from a distance, it was just one more scabbard among many.

Julia leaned back against the inner East wall, and closed her eyes. It felt almost sinful to be resting, when everyone else was racing around the courtyard like a chicken about to have its head chopped off, but until the Warlock decided he was ready, there was nothing for her to do. So she sat down, leaned back against the wall, stretched out her legs, and had a little rest. She let one hand drop to the sword at her side, and smiled slightly. Rupert had given her that sword a long time ago, or so it seemed, and it had done good service by her. Which was more than she could say for Wolfsbane. She’d never been happy with that sword in her hand. She could have hung onto it, rather than letting it vanish into the earth along with the creature it was killing, but she’d chosen to let it go, and still felt she’d done the right thing. Wolfsbane was more than just a sword; much more. It was alive, and it was aware, and it had wanted her mind and her soul. And Julia knew that if she had used the sword long enough, it would have had them both. In the end, she’d given up the sword because she’d wanted so much to keep it.

She heard footsteps approaching. She opened her eyes just long enough to recognize Harald, and then closed them again.

“I see you’ve got rid of the scabbard,” said Harald. “Probably a wise move. According to some legends, the Infernal Devices can never be destroyed, and if they’re ever lost or thrown away, they will eventually find their way back to their scabbards.”

“You believe that rubbish?” asked Julia, not bothering to open her eyes.

“I’ve seen a great many things recently that once I would never have believed possible,” said Harald calmly. “That’s why I threw away my scabbard.”

Julia opened her eyes and looked at him. The scabbard was gone from Harald’s back, and it seemed to Julia that he stood a little taller without it. Their eyes met for a moment, sharing a knowledge they would never reveal to anyone else, of how close they had come to being seduced and overpowered by the swords they’d carried. After a while, they looked away, perhaps because they didn’t want to be reminded. They just wanted to forget.

“Do you think the Warlock will be able to wake the dragon?” asked Harald.

“I don’t know. The dragon’s been hibernating for months. Rupert thinks he may be dying.”

“Well, Rupert has been known to be wrong, on occasion.”

Julia looked at Harald steadily. “You would have shut those gates on him, wouldn’t you?”

“How many more times, Julia? It was necessary. Somebody had to defend the Keep, so that the gates could be shut.”

“Then why didn’t you do it?”

Harald smiled. “I never was the heroic type.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Julia, and getting to her feet, she walked away in search of Rupert.