Simon R. Green - Forest Kingdom 1 - Blue Moon Rising

BLUE MOON RISING

Simon R. Green

The right of Simon R. Green to be identified as the author of this work

has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and

Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain in 2000 by Millennium

ISBN 1 85798 987 2

For my mother and my father

who were always there when

I needed them

In those days there were heroes and villains, and darkness walked the

earth. There were dragons to be slain, captured princesses to be saved,

and mighty deeds were accomplished by knights in shining armour.

Many tales are told of that time, tales of steadfast bravery and

derring-do. This isn't one of them.

Chapter One

THE RAINBOW RUN

Prince Rupert rode his unicorn into the Tanglewood, peering balefully

through the drizzling rain as he searched halfheartedly for the flea hiding

somewhere under his breastplate. Despite the chill rain he was sweating

heavily under the weight of his armour, and his spirits had sunk so low as

to be almost out of sight. 'Go forth and slay a dragon, my son,' King John

had said, and all the courtiers cheered. They could afford to. They didn't

have to go out and face the dragon. Or ride through the Tanglewood in full

armour in the rainy season. Rupert gave up on the flea and scrabbled

awkwardjy at his steel helmet, but to no avail; water continued to trickle

down his neck.

Towering, closely packed trees bordered the narrow trail, blending into

a verdant gloom that mirrored his mood. Thick fleshy vines clung to every

tree trunk, and fell in matted streamers from the branches. A heavy, sullen

silence hung over the Tanglewood. No animals moved in the thick

undergrowth, and no birds sang. The only sounds were the constant rustle

of the rain as it dripped from the lowering branches of the water-logged

trees and the muffled thudding of the unicorn's hooves. Thick mud and

fallen leaves made the twisting, centuries-old trail more than usually

treacherous, and the unicorn moved ever more slowly, slipping and sliding

as he carried Prince Rupert deeper into the Tanglewood.

Rupert glowered about him, and sighed deeply. All his life he'd thrilled

to the glorious exploits of his ancestors, told in solemn voices during the

long, dark winter evenings. He remembered as a child sitting wide-eyed

and open-mouthed by the fire in the Great Hall, listening with delicious

horror to tales of ogres and harpies, magic swords and rings of power.

Steeped in the legends of his family,

Rupert had vowed from an early age that one day he too would be a

hero, like Great-Uncle Sebastian, who traded three years of his life for the

three wishes that would free the Princess Elaine from the Tower With No

Doors. Or like Grandfather Eduard, who alone had dared confront the

terrible Night Witch, who maintained her remarkable beauty by bathing

in the blood of young girls.

Now, finally, he had the chance to be a hero, and a right dog's breakfast

he was making of it. Basically, Rupert blamed the minstrels. They were so

busy singing about heroes vanquishing a dozen foes with one sweep of the

sword because their hearts were pure that they never got round to the

important issues, like how to keep rain out of your armour, or avoid

strange fruits that gave you the runs, or the best way to dig latrines. There

was a lot to being a hero that the minstrels never mentioned. Rupert was

busily working himself into a real foul temper when the unicorn lurched

under him.

'Steady!' yelled the Prince.

The unicorn sniffed haughtily.

'It's all right for you up there, taking it easy; I'm the one who has to do

all the work. That armour you're wearing weighs a ton. My back's killing

me.'

'I've been in the saddle for three weeks,' Rupert pointed out

unsympathetically. 'It's not my back that's bothering me.'

The unicorn sniggered, and then came to a sudden halt, almost spilling

the Prince from his saddle. Rupert grabbed at the long, curlicued horn to

keep his balance.

'Why have we stopped? Trail getting too muddy, perhaps? Afraid your

hooves will get dirty?'

'If you're going to be a laugh a minute you can get off and walk,' snarled

the unicorn. 'In case you hadn't noticed, there's a massive spider's web

blocking the trail.'

Rupert sighed, heavily. 'I suppose you want me to check it out?'

'If you would, please.'

The unicorn shuffled his feet, and the Prince felt briefly seasick. 'You

know how I feel about spiders . . .'

Rupert cursed resignedly, and swung awkwardly down from the saddle,

his armour protesting loudly with every movement. He sank a good three

inches into the trail's mud, and swayed unsteadily for a long moment

before finding his balance. He forced open his helmet's visor and studied

the huge web uneasily. Thick milky strands choked the narrow path, each

sticky thread studded with the sparkling jewels of trapped raindrops.

Rupert frowned; what kind of spider spins a web almost ten feet high. He

trudged cautiously forward, drew his sword, and prodded one of the

strands. The blade stuck tight, and he had to use both hands to pull the

sword free.

'Good start,' said the unicorn.

Rupert ignored the animal and stared thoughtfully at the web. The

more he looked at it, the less it seemed like a spider's web. The pattern

was wrong. The strands hung together in knotted clumps, falling in

drifting streamers from the higher branches, and dropping from the lower

in thick clusters that burrowed into the trail's mud. And then Rupert felt

the hair on the back of his neck slowly rise as he realised that although the

web trembled constantly, there was no wind blowing.

'Rupert,' said the unicorn softly.

'We're being watched, right?'

'Right.'

Rupert scowled and hefted his sword. Something had been following

them ever since they'd entered the Tanglewood at daybreak, something

that hid in shadows and dared not enter the light. Rupert shifted his

weight carefully, getting the feel of the trail beneath him. If it came to a

fight, the thick mud was going to be a problem. He took off his helmet,

and put it down at the side of the trail; the narrow eyeholes limited his

field of vision too much. He glanced casually round as he straightened up,

and then froze as he saw a slender, misshapen silhouette moving among

the trees. Tall as a man, it didn't move like a man, and light glistened on

fang and claw before the creature disappeared back into the concealing

shadows. Rain beat on Rupert's head and ran unheeded down his face as a

cold horror built slowly within him.

Beyond the Tanglewood lay darkness. For as long as anyone could

remember, there had always been a part of the Forest where it was forever

night. No sun shone, and whatever lived there never knew the light of day.

Map-makers called it the Darkwood, and warned Here Be Demons. For

countless centuries, Forest Land and Darkwood had been separated by the

Tanglewood: a deadly confusion of swamp and briar and sudden death

from which few escaped alive. Silent predators stalked the

weed-and-vine-choked trails, and lay in wait for the unwary. And yet, over

the past few months, strange creatures had stalked the Forest Land,

uneasy shapes that dared not face the light of day. Sometimes, when the

sun was safely down, a lone cottager might hear scratchings at his securely

bolted doors and shutters, and in the morning would find deep gouges in

the wood, and mutilated animals in his barn.

The Tanglewood was no longer a barrier. . .

Here Be Demons.

Rupert fought down his fear, and took a firmer grip on his sword. The

solid weight of the steel comforted him, and he swept the shining blade

back and forth before him. He glared up at the dark clouds hiding the sun;

one decent burst of sunshine would have sent the creature scuttling for its

lair, but as usual he was out of luck.

It's only a demon, he thought furiously. I'm in full armour, and I know

how to use a sword. The demon hasn't a chance.

'Unicorn,' he said quietly, peering into the shadows where he'd last seen

the demon. 'You'd better find a tree to hide behind. And stay clear of the

fight; I don't want you getting hurt.'

'I'm way ahead of you,' said a muffled voice. Rupert glanced round to

find the unicom hiding behind a thick-boled tree some distance away.

'Thanks a lot,' said Rupert. 'What if I need your help?'

'Then you're in bother,' said the unicom firmly, 'because I'm not

moving. I know a demon when I smell one. They eat unicorns, you know.'

'Demons eat anything,' said Rupert.

'Precisely,' said the unicorn, and ducked back out of sight behind his

tree.

Not for the first time, the Prince vowed to find the man who'd sold him

the unicorn, and personally do something unpleasant to every one of the

swindler's extremities.

There was a faint scuffling to his left, and Rupert had just started to

turn when the demon slammed into him from behind. His heavy armour

overbalanced him, and he fell forward into the clinging mud. The impact

knocked the breath from him, and his sword flew from his outstretched

hand. He caught a brief glimpse of something dark and misshapen

towering over him, and then a heavy weight landed on his back. A clawed

hand on the back of his neck forced his face down, and the mud came up

to fill his eyes. Rupert flailed his arms desperately and tried to get his feet

under him, but his steel-studded boots just slid helplessly in the thick

mire. His lungs ached as he fought for air, and the watery mud spilled into

his gaping mouth.

Panic welled up in him as he bucked and heaved to no avail. His head

swam madly, and there was a great roaring in his ears as the last of his

breath ran out. One of his arms became wedged beneath his breastplate,

and with the suddenness of inspiration he used his arm as a lever to force

himself over on to his back, trapping the squirming demon beneath the

weight of his armour.

He lay there for long, precious moments, drawing in great shuddering

breaths and gouging the mud from his eyes. He yelled for the unicorn to

help him, but there was no reply. The demon hammered furiously at his

armour with clumsy fists, and then a clawed hand snaked up to tear into

Rupert's face. He groaned in agony as the claws grated on his cheekbone,

and tried desperately to reach his sword. The demon took advantage of

this to squirm out from under him. Rupert rolled quickly to one side,

grabbed his sword, and surged to his feet despite the clinging mud. The

weight of his armour made every move an effort, and blood ran thickly

down his face and neck as he stood swaying before the crouching demon.

In many ways it might have been a man, twisted and malformed, but to

stare into its hungry, pupil-less eyes was to know the presence of evil.

Demons killed to live, and lived to kill; a darkness loose upon the Land.

Rupert gripped his sword firmly and forced himself to concentrate on the

demon simply as an opponent. It was strong and fast and deadly, but so

was he if he kept his wits about him. He had to get out of the mud and up

on to firm ground; the treacherous mire gave the demon too much of an

advantage. He took a cautious step forward, and the demon flexed its

claws eagerly, smiling widely to reveal rows of pointed, serrated teeth.

Rupert swept his sword back and forth before him, and the demon gave

ground a little, wary of the cold steel. Rupert glanced past the night-dark

creature in search of firmer ground, and then grinned shakily at what he

saw. For the first time he felt he might be in with a flying chance.

He gripped his sword in both hands, took a deep breath, and then

charged full tilt at the crouching demon, knowing that if he fell too soon

he was a dead man. The demon darted back out of range, staying just

ahead of the Prince's reaching sword. Rupert struggled on, fighting to

keep his feet under him. The demon grinned and jumped back again,

straight into the massive web that blocked the path. Rupert stumbled to a

halt, drew back his sword for the killing thrust, and then froze in horror as

the web's thick milky strands slowly wrapped themselves around the

demon. It tore furiously at the strands and then howled silently in agony

as the web oozed a clear viscous acid that steamed where it fell upon the

ground. Rupert watched in sick fascination as the feebly struggling demon

disappeared inside a huge pulsating cocoon that covered it from head to

toe. The last twitching movements died quickly away as the web digested

its meal.

Rupert wearily lowered his sword and leaned on it, resting his aching

back. Blood ran down into his mouth, and he spat it out. Who'd be a hero?

He grinned sourly and took stock of himself. His magnificent burnished

armour was caked with drying mud, and etched with deep scratch marks

from the demon's claws. He hurt all over, and his head beat with pain. He

brought a shaking hand up to his face, and then winced as he saw fresh

blood on his mailed gauntlet. He'd never liked the sight of blood, especially

his own. He sheathed his sword and sat down heavily on the edge of the

trail, ignoring the squelching mud.

All in all, he didn't think he'd done too badly. There weren't many men

who'd faced a demon and lived to tell of it. Rupert glanced at the now

motionless cocoon, and grimaced. Not the most heroic way to win, and

certainly not the most sporting, but the demon was dead and he was alive,

and that was the way he'd wanted it to be.

He peeled off his gauntlets and tenderly inspected his damaged face

with his fingers. The cuts were wide and deep, and ran from the corner of

his eye down to his mouth. Better wash them clean, he thought dazedly.

Don't want them to get infected. He shook his head and looked about him.

The rain had died away during the fight, but the sun was already sliding

down the sky towards evening, and the shadows were darkening. Nights

were falling earlier these days, even though it was barely summer. Rain

dripped steadily from the overhanging branches, and a dank, musty smell

hung heavily on the still air. Rupert glanced at the web cocoon, and

shivered suddenly as he remembered how close he'd come to trying to cut

his way through. Predators come in many forms, especially in the

Tanglewood.

He sighed resignedly. Tired or no, it was time he was on his way.

'Unicorn! Where are you?'

'Here,' said a polite voice from the deepest of the shadows.

'Are you coming out, or do I come in there after you?' growled the

Prince. There was a slight pause, and then the unicorn stepped diffidently

out on to the trail. Rupert glared at the animal, who wouldn't meet his

gaze.

'And where were you, while I was risking my neck fighting that demon?'

'Hiding,' said the unicorn. 'It seemed the logical thing to do.'

'Why didn't you help?'

'Well,' said the unicorn reasonably, 'if you couldn't handle the demon

with a sword and a full set of armour, I didn't see what help I could offer.'

Rupert sighed. One of these days he'd learn not to argue with the

unicorn.

'How do I look?'

Terrible.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'You'll probably have scars,' said the unicorn helpfully.

'Great. That's all I need.'

'I thought scars on the face were supposed to be heroic?'

'Whoever thought that one up wants his head felt. Bloody minstrels . . .

Help me up, unicorn.'

The unicorn moved in quickly beside him. Rupert reached out, took a

firm hold of the stirrup, and slowly pulled himself up out of the mud. The

unicorn stood patiently as Rupert leaned wearily against his side, waiting

for his bone-deep aches to subside long enough for him to make a try at

getting up into the saddle.

The unicorn studied him worriedly. Prince Rupert was a tall, handsome

man in his mid-twenties, but blood and pain and fatigue had added

twenty years to his face. His skin was grey and beaded with sweat, and his

eyes were feverish. He was obviously in no condition to ride, but the

unicorn knew that Rupert's pride would force him to try.

'Rupert ...' said the unicorn.

'Yeah?'

'Why don't you just . . . walk me for a while? You know how unsteady I

am in this mud.'

'Yeah,' said Rupert. 'That's a good idea. I'll do that.'

He reached out and took hold of the bridle, his head hanging wearily

down. Slowly, carefully, the unicorn led him past the motionless cocoon

and on down the trail, heading deeper into the Tanglewood.

Two days later, Rupert was back in the saddle and fast approaching the

boundary between Tanglewood and Darkwood. His aches had mostly died

away, thanks to a pouch of herbs the Court Astrologer had forced on him

before he left, and though more than once he found himself wishing for a

mirror, the wounds on his face seemed to be scabbing nicely. All in all,

Rupert was feeling a little more cheerful, or at least only mildly depressed.

He was supposed to kill a dragon but truth to tell, nobody had seen one

in ages, and they'd pretty much passed into legend. Rupert had become

somewhat disenchanted with legends; they seemed to dwell on the honour

and the glory and miss out the important parts, like how you killed

whatever it was without getting killed yourself. 'Because your heart is

pure' isn't a lot of help when you're up against a dragon. I bet mine

breathes fire, thought Rupert dismally. He was working hard on a great

new rationalisation that would let him turn back almost honourably, when

his bladder loudly called itself to his attention. Rupert sighed and steered

the unicorn over to the side of the trail. That was another thing minstrels

never mentioned.

He quickly dismounted, and set about undoing the complicated series

of flaps that protected his groin. He only just made it in time, and

whistled nonchalantly as he emptied his bladder against a tree trunk. If

his diet didn't improve soon, he'd be the only hero going into battle with

his flies undone ...

That thought decided him, and as soon as he'd finished what he was

doing, Rupert set about discarding his armour. He'd only worn the damn

stuff because he'd been assured it was traditional for anyone setting out

on a quest. Stuff tradition, thought Rupert happily, his spirits soaring as

piece by piece the battered armour dropped into the trail's mud. After a

little thought, he decided to hang on to the steel-studded boots; he might

want to kick someone. Clad finally in leather jerkin and trousers and his

best cloak, Rupert felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. Admittedly

he also felt decidedly vulnerable, but the way his luck had been going

recently, he'd only have rusted up solid anyway.

'I hate grass,' said the unicorn moodily.

Then why are you eating it?' asked Rupert, buckling on his sword belt.

'I'm hungry,' said the unicorn, chewing disgustedly. 'And since we ran

out of civilised fodder weeks ago ...'

'What's wrong with grass?' Rupert enquired mildly. 'Horses eat it all the

time.'

'I am not a horse!'

'Never said you were ...'

'I'm a unicorn, a thoroughbred, and I'm entitled to proper care and

attention. Like oats and barley and ...'

'In the Tanglewood?'

'Hate grass,' muttered the unicorn. 'Makes me feel all bloated.'

'Try a few thistles,' suggested Rupert.

The unicorn gave him a hard look. 'Do I even faintly resemble a

donkey?' he enquired menacingly.

Rupert looked away to hide a grin, and discovered a dozen goblins had

moved silently out of the shadows to block the trail. Ranging from three to

four feet in height, depending on the bandiness of their legs and the length

of their long pointed ears, they were armed with rusty short swords and

jagged-edged meat cleavers. Their ill-fitting bronze and silver armour had

obviously been looted from human travellers, and the pointed teeth

flashing from their unpleasant grins suggested what had happened to the

armour's previous occupants. Furious at being caught off guard, Rupert

drew his sword and glared at them all. The goblins stopped dead in their

tracks and glanced unhappily at each other.

'Don't just stand there,' growled a deep voice from the shadows. 'Get

him, lads.'

The goblins shifted uncertainly from foot to foot.

'He's got a sword,' pointed out the smallest goblin.

'A big sword,' clarified another goblin.

'And look at those scars on his face, and there was all that dried blood

on his armour,' whispered a third, respectfully. 'He must have slaughtered

hundreds of people ...'

'Chopped them into chutney,' elaborated the smallest goblin mournfully.

Rupert swung his sword casually back and forth before him, light

flashing the length of the blade. The goblins gave ground furiously, all but

trampling one other underfoot.

'At least get his horse,' suggested the voice from the shadows.

'Horse?' The unicorn threw up his head, rage blazing from his blood-red

eyes. 'Horse? What do you think this is on my head? An ornament? I'm a

unicorn, you moron!'

'Horse, unicorn; what's the difference?'

The unicorn pawed the ground, and lowered his head so that light

glistened on his wickedly pointed horn.

'Right. That does it. One at a time or all at once — you're all getting it!'

'Nice one, leader,' muttered the smallest goblin.

Rupert shot an amused glance at the unicorn. 'I thought you were a

sensible, logical coward?'

'I'm too busy being angry,' growled the unicorn. 'I'll be afraid later,

when there's time. Line these creeps up for me, and I'll skewer the lot. I'll

show them a shish kebab they won't forget in a hurry.'

The goblins huddled together for comfort and retreated even further

down the trail.

'Will you stop messing about and kill the traveller!' roared the voice

from the shadows.

'You want him dead, you kill him!' snapped the smallest goblin, looking

busily around for the nearest escape route. 'This is all your fault, anyway.

We should have ambushed him while he was distracted, like we usually

do.'

There was a deep sigh, and then the goblin leader stepped majestically

out of the shadows. Broad-shouldered, impressively muscled, and very

nearly five feet tall, he was the biggest goblin Rupert had ever seen. The

Simon R. Green - Forest Kingdom 1 - Blue Moon Rising

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