Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (48 page)

Hawk decided to change the subject slightly, before Fisher’s blood pressure hit a dangerous level. “The Seneschal said he looked at the Inverted Cathedral with his augmented Sight, and saw a vision of Hell.”

Lament shook his head firmly. “No. The Cathedral has become a dark and evil place, but it is not itself a province of the inferno. It does, perhaps, contain a gateway to Hell. And if it does, I will close or banish it. I have always done what I must, for the greater good.”

“I used to think that way once,” said Hawk. “I’m not as sure as I used to be. So whatever you do inside the Inverted Cathedral, we’re going to be right there with you. And Lament, if you do turn out to be just another crazy bastard, we will shut you down.”

“Right,” said Fisher. “Suddenly and violently and all over the place.”

“I knew putting the three of you together in one room was a mistake,” said Chance. “I am now officially changing the subject, and I don’t want to hear any arguments. Tell me, Sir Lament, there are all kinds of rumors that the Inverted Cathedral contains hidden treasures and forgotten wonders. What do you think is in there?”

“The Grail, perhaps,” said Lament, quite seriously. “Fragments of the True Cross. The mummified heads of saints, still alive and speaking strange truths. The whip that scourged Jesus’ back, with the holy blood still dried on it. Even some of the furniture He made for His earthly father. To touch something the Christ touched with His own hands …” Lament smiled suddenly. “I haven’t found two books that can agree on the subject. But one thing they all seem sure of, the Inverted Cathedral contains a true wonder, a thing of great power. Perhaps the source of the Cathedral’s magic, or the key to its re-creation. Or its destruction. I am the Wrath of God, and if I cannot save the Cathedral, I will unmake it.”

“All right, that does it,” Chance said firmly. “I am going into the Inverted Cathedral with you people. Somebody has to be the quiet voice of reason, and I don’t see any other volunteers.”

“You can’t go,” said Hawk, just as firmly. “I need you here to protect the Castle in our absence. There’s always the chance something nasty might break loose from the Cathedral while we’re inside. Remember the killing shadows in the Court? And if we don’t come back, and nothing’s changed in the Cathedral, someone will have to be here to lead in the next team.”

Chance gestured for Hawk to join him. The two men got up and moved to the other side of the room, where they could speak quietly and privately. Chance put his head close to Hawk’s. “If the powers that be knew who you really were, you wouldn’t have to go in alone. You’d have a whole army at your back, ready to follow you into hell itself.”

“Maybe,” said Hawk. “But I have a strong feeling an army would just get in the way. A small force might go unrecognized for quite a time, and we can use all the advantages we can get. Besides, I don’t think this is a struggle that can be won by force of arms. I’ll go that far with Lament. I don’t know what we’ll find when we go all the way down. Which is all the more reason not to endanger anyone we don’t absolutely have to. And if worst comes to worst, all three of us are expendable.”

They broke off as Lament turned suddenly, and his hand snapped out to snatch something from the air. The tiny captive buzzed angrily inside his great fist, and then Lament’s fingers were forced apart as Lightfoot Moonfleet expanded rapidly to full human size. She glared at Lament, then flapped her translucent wings vigorously to make sure they hadn’t been crumpled.

“Honestly,” she said. “Some men are all hands.”

“I have no use for spies,” Lament said coldly.

“Then you won’t go far in politics. Someone’s always listening in Forest Castle,” said the faerie tartly. “You should know that. How did you know I was here?”

“God sees all,” said Lament. “Now leave. I will not tolerate the presence of your kind. Soulless tricksters, godless immortals. The faeries have never been a true friend of man. Go back to your master and tell him to wait until I come for him.”

“The charm school just took your money and ran, didn’t they?” asked Lightfoot Moonfleet. “See you around, people.”

She shrank back down to insect size and flew out the door as it opened, just missing a startled Seneschal’s head. He blinked a few times, ran a hand through what was left of his hair to make sure nothing was caught in it, then he entered the room and shut the door behind him. He nodded to Hawk and Fisher, and hefted a long cloth-wrapped bundle in his hands.

“I’ve decided I’m going in there with you. It is undoubtedly a bad idea, and it will all inevitably end in tears, but you wouldn’t get ten feet without my gifts to guide you. Let me make it very clear that I am only here because of emotional blackmail, and that this time I expect to get my fair share of whatever treasures we might find along the way. I didn’t care so much about such things when I rediscovered the missing South Wing, but I have a wife and children to support now. I wouldn’t mind if I got a pension. I did ask, but apparently no Seneschal has ever lived long enough to claim one before, which tells you something if you’re paying attention.”

“You must be the Seneschal,” said Lament dryly. “You’re just as I imagined you. I understood you were crippled with gout.”

“Oh, I am,” agreed the Seneschal. “But I had a healer slap a temporary spell on it so I can’t feel it. Can’t risk anything stronger, or the magic would interfere with my directional gifts.” He glared at Fisher. “No doubt I will pay for this later with suffering beyond your ability to imagine, but I couldn’t let you go into that awful place without me. If only because if this mission fails, the whole Castle could be endangered. So here I am. Ready and willing and not at all resentful.” He looked at Hawk. “I brought something for you. Thought it might come in handy if we run into trouble.”

He gave his cloth bundle over to Hawk, who looked at it uncertainly for a moment. The bundle seemed unusually heavy, but it was a familiar weight. He unwrapped the cloth with increasingly hurried fingers, and his heart beat faster as he looked at the long sword in its battered scabbard.

“The Rainbow sword,” said Chance, his voice soft and reverential.

“I thought someone on this mission should have it,” said the Seneschal. “Since everyone’s been talking about the Blue Moon coming back. And Captain Hawk seemed the most suitable person to wield it.”

“Of course,” said Chance, tearing his gaze away from the sword. “Of course it should be you, Captain.”

“I am God’s representative,” said Lament. “If anyone should have that sword—”

“I wouldn’t even give it to you as a suppository,” snapped the Seneschal. “I don’t trust your motives, Lament. Never have. I want that sword in the hands of someone I can trust.”

“Thank you, Sir Seneschal,” said Hawk. “I hope we won’t need it, but having it makes me feel a whole lot better.”

He strapped the sword on his hip, opposite his axe. The weight was immediately comforting, and somehow right. As though the Rainbow sword belonged there and always had. Then Chance produced the Hand of Glory he’d used to open the Rift outside Haven, and Lament nearly hit the roof.

“What the hell is that infamous thing doing here!”

“The Magus created it a while back,” said Chance. “I thought the Seneschal could use it to find or force a way into the Inverted Cathedral.”

“Good thinking, Questor,” said the Seneschal, taking the mummified Hand and inspecting it closely. “I’m glad someone here is thinking ahead.”

“That is an evil thing,” snapped Lament. “A product of unholy magics and an offense of God!”

“Stuff and nonsense,” said the Seneschal. “It’s just a magical tool, no different than any other. Unpleasant to manufacture, I’ll admit, but then so is jugged hare.”

“It is made from the hand of a dead man!”

“You should see what they do with the rest of the body.” The Seneschal stopped a moment to consider. “Actually, no, you shouldn’t. It would put you off tripe and onions for life. Now stop arguing and let’s get a bloody move on. You can lead the way, Sir Lament, since you’re so eager.” He looked thoughtfully at Lament. “What do you think we’re going to find inside the Cathedral?”

“A journey down through the circles of the damned,” said Lament.

“Right, that’s it—I’m not talking to you anymore,” said the Seneschal.

“I’d better get back to the Court,” Chance said tactfully. “I hope by now they’ll have recovered from Sir Lament’s little visit earlier. Last I heard, they were still fishing politicians out of the moat. Good luck to you all.”

He smiled and left. Everyone looked expectantly at Lament, who shook his head slowly. “Perhaps I should do this alone.”

“Not a hope,” said Hawk.

“Not in my Castle,” said the Seneschal.

“Let’s go,” said Fisher.

They left the room and made their way down the corridor. Fisher found herself beside Lament, and groped for some kind of small talk. “I notice there’s a lot more Christian worship going on these days. I suppose the long night put the wind up everybody.”

“Children kneel in Jesus till they learn the cost of nails,” said Lament.

“I’m not talking to you anymore,” said Fisher.

In a deserted corridor some distance away, Lightfoot Moonfleet was flying back to the Magus as fast as her wings could carry her. He had to be told what was happening. He hadn’t foreseen the arrival of the Walking Man, or that he would choose to descend into the Inverted Cathedral. Which could mean all the Magus’ careful planning had been for nothing. She strained for more speed and hoped she’d reach the Magus in time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Going Down, Down

They could feel the pressure of the Inverted Cathedral long before they could see anything. Approaching the warded-off site was like heading toward a dentist with blood dripping from his hands, or a surgeon holding a bone saw caked with dried-on gore. A mixed feeling of alarm and horror, and the foreknowledge of unavoidable pain. The last few corridors were deserted, silent, and filled with uneasy shadows. There were no human guards. Nothing human could bear the proximity of the Inverted Cathedral for long and still stay sane. The small group heading determinedly into the shadows were four very special people, all with some claim to be just a little more than human. But even they could feel something terrible waiting ahead of them, pulsing with considered menace and awful intent.

When the four of them finally reached the chamber that held the entrance to the Inverted Cathedral, it came as something of a disappointment. It was only a medium-sized room, maybe twenty feet across, with a six-foot-square trapdoor set right in the middle of the floor. Nothing else. No furniture, no paintings or hangings, and certainly no sign of life, human or otherwise. Only a vague feeling of pressure on the air, like pushing against some unseen barrier, prevented them from walking straight into the chamber. The four of them stood together in the open doorway, the only entry into the silent room, and looked carefully around the bare and empty chamber.

“You are sure this is the right place?” Hawk finally asked the Seneschal.

“Of course I’m sure!” snapped the Seneschal without turning around. “My sense of direction is never wrong. And besides, according to my extensive knowledge of Forest Castle’s layout, this whole room shouldn’t be here. This is supposed to be one long, uninterrupted corridor. And up until twelve years ago, it was. It’s an interesting thought: Does this room really exist, does it have an actual history, or has it just manifested here to provide an entrance to the Inverted Cathedral? Was the room built long ago by human strength and skill and sweat, or is it just a magical construct?”

“What’s the difference?” asked Fisher.

The Seneschal gave her a pitying look. “If this chamber was actually built by human means, it won’t necessarily disappear once the Inverted Cathedral’s magic shuts off. After all, no one knows what might happen once we start messing about inside the Cathedral.”

“Thanks a whole bunch,” said Fisher. “Now I have a new threat to worry about.”

“Just doing my job,” said the Seneschal.

“What’s this pressure I can feel?” asked Hawk, quickly changing the subject.

“The Magus’ protective wards,” said Lament. “He’s set up an avoidance spell. Quite a powerful one. Only the strong-willed and those with certain purpose could even look into this room. If we try to enter, the pressure against us will grow stronger. The harder we try to get in, the harder the wards will push us out. How’s your willpower these days, Captain Hawk?”

“Oh, he’s stubborn as hell,” said Fisher. “And I’ve been known to be pretty bloody-minded myself.”

“I’d never have guessed,” murmured Lament. “All right, you two go in first. See how far you can get. The Seneschal and I will observe you from here and take notes.”

“Just in case you don’t come back,” said the Seneschal helpfully.

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, hefted their weapons, then stepped cautiously forward into the room. The sound of their boots on the bare wooden floor was almost painfully loud. Everything still looked the same, but the sense of pressure was immediately much worse. Hawk’s instincts were yelling at him to turn and race out of the room, and his heart beat frantically in his chest as his breathing became harsh and hurried. He just knew something bad was going to happen. His hand tightened on the hilt of his axe until his knuckles went white. He glared quickly about him, but the room remained still and quiet and empty. Close beside him, Fisher advanced step by unwilling step. Her face was strained and pale, and her eyes were almost painfully wide. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other and shared a humorless smile before pressing on, leaning forward slightly like two runners breasting an invisible tape.

They were only half a dozen feet into the room, and already Hawk’s legs were shaking violently, while his stomach muscles clenched in sympathy. The sense of threat was so real now, he could almost touch it. Sweat ran down his face and dripped from his chin. He couldn’t even look around to see how Fisher was doing anymore. He had to concentrate all the willpower he had into taking the next step, and the next. His whole world had narrowed into the room ahead of him, and the trapdoor straight ahead. So he was very surprised when all the lights went out and darkness engulfed him.

The pressure was suddenly gone, and he stumbled forward a few steps before recovering himself. The darkness was absolute, no matter which way he turned his head. For a horrible moment he thought he was back in the Darkwood, alone and abandoned. Panic threatened to overwhelm him before he fought it ruthlessly down. He wasn’t scared of the dark anymore. He wasn’t. He called out to Fisher, and then to Lament and the Seneschal, but there was no reply. Hawk wondered if he was even in the same chamber anymore. Perhaps he and Fisher had triggered some hidden spell of the Magus’, and they’d been transported somewhere else. He had a feeling of space around him, but no way of knowing how great that space was. His breathing speeded up again as he had to consider the possibility that he was indeed back in the rotten heart of the long night and the Darkwood, where it was always dark, dark enough to break anyone.

And then he knelt down and touched the ground beneath him, and relief flooded through him as he felt bare wooden boards with his hand. He was still in the room. He straightened up, angry at how close he’d come to losing control, and moved cautiously forward, his empty hand stretched out before him. He had a box of matches on him, but lighting one would mean putting away his axe, if only for a moment, and he didn’t feel like doing that just yet. Besides, who knew what light might attract in a darkness like this?

And then there was a light, some distance away, right in front of him. A silver glow formed, eerie and unnatural, and out of the growing light came a face from Hawk’s past, when he had another name and another legend. Out of the silver light a dead man came walking, the late King John IV, once ruler of the Forest Kingdom, once Hawk’s father, when he had been Prince Rupert. The King looked just as he had in the final few moments before the last great battle to defend Forest Castle from the imminent demon army. He wore full armor, the breastplate etched and traced with defensive runes, and in his hand he carried that great and awful sword
Rockbreaker
, one of the ancient and powerful Infernal Devices. When
Rockbreaker
spoke, the world trembled. The King’s hair was gray, and his face was lined with age and pain and loss, but still he held himself well, standing tall and proud and utterly royal. Hawk had always found it sad that his father had only really learned to be a King at the very end of his life. He held his ground as his father approached and finally came to a halt before him. King John looked his son up and down, his gaze openly contemptuous.

“I know who you are,” said the King.

“Of course you do,” said Hawk. “I don’t suppose much is hidden from the dead. What are you doing here, Father?”

“Your disgrace has raised me from my grave,” said the King harshly. “You have disappointed me, Rupert. You failed me, you failed your brother, and you have failed in your duty to the Land. I brought you into this world, and so I have a responsibility to remove you from it.”

He lunged forward, swinging
Rockbreaker
with both hands, and at the last moment Hawk brought his axe up to block the blow. They circled each other slowly.

Fisher was lost in the darkness for a while, too, before pushing the fear and the panic the same way Hawk had. She also saw the silver light form, and a familiar face walking out of it toward her. She took up a fighting stance, her sword held out before her, and the late Prince Harald came to a halt a respectful distance away from her. He looked just as she remembered him; tall, well-muscled, classically handsome. He was clad in rune-scored armor and carried in his hand the Infernal Device known as
Flarebright
. When that terrible blade spoke, the world burned. Harald looked her over slowly, his face cold and emotionless.

“What are you doing here?” asked Fisher, almost angrily. “I went to your Tomb. I heard your message. I’ll find your killer.”

“You should not be here,” said Harald, his voice little more than a whisper. “Your curiosity and trespass have brought you to a place where the dead walk. Here old slights can be avenged, and old hurts eased. If you’d stayed at the Castle, Julia—if you’d loved and stayed with me, I’d still be alive. I should never have trusted you.”

He attacked her then, the long deadly blade of the Infernal Device sweeping in a wide arc. Fisher met it with her own sword, and sparks flared in the darkness as Fisher held her ground. The two swords swung and clashed as Fisher and Harald circled each other, launching attacks that held no mercy on either side. And all the time Fisher was thinking, This can’t be Harald. He wouldn’t do this. And more importantly, Harald never trusted me. He never trusted anyone in his life. And since the Infernal Device should have shattered my ordinary sword by now, this isn’t Harald.

She stepped back, not lowering her guard, but unwilling to continue the fight until she was sure just who and what she was fighting.

Hawk was also beginning to wonder just who and what he was fighting, when the King suddenly disengaged and backed away from him. Hawk didn’t go after him. This couldn’t be the King. He and his father had made their peace with each other long ago. Someone was trying to pull his strings, and he’d never believed in playing someone else’s game. And there’d been something damnably familiar about the skills of the person he’d been fighting. The answer was on the tip of his tongue when a hand grabbed his elbow firmly from behind and pulled him out of the dark and back into the light.

Hawk and Fisher stood together, blinking dazedly in the sudden light of the chamber. Lament held them both by the elbows until he was sure they knew where they were, then he let them go and stepped back to study them thoughtfully. The Seneschal was still in the doorway, looking confused. Hawk rubbed at his eye, and realized he was right back by the chamber door again. He looked at Fisher and then at Lament.

“We were fighting each other, weren’t we?”

“Yes,” said Lament. “You both reached a certain point, stopped dead, muttered a few words, and then attacked each other. It was quite a sight. You’re both excellent fighters. And then you both suddenly stopped, so I seized the moment and hauled you back here.”

“You didn’t see the darkness?” Fisher asked.

“There was no dark,” said the Seneschal. “What happened?”

“The avoidance spell,” said Hawk. “It made us see things. People from our past. Tricked us into attacking each other.”

“Damn,” said Fisher. “I hate being suckered that easily.”

“I have to wonder what other levels there are to the warding spell,” said Lament. “Perhaps I should go in alone after all.”

“Hell with that,” said the Seneschal. “No one tells me where I can and can’t go in my own Castle!”

And he strode forward into the chamber before anyone could stop him.

He felt the building pressure, too, but brushed it briskly aside. The Seneschal was used to being in places where he wasn’t supposed to be. In fact, he took pride in it. He strode on, his head thrust bullishly forward, his hands clenched into fists. He fiercely resented the very existence of the Inverted Cathedral in his nice familiar Castle, and he was in the mood to take out his anger on someone—or something. Darkness blossomed suddenly around him, and he stopped. Out of the silver light came his grandfather, the legendary High Warlock. A short, slender man in black sorcerer’s garb, with frighteningly intense eyes.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” said the High Warlock.

“Oh, piss off,” said the Seneschal. “You’re not my grandfather. He never gave a damn about me. He died still owing me seven birthday presents. Now get the hell out of my way.”

He strode forward, walking right through the image of the High Warlock, and both the image and the darkness disappeared. The chamber reappeared around the Seneschal, who smiled triumphantly. The trapdoor was only a few feet ahead of him. The relentless pressure was as strong as a gale wind now, and the Seneschal had to lean well forward as he pressed on, but he was damned if he’d be stopped now, so close to his goal. And that was when his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing, and he fell to the floor, dead as any doornail.

Once again Lament had to go into the chamber and pull out the lifeless body of the Seneschal. Lament laid him out on his back by the doorway, and Fisher knelt beside him to do mouth to mouth while Hawk did vigorous compressions on his chest. You picked up a lot of emergency medical procedures, working in the Haven Guard. The Seneschal jerked suddenly as he started breathing again, and Hawk and Fisher backed away from him. The Seneschal sat up slowly, and coughed and spluttered for a while, clutching at his bruised chest with one hand. It was a while before he was able to explain what had happened, and the Walking Man nodded thoughtfully.

“The next level of the avoidance spell,” he said finally. “Presumably only the illusion of a heart attack rather than the real thing, which is why you were able to recover so quickly once I dragged you back here.”

“It was a bloody convincing illusion,” said the Seneschal, scrambling awkwardly to his feet while waving aside offers of assistance. “I am going to have strong words with the Magus about this. So what do we do now? That layer of the spell will stop anyone who gets too close to the trapdoor.”

“Not necessarily,” said Hawk, giving Lament a hard look. “I can’t help noticing that you walked in and out of this room twice without even hesitating. Didn’t you feel anything?”