Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)

Praise for the fantasy and science fiction
of Simon R. Green

“Mr. Green turns quite a few fantasy clichès delightfully topsy-turvy in this wry, sometimes caustic narrative. The well-orchestrated plot features a bevy of fascinating characters whose behavior varies from a whimsical eccentricity to that of intense emotional motivation. This fantasy adventure is one readers will savor and enjoy for a long time to come.”

—
Rave Reviews

“A fun, twisty romp with surprises around every corner.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Green blends derring-do, space battles, and wry banter aplenty to form an eminently satisfying space opera.”

—
Booklist

“Really stands out in a crowd … breathes new life into an old story.”

—
Chronicle

A
LSO
B
Y
S
IMON
R. G
REEN

Deathstalker Coda

Deathstalker Return

Deathstalker Legacy

Beyond the Blue Moon

Guards of Haven

Swords of Haven

Deathstalker

Deathstalker Rebellion

Deathstalker War

Deathstalker Honor

Deathstalker Destiny

BLUE MOON
RISING

SIMON R. GREEN

To my mother and my father who were always there when I needed them.

Chapter One: The Rainbow Run

Chapter Two: Homecoming

Chapter Three: Duels

Chapter Four: Allies

Chapter Five: The Dark Tower

Chapter Six: Traitors to the Crown

Chapter Seven: The Long Night

Chapter Eight: Creatures of the Dark

Chapter Nine: In the Darkwood

Chapter Ten: Endings and Beginnings

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 armor.

Many tales are told of that time, tales of steadfast bravery and derring-do.

This isn’t one of them.

P
rince Rupert rode his unicorn into the Tanglewood, peering balefully through the drizzling rain as he searched half-heartedly for the flea hiding somewhere under his breast plate. Despite the chill rain, he was sweating heavily under the weight of his armor, 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 armor in the rainy season. Rupert gave up on the flea and scrabbled awkwardly 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 sound was the constant rustle of the rain as it dripped from the lowering branches of the waterlogged 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 armor, 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 really 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 armor 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 armor 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.