Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) (29 page)

“Somebody who stood to gain if the castle fell,” said the Seneschal. “And these days, that description covers an awful lot of ground.”

“All this way,” said Julia, too tired even to be bitter. “All this way for nothing. Come on, sir Seneschal, let’s get out of here.”

“Of course, Princess; the King must be told.” The Seneschal turned his back on the empty scabbard, and stared out into the darkness. “Somewhere in this Castle there’s a traitor. We’ve got to find him, Princess. We’ve got to find him and the Curtana, before it’s too late.”

‘Perhaps it already is,” said Bodeen quietly. “Perhaps it already is.”

Julia stared out of the stables at the falling rain, and sighed dejectedly. The afternoon was barely over, but it was already growing dark. The rain had been falling for over an hour; a steady persistent drizzle that wore at the nerves, and worked its way down even the tallest chimneys to make the fires splutter and steam. Water gushed from the drainpipes and the overhanging guttering, turning the courtyard into a sea of mud. It dripped through the many cracks in the thatched stable roof, and pattered noisily on the straw-covered floor. The stable creaked and groaned as the rain hit it, and Julia stared out the open stable door and sighed again, perhaps in sympathy. Behind her, the dragon stirred.

“You should be in your room, resting,” he said sternly.

Julia smiled, but didn’t look round. “I’m all right. A few more interesting scars to add to my collection, that’s all. The Seneschal took the worst of it; I don’t know how he stayed on his feet long enough to get us out of the South Wing. The surgeon took one look at him and ordered him to his bed, but he wouldn’t go until he’d spoken to the King. Bodeen and I were all that was holding him up, but he wouldn’t give in. He’s a tough old bird, that Seneschal. Didn’t pass out until he’d told the King everything he knew and suspected about the Armory break-in. Bodeen and I carried him back to his rooms. He’s sleeping now. Tough old bird.”

“You should get some rest yourself,” said the dragon. “I can smell the pain and tiredness in you.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Julia. “Not yet. I need to talk to someone.”

“What is it this time?” said the dragon gently. “Someone threatening to make you take etiquette lessons again?”

“Hardly. I’ve been excused from lessons since all my tutors refused to enter the same room as me unless they were granted an armed escort first.”

“What is it, then? What’s troubling you?”

“I don’t know.” Julia turned away from the stable door, and moved over to sit down beside the dragon. The thick layer of straw softened the earth floor as she leaned back against his huge, comforting side. The falling rain became a pleasant background murmur, and the constant drip of water from the thatch was strangely soothing. The scent of freshly scattered hay hung heavily on the air, rich and earthy, and the dragon could feel Julia’s muscles slowly relaxing.

“Dragon,” she said finally, “What happened to the horses that used to live here?”

“Delicious,” said the dragon solemnly.

Julia elbowed him sharply in the side, and he grunted obligingly, through she doubted he actually felt it. “You didn’t really eat all those lovely horses, did you?”

“No, Julia; I moved in and they moved out. At the gallop, as I recall.”

Julia laughed, and snuggled back against his smooth scales. Sometimes it seemed the dragon was the only friend she had left in the world; an island of calm in an ocean of storms. After Rupert had left, the dragon had wandered aimlessly round the Castle, sleeping where he felt like it, and eating anything that didn’t either run away or actively fight back. Eventually he’d settled down in one of the old stables, and showed every sign of staying there as long as someone brought him his meals regularly. The Castle staff quickly volunteered to take care of that, and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Between the dragon’s appetite and Julia’s sudden rages, they’d never done so much running and dodging in their lives.

“How are you feeling?” Julia asked the dragon, and he shrugged slightly.

“Better, I suppose. Casting the spell to summon the Rainbow Run took a lot out of me. Then the demons swarming over me, tearing at me with their fangs and claws. And finally I had to breathe fire, and that hurt me, Julia; hurt me deep down inside. By the time Rupert called down the Rainbow I was dying, and it seems there’s a limit to how much even the Wild Magic can do. It saved my life, but only time can heal me. I’m going to have to hibernate soon, and sleep until I’m healed. If I can still heal. Magic is going out of the world, and magical creatures like myself are having a harder time of it.” The dragon smiled sadly. “Or perhaps I’m just getting old, even for a dragon. I haven’t seen or heard of another of my kind in over three hundred years. perhaps I’m the last. The last dragon in the world of men.”

“Three hundred years,” said Julia slowly. “Didn’t you ever get lonely?”

“As a rule, dragons aren’t particularly gregarious. We each have our territories and our hoards, and we guard them both jealously. But yes; there have been times this last century when I would have welcomed the sight of another of my kind. It’s been so long since I soared on the night winds with my brethren … so very long.”

“When all this is over, we’ll go and look for some more dragons,” said Julia.

“Yes,” said the dragon kindly. “When all this is over.”

Julia stared up at the thatch overhead, and listened to the falling rain. “Dragon, do you think there’s something … wrong with me?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s those damn Ladies-in-Waiting. They make me feel like a freak, because I don’t want to get married and settle down to raising a family. I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

“Then don’t,” said the dragon.

Julia scowled. “It’s just that sometimes … sometimes I wonder if they’re right. If there is something wrong with me. All my friends and most of my sisters are married, and they seem happy enough. Mostly. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am missing out on something. I just don’t see why I have to give up being
me
to get married. I’m supposed to marry Harald, but all he wants is a combination lover and serving-maid. Well, he can forget that for starters. And if he gooses me one more time, I’ll raise his voice with a well-placed knee.”

She broke off suddenly, and frowned thoughtfully. “You know, that’s part of what I mean. If I’d said that to a Lady-in-Waiting, she’d have had a fit of the vapors and called for her smelling salts. Being blunt and direct isn’t just unfashionable, it’s unfeminine. Do you think I’m unfeminine?”

The dragon chuckled. “Julia, I’m hardly an expert on human behavior, but it seems to me that if you’d been just another helpless domesticated female, you’d never have survived the Darkwood. Or your journey through the South Wing this afternoon.”

“Damn right,” said Julia. “So why can’t they just leave me alone?”

“You’re a Princess,” said the dragon. “You have responsibilities. Even I know that.”

Julia sniffed disdainfully, picked up a straw from the floor, and chewed on the end. “A Princess. And because of that I’m not supposed to think or feel or hope? Because of that I have to take orders from everyone on how to dress, how to talk, how to act? Because of that I have to marry a man I don’t love? I’ll see them rot in hell first!”

The dragon slowly turned his head to get a better look at her. “We’ve finally come to what’s really bothering you, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” said Julia quietly. She looked at the straw in her hand, and threw it away. “Rupert should have been back ages ago.”

“It’s a long trip, there and back. And from what I’ve heard, the High Warlock will take a lot of persuading.”

“I should never have let him go back into the Darkwood. You know what that place is like.”

“Yes,” said the dragon softly. “I remember.” He flexed his wings slightly, and Julia reached up to scratch the recent scar tissue.

“Do you still have nightmares?” she asked suddenly. The dragon shook his head. “I do, sometimes. Only now I dream about Rupert, dying, alone in the darkness.”

“Rupert can take care of himself,” said the dragon.

Julia sniffed. “You could have fooled me.”

“Do you love him, Julia?”

Julia stared out the open stable door. “Looks like the rain’s finally going off.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I know.”

“Humans,” said the dragon, and chuckled wryly. “If you care for him, why not tell him?”

“Because he’s not here! He went off and left me behind!”

“He could hardly take you with him into danger, could he?”

“He could have if he’d wanted to! I’m as good with a sword as he is! Anything would have been better than leaving me here. He’s not coming back, dragon; I know it. The demons finally got him, and I wasn’t there to help him …” Julia pressed her face against the dragon’s side, and let the tears come.

The dragon lifted a wing and wrapped it gently around her, holding her close until the tears finally slowed and stopped.

“You’re tired,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go back to your rooms and rest?”

“I don’t want to go back to my room,” Julia said to the dragon’s side. “I’m afraid of the dark. Of the demons.”

“Then stay here with me. Sleep. You’ll be safe here, I promise you.”

“Thank you,” said Julia, so quietly only a dragon could have heard her. She settled herself against his side, riding his slow breathing, and soon she was asleep.

“Humans,” said the dragon, affectionately. He lowered his great head onto his tail, and waited patiently, watchfully, for the night to pass.

D
eep in the Darkwood, in the hidden heart of the unending night, there lay a clearing. Far above, the inward-leaning trees bowed down to darkness, mingling and intertwining their gnarled misshapen branches until the bower was safely protected from the light of day. Phosphorescent lichens spotted the tree trunks, spreading a dull, eerie blue light. Fungi and oily mosses carpeted the clearing floor, in the middle of which stood a single, rotting tree stump, roughly fashioned into the shape of a throne. And in that darkness, on that corrupt throne, the Demon Prince.

In his way, the Demon Prince seemed human. He resembled a man, but his features were blurred, his delicate fingers ended in claws, and his burning crimson eyes showed no trace of human thoughts or feelings. He looked like a man because it amused him to do so. Once he had looked like something else, and might again, but for now he
lived
in the world of men. If lived could be applied to a creature that was never born.

Even seated, he was obviously unnaturally tall, and slender to the point of emaciation. His pale flesh had a lambent pearly gleam, and he dressed in rags and tatters of purest black. He wore a battered, wide-brimmed hat, pulled down low over the eyes, and as he sat upon his throne like some terrible carrion crow, he gnawed lazily at something that still feebly kicked and squealed. The Demon Prince had no need to eat but he liked to kill, and was compelled by his nature to terrify.

Surrounding the rotting throne, filling the clearing like so many crooked shadows, lay the demons of the Darkwood, abasing themselves before their Lord. They sat or crouched or lay upon their bellies in the dirt, watching if they had eyes, listening if they had ears, or just … waiting. They were of the dark, and the dark was patient.

A glowing silver sphere suddenly appeared before the throne, shimmering and pulsating as it floated on the stinking air. The Demon Prince smiled horribly, fresh blood trickling down his chin, and threw aside his meal. Two demons squabbled briefly over the remains. The Dark Lord beckoned languidly to the glowing sphere, and it drifted closer.

“Master,” said a quiet voice from the sphere, and the Demon Prince grinned bloodily.

“Yes, my dear traitor; I await your report.” His voice was soft, sibilant and subtly grating on the ear.

“Prince Rupert and his party approach the boundary of your Kingdom, Master. They intend to pass through the long night on their way to the Dark Tower. You must stop them before they reach the High Warlock …”

“He is of no consequence,” said the Demon Prince amusedly. “No man can stand against the dark. Or perhaps you think otherwise?”

He slowly closed one hand into a fist, and agonized screams echoed from the sphere. The waiting demons shifted uneasily, disturbed at any threat of violence from their Lord. The Demon Prince opened his hand, and the screams died away, to be replaced by labored, tortured breathing.

“I’m sorry, Master, I …”

“You forget your place, my dear traitor. Once, you sought power over me, but now your body and soul are mine, to do with as I please. Fail me, and I will transform you into the least of my demons. Obey me in all things, and all the kingdoms of the world shall be yours …”

“Yes, Master. I am your most faithful servant.”

“You are my slave.” The Demon Prince rested his chin on his bony hand and stared thoughtfully at the floating sphere. The wide-brimmed hat plunged his face into shadow, an impenetrable darkness in which only his burning eyes still showed. “Well, traitor, do you have the Curtana?”