Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) (35 page)

“Julia, my sweet, if you’ll only let me …”

There was the sound of fist meeting flesh, followed by a pained if somewhat muted howl from Harald. King John’s mouth tightened angrily, and he gestured for one of his Royal Guard to approach the throne.

“Your majesty?”

“Take my compliments to my son Harald and the Princess Julia, and tell them I will see them after this audience is ended. You will further add that if I hear one more word from either of them before that time, so help me I’ll have them chained together and cleaning out the Castle cess pits!”

“Yes, your majesty,” said the guard, and headed quickly for the closed antechamber doors.

King John shook his head slowly, and turned back to the waiting farmers. “Sorry about that; my eldest son’s courting.”

The farmers smiled and nodded, and seemed to relax a little for the first time since entering the Court. King John searched for something else to say that might help put the farmers more at their ease. It was clear they needed to talk, but none of them seemed to know where or how to start. The King leaned forward, chosing his words with care, and then the double doors slammed open as the Seneschal came limping furiously into the Court, followed by a protesting guardsman. The Seneschal glared him into silence, and then advanced, still glowering, on the King.

“Dammit, your majesty, this time you’ve got to do something!”

The King closed his eyes briefly, and wished wistfully that he was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“What is it this time, sir Seneschal?”

“It’s those damned goblins again, what else?” The Seneschal lurched to a halt before the throne, nodded brusquely to the mystified farmers, and then leaned heavily on his walking stick and glared at the King. “You should never have let those disgusting little creatures into the Castle, Sire; they’ve been nothing but trouble since they got here. I don’t know what possessed Prince Rupert to send them to us in the first place; I’ve known Barrow Down guttersnipes that were more civilized! It took us three weeks to teach them to use the toilets. And another three weeks to stop them using the sinks. It’s not as though they contributed anything to the Castle’s defenses; they can’t fight worth a damn, and they won’t take orders from anyone except their own leaders. They’re passable scouts, when I can persuade them to set foot outside the safety of the Castle walls, but they will keep setting traps for the demons and then forgetting where they put them. You wouldn’t believe how many trackers we’ve lost that way. It’s keeping the poachers on their toes, I’ll admit, but that’s not the point …”

“Sir Seneschal,” said the King, cutting in firmly, “What exactly is your problem? What have the goblins done now?”

The Seneschal sniffed a couple of times in an embarrassed sort of way, and studied his shoes. “Well, Sire; for want of anything better to do with them, I put them in charge of manning the battlements. It seemed a good idea at the time, mainly on the grounds that anything which got them out of sight and out of mind had to be a good idea. I mean, what harm could they get up to on the damn battlements? I should have known better. You will be interested to learn, your majesty, that I have finally discovered why the kitchens are always short of cauldrons these days. It’s because those damned goblins have been stealing them to mix their boiling oil in! We only just got to them in time to stop the little bastards from testing their latest batch by dropping it on the three Landsgraves as they rode in from their day’s hunting!”

The King tried hard to look shocked, but a smile kept tugging at his mouth as he savored the thought of a cauldron of bubbling boiling oil being slowly tilted over the Landsgraves’ unsuspecting heads … He finally hid his grin behind a raised hand, and had a quiet coughing fit.

“Were any of the noble Landsgraves injured?” he asked the Seneschal, when he felt he could trust his voice again.

“Well, not actually hurt, Sire, but if they hadn’t been wearing cloaks and chain mail …”

Several of the farmers had a quiet coughing fit. It seemed the Landsgraves weren’t that popular outside the Court, either. The King made a mental note to look into that; he could always use more allies against the Barons.

“I’m glad to hear no one was hurt,” he said solemnly. “How did the Landsgraves take it?”

“You can ask them yourself, your majesty; they should be here any minute.”

King John glared at his Seneschal. “Thanks for the advance warning. Round up the goblins, and send the lot of them out into the Forest. I need to know how fast the Darkwood is advancing, and the troop of guards I sent to find out hasn’t come back. If nothing else, goblins do make excellent reconnaissance scouts. Mainly because they have a positive gift when it comes to hiding from anything even remotely threatening.”

“Very good, Sire,” said the Seneschal. “I’ll send them on their way.” He hesitated, and then glanced at the King. “They do mean well, your majesty, it’s just …”

“Yes,” said King John. “They are, aren’t they.”

The Seneschal grinned, bowed, and left. As he walked out, the three Landsgraves walked in. The two Royal Guardsmen glanced at each other, and then moved protectively closer to the throne, their hands ostentatiously near their swords. Ever since he’d been dragged senseless from the Court after his assassination attempt, Sir Bedivere had been careful to wear an empty scabbard at all times, but even so, there wasn’t a guard in the Castle that trusted him an inch. Or the other two Landsgraves, for that matter.

Sir Bedivere, Sir Blays, and Sir Guillam marched silently forward, and the farmers gave way to them, stepping passively aside so that the Landsgraves could take their center position before the throne. They knew better than to protest to men who represented the Barons. Farmers might work the land, but the Barons owned it.

King John studied the three Landsgraves warily. There was a calm sureness about them that worried him. Still, when in doubt, attack. He leaned forward in his throne and glared coldly at Sir Blays.

“This is a private audience, sir Landsgrave. I have business with these men.”

“The peasants can wait,” said Sir Blays. “We have business with you.”

“And what might that be?”

“Demons overrun the Barons’ lands. What are you doing about it?”

King John scowled at the Landsgrave’s bluntness, and struggled to keep his voice calm and even. “You know damn well what I’m doing; my guards are running themselves ragged fighting the demons, training peasant militias in those towns nearest the darkness, and helping to stockpile provisions in case of seige.”

“While the Castle itself stands virtually unprotected,” said Sir Blays sardonically.

King John smiled sardonically. “There’s always the goblins, my dear Landsgrave. I’m told they’re very good with boiling oil.”

Sir Blays stiffened angrily, and Sir Guillam laid a restraining hand on his arm. The two Landsgraves stared at each other; Sir Guillam shook his head slightly, and Sir Blays subsided.

Now that is interesting
, thought the King.
I always knew there was more to Guillam than met the eye.
He glanced quickly at Sir Bedivere, who was staring off into the distance as though nothing that had been said was of any interest to him.
Probably it isn’t
, thought the King sourly.
He’s just a killing machine, waiting for his next set of orders. But who gives those orders; Blays or Guillam?
He stared at the timid little man standing passively before him, and tugged pensively at his beard. Why had the Barons sent Sir Guillam? He wasn’t a diplomat, like Sir Blays, and he certainly hadn’t the makings of an assassin. He claimed to be an accountant, but so far he’d made no attempt to inspect the Castle’s finances. Not that the King would have let him, of course …

King John frowned uncertainly. If the Landsgraves hadn’t come to complain about the goblins, what the hell were they here for? And why were they so interested in his guards? The King sighed quietly. Now that the Astrologer was no longer on hand to advise him, it seemed he’d have to keep digging for answers the hard way.

“Well, Sir Guillam,” he said heavily, “Perhaps you’d care to tell me why you’ve chosen to interrupt this private audience. Sir Blays doesn’t seem too sure.”

Sir Guillam smiled politely. “There are … questions … which need to be answered, Sire.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what’s happened to the High Warlock.” Sir Guillam smiled diffidently. “He does seem to be rather overdue. Months overdue, in fact.”

“He’ll be here.”

“When?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“You don’t seem too unhappy about his tardiness,” said Sir Blays. “Anyone would think you didn’t want him to come.”

“Sir Blays,” said the King slowly, “I don’t care to be interrogated in this manner. You know very well how I feel about the High Warlock; you were here the night I read the Edict of Banishment upon him. Now, my noble Landsgraves; it’s been a long day, and I still have much to do. What exactly do you want from me?”

“We want action!” snapped Sir Blays. “Fine words and promises won’t stop the Darkwood. I know I speak for my fellow Landsgraves when I say the Barons will not stand idly by and watch the Forest Land fall into ruin while you dither and prevaricate and do nothing!”

“I’m doing all I can!”

“It isn’t enough,” said Sir Bedivere. He stepped forward a pace, and the two guardsmen drew their swords. The huge Landsgrave ignored them, his eyes fixed on the King. “If you won’t do what’s necessary, there are others who will.”

“That sounded like a threat,” said the King evenly. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what happened the last time you dared threaten me?”

“Ah yes.” Sir Guillam smiled. “Where is Thomas Grey these days? Still hunting for the … lost … Curtana?”

“It won’t find itself!” snapped the King. “The Astrologer’s worked day and night, trying to discover who stole the Curtana from my Armory.”

“Assuming it was stolen.” Sir Blays stared mockingly at the King. “You slipped up there, your majesty. It was just a little too convenient that the Sword of Compulsion should vanish into thin air the moment the Armory was rediscovered, thus putting the Curtana beyond the reach, and control, of the Court.”

“You tread dangerous ground, my noble Landsgrave.”

Sir Blays and Sir Guillam smiled, and Sir Bedivere chuckled openly.

“When you took the Sword of Compulsion for yourself,” said Sir Blays, “you lost all claim to our loyalty.”

“We cannot accept such a threat to the Barons,” said Sir Guillam diffidently. “We therefore demand, in their name, that you hand the Curtana over to us, for … safekeeping.”

“You demand?” King John rose to his feet, shaking with anger. “You demand nothing in my Court! Now get out, or I’ll have you whipped from my sight! Get out!”

Sir Bedivere laughed softly, and King John shuddered at the barely restrained madness in that laughter.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” said the huge, smiling Landsgrave. “I’ll have your heart’s blood for this insult.”

“You dare …”

“There’s no Astrologer to protect you now, King John. All that stands between you and me are those two guards. And that isn’t going to be enough. Give me your sword, Blays.”

Sir Blays glanced at Sir Guillam, who hesitated, and then nodded quickly.

“You’d better get out of here, Sire,” murmured one of the guardsmen. “We’ll hold him as long as we can.”

King John stared numbly at Sir Blays as he slowly drew his sword. “Why are you doing this, Blays? We’ve known each other more than thirty years …”

“Will you please get the hell out of here!” hissed the guardsman. “You must raise the alarm!”

“That won’t be necessary,” said a quiet voice. “The King has nothing to fear as long as we are with him.”

There was the faint whisper of flexing wood, and the King and the three Landsgraves turned to stare dumbly at the farmers as they deftly fitted arrows to their longbows and held them at the ready.

“How dare you?” whispered Sir Guillam. “How dare you defy the Barons! I’ll have your farms burned for this!”

The twelve farmers stared steadily back, their arrows strung and ready.

Sir Bedivere studied them impassively, and then held out his hand to Sir Blays. “Give me your sword. They’re just peasants.”

Sir Blays glanced at the farmers, taking in the cold implacability of their faces, and shook his head slowly.

“Give me your sword!”

“No,” said Sir Blays, and he sheathed his sword. “There’s no need for this.”

For a moment King John thought Sir Bedivere would attack the farmers empty-handed, but Sir Guillam and Sir Blays held his arms and talked quietly and urgently to him, until the killing glare had faded from his eyes. He finally threw off their arms, glared once at the King, and then turned and left the Court. Sir Blays and Sir Guillam followed him out. At the doors, Sir Blays hesitated and looked back.

“You brought this on yourself, John,” he said quietly, and then he was gone.

King John sank back into his throne, his heart still racing. There was a general relaxing of breath from the guards and the farmers as they sheathed their swords and put away their arrows, and they glanced at each other respectfully. The King smiled on them all, and inclined his head slightly.

“Thank you for your support, my friends. I shall not forget this.”

He settled back in his throne, and rubbed slowly at his aching forehead, not really hearing the farmers’ muttered replies. King John shook his head slowly. By losing his temper with the Landsgraves, he’d played right into their hands. The only reason for their visit had been to insult and humiliate him before the farmers; to make it clear to them who wielded the real power in the Forest Land these days. The King frowned worriedly. The Landsgraves had moved beyond treason and into open rebellion, secure in the belief that he wouldn’t dare have them arrested for fear of starting a civil war. They might just be right, at that. He couldn’t fight the invading demons without the Barons’ support, and they knew it. The King swore silently to himself. There must have been some way he could have avoided all this, but without the Astrologer at his side to advise him …