Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) (45 page)

Rupert scowled, and tried to shrug his cloak more comfortably around him. The bitter cold grated painfully in his bones, and he couldn’t seem to stop shivering. It had been a long time since he’d known anything but the snow and sleet and freezing air of the winter come early. He was beginning to forget what it was like to feel warm. A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye, and he glared helplessly into the darkness. The Castle was drawing steadily nearer, but its light didn’t penetrate far into the Darkwood. Rupert smiled grimly. He didn’t need to see the demons to know they were there, and it didn’t matter a damn how many there were. If it came to a fight, the odds were that none of his party would survive to reach the Castle. Their only hope was to get as close to the Castle as possible, and then make a run for it. It wasn’t much of a hope.

Rupert gripped his swordhilt until his fingers ached, but his hand still shook. The unremitting weight of the Darkwood beat down on him in all its old familiar horror, and it was no easier to bear now than it had been before. Every time his duty forced him back into the darkness, he hoped against hope it would be easier to deal with, but it never was. Every time, it was worse. Fear and panic and mind-numbing despair sank into him like icy water in his soul, until all he wanted was to lie down, curl into a ball, and scream for it to go away. But he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He hadn’t brought his men this far, just to give up on them when they were nearly home. Rupert stared at the Castle before him, drawing nearer with every step. Nearly there. Nearly home. So bloody near …

The unicorn lurched tiredly beside him, and Rupert reached up and patted the animal’s neck comfortingly.

“Not much longer now,” he muttered gruffly. “One last stretch of the legs, and then we can all take a rest.”

“You keep telling me that,” said the unicorn dourly. “A nice long rest in a warm, dry stable … I’ll believe it when I see it, and not before. I just hope they’ve got some decent food. I’ve had nothing but grass for weeks. I think I’d kill for some barley.”

“Once we’re safely in the Castle, I’ll bury you in barley.”

“Given our present situation, I don’t think that remark is in the best of taste.”

Rupert and the unicorn shared a look, and then chuckled quietly together.

“It’s been a strange journey, all told,” said Rupert.

“I wouldn’t argue with that,” said the unicorn.

“You know we’re probably not going to make it.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“I just want to say … thanks. For being with me, when I needed you.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You’re not a bad sort, Rupert. For a human.”

“Thanks; I think. Friends again?”

“Sure; why not.”

“Great.”

“I still want that barley you promised me.”

Rupert laughed aloud, and the Champion looked at him strangely. Rupert hefted his sword, and was pleased to discover that his hand was now a little steadier. In a way, he almost wished the demons would attack, and get it over with. When he was fighting, there wasn’t time to be scared. He breathed deeply to calm himself, and instantly regretted it as the Darkwood’s constant stench of decay was suddenly strong in his nostrils again. Rupert shook his head grimly, and glanced back over his shoulder. The guards were still moving silently along behind him, swords at the ready, but Rupert’s heart missed a beat when he realized the High Warlock was no longer with them. For a moment panic froze him in place, and then he relaxed with a great sigh of pent-in breath as he looked up and saw the Warlock had taken to the air, floating silently and serenely a good ten feet above the ground. The Warlock’s eyes were closed, and a deep scowl furrowed his brow, as though he was concentrating on some problem not immediately apparent. His hands seemed to be glowing slightly, and for the first time Rupert realized his party was moving in its own narrow pool of light. Rupert looked away. At least the Warlock’s magic was good for something.

The Castle drew steadily nearer, shimmering palely like a giant stone ghost in its own torchlight. There were no guards on the battlements, but the drawbridge was up. Rupert smiled dourly. If the demons ever decided to overrun the Castle, they wouldn’t bother using the drawbridge, they’d just swarm right over the walls. He remembered the last time he’d ridden into the Castle courtyard, only to find it silent and deserted … He shook his head angrily. He couldn’t have come this far, only to find he’d returned home too late; he just couldn’t.

Where the hell are the demons? What are they waiting for?

The Castle was three hundred yards away. Two hundred. One hundred. And then the demons came for them.

Rupert barely had time to raise his sword before the demons were all around him, and then there was only a confused melèe of steel and blood and reaching clawed hands. He swung his sword in short, vicious arcs, cutting through demon flesh with controlled, economical strokes, and the fresh stink of demon blood was heavy on the air. They came from every direction; twisted, malformed creatures with fangs and claws and eyes that knew nothing but an endless, never-sated hunger. The earth trembled under Rupert’s feet and then cracked sluggishly open. Hundreds of pale slimy tentacles whipped up out of the broken earth and reached for the struggling guardsmen with a horrid single-mindedness of purpose. Rupert glared down into one of the wider cracks as he cut through a writhing tentacle; the crack was filled with hundreds of needle-fanged mouths and a single great staring eye, easily a dozen feet across. Rupert shrank back, and the eye moved slightly to follow him. Three tentacles wrapped themselves around a guard and tore him to pieces, all in a matter of seconds. He barely had time to scream. Something with wings and black-furred spider legs swooped down onto a beleagured guard, tore out his throat, and disappeared back into the dark before the body hit the ground. Exhausted almost beyond the point of pain, Rupert put his back to one of the gnarled dying trees, and swung his sword mechanically back and forth before him. The demons were packed so closely about him, it was impossible to miss.

And still the demons came; some on two legs, some on four, and some came slithering on their bellies in the dirt. In the unsteady light it seemed to Rupert that many of the nightmare shapes shifted and ran like watery clay even as they pressed slightly forward to attack the beleaguered party. Strange unhealthy hybrids of plant and animal and insect rose and fell before him, loathsome creatures that could never have survived in the natural world. Rupert fought on. There were always more to replace those who died under his blade. A heavy weight fell on him from above, and something cold and scaly clung tightly to his shoulders while its slender clawed hands groped eagerly for his eyes and throat. Rupert howled in fear and rage, and reached desperately for the creature with his left hand. The demons ringed before him surged forward, and he cut frantically at them with his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Rupert saw the grinning elongated head behind him swing suddenly forward, and then hundreds of jagged serrated teeth buried themselves in his left shoulder. He cried out sickly as the long jaws snapped shut, and dropped his sword as the creature on his back tightened its grip. The demons before him leapt for his throat, and then a blast of searing white light ripped through them, leaving behind nothing but a few charred, distorted bones.

Rupert lurched forward, still feebly clawing at the demon on his back, and another blast of balefire tore the creature from him. Only the head remained, clinging grimly to his shoulder even in death. Rupert fell to his knees, and retrieved his sword from where he’d dropped it. He tried to get up again, and couldn’t. The Champion was suddenly at his side, prising open the demon head’s jaws with his dagger. Rupert looked away, unable to watch. All around him, the demons were falling back into the surrounding shadows, unable to face the High Warlock’s balefire. The blood-smeared tentacles withdrew into the earth and were gone, and within seconds the Darkwood was once again utterly still and silent. The Champion finally worked the demon head loose, and threw it to one side. He helped Rupert to his feet, and the unicorn moved quickly forward to stand beside the Prince. Rupert leaned thankfully against the animal’s side as some of his strength slowly returned to him. The pain in his shoulder showed no sign of dying away, but at least now he could think through it. He could feel blood running down his left arm in a steady stream, but there was no feeling at all in his left hand.

I’ll worry about that later,
he thought determinedly.
I’ll worry about a lot of things later.

“Sir Champion!” he called thickly.

“Sire.” The Champion stood beside him, his back straight and his head unbowed. His tattered chain mail was drenched with demon blood.

“We’ve got to get to the Castle, sir Champion. There’s nothing left but running now; if we stand and fight, we’re all dead. Get the men together, and tell them we’re moving now. The High Warlock can run interference for us. Am I making sense? Yes. Good. You lead the way, sir Champion; we’ll follow.”

“Yes, Sire. We’d make better time if you were to ride the unicorn.”

Rupert looked at the unicorn. Even in his dazed state, he could clearly see the blood that dappled the animal’s heaving sides. The unicorn had looked like this once before; the time he’d nearly died in the Darkwood clearing … Rupert thrust the memory away.

“How about it, unicorn?” he asked quietly. “Can you carry me that far?”

“Sure; no problem. I’m barely scratched. Climb aboard, Rupert.”

The Champion made a stirrup with his hands, and half lifted, half placed Rupert onto the unicorn’s back. Rupert swayed a moment in the saddle, and fought hard not to pass out. He glanced down at his right hand, and smiled grimly. Somehow, he was still hanging onto his sword. A good omen; if you believed in omens.

Out in the darkness, something stirred.

“Run for the Castle! Now!” Rupert’s voice was little more than a harsh rasp, but his guards were off and running almost before he’d finished speaking. He clung desperately to the unicorn’s sides with his knees as the animal started forward, and stared grimly about him. The Champion ran before him, his war axe at the ready. The High Warlock flew overhead, balefire crackling and hissing around his hands. And fourteen guardsmen followed Rupert home.

Fourteen. Fourteen out of fifty. Rupert leant wearily forward against the unicorn’s neck as the last of his strength flowed out of him. His hold on his sword slowly loosened, and only the awful pain that shuddered through him with every jolt of the uneven trail kept him awake. He didn’t mind failing; he was used to that. But his men had followed him and trusted him, and all he’d done was lead them to their deaths. Just as he’d once led the unicorn to his death, lying broken and bloodied in a small clearing in the Darkwood. Only this time, there wasn’t any Rainbow to drive back the dark.

His eyes kept dropping shut, even with the pain in his shoulder. Rupert knew he was probably going into shock, but didn’t care. The shock seemed to be numbing both his pain and his memories, and he’d settle for that. The giant trees of the Forest loomed in and out of the darkness as the unicorn carried him steadily toward the Castle, and Rupert swallowed sickly when he saw the vast patches of open decay that mottled their bark. For all the darkness and the swarming demons, he hadn’t been able to accept that the Forest was dead; the very idea was unthinkable. The Forest had existed for endless centuries before man, and deep down Rupert had always believed that it would still be there centuries after man had vanished and been forgotten. To see the great and ancient trees already dead and rotting hurt Rupert even more than his own likely imminent death; for if the Forest itself could fall to the darkness, what chance was there for anything or anybody. The last of Rupert’s hope died in that moment, and slowly the world began to fade away around him, taking the pain and the heartbreak with it.

And then a grinning demon came flying out of the darkness at him, and his reflexes threw his sword up to meet it. The long spindly creature impaled itself on the blade, and fell away snarling soundlessly. Rupert stared blankly at his bloody sword, and then shook his head fiercely as a slow steady anger burned through him, shocking him awake again. He might be too late to save the Forest, but perhaps he could still avenge it. More demons came pouring out of the darkness, and Rupert cut about him with his sword as the unicorn struggled to find one last burst of speed that would get him to the Castle before the demons could drag him down.

The Champion cut his way through the demons without even slowing, his eyes fixed on the raised drawbridge ahead. The guardsmen ranged themselves to either side of the unicorn, and fought furiously to hold off the solid heaving mass of demonkind that had erupted silently out of the surrounding dark. Rupert watched helplessly as three more of his men died horribly under the flailing claws and fangs of the demons, and concentrated on hanging onto the unicorn as best he could. He tried to at least grasp the reins with his left hand, but his fingers wouldn’t obey him. The Castle was only fifty yards away, but it might as well have been fifty miles. The way ahead was completely blocked by the demons. A swiftly choked scream to his right told Rupert that he’d lost another guard, but he couldn’t spare the time to look. The demons pressed close around him, and the unicorn’s pace dropped a little more. Rupert felt a sudden almost overpowering urge to turn the unicorn around and ride back into the darkness, to kill and kill until he and his blade were drenched in demon blood. To die fighting, rather than running. The impulse passed as swiftly as it came, and Rupert grinned savagely as he cut through a reaching demon; he hadn’t come this far just to throw his life away on a gesture. He’d fought his way through the Darkwood to summon the High Warlock from his Dark Tower, and now he was going home. And to hell with anyone or anything that got in his way.

The unicorn struggled on, step by step. Rupert’s sword arm rose and fell in steady butchery. The Castle drew gradually closer … and still the demons came. Forty yards. Thirty. Twenty-five.
We might just make it after all,
thought Rupert.
We might just make it!
Eerie, distorted faces loomed out of the darkness around him, and he cut at them automatically with his sword. A slow, heavy thudding began somewhere far behind him; a deep muffled sound, like the beating of a giant heart. At first Rupert thought it was thunder, and it wasn’t until the ground itself began to shake in time to the deep bass rhythm that he realized he was listening to the sound of something indescribably huge and heavy moving slowly through the Darkwood after him. Rupert risked a quick glance back over his shoulder, but the impenetrable darkness turned aside his gaze with contemptuous ease. And then the hair on the back of his neck rose as a vile, choking roar sounded on the long night; a deafening bellow of unthinking malevolent rage. The ground shook violently as the creature drew nearer, and Rupert realized that something different was coming out of the darkness; something huge and old and unspeakably powerful. He remembered the great white worm he’d fought in the Coppertown pit, and urged the unicorn on.