Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) (54 page)

“Sorry, sir Seneschal.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” said the Seneschal, leaning heavily on his stout walking stick as he limped into the hall. “I’m just a servant, after all. No one else pays me any mind, so why should you be any different? I mean; I’m only the man who singlehandedly discovered and destroyed the barrier that kept people out of the South Wing. But does anybody listen to me? Stay out of the South Wing, I tell them. It’s not safe in there, I tell them. But does anybody listen? Do they hell as like. I’d have a nervous collapse, if I could only find the time.”

“Has somebody upset you, sir Seneschal?” asked Rupert diffidently.

“Ha!” said the Seneschal, bitterly. “Upset! What is there to be upset about? I’ve only been dragged from my bed and escorted to the Great Hall by half the Royal Guard! When I finally got there, a neanderthal with dragging knuckles and the lowest forehead I’ve ever seen curtly informed me that I had been granted the signal honor of leading the Royal family back into the South Wing, starting Now. No
Please,
or
Would you mind?
” The Seneschal slumped his shoulders, and looked tired and defeated and put upon. He was very good at that; he’d had a lot of practice recently. “Never mind I haven’t had a free moment to myself since the refugees arrived. Never mind I’ve been run ragged chasing up and down the corridors looking for somewhere to put them all, because the King keeps changing his mind. Now he wants me to lead him to the Armory, at an hour in the morning when any man with half a brain in his head is fast asleep! The old man’s getting senile, if you ask me. He’ll be needing help to find his own privy next.”

Rupert grinned happily as he listened to the Seneschal rant and rave. It was nice to know some things didn’t change.

“Now then, sir Seneschal,” said Rupert finally, when the Seneschal had slowed down enough for him to be able to get a word in edgeways, “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened to your leg?”

“My leg?” The Seneschal stared at him blankly, and then glanced down at the thick oaken staff he was leaning on. “Oh, that. Julia and I found some demons hiding in the South Wing. Not to worry, though; they’re all gone now.”

He didn’t volunteer any details, and after a moment Rupert decided not to ask. He didn’t think he really wanted to know.

“I haven’t even had time to say hello to my own grandfather,” grumbled the Seneschal. “Not that we’ve ever had much to say to each other, but still …”

“Your grandfather?” said Rupert.

“The High Warlock,” said the Seneschal. “Must be twenty years since I last saw him.”

Rupert heard footsteps behind him, and turned around just in time to see Harald and the King entering the hall. The Seneschal sniffed angrily, and pointedly turned his back on them all. Rupert and the King shared a knowing look.

“Has somebody upset you, sir Seneschal?” asked the King, politely.

“Ha!” said the Seneschal.

“Rupert,” said the King, “Why is the Seneschal sulking?”

“I am not sulking!”

“Then what’s keeping us?” said Harald. “The South Wing is waiting.”

“Just a minute,” said Rupert. “Is this all of us? No guards, no escort? According to what the Seneschal’s been telling me, the South Wing is still pretty dangerous.”

“You can always stay behind,” said Harald, “If you’re worried …”

“I was thinking of the King’s safety,” said Rupert.

“Of course you were,” said Harald.

“That’s enough!” said the King sharply. “We aren’t taking any guards, Rupert, because if the Court were to even suspect what we plan to do in the Armory, they’d probably try and stop us. And we haven’t got time to put down another rebellion.”

“What happens when we come back with the swords?” said Rupert. “The Court isn’t going to take kindly to being kept in the dark on this.”

“You can say that again,” muttered the Seneschal.

“We’ve been through this already, sir Seneschal,” said the King firmly. “You have agreed to help.”

“Besides,” said Harald, “Once we’ve got the swords, what the Court thinks won’t matter any more.”

“There’ll be time for discussion later,” said the King. “The dawn is drawing steadily closer, and we haven’t even got to the Armory yet. Sir Seneschal, if you please …”

“Oh, very well,” said the Seneschal grudgingly. “We might as well make a start, I suppose, since I’m here. It’s my own fault; I’m just too easygoing, that’s my trouble. I let people take advantage of my good nature.”

The Seneschal continued to mutter and grumble under his breath as he led the way out of the hall, and into the South Wing. Harald and the King followed close behind him, and Rupert brought up the rear, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He stared covertly about him as the small party moved briskly through the dim, foxfire-lit corridors and passageways, and at first he was almost disappointed that everything seemed so … ordinary. After all the songs and legends he’d heard on the missing Wing, he’d been expecting something more intimidating. Rupert smiled sourly; he of all people should have known that songs and legends were wrong more often than they were right. And yet there was something about the South Wing … something
disturbing.
Rupert had felt it first in the hall at the boundary, but as he made his way deeper into the heart of the rediscovered Wing, it seemed to him more and more that there was an unfinished air to the empty, echoing corridors; as though something was about to happen, or was already happening; something that had no end … A cold breeze stirred the hackles on the back of Rupert’s neck, and he shook his head quickly. This was no time to be letting his paranoia get the better of him. And then a new thought came to him, and he increased his step so that he could walk alongside the Seneschal.

“Sir Seneschal; why is this Wing still empty, when the rest of the Castle is packed with refugees? Can’t we billet some of them here?”

“Nobody will live here,” said the Seneschal quietly. “Thirty-two years ago, something happened in this Wing; something so terrible that the echoes still remain. It’s in the floor and in the walls, and even in the air itself; a sense of something evil, that happened here long ago and is still happening, even after all these years. The Stones remember. You feel it too, don’t you, Rupert? Everybody does, after a while. The first people we settled here came running out after only a few hours. The others we tried didn’t even last that long. Eventually, we gave up, and left the South Wing to itself. Whatever’s in here, hiding in the dark, it doesn’t want company.”

Rupert swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. “So this Wing’s completely empty?”

“Apart from your disgusting friends,” said Harald.

“Ah yes,” said the Seneschal. “I’d forgotten about them. The goblins live here, Sire. They seem quite happy and unaffected. Either they’re simply not superstitious, or they’re all completely insensitive.”

Rupert smiled. “That sounds like them.”

“Got it in one,” growled a deep bass voice from the shadows. “Welcome back, Prince Rupert.”

Rupert’s party came to a sudden halt as the goblin leader stepped forward into the dim light, followed by half a hundred other goblins from the surrounding shadows. They all wore some kind of armor, and knives and short swords and axes gleamed in every hand. For a long moment nobody moved, and then, as one, the goblins knelt and bowed to Rupert. Even the goblin leader tucked his head quickly in and back, in what might just have been a bow. Rupert looked around him, a delighted grin spreading slowly across his face. Regular food and better living conditions had put meat on the goblins’ bones, and removed some of the gauntness from their faces. More important, most of them now handled their weapons with the quiet competence of the seasoned fighter. Altogether, the goblins looked a great deal more impressive than when Rupert had first met them, back in the Tanglewood. He almost felt that he should be kneeling to them.

“On your feet,” he said finally, not even trying to hide the warmth in his voice. “You’re warriors, now.”

“Well; they try,” growled the goblin leader, glaring disgustedly around him as the goblins scrambled awkwardly to their feet. “It’s good to see you again, Sire. They told us you were dead, but we didn’t believe them. Not one of us.”

“Thank you,” said Rupert. “It’s good to be back among friends.”

Harald chuckled mockingly. “Trust you to make friends out of goblins, Rupert. But then, anyone else wouldn’t need to associate with such creatures, would they?”

The goblin leader made a casual gesture, and the nearest half-dozen goblins took a firm hold of Harald and unceremoniously turned him upside down. Harald sputtered with outrage and reached for his sword, only to stop short as the smallest goblin stepped forward and pressed a jagged-edged knife against his throat.

“Just say the word,” said the smallest goblin cheerfully, “And we’ll skin him for you, Prince Rupert. Or just nod, if you like; we’re not fussy. Dead informal, that’s us. Or maybe you’d like him fricasseed? We can do some very nasty things with a banked fire.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,” said Rupert. “Unfortunately, we need Harald alive, for the time being. You can let him loose now; I’m sure he’ll mind his manners in the future.”

“Can’t we at least bounce him off the walls a little first?” pleaded the smallest goblin.

“Maybe later,” said Rupert.

The goblins dropped Harald in a heap on the floor and moved reluctantly away, muttering disappointedly. Harald sat up and glared about him. He made a tentative move toward drawing his sword, but stopped as he realized half a hundred well-armed goblins were glaring back at him. Harald decided to ignore them. He scrambled to his feet, and set about rebuilding his injured dignity.

King John studied Rupert as the Prince spoke quietly with the goblin leader. At first, the King had been rather amused by the goblins’ awe of his son, but he was slowly coming to see that, underneath the ridiculous adoration, there was a very real respect and reverence. In all the time they’d been at Court, the goblins had never once bowed to their King. If anyone had ever suggested it, the revolting little creatures would probably have split their sides laughing. But they bowed their heads to Rupert. So did the guards who’d come back with him out of the long night. To hear the stories they’d been telling in their barracks, you’d think Rupert was one of the great heroes of legend. Even the Champion’s report had been full of praise for Rupert’s valor and skill in battle. Even the Champion … King John scowled, and tugged at his beard. He was going to have to think about this. Rupert was finally showing signs of becoming a warrior and a hero, and that … was dangerous.

“I’ve got to go now,” said Rupert to the goblin leader. “We’re rather pushed for time. You do know we’re going out against the demons in a few hours from now?”

“Of course,” said the goblin leader gruffly. “Some of us will be there with you. We still remember what the demons did to our homes, our families. They came at night, and there was no moon in the sky. They killed our children first, and then our women, and only those of us who turned and ran survived to tell the story. We knew nothing then, of fighting or hate or revenge. We have learned much in a short time. They say humans know how to forget, Prince Rupert. Perhaps one day, you will teach us this. There are so many things we need to forget, but we don’t know how. For us, the blood and death lies forever before our eyes, and our ears still hear the screams.

“All we’ve learned so far is how to kill demons. For the moment, that’s enough. If we can’t have peace of mind, we’ll settle for revenge. Perhaps we can learn to be brave too, now we’ve no choice.”

Rupert put out his hand, and the goblin leader clasped it firmly with his own gnarly hand.

“We’ll make you proud of us yet, Prince Rupert.”

“I already am,” said Rupert. “I already am.”

The goblin leader nodded quickly, and then turned and stalked back into the shadows, and was gone. Within seconds, the rest of the goblins had also disappeared from the corridor, sliding back into the darkness as silently as they had arrived. Rupert found his eyes were a little too moist, and blinked rapidly until the feeling went away, and only then did he turn back to face the rest of his party. The King looked at him strangely, but said nothing. Harald was doing his best to pretend that nothing had happened, while still trying to get the wrinkles out of his clothes. The Seneschal was leaning against the far wall, staring at the ceiling, and tapping his foot impatiently.

“Can we get on now?” he asked coldly, apparently of the ceiling. “All this conversation may be very interesting, but it’s not getting us any closer to the Armory.”

“A moment, sir Seneschal,” said the King. “You have found us a route that avoids the missing Tower?”

“Amateurs,” said the Seneschal. “I’m dealing with amateurs. Of course I’ve found us a way around it! That’s my job, remember? That’s why I was dragged out of a nice warm bed to lead you through this damn warren. Now follow me, if you please, and stay close; I’ve got more than enough to worry about, without having to waste valuable time searching for strays.”

“Of course, sir Seneschal,” said the King soothingly.

The Seneschal growled something under his breath and hobbled off down the corridor, and after a moment the others followed him. Rupert once again brought up the rear, scowling thoughtfully as he considered the Seneschal’s words. What the hell was this missing Tower, and why was it so important they avoid it? Come to that, how had the demons the Seneschal mentioned got into the South Wing in the first place? Rupert shook his head grimly. There were a lot of things he wasn’t being told; as usual. Obviously a great deal had happened during Julia’s rediscovery of the South Wing, but then, knowing Julia, it was only to be expected that anything she was involved in would be far from easy or straightforward. Rupert smiled slightly at the thought, and then deliberately thought of something else. Thinking about Julia still hurt too much.

Lights grew few and far between as the party moved deeper into the South Wing. Corridors gave way to galleries, which gave way to halls, rotundas, and apparently endless stairways, until finally they came to the Armory. The Seneschal unlocked the great double doors and then stepped back for the King to lead the way in, but for a long moment nobody moved. Rupert stared at the Armory doors, and felt his flesh creep with something that was neither fear nor awe, but some strange mixing of the two. For almost fourteen generations, the Armory had been the weapon house of the Forest Kings. Somewhere beyond those doors lay all the mighty blades of history and legend; of heroes and villains and defeated enemies of the Realm. And somewhere, in the darkness beyond the doors, lay the Infernal Devices: Rockbreaker, Flarebright, and Wolfsbane.