Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood)
Simon R. Green
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
ALSO BY SIMON R. GREEN
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
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in a Roc mass market edition.
First Roc Trade Paperback Printing, September 2005
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Copyright © Simon R. Green, 1991
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To my mother and my father who were always there when I needed them.
Table of Contents
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.
CHAPTER ONE
The Rainbow Run
Prince 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.
Rupert ignored the animal and stared thoughtfully at the web. The more he looked at it, the less it seemed like a spider’s web. The pattern was wrong. The strands hung together in knotted clumps, falling in drifting streamers from the higher branches, and dropping from the lower in thick clusters that burrowed into the trail’s mud. And then Rupert felt the hair on the back of his neck slowly rise as he realized that, although the web trembled constantly, there was no wind blowing.
“Rupert,” said the unicorn softly.
“We’re being watched, right?”
“Right.”
Rupert scowled and hefted his sword. Something had been following them ever since they’d entered the Tanglewood at daybreak, something that hid in shadows and dared not enter the light. Rupert shifted his weight carefully, getting the feel of the trail beneath him. If it came to a fight, the thick mud was going to be a problem. He took off his helmet, and put it down at the side of the trail; the narrow eyeholes limited his field of vision too much. He glanced casually around as he straightened up, and then froze as he saw a slender, misshapen silhouette moving among the trees. Tall as a man, it didn’t move like a man, and light glistened on fang and claw before the creature disappeared back into the concealing shadows. Rain beat on Rupert’s head and ran unheeded down his face as a cold horror built slowly within him.
Beyond the Tanglewood lay darkness. For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been a part of the Forest where it was forever night. No sun shone, and whatever lived there never knew the light of day. Mapmakers called it the Darkwood, and warned: Here Be Demons. For countless centuries, Forest land and Darkwood had been separated by the Tanglewood, a deadly confusion of swamp and briar and sudden death from which few escaped alive. Silent predators stalked the weed- and vine-choked trails, and laid in wait for the unwary. And yet, over the past few months, strange creatures had stalked the Forest Land, uneasy shapes that dared not face the light of day. Sometimes, when the sun was safely down, a lone cottager might hear scratchings at his securely bolted doors and shutters, and in the morning would find deep gouges in the wood, and mutilated animals in his barn.
The Tanglewood was no longer a barrier.
Here Be Demons.
Rupert fought down his fear, and took a firmer grip on his sword. The solid weight of the steel comforted him, and he swept the shining blade back and forth before him. He glared up at the dark clouds hiding the sun; one decent burst of sunshine would have sent the creature scuttling for its lair, but as usual Rupert was out of luck.
It’s only a demon, he thought furiously. I’m in full armor, and I know how to use a sword. The demon hasn’t a chance.
“Unicorn,” he said quietly, peering into the shadows where he’d last seen the demon, “you’d better find a tree to hide behind. And stay clear of the fight; I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I’m way ahead of you,” said a muffled voice. Rupert glanced round to find the unicorn hiding behind a thick-boled tree some distance away.
“Thanks a lot,” said Rupert. “What if I need your help?”
“Then you’ve got a problem,” the unicorn said firmly, “because I’m not moving. I know a demon when I smell one. They eat unicorns, you know.”
“Demons eat anything,” said Rupert.
“Precisely,” said the unicorn, and ducked back out of sight behind his tree.
Not for the first time, the Prince vowed to find the man who’d sold him the unicorn, and personally do something unpleasant to every one of the swindler’s extremities.
There was a faint scuffling to his left, and Rupert had just started to turn when the demon slammed into him from behind. His heavy armor overbalanced him, and he fell forward into the clinging mud. The impact knocked the breath from him, and his sword flew from his outstretched hand. He caught a brief glimpse of something dark and misshapen towering over him, and then a heavy weight landed on his back. A clawed hand on the back of his neck forced his face down, and the mud came up to fill his eyes. Rupert flailed his arms desperately and tried to get his feet under him, but his steel-studded boots just slid helplessly in the thick mire. His lungs ached as he fought for air, and the watery mud spilled into his gaping mouth.
Panic welled up in him as he bucked and heaved to no avail. His head swam madly, and there was a great roaring in his ears as the last of his breath ran out. One of his arms became wedged beneath his chest plate, and with the suddenness of inspiration he used his arm as a lever to force himself over onto his back, trapping the squirming demon beneath the weight of his armor.
He lay there for long, precious moments, drawing in great shuddering breaths and gouging the mud from his eyes. He yelled for the unicorn to help him, but there was no reply. The demon hammered furiously at his armor with clumsy fists, and then a clawed hand snaked up to tear into Rupert’s face. He groaned in agony as the claws grated on his cheekbone, and tried desperately to reach his sword. The demon took advantage of his move to squirm out from under him. Rupert rolled quickly to one side, grabbed his sword, and surged to his feet despite the clinging mud. The weight of his armor made every move an effort, and blood ran thickly down his face and neck as he stood swaying before the crouching demon.
In many ways it might have been a man, twisted and malformed, but to stare into its hungry pupilless eyes was to know the presence of evil. Demons killed to live, and lived to kill; a darkness loose upon the Land. Rupert gripped his sword firmly and forced himself to concentrate on the demon simply as an opponent. It was strong and fast and deadly, but so was he if he kept his wits about him. He had to get out of the mud and up onto firm ground; the treacherous mire gave the demon too much of an advantage. He took a cautious step forward, and the demon flexed its claws eagerly, smiling widely to reveal rows of pointed, serrated teeth. Rupert swept his sword back and forth before him, and the demon gave ground a little, wary of the cold steel. Rupert glanced past the night-dark creature in search of firmer ground, and then grinned shakily at what he saw. For the first time, he felt he might have a fighting chance.
He gripped his sword in both hands, took a deep breath, and then charged full tilt at the crouching demon, knowing that if he fell too soon he was a dead man. The demon darted back out of range, staying just ahead of the Prince’s reaching sword. Rupert struggled on, fighting to keep his feet under him. The demon grinned and jumped back again, straight into the massive web that blocked the path. Rupert stumbled to a halt, drew back his sword for the killing thrust, and then froze in horror as the web’s thick milky strands slowly wrapped themselves around the demon. The demon tore furiously at the strands and then howled silently in agony as the web oozed a clear viscous acid that steamed where it
fell upon the ground. Rupert watched in sick fascination as the feebly struggling demon disappeared inside a huge pulsating cocoon that covered it from head to toe. The last twitching movements died quickly away as the web digested its meal.
Rupert wearily lowered his sword and leaned on it, resting his aching back. Blood ran down into his mouth, and he spat it out. Who’d be a hero? He grinned sourly and took stock of himself. His magnificent burnished armor was caked with drying mud, and etched with deep scratch marks from the demon’s claws. He hurt all over, and his head beat with pain. He brought a shaking hand up to his face, and then winced as he saw fresh blood on his mailed gauntlet. He’d never liked the sight of blood, especially his own. He sheathed his sword and sat down heavily on the edge of the trail, ignoring the squelching mud.
All in all, he didn’t think he’d done too badly. There weren’t many men who’d faced a demon and lived to tell of it. Rupert glanced at the now-motionless cocoon, and grimaced. Not the most heroic way to win, and certainly not the most sporting, but the demon was dead and he was alive, and that was the way he’d wanted it to be.
He peeled off his gauntlets and tenderly inspected his damaged face with his fingers. The cuts were wide and deep, and ran from the corner of his eye down to his mouth. Better wash them clean, he thought dazedly. Don’t want them to get infected. He shook his head and looked about him. The rain had died away during the fight, but the sun was already sliding down the sky toward evening, and the shadows were darkening. Nights were falling earlier these days, even though it was barely summer. Rain dripped steadily from the overhanging branches, and a dank, musky smell hung heavily on the still air. Rupert glanced at the web cocoon, and shivered suddenly as he remembered how close he’d come to trying to cut his way through. Predators came in many forms, especially in the Tanglewood.
