Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (36 page)

“Come here. Right now.”

The dog slunk reluctantly back to join him. Chance lowered his axe and looked steadily at the Shaman.

“Never try that again, Shaman. Chappie is my companion.”

“And the Creature is mine.”

“You control yours, I’ll control mine. Deal?”

The Shaman nodded abruptly, and turned away to address the Creature. He spoke softly, his voice calm and reassuring, and the Creature came forward to crouch beside him and rub his head against him, and the Shaman patted his shoulder.

“Let me kill it,” said Chappie. “It needs killing.”

“Maybe,” said Chance quietly. “But not now. Not here. If the Shaman didn’t get us, the crowd would. And I’m not ready to kill a whole bunch of innocent people just because you can’t control yourself.”

He looked back at the Shaman, and the two men studied each other thoughtfully, each of them wondering if they could kill the other if they had to. Not enemies, perhaps, but two men forever separated by quite different beliefs and duties.

“It’s time for you to go,” said the Shaman.

“There’s nothing to keep me here,” agreed Chance.

He made the dog go ahead of him as they moved off through the surly crowd. Chappie growled something under his breath, but Chance didn’t listen. He glanced back at the Shaman, but both he and the Creature were no longer there. They could have just gone back into the Shaman’s tent, but somehow Chance didn’t think so. No one knew exactly what the Shaman’s powers were, but everyone knew he’d discovered all kinds of unnatural skills during his long years alone in the deep woods. The Shaman came and went, and nobody knew how or why. Chance made the dog walk a little quicker.

The Shaman found Hawk and Fisher walking down a deserted corridor and stepped out of a side passage to block their way, the Creature crouching and snarling at his side. Hawk and Fisher had their weapons in their hands almost before they realized. It had been a long time since anyone had been able to catch them by surprise. They studied the Shaman’s extraordinary appearance interestedly, but their real attention went to the Creature. They’d seen him before, long ago. Once, King John had had a longtime friend and adviser called the Astrologer. They’d grown up together, closer than brothers. The Astrologer had been a wise and powerful man, but he wanted more than that, so he betrayed the King and the Forest Land to the Demon Prince. In payment the Demon Prince transformed the handsome, intelligent man into a crafty, misshapen demon that no longer remembered what he had once been. The Creature disappeared when Rupert called down the Rainbow to banish the darkness, and everyone assumed the Creature had been banished, too. And now here the thing was, twelve long years later, like a dark and awful shadow from the past.

“I am the Shaman,” said the scarecrow figure beside the Creature, in a voice so harsh, they had to strain to understand it. “This poor unfortunate has no name. He is simply the Creature, and my companion. Yes, he is a demon, but he is under my control and my protection. You are in no danger. Put away your weapons.”

The Creature suddenly leaned forward, his bloodred eyes looking searchingly at Hawk’s face, and then Fisher’s. He frowned, thoughts moving slowly across his ugly face, and then something like memory awoke in his eyes. The Creature squealed almost pitifully, and fell back to hide behind the Shaman, shaking and shuddering. The Shaman looked back, startled, and then glowered at Hawk and Fisher. “He doesn’t like strangers. Though he’s not usually this affected by them. He’s harmless. Mostly. I found him wandering in the Forest years ago, half starved. A pitiful specimen, all alone. I look after him. Someone has to.”

Hawk and Fisher slowly put away their weapons. Hawk studied the blue and white mask of the Shaman’s face, while doing his best to ignore the smell.

“Your companion looks dangerous,” he said finally. “You should be very careful around him. You never know when he might turn on you.”

“My magic protects me,” said the Shaman shortly. “We must talk, you and I. The Questor speaks highly of you, but he is a simple soul and strives to see the best in everyone. I know better. I see more clearly. Do you really think you can find the King’s assassin?”

“It’s what we do,” said Fisher. “It may take a while, but—”

“Time is running out,” said the Shaman. “Change is coming, and they can’t stop it. This place is a cesspit of intrigue and conspiracies. Trust no one. They all lie. They are the old way, that must make way for the new. They know this and resent it, and will do anything they can to hold on to power.”

“According to what we’ve been told, you speak for the peasants,” said Hawk. “And democracy. How did that come about?”

The Shaman snorted. “Somebody had to. Someone who cared for them, and not just the power base they represented.”

“Sophisticated thinking for a simple hermit,” said Fisher.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think, alone in the woods,” said the Shaman.

“What did you think of the King?” Hawk asked.

“He was a fool,” said the Shaman bluntly. His hands rose to worry at the tangles of his long gray beard. “He couldn’t see that his time was over. Change came from the south, and he couldn’t adapt. Someone sacrificed him on the altar of necessity. You’ll find there are plenty of suspects.”

“Was he such a bad King?” asked Fisher.

“Put no trust in Kings,” said the Shaman. “Too much power for any man. John, Harald, even Rupert who left … No man can be trusted with absolute power over his fellow man, no matter how good his intentions. If the King is the Land and the Land is the King, it doesn’t take a fool to see the result. John was weak, Harald was a failure, and Rupert ran away. None of them were worthy. Wipe it all out. Start over. Seize the moment. Let something good come from Harald’s death.”

“Who do you think killed him?” asked Hawk. “Could it have been one of your followers unwilling to wait for change?”

“No,” said the Shaman. “I’d have known. And neither they nor I would have been allowed anywhere near the King’s chamber. He was well-protected, and with good reason. Look to his own kind for the killer. Harald must have known his murderer, to let him in. Look to the Landsgrave, Sir Robert. Always a political creature, ready to adapt his beliefs and his conscience to get the deals he thinks he needs. The King was protected by Sir Vivian’s guards—why didn’t they see or hear anything? Who had the money and the influence to buy their silence?”

“What about the Magus?” Fisher asked. “He’s a man of great power.”

“If he is a man,” said the Shaman. “I’m not always sure he’s human. I sense something else in him. Not all the demons look like monsters.”

“Where were you when Harald was murdered?” Hawk asked bluntly.

“Alone. In my tent, meditating. I miss the solitude of the woods.”

“So no witnesses?” asked Fisher.

“Only the Creature,” Shaman said. He grinned widely, showing terrible teeth. “You can ask him, but he doesn’t have much to say for himself.”

“So you have no alibi,” said Hawk.

“Suspect me if you like,” said the Shaman. “I don’t care. I’ve said all I came to say. I’d wish you luck, but I don’t care who killed Harald. All that matters is who and what replaces him. That Hillsdown woman’s not fit to be Queen. Vicious, conniving slut. Sleeps around. Thinks no one knows. I know! I know everything that matters. Sooner she’s removed as Regent, the better. Send her back to Hillsdown, where she belongs.”

“And the Prince, Stephen?” Fisher asked.

“Give him a new life,” suggested the Shaman. “Set him free. Give him hope and a fair chance. Don’t damn him to be King.”

He turned abruptly and stalked away, the Creature swaying along beside him. Hawk and Fisher watched them go till they were safely out of sight.

“In a Castle full of eccentrics and head cases, that has to be our strangest encounter yet,” said Fisher. “And did you get a whiff of him? I’m surprised the hanging tapestries weren’t turning brown and curling up at the edges.”

“Hermits aren’t known for their love of soap and water,” Hawk pointed out. “Or their social graces. I’m more concerned with his Creature. You did recognize him, didn’t you?”

“Of course. The transformed Astrologer. Do you think we should have warned the Shaman?”

“How could we without revealing who we are? And they seemed happy enough together. Besides, what could we do? Send him back to the Darkwood? Kill him in cold blood?”

“He was a traitor,” Fisher said coldly. “He deserves to die.”

“I think killing him would be a kindness,” said Hawk. “There’s probably just enough of the old him left in that body to remember what he used to be and can never be again. I’m more worried that he seemed to know us.”

“Who could he tell?” asked Fisher.

“I can’t help thinking, what else might be left over from our past? What other old, unsuspected ghosts might be watching from the shadows?”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, remembering other days when they had been Rupert and Julia, and things had seemed a whole lot simpler.

There was a sudden noise to one side, and they both looked around automatically. And that was when someone hidden in the shadows set off a flare. There was a sudden blinding flash of light, so sharp and painful to the eyes that both Hawk and Fisher cried out in spite of themselves. The flare was come and gone in a moment, but to eyes grown used to the dim lighting of the Castle corridors, the bright light was overpowering. Completely blinded, Hawk and Fisher staggered back and forth, rubbing uselessly at their tear-filled eyes. And while they were blind and helpless, a weighted net was thrown over them from a side passageway. Hawk and Fisher struck out at the heavy strands enveloping them, but their struggles only tangled them further in the net. And once it was clear they were helpless, a dozen men anonymous in black hoods ran forward and attacked Hawk and Fisher savagely with heavy wooden clubs.

Hawk and Fisher heard approaching footsteps, but their eyes were still full of the flare’s light. They tried to draw their weapons, but the net’s close embrace wouldn’t let them. A club slammed down on Hawk’s shoulder with sickening force. He heard as much as felt his collarbone shatter under the impact, which drove him to one knee. His eyesight was slowly starting to clear, but he wasn’t given time to recover. Clubs fell again and again, hammering against his back and his shoulders and the arm he managed to raise to protect his head. The blows fell with vicious force, and Hawk could hear the harsh breathing of his attackers. The continuing assault drove him down onto both knees. Hawk could hear Fisher crying out beside him. He fought to draw his axe, but the weighted strands had no give in them.

Bones broke in the arm and hand protecting his head. Another club slammed into his ribs, and his whole side came alive with pain. He cried out and there was blood in his mouth. He tried to crawl away from the attack, but there was nowhere to go. The clubs hit him again and again, from every direction, and the accumulated torment was almost beyond bearing. He could still hear Fisher crying out beside him. So he pulled her close to him, and covered her body with his own, denying their enemy one victim. He held her close, his body rocking to the increased punishment, gritting his teeth and refusing to cry out. Refusing to give the unknown enemy the satisfaction. His whole body burned with pain now, and still the blows fell and fell. Blood filled his mouth and spilled from his slack lips. It had been a long time since he’d taken a beating like this, since he’d felt so helpless. He hugged Fisher to him, putting himself between her and the beating. Part of him knew that the enemy wasn’t here to kill him and Fisher; swords would have done the job more quickly. No, this was a warning, a punishment beating. If he held out, he would survive. Or Fisher would. And then someone would pay for this with their life’s blood. A club got past his shattered arm and slammed against the side of his head. Hawk actually felt the bone of his skull give under the blow, and then the world went away for a while.

And then he came back to shouts and raised voices, and the beating stopped. There was the sound of running feet, departing and approaching, and Hawk slowly allowed himself to believe the ordeal was over. He said Fisher’s name, or thought he did, but couldn’t hear her reply. He could feel blood running down his face. He forced his eye open, and through tears and blood he saw Sir Vivian and his guards coming to save them. They pulled and tugged at the net, trying to untangle it, and Hawk cried out despite himself as the sudden movements shook and jerked his punished body. After that the guards moved more carefully, but in the end they had to use their swords to saw through the strands of the net. Hawk heard Fisher say his name, and tried to tell her he was all right, but there was too much blood in his mouth. Finally Hawk and Fisher were cut free from the net, and sat with their backs against the cold stone wall. Fisher took Hawk’s undamaged hand in hers, and squeezed it reassuringly. Sir Vivian crouched down before them, and Hawk could tell from his expression how bad they must look. He took a breath to speak, and his left lung cried out as broken ribs pressed against it. Hawk groaned and blood came out of his mouth along with the sound.

“Don’t try to speak yet,” said Sir Vivian, surprisingly gently. “And for God’s sake don’t try to move. We’ve sent for a healer.”

“Men … in black hoods,” said Hawk, forcing each word past pulped and swollen lips. “Isobel?”

“I’m here,” said Fisher. “You protected me. Saved me. My hero.”

“Next time … you protect … me.”

“Deal.”

They both laughed breathlessly, wincing as the small movements hurt them. Sir Vivian shook his head in wonder.

“All right, so you’re both hard cases. I’m impressed. Now shut the hell up till the healer gets here. No one dies on my shift. Captain Hawk, your partner’s hurt, but doesn’t look too serious. You, on the other hand, look like shit. Broken arm, busted ribs, God knows what internal injuries. And you don’t want to know what your face looks like. So save the jokes. I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

“This was a lesson,” said Hawk, spitting out a mouthful of blood so he could speak more clearly. “To show … we’re not untouchable. And just maybe … to distract us. We were getting too close … to someone, or something.”