Once In a Blue Moon (41 page)

“My little fishies,” he said. “My own precious indulgences. Sometimes I think this is the one place where I can really relax and just be myself. Surely I don’t need to explain sin and temptation to you, Leland? That’s what got you where you are today.”

“Indeed,” said the Stalking Man, in a rich, rotten voice, like fruit that’s spoiled but still tasty. “I know all about the pleasures of the damned. But are you sure we’re really private here? I went to great pains to be sure I arrived unseen and undetected.”

“Don’t worry about my little fishies,” said the King. “They never remember anything they see or do in this place. A simple security spell, to prevent gossip and . . . repercussions. Don’t tell me you disapprove, Leland.”

“You’re not the first King to keep his own private seraglio,” said the Stalking Man. “As long as you remember it takes a strong man not to be ruled by his own weaknesses. I’m just amazed you’re not up to your knees in bastards.”

“Another useful spell,” said William, just a bit coldly. “The Royal line must be kept pure, to sit on the Redhart throne. We may not have access to the old Blood Magic anymore—that ended when Good King Viktor wiped this Castle clean of the Unreal—but the line must be maintained, just in case the Unreal and the Blood Magic should return. I do take my responsibilities seriously, Leland.”

“Why have you summoned me here, William?” said the Stalking Man.

“You never can bring yourself to use my title,” said the King. “Is it because we’ve been friends for so long?”

“No,” said the Stalking Man. “It’s because I serve a higher master.”

“You’re here because I have need of you,” said the King. “But first, indulge me. Answer a question for me.”

“If I can.”

“Are you of the High Magic or the Wild Magic?”

The Stalking Man smiled briefly. “Nothing so limiting. My power comes from the Lord of Darkness.”

King William frowned. “The Demon Prince?”

“Hardly. He’s just a Transient Being. Much lower down on the food chain. I am the real deal, William, and don’t you ever forget it. I am the wrath of Hell and the Vengeance of the Pit. Because there has to be a balance.”

King William sniffed loudly. “I’ve never understood all that. How can you be a balance to the Walking Man when there hasn’t been one since Jack Forester gave it all up to be a monk?”

The Stalking Man shrugged. “There’s always a Walking Man, somewhere, so there always has to be a Stalking Man, somewhere. I don’t understand the rules either, William. I just follow them. Because the Great Game is being played out at a much higher level than you and I will ever understand.”

“I never understood why you wanted . . . this,” said the King.

“You know my history and my tragedy,” said the Stalking Man. “That’s all you need to know. Now, what is it you want, William? Why call me here so urgently, to this private place, for this very secret meeting?”

“Because there’s going to be a war,” said the King.

“I thought you wanted peace,” said the Stalking Man. “You worked hard enough to hammer out an agreement. Gave up your only daughter in marriage to the enemy. Do you fear now it was all for nothing?”

“There are more forces arrayed against the peace than anyone anticipated,” the King said carefully. “I have to hope for peace, but prepare for war. There has already been an attempt on my daughter’s life. If she is killed I will have vengeance, even if it soaks both our Lands in blood.”

“I sold my soul for vengeance,” said the Stalking Man. “For the death and destruction of those who did me wrong. I held their still beating hearts in my hands, and found it wasn’t worth it. But you won’t listen to me, because you’re a King and you don’t have to. You will go your own way and to hell with everyone else. So here I am, William, always ready to support a war.”

“Even when it’s for an honourable cause?” said the King.

The Stalking Man laughed softly. “When is war ever honourable? It’s always about power and politics, wealth and pride. All you Kings invoke Honour and Land and Ancient Rights, but in the end it always comes back to the pride of men. I don’t care about causes, except as means to an end. I only care about blood and slaughter and destruction. The piled-up dead and the burning cities, and women weeping for men they will never see again. I walk this earth to make Humanity suffer. Reasons are irrelevant.”

“Then you will be a soldier in my army,” said King William. “One of my secret weapons, to turn the tide in my favour.”

“Only one?” said the Stalking Man. “What other secret weapons do you have, William?”

“If I told you, they wouldn’t be secret, would they?” said the King. “I must have powerful secret weapons, to back up my army. Forest Castle still holds powerful, even legendary, weapons in its Armoury. Everyone knows that. But I will put my faith in powerful men, not blades. Starting with you, Leland.”

“An honour, William,” said the Stalking Man, bowing mockingly. “Call for me and I will be there. It’s been a long time since one of my kind went to war. I wonder if a new Walking Man will appear to face me . . . That would be a glorious battle!” And then he stopped, and considered for a moment, before looking King William in the eye. “You know why I threw away my soul, William, in return for the power of retribution. You know what I did for hate’s sake, and what I have done since, for Hell’s sake. I have always wondered—knowing who and what I made of myself . . . why have you let me roam free?”

“Because I always knew I might need you someday,” said King William.

“Ah,” said the Stalking Man. “I knew it couldn’t have been anything as small as friendship.”

“It is the prerogative of Kings to do terrible, necessary things to preserve their Kingdoms,” said the King.

The Stalking Man nodded slowly. “Because we were friends, once . . . I will push the limits of my bonds to say this: you do know it’s far easier to call up the forces of Hell than to dismiss them? I will fight in your war, William, set my teeth in the throat of your enemy . . . but you will have no say in what I will do, or how I will do it. You can let loose an arrow, but once it is free of the bow you have no control over where it will fly. I will kill and I will conquer, but only in Hell’s name.”

“Why, Leland,” said King William, “I never knew you to be so eloquent.” He considered the Stalking Man thoughtfully, for a long moment. “How did we end up here, old friend? These aren’t the men we intended to be . . . I remember you, in better times. It does . . . pain me, to see you like this. Do you have to be the Stalking Man all the time? Is there ever any peace for you?”

“I didn’t want peace,” said the Stalking Man. “And see what has become of me. A wise man would draw a moral from that.”

“Leland . . .”

“I have power now! And greater men than you have knelt and sobbed before me, begging for mercy, before I killed them anyway. Don’t you pity me, William. Don’t you dare. You’re just a King. The Lord I serve rides on the backs of dead Kings, and bathes in their tears.” He leaned in close, suddenly, to whisper in the King’s ear. “I know why you’re doing this, William.”

And then he straightened up, turned his back on the King in a swirl of bloodred robes, and left the private room. He walked unseen back through Castle Midnight, and where he went then . . . nobody knew.

The King watched him go, stone-faced, and didn’t turn away until the door was shut again and the Stalking Man safely gone. The King let out his breath then, in a long, slow sigh, and allowed himself to relax. He turned to look at his precious pool, and only then saw the bodies of his little fishies, lying facedown in the water, every one of them quite dead. Because you do not summon the Stalking Man without paying the price.

•   •   •

S
ome time afterwards, King William went for a walk in his ornamental gardens. He wore his finest ceremonial robes, and his crown, and wherever he went in the gardens the gardening staff bowed low to him and hurried to get out of his way. Unlike his daughter, King William had never taken much interest in his gardens, and rarely went there. He had them only because he inherited them, because they had belonged to his father and his grandfather before him. He saw to it that they were maintained to the highest standard, because it was expected of him and because if he was going to have ornamental gardens, then by damn they were going to be the best and most magnificent ornamental gardens ever, and a rebuke to all lesser gardens in lesser Lands.

In fact, it had been such a long time since he’d walked through his gardens, that William honestly didn’t remember when he was last there. Before the children were born, certainly. Much of what he saw and encountered was new and strange to him. Catherine had loved the gardens so much that he gave her control over them as soon as she was old enough to oversee things without constantly running to him for advice. She seemed to have taken to it with great enthusiasm. He wished he’d known before she’d left. He would have liked to have complimented her on what she’d achieved here.

For a moment he seemed to see Catherine running merrily across the wide lawns, a wild, free spirit in her simple boyish clothes. But it was just a thought and a wish, gone the moment he looked at it directly. The King strode along, past flower beds and hedges and goldfish ponds covered with floating lily pads, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his head down, thinking. He wondered whether Catherine would ever forgive him when she finally found out all the things he’d done in Redhart’s name. He had used her . . . because that was what Royal offspring were for. Royal children were born to be bargaining chips, weapons, even sacrifices . . . There was power in being King, but there was helplessness too, sometimes, in the things you had to do. Because the Royal line must continue . . .

And then, finally, William looked up and realised he’d reached the place he’d been heading for all this time, even if he hadn’t consciously admitted it to himself.

The Standing Stone rose tall and jagged before him, a barely human shape carved out of stone that was ancient before Castle Midnight was even dreamed of. There were those who said a pagan god slept within its stony embrace, or perhaps a devil. The God Within, that was what the people called it. Sometimes his guards caught people sneaking into the grounds to worship at the Stone, or sacrifice before it, or leave presents for it. Old traditions die hard. The King looked at the Stone, and the Stone looked back. If there was a power in it, what could he do to call it forth, to help him in his war? Would he let it loose on the Land, whatever it was? And if this was, as he suspected, the last remaining fragment of the Unreal in Castle Midnight . . . might it be enough to restore the Unreal in the Castle? And make him strong enough to take on the Stalking Man, after he was no longer needed? One monster to set against another?

The King looked at the Standing Stone for a long time, thinking many thoughts, and then he turned his back on it, without saying anything, and walked quietly away.

•   •   •

E
lias Taggert, Steward to King William in Castle Midnight, went running through the corridors, summoned most urgently by his King. But when he finally reached the Court and the guards threw the great door open for him, and he hurried in . . . he was astonished to discover that the Court was empty. Given the almost peremptory urgency of his summons, the Steward had assumed it must be some emergency meeting of the Court. But the whole Great Hall was empty, apart from King William sitting silently on his throne, solemn and brooding, like one of his own gargoyles. The Steward noticed immediately that while the King was wearing his finest ceremonial robes, he wasn’t wearing his crown. Which meant this was to be no official meeting. Whatever was decided here, whatever orders were given, no record was to be kept. The Steward strode quickly through the empty Court to approach the throne, his rapid footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet.

“Welcome, Elias Taggert,” said the King, as the Steward bowed formally before him. “I have need of you, my most loyal Steward, to carry a message I dare not entrust to anyone else. I need you to leave this Castle and go into the hills and carry my word to the Broken Man.”

The Steward wanted to just stand there with his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open, but he knew what was expected of him. He stood stiff-backed and solemn-faced and did his best to keep his voice steady. “Has it really come to that, Sire?”

“No,” said the King. “But it might.”

“The hills . . . are a long way off,” said the Steward. “We’re talking weeks of travel, Sire, there and back. And I do have my duties here . . .”

“It has to be you. I need someone I can trust, to do what I ask and no more, and then to keep silent about it,” said the King. “You should be honoured, Taggert.”

“Oh, I am, Sire,” said the Steward immediately.

“Of course you are,” said the King. “You never met the Broken Man, did you? No, before your time. Your father knew him, when he was Steward before you. I think perhaps the Broken Man will listen to you, because of your name, where he might not accept anyone else. Do this for me, my Steward, and there shall be rewards. Reach out to him on my behalf.”

“As your majesty wishes,” said the Steward.

And then he jumped, despite himself, as a man appeared out of nowhere, standing beside the throne. The Steward knew him immediately, and didn’t bow to him. He knew the sorcerer Van Fleet, in person and by reputation, and regarded him as a bad influence on the King. Taggert had to wonder how long the sorcerer had been standing there, hidden from view behind his own magic, watching and listening. Given that the King hadn’t reacted at all to the sorcerer’s sudden appearance, he must have known Van Fleet was there all along. Why have the sorcerer hide himself, unless King William wasn’t entirely sure what the Steward’s response would be? Taggert felt he should be insulted by such a lack of trust, but truly, nothing could be taken for granted where the King and the Broken Man were concerned.

Van Fleet was a large, heavyset man, much like his brother, Gregory Pool, Prime Minister of Redhart. Van Fleet was dressed in his usual brightly coloured robes, gaudy enough to put a peacock off its lunch, with no mystical signs or charms to mark him for what he was: the most powerful and learned High Magician in Redhart. (Not that there was much competition these days.) Van Fleet liked to present himself as a scholar, doing research in the Royal Library, or performing alchemical experiments in his private rooms. A quiet, harmless, studious sort. Only a few people knew the kinds of things Van Fleet did for his King on the quiet. Elias Taggert knew. He had to know, because he was the Steward. But he didn’t have to like it.