Once In a Blue Moon (50 page)

“Oh, he really shouldn’t have said that last bit,” murmured Hawk.

The Bladesmaster advanced steadily on Fisher in a practiced swordsman’s stance. Fisher smiled, and just stood there and let him come to her. And then she lifted her sword and threw it at him, with all her strength. The blade flashed through the air, incredibly fast, and the Bladesmaster didn’t even have a chance to get his own sword up to block it. Fisher’s sword punched right through his throat, and out the back of his neck, in a welter of blood. The Bladesmaster fell back a step, his eyes wide with horror. He opened his mouth to say something, but only blood came out. He fell to his knees. His sword dropped from his hand. His eyes slowly closed, as the blood pumped out of his throat. Fisher walked forward to stand before him, took hold of the sword hilt standing out before her, and pulled the blade out of his neck with one easy movement, stepping aside at the last moment, to avoid the last of the jetting blood. The Bladesmaster fell forward onto his face, in the crimson mud, and didn’t move again. The crowd went mad, cheering and clapping and shouting her name. Fisher saluted them once with her sword and strolled back to join Hawk, who shook his head regretfully.

“You’re going to be unbearable about this for days, aren’t you?”

“How well you know me,” said Fisher.

•   •   •

T
his time, it was Hawk and Fisher’s turn to stand before Prince Richard. He recognised their names, and the implications, immediately, and went out of his way to say many fine things about the Hero Academy before naming them both champions of the Tourney and inviting them into the Castle to join the celebration banquet. And then he looked thoughtfully at Hawk and Fisher, and for a moment it seemed as though he might be about to say something. But he didn’t. He bowed respectfully to Hawk and Fisher, and they bowed formally back, and went back to their family.

“I’m starting to feel a bit left out,” said Jack. “I won’t fight with a sword or an axe, or any other weapon. I don’t do that anymore. But I have thought of something . . .”

He led his family through the excited crowds, many of them applauding loudly as they passed. A few came forward to beg favours or coins, or just to touch their clothes, but a cold look from Hawk or Fisher was all it took to put a stop to that. Jack finally brought them to the magic circles, where various sorcerous duels and contests took place for the edification, delight, and bafflement of the watching audiences. Such duels tended to be loud and flashy affairs, and not always that easy for the inexperienced or uninitiated to follow. Jack walked straight up to the nearest steward, and was just a little disappointed that the man didn’t immediately recognise his name, or who he used to be.

“What’s your speciality?” said the steward briskly. “Elemental magic? Transformations? Plagues and curses?”

“Invulnerability,” Jack said firmly. “There’s not a magic here that can touch me.”

“Best of luck with that one,” said the steward. “You sure about this? Things can get pretty rough inside the circle . . . All right, all right. Next of kin for the form, please.”

But in the end, Jack just stood there in the middle of the magic circle and defied anyone to move him. They all came forward—the magicians and sorcerers, the hedge wizards and witches—resplendent in their brightly coloured robes and tall, pointy hats. They blasted Jack with spells, curses, and even bolts of lightning, and couldn’t get anywhere near him. Jack spoke no spells, chanted no cantrips; he just stood his ground. An old monk, leaning on a wooden staff, smiling amiably into the teeth of whatever they could throw at him. One after another, dark-eyed sorcerers filled the air with blistering energies; sloe-eyed witches all but broke their brooms in half trying to turn him into things; and wild-eyed hedge wizards called down all the wilder weathers of the four seasons. To no effect. Because, although none of them knew it, nothing could touch the retired Walking Man, as long as he walked in Heaven’s path. Though Jack would have been the first to admit he was stretching that just a bit. Still, as long as he was doing it in a good cause . . .

In the end, he stood alone and unhurt in the middle of a circle that had been blasted down to the bedrock and charred around the edges, and thirteen powerful magic-users had to admit they’d done their worst and not even knocked him off balance. They retired from the field, baffled, and more than a little hurt. The steward declared Jack champion magic-user of the day, and the watching audience applauded him in a respectful sort of way. Jack went on to bow deeply before an equally baffled Prince Richard, who shrugged and invited him to the Castle banquet anyway.

“I’m ashamed of you, Jack,” Hawk said afterwards. “Cheating your way to a prize like that.”

“I prefer to call it lateral thinking,” said Jack. “I’ve always believed in outthinking one’s enemy.”

“He didn’t get that from me,” said Fisher.

•   •   •

T
hey continued on through the Tourney to see what else it had to offer, while Chappie led them unerringly from one food stall to another, where he insisted they try a little bit of everything. While he tried a great deal of everything.

“Now I know why you’ve lived so long,” said Raven. “It’s because you never stop eating.”

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” said Chappie indistinctly.

Hawk and Fisher made it a point of pride to try some of the more exotic dishes on offer. Spiced sausage, curried bean soup, and sweet crunchy things that came in a paper cone. All the family tried a bit of this and that, except Jack, who turned up his nose at everything.

“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff. You must have cast-iron stomachs.”

“If you can eat the kind of stuff they sell at Haven’s street stalls, you can eat anything,” said Fisher.

“True,” said Hawk. “I do miss that something-wriggling-on-a-stick they used to sell down by the docks. Never did find out what it was.”

“Probably just as well,” said Fisher wisely. She looked at Gillian. “Did they still sell that when you were down there?”

“Hell, yes,” said Gillian, shuddering. “I could never eat them. Couldn’t stand the way they looked at me.”

“Then you should have eaten them from the other end,” Fisher said ruthlessly.

“My family are barbarians,” said Raven. Chappie sniggered.

“I haven’t seen my daughter, Mercy, anywhere,” said Jack. “I was sure she’d be here.”

“Oh, my cousin is quite definitely here today,” said Raven. “You’d better come with me, Uncle.”

He led the family through the packed crowds, to the jousting lane, where the Sombre Warrior and the masked Sir Kay were seated on their great chargers at opposite ends of the long grassy lane. Studying each other, through their featureless steel helmets. Young women pressed forward to throw showers of rose petals over both men. Raven brought his family right to the front and made sure they all had a good view. (Mostly just by smiling at people in the way in a thoughtful fashion until they decided not to be in the way any longer. No one crowds a Necromancer.)

The Sombre Warrior and Sir Kay started forward, the steward raised his voice and brought his flag sweeping down, and just like that the two knights were off, racing down the narrow lane towards each other, urging their horses on, lances standing proudly out before them. The horses pounded on for all they were worth, their hooves digging great divots out of the wet earth and throwing them aside, while Sir Kay and the Sombre Warrior hung on grimly, and the crowd went completely out of their minds with excitement. The two men rapidly closed the gap between them. Everyone was on their feet, shouting and waving, including Prince Richard and Princess Catherine, each cheering for the respective countryman. The two horses came together, both lances struck home, snapped and splintered and broken in half by the impact . . . but the Sombre Warrior stayed put in his saddle, while Sir Kay was thrown backwards off his horse and crashed to the hard ground.

The whole crowd went suddenly silent. The Sombre Warrior reined in his horse, turned it around, and looked back to see what had happened to his opponent. A steward ran out into the lane, to grab the reins of the riderless horse. Sir Kay lay flat on his back in the churned-up earth. And then, slowly and painfully, he rolled over onto his side, and forced himself up onto his knees, and then onto his feet. He saluted the Sombre Warrior at the other end, and the crowd went mad all over again, howling and screaming, stamping their feet and pounding their hands together till it hurt. Some people wanted to run forward into the lane, to congratulate both men, but there were enough armed guards on hand to make it clear that would be a really bad idea.

The Sombre Warrior respectfully dipped his lance, with the Princess’ favour still wrapped around it. Sir Kay nodded his appreciation, and then walked slowly but steadily forward to stand before Prince Richard and Princess Catherine. He bowed once, just a bit jerkily, and then raised both his hands to place them on either side of his helmet. The crowd was utterly still, absolutely silent. Tension on the air was so thick you could have sliced it with a knife. Without realising it, everyone was leaning forward. Sir Kay took off his helmet with one smooth motion, and long golden hair tumbled out, to surround a young woman’s face. She smiled brilliantly around her. As one, the crowd turned to look at the Sombre Warrior, to see how he would take it, that he’s come so close to being unseated and unmasked by a mere slip of a girl. The Sombre Warrior sat very still for a long moment, and then he bowed to Sir Kay.

The crowd loved it. They went completely off their heads, laughing and cheering and hugging one another with joy, jumping up and down and dancing in the enclosed sections. The greatest jest of the whole Tourney, and they’d been there to see it! They’d be telling this story to their friends and neighbours, their children and their grandchildren, for the rest of their lives. Sir Kay smiled demurely up at Prince Richard and Princess Catherine, curtsied as best she could in full armour, and then turned and walked off in search of the hospital tents.

Jack looked at Raven.

“That was my Mercy!”

“Yes, Uncle. I know.”

“Still better than being a Necromancer,” said Gillian.

“Well, quite,” said Raven.

•   •   •

T
hey tracked Jack’s daughter, Mercy, to the nearest hospital tent, where the unmasked knight was limping slowly forward to be greeted by a pleasant-looking young woman in simple horsewoman’s clothes, waiting at the entrance to the tent. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Mercy, holding her upright when Mercy’s knees buckled and almost gave out. The young woman spoke soothingly to Mercy, and helped her into the hospital tent. Jack hurried forward. The rest of the family studied him thoughtfully, curious as to how he was taking all this. He hadn’t expressed a single opinion yet, remaining resolutely cold-faced and silent. He just strode along, staring straight ahead, leaning heavily on his wooden staff but still covering quite a lot of ground for a man of his age. He finally reached the hospital tent, flung the flaps aside, and strode in. Followed by everyone else, including Chappie, all of them determined not to miss out on anything.

The young horsewoman was stripping Mercy out of her armour, revealing a slender woman in her late twenties, wearing a padded undersuit. Heavy purple bruising showed all down Mercy’s left side. Both women looked round sharply at the sudden entrance, Mercy’s long golden hair tumbling across her shoulders, and then she winced harshly as the sudden movement hurt her. She had a pretty, strong-featured face, with clear grey eyes and a generous mouth, and another heavy bruise on her left temple. The young horsewoman moved quickly forward, to stand protectively between Mercy and the intruders.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just barge into a hospital tent . . .”

“It’s all right, Allison,” said Mercy. “I’ve been expecting them.”

Allison fell back reluctantly, staying close to her friend. Mercy smiled at Jack.

“Hello, Daddy.”

“Hello, Mercy,” said Jack. “So this is what you’ve been up to, my girl. No wonder you stopped writing.”

She met his gaze defiantly. “You always told me to follow my heart, and stick to what I was good at. And I was very good at jousting. Really! I was unbeaten until today. And if that bloody Sombre Warrior hadn’t turned up . . . Oh, don’t scowl at me like that, Daddy! I’m a grown woman now. I’ve carried arms and fought in tourneys. I’m allowed to say
bloody
if I feel like it.” She broke off, and smiled radiantly at him. “But I am very pleased to see you again, Daddy. It’s been ever such a long time. What are you doing here? And who . . . Oh. Hello, Auntie Gillian.”

“Hello, Mercy,” said Gillian.

Jack caught something passing between the two women and nodded slowly. “Of course. I should have known. You’re the one who trained her, Gillian!”

“You were off hiding from the world in a monastery!” snapped Gillian. “Who else was she going to turn to?”

“So you knew all about this Sir Kay business?” said Jack.

“No,” said Gillian. She glared at Raven. “But you knew. And you didn’t tell me!”

“You’re not the easiest of people to talk to, Mother,” murmured the Necromancer.

“But who are all these other people, Daddy?” said Mercy, looking suspiciously at Hawk and Fisher. “I mean, I don’t know them. They could be anybody. Or are they some half brothers and half sisters from the wrong side of the blanket, from before you gave all that up to be a monk?”

“Show some respect, child,” said Jack. “These are your grandparents, Prince Rupert and Princess Julia. Come home at last.”

Mercy’s jaw dropped, and her eyes got very wide. Her mouth worked, but it was a few moments before she could come up with a response, which in the end consisted simply of . . .

“Gosh.”

Hawk smiled at her. “We’re going by Hawk and Fisher these days. Don’t want anyone to know we’re back.”

“And yes, we are looking really good for our age,” said Fisher. “We know.”