Once In a Blue Moon (75 page)

“Nice work,” Hawk said to Chappie just a bit breathlessly. “Now get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” said Chappie.

“You have to,” said Hawk. “We’re facing a whole army here. We can’t win. But you can get away; they’ll never stop you.”

“I can’t leave you!”

“Someone has to tell Fisher what happened!”

“Goodbye, Hawk,” said Chappie. “I was always proud to have you as my master.”

The soldiers charged into the clearing, pressing forward from all sides at once. And that was when Raven appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Hawk and Chappie, and teleported them away. The soldiers cried out in thwarted anger, as they looked around a clearing with no prey. Just two dead bodies lying in the mud.

Their Prince and their General.

•   •   •

I
n the Redhart command tent, some time afterward, Prince Christof took formal command of the army, and the situation. With the Broken Man and General Staker both gone, there was no one else. The Champion supported him, and the soldiers were desperate for someone to give them orders.
It did help that Cameron had worked out his tactics and troop deployments before he got himself killed,
Christof thought, but didn’t say. He and Malcolm leafed quickly through the papers their predecessor had left behind, familiarising themselves with what needed doing. It all seemed straightforward enough. The real work had already been done; all they had to do was carry out the plan. And then claim the credit afterwards. Christof couldn’t stop smiling. It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned it himself.

The Stalking Man stood at the back of the tent, keeping his own counsel. He would do what he would do, once the fighting began. All he required was that everyone else stay out of his way. The sorcerer Van Fleet stood to one side, his arms tightly crossed, openly sulking. Waiting for orders he might or might not obey. Christof glared at him.

“Did you know Raven was here, watching the fight? Did you know what he was going to do?”

Van Fleet looked away, his courage unravelling in the face of the Prince’s anger.

“Obviously not, or I’d have done something,” he said sullenly. “I didn’t know the Necromancer was anywhere near here. In fact, it’s entirely possible that he wasn’t.”

Christof’s scowl deepened. “Talk sense, sorcerer.”

“It’s always possible he was watching the proceedings through a vision, back in the Castle,” said Van Fleet. “Hidden from us, behind the Castle’s protections. Though I don’t know how he could jump so far . . . All this way into the Forest, from the Castle . . . and then back again? That would take a lot of power. And it’s not the kind of magic I’d expect from a Necromancer . . . I always said there was more to Raven than met the eye.”

“Is his magic stronger than yours?” said Malcolm.

“Almost certainly,” said Van Fleet. “Though I’m pretty sure I could still show him a few nasty surprises.”

“I say we attack the Castle immediately,” said Christof, turning his back on the sorcerer. “We can’t let the Forest think they’ve got us on the defensive. So, do we attack the Castle from all sides at once, try to force a way in? Or do we find some way to make the Forest forces come out and fight us here, in the Forest?”

“Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?” said Van Fleet, desperation pushing aside his deference. “You can’t get in, no matter how many soldiers you send against the Castle! They’re protected! All they’ve got to do is sit tight behind their defences, and we can’t touch them!”

“And do I really need to remind you,” said the Stalking Man, “that you’re supposed to wait for the Red Heart and his magical forces? Whatever they turn out to be . . .”

“We have to contact the King,” said Malcolm. “Bring him up to date on what’s happened here and see what he says. Not that I mean to undermine your authority, Christof, but King William needs to know his elder son is dead. And his chief general. That may change how he sees the situation.”

“Of course,” said Christof. “His precious unbeatable son, specially brought back from exile to save the day. He’ll want to know how that worked out.”

Malcolm shot Christof a warning look. “Now is not the time to revive old grievances, Chris.”

“You’re quite right,” said Christof. “Whatever would I do without you, Mal?” He glared at the sorcerer. “Make contact with King William. And make very sure no one else can listen in.”

“I know what I’m doing,” snarled the sorcerer. He stabbed a finger at the air, muttered a few carefully rehearsed Words, and a window opened in midair, giving a view of King William on his throne. The King looked round sharply.

“What’s happened?” he said roughly. “You weren’t supposed to make contact until the Castle had fallen.”

“Things have not gone according to plan, Father,” said Christof. “I regret to inform you that your son Cameron is dead. And General Staker.”

The King looked at him for a long moment, with a cold, unblinking gaze. “What happened?”

Malcolm stepped forward, and told the story from beginning to end. William didn’t flinch once. Didn’t react at all. Just sat on his throne, thinking.

“A shame,” he said finally. “You were right to assume command, Christof. It was your place to do so. Go ahead; do what needs doing. I have complete confidence in you. Don’t let me down. Don’t let your country down.”

“My country, Father?” said Christof, with just enough emphasis in his voice for his father to take notice.

“You are the last of my sons, Christof,” the King said slowly. “The throne will be yours if you win this war.”

“Well,” said Christof, “nothing like ambition to motivate a man . . .”

But all the time he was talking to his cold-eyed, cold-voiced father, Christof had to wonder how much his father would care if he fell in battle too.

“I am sending you the help I promised,” said King William. “The Red Heart is on his way with a force . . . I think you will find more than sufficient. If you are wise, Christof, you will stand back and let them do the heavy lifting for you.”

The window snapped shut abruptly, and the King was gone. Christof and Malcolm looked at each other.

“What the hell was he talking about?” said Christof.

“He’s here,” said Van Fleet, raising a hand to his head as though it hurt him. “I can feel his presence in the Forest. Like a coal, burning in my mind. He’s here, and he’s not alone . . . Oh dear God . . .”

He swayed on his feet, and had to grab the table with both hands to hold himself up. His face had gone deathly pale, and his eyes were wild. Christof and Malcolm hurried out of the tent to see what was happening. The Red Heart was stalking through the trees, tall and magnificent and supernaturally impressive. The soldiers scattered to get out of his way, abandoning their positions. They didn’t like what he’d brought with him.

All the creatures and entities and strange manifestations of the Unreal, from Castle Midnight.

An army of unnatural things, lurching and crawling and leaping through the trees. All the ghosts and gargoyles, monsters and miracles, the strangely living and the unquiet dead. Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, a sight to appal the eye and chill the soul. Soldiers were retreating everywhere now, running wildly through the trees, crying out like frightened birds. The Unreal pressed forward, shining and blazing and flickering, to the very edge of the clearing, and then they squatted down there to stare at the Forest Castle with intelligent, malignant eyes. The Red Heart stood before Christof and Malcolm, and smiled down at them.

“Do not be alarmed. These are my children, as much as you, and they are mine to command. They will break down the Castle’s defences and protections for you and leave it open for you to take. With your ladders and battering rams and siege engines. I would not deprive you of your sport. Take the Castle, take the people inside, and do what you will with them.”

He turned away, not caring to wait for any answer, striding off to walk among his unnatural army.

“It makes sense, I suppose,” said Christof, working hard to keep his voice calm and composed. “Set magic to fight magic.”

“And better that monsters should fight and die than our soldiers,” said Malcolm. He swallowed hard. “It’s hardly honourable, to send such abominations into the field, but there’s been nothing honourable about this war from the beginning.”

“Cameron’s challenge was honourable enough,” said Christof. “And look how that worked out.”

“And we thought the Forest people were bad,” said Malcolm, “for using the Infernal Devices.”

“All’s fair in war,” said Christof. He called for a messenger, and when the man arrived, Christof spoke curtly to him. “Go tell the Red Heart that he and his forces can attack when ready. Don’t look at me like that; you don’t have to get too close. And then you’d better pass the word through our army to draw well back. Give the Unreal room to operate freely.”

“Don’t you trust them to leave our people alone?” said Malcolm, as the messenger left the tent.

“Hell, no. Those things were spooky enough inside Castle Midnight. God alone knows what they’ll do now they’ve been allowed to run free in the world. But we’ll worry about how to put the cat back in the bag afterwards. For now, let the monsters do our dirty work. Let them fight and die so real people don’t have to.”

•   •   •

R
aven and Hawk and Chappie appeared suddenly inside the Forest Castle Court. Hawk collapsed, sprawling clumsily on the floor. So tired he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. He lay on his side, breathing hard, while Chappie snuffled anxiously at his face. And then Fisher was there with him, holding him in her strong arms, helping him sit up and then sitting there with him so he could lean back against her.

“Hawk? What the hell happened to you?”

“I met a man . . . who was probably a better fighter than me,” said Hawk. “But he didn’t have the High Warlock’s axe.”

He opened his eyes and smiled up into her worried face, and after a moment she smiled back. She checked him over for wounds, quickly and professionally. Chappie sat down beside them, his tail thumping loudly on the marble floor.

“Who did you have to fight, in the end?” said Fisher. “Was it Prince Cameron?”

“Yes. I killed him.” Hawk considered for a moment, then said, “Arrogant, and a bit of an arsehole, but brave enough, I suppose. The other side didn’t take kindly to my winning. Called the whole thing off, because I cheated by not dying. The whole army jumped me, and then their General wanted to cut my head off.”

“But I stopped him,” said Chappie. “Ripped his throat out. And I just want to say, he tasted really bad.”

Fisher looked at the dog. She could see the blood still dripping from his jaws.

“Good dog,” she said.

Hawk looked at Chappie. “You said you were proud . . .”

“I know what I said!” Chappie said loudly. “It was in the heat of the moment! You’re never going to let me forget it, are you?”

“You saved my life,” said Hawk. “I’ll never forget that.”

He got to his feet, leaning heavily on Fisher, and looked at King Rufus, sitting anxiously on his throne. The Seneschal at his side, as always. Richard and Catherine, standing together. Raven the Necromancer standing to one side, looking thoughtful.

“Something just happened,” he said, in an odd, dreamy voice. “Something really . . . strange has come into the Forest. And it’s brought a whole army of most unnatural friends with it.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded the King. “Speak sense, dammit! Has Redhart brought in reinforcements?”

“Something like that, yes,” said Raven. “You need to see this.”

He opened up a large dimensional window, hanging in midair, so they could see what was happening in the Forest beyond the Castle clearing. Everyone made some kind of sound as they watched the Unreal swarming through the trees, preparing to attack. Monstrous shapes and gleaming figures, shimmering apparitions ghosting through massive tree trunks, and grey stone gargoyles flexing huge membranous wings. No two shapes the same anywhere, a chaos of flesh mixed with magical extremes; a riot of things that should never have existed in the real world.

And there, standing at the very head of them, looking out across the clearing at Forest Castle as though he knew they were looking at him: the Red Heart. The colour of freshly spilled blood, all of him, from his inhumanly handsome face to his old-fashioned clothes. He smiled slowly, like a devil let loose from Hell to work mischief.

The doors to the Court banged open, and Mercy hurried in.

“Your majesty! An army of monsters has just appeared in the Forest outside and they’re—oh, I see you already know.”

Raven shut down the window, and they all turned to Mercy.

“Will the Castle’s protections keep those things out?” said King Rufus.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Mercy. “Most of the defences were laid down so long ago, we don’t even know what they were originally designed to fend off. But according to all the old stories, they didn’t keep out the demons during the Demon War.”

“No,” said Hawk, “they didn’t.”

“So that’s the Red Heart,” said Richard. “Impressive, in an appalling sort of way. We’re talking Wild Magic here, aren’t we?”

“I would have said so,” said Raven. “Though I couldn’t tell you what the Red Heart actually is . . . I understand King William got it out of a Standing Stone near his Castle.”

Everyone looked at the newly young King Rufus, and he met their gazes steadily.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s where I found the Green Man. Good thing too, as it turns out. Now we have an old pagan god to set against theirs.”

“You might call it a god,” said Raven. “I’m . . . still looking into the matter.”

Fisher brought the Rainbow Sword over to Hawk and pressed it into his hands. “Told you I’d keep it safe till you got back.”

Hawk held the old familiar weight in his hand, and felt a slow refreshing strength run through him. He straightened up, stretched slowly, and then strapped the sword into place on his hip, opposite his axe.

“Just like old times,” he said.

“God, I hope not,” said Fisher. She looked Hawk over. “You look better. I think the sword agrees with you.”