Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (10 page)

“All dogs go to heaven,” said Chappie cheerfully. “It’s in our contract. We agree to be your best friends, and try to keep you out of trouble, and in return for that arduous job, we all get a guaranteed place in paradise. Cats go to the other place, and serves them bloody well right. Probably feel right at home there, tormenting the sinners.” He stopped suddenly, distracted by the one man still sitting at a nearby table. He’d pushed away his plate with half the food still on it. The huge dog stared at the meal as though mesmerized, and then lurched to his feet and advanced on the table. The customer looked around and found himself almost face to face with a huge dog. He went pale. The dog cleared his throat. It sounded a lot like a growl. The customer went very pale. Chappie looked meaningfully at the food on the plate. “You’re not going to leave all that, are you? Perfectly good food, going to waste? There are millions starving in Cathay!”

The customer looked at the dog, almost afraid to move. “I’m … really not very hungry. Couldn’t manage another bite.”

“Well,” said Chappie, “I suppose I could help you out. Rather than see good food go to waste. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Oh, no. Go right ahead. I’m sure there’s somewhere else I have to be. Very urgently. If you’ll excuse me …”

He made a dash for the door. Chappie wolfed down all the food on the plate and then licked it clean before padding contentedly back to collapse at Chance’s feet. The messenger looked at him sorrowfully.

“You have no shame, do you, Chappie?”

“Of course not. I’m a dog. You tell these people your story, while I have a little nap. And don’t embellish it. I’ll be listening.”

Chance sighed and turned back to Hawk and Fisher. “I am the son of the late Champion of the Forest Kingdom. His only child. I don’t think my father liked women much. Or men, come to that. Apparently he encountered my mother while searching the taverns for the High Warlock, when he was off on one of his drinking binges. He wasn’t usually that hard to find. Just look for a window with fireworks coming out of it. Anyway, by the time the Champion found him, the Warlock had passed out cold. It had been a long night, so the Champion made arrangements for them both to spend the night at the tavern. I get the impression he’d had to do this before. My mother was working there, as a tavern slut. She got the Champion drunk … and nine months later presented him with a rather unexpected son. Me. He wouldn’t acknowledge me at first, though he sent my mother money for my upkeep, in return for her silence and keeping her distance.

“When I was ten, he came for me. No warning. Just this huge, terrifying figure in heavy armor whom everyone, including my mother, bowed low to. He took me away with him. We spent the best part of a week traveling, and I don’t think he spoke ten words to me. He finally dropped me off at St. Jude’s, a very well-regarded and even more expensive private school on the border between the Forest and the kingdom of Redhart. He rode off without saying good-bye. I never saw him again.

“I inherited his broad shoulders and a tendency to rather more muscles than is usual, but not his killer’s rage. My red hair and green eyes came from my mother, along with my somewhat calmer disposition. I never saw her again, either. The school wouldn’t let her visit, and she died before I was old enough to leave. Tavern sluts don’t tend to live long lives. My father died during the Demon War, but of course you know that. You were there.

“I was twelve years old and all alone. King Harald sent me my only inheritance, the Champion’s great double-headed axe. I couldn’t even lift it then. There was no money; what little my father left went to settle his few debts. Luckily he’d paid my tuition fees in advance, and I was able to stay on at the school. They supplied bed and board at no cost, in return for the privilege of having a legend’s son attending their school. I left the moment I’d graduated, because I wanted to be my own man, not just someone’s son.”

Chance paused for a moment and took a long drink from his wineglass. It was a very poor vintage, all piss and vinegar, but he politely pretended not to notice.

“I wandered here and there, discovering the world and looking for my place in it, and finally ended up where I always knew I would—at the Forest Castle. King Harald was very gracious, but he made it abundantly clear he had no use for a Champion. He’d abolished the post. Instead he offered me a new position, that of King’s Questor. Basically, my job is to be the reasonable voice at Court, to see all sides of every argument and provide a disinterested voice where necessary. Answerable only to the Throne, I have the authority to settle all arguments and disputes, by force if necessary. I am an arbiter, a judge, defender of lost causes, and the court of final appeal. I serve no single cause or faction, only justice. This has made me very unpopular in certain quarters, which I take as a sign that I’m doing my job right. I have to say, I much prefer being Questor rather than Champion. I admire my father’s legend, but I don’t want to become him.”

He drank more wine while Hawk considered what Chance had said and what he hadn’t. If Chance had been twelve at the time of the Demon War, he had to be twenty-four now. Which made Hawk feel old, but he decided he wasn’t going to think about that just now. He’d heard about St. Jude’s School. It was famous for being the toughest school in the Forest Kingdom, or out of it. The pupils had to learn to be even tougher, just to survive it. If you failed a course, they sent your remains home in a sealed coffin. The school mascot was a werewolf, and the swimming pool had crocodiles in it. Rupert’s father, King John, had often threatened to send him and his brother, Harald, there, when they were getting out of hand or had displeased him greatly, and it was one of the few threats that actually brought them in line.

St. Jude’s would make a man out of you, or kill you trying. The school specialized in turning out legendary heroes, great scholars, and famous leaders of men. And not a few first-class villains. Only the truly exceptional survived to graduate from St. Jude’s.

Men like Allen Chance.

“What academic qualifications did you end up with?” Fisher asked, just to show she was keeping up with the conversation.

“I have degrees in law, philosophy, literature, and military strategy,” said Chance diffidently.

“And a fat lot of use any of them were when it came to getting you a job,” said Chappie from under the table. “I notice you didn’t mention you only went to the Forest Castle because you were desperate for any kind of salaried position.”

“I would have gotten around to that,” said Chance, a little snappily. “There’s a lot of unemployment in the Forest Kingdom, struggling as it is to recover from the long night and the Demon War, and I was … overqualified for most positions. The point is, I was very happy being King’s Questor. I served Harald faithfully, and I hope well, for four years. I always considered myself to be a reasonable man first, and a warrior second, and the position enabled me to be both.”

“Tell them how you got the job,” said Chappie.

“Look, who’s telling this story? Do you want to tell it?”

“Then get on with it,” said the dog. “And hurry it up. I’m getting hungry again.”

“There were other applicants for the position of Questor,” Chance said carefully. “Many of them famous men, already building their own legends. Quite a few were St. Jude’s men. But they all had political backing and not-so-secret agendas. All I had was my late father’s reputation, which frankly was as much a hindrance as a help. Everyone agreed he’d been one hell of a fighting man, but the Champion had always been famous in his distaste for all kinds of politics. There were even those who murmured that his sanity wasn’t all that it might have been, too. It quickly became clear to me that either I found some backing of my own, or I might as well leave before I was asked to go.

“And that was when the Landsgraves of Gold and Silver and Copper came to me. Their position at Court was much reduced from what it had once been, and they saw in me a chance to regain influence and power. They provided me with all kinds of dirt on my rivals, and those we couldn’t discredit, I challenged to duels. Most withdrew from the competition rather than face the Champion’s son. But I still killed some good men, just because they wouldn’t back down. In some ways it seems I am my father’s son. So, I became King’s Questor as a result of blackmail and spilled blood. Not at all the bright and glorious future I’d envisaged for myself at the Forest Castle.

“But once appointed Questor, the first thing I did was to reveal the Landsgraves’ plotting. They were banished from the Court in disgrace, and I was able to establish myself immediately as a truly impartial Questor, and a bit of a bastard to boot. King Harald found the whole business highly amusing. The Landsgraves swore revenge, of course. For a time I had to have my own food taster, but after I killed the first half dozen assassins the Landsgraves sent after me, they pretty much gave up. They had gambled and failed, and no one at Court had much time for a bad loser. I was Questor, and I had proved I was my own man, but my betraying of the Landsgraves isolated me at Court. No one would be my friend, or even my ally. No one but the King.”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Hawk. “Tell me how my brother died.”

“It’s been four months since the murder,” said Chance. “And still no one knows how it was done, or why, or by whom. Cause of death was a single blow from a knife or short sword, directly into the heart, in the King’s private chambers. No weapon was ever found. There were no signs of any struggle. Some have whispered darkly of suicide, but they can’t explain the missing murder weapon. The most thorough investigations have failed to turn up any clue, or any clear motivation that would single out a specific culprit.

“Strictly speaking, the murder should have been impossible. King Harald was guarded on all sides by armed men, all of whom were examined under truthspell, all of whom saw and heard nothing suspicious. The King was also protected by strong magical wards, courtesy of the Magus, through which only the Royal Family could pass; and the queen was very definitely in Court at the time of the murder, in front of hundreds of witnesses. But someone got to the King anyway, silent and unseen as a ghost.

“The longer the investigation went on without any result, the more gathering tensions threatened to tear the Court apart. So I volunteered to go out into the world and bring back the legendary Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, in the hope that once again they would save the Forest Kingdom in its time of greatest need. As the Champion’s son, I was indirectly a part of that legend, so my offer was accepted. And here I am, and here you are.”

Hawk stirred unhappily. “Trust me, Chance; there’s nothing legendary about Isobel or me. We just … did what we had to. Over the years we’ve heard many variations of the story, of the legend, of what we did in the long night. Most of them expanded and distorted by minstrels and saga writers till I hardly recognize us anymore. Minstrels have always preferred a good story to the truth, and romance over reality.
His strength is as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure
, and all that bullshit.”

“Traveling players have been presenting the great romantic drama of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia for years,” said Fisher, nodding. “And not once did I ever get top billing. Sometimes the names were the only things they did get right. We saw the Great Jordan’s version once. Can’t say I was impressed.”

“The songs and stories always make it sound as though we defeated the Demon Prince all on our own,” said Hawk. “Through the goodness of our hearts. That the whole country rose up to follow me, as its natural leader. That I could have been King, but heroically gave up the Throne for my legendary love of Julia. That I tamed the dragon by taking a thorn out of its paw. It was nothing like that.

“It was running and fighting, and stumbling from one desperate crisis to the next, with no guarantee we’d live to see another hour. It was wading through blood and guts, and seeing good men and women die all around you. For us, the long night was very dark; darker than you can imagine. We all came close to breaking, to going mad from the sheer horror of what we faced. You don’t know the whole truth of what happened in the long night, Chance. No one does. Only Julia and I remain of those who were there at the end, and even after twelve years, we still don’t sleep well at night sometimes.”

“Hush,” said Fisher. “Hush.”

A thought struck Hawk, and he gave Chance a hard look. “What happened to the Rainbow sword I left behind? Is it still in the Old Armory?”

“Oh, yes,” said Chance. “And much revered. Though no one seems too sure just what it actually does. According to some versions of the legend, you called down the Rainbow through your own inherent goodness.”

“How come it’s always his inherent goodness, and never mine?” said Fisher plaintively.

Hawk shook his head slowly. “It’s only been twelve years, dammit. How could the truth have been forgotten so quickly?”

“Be fair,” said Fisher. “It was a hell of a mess then, especially at the end. We only knew what was going on because we were right there in the thick of it all. Everyone else only saw their own small part of it. And like you said, most of the people who did know the truth are dead and gone. Maybe that’s for the best. The legend is probably a lot easier to live with than the truth would ever have been.”

“And afterward,” said Hawk, “no doubt dear Harald had the story rewritten by his minstrels, to play up his part in it. A King rules as much by his reputation as his armed forces. And people have always needed their heroes. Since we weren’t around to tell our side of things, we ended up being tailored for the traditional roles of hero and heroine. I can’t help feeling we’d be a terrible disappointment in the flesh.”

“You should hear what they say about the High Warlock,” said Chappie, scratching briskly at his ribs with a back foot. “They’ve conveniently forgotten all about his boozing and his wenching. Or the romance he’s supposed to have had with your mother.”

“Chappie!” chided Chance quickly. “Sorry about that, Your Highness.”