Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (54 page)

Then he remembered the box in his inner coat pocket, and was ashamed. All he’d been through was nothing compared to what Christ had suffered. Lament let out his breath in a ragged sigh. He would believe because he chose to believe. Because the things he’d fought for were worth fighting for. Because for all the losses and hurts of his life, he still believed in love and justice and hope. No one ever said the Walking Man would have an easy job. He straightened his back and looked up at the Burning Man.

“Keep going, murderer,” he said calmly. “We’re not at the Gateway yet.”

“If you knew what really lay beyond the Gateway, you wouldn’t be nearly so keen to get there,” said the Burning Man, starting up the steps again.

“You don’t know any more than we do,” said Hawk.

“I know you’ll meet an old friend there,” said the Burning Man spitefully. “When you banished the Demon Prince, he returned home, to Reverie. He’s waiting for you there. I’m sure there’s a lot he wants to discuss with you.”

“Hell,” said Fisher. “We kicked his arse once, we’ll kick it again.”

“Right,” agreed Hawk. “And I’ve got the Rainbow sword again.”

And then they both looked quickly back at the Seneschal and Lament, to see if they’d heard that. But both of them had their heads down, lost in their own thoughts. Hawk sighed tiredly.

“I came back to solve a murder,” he said plaintively. “No one said anything about having to save the world. Again.”

“Life’s like that,” said Fisher. “Our life, anyway.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

True Colors Revealed

Queen Felicity sat alone in her empty Court and thought how small it made her feel. The great Hall had been built centuries ago, to house a great host of knights and heroes and warriors, but they were all long gone. Even the Land’s last few heroes, those brave men and women who fought in the Demon War, were mostly gone now. Fill the Court with a few hundred politicians screaming their heads off, desperate for their voices to be heard, or at the very least to be sure of drowning out their opponents, and then the Court seemed alive and vibrant, even powerful. But more and more that seemed to Felicity to be nothing more than an illusion. And all the raised voices did was give her a headache.

Felicity was isolated. No one even wanted to plot with her anymore. She only held on to the Regency because no one felt strong or secure enough to take it away from her.

So now she sat alone in an ancient Hall, on a carved wooden Throne that had once been the seat of legends, planning one last desperate throw of the dice. One last reckless gamble, to find out who her true friends and enemies were, and perhaps reestablish her authority. She’d never wanted to be Queen. Marrying Harald had always been her father’s idea. Felicity had never wanted the responsibility. But now she had to be Queen because someone had to save the Land before warring factions tore it apart and soaked the earth in innocent blood. Felicity sighed tiredly, and gently massaged her aching temples with her fingertips. She’d never wanted to be anybody’s savior. Why did it have to be her?

Because there’s no one else
, said a quiet voice that just might have been her conscience.
Because you’re the one on the Throne. Because you accepted the job, and now you have to prove yourself worthy of it
.

The great double doors swung slowly open, and the warrior woman Cally entered the Court. She had to struggle with the doors by herself. The usual guards had been dismissed. This particular Court session was strictly private. Cally pushed the doors shut behind her and approached the Throne. She was wearing her best leather armor, all buffed and shining, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sheathed sword.

“Everyone we can reach has been contacted,” she said crisply. “All the messengers have been bribed to complete secrecy, and promised a horrible death by me personally if they screw this up. Even so, it won’t be long before word gets out. You can’t hold a special invitation-only Court at this late hour of the evening and not have someone notice.”

“They can suspect what they like,” said Felicity, stirring uncomfortably on the wooden Throne as she tried to find some sitting position where her buttocks wouldn’t go to sleep. The Forest Throne had been designed to be impressive, not comfortable. “By the time people have realized what’s going on here, this meeting will be over, and I’ll know where I stand. And, I hope, what to do next.” She started to fit a cigarette into her long holder, then gave up because her hands were shaking too much. She couldn’t afford to look nervous. “Do you think they’ll all come?”

Cally shrugged. “Curiosity should bring most of them. But whether you can make them listen is another question. What will you do if this doesn’t work out? Would you resign as Regent?”

“Would I hell,” said Felicity. “Give my son over into the hands of some damned politician? No, I’d grab Stephen and a box full of jewels, and head for the horizon first. Leave the Forest to stew in its own messes. But I won’t do that until I absolutely have to. As long as there’s even a hope we can work things out, I’ll stay. It’s a good Land. It deserves saving. It has such potential, certainly more than Hillsdown ever had under my father. So let’s try to be optimistic. At least some of the people coming are supposed to be my friends, or at the very least loyal to the Throne. And those who are my enemies can perhaps still be made to see sense.”

“You really think so?” asked Cally, taking up her usual position at the Queen’s right hand.

“They have to listen,” said Felicity. “There’s too much at stake for us to indulge our egos anymore.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” said Cally dryly.

Felicity laughed briefly. “Times are hard indeed if I’m the Land’s last hope.”

She stretched slowly, arms above her head, and groaned loudly as she let them fall back. “Christ on a crutch, I feel tired. My corset’s the only thing that’s holding me upright. And I’ve still got the day’s paperwork to go through after this is finished. There are people in the salt mines who work less hours than I do. Of course, they don’t get to wear such pretty clothes.” She rubbed at her eyes.

“Coming here was never my idea, but if I have to be Queen, I’ll be a Queen they’ll never forget. I can’t let my authority be undermined any further. Someone has to take charge of the Court. Right now there are too many politicians chasing too many causes, and they’re tearing the Land apart. No decisions are being made, and nothing that needs to be done is being done. The whole infrastructure of the country is breaking down, just because no one at the Court can agree on how to share out the toys in the sandpit!” She looked at Cally. “That’s what I’m going to hit them with. Does it sound convincing?”

“Very convincing, very concise, very sharp,” said Cally. “You’re a natural, Fliss. Should have been a politician.”

“Mind your language. Still, I didn’t spend all those years in my father’s Court and not learn anything. I could teach this Court a lot about the subtle arts of conspiracy. Dear Daddy would have had me exiled or killed, like Julia, if he’d suspected even half of what I was up to. And I learned a lot from listening to my father’s speeches. Say what you like about him, he understood the value of a good speech. Always hired the very best writers. I could do with a few of them here. Harald always wrote his own. Wouldn’t be helped in anything. Typical of the man. Who do you think will support me, Cally?”

“Sir Vivian is loyal to the Throne, and to you,” Cally said slowly. “Same with Allen Chance. Hawk and Fisher are close with the Questor, so they’ll probably follow his lead. Tiffany’s a witch, so her main loyalty is always going to be to the Sisterhood. She’ll probably have to check back with the Academy before she can commit herself to anything. But since she and Chance are so sweet on each other, odds are she’ll side with him unless or until she’s instructed otherwise. Ah, young love. The three so-called Landsgraves, Morrison, Esther, and Pendleton, are vicious little back-stabbing toads who don’t give a damn for anyone’s interests but their own. But just maybe you can bribe or intimidate them into doing the right thing for once. Your father will do what he will do. As for your last choice …” Cally shrugged unhappily. “Who knows what the Magus will do?”

“We need him,” Felicity said firmly. “He’s our only defense, our only weapon against the growing forces that threaten the Forest Land. If we can get him to commit to the Throne …”

“That’s a hell of a big if.”

“Then no one else would dare attack us directly. And if the Blue Moon really is on its way back, you can be sure that bunch of self-abuse experts in the magic-user’s hall won’t be enough to save us.”

“I don’t know that the Magus is necessarily up to it, either,” said Cally. “All right, he created the Rift, but in all the time he’s been here, he hasn’t done a single damn thing about the Inverted Cathedral.”

“One problem at a time,” said Felicity. “I have to concentrate on one thing at a time or I’ll go crazy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough to be Queen.”

“You have to be,” said Cally. “Because all the alternatives are worse.”

Felicity smiled humorlessly. “How the hell did I end up here? I spent all my youth fighting authority, and now I’m Queen. Do all children become their parents?”

“Now there’s an idea!” said Cally. “Take a leaf from your father’s book. Declare war and invade Hillsdown! Or Redhart. Nothing brings a country together like a good war!”

Felicity shook her head. “You’re really not helping, Cally.”

Sir Robert Hawke, once a bladesmaster and a hero famed in song and legend, but now only a minor politician with a largely discredited background, sat alone in his quarters, and cursed the world quietly with tired but explicit venom. It had been a long, hard day, and it showed no signs of being over yet. His desk was piled high with assorted crumpled papers, information his carefully chosen and bribed sources thought he ought to know about.

The Duke was a threat, Hawk and Fisher were intimidating, but Jericho Lament was genuinely scary. Everyone had heard a story about the Walking Man’s never-ending vengeance, and everyone in the Castle had something to feel guilty about. People were talking anxiously in private and in public, and preparing for the worst. No one believed he was just in the Castle to deal with the Inverted Cathedral. Lament came after guilty men. Everyone knew what he’d done in the hall of the magic-users. Conspirators were gathering together and saying now or never. Strike now, or we may never get another chance. No one was actually saying civil war yet, but it was in everybody’s thoughts.

Sir Robert scowled. If civil war did break out in the Forest, there’d be so many sides, so many factions, the fighting would drag on for years. It would tear the Land apart, split up families, set neighbor against neighbor. The Land would be reduced to burnt-out villages and blood-soaked fields. And God alone knew who’d be left alive to see the end of it. Sir Robert swore angrily. He hadn’t fought in the Demon War all those years ago, putting his life on the line again and again, to see the Land he loved and fought for destroyed in a stupid, needless war. There had to be a way to stop this insanity, before it all got out of hand. There had to be something he could do … if only he wasn’t so damned tired …

He needed some sleep. Even a nap would help. To just lie down, stretch out, and relax, if only for a while, but he couldn’t stop thinking, planning, plotting … His mind was working at frantic speed even as he sat there, urged on by all the uppers he’d taken. You couldn’t be just a man in Forest politics these days; there was too much to do, to process, to cope with, to be only, merely, human.

Sir Robert unlocked and opened the secret door in his desk, and looked at all the assorted colored pills laid out before him. All the colors of the rainbow to help him sleep and to wake him up, to make him eloquent and to keep him sharp. But where was he, in the midst of all this chemical brilliance? Was all he had left the choice of which pill to take next? He sighed, and selected three black pills. Just a few downers, to help him sleep, help him rest, soothe the clamoring thoughts in his head. In the end he took four, washing them down with the last of the good brandy.

He sat down heavily on the edge of his unmade bed and slowly pulled off his boots. A delicious languor seeped through his body, sweeping away the cares of the day, as he lay back on the bed, not bothering to undress any further. It felt so good to not have to care for a while. But still, tired as he was, with sleep tugging at him like a determined child, thoughts swirled sluggishly through his head. The three would-be Landsgraves had disappeared. Which just had to be bad news. It meant they’d gone to ground, and were even now busily plotting something he just knew he wouldn’t approve of. But when all was said and done, they were amateurs. They shouldn’t have been able to disappear so completely that even his network of spies and informers couldn’t find them.

There was always the possibility something had happened to them. The three Landsgraves had many enemies in Forest Castle. Well, if he was lucky, they were just dead. If he was really unlucky, they’d been handed over to Sir Vivian, that paragon of duty and honor, and were even now telling him everything they knew under intense interrogation. And there were all kinds of things they could be saying to incriminate their good friend and confidant, Sir Robert Hawke.

And they owed him money.

He supposed he should be worried, but he couldn’t seem to make the effort. Why look on the dark side? They’d probably turn up eventually. They always did. Like bad pennies, or a case of the crabs that wouldn’t go away. Maybe he should just cut them loose. He didn’t need their money that badly. Well, actually, he did, but there had to be somewhere else he could find it. Somewhere without so many risks involved. It wasn’t as if he had any expensive tastes to support. He’d never had the time or the inclination to develop any really interesting vices. Most of the money he collected went straight to the various democratic causes he supported. Democracy was about the only thing left he still believed in. Even when he wasn’t sure he believed in
himself
anymore.

It had been a long time since he’d considered himself anyone worth believing in.

His thoughts were floating now. Slowly drifting apart. The black pills were really kicking in. His old bed seemed luxuriously soft, and his body was too heavy to move. Some days this fleeting moment of ease and pain between waking and sleeping was the only thing he had to look forward to all day. Sleep beckoned with a languorous finger, promising relief from all the cares of the day, and he was almost there when some bastard knocked loudly on his door.

Sir Robert’s first clear thought was to ignore whoever it was, and hope they’d take the hint and go away, but whoever it was knocked again, almost immediately, and twice as loud. It had that urgent, arrogant sound of a messenger whose message was so important, he was prepared to go on knocking until hell froze over, or a merciful and sympathetic God struck him with a bolt of lightning. Since neither event seemed particularly likely in the immediate future, Sir Robert groaned loudly and forced himself up and off the bed. It took him a while. His body now seemed to weigh a ton or more, and his feet seemed a long way away from his head. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he lurched across the room toward the door and leaned against it before unlocking and pulling it open. He was still leaning on the doorframe as he gave the messenger before him his best scowl.

“This had better be important, or I swear I am going to rip out your spleen and eat it right in front of you.”