Green, Simon R - Blue Moon Rising

BLUE MOON RISING

Simon R. Green

The right of Simon R. Green to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published in Great Britain in 2000 by Millennium

ISBN 1 85798 987 2

For my mother and my father

who were always there when

I needed them

In those days there were heroes and villains, and darkness walked the earth. There were dragons to be slain, captured princesses to be saved, and mighty deeds were accomplished by knights in shining armour.

Many tales are told of that time, tales of steadfast bravery and derring-do. This isn't one of them.

Chapter One

THE RAINBOW RUN

Prince Rupert rode his unicorn into the Tanglewood, peering balefully through the drizzling rain as he searched halfheartedly for the flea hiding somewhere under his breastplate. Despite the chill rain he was sweating heavily under the weight of his armour, and his spirits had sunk so low as to be almost out of sight. 'Go forth and slay a dragon, my son,' King John had said, and all the courtiers cheered. They could afford to. They didn't have to go out and face the dragon. Or ride through the Tanglewood in full armour in the rainy season. Rupert gave up on the flea and scrabbled awkwardjy at his steel helmet, but to no avail; water continued to trickle down his neck.

Towering, closely packed trees bordered the narrow trail, blending into a verdant gloom that mirrored his mood. Thick fleshy vines clung to every tree trunk, and fell in matted streamers from the branches. A heavy, sullen silence hung over the Tanglewood. No animals moved in the thick undergrowth, and no birds sang. The only sounds were the constant rustle of the rain as it dripped from the lowering branches of the water-logged trees and the muffled thudding of the unicorn's hooves. Thick mud and fallen leaves made the twisting, centuries-old trail more than usually treacherous, and the unicorn moved ever more slowly, slipping and sliding as he carried Prince Rupert deeper into the Tanglewood.

Rupert glowered about him, and sighed deeply. All his life he'd thrilled to the glorious exploits of his ancestors, told in solemn voices during the long, dark winter evenings. He remembered as a child sitting wide-eyed and open-mouthed by the fire in the Great Hall, listening with delicious horror to tales of ogres and harpies, magic swords and rings of power. Steeped in the legends of his family,

Rupert had vowed from an early age that one day he too would be a hero, like Great-Uncle Sebastian, who traded three years of his life for the three wishes that would free the Princess Elaine from the Tower With No Doors. Or like Grandfather Eduard, who alone had dared confront the terrible Night Witch, who maintained her remarkable beauty by bathing in the blood of young girls.

Now, finally, he had the chance to be a hero, and a right dog's breakfast he was making of it. Basically, Rupert blamed the minstrels. They were so busy singing about heroes vanquishing a dozen foes with one sweep of the sword because their hearts were pure that they never got round to the important issues, like how to keep rain out of your armour, or avoid strange fruits that gave you the runs, or the best way to dig latrines. There was a lot to being a hero that the minstrels never mentioned. Rupert was busily working himself into a real foul temper when the unicorn lurched under him.

'Steady!' yelled the Prince.

The unicorn sniffed haughtily.

'It's all right for you up there, taking it easy; I'm the one who has to do all the work. That armour you're wearing weighs a ton. My back's killing me.'

'I've been in the saddle for three weeks,' Rupert pointed out unsympathetically. 'It's not my back that's bothering me.'

The unicorn sniggered, and then came to a sudden halt, almost spilling the Prince from his saddle. Rupert grabbed at the long, curlicued horn to keep his balance.

'Why have we stopped? Trail getting too muddy, perhaps? Afraid your hooves will get dirty?'

'If you're going to be a laugh a minute you can get off and walk,' snarled the unicorn. 'In case you hadn't noticed, there's a massive spider's web blocking the trail.'

Rupert sighed, heavily. 'I suppose you want me to check it out?'

'If you would, please.'

The unicorn shuffled his feet, and the Prince felt briefly seasick. 'You know how I feel about spiders . . .'

Rupert cursed resignedly, and swung awkwardly down from the saddle, his armour protesting loudly with every movement. He sank a good three inches into the trail's mud, and swayed unsteadily for a long moment before finding his balance. He forced open his helmet's visor and studied the huge web uneasily. Thick milky strands choked the narrow path, each sticky thread studded with the sparkling jewels of trapped raindrops. Rupert frowned; what kind of spider spins a web almost ten feet high. He trudged cautiously forward, drew his sword, and prodded one of the strands. The blade stuck tight, and he had to use both hands to pull the sword free.

'Good start,' said the unicorn.

Rupert ignored the animal and stared thoughtfully at the web. The more he looked at it, the less it seemed like a spider's web. The pattern was wrong. The strands hung together in knotted clumps, falling in drifting streamers from the higher branches, and dropping from the lower in thick clusters that burrowed into the trail's mud. And then Rupert felt the hair on the back of his neck slowly rise as he realised that although the web trembled constantly, there was no wind blowing.

'Rupert,' said the unicorn softly.

'We're being watched, right?'

'Right.'

Rupert scowled and hefted his sword. Something had been following them ever since they'd entered the Tanglewood at daybreak, something that hid in shadows and dared not enter the light. Rupert shifted his weight carefully, getting the feel of the trail beneath him. If it came to a fight, the thick mud was going to be a problem. He took off his helmet, and put it down at the side of the trail; the narrow eyeholes limited his field of vision too much. He glanced casually round as he straightened up, and then froze as he saw a slender, misshapen silhouette moving among the trees. Tall as a man, it didn't move like a man, and light glistened on fang and claw before the creature disappeared back into the concealing shadows. Rain beat on Rupert's head and ran unheeded down his face as a cold horror built slowly within him.

Beyond the Tanglewood lay darkness. For as long as anyone could remember, there had always been a part of the Forest where it was forever night. No sun shone, and whatever lived there never knew the light of day. Map-makers called it the Darkwood, and warned Here Be Demons. For countless centuries, Forest Land and Darkwood had been separated by the Tanglewood: a deadly confusion of swamp and briar and sudden death from which few escaped alive. Silent predators stalked the weed-and-vine-choked trails, and lay in wait for the unwary. And yet, over the past few months, strange creatures had stalked the Forest Land, uneasy shapes that dared not face the light of day. Sometimes, when the sun was safely down, a lone cottager might hear scratchings at his securely bolted doors and shutters, and in the morning would find deep gouges in the wood, and mutilated animals in his barn.

The Tanglewood was no longer a barrier. . .

Here Be Demons.

Rupert fought down his fear, and took a firmer grip on his sword. The solid weight of the steel comforted him, and he swept the shining blade back and forth before him. He glared up at the dark clouds hiding the sun; one decent burst of sunshine would have sent the creature scuttling for its lair, but as usual he was out of luck.

It's only a demon, he thought furiously. I'm in full armour, and I know how to use a sword. The demon hasn't a chance.

'Unicorn,' he said quietly, peering into the shadows where he'd last seen the demon. 'You'd better find a tree to hide behind. And stay clear of the fight; I don't want you getting hurt.'

'I'm way ahead of you,' said a muffled voice. Rupert glanced round to find the unicom hiding behind a thick-boled tree some distance away.

'Thanks a lot,' said Rupert. 'What if I need your help?'

'Then you're in bother,' said the unicom firmly, 'because I'm not moving. I know a demon when I smell one. They eat unicorns, you know.'

'Demons eat anything,' said Rupert.

'Precisely,' said the unicorn, and ducked back out of sight behind his tree.

Not for the first time, the Prince vowed to find the man who'd sold him the unicorn, and personally do something unpleasant to every one of the swindler's extremities.

There was a faint scuffling to his left, and Rupert had just started to turn when the demon slammed into him from behind. His heavy armour overbalanced him, and he fell forward into the clinging mud. The impact knocked the breath from him, and his sword flew from his outstretched hand. He caught a brief glimpse of something dark and misshapen towering over him, and then a heavy weight landed on his back. A clawed hand on the back of his neck forced his face down, and the mud came up to fill his eyes. Rupert flailed his arms desperately and tried to get his feet under him, but his steel-studded boots just slid helplessly in the thick mire. His lungs ached as he fought for air, and the watery mud spilled into his gaping mouth.

Panic welled up in him as he bucked and heaved to no avail. His head swam madly, and there was a great roaring in his ears as the last of his breath ran out. One of his arms became wedged beneath his breastplate, and with the suddenness of inspiration he used his arm as a lever to force himself over on to his back, trapping the squirming demon beneath the weight of his armour.

He lay there for long, precious moments, drawing in great shuddering breaths and gouging the mud from his eyes. He yelled for the unicorn to help him, but there was no reply. The demon hammered furiously at his armour with clumsy fists, and then a clawed hand snaked up to tear into Rupert's face. He groaned in agony as the claws grated on his cheekbone, and tried desperately to reach his sword. The demon took advantage of this to squirm out from under him. Rupert rolled quickly to one side, grabbed his sword, and surged to his feet despite the clinging mud. The weight of his armour made every move an effort, and blood ran thickly down his face and neck as he stood swaying before the crouching demon.

In many ways it might have been a man, twisted and malformed, but to stare into its hungry, pupil-less eyes was to know the presence of evil. Demons killed to live, and lived to kill; a darkness loose upon the Land. Rupert gripped his sword firmly and forced himself to concentrate on the demon simply as an opponent. It was strong and fast and deadly, but so was he if he kept his wits about him. He had to get out of the mud and up on to firm ground; the treacherous mire gave the demon too much of an advantage. He took a cautious step forward, and the demon flexed its claws eagerly, smiling widely to reveal rows of pointed, serrated teeth. Rupert swept his sword back and forth before him, and the demon gave ground a little, wary of the cold steel. Rupert glanced past the night-dark creature in search of firmer ground, and then grinned shakily at what he saw. For the first time he felt he might be in with a flying chance.

He gripped his sword in both hands, took a deep breath, and then charged full tilt at the crouching demon, knowing that if he fell too soon he was a dead man. The demon darted back out of range, staying just ahead of the Prince's reaching sword. Rupert struggled on, fighting to keep his feet under him. The demon grinned and jumped back again, straight into the massive web that blocked the path. Rupert stumbled to a halt, drew back his sword for the killing thrust, and then froze in horror as the web's thick milky strands slowly wrapped themselves around the demon. It tore furiously at the strands and then howled silently in agony as the web oozed a clear viscous acid that steamed where it fell upon the ground. Rupert watched in sick fascination as the feebly struggling demon disappeared inside a huge pulsating cocoon that covered it from head to toe. The last twitching movements died quickly away as the web digested its meal.

Rupert wearily lowered his sword and leaned on it, resting his aching back. Blood ran down into his mouth, and he spat it out. Who'd be a hero? He grinned sourly and took stock of himself. His magnificent burnished armour was caked with drying mud, and etched with deep scratch marks from the demon's claws. He hurt all over, and his head beat with pain. He brought a shaking hand up to his face, and then winced as he saw fresh blood on his mailed gauntlet. He'd never liked the sight of blood, especially his own. He sheathed his sword and sat down heavily on the edge of the trail, ignoring the squelching mud.

All in all, he didn't think he'd done too badly. There weren't many men who'd faced a demon and lived to tell of it. Rupert glanced at the now motionless cocoon, and grimaced. Not the most heroic way to win, and certainly not the most sporting, but the demon was dead and he was alive, and that was the way he'd wanted it to be.

He peeled off his gauntlets and tenderly inspected his damaged face with his fingers. The cuts were wide and deep, and ran from the corner of his eye down to his mouth. Better wash them clean, he thought dazedly. Don't want them to get infected. He shook his head and looked about him. The rain had died away during the fight, but the sun was already sliding down the sky towards evening, and the shadows were darkening. Nights were falling earlier these days, even though it was barely summer. Rain dripped steadily from the overhanging branches, and a dank, musty smell hung heavily on the still air. Rupert glanced at the web cocoon, and shivered suddenly as he remembered how close he'd come to trying to cut his way through. Predators come in many forms, especially in the Tanglewood.

He sighed resignedly. Tired or no, it was time he was on his way.

'Unicorn! Where are you?'

'Here,' said a polite voice from the deepest of the shadows.

'Are you coming out, or do I come in there after you?' growled the Prince. There was a slight pause, and then the unicorn stepped diffidently out on to the trail. Rupert glared at the animal, who wouldn't meet his gaze.

'And where were you, while I was risking my neck fighting that demon?'

'Hiding,' said the unicorn. 'It seemed the logical thing to do.'

'Why didn't you help?'

'Well,' said the unicorn reasonably, 'if you couldn't handle the demon with a sword and a full set of armour, I didn't see what help I could offer.'

Rupert sighed. One of these days he'd learn not to argue with the unicorn.

'How do I look?'

Terrible.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'You'll probably have scars,' said the unicorn helpfully.

'Great. That's all I need.'

'I thought scars on the face were supposed to be heroic?'

'Whoever thought that one up wants his head felt. Bloody minstrels . . . Help me up, unicorn.'

The unicorn moved in quickly beside him. Rupert reached out, took a firm hold of the stirrup, and slowly pulled himself up out of the mud. The unicorn stood patiently as Rupert leaned wearily against his side, waiting for his bone-deep aches to subside long enough for him to make a try at getting up into the saddle.

The unicorn studied him worriedly. Prince Rupert was a tall, handsome man in his mid-twenties, but blood and pain and fatigue had added twenty years to his face. His skin was grey and beaded with sweat, and his eyes were feverish. He was obviously in no condition to ride, but the unicorn knew that Rupert's pride would force him to try.

'Rupert ...' said the unicorn.

'Yeah?'

'Why don't you just . . . walk me for a while? You know how unsteady I am in this mud.'

'Yeah,' said Rupert. 'That's a good idea. I'll do that.'

He reached out and took hold of the bridle, his head hanging wearily down. Slowly, carefully, the unicorn led him past the motionless cocoon and on down the trail, heading deeper into the Tanglewood.

Two days later, Rupert was back in the saddle and fast approaching the boundary between Tanglewood and Darkwood. His aches had mostly died away, thanks to a pouch of herbs the Court Astrologer had forced on him before he left, and though more than once he found himself wishing for a mirror, the wounds on his face seemed to be scabbing nicely. All in all, Rupert was feeling a little more cheerful, or at least only mildly depressed.

He was supposed to kill a dragon but truth to tell, nobody had seen one in ages, and they'd pretty much passed into legend. Rupert had become somewhat disenchanted with legends; they seemed to dwell on the honour and the glory and miss out the important parts, like how you killed whatever it was without getting killed yourself. 'Because your heart is pure' isn't a lot of help when you're up against a dragon. I bet mine breathes fire, thought Rupert dismally. He was working hard on a great new rationalisation that would let him turn back almost honourably, when his bladder loudly called itself to his attention. Rupert sighed and steered the unicorn over to the side of the trail. That was another thing minstrels never mentioned.

He quickly dismounted, and set about undoing the complicated series of flaps that protected his groin. He only just made it in time, and whistled nonchalantly as he emptied his bladder against a tree trunk. If his diet didn't improve soon, he'd be the only hero going into battle with his flies undone ...

That thought decided him, and as soon as he'd finished what he was doing, Rupert set about discarding his armour. He'd only worn the damn stuff because he'd been assured it was traditional for anyone setting out on a quest. Stuff tradition, thought Rupert happily, his spirits soaring as piece by piece the battered armour dropped into the trail's mud. After a little thought, he decided to hang on to the steel-studded boots; he might want to kick someone. Clad finally in leather jerkin and trousers and his best cloak, Rupert felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. Admittedly he also felt decidedly vulnerable, but the way his luck had been going recently, he'd only have rusted up solid anyway.

'I hate grass,' said the unicorn moodily.

Then why are you eating it?' asked Rupert, buckling on his sword belt.

'I'm hungry,' said the unicorn, chewing disgustedly. 'And since we ran out of civilised fodder weeks ago ...'

'What's wrong with grass?' Rupert enquired mildly. 'Horses eat it all the time.'

'I am not a horse!'

'Never said you were ...'

'I'm a unicorn, a thoroughbred, and I'm entitled to proper care and attention. Like oats and barley and ...'

'In the Tanglewood?'

'Hate grass,' muttered the unicorn. 'Makes me feel all bloated.'

'Try a few thistles,' suggested Rupert.

The unicorn gave him a hard look. 'Do I even faintly resemble a donkey?' he enquired menacingly.

Rupert looked away to hide a grin, and discovered a dozen goblins had moved silently out of the shadows to block the trail. Ranging from three to four feet in height, depending on the bandiness of their legs and the length of their long pointed ears, they were armed with rusty short swords and jagged-edged meat cleavers. Their ill-fitting bronze and silver armour had obviously been looted from human travellers, and the pointed teeth flashing from their unpleasant grins suggested what had happened to the armour's previous occupants. Furious at being caught off guard, Rupert drew his sword and glared at them all. The goblins stopped dead in their tracks and glanced unhappily at each other.

'Don't just stand there,' growled a deep voice from the shadows. 'Get him, lads.'

The goblins shifted uncertainly from foot to foot.

'He's got a sword,' pointed out the smallest goblin.

'A big sword,' clarified another goblin.

'And look at those scars on his face, and there was all that dried blood on his armour,' whispered a third, respectfully. 'He must have slaughtered hundreds of people ...'

'Chopped them into chutney,' elaborated the smallest goblin mournfully.

Rupert swung his sword casually back and forth before him, light flashing the length of the blade. The goblins gave ground furiously, all but trampling one other underfoot.

'At least get his horse,' suggested the voice from the shadows.

'Horse?' The unicorn threw up his head, rage blazing from his blood-red eyes. 'Horse? What do you think this is on my head? An ornament? I'm a unicorn, you moron!'

'Horse, unicorn; what's the difference?'

The unicorn pawed the ground, and lowered his head so that light glistened on his wickedly pointed horn.

'Right. That does it. One at a time or all at once — you're all getting it!'

'Nice one, leader,' muttered the smallest goblin.

Rupert shot an amused glance at the unicorn. 'I thought you were a sensible, logical coward?'

'I'm too busy being angry,' growled the unicorn. 'I'll be afraid later, when there's time. Line these creeps up for me, and I'll skewer the lot. I'll show them a shish kebab they won't forget in a hurry.'

The goblins huddled together for comfort and retreated even further down the trail.

'Will you stop messing about and kill the traveller!' roared the voice from the shadows.

'You want him dead, you kill him!' snapped the smallest goblin, looking busily around for the nearest escape route. 'This is all your fault, anyway. We should have ambushed him while he was distracted, like we usually do.'

There was a deep sigh, and then the goblin leader stepped majestically out of the shadows. Broad-shouldered, impressively muscled, and very nearly five feet tall, he was the biggest goblin Rupert had ever seen. The goblin leader stubbed out a vile-looking cigar on his verdigrised bronze breastplate, and marched over to glare at the tightly packed goblins cowering together in the middle of the trail. He sighed again, and shook his head disgustedly.

'Look at you. How am I supposed to make fighters out of you if you won't fight? I mean, what's the problem? He's only one man!'

'And a unicorn,' pointed out the smallest goblin helpfully.

'All right, one man and a unicorn. So what? We're supposed to be footpads, remember? It's our job to waylay defenceless travellers and take their valuables.'

'He don't look defenceless to me,' muttered the smallest goblin. 'Look at that dirty big sword he's carrying.'

The goblins stared at it with a morbid fascination as Rupert tried a few practice cuts and lunges. The unicorn moved back and forth behind him, sighting his horn at various goblins, which did absolutely nothing to improve their confidence.

'Come on, lads,' said the goblin leader desperately. 'How can you be frightened of someone who rides a unicorn?'

'What's that got to do with anything?' asked the smallest goblin. The leader murmured something, of which only the word 'Virgin' was clearly audible. All the goblins peered at Rupert and sniggered meaningfully.

'It's not easy being a prince,' said Rupert, blushing bright red despite himself. 'You want to make something of it?'

He took a firm grip on his sword and sheared clean through an overhanging branch. The severed end hit the ground with an ominous-sounding thud.

'Don't get him angry,' muttered the smallest goblin.

'Will you shut up,' snarled the goblin leader. 'Look, there's thirteen of us and only one of him. If we all rush him at once, we're bound to get him.'

'Want to bet?' said an anonymous voice from the back.

'Shut up! When I give the word, charge. Charge!'

He started forward, brandishing his sword, and the other goblins reluctantly followed him. Rupert braced himself, took careful aim, and flattened the goblin leader with a single blow to the head from the flat of his sword. The other goblins skidded to a halt, took one look at their fallen leader, and promptly threw down their weapons. Rupert herded them together, well away from their discarded weapons, and then leaned against a convenient tree while he tried to figure out what to do next. The goblin leader got slowly to his feet, shook his aching head to clear it, and then wished he hadn't. He glared at Rupert, and tried to look defiant. He wasn't particularly successful.

'I told you thirteen was unlucky,' muttered the smallest goblin.

'All right,' said Rupert. 'Everyone pay attention, and I'll tell you what I'll do. You agree to get the hell out of here and stop bothering me, and I won't turn you over to the unicorn in small meaty chunks. How's that?'

'Do we get our weapons back?' asked the goblin leader.

Rupert smiled. 'Do I look crazy?'

The goblin leader shrugged. 'Worth a try. All right, sir hero, you got yourself a deal.'

'And you won't try to follow me?'

The goblin leader gave him a hard stare. 'Do I look crazy? Personally speaking, sir hero, I for one will be extremely content if I never see you again.'

He led the goblins off the trail, and they vanished quickly into the trees. Rupert grinned widely, and sheathed his sword. He was finally getting the hang of this quest business.

An hour later, the light faded quickly away as Rupert left the Tanglewood and crossed into the Darkwood. Far above him rotting trees leaned together, their leafless interlocking branches blocking out the sun, and in the space of a few moments Rupert passed from mid-afternoon to darkest night. He reined the unicorn to halt and looked back over his shoulder, but daylight couldn't follow him into the Darkwood. Rupert turned back, patted the unicorn's neck comfortingly, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

A faint silver glow of phosphorescent fungi limned the decaying tree trunks, and far off in the distance he thought he saw a brief flash of light, as though someone had opened a door and then quickly closed it for fear light would attract unwelcome attention. Rupert glanced about him nervously, ears straining for the slightest sound, but the darkness seemed silent as the tomb. The air was thick with the sickly sweet stench of death and corruption.

His eyes finally adjusted enough to show him the narrow trail that led into the heart of the Darkwood, and he signalled the unicorn to move on. The slow, steady hoofbeats sounded dangerously loud in the quiet. There was only one trail through the endless night: a single straight path that crossed the darkness from one boundary to the other, cut so long ago that no one now remembered who had done it, or why. The Darkwood was very old, and kept its secrets to itself. Rupert peered constantly about him, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He remembered the demon he'd fought in the Tanglewood, and shuddered suddenly. Entering the Darkwood was a calculated risk, but if anyone knew where to find a dragon, it was the Night Witch.

Assuming she was still alive, after all these years. Before Rupert set out on his journey, the Court Astrologer had helped him delve into the castle archives in search of any map that might lead to a dragon's lair. They didn't find one, which pleased Rupert no end, but they did stumble across the official record of Grandfather Eduard's encounter with the Night Witch. The surprisingly brief tale (surprising in that the most recent song on the subject lasted for 137 interminable verses), included a passing reference to a dragon, and a suggestion that the exiled Witch might still be found at her cottage in the Darkwood, not far from the Tanglewood boundary.

'Even assuming that I am daft enough to go looking for a woman whose main interest in life is forcibly separating people from their Hood,' said Rupert, dubiously, 'give me one good reason why she should agree to help me.'

'Apparently,' said the Astrologer, cryptically, 'she was rather fond of your grandfather.'

Rupert studied the Astrologer suspiciously and pressed him for more details, but he refused to be drawn. Rupert trusted the Astrologer about as far as he could spit into the wind, but since he hadn't a clue of how else to find a dragon . . .

Gnarled, misshapen trees loomed menacingly out of the gloom as Rupert rode deeper into the endless night. The only sound was the steady rhythm of the unicorn's hooves, and even that seemed somehow muffled by the unrelenting dark. More than once Rupert reined the unicorn to a sudden halt and stared about him, eyes straining against the darkness, convinced that something awful lurked just beyond the range of his vision. But always there was only the dark, and the silence. He had no lantern, and when he broke a bough from one of the dead trees to make a torch, the rotten wood crumbled in his hand. With no light to guide him, he lost all track of time, but eventually the closely packed trees fell suddenly away on either side, and Rupert signalled to the unicorn to stop. Ahead of them lay a small clearing, its boundaries marked by the glowing fungi. In the middle of the clearing stood a single dark shape that had to be the Night Witch's cottage. Rupert glanced up at the night sky, but there was no moon or stars to give htm light, only an empty darkness that seemed to go on for ever.

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' whispered the unicorn.

'No,' said Rupert. 'But it's our best chance to find a dragon.'

'Frankly, that doesn't strike me as such a hot idea either,' muttered the unicorn.

Rupert grinned, and swung down out of the saddle. 'You stay here, while I check out the cottage.'

'You're not leaving me here on my own,' said the unicorn determinedly.

'Would you rather meet the Night Witch?' asked Rupert.

The unicorn moved quickly off the trail and hid behind the nearest tree.

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' Rupert promised. 'Don't go wandering off.'

'That has to be the most redundant piece of advice I've ever been offered,' said the unicorn.

Rupert drew his sword, took a deep breath, and moved cautiously out into the clearing. His soft footsteps seemed horribly loud in the quiet and he broke into a run, his back crawling in anticipation of the attack he'd probably never feel anyway. The Witch's cottage crouched before him like a sleeping predator, a dull crimson glow outlining the door and shuttered windows. Rupert skidded to a halt at the cottage and set his back against the rough wooden wall, his eyes darting wildly round as he checked he hadn't been followed. Nothing moved in the ebony gloom, and the only sound in the endless night was his own harsh breathing. He swallowed dryly, stood quietly a moment to get his breath back, and then moved over to knock, very politely, at the cottage's door. A bright crimson glare filled his eyes as the door swung suddenly open, and a huge bony hand with long curving fingernails shot out and grasped him by the throat. Rupert kicked and struggled helplessly as he was hauled into the Witch's cottage.

The bent old woman kicked the door shut behind her, and dropped Rupert unceremoniously on to the filthy carpet. He sat up and massaged his sore throat as the Night Witch cackled fiendishly, rubbing her gnarled hands together.

'Sorry about that,' she grinned, 'all part of the image, you know. I have to do something fairly nasty every now and again, or they'll think I've got soft. What are you doing here, anyway?'

'Thought you might be able to help me,' husked the Prince.

'Help?' said the Night Witch, raising a crooked eyebrow. 'Are you sure you've come to the right cottage?' The black cat crouched on her shoulder hissed angrily, and rubbed its shoulder against the Witch's long grey hair. She reached up and patted the animal absent-mindedly. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you into a frog,' she demanded.

Rupert showed her his sword. The Witch grinned nastily.

'Sheath it, or I'll tie it in a knot.'

Rupert thought about it a moment, and then slipped the sword into its scabbard. 'I believe you knew my grandfather,' he said carefully.

'Possibly,' said the Night Witch airily. 'I've known many men in nine. What was his name?'

'Eduard, of the Forest Kingdom.'

The Night Witch stared at him blankly, and then all the fire seemed to go out of her eyes. She turned slowly away, and moved over and sank into a battered old rocking chair by the fireplace.

Yes,' she said finally, almost to herself. 'I remember Eduard.'

She sat quietly in the rocking chair, staring at nothing, and Rupert took the opportunity to get to his feet and take a quick look around him. The cottage was filled with a dull, unfocused light that seemed to come from everywhere at once, though there was no lamp to be seen. The walls leaned away from the floor at different angles, and bats squealed up in the high rafters. A cat's shadow swayed across a wall without a cat to cast it, and something dark and shapeless with glowing eyes peered out from the empty, smoke-blackened fireplace.

Rupert studied the Night Witch curiously. Somehow she didn't seem quite so impressive when she wasn't actually threatening him. Rocking quietly in her chair, with her cat in her lap, she looked like anybody's grandmother, a shrunken grey-haired old lady with a back bent by the years. She was painfully thin, and suffering had etched deep lines into her face. This wasn't the Night Witch of legend, the raven-haired tempter of men, the terrible creature of the dark. She was just a tired old woman, lost in memories of better times. She looked up, and caught Rupert's eyes on her.

'Aye, look at me,' she said quietly. 'I was beautiful, once. So beautiful men travelled hundreds of miles just to pay me compliments. Kings, emperors, heroes -I could have had my pick of any of them. But I didn't want them. It was enough that I was . . . beautiful.'

'How many young girls died to keep you beautiful?' said Rupert harshly.

'I lost count,'said the Witch. 'It didn't seem important, then. I was young and glorious and men loved me; nothing else mattered. What's your name, boy?'

'Rupert.'

'You should have seen me then, Rupert. I was so lovely. So very lovely.'

She smiled gently and rocked her chair, eyes fixed on yesterday.

'I was young and powerful and I bent the darkness to my will. I raised a palace of ice and diamond in a single night, and Lords and Ladies from a dozen Courts came to pay homage to me. They never noticed if a few peasant girls went missing from the villages. They wouldn't have cared if they had.

'And then Eduard came to kill me. Somehow he'd found out the truth, and he came to rid the Forest Land of my evil.' She chuckled quietly. 'Many the nights he spent in my cold halls, of his own free will. He was tall and brave and handsome and he never once bowed to me. I showed him wonders and terrors and I couldn't break him. We used to dance in my ballroom, just the two of us, in a great echoing hall of glistening ice, each chandelier fashioned from a single stalactite. Slowly, I came to love him, and he loved me. I was young and foolish, and I thought our love would last for ever.

'It lasted a month.

'I needed fresh blood, and Eduard couldn't allow that. He loved me, but he was King, and he had a responsibility to his people. He couldn't kill me, but I couldn't change what I was. So I waited till he slept, and then I left my palace, and the Forest Land, and came here to live in the darkness, where there's no one to see that I'm not beautiful any more.

'I could have killed him and kept my secret safe. I could have stayed young and lovely and powerful. But I loved him. My Eduard. The only man I ever loved. I suppose he's dead now.'

'More than thirty years ago,' said Rupert.

'So many years,' whispered the Witch. Her shoulders slumped, and her crooked, twisted hands writhed together. She took a deep breath and let it go shakily, then looked up at Rupert and smiled tiredly. 'So, you're Eduard's kin. You have some of his looks, boy. What do you want from me?'

'I'm looking for a dragon,' said Rupert, in a tone he hoped suggested that, if at all possible, he'd really rather not find one.

'A dragon ?' The Witch stared at him blankly a moment, and then a broad grin spread slowly across her wrinkled face. 'A dragon! Damn me, but I like your style, boy. No one's had the guts to hunt a dragon in years. No wonder you weren't scared to come calling on me!' She studied him admiringly while Rupert did his best to look modest. 'Well, dearie, this is your lucky day. You're looking for a dragon, and it just so happens I have a map that will lead you right to one. A real bargain, I can let you have it for the knock-down price of only three pints of blood.'

Rupert gave her a hard look. The Witch shrugged.

'Worth a try. Since you are Eduard's kin, let me revise that offer. The map's yours, free of charge. If I can remember where I put the damned thing.'

She slowly rose up out of her chair, spilling the cat from her lap, and hobbled away to investigate the depths of a battered oak filing cabinet in a far corner. Rupert frowned uncertainly. He'd fully intended to kill the Night Witch if he got the opportunity, but even though she spoke casually of murdering so many young girls that she'd finally lost count, somehow he just couldn't bring himself to do it. In a strange kind of way he actually felt sorry for her; her long years alone in the Darkwood had punished her enough. More than enough. The Witch was suddenly before him and he jumped back, startled, as she thrust a tattered parchment scroll into his hands.

'There you are, boy, that'll take you right to him. If you get that far. To start with, you've got to pass clean through the Darkwood and out the other side, and there's damn few have done that and lived to tell of it.'

'I got this far,' said Rupert confidently.

'This close to the Tanglewood boundary there's still a little light,' said the Witch. 'Beyond this clearing, there's nothing but darkness. Watch your back, Rupert. There's a cold wind blowing through the long night, and it smells of blood and death. Deep in the Darkwood something is stirring, something . . . awful. If I wasn't so old, I'd be scared.'

'I can take care of myself,' said Rupert tightly, one hand dropping to the pommel of his sword.

The Witch smiled tiredly. 'You're Eduard's kin. He thought cold steel was the answer to everything, too. When I look at you, it's almost like seeing him again. My Eduard.' Her voice suddenly shook, and she turned her back on Rupert and limped painfully over to sink slowly into her rocking chair. 'Go on, boy, get out of here. Go and find your dragon.'

Rupert hesitated. 'Is there . . . anything I can do for you?'

'Just go,' said the Night Witch harshly. 'Leave me alone. Please.'

Rupert turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Sitting alone before her empty fireplace, the Night Witch rocked gently in her chair. After a while her eyes slowly closed, and she fell asleep. And she was young and beautiful again, and Eduard came to her, and they danced together all through the night in her ballroom of shimmering ice.

Several days' travel later, Rupert had finished the last of his provisions. There was no game to be found in the Darkwood, and what little water there was, was fouled. Thirst burned in his throat, and hunger was a dull ache in his belly.

Since leaving the Night Witch's clearing he had left all light behind him. The darkness became absolute, and the silence was oppressive. He couldn't see the trail ahead, the unicorn beneath him, or even a hand held up before his eyes. Only the growing stubble on his face remained to show him the passing of time. He grew steadily weaker as the unicorn carried him deeper into the Darkwood, for although they stopped to rest whenever they grew tired, Rupert couldn't sleep. The darkness kept him awake.

Something might creep up on him while he slept.

He passed a shaking hand over his dry, cracked lips, and then frowned as he slowly realised the unicorn had come to a halt. He tried to ask what was wrong, but his tongue had swollen till it almost filled his mouth. He swung painfully down out of the saddle, and leaned against the unicorn's side until his legs felt strong enough to support him for a while. He stumbled forward a few steps, hands outstretched before him, and grunted with pain as thorns pierced his flesh. More cautious testing revealed that a thick patch of needle-thorned briar had grown across the narrow trail. Rupert drew his sword, and was shocked to find that he'd grown so weak he now needed both his hands to wield it. He gathered the last of his strength, and with awkward, muscle-wrenching cuts, he set about clearing a path through the briar. The unicorn slowly followed him, the proudly horned head hanging tiredly down.

Time after time Rupert struggled to raise his sword for another blow, fighting the growing agony in his chest and arms. His hands and face were lacerated by the stubborn thorns, but he was so tired he barely felt the wounds. His sword grew heavier in his uncertain grasp, and his legs trembled with fatigue, but he wouldn't give in. He was Rupert, Prince of the Forest Kingdom. He'd fought a demon and braved the Darkwood, and he was damned if he'd be beaten by a patch of bloody briar. He swung his sword savagely before him, forcing his way deeper into the briar, and then cried out as a burst of sunlight threw back the night.

Rupert brought up a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glare, and stumbled forward. For a long time, all he could do was squint painfully through his fingers while shocked tears ran down his cheeks, but finally he was able to lower his hand and blink in amazement at the scene spread out before him. He'd emerged from the Darkwood high up on a steep hillside, and down below him sprawled a vast patchwork of tended fields: wheat and maize and barley, ripening under a midday sun. Long lines of towering oaks served as windbreaks, and sunlight reflected brightly from shimmering rivers. Slender stone walls marked the field boundaries, and a single dirt road meandered through them on its way to the huge, dark mountain that dominated the horizon, its summit lost in clouds.

The mountain called Dragonslair.

Rupert finally tore his gaze away from the ominous crag and peered dazedly about him. His breath caught in his throat. Not a dozen yards from the Darkwood boundary, a fast-moving stream bubbled up from a hidden spring, leaping and sparkling as it tumbled down the hillside. Rupert dropped his sword, staggered forward, and fell to his knees beside the rushing water. He dipped his hand into the stream, brought his fingers to his mouth, and licked cautiously at them. The water was clear and pure. Rupert felt fresh tears start to his eyes as he leaned forward and thrust his face into the stream.

He gulped thirstily at the chill water, coughing and spluttering in his eagerness, and then somehow found the strength to draw back from the stream. Too much water at first would only make him sick. He lay back on the springy grass, feeling comfortably bloated. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in days either, but that could wait a while. For the moment, he felt too good to move. He watched as the unicorn drank sparingly from the stream and then turned away to crop contentedly at the grass. Rupert smiled for the first time in days. He raised himself on one elbow and looked back the way he'd come. The Darkwood stood brooding and silent behind him, and the bright sunlight didn't pass an inch beyond its boundary. A chill breeze blew steadily from the rotting, spindly trees. Rupert grinned savagely at the darkness, and tasted blood as his cracked lips split painfully. He didn't give a damn.

'I beat you,' he said softly. 'I beat you!'

'I helped,' said the unicorn. Rupert turned back to find the animal looking worriedly down at him. He reached up and patted the unicorn's muzzle.

'I couldn't have done it without you,' said Rupert. 'You were there when I needed you. Thanks.'

'You're very welcome,' said the unicorn. 'Now then, I'm going to graze on this wonderful grass for some time, and I don't want to be disturbed until I've finished. Is that clear?'

Rupert laughed. 'Sure. You go ahead; the sun's high in the sky, and I've an awful lot of sleep to catch up on. Afterwards ... I think I'll show you how to tickle trout.'

'Why should I wish to amuse a fish?' asked the unicorn, but Rupert was already fast asleep.

It took Rupert and the unicorn almost a month to reach Dragonslair mountain. Regular meals and fresh water did much to restore their health and spirits, but the Darkwood had left its mark on Rupert. Every evening, as the sun dipped redly below the horizon, Rupert would build a large fire, even though the nights were warm and there were no dangerous beasts in the area. And every night, before he finally allowed himself to sleep, he carefully banked the fire so that there was sure to be light if he woke before dawn. His sleep was restless, and plagued by nightmares he chose not to recall. For the first time since he was a child, Rupert was afraid of the dark. Each morning he woke ashamed, and cursed his weakness, and swore silently to himself that he'd not give in to his fear again. And every evening, as the sun went down, he built another fire.

Dragonslair drew steadily closer and more imposing as the days passed, and Rupert became increasingly uncertain as to what he was going to do when he reached the mountain's base. According to the Night Witch's map, somewhere near the summit he'd find a dragon's cave, but the closer he drew the more impossible it seemed that any man could climb the towering basalt wall that loomed darkly before him, filling the horizon. Yet, despite all his doubts, despite the unreasoning fear that tormented his nights, Rupert never considered turning back. He'd come too far and been through too much to give up now that his goal was finally in sight.

Go forth and slay a dragon, my son. Prove yourself worthy of the throne.

The early morning air was still cold from the night's chill when Rupert rode into the foothills. Thinning grass and stunted shrubbery soon gave way to bare rock, pitted and eroded by long exposure to wind and rain. A pathway cut into the mountainside itself led steeply upwards, and the unicorn cursed steadily under his breath as he picked his way carefully along the ueven path. Rupert kept his eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead, and tried not to think about the growing drop behind him. The trail grew steadily narrower and more treacherous as they ascended, and was finally interrupted by a long patch of shifting scree. The unicom took one look at the gently sliding stones that blocked the path, and dug his hooves in.

'Forget it. I'm a unicorn, not a mountain goat.'

'But it's the only way up; it'll be easy going after this.'

'It's not the going up that worries me, it's the coming down. Probably at great speed, with the wind rushing past me.'

Rupert sighed, and swung down out of the saddle. 'All right. You go back, and wait for me by the foothills. Give me two days. If I'm not back by then ...'

'Rupert,' said the unicorn slowly, 'you don't have to do this. We could always go back, and tell the Court we couldn't find a dragon. No one would know.'

'I'd know,' said Rupert.

Their eyes met, and the unicorn bowed his head to the Prince.

'Good luck, Sire.'

'Thank you,' said Rupert, and turned quickly away.

'You be careful,' muttered the unicorn. 'I'd hate to have to break in another rider.' He turned carefully around on the narrow path, and cautiously headed back down the mountainside.

Rupert stood a moment, listening to the slowly departing hoof-beats. The unicorn would be safe enough in the foothills. If scree hadn't blocked the trail, he would have found.some other excuse to send the unicorn back; what remained of the quest was Rupert's responsibility, and his alone. There was no need for both of them to risk their lives. Rupert shook himself briskly, and studied the vast patch of scree before him. It looked treacherous. Forty feet of it, but barely ten feet in width; one wrong move and the shifting stones would carry him clean over the edge, Rupert glanced briefly at the drop, and swallowed dryly. It was a long way down. If he were to slip, he'd reach the foothills before the unicorn did. He grinned sourly, and stepped lightly on to the scree.

The packed stones shifted uneasily under his weight, and Rupert held his breath as he waited for them to settle. Slowly, step by step, foot by foot, he moved up the scree, taking his time and testing each part of the scree cautiously before committing his weight to it. Despite all his efforts, the sliding stones carried him closer and closer to the edge, and Rupert knew he wasn't going to make it. The gusting wind plucked fussily at his cloak, and he felt the scree stir under his boots. He shifted his weight slightly to compensate and the scree ran like water beneath him, carrying him remorselessly towards the escarpment's edge. Rupert threw himself flat, digging his hands deeply into the scree, and he slowly slid to a halt with one foot hanging over the edge. He could hear stones falling, tumbling down the side of the mountain.

Barely five feet more of scree stood between him and solid rock, but it might as well have been five miles. Rupert lay still, breathing shallowly. He couldn't go on and he couldn't go back; the slightest movement could mean his death. Rupert frowned as an answer occurred to him. A slight movement couldn't save him, but a lunge with all his strength behind it just might. It might also kill him. Rupert grinned suddenly. What the hell; if the scree didn't get him, the dragon probably would. He pulled his legs carefully up under him in one slow, controlled movement, and dug his feet into the scree. The shifting stones carried him a little closer to the edge. Rupert took a deep breath and lunged for the solid rock beyond the scree. He landed awkwardly, the impact slamming the breath from his lungs, but one outflung hand grasped an outcrop of rock and he held on tightly as the sliding scree carried his body out over the long drop. For a moment he hung by one hand, feet searching helplessly for support, loose stones showering down around him, and then his free hand found a hold, and slowly he pulled himself up on to hard, solid rock. Rupert staggered a few feet away from the edge and then collapsed, shaking with reaction, his heart hammering madly. The unyielding stone path beneath him felt marvellously comforting.

He rested a while, and then clambered painfully to his feet. His whole body ached from fighting the scree, and he'd torn his hands on the jagged rock. Without the water canteens he'd left with the unicorn, Rupert couldn't even clean his wounds, so he did the next best thing and ignored them. He hoped like hell they wouldn't get infected; he was a long way from the nearest healer. He shrugged the thought aside, turned his back on the scree, and trudged tiredly along the uneven path that would lead him eventually to his dragon.

Some time later the trail suddenly disappeared, replaced by a seemingly endless series of narrow steps cut into the sheer rock face. Rupert turned away from the sight, and looked out over the long drop, taking in the view. Beyond the many miles of tended fields, the Forest seemed very small, and very far away. Rupert sighed once, regretfully, and then turned back to the steps and began the long climb.

The steps were crooked and uneven, and pain blazed through Rupert's legs and back as for hour after hour he fought to maintain his pace. The stone stairway stretched out behind and before him for as far as he could see, and after a while Rupert learned to keep his head down, and concentrate only on those steps directly ahead of him. The air grew steadily colder as he made his slow way up the mountain, and the driving wind carried sleet and snow from the summit. Rupert huddled inside his thin cloak and struggled on. Vicious gusts tugged at him as he climbed, and the bitter wind blew tears from His eyes. The cold numbed his hands and feet, his breath steamed on the chill air, and still he climbed, step after step after step, fighting the cold and the surging wind and his own pain.

He was Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom, and he was going to face his dragon.

The stairway ended in a narrow ledge before a vast cave mouth. Rupert stood swaying on the ledge, ignoring the freezing wind that wrapped his cloak about him, and the harsh breathing that seared his throat and burned in his chest. The cave gaped before him like some deep wound in the rock face, filled with darkness. Rupert moved slowly forward, fatigue trembling in his legs. The Night Witch's map hadn't lied; he'd finally found his dragon. Ever since leaving the Court, he'd wondered how he'd feel when he finally had to face the dragon. If he'd be ... scared. But now the time had come, and he didn't feel much of anything, if truth be told. He'd given his word, and he was here. He didn't believe he could beat the dragon, but then he never had. Deep down, the'd always known he was going to his death. Rupert shrugged. The Court expected him to die; maybe he'd live anyway, just to spite them. He drew his sword, and took up the best position he could on the narrow ledge. He tried not to think about the long drop behind him, and concentrated instead on the correct form of the challenge.

All in all, he'd never felt less heroic in his life.

'Hideous monster, I, Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom, do hereby challenge ye! Come forth and fight!'

There was a long pause, and then finally a deep voice from far inside the cave said 'Pardon?'

Feeling slightly ridiculous, the Prince took a better grip on his sword and repeated his challenge. There was an even longer pause, and then Rupert dropped into his fighting stance as the dragon emerged slowly out of the darkness, filling the cave mouth with his massive bulk. Long sweeping wings wrapped the creature like a ribbed emerald cloak, clasped at the chest by wickedly clawed hands. A good thirty feet from snout to tail, light slithered caressingly along his shimmering green scales as the dragon towered over the Prince, studying him with glowing golden eyes. Rupert shifted his sword, and the dragon smiled widely, revealing dozens of very sharp teeth.

'Hi,' said the dragon. 'Nice day, isn't it?'

Rupert blinked resentfully. 'You're not supposed to say anything,' he told the dragon firmly. 'You're supposed to roar horribly, claw the ground, and then charge upon me breathing fire.'

The dragon thought about this. Two thin plumes of smoke drifted up from his nostrils. 'Why?' he asked finally.

Rupert lowered his sword, which was becoming heavier by the minute, and leaned on it. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'it's traditional, I suppose. That's the way it's always been.'

'Not with me,' said the dragon. 'Why do you want to kill me?'

'It's a long story,' said the Prince.

The dragon grunted. 'Thought it might be. You'd better come on in.'

He retreated into his cave and, after a moment's hesitation, Rupert followed him into what quickly proved to be a tunnel. In a strange way, he felt almost angry that he hadn't had to fight; he'd spent so long preparing for the moment, and now it had been taken from him. He wondered if the creature might just be playing with him, but it seemed unlikely. If the dragon had wanted him dead, he'd be dead by now. He clumsily stumbled on down the tunnel, a cold sweat beading his brow as the light fell away behind him. The unrelieved gloom reminded him of the Darkwood, and he was glad when the darkness gave wav to the cheerful crimson glow of a banked fire. He hurried towards the light, and burst out of the tunnel mouth to find the dragon waiting patiently for him in a huge rock chamber easily five hundred feet across, the walls of which were covered with the largest collection of preserved butterflies Rupert had ever seen.

'I thought dragons collected hoards of gold and silver,' said Rupert, gesturing at the hundreds of highly polished display cases.

The dragon shrugged. 'Some collect gold and silver. Some collect jewels. I collect butterflies. They're just as pretty, aren't they?'

'Sure, sure,' said the Prince soothingly, as sparks glowed hotly in the dragon's nostrils. He sheathed his sword, sank down on to his haunches opposite the reclining dragon, and studied him curiously.

'What's the matter?' asked the dragon.

'You're not quite what I expected,' Rupert admitted.

The dragon chuckled. 'Legends rarely are.'

'But you can talk.'

'So can you.'

'Well, yes, but I'm human ...'

'I had noticed,' said the dragon dryly. 'Look, most of the legends, that we're big and strong and nasty and eat people for any or no reason, all those stories were made up by dragons, to frighten people away.'

'But ...'

'Look,'said the dragon, leaning forward suddenly. 'One on one, I'm more than a match for any human, but no dragon can fight an army.' The huge creature hissed softly, golden eyes staring through Rupert at something only they could see. 'Once, dragons filled the skies, masters of all that was. The sun warmed our wings as we soared above the clouds and watched the world turn beneath us. We tore gold and silver from the rock with our bare claws, and the earth trembled when we roared. Everything that lived feared us. And then came man, with his sword and his lance, his armour and his armies. We should have banded together while we still could, but no, we fought each other, and feuded and squabbled, and guarded our precious hoards. And one by one we fell, alone. Our time had passed.'

The dragon lay brooding a moment, and then shook himself. 'Why did you come to challenge me?'

'It's supposed to prove me worthy to be King.'

'Do you want to kill me?'

Rupert shrugged, confused. 'It'd be easier if you were the monster you're supposed to be. Haven't you slaughtered women and children, burned property to the ground, and stolen cattle?'

'Certainly not,' said the dragon, shocked. 'What kind of creature do you think I am?'

Rupert raised an eyebrow, and the dragon had the grace to look a little sheepish. 'All right, maybe I did raze the odd village, devour an occasional maiden, but that was a long time ago. I was a dragon, they expected it of me. I'm retired now.'

There was a long pause. Rupert frowned into the gently crackling fire. This wasn't at all what he'd expected.

'Do you want to kill me?' he asked the dragon.

'Not particularly. I'm getting a little old for all this nonsense.'

'Well, don't you want to eat me?'

'No,' said the dragon firmly. 'People give me heartburn.'

There was another long silence.

'Look,' said the dragon finally. 'Killing me is supposed to prove your worth, right?'

'Right,' said the Prince. That much he was sure of.

'So, why not bring back a live dragon? Isn't that an even braver thing to do?'

Rupert thought about it. 'That might just do it,' he said cautiously. 'Nobody's ever captured a real live dragon before . . .'

'Well then, that's our answer!'

'Don't you mind being captured?' asked Rupert diffidently.

The dragon chuckled. 'I could do with a bit of a holiday. Travel to strange lands, meet new people; just what I need.' The dragon peered about him and then beckoned for Rupert to lean closer. 'Er . . . Prince ...'

'Yes?'

'Do you by any chance rescue Princesses? Only I've got one here, and she's driving me crazy.'

'You're holding a Princess captive?' yelled Rupert, jumping to his feet and clapping a hand to his swordhilt.

'Keep your voice down!' hissed the dragon. 'She'll hear you! I'm not holding her captive; I'll be glad to see the back of her. Some Court's elders sent her up here as a sacrifice, and I haven't the heart to kill her. She can't go back, and I can't just throw her out. I thought maybe you could take her off my hands ...'

Rupert sat slowly down again and rubbed gently at his aching brow.

Just when he thought he was getting the hang of things, somebody changed the rules.

'She's a real Princess?'

'Far as I know.'

'What's wrong with her?' asked Rupert warily.

'Dragon!' yelled a strident voice from a side tunnel. The dragon winced.

'That's what's wrong with her.'

The Princess burst into the cavern from one of the side tunnels, and then stopped short on seeing the Prince. Rupert scrambled to his feet. The Princess was dressed in a long flowing gown that might once have been white, but was now stained a dozen colours from dried mud and grime. She was young, barely into her twenties, and handsome rather than beautiful. Deep blue eyes and a generous mouth contrasted strongly with the mannish jut of her jaw. Long blonde hair fell almost to her waist in two meticulously twisted plaits. She was poised and slender and easily six feet tall. As Rupert considered the right courteous words with which to greet a Princess, she whooped with joy and rushed forward to throw her arms around him. Rupert staggered back a pace.

'My hero,' she cooed, bending down to nuzzle his ear. 'You've come to rescue me!'

'Well, yes,' muttered Rupert, trying to break free without seeming too discourteous. 'Glad to be of service. I'm Prince Rupert ...'

The Princess hugged him fiercely, driving the air from his lungs. I was safer with the dragon, thought Rupert, as bright spots drifted before his eyes. The Princess finally let him go, and stood back to take a good look at him.

He couldn't have been much older than she was, she thought, but the recent scars that marred one side of his face gave him a hard, dangerous look. His long slender hands were battered and torn, and covered with freshly dried blood. His leather jerkin and trousers had obviously seen a great deal of use, his cloak was a mess, and all in all the fellow looked more like a bandit than a Prince. The Princess frowned dubiously, and then her mouth twitched — all in all, she probably didn't look much like a Princess either.

'Where's your armour?' she asked.

'I left it in the Tanglewood,' said Rupert.

'And your steed?'

'At the base of the mountain.'

'You did at least bring your sword?'

'Of course,' said Rupert, drawing the blade to show her. She snatched it out of his hand, tested the balance, and swept it through a few expert passes.

'It'll do,' she decided, and gave the sword back to him. 'Get on with it.'

'Get on with what?' asked Rupert politely.

'With killing the dragon, of course,' said the Princess. That's what you're here for, isn't it?'

'Ah,' said Rupert, 'the dragon and I have talked it over, and I'm going to take him back to my Castle alive. And you too, of course.'

'That's not honourable,' said the Princess flatly.

'Oh yes it is,' said the dragon.

'You keep out of this,' snapped the Princess.

'Gladly,' said the dragon.

'Whose side are you on?' demanded Rupert, feeling he needed all the help he could get.

'Anybody's who'll rescue me from this Princess,' said the dragon feelingly.

The Princess kicked him.

Rupert closed his eyes a moment. When he got back to Court he intended to give the minstrels explicit instructions on how to sing their songs. This kind of thing needed to be pointed up more. He coughed politely, and the Princess swung angrily back to face him.

'What's your name?' he asked.

'Julia. Princess Julia of Hillsdown.'

'Well, Princess Julia, you have two choices. Come back to my Castle with me and the dragon, or stay here on your own.'

'You can't leave me here,' said the Princess. 'That wouldn't be honourable.'

'Watch me,' said Rupert.

Julia blinked, and then peered at the dragon, who was staring at the cavern ceiling and blowing different-coloured smoke rings from his nostrils.

'You wouldn't leave me here alone. Would you?'

The dragon grinned widely, his many teeth gleaming crimson in the firelight.

Julia glared at him. 'You wait,' she muttered ominously.

'Can we make a start now, please?' asked Rupert. 'My unicorn's only going to wait two days for me to return.'

'You ride a unicorn?' asked the dragon. Rupert glanced at the Princess, and felt his face grow hot.

'It's not easy being a Prince. It's to do with Bloodlines; the last thing any dynasty needs is bastard pretenders to the throne popping up all over the place. So unmarried royalty have to be kept. . . pure.'

'Right,' said the Princess. 'That's why the elders sent me up here.'

The dragon coughed tactfully. 'Is it far to your Castle, Rupert?'

Rupert started to answer, and then had to grab Julia's arm for support as his head suddenly started to swim. His legs trembled violently, and he sat down quickly to avoid falling.

'What's the matter?' asked Julia, as she helped Rupert lower himself to the cavern floor.

'Just need a bit of a rest,' he muttered groggily, passing a shaking hand across his aching temples. 'Hot in here. I'll be all right in a minute.'

The dragon regarded the Prince narrowly. 'Rupert, how did you get up the mountain?'

'Followed the trail until the scree blocked it. Then I sent my unicorn back, crossed the scree, and used the stairway.'

'You came all that way on foot? In this weather?' Julia looked at Rupert with new respect. 'I came in mid-summer. I had an escort of seven guards and a pack mule, and it still took us the best part of four days to manage it.' She took his battered hands in hers, and winced. 'You're so cold you can't even feel your wounds, can you ? You must be frozen to the bone; it's a wonder you were still on your feet.'

Rupert shrugged uncomfortably. 'I'm all right. Just a bit tired, that's all.'

Julia and the dragon exchanged a glance.

'Sure,' said the dragon. 'Look, why don't you warm yourself at the fire a while, and then I'll fly you both down. It's a lovely day for flying.'

'Sure,' said Rupert drowsily. 'Lovely day ... for flying.' His chin sank slowly forward on to his chest, and sleep rolled over him like a tide. The Princess lowered him gently to the floor, wrapped furs around him, and then washed and bandaged his hands. Rupert knew nothing of this, but for the first time since leaving the Darkwood, his rest was free of nightmares.

A few hours' sleep did much to restore him, and all too soon Rupert found himself perched awkwardly on the dragon's shoulders, hugging the creature's neck like he'd never let go. The Princess Julia was sitting right behind Rupert, and holding him just as tightly, if not more so.

'I hate heights,' she confided in a small voice.

'You're not alone,' Rupert assured her. He looked around at the dark clouds filling the sky, and shivered as a bitter wind swept over the narrow ledge outside the cave mouth. 'If this is a good day for flying, I'd hate to see a bad one.'

'Ready?' asked the dragon, flexing his wings eagerly.

'Uh ...' said Rupert.

Then hold tight,' called the dragon, and running quickly forward, he threw himself off the ledge and fell like a stone. The wind whistled past them as they hurtled down, and Rupert squeezed his eyes shut. And then the breath was knocked from him as the dragon suddenly spread his wings, and with a series of bone-shuddering jolts, the fall quickly became a controlled glide. After a while, Rupert cautiously opened his eyes and peered past the dragon's neck to take in the view. He then rather wished he hadn't. The cultivated fields far below lay stretched out like a pastel-shaded patchwork quilt. The Forest lay to the north, with the Darkwood clearly visible, like a canker feeding on the body of which it was a part. Rupert swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth as the base of the mountain rushed up to meet him at harrowing speed. On the whole, he just might have preferred to walk down after all. The dragon's massive wings beat strongly to either side of him, and then stretched to their full extent as the creature soared in to a slightly bumpy landing that jarred every bone in Rupert's body. The dragon folded his wings and looked about him.

'There you are. Wasn't that exciting?'

'Exciting,' said Rupert.

'Does you good to feel the wind rushing past you,' said the dragon. 'Uh . . . you can let go of me and get down now, you know.'

'We're getting used to the idea, slowly,' said Julia. 'My stomach still thinks it's up in the clouds somewhere.'

She carefully unwrapped her arms from Rupert, and then the two of them helped each other down from the dragon's back. The solid earth beneath their feet had never seemed so welcome or so comforting. The dragon had brought them to the start of the mountain trail, and Rupert looked around him. As he'd expected, there was no sign of the unicorn.

'Unicorn! If you're not back here by the time I count to ten I'll turn you over to the Royal Zoo to give rides to children!'

'You wouldn't dare!' said a shocked voice from behind a nearby outcropping of rock.

'Don't put money on it,' Rupert growled.

There was a pause, and then the unicorn put his head round the rock and smiled ingratiatingly. 'Welcome back, Sire. Who are your friends?'

'This is the Princess Julia. I rescued her.'

'Ha!' said the Princess, loudly.

'And this is a dragon. He's coming back with us to the Castle.'

The unicorn disappeared behind the rock again.

'Unicorn, either you come out or I'll send the dragon after you. Even worse, I might send the Princess after you.'

Julia kicked him in the ankle. Rupert smiled determinedly, and vowed to do something unpleasant to the first minstrel he met singing of the joys of adventuring. The unicom trotted reluctantly into view, halting a safe distance away from the dragon.

'Oh, you've decided to join us, have you?' asked Rupert.

'Only under protest.'

'He does everything under protest,' Rupert explained to the Princess.

'I heard that!' The unicorn stared unhappily at the dragon. 'I don't suppose there's any chance that thing is a vegetarian?'

The dragon smiled. His pointed teeth gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

'I thought not,' said the unicorn.

The Darkwood brooded before them, darkness enveloping rotting trees in a starless night that had never known a moon. The path Rupert had cut through the briar lay open before him, and he studied the narrow gap with horrid fascination, cold sweat beading his brow. Through all the many weeks it had taken him to reach Dragonslair Mountain and return, he'd been unable to shake off the gut-deep fear the darkness had imposed on him. He shivered suddenly as the chill breeze drifting from the decaying trees brought to him the familiar stench of corruption. His hand dropped to his swordhilt as though searching for some kind of comfort, or courage. His breathing grew harsh and unsteady as the horror mounted within him.

Not again. Please, not again.

'The Darkwood,' said Princess Julia, her voice tinged with awe. 'I thought it was just a legend, a tale to frighten children on dark nights. It smells like something died in there. Are you sure we have to pass through it to reach the Forest Kingdom?'

Rupert nodded briefly, afraid that if he tried to speak his voice would betray how much the mere sight of the darkness unnerved him. They had to pass through the Darkwood. There was no other way. But still he hesitated, standing stiffly beside the unicorn, unable to make the slightest move towards entering the long night that had tested his soul and found it wanting.

'I suppose I could fly you and Julia over,' said the dragon slowly, 'but that would mean abandoning the unicorn.'

'No,' said Rupert immediately. 'I won't do that.'

'Thanks,' said the unicorn.

Rupert nodded curtly, his eyes fixed on the never-ending darkness.

'Come on,' said the Princess finally. 'The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be out the other side.' She looked at Rupert expectantly.

'I can't,' he said helplessly.

'What's the matter?' snapped the Princess. 'Afraid of the dark?'

'Yes,' said Rupert softly. 'Oh yes.'

Julia stared at him in amazement, taking in his pale face and trembling hands.

'You're kidding, right? You can't be serious. Afraid of the dark?'

'Shut up,' said the unicorn. 'You don't understand.'

'I think perhaps I do,' said the dragon. His great golden eyes studied the darkness warily. 'The Darkwood was old when I was young, Julia. Legend claims it has always been here, and always will — darkness made manifest upon the earth. For any who dare to enter, there are dangers for both body and soul.' The dragon stared into the darkness a while, and then looked away uneasily. 'What happened to you in the Darkwood, Rupert?'

Rupert struggled for words that could express the true horror of the darkness, but there were no words. He simply knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that if he entered the Darkwood again he would die or go mad. With an effort that shook him, Rupert tore his gaze away from the darkness. He'd faced the Darkwood once; he could do it again. Rupert clung to the thought desperately. The long night had marked him, but it hadn't broken him. Perhaps this time the journey would be easier to bear. He had food and water and companions. There was firewood for torches.

If I turn back now, I'll always be afraid of the dark.

Rupert took a deep, shuddering breath and let it go.

'Rupert,' said the dragon, 'what happened to you in the Darkwood?'

'Nothing,' said Rupert hoarsely. 'Nothing at all. Let's go.'

He urged the unicorn forward, but the animal hesitated, and looked back at him.

'Rupert, you don't have to do this ...'

'Move, damn you,' Rupert whispered, and the unicorn followed him silently into the Darkwood. Julia followed the unicorn, and the dragon brought up the rear, the needle-thorned briar rattling vainly against his armoured hide.

Night slammed down as they crossed the Darkwood boundary, and Rupert bit his lip to keep from crying out as the darkness swept over him. The familiar country sounds of bird and beast and wind were gone, replaced by a still, sullen silence. Out in the dark, demons were watching. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there. All his instincts shrieked for him to light a torch, but he daren't. Light would attract the demons, and the surrounding briar made his party a sitting target. He hurried forward, wincing as thorns stung his outstretched hands. The trail seemed narrower than he remembered, but the briar finally fell away, and Rupert whispered for the party to stop a moment. He fumbled the tinderbox from his backpack, and after several false starts, he lit a single torch. The dancing flame seemed strangely subdued, as though the Darkwood begrudged even that much light within its domain. Decaying trees lined the narrow path. Their branches held no leaves, and gaping cracks revealed rotten hearts, but Rupert knew with horrid certainty that somehow they were still alive.

'Rupert. . .'said Julia.

'Later,' he said roughly. 'Let's go.'

The company moved slowly along the twisting trail in their little pool of light, heading into the heart of the darkness.

They hadn't been moving long before the first demon found them. Crooked and malformed, it crouched at the edge of the torch's light, watching from the shadows with blood-red eyes. Rupert drew his sword, and the demon disappeared silently back into the darkness.

'What the hell was that?' whispered Julia.

'Demon,' said Rupert shortly. The scars on his face throbbed with remembered pain. He handed Julia the torch and moved forward to stare about him. Faint shuffling sounds hovered on the edge of his hearing, and then, slowly, the torchlight showed him glimpses of twisted, misshapen creatures that crouched and scurried and slithered both before and behind the company. Glowing eyes stared unblinkingly from the shadows of the rotting trees. Rupert hefted his sword, but the cold steel had lost all power to comfort him.

'It's not possible,' he said numbly. 'Demons never hunt in packs. Everyone knows that.'

'Obviously they don't,' said the dragon. 'Now get back here, please. You're a little too far from the rest of us for my liking.'

Rupert fell back to join the company. The demons pressed closer still.

'Why don't they attack?' said Julia quietly.

'Don't give them ideas,' muttered the unicorn. 'Maybe they just can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to walk into such an obvious trap. I can't believe it and I'm doing it.'

'They're afraid of the dragon,' said Rupert.

'How very sensible of them,' said the dragon.

Rupert tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. It took all his self-control not to strike out blindly at the gathering demons. Fear writhed in his gut and trembled in his arms, but he wouldn't give in to it. Not yet. Unlike the darkness, the demons could be fought. He took a firm grip on his sword, and stepped forward. The demons faded back into the darkness and were gone. Julia sighed slowly in relief, and the torchlight was suddenly unsteady as she finally allowed her hands to shake. Rupert glared about him into the unresponsive darkness, angry that the demons had backed away from a confrontation, denying him the comfort and release of action. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard, and led the company on into the endless night.

Some time later they reached a small clearing, and stopped for a while to get what rest they could before continuing. Julia built a fire in the middle of the clearing while Rupert set torches to mark the perimeter. The need for caution was past; it was clear the demons could find the party whenever they chose. Rupert lit the last torch and retreated quickly to the blazing fire. The leaping flames threw back the dark, and the fire's warmth eased the chill in his bones. Rupert frowned as he wearily sank down beside Julia; he didn't remember the Darkwood being this cold on his first journey through. He didn't remember this clearing, either. He shrugged, added another branch to the crackling fire, and pulled his cloak tightly about him. On the other side of the fire, the unicorn lay dozing in the shadows. The dragon was off in the dark somewhere, probably frightening demons. Rupert glanced covertly at Julia. The Princess sat huddled under the only spare blanket, shivering and holding out her hands to the dancing flames.

'Here,' said Rupert brusquely, taking off his cloak. 'You're cold.'

'So are you,' said Julia. 'I'm all right.'

'You sure?'

'Really.'

Rupert didn't press the point.

'How much longer before we get out of the Darkwood?' asked Julia, as Rupert refastened his cloak.

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'Time passes differently here. On my first trip it could have been days or weeks; you lose all track of time in the dark. At least this time we've food and water and firewood. That should make a difference.'

'You crossed the Darkwood without light or provisions?' Julia looked at Rupert with something like respect, and then looked quickly away. When she spoke again, her voice was carefully neutral. 'What's your Castle like, Rupert?'

'Old,' said Rupert, and smiled. 'You'll like it.'

'Will I?'

'Of course. Everyone'll make you very welcome.'

'Why should they?' said Julia softly, staring into the fire. 'I'm just another Princess without a dowry. Seven sisters stand between me and the throne, even assuming the elders would have me back. And they won't.'

'Why not?'

'Because . . .'Julia looked at him sternly. 'You won't laugh?'

'I promise.'

'I ran away. They wanted me to marry some Prince I'd never met, for political reasons. You know.'

'I know,' said Rupert. 'Bloodlines.'

'So I ran away. I didn't even reach the frontier. They already had seven Princesses, and they didn't need an eighth, so they sent me to the dragon's cave.' Julia glared into the fire. 'My father signed the warrant. My own father.'

Rupert put a comforting hand on her arm, but she jerked away.

'Don't worry,' he said lamely. 'Everything'll work out. I'll find a way to get you home again.'

'I don't want to go home; as far as they're concerned I'm dead! And sometimes I wish I was!'

She jumped up and ran off into the darkness. Rupert got up to go after her.

'Don't.'

Rupert looked round to find the dragon watching from the shadows. 'Why not?'

'She doesn't want you to see her crying,' said the dragon.

'Oh.' Rupert shuffled uncertainly, and then sat down again.

'She'll be back in a while,' said the dragon, moving forward to squat beside him.

'Yes. I'd help her if I could.'

'Of course you would. Julia's not a bad sort. For a human.'

Rupert almost smiled. 'We all have our problems.'

'You too?'

'Of course; why do you think I came on this damn quest?'

'Honour, glory, love of adventure?'

Rupert just looked at him.

'Sorry,' said the dragon.

'I'm a second son,' said Rupert. 'I can't inherit as long as my brother's alive.'

'And you didn't want to kill your own brother.' The dragon nodded understandingly.

Rupert snorted. 'Can't stand the fellow. But if I declare against him, the Forest Land would be split by civil war. That's why my father sent me on this quest. You were supposed to kill me and rid him of a vexing problem.'

'Your own father sent you out to die?'

'Yes,' said Rupert softly. 'My own father. Officially, it was a quest to prove me worthy of the throne, but everyone knew. Including me.'

'But then, why did you go through with it? You didn't have to face me.'

'I'm a Prince of the Forest Kingdom,' said Rupert. 'I'd given my word. Besides . . .'

'Yes?'

Rupert shrugged. 'My family's other major problem is money. We're broke.'

'Broke? But you rule the country! How can you be broke?'

The Land's just had its second famine in a row, the barons are refusing to pay taxes, and if our currency was any more debased you could use it as bottle caps.'

'Oh,' said the dragon.

'Right. Oh.'

'So bringing me back alive isn't going to help you much.'

'Not really,' admitted the Prince. 'Apart from the hoard you were supposed to have, dragon's hide is worth a lot of money, you know. So are dragon's teeth. And as for dragon's ...'

'I know what they're worth, thank you,' said the dragon huffily. 'I value them myself, rather.'

Rupert blushed and looked away. 'Well, you see my problem.'

'I'll think about it,' said the dragon.

'Will you two shut up and let me sleep,' muttered the unicorn blearily.

The Princess came back out of the darkness with slightly puffy eyes that nobody commented on, and settled herself by the fire.

'What were you two talking about?' she asked.

'It seems the Prince's family is financially embarrassed,' said the dragon.

'Broke,' said the unicorn.

'Maybe when this is over I should go on another quest,' Rupert said gloomily. 'Look for a pot of gold at the Rainbow's End.'

'If you do, you can walk,' said the unicorn.

'Rainbow's End,' said the dragon slowly. 'It's not just a legend.'

'You mean it's real?' asked Julia.

The dragon hesitated. 'Sometimes.'

'How do I find it?'asked Rupert.

'You don't, it finds you.' The dragon frowned, struggling for the right words. 'Rainbow's End is a state of mind as much as a place. If you reach it, you can find your heart's desire, but that may not be what you think it is. There's a spell ...'

Everyone froze as a branch snapped somewhere out in the dark, and then they surged to their feet. Rupert drew his sword and Julia pulled a wicked-looking dagger from her boot. The unicorn pressed close beside the dragon, nervously pawing the ground. And then, one by one, the torches at the clearing's perimeter guttered and went out, and darkness welled forward like a tide.

'They've found us again,' said Rupert.

A figure stepped into the clearing. Tall, spindly and corpse-pale, it squatted at the edge of the firelight, clawed hands twitching restlessly at its sides. Faintly glowing eyes stared unblinkingly from a broad, toadlike head. As the company watched in horrified fascination, more demons crept forward out of the dark. Some walked on two legs, some on four, and some crawled on their bellies in the dirt. Firelight gleamed redly on claw and fang. No one creature was shaped as any other, but all had the mark of foulness on them, a darkness in the soul. Rupert raised his sword and moved forward, and the toad demon came to meet him, loping horribly fast across the uneven ground. Rupert dropped into his fighting stance, and then swayed aside at the last moment to let the demon rush by him. His sword swung out in a long arc and bit deeply into the creature's back. Dark blood spurted, and the demon fell, writhing silently on the ground until the unicorn slammed down a well-placed hoof. The watching shapes melted back into the darkness.

'What are our chances?' muttered Julia.

'Not good,' Rupert admitted, swinging his sword back and forth before him. 'There's too many of them.'

'But we've got a dragon with us,' Julia protested. 'Everyone knows dragons can't be killed, except by heroes whose hearts are pure.'

'Legends,' said the dragon wearily. 'I'm old, Julia. Older than you can imagine. My eyesight's poor, my bones ache in the winter, and I haven't breathed fire in years. Don't even know if I still can. No, Julia, dragons die just as easily as any other creature.'

'Are you saying we've no chance at all?' asked Julia softly.

'There's always a chance,' said Rupert, hefting his sword.

'Not that way,' said the dragon. 'You'll have to make the Rainbow Run.'

'What are you talking about?' snapped Rupert, eyes still fixed on the lurking shadows among the rotting trees.

'Rainbow's End. I know a spell that will take you right to it. If you're strong enough. Any man who can run down the Rainbow will find his heart's desire; whatever that might be.'

Try the spell,' said Julia. 'I won't let those things take me alive. I've heard stories.'

Rupert nodded grimly. He'd heard stories too.

'Look out!' yelled Julia. Rupert howled his battle-cry and swung his sword double-handed as demons burst from the Darkwood's concealing shadows. His blade flashed in short, vicious arcs, slicing through his opponents like overripe wheat. Blood flew on the air, but the demons never made a sound, even when they died. The Darkwood silence was broken only by the stamp of feet on earth, and the 'chunk' of Rupert's blade as it bit into flesh. The dragon reared up to his full height and slammed into the demons, rending and tearing. The dead and the dying lay piled around him on the bloodied earth, and still they came. Julia drove her dagger into a demon's bulging eye and kicked the twisting corpse aside. The unicorn moved quickly in to protect her, his hooves and horn already dripping gore. Rupert spun and danced, his sword tearing through flesh with murderous skill, but for every demon that fell another rose out of the dark to take its place. A growing ache burned in his arms and back, and every time he swung his sword it seemed a little heavier. Rupert didn't give a damn. The bottled-up frustration of months on end found an outlet in his fury, and he grinned like a wolf as his sword rose and fell in steady butchery.

And then it was over. The demons melted back into the safety of the darkness, leaving their dead behind them. Rupert stared about him as he slowly lowered his sword, his harsh breathing aching in his chest. Blood and death lay scattered across the clearing, and as his anger ebbed away, Rupert felt tired and cold and just a little sick. He'd been taught the use of a sword, as befitted his station, but his new-found joy in killing disturbed him. To take pleasure in slaughter was the demon's way. The blood dripping from his blade suddenly disgusted him, and he sheathed his sword without bothering to clean it. He swallowed dryly, and looked round to check how his companions had fared in the battle. The dragon seemed pretty much unscathed, though his claws and teeth gleamed with a fresh crimson sheen. The unicorn's white coat was dappled with blood, little of it his own. Julia was cleaning her dagger in a business-like way, but her hands were shaking. Rupert shook his head slowly. Without rage to keep him moving, fatigue left him weak and trembling, but already he could hear faint rustlings and stirrings in the dark beyond the clearing. He turned to the dragon.

'Use the damned spell,' he said gratingly. 'Another rush like that, and they'll roll right over us.'

The dragon nodded. 'It's all down to you, Rupert. First you'll see a light in the distance, like a beacon, and then the Wild Magic will show you a path. Follow it. That's the Rainbow Run. What you'll find depends on you.'

Rupert stared out into the dark, and a voice deep inside him said I can't. It had been hard enough to go back into the Darkwood armed with light and friends, but to give them up and go off into the darkness on his own . . . Haven't I done enough? I can't go back into the dark! I'm afraid!

'Rupert?'

I'm afraid.

'Set the spell,' said Rupert.

'Get ready,' said the dragon. 'I need a moment to prepare.'

Rupert nodded stiffly and moved away to join the unicorn.

'Look after the Princess for me, will you?'

'With my life,' promised the unicorn. 'When there's no other choice, I can be heroic too, you know.'

'I never doubted it,' smiled the Prince.

The unicorn shuffled his feet uncertainly. 'All in all, I've been on worse quests, Sire.'

'I hate to think what they must have been like.'

'Will you shut up,' said the unicorn affectionately. 'And mind your back on the Rainbow Run. I've grown accustomed to having you around to gripe at.'

Rupert hugged the unicorn's neck, and turned away to find Julia waiting for him. She offered him a handkerchief.

'A lady's favour,' she said. 'The hero always carries a lady's favour.'

'I always wanted one,' said Rupert softly. He tucked the silk square inside his tattered leather jerkin. 'I'll bring it back safely.'

'Bring back some help, that's the main thing.' She leaned forward suddenly and kissed him. 'And come back safe yourself, or I'll never forgive you.'

She hurried off into the shadows. The Prince raised a hand to his lips. There was one thing the minstrels hadn't lied about. The dragon came forward.

'Are you ready?'

Rupert looked out into the darkness. I'm afraid. I gave my word.

'Ready as I'll ever be. You?'

The dragon nodded. 'The spell is set.'

Rupert drew his sword, hefted it, and then handed it to the dragon. 'Give this to Julia. It'll only slow me down when I'm running.'

'Of course,' said the dragon.

'A light!' yelled the unicorn. Rupert whirled to look. A crimson glare showed deep in the Dark wood.

'That's it!' cried the dragon, but Rupert was already off and running. He burst through the demons at the clearing's edge and was gone before they could stop him. A trail formed before him in the darkness, seeming to glow and sparkle beneath his pounding feet. A demon leapt out of the dark to block his path, only to scream and fall back as light flared up from the trail to engulf it. Rupert shot a quick glance at the motionless body and ran on. Behind him he heard the first sounds of battle as the demon horde fell on his companions. He forced himself to run faster. The Darkwood trees rushed past him. The path glowed bright against the dark. Breath burned in his lungs, ached in his chest, and a cold sweat ran down his sides as his arms pumped, but he was beyond pain, beyond fear, driven only by a desperate need somehow to save his friends. He didn't know how long he'd been running, but the trail still shimmered ahead of him, and the beacon seemed to draw no nearer. It's not how fast you run, a voice whispered inside him, it's how badly you need it. Fatigue shivered through his aching legs, and he saw with horror that the path was slowly fading away. He drove himself even harder, crying aloud at the pain that stabbed through him, and then he tripped and fell headlong as the path guttered and went out.

I'm sorry, Julia, he thought despairingly as the dark washed over him. I so wanted to be a hero for you.

Light roared against the darkness. Rupert staggered to his feet as vivid hues cascaded down around him. His ears were full of the thunder of a mighty waterfall. Time seemed to slow and stop. Brilliant colours burned into Rupert's eyes as he threw back his head and raised his hands to the glory of the Rainbow.

And then the Rainbow was gone, and the night was darker than before.

For a moment Rupert just stood there, entranced by the splendour of Rainbow's End, and then slowly he lowered his head, and looked about him. Where the Rainbow had touched them, the gnarled and twisted trees were straight and true, and leaf-strewn branches framed a hole in the overhead canopy through which moonlight streamed, forming a pool of light around the Prince. And there before him on the ground lay a sword. Rupert stooped down and picked it up. It was an ordinary, everyday sword with sharp edges and a good balance. Rupert smiled bitterly as the darkness gathered around him. The treasures of Rainbow's End — just another legend. From far off the sounds of fighting came to him, and Rupert turned to find the shimmering trail waiting to lead him back to his beleaguered friends. He hefted the sword once and then ran back through the Darkwood.

He burst back into the clearing, and for a moment all he could see was a mass of leaping, clawing demonkind. The dragon surged back and forth, firelight glowing ruddy on his flailing wings and tail. Blood streamed from his terrible teeth. Julia crouched behind the dragon, sword in hand, moving always to keep the fire between her and the demons. Her robe was soaked in blood. There was no sign of the unicorn. As Rupert hesitated at the clearing's edge a demon ducked under the dragon's guard, knocked the Princess to the ground and stooped over her. Rupert screamed and ran forward. A demon leaped towards him. He cut it in two and ran on without pausing. More demons came to block his way. His sword seemed weightless in his hand, and demon blood fell to the ground like a ghastly dew.

He reached the demon's side to find the Princess busily gutting the demon that had attacked her. She looked up as he joined her, and wiped her face with a bloodied hand.

'Took your time, didn't you?'

Rupert grinned, and they stood back to back, swords at the ready, as the demons came at them again. Julia wielded her sword with surprising skill, her face determined. Rupert spun and danced, his sword licking out to kill and kill again, but he knew it was hopeless. The darting, leaping creatures swarmed out of the dark in seemingly endless numbers, and he was already exhausted. Eventually, they were bound to pull him down. The company's only chance for survival had been the Rainbow Run, and he'd failed. Rupert gasped as demon claws raked across his rib cage. He cut the demon down, but he could feel blood running down his side in a thick stream. His head swam dizzily, but the pain kept him from fainting. More demons pressed forward, and Rupert knew he was no longer fast enough to stop them all. He silently cursed the missing unicorn to hell for his cowardice in deserting the party to their fate, and took a firm grip on his sword. He hoped it would be a quick death.

And then the dragon raised himself in all his ancient glory, and fire blazed on the night. Demons curled up and fell away like scorched leaves as the dragon's flaming breath washed over them. Others fell to roll on the ground in silent agony before lying still. The dragon's awesome head swayed back and forth, his fire scouring the clearing of demonkind, and then the flame flickered and went out.

In the last of the light, Rupert watched the survivors fall back to join others of their kind, waiting in the darkness beyond the clearing. More demons. There were always more demons. Rupert slowly lowered his sword and leaned on it. He daren't sit down for fear he'd never get to his feet again. His strength is as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure. Minstrels. Rupert sighed softly. Julia suddenly sat down beside him as her legs gave way. Her eyes were glazed with fatigue, but somehow she still found enough strength to hang on to her sword. Anger stirred in Rupert afresh as he realised not all the blood on Julia's dress came from demons. He stared horrified as he took in the terrible extent of her injuries, and swore silently. If he hadn't taken her from the dragon's cave; if he hadn't brought her into the Darkwood; if he hadn't left her to go chasing after a legend... If. You're a brave lass, Julia, Rupert thought wearily. You deserved better than me. He stared out into the darkness; looking at Julia hurt too much. He could hear the demons gathering. There seemed no end to their numbers. Rupert turned to the dragon, crouching exhausted by the fire. One wing hung limply, half torn away, and golden blood ran steadily down his heaving side. The dragon slowly raised his great head and studied the blood-spattered Prince.

'Did you reach the Rainbow's End?'

'Yes,' said Rupert. 'It was very beautiful.'

'What did you find there?'

'A sword. Just an ordinary sword.' Rupert couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice as he threw the sword on to the ground before him. The dragon studied the sword, and then looked away.

'The Wild Magic is often . . . capricious.' He stared out into the darkness. 'The demons are almost ready. One last attack, and it will all be over.'

'We can't just give up,' Rupert protested. 'We've beaten them off twice . . .'

'I'm hurt, Rupert,' the dragon said simply. 'I'm too old for all this nonsense.'

Rupert shook his head, searching for some kind of anger to hold back his growing despair. 'What happened to the unicorn?'

'He's over there,' said the dragon.

Rupert followed the dragon's gaze. Not a dozen feet from the fire, the unicorn lay stretched out and unmoving, half hidden under a pile of demon bodies.

'Unicorn!' Rupert staggered over to his fallen steed and knelt beside him. The unicorn tried to raise his bloodied head, and couldn't.

'Will you keep your voice down? My head hurts.'

Bloody rents crawled along the unicorn's flanks, and his rib cage had been smashed in. His hom had been broken off at the base, leaving only a jagged stub.

'I'm sorry,' said Rupert. 'I'm sorry.'

'Not your fault,' said the unicorn. His voice broke, and he coughed a bloody foam.

Rupert started to cry.

'Stop that,' said the unicorn gruffly. 'You should see the other guy. Did you find the Rainbow's End?'

Rupert nodded, unable to speak.

'Well, how about that. Some quest, eh, lad? They'll sing songs about us for ever.'

'And get it all wrong,' said Rupert.

'Wouldn't surprise me,' said the unicorn. 'I think I'll take a little rest now, lad, I'm tired.'

'Unicorn?'

'I'm so tired.'

'Unicorn.''

After a while, Julia came and crouched beside him.

'He lost his horn for me,' said Rupert bitterly. 'What did I ever do for him, except lead him into danger?'

'He was your friend,' said Julia, gently.

She couldn't have hurt him more if she'd tried.

'Rupert!' cried the dragon. 'Demons!'

'I brought your sword,' said Julia as they rose painfully to their feet, and she offered Rupert the sword he'd found at Rainbow's End. Rupert glared at the sword, and felt a slow, steady rage burn within him. All around him he could see demons spilling into the clearing, bringing the darkness with them. Firelight gleamed on fang and claw. The dragon stood ready to meet them, crippled but undefeated. Julia stood before him, bloodied but unbowed, waiting for him to take his sword and fight at her side. And the unicorn lay dying at his feet.

He was your friend.

Rupert reached out and took the sword. Anger and sorrow surged through him as he realised there was nothing left for him to do except die bravely, and take as many of his enemies with him as he could. He raised the sword above his head, and then all his rage, all his anguish, all his determination seemed to flow up into the blade and out, out into the long night and beyond, like a great shout of defiance against the dark. Light burst from the blade, filling the clearing. The demons cowered and fell back, and then turned to flee as with the thunder of a great waterfall, the Rainbow slammed down into the Darkwood.

Time seemed to slow and stop. Brilliant colours scorched back the night, scything through the demonkind, who fell to the blood-soaked ground and did not rise again. And still the shimmering light poured over them, until their misshapen forms melted and flowed into the broken earth and were gone. And then the Rainbow was gone, and once again night held sway over the Darkwood.

In the sudden silence, the crackling of the campfire seemed very loud. Moonlight filled the clearing, falling through wide holes in the overhead canopy, and the surrounding trees stood straight and whole where the Rainbow's light had touched them. Rupert slowly lowered the sword and studied it, but it was just a sword again. Well, he thought finally, it seems some legends are true . . .

'Can anyone explain to me why I'm not dead?' asked the unicorn.

'Unicorn!' Rupert turned quickly to find the animal climbing shakily to his feet. His wounds had healed, leaving only faint scars, and blood no longer ran from his mouth and nostrils. Rupert gaped at the unicorn, and then quickly checked his own wounds. He had an interesting collection of scars, but he didn't hurt any more. He felt great.

'I'm fine too,' said an amused voice behind him, and before Rupert could turn round, Julia gave him one of her best bear hugs to prove it. She put an arm across his shoulders while he got his breath back, and then ran over to hug the dragon, who was flexing his healed wing experimentally.

'Will somebody please tell me what's going on?' demanded the unicorn.

'I called down a Rainbow and saved your life,' said Rupert, grinning from ear to ear.

'Ah,' said the unicorn. 'I always knew you'd come in handy for something.'

Rupert laughed, and carefully sheathed the rainbow sword. Joy bubbled up in him like water from a long-forgotten well. And then his laughter slowly died as he studied the unicorn more carefully.

'What's the matter?' asked the animal, frowning.

'There's something different about you,' said the Prince thoughtfully.

'I feel fine,' said the unicorn, twisting his head round to study himself as best he could.

'Oh dear,' said Rupert, as he finally realised.

'What is it?'

'Uh,' said Rupert, searching frantically for a tactful way to approach the subject.

'Hey,' said Julia, as she and the dragon came over to join them. 'What's happened to the unicorn's horn?'

'My what?' The unicorn went cross-eyed trying to find it, but all that remained was a nub of bone in the centre of his forehead.

'The demons broke it off when you were injured,' Rupert explained. 'Apparently the Rainbow only heals wounds; it doesn't regrow things you've lost.'

'My horn!' shrieked the unicorn. 'Everyone'll think I'm a horse!'

'Never in a million years,' Rupert assured him.

'In the meantime,' said the dragon, 'may I suggest we get the hell out of here? We're a long way from the Darkwood boundary, and no doubt there are still demons to be found in the dark.'

'Right,' said Julia. 'The nightmare's over, but the night goes on for ever.'

'Not for ever,' said Rupert softly, and his hand dropped to the pommel of the rainbow sword. 'Every night comes to an end eventually.'

Chapter Two

HOMECOMING

Some two months later, Rupert, Julia, the dragon and the unicorn were travelling wearily down the long, winding road that led to Rupert's Castle. Rupert rode his unicorn, while Julia rode on the dragon's shoulders. The Prince and the Princess both wore leather jerkin and trousers, topped by a thick fur cloak. The weather had turned cold, and a chill wind blew constantly through the Forest.

'Home is the hero,' said Julia. 'Shouldn't there be a band playing, or something?'

'The first minstrel I see had better start running,' said Rupert. 'I've gone off minstrels.'

The dragon coughed tactfully. 'I hate to bring this up, Rupert, but you were sent out on your quest in the hope you'd bring back a dragon's hoard of gold and gems. Or at the very least, parts of a dead dragon, which are apparently worth almost as much. Instead, you've brought back a live dragon, worth not a lot, a Princess without a dowry, and not a single gold coin to show for all your admittedly remarkable adventures.'

Rupert grinned. 'There's always the rainbow sword.'

Julia looked at him aghast. 'You're not going to sell it, surely?'

The Prince shrugged. 'The Forest Land needs the money more than I need a magic sword. Royalty has its responsibilities, remember?'

'I remember,' said Julia. 'It'll be hard, going back to all that nonsense. Back to formal gowns, and etiquette, and Ladies-in-Waiting to stop you doing anything that might be fun.'

'I'll be there too,' Rupert promised.

Julia smiled. 'That'll help,' she said, and reached down to squeeze his hand briefly.

Tall, majestic oaks lined the road they travelled, heavy branches ablaze with the bronzed tatters of autumn leaves. It was barely evening, but already the sun was low in the sky. Rupert frowned as the chill breeze stirred the trees; winter seemed to be coming early this year. As if the Forest didn't have enough problems. . . He shook his head slowly and breathed deeply, savouring the familiar rich scents of wood and leaf and earth that filled the air, telling him he was nearly home. Home. The word roused many memories, few of them happy. Rupert reined the unicorn to a halt, and turned to the dragon.

'Uh, dragon ... I think it might be better if you were to ... well . . .'

'Make myself scarce for a time?' The dragon smiled, revealing row upon row of pointed teeth. 'I understand, Rupert. We don't want to panic everyone rigid just yet, do we?'

Rupert grinned back at the dragon. 'Quite. They're going to find it hard enough pretending they're happy to see me again, without having to cope with you as well.'

'Fair enough,' said the dragon. He crouched down, and waited patiently while Julia carefully dismounted. The dragon then moved unhurriedly off the road, stepped into the surrounding trees, and vanished.

Rupert's jaw dropped. 'I didn't know dragons could make themselves invisible.'

'We can't,' said a disembodied voice from far back in the trees, 'but we're very good at camouflage. How else do you think we find food? When it comes to sneaking up on things from behind, thirty feet of dragon isn't exactly inconspicuous, you know.'

'Fine,' said Rupert. 'Fine. I'll see you later, then, after I've had a chance to sort things out with the Court. Oh, and, dragon . . . if you come across any small, fat, stupid-looking birds, don't eat them. They're a protected species, by order of the King.'

'Too late,' said the dragon, indistinctly.

Rupert shook his head resignedly. 'Ah well, it's about time we thinned out the dodos again.' He turned to Julia, who was waiting impatiently in the middle of the road.

'If you've quite finished,' she said, ominously. 'It is getting late . . .'

'Oh sure,' said Rupert. 'The Castle's just down the road; we're almost there.' He hesitated, and then swung down out of the saddle.

'What are you doing now?' asked Julia.

'Well,' said Rupert awkwardly, 'it'd look rather bad if I came back riding the unicorn while you had to walk. You'd better ride him the rest of the way.'

'No thanks,' said Julia.

'I really think it would be better ...'

'No,'said Julia, firmly.

'Why not?'

'Because I can't ride a unicorn, that's why not!'

Rupert looked at the ground, and scuffed some dirt with his boot.

'Oh,' he said finally.

'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'It means he's thinking,' said the unicorn. 'Always a bad sign.'

'So I'm not qualified to ride a unicorn,' said Julia. 'Big deal.'

'Unfortunately, around here it is,' said Rupert. 'Unicorn, you've gone lame.'

'No, I haven't,' said the unicorn.

'Yes, you have,' said Rupert. 'That's why both Julia and I are having to walk.'

'I suppose you want me to limp,' said the unicorn.

'Got it in one,' said Rupert. 'And do it convincingly, or I'll see you're fed nothing but grass for a month.'

'Bully,' muttered the unicorn, and walked slowly away, trying out various limps for effect. Rupert and Julia exchanged a smile, and followed him down the road.

The crowding trees soon gave way to a clearing, a moat, and the Castle. Rupert stopped at the edge of the moat, and frowned at the raised drawbridge; normally the Castle was only sealed during states of emergency. His frown deepened as he took in the empty battlements, and he mentally reviewed the land they'd passed through since leaving the Darkwood. There couldn't have been a war or a rebellion, or they'd have seen burnt-out farms, and bodies lying in the fields for the gore crows. Plague? Rupert shivered suddenly as he realised he hadn't seen a single living soul since his return, but common sense quickly pointed out that at the very least there'd have been sulphur fires burning, and crosses painted on doors.

'What's wrong?' asked Julia.

'I'm not sure.' Rupert peered up at the gatehouse over the Keep. 'Ho, the gate! Let down the drawbridge!'

While he waited impatiently for an answer, Julia turned her attention back to the Castle.

'It's not very big, is it?' she said finally.

Rupert smiled wryly. He had to admit that to the casual eye, Forest Castle wasn't all that impressive. The stonework was cracked and pitted from long exposure to wind and rain, and the tall, crenellated towers had a battered, lopsided look. And yet somehow the familiar crumbling battlements and ivy-wrapped walls still had the power to stir him deeply. The Castle had stood firm against wars and pestilence, against darkness and decay, guarding his ancestors as they guarded the Land. Fourteen generations of the Forest line had been raised within those walls, fourteen generations of service. Rupert sighed quietly. Sometimes the past seemed to lie heavily on his shoulders. But even though he'd spent most of his young life praying for a chance to escape from the Castle, it was still his home and he was glad to be back.

'The Castle's much more impressive once you get inside,' he assured the Princess.

'It would have to be,' said Julia.

'We've four separate wings of a thousand rooms each, twelve banquet halls, three ballrooms, servants' quarters, guards' quarters, stables, courtyard . . .'

Julia stared at the modestly sized Castle before her, no more than three hundred feet wide, and barely a hundred high. 'You've got all that? In there?'

'Ah,' said Rupert casually. 'The Castle's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.'

'How did that happen?'

'Cock-up at the architects,' said Rupert, grinning.

'A thousand rooms to a wing,' muttered the Princess. 'How do you heat the place?'

'Mostly we don't,' Rupert admitted. 'I hope you brought some thermal underwear.'

'How many rooms are there altogether?'

'We're not actually sure,' said Rupert, beginning to wish he'd never brought the subject up. 'Some rooms are only there on certain days. And nobody's been able to find the South Wing since we lost it thirty-two years ago. It averages five thousand, two hundred and fourteen rooms in the autumn. I think. Still, not to worry; you're perfectly safe, as long as you stick to the main corridors.'

He was saved from Julia's response by a coarse voice from the gatehouse.

'Oi! You by the moat! On your way, or me and the lads'll use you for target practice.'

Rupert glared up at the shadowed embrasures over the portcullis. Once inside, he'd have a few sharp words with the Officer of the Watch. No doubt there'd be a right old panic in the Keep once they recognised his voice.

'Let down the drawbridge, fellow!' he called grandly, striking a regal pose.

'Get lost,' came the answer. The unicorn sniggered audibly. Rupert's hand dropped to his swordhilt.

'Don't you know who I am?' he asked tightly.

'No,' said the voice. 'Don't care much neither.'

'I am the Prince Rupert!'

'No, you're not,' said the voice.

'Are you sure you've got the right Castle?' Julia asked sweetly.

'Unfortunately, yes,' said the unicorn. 'Now you know why we're always so glad to be away from it.'

'I tell you I am the Prince!' howled Rupert, very much aware of how all this must look to the Princess.

'Leave it out,' said the voice in a bored tone. 'Everyone knows young Rupe got sent off on a quest to kill a dragon. He is missing, presumed dead. Now beat it, you pair of tramps, or we'll string our bows and the dogs'll get their dinner early.'

Tramps!' screamed Rupert. 'I'll kill him! I'll kill them all!'

'Easy, easy,' soothed Julia, hanging determinedly on to Rupert's arm to stop him drawing his sword. 'He does have a point, you know; we're not exactly dressed as royalty.'

Rupert glanced at their battered and travel-stained clothing and scowled even more fiercely.

'Guard! This is your last chance!'

'Push off, peasant.'

Rupert was all set to explode on the spot when a determined voice carried clearly from the trees behind him. 'Stand fast, Prince Rupert; I'll fix him.'

There was a slight pause, and then thirty feet of annoyed dragon erupted out of the trees, showering Rupert, Julia and the unicorn with leaves and broken branches. The dragon's powerful wings brought him quickly to the raised drawbridge, and held him in position as his wickedly clawed feet reached out and dug in, rending the thick wood like so much paper. The guard in the gatehouse had a brief but clearly audible fit of the vapours, and then ran away, screaming for help. The dragon's wings beat strongly as he threw his weight against the windlass holding the drawbridge up. Light shimmered on emerald scales as great muscles bunched and corded. There was a sudden squealing of chains, and Rupert, Julia and the unicorn stood well back as the drawbridge slammed down across the moat. The dragon glided down to join them, while Rupert and Julia applauded loudly.

'Nice one,' said the unicorn. 'Now they'll probably send the whole bleeding army out to fight us.'

Rupert led his party across the drawbridge, which shuddered under the dragon's weight. Something stirred in the moat, and Julia peered dubiously at the shifting scum covering the murky waters.

'Do you keep crocodiles in your moat, Rupert?'

'Not any more,' said Rupert absently, keeping a watchful eye on the huge double doors at the other end of the Keep. 'We used to, but then something set up home in the moat and ate them all.'

'What was it?'

'We're not sure,' said Rupert. 'It doesn't really matter; if it can eat crocodiles, it can certainly guard a moat ...'

The massive oaken doors swung slowly open before them, and Rupert led his party out of the Keep and into the Castle's courtyard. He stopped just inside the inner gates and stared about him, frowning. Even this late in the day there should have been traders at their stalls, haggling with a bustling crowd of villagers and townsfolk. There should have been conjurers and gypsies, knife-sharpeners and tinkers, beggars and priests. There should have been guards at the gates, and men-at-arms watching from the battlements: Instead, the vast empty courtyard lay still and silent before him. No braziers or torches disturbed the courtyard's gloom, and the shadows seemed very dark. Rupert moved slowly forward, the noise of his soft footsteps resounding in the quiet.

'Where the hell is everybody?'

His words echoed hollowly back from the towering stone walls around him, and there was no reply.

'I've seen livelier graveyards,' muttered Julia.

'If I see anything that looks even remotely like a cross painted on a door, I'm leaving,' said the unicorn, rolling his eyes nervously. 'Something's wrong here; I can feel it in my water.'

'Oh shut up,' snapped Rupert. 'If there was a plague they wouldn't have opened the gates to us, dragon or no dragon.'

'I take it things aren't normally this. . . peaceful,' said the dragon.

'Not usually, no,' said Rupert tightly. He came to a halt at the bottom of the long flight of steps leading up to the main entrance hall, and glowered warily at the closed entrance doors. 'There must have been some kind of emergency in the Land. Something so menacing that the Castle itself had to be stripped of its defenders, and then sealed against the outside world.' He stared up at the unmanned battlements and catwalks, and shivered suddenly. 'But what kind of threat ...'

'The Darkwood,' said a quiet voice.

Rupert spun round sword in hand as torchlight spilled suddenly into the courtyard. At the top of the flight of steps, a tall, imposing figure swathed in shining chain-mail stood half-silhouetted before the slowly opening entrance-hall doors. Broad shoulders topped an impressively muscled frame, and the torchlight glowed ruddy on the huge double-headed axe in his hands. Julia drew her sword and moved protectively in beside Rupert as a dozen armed guardsmen burst out of the hall to reinforce the silently watching figure.

'Friends of yours?' said Julia casually.

'Not necessarily,' said Rupert.

For a long moment nobody moved, and then the tall figure lowered his axe and smiled.

'Welcome home, Prince Rupert.'

'Thank you, sir Champion. Good to be back.' Rupert bowed slightly, but didn't sheathe his sword. 'Surprised to see me?'

'Just a little.' The Champion stared thoughtfully past Rupert's shoulder. 'I see you found a dragon.'

That's right,' said Rupert calmly. 'Now do you want to get rid of those guards, or shall I tell him supper's on?'

The Champion laughed, and dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand. They disappeared back into the entrance hall as the

Champion strode majestically down the steps to greet Rupert and his party. Prince and Champion stared at each other thoughtfully, and Julia frowned as she realised neither man had put aside his weapon yet. The Champion worried her. He had to be at least forty, but he carried the massive war axe as if it was a toy. Old scars patterned a hard, unyielding face, and his constant slight smile wasn't reflected in the cold, dark eyes. Killer's eyes, thought Julia, and shivered suddenly. Just standing there, he made her feel . . . uneasy.

'Well,' said Rupert softly, 'what's the situation these days?'

'No change, Sire,' said the Champion. 'I still may have to kill you.'

'For the good of the Realm?'

'Yes, Sire. For the good of the Realm.'

They locked eyes, and Rupert looked away first. The Champion glanced at Julia.

'And who might this be?'

'The Princess Julia,' said Rupert.

The Champion bowed slightly. 'If you'll excuse me a moment, Sire, I'll see that a room is made ready for your guest.'

He turned and made his way unhurriedly back up the steps to the entrance hall. Rupert swore under his breath and sheathed his sword with unnecessary violence. Julia glanced uncertainly after the departing Champion, and then sheathed her sword too.

'What was all that about him killing you?' she asked quietly.

'I'm a second son, remember?' said Rupert grimly. 'My brother's first in line for the throne, but there are any number of factions within the Court ready to use me as a figurehead in their grab for power. The Champion's duty is to preserve the Realm; he'd cut me down in a moment if he thought it would prevent a civil war. I've known that all my life. I was supposed to die on the quest, and save everyone a lot of bother. Instead, I've come back at a difficult time, and he's afraid I might try to take advantage of the situation, whatever it is.'

'Would you?' asked Julia. 'Take advantage, I mean.'

'I don't know,' said Rupert. 'I suppose ...'

'Quiet,' said the unicorn. 'He's coming back.'

A handful of courtiers and Ladies-in-Waiting jostled for position at the entrance-hall doors as the Champion made his way back down the steps, accompanied by four armed guards wearing scarlet and gold colours. Julia's hand dropped to her sword again.

'It's all right,' said Rupert quickly. 'They're just an escort.'

Julia glared suspiciously at the guards, and then seemed to relax a little, but Rupert noticed uneasily that her hand still rested on the pommel of her sword. A polite cough drew his attention back to the Champion waiting patiently before him.

'Yes, sir Champion?'

The Champion studied Rupert at length. 'Interesting scars you have on your face, Sire.'

'Cut myself shaving.'

'And what happened to your armour?'

'I left it in the Tanglewood. It got in the way.'

The Champion shook his head slowly. 'I've sent word of your arrival to the Court, Sire. I think you'd better pay your respects to your father.'

Rupert winced. 'Can't it wait?'

'I'm afraid not.' The Champion's voice was polite, but his cold, inflexible gaze allowed no room for disagreement. 'As you may have gathered, Sire, we have a problem on our hands.'

Rupert nodded warily. 'You mentioned the Darkwood ...'

'Yes, Sire. It's spreading.'

Rupert stared at the Champion in disbelief. The Darkwood's boundaries hadn't shifted by so much as an inch in centuries. 'How fast is it moving?'

'Half a mile a day. The Tanglewood has already fallen to the long night, and demons are loose in the Forest. The Darkwood will be here in a matter of months. Unless we find a way to stop it.'

'Stop it? You couldn't even slow it down!' Rupert didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He fought down an impulse to grab the Champion and shake some sense into him, and struggled to keep his voice calm. 'We came back through the Darkwood, sir Champion. The place is crawling with demons. We were lucky to get out alive, and we had a dragon with us.'

'We have trained soldiers,' said the Champion mildly.

'Oh yes?' said Rupert. 'Where?' He glared pointedly round the deserted battlements, but the Champion's gaze didn't waver.

'Demons have been attacking the outlying farms and villages, Sire; we've had to send out every guardsman and man-at-arms we can spare to protect them. The outermost settlements are being evacuated, but since no one dares travel by night, it's a slow process. Too slow. Every night we lose more men. The demons have grown . . . cunning.'

'Yes,' said Rupert quietly, remembering. 'They hunt in packs now.'

'That's not possible,' said the Champion flatly.

'Bull,' said Julia. 'I saw it with my own eyes.'

'Demons don't co-operate,' the Champion insisted, ignoring Julia.

'They do now,' said Rupert. 'Why have you sealed the Castle?'

'Demons have been here,' said the Champion. 'When night falls, they appear at the clearing's edge, watching from the shadows, their eyes glowing in the night like coals. So far they've made no move against the Castle, but every night there are more. It's as though they're . . . waiting for something.'

Rupert bit his lower lip thoughtfully. If the Darkwood was still several months away, what were demons doing so far ahead of the darkness? And where were they hiding during the day? He shook his head slowly in disgust.

'Since I've had the most recent experience of the Darkwood, I suppose that makes me an expert ... I'd better see my father.'

'Yes, Sire. The Court is waiting. With respect, sire, don't expect too much. Every faction in the Court seems to have its own plan for dealing with the Darkwood, none of them worth a damn. Your father listens to all of them, which is why nothing's been done. Try to make him understand, Sire; there are decisions that must be made. He can't go on putting them off.'

Rupert stared at the Champion thoughtfully. He was being set up for something; he could tell. The last time everyone started calling him 'Sire', he'd ended up travelling through the Darkwood in search of a dragon.

'Where's Harald?' he asked suspiciously. 'He's always been the practical one of the family.'

The Champion shrugged. 'I don't think your brother really believes in the Darkwood.'

Rupert snorted. 'I'll change his bloody mind for him. All right, take me to the Court. No, wait a minute; I've a bone to pick with you. That guard at the gatehouse—'

'Has been replaced,' said the Champion. 'Now, Sire, I think we've wasted enough time here. The Court is waiting.'

'Let them,' said the dragon. 'I want a word with you.'

His massive head swung down till the great golden eyes were on a level with the Champion's. The armed escort fell back in disarray, but the Champion stood his ground.

'Rupert is my friend,' said the dragon. 'You threatened to kill him.' Bright sparks glowed suddenly in the dragon's nostrils, and two thin plumes of smoke drifted up on the still evening air. The Champion didn't move a muscle.

'I have my duty,' he said steadily.

To hell with your duty,' said the dragon.

The Champion glanced at Rupert, who was watching the scene with undisguised glee. All his life he'd walked in the Champion's shadow, knowing he lived or died at that man's whim. Now the shoe was on the other foot, and he intended to enjoy it while it lasted. The Champion took in Rupert's grin, and turned reluctantly back to the dragon.

'If anything happens to Rupert,' said the dragon, 'I'll level this Castle to the ground. Got it?'

'Got it,' said the Champion. 'Anyone ever tell you your breath stinks of sulphur?'

'Dragon!' said Rupert quickly, as the creature's claws flexed ominously. 'I appreciate the thought, but much as I hate to admit it, we need him.'

'Thank you,' said the Champion, dryly.

The dragon glared at the Champion a moment longer, and then pulled back his head. Smoke continued to seep from his nostrils as he ostentatiously sharpened his claws on a convenient piece of brickwork. The Champion glanced at Rupert.

'I think you'd better teach your pet some manners, Sire.'

Rupert shrugged. 'When you're thirty feet long and breathe fire, who needs manners? And sir Champion, don't ever call my friend a pet. You might upset him.'

The dragon smiled widely. The Champion studied the many rows of gleaming serrated teeth, and pointedly turned his back on the dragon.

'If you're quite ready, Sire, your father . . .'

'I know,' said Rupert. 'He hates to be kept waiting. Let's go, Julia. Julia?'

'Over there,' said the unicorn.

Rupert looked round just in time to see Julia knee a guardsman in the groin and punch out a Lady-in-Waiting.

Julia had been having an interesting time. Fed up with being ignored by everybody, she'd wandered off on her own to see what there was to see. She hadn't got far before being intercepted by a delicately pretty Lady-in-Waiting in her late thirties, and a bored-looking young guardsman.

'A Princess?' said the Lady Cecelia, glancing disparagingly at Julia's battered leather jerkin and trousers. 'From . . . where, precisely?'

'Hillsdown,' said Julia, taking in the Lady Cecelia's ornate gown with a sinking heart. Intricately stitched, and studded with hundreds of semi-precious stones, the shaped and padded gown covered the Lady from shoulder to ankle, and was so heavy she could move only in little mincing steps. The massive flared cuffs were wide enough to swallow a small dog, and the bulging cleavage was at least partly supported by the ribbed corset responsible for the Lady's tiny waist. The Lady Cecelia looked rich, aristocratic and gorgeous. And she knew it.

I don't give a damn, thought Julia. I'm not wearing a corset.

'Hillsdown,' said the Lady Cecelia thoughtfully. 'Possibly I'm mistaken, dear, but I always thought Hillsdown was a Duchy. And strictly speaking, a Duchy isn't entitled to have Princesses. Still, country titles aren't like the real thing, are they? I mean, they don't count for anything in Polite Society.' She bestowed a gracious smile on Julia, to underline the point that while Julia might not be a part of Polite Society, the Lady Cecelia most definitely was.

I'd better not hit her, thought Julia. Rupert's got enough problems as it is.

She leaned forward and studied the Lady Cecelia's dress closely. In addition to the corset, there were definite traces of bone stays built into the dress itself, to help maintain the hour-glass figure.

'How do you breathe in that thing?' asked Julia.

'Daintily,' said the Lady Cecelia, coldly.

'Does everybody dress like this?'

'Anybody who is Anybody. Surely even country gentry know High Fashion when they see it?'

I'm not going to hit her, thought Julia determinedly.

'You arrived with young Rupert, I believe,' said the Lady Cecelia.

'That's right,' said Julia. 'Do you know him?'

'Oh, everyone knows Rupert,' said the Lady Cecelia, with an unpleasant smile. The guard at her side sniggered.

Julia frowned. 'Did I say something funny?' she asked, ominously.

The Lady Cecelia giggled girlishly. 'Rupert, my dear, is a Prince in name only; he'll never inherit the throne. That falls to his elder brother, Prince Harald. Ah, dear Harald—now there is a Prince. Tall, handsome, charming, and a devil on the dance floor. And when it comes to the Ladies ... oh my dear, the tales I could tell you about Harald.'

'Never mind Harald,' said Julia. 'Tell me about Rupert.'

'Prince Rupert,' said the Lady Cecelia crossly, 'is no earthly use to anybody. He can't dance, or sing, or write poetry, and he has absolutely no idea how to treat a Lady.'

'Right,' grinned the guard. 'He still rides a unicorn.'

'He's not a real man,' purred the Lady Cecelia, 'not like my Gregory.'

The guard smirked, and flexed his muscles under the Lady's admiring gaze.

'Rupert,' said the Lady Cecelia, 'is a dull, boring—'

'Spineless little creep,' said the guard. And they both laughed; very unpleasantly.

So Julia quite naturally kneed the guard in the groin and punched the Lady Cecelia in the mouth.

On the other side of the courtyard, Rupert watched in amazement as the guard sank to his knees, and the Lady-in-Waiting stretched her length on the courtyard floor. One of the Champion's escorts drew his sword and started forward. Rupert kicked the man's feet out from under him, and set his sword point at the guard's throat.

'Nice moves,' said the Champion. 'You've improved, Sire.'

'Thank you,' said Rupert tightly. 'Keep an eye on this clown while I take care of Julia.' He sheathed his sword, and hurried over just in time to stop Julia slamming a boot into the Lady Cecelia.

'Julia, not here! Please, come with me to the Court and meet my father. There are lots of people there you can hit, I'll be happy to point them out to you, but don't waste your spleen on amateurs like these. The real creeps wouldn't be seen dead outside the Court.'

Julia sniffed angrily, but allowed Rupert to lead her away.

'I suppose they insulted you,' said Rupert.

'Something like that,' said Julia.

'Forget about it,' said Rupert soothingly. 'I'm sure they won't do it again.'

'Never,' promised a faint male voice from the ground behind them.

Rupert grinned, and shook his head. It was obvious that Julia wasn't going to take easily to being a lady again.

The Champion bowed to Julia as she and Rupert rejoined him. 'If you will allow me, Princess Julia, the Court is this way.'

Julia inclined her head regally, accepted the Champion's proffered arm, and allowed him to assist her up the steps to the entrance hall. The four guardsmen followed at a discreet distance. Rupert turned to the dragon and the unicorn.

'I thought the escort was for you,' said the dragon.

'Hardly,' said Rupert. 'Well, don't just stand there; come with me to see the King.'

'You want both of us?' said the unicorn timidly.

'Damn right,' said the Prince, smiling. 'I'm going to need all the support I can get. Now let's go and look after Julia. Before she kills someone.'

Rupert paced impatiently up and down the Court's narrow antechamber, shooting seething glances at the securely locked double doors that led into the Great Hall itself. The Champion had gone in first to inform the King that his son had finally arrived, and then, as so many times before, the ancient doors had been slammed in Rupert's face. Once again, the Court was busy deciding his future. Whatever they want, the answer's no, thought Rupert determinedly. I didn't survive the Darkwood just to get kitted off by my own scheming relatives.

He stopped pacing and listened at the doors. A constant hubbub seeped through the solid wood, indicating that most of the Court were still present, despite the late hour. Rupert grinned. Courtiers hated having to work late; it interfered with the important things of life, like hunting, drinking and wenching. Rupert stretched slowly, and thought longingly of the deep-matttessed bed waiting for him in his room. But, tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he'd discovered what new deviltry the King and his Court had come up with. He threw himself into one of the exquisitely uncomfortable chairs provided, and looked to see what his friends were doing.

Julia had her dagger out, and was using the family portraits for target practice. Her aim was pretty good. The dragon was lying partly in the antechamber, and partly in the outer hall. He was practising blowing smoke rings from his nostrils, and chewing absently at a centuries-old tapestry Rupert had never liked much anyway. The unicorn was . . . Rupert winced.

'Unicorn, couldn't you have done that before you came in?'

'Sorry,' said the unicorn. 'I get nervous inside strange buildings, you know that. I keep thinking the roof's going to fall on me.'

Rupert shook his head, and looked back at the closed double doors. How many times had he stood before those doors, waiting for permission to speak to his own father? His mind drifted back through yesterday, and found nothing pleasant there. Born seven years after his brother, Rupert had been a surprise to everyone, and bad news to most. A King needed a second son as insurance in case something happened to the first, but two healthy adult sons meant nothing but trouble. Rupert had known that from an early age; everyone had taken great pains to make it clear to him. He scowled, as memories crept out of the shadows. The tutors, who beat him for being brighter than his favoured elder brother. His instructors-at-arms, who beat him for not being as strong as his brother. The courtiers, who flattered or insulted him according to the fashion. The Barons, who intrigued in his name. And the Champion, whose cold dark eyes were full of death.

Foxfire moss glowed steadily in several lamps hanging from the low ceiling, but the antechamber was still full of shadows, as though darkness had followed him into the Castle. Rupert leaned back in his chair and sighed, wearily. Out in the Forest it had all seemed so simple and straightforward. He had to go back to the Castle because the Forest Land needed him. He smiled bitterly. The Forest didn't need him. It never had. The only people who'd ever needed him were Julia, the dragon and the unicorn. His friends. Rupert's smile softened at the thought, and he rolled it back and forth in his mind, savouring it. He'd never had friends before. His position had kept him apart from other children, and his family . . . His mother died when he was five years old. His brother insulted and tormented him. And his father sent him out on a quest, to die.

Rupert shook his head to clear it. He'd passed through the Darkwood twice, fought off demons and called down a Rainbow. Stuff his father, stuff the Court, and stuff the bloody Champion.

They'd tried to get rid of him, and it hadn't worked. He was back, and they could like it or lump it.

'How much longer?' asked Julia, retrieving her dagger from an ancestor's eye.

Rupert shrugged. They like to keep me waiting; it helps put me in my place.'

'And you put up with that?'

Rupert looked at Julia, and then at the unicorn and the dragon.

'I always used to,' he said thoughtfully, 'but things have changed since then. Dragon ...'

The dragon looked up from sharpening his claws on a handy suit of armour. 'Yes, Rupert?'

'See those double doors?'

'Yes, Rupert.'

'See how many matchsticks you can make out of them.'

The dragon studied the doors a moment, and then grinned broadly. He surged to his feet, and reached out to tap the doors with one clawed hand. They shuddered under the dragon's touch, and nodding solemnly, he backed carefully out of the narrow antechamber and turned himself around in the hall outside. Rupert, Julia and the unicorn squeezed themselves into a far corner as the dragon cautiously introduced his rear end into the antechamber. He peered over his shoulder to check his friends were safely out of the line of fire, and then lashed out with a vicious swing of his tail. The doors exploded inwards, splinters flying on the air like grapeshot. Rupert nodded with satisfaction as screams and curses erupted from the packed Court. Slam the doors in my face, will they? He grinned, and ducking past the dragon's tail, moved forward to check the damage. One door hung crookedly from its only remaining hinge, while the other had given up the ghost entirely and was lying face down on the floor. Rupert took a deep breath and stepped forward into the gap where the doors had been. The Court's uproar died away to an astonished silence.

Rupert looked about him. Several hundred assorted courtiers and Ladies-in-Waiting stared back with a fair mixture of fear, outrage and curiosity. Half a hundred foxfire lamps shed their silver glow across the Court, while at the far end of the vast, spacious hall, the last of the evening light fell through gorgeous stained-glass windows on to a massive throne, set high on a raised dais and carved in its entirety from a single block of oak. Sitting on that throne, unruffled and unmoved, was his father, King John IV. The King's great leonine head seemed almost too heavy for his frail body, and his richly patterned robes and proud golden crown couldn't disguise the ragged mop of grey hair and uncombed beard. Even on his better days, Rupert's father still looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. And yet despite the strong impression of age and tiredness that hung about him like an old, familiar cloak, King John carried himself with dignity, and his deep-set eyes were calm and steady.

At his side stood Thomas Grey, the Court Astrologer. Tall, broad-shouldered, and darkly handsome, the black-clad magician had every aspect of regality save the barest essential: noble birth. Born the son of a blacksmith, he'd been the King's companion since childhood, and on John's ascension to the throne, Thomas Grey had cut short a promising career at the Sorcerers' Academy to return and stand at his friend's side.

Rupert disliked the man intensely; he smiled too much.

The courtiers watched with hostile eyes as the Prince moved forward into the Court, his footsteps echoing loudly in the hush. He stopped almost immediately and turned to the Court usher, who was still staring slack-jawed at the ruined doorway.

'Well, don't just stand there, usher; announce us.'

'I think they know we're here, Rupert,' said an amused voice behind him. Rupert grinned, but shook his head firmly.

'That's not the point, Julia. We have to be announced.'

'I have absolutely no intention of announcing you,' said the usher haughtily. 'You can't come barging in here and ...' His voice died away as the dragon's head peered interestedly over Rupert's shoulder. Colour drained from the usher's face as the dragon squeezed his bulk slowly through the door frame, widening it somewhat in the process. The usher swallowed heavily.

'Announcing you right away, Sire.'

He stepped hastily forward and, striking his best formal pose, declaimed: 'Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom, second in line to the Forest throne, defender of the weak, warrior of the Realm, and collector of lesser taxes!' He then glanced nervously back over his shoulder and added in a smaller voice, '. . . and friends ...'

Julia curtsied daintily, and then realised she was still holding her dagger. She grinned and, lifting her trouser to show a generous amount of leg, stuffed the weapon unconcernedly into the top of her boot. The dragon smiled widely, light gleaming prettily on his pointed teeth. Several of the nearer courtiers had a sudden attack of modesty, and faded quickly back into the crowd. The unicom bobbed his head nervously, and christened the door jamb.

'Do that again,' muttered Rupert, 'and so help me I'll tie it in a knot.'

'Rupert, dear fellow, so good to see you back safe and well,'boomed a deep voice from the rear of the Court. Rupert turned to see an aisle open up in the courtiers as his brother Harald came striding confidently forward to greet him. Tall, classically handsome and loaded with muscle, Harald looked every inch a hero out of legend, and he knew it. He clapped Rupert on the shoulder and shook his hand firmly. They both tried for the knuckle-crusher and Rupert lost, as always.

'Interesting dragon you've brought us, dear boy,' said Harald brightly, 'but you are supposed to kill them first, you know.'

'You're welcome to try,' smiled Rupert, surreptitiously trying to shake the blood back into his fingers. Harald glanced at the dragon, who was licking his lips with a long forked tongue and eyeing the elder Prince hungrily.

'Perhaps later,' said Harald, and turned quickly away to smile charmingly at Julia. 'Well, Rupert, at least your taste in women has improved. Aren't you going to introduce us?'

'I have a feeling one of us is going to regret this,' said Rupert. 'Princess Julia of Hillsdown, may I present my brother, Prince Harald of the Forest Kingdom.'

Used as he was to violent reactions to his friends, Rupert was still rather taken aback when the entire Court gasped with what sounded suspiciously like shock. Julia took one look at Harald's outstretched hand, and let fly with a scream of pure rage. Harald looked at Julia's right hand, and his jaw dropped. He fell back a pace, making helpless little shooing motions with his hands. Julia was all set to lunge at Harald and punch him out, but Rupert recognised the build-up and grabbed her from behind.

'Now what's the matter?' he demanded wearily. 'Can't you get on with anyone?'

'It's him!' shrieked the Princess, fighting to break free.

'I know it's him!' snapped Rupert. 'I introduced you, remember?'

Julia stopped struggling, and Rupert warily released her. 'You don't understand,' she said dully. 'He's the Prince I was supposed to marry; the one I ran away from.'

Rupert closed his eyes briefly in disgust. Every time he seemed to be getting the hang of things . . .

'Why didn't you say something earlier, Julia?'

'I never knew his name, Rupert. They never told me. I was promised in marriage when I was still a child; the ceremony was supposed to take place once I came of age. Your father and mine exchanged rings of engraved white gold as a token of the arrangement. I've worn mine since I was four years old, and Harald is still wearing his. I saw it on his hand. It bears exactly the same design as mine.'

Rupert glared at his brother, who was busily gathering the remaining shreds of his composure.

'Is that right? You're supposed to marry her?'

'Well yes, dear boy, at least I was, but ...'

'But what?'

'Well she did run away, after all,' said Harald huffily. 'That being the case, father quite naturally arranged another marriage for me, with one of the Barons' daughters. Nice little filly. Damn fine dowry, and good political connections. Now, thanks to you ...'

'Thanks to you, Rupert,' said the King, his dry, even voice cutting effortlessly across Harald's, 'since the contract with the Duchy of Hillsdown still stands, technically, the original marriage will have to take place after all. Any other disastrous news you'd like to share with us?'

'Give me a moment,' said Rupert. 'I'm sure I can think of something.'

Harald stalked off to have several quiet words with the King, while Rupert did his best to mollify the fuming Julia.

'I'm not marrying him,' she snapped furiously. 'I'll enter a nunnery first.'

Rupert boggled at the thought of Julia in a nunnery, and strove to remain calm.

'You won't have to marry him,' he promised soothingly. 'I'llil sort something out.'

Julia sniffed, unconvinced, and studied Harald dubiously.

'He's your brother — what's he like?'

'Rich, good-looking, and successful with women. Three good reasons to hate anyone. Harald, however, is also a pompous, meticulous, occasionally hard-working twit who thinks fun should be outlawed for everyone not actually of noble birth. When I was a boy, he made my life hell. I still have some of the scars. Basically, he's a hard-headed, ruthless creep who'll make a great King.'

'Your average Prince,' said Julia solemnly, and Rupert had to grin.

The Court, meantime, had finally gathered its collective wits. Rupert's return alone would have provided the courtiers with enough gossip to last out the year, but his dramatic entrance via an exploding doorway was an unexpected bonus. The arrival of Julia and the dragon had sent them into a positive frenzy of speculation, though as yet nobody had quite worked up the nerve formally to introduce themselves to either the dragon or the Princess. In fact, there was much lively discussion as to which of the pair it would be safer to approach first. A few braver souls had started to edge casually forward when everyone suddenly discovered what happens when thirty feet of dragon breaks wind. The nearest courtiers fell back in disarray, desperately clapping perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses, and there was a general rush to open windows. Rupert and Julia looked at each other resignedly. It was obviously going to be one of those days.

The King was on his feet, rage darkening his face. 'Get that dragon out of my Court! Get him out before he does it again!'

The dragon did it again. Rupert glared at him.

'Must you?'

'Yes,' said the dragon firmly.

'Are you going to do it again?'

'Possibly.'

'Then go outside and do it; there's a whole Castle to choose from.'

The dragon shrugged indifferently. 'Can't be bothered. I think I'll take a little nap instead.' He stretched his massive wings, sending several courtiers diving to the floor for safety, and then he curled up in the middle of the Great Hall, his chin resting comfortably on his tail. The great golden eyes closed, and he was soon snoring steadily, like a thundercloud with indigestion.

'Has your friend finished now?' asked the King icily, settling back on to his throne.

'I hope so,' said Rupert. 'But let's keep our voices down, and let sleeping dragons lie.'

The King sighed, and shook his head slowly. 'Approach the throne.'

Rupert did so, followed by Julia. The Astrologer stood to the King's left, Harald to his right. They both bowed politely to Julia, who ignored them. The King stared silently at Rupert for some time.

'Rupert, can't you do anything right?'

'Not much,' said Rupert. 'Sorry I couldn't oblige you by getting killed during the quest, but being dead is so boring.'

'I was referring to the dragon,' said the King.

'Sure you were,' said Rupert coldly. The King didn't look away.

'I did what was best,' he said softly.

'You mean what the Astrologer told you was best.'

Thomas Grey bowed formally, but his pale blue eyes glittered dangerously. 'I advise the King to the best of my poor ability,' he said silkily. 'We both felt a successful quest might do much to help your standing in this Court. A Prince who had slain a dragon would, at the very least, be somewhat easier to arrange a marriage for.'

Rupert grinned mockingly. 'What's the matter — still a glut of second sons on the market?'

The Astrologer started to say something, but was cut off by the King, who was studying the unicorn narrowly, and frowning.

'Rupert, what happened to the unicorn's horn?'

'He lost it in a fight.'

'Careless of him,' said Harald. They all looked to see if he was joking. He wasn't.

'Harald,' said the King, 'why don't you start thinking about what you'd like to eat at your wedding? You know debate isn't your strong point.'

'Neither's thinking,' muttered Rupert.

'At least he would have had more sense than to bring back a live dragon,' snapped King John. 'Or a Princess we were well rid of. Now we'll have to go through with the damn marriage, or Hillsdown will break off diplomatic relations.'

'I'm not marrying Harald,' said Julia defiantly.

'You will do as you're told,' said the King, 'or you can spend the time until your wedding day in the dirtiest, most dismal dungeon I can find.'

Julia locked eyes with the King, and she was the first to look away. She turned uncertainly to Rupert.

'Are you going to let him talk to me like that?'

'He's my father,' said Rupert.

There was an awkward pause.

'It's not the end of the world, your highness,' said the Astrologer smoothly to Julia. 'There's no need to rush things; after all, the marriage needn't take place immediately. I'm sure that once you've got to know Harald you'll find him a decent, upstanding young man who'll make you a fine husband. And remember, he will be King one day.'

'If there's a Kingdom left,' said the Champion.

Everybody jumped. The Champion had moved silently forward to stand on Rupert's right. He'd left his war axe behind, but he now carried a sword on his hip.

'I see you're still good at sneaking up on people,' said Rupert.

The Champion smiled. 'One of my most useful talents.' He turned and inclined his head slightly to King John. 'Your majesty, we do have a serious problem to discuss. The Darkwood—'

'Can wait a minute,' said the King peevishly. 'I haven't finished with Rupert yet. Rupert, you were supposed to bring back the valuable parts of a dead dragon and at least some of his hoard. Haven't brought back any gold?'

'No,' said Rupert. 'There wasn't any.'

'What about the dragon's hoard?'

'He collected butterflies.'

They all stared at the sleeping dragon. 'Only you, Rupert,' said the Champion quietly. 'Only you ...'

'Haven't you brought back anything of value?' asked the King.

'Just this,' said Rupert, drawing his sword. Everyone studied the gleaming blade warily.

'It has a strong magical aura,' said the Astrologer dubiously. 'What does it do?'

'It summons rainbows,' said Rupert, just a little lamely.

There was a long pause.

'Let's talk about the Darkwood,' said King John. 'Suddenly, it seems a preferable topic of conversation.'

'Suits me,' said Rupert, sheathing his sword.

'Time is running out, your majesty,' said the Champion earnestly. 'We've already lost three of the outlying villages to the demons, and every day more of the Forest falls under the shadow of the long night. The trees are dying, and rivers are fouled with blood. Babes are stillborn, and crops rot before they can be harvested. Demons run ahead of the Darkwood, slaughtering all in their path. My men are dying out there, just to buy us a little more time. I respectfully beg your permission to levy the Barons and raise an army. We must make a stand against the darkness, while we still can.'

'So you keep telling me,' said King John testily, 'but you know as well as I that the Barons won't supply me with men for an army, for fear I'd use it against them. The way they've been acting lately, I just might. No, Sir Champion, an army is out of the question.'

The Champion shook his head stubbornly. 'I must have more men, your majesty.'

'The Royal Guard—'

'Aren't enough for what needs to be done!'

'They'll have to be,' said the King flatly. 'All my other guards and men-at-arms are scattered across the Kingdom, protecting my people and keeping the roads open. Shall I recall them to build you an army, and leave the villages and towns to be overrun by the darkness?'

'If need be,' said the Champion evenly. 'You don't cure a disease by treating its symptoms. The demons are born of darkness; the only way to stop the long night spreading is to lead an army into the Darkwood and destroy its heart.'

Rupert's stomach turned suddenly as he realised what the Champion was saying. If the guardsmen were recalled, that would leave the villages unprotected, and the demons would roll right over them. A cold sweat beaded his brow as he remembered leaping, clawing demonkind surging into the Darkwood clearing where he and Julia stood back to back, swords in hand. He remembered waiting to die, and hoping it would be quick. The demons were of the dark, and knew nothing of honour or mercy. Villagers armed with scythes and pitchforks wouldn't stand a chance against the darkling tide that swarmed ahead of the Darkwood. Blood would fly on the night air, and the screams would last till morning . . .

'There has to be another way,' he blurted out, glaring at the Champion's impassive features.

'There is,' said Thomas Grey. 'When might of arms is not enough, there is still Magic.'

The Champion smiled contemptuously. 'Same old song, Astrologer. All your prophecies and illusions won't rid us of the Darkwood; sooner or later, it always comes down to cold steel.'

'You talk as if the dark were some wild animal, to be despatched with sword and lance,' snapped the Astrologer. 'Darkness can only be dispelled by light: white magic against black, reason against ignorance. Send an army into the Darkwood, and you'll never see it again.'

They stood glaring at each other across the throne. The Champion stood proud and tall in his gleaming chain-mail and yet his broad, muscular frame seemed almost dwarfed by the dark, imposing presence of the black-clad Astrologer, whose icy blue eyes were full of a secret knowledge. An aura of power and forboding hung around him like a shroud. Rupert studied the Astrologer, puzzled. In the few short months he'd been gone from the Court, Thomas Grey seemed to have grown in stature and influence. Not to mention bravery; there were few indeed who dared to contradict the Champion to his face. Rupert frowned. The Astrologer was too confident for his liking; magic might be the only answer to the darkness, but only a full sorcerer could hope to turn back the Darkwood. And Thomas Grey wasn't a sorcerer.

'Your majesty!' called a resonant, commanding voice from among the nearest courtiers. Rupert turned to look as a short fat man in gorgeous gravy-stained robes pushed his way forward. Sharp, piggy eyes peered from under plucked eyebrows, and his rouged mouth was pursed in a constant scowl. He stopped opposite the Champion, and bowed perfunctorily to the throne. 'Your majesty, as Minister for War, I really must protest ...'

'All right,' said the Champion equably, 'you've protested. Now beat it, we've got work to do.'

The Minister's face flushed with rage, but his voice was cold and hard. 'Whether you approve or not, sir Champion, I am the King's Minister for War. Address me in such an insolent fashion again, and I'll have you flogged.'

The Champion's hand dropped to his swordhilt. The Minister paled suddenly and fell back.

'Sir Champion,' said the King, 'draw on one of my Ministers and I'll have your head.'

For a moment it seemed the Champion would ignore him, but the moment passed, and he took his hand away from his sword. The Minister started breathing again.

'He insulted me,' said the Champion.

'You insulted my Minister,' said the King icily. 'An insult to him is an insult to me. Is that clear?'

'Of course, your majesty,' said the Champion, inclining his head slightly. 'I live only to serve you.'

The King turned his attention to the Minister. 'If you have something to contribute to the discussion, Lord Darius, by all means do so.'

'Your majesty is most gracious,' said Lord Darius, glaring at the Champion. 'It seems to me that both sir Champion and the Astrologer have overlooked the most obvious answer to our present difficulties. Since neither force of arms nor magic can hope to stand against the Darkwood, we must clearly fall back upon the one remaining course of action — diplomacy.'

There was a short pause. Rupert didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'The man's insane,' said the Champion. 'Talk with demons? You might as well argue with a thunderstorm. Demons kill to live, and live to kill.'

'For once, I agree with sir Champion,' said the Astrologer, staring coldly at Lord Darius. 'The Darkwood is the incarnation of darkness upon the earth. All that thrives within it is evil. Demons are not living creatures such as us; they exist only to serve the Darkwood.'

'They don't serve just the Darkwood,' said Darius softly. A sudden silence fell over the Court. Rupert stared at the Minister with growing horror as he realised what Darius was implying.

'You can't be serious,' said the Astrologer.

'Why not?' said Darius. 'How else do you explain the Darkwood's sudden growth? There's only one possible answer. The Demon Prince has returned.'

'A legend,' said the Champion, too quickly. 'A tale told to frighten children.'

'Some legends are true,' said Rupert quietly, but only Julia heard him. She took his hand, and squeezed it briefly.

'Men have struck deals with the Demon Prince before,' said Darius, persuasively. 'Why else would demons haunt the Castle grounds night after night, so far from the Darkwood? They're waiting for us to go to them and make a compact.'

'I'll strike no bargains with the dark,' said King John.

'But what if we give the Demon Prince what he desires ...' The Minister's voice died away beneath the King's cold, angry gaze.

'What do you suggest, Minister? That I surrender the villages to him, in the hope he'll spare this Castle?'

'Why not?' said Darius flatly. 'As sir Champion has already pointed out, what are the lives of a few peasants against the security of the Forest Kingdom?'

This is madness!' roared the Champion. 'I meant we should fight the darkness, not surrender to it! Set a blood sacrifice for the Demon Prince and we'll never be free of him!'

'Such a plan would destroy us all!' grated the Astrologer. 'We either stand against the dark or fall beneath it!'

'Your majesty, as Minister for War I must protest ...'

'Shut up!' yelled Rupert. A sudden silence fell across the Court as everyone looked at Rupert in surprise, having forgotten in the heat of the argument that he was still there.

'Thank you, Rupert,' said King John. 'It was getting a little noisy. According to the Champion, you passed through the Darkwood on your quest.'

'Twice,' said Rupert curtly.

A ripple of barely suppressed laughter ran through the Court. The Minister for War sniggered openly, his dark little eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

'Oh, come now, Rupert,' said Lord Darius, dropping a podgy hand on Rupert's arm. 'Surely you don't expect us to believe you passed through the Darkwood twice'. Even with a dragon in your party, the demons would have ripped you to pieces.'

'They tried,' said Rupert evenly. 'We got lucky. Now get your hand off my arm, or I'll feed you your fingers.'

The Minister removed his hand with exaggerated care, and bowed sarcastically.

'And how many demons did you meet in the Darkwood, sir hero? Ten? Twenty?'

Too many to count,' said Rupert angrily. 'Demons hunt in packs now.'

'Nonsense,' snapped the Astrologer. 'Everyone knows demons haven't the intelligence to work together. They prey on each other when food grows scarce.'

'I was there,' said Rupert grimly, struggling to remain calm. 'There were hundreds of the bloody creatures, fighting side by side.'

'Hundreds?' sneered Darius, his gaze openly contemptuous. 'Don't waste our time with such obvious lies. You were never in the Darkwood. I've no doubt the Princess Julia was most impressed by your pretty stories, but don't think to deceive us as well. You're a coward and a failure, and everyone here knows it. Now run along, and tell your tales to the scullery maid. You've no business here.'

Kupert drove his fist into the Minister's sneering mouth. The court gasped as Darius fell backwards into the crowd and lay still. A guardsman moved forward to restrain Rupert, and Julia kicked him between wind and water. The guard bent in two, and Julia rabbit-punched him. More guards came forward, and the Champion drew his sword. Rupert and Julia drew their swords and stood back to back. Por a long moment, nobody moved.

Think you're up to it, lad?' said the Champion, softly.

'Maybe,' said Rupert. 'You said yourself I'd improved, and Julia's pretty good with a sword too. Who knows, we might just get lucky.'

'You'll never be that lucky,' grinned the Champion, moving forward. His eyes were cold and hard and full of death.

'Enough!' roared the King, surging to his feet. 'Sir Champion, sheathe your sword. That's an order! Guards, return to your places; I'm in no danger.'

The Champion looked at the King a moment, and then sheathed his sword, his face calm and expressionless. The guards moved reluctantly back to their positions, and the King sank back on to his throne.

'Rupert, Julia; please put down your swords,' said King John evenly, his eyes darting from one to the other. 'You are under my protection in this Court, and you have my word you will come to no harm here.'

Julia glanced at Rupert, who nodded slowly. They sheathed their swords, and everybody relaxed a little. A small knot of courtiers gathered around the feebly groaning Lord Darius.

'Somebody help the Minister for War back to his chambers,' said the King, and two of the courtiers half led, half carried Darius away. The King hid a smile behind a raised hand, and leaned back in his throne. 'Now, Rupert ...'

'No, no, and no,' said Rupert firmly. 'No, I will not lead an army into the Darkwood to fight the demons. No, I will not lead a diplomatic party to talk to the demons. And no, I don't have any sense of duty or honour. I think that covers everything.'

Julia nodded solemnly.

'Rupert, I assure you—' King John began, but Rupert cut in quickly, knowing that if he started being reasonable now, he was lost.

'Forget it. I don't care what you've got lined up for me, the answer's no. I've done my bit; let somebody else put their head on the block for a change.'

'Rupert, if there was anybody else ...'

There is — Harald.'

His brother looked up from idly buffing his nails, and shook his head amiably. 'Afraid not, dear boy; I'm needed here. Sorry.'

'Blow it out your ear, Harald.'

There was a slight pause, as everyone pretended not to have heard that.

'Rupert,' said King John firmly, 'I quite agree that you've earned a rest. Unfortunately, the task I have for you is both urgent and vital, and it cannot wait. Tomorrow morning—

'Tomorrow morning.' shrieked Rupert. 'I've only just got back! I don't believe this. I just do not believe it. I've been back in the Castle less than an hour, and already you're trying to get rid of me again. What's the bloody rush?'

'We're running out of time,' said Thomas Grey. 'There's a Blue Moon rising.'

Dark murmurs rustled through the Court as the young Prince stared blankly at the Astrologer.

'There hasn't been a Blue Moon for centuries,' said Rupert slowly, and then a dim memory came flooding back to him, and his eyes widened. 'Wait a minute — according to some legends, the first time a Blue Moon rose, the Darkwood was born . . .'

The astrologer nodded grimly. 'Once in a Blue Moon, magic is loosed in the world. Wild Magic, to create or destroy, strong enough to reshape reality itself on the night the Blue Moon is full. We have seven months until that night; seven months in which to find an answer to the darkness. If we fail, the Darkwood will spread over all that is. Civilisation will fall, the long night will have no ending, and the world will belong to the demons.'

For a long while the Court stood silent, shaken by the Astrologer's dark vision.

'There must be something we can do,' said Rupert haltingly.

'There is,' said the Astrologer. 'Prince Rupert, you must journey to the Dark Tower, and there summon the High Warlock.'

Rupert stared at the Astrologer.

'I should have volunteered to lead an army against the Demon Prince,' he said finally. 'It would have been safer.'

'But you'll do it,' said King John.

'Of course,' said Rupert bitterly. 'You knew that before I came in here.'

'Wait a minute,' said Julia, moving quickly forward to stand between Rupert and the King. 'What's going on here? Rupert, who is this High Warlock?'

'A sorcerer,' said Rupert shortly. 'Very powerful, and very deadly. Exiled years ago. He doesn't take kindly to visitors.'

'You don't have to go,' said Julia, laying a gentle hand on his arm. 'You've done enough.'

'No,' said Rupert tiredly. 'Father's right, there is no one else . . . they can spare.'

'Then I'm going with you.'

'Oh I say,' said Harald. 'I'm afraid I can't allow that.'

'Shut your face, creep,' said Julia. Harald gaped at her, and the courtiers had a coughing fit. Julia ignored them, her eyes pleading with Rupert as he slowly shook his head.

'I can't take you with me, Julia. Not to the Dark Tower. There's no one I'd rather have to guard my back, you know that, but I can't let you risk your life for me again. I've no right. You'll be safe here... as long as you keep Harald at arm's length.'

'But—'

'No, Julia.' Rupert met her gaze unyieldingly, and she looked away.

'It's not far,' she said quietly.

'No,'said Rupert. 'It isn't.' He turned to the King, who studied him narrowly.

'Well, Rupert, it seems you and the Princess Julia have grown somewhat fond of each other.'

'Yes,' said Rupert.

'She's promised to Harald,' said King John. 'The contract was signed long ago.'

'I know my duty,' said Rupert. 'I've always known my duty. That's the only reason I'm going on this mission. And what's more, if I've got to go calling on the High Warlock, I want a full troop of guards to back me up.'

'They'll be ready for you first thing tomorrow morning,' said the King.

'And I want the Champion to lead them ...' said Rupert.

'An honour to ride at your side, Sire,' said the Champion.

'. . . under my orders,' said Rupert.

The King hesitated, and then nodded. 'It's your expedition, Rupert. But I strongly suggest you listen to the Champion's advice at all times.'

'As long as it is advice,' said Rupert.

'Of course, Sire,' said the Champion, bowing.

He's calting me 'Sire' again, thought Rupert dourly. Things must really be desperate.

'All right,' he sighed finally. 'Sir Champion, we start at first light tomorrow. Though how we're going to persuade the High Warlock to come back with us I don't know.'

'He's our only hope,' said the Astrologer.

'Then you'd better start making white flags,' growled Rupert.

'I don't see any need for further discussion,' said the King hastily. 'Court is dismissed!'

The courtiers filed slowly out, chattering animatedly as they headed for the gap where the double doors used to be. Rupert turned to Julia, who turned her back on him.

'Julia. . .'

'We should never have come back to the Castle, Rupert.'

'I did what I thought was best.'

'I know,' said Julia tiredly. 'It's not your fault.'

Rupert took her gently by the arm and turned her round to face him. 'Julia, I didn't save you from the demons just to lose you to my brother. Now let's get out of here. I'm tired, and I've got to be up early tomorrow.'

Julia studied him a moment, and then smiled reluctantly. 'It has been a long day, hasn't it? Let's go.'

'Excuse me,' said Harald, moving elegantly forward to block their way, 'but if anyone is to escort the Princess Julia to her chambers, it should be me. I mean to say, dammit, she is my fiancee.'

'Harald,' said Rupert calmly, 'I am not in the mood for this kind of nonsense. I rarely am in the mood, and take it from me, right now I am less in the mood than ever before, if that's possible. So get out of my way or I'll feed you a knuckle sandwich. Even worse, I might let Julia do it.'

Harald looked at Julia thoughtfully. She smiled sweetly at him, and let her hand rest casually on the pommel of her sword. Harald bowed to her, and then smiled politely at Rupert.

'How brave you've grown, Rupert, now you've a dragon to back you up. Assuming you survive your journey to the Dark Tower, do hurry back; I want you to be best man at my wedding.' He grinned as Rupert flushed angrily. 'I thought you'd like that, Rupert. I'll see you tomorrow, Julia; we have so much to ... discuss.'

He stepped back, bowed to them both, and swept majestically out of the Court. Rupert and Julia watched him go.

'Nice brother you've got there,' said Julia. 'Really knows how to twist the knife.'

'Yes,' said Rupert. 'Still, we mustn't be too hard on him. He hasn't got long to live.'

'Why not?'

'Because one of these days I'm going to kill him.'

Julia chuckled earthily. 'Can I help?'

They laughed together, and then went to awaken the sleeping dragon. Rupert called to him, yelled in his ear, and even rapped on the creature's bony forehead with his fist, but the two thin plumes of smoke rising from the dragon's nostrils didn't even waver. Rupert sighed, walked round to the rear of the dragon, took careful aim, and delivered a mighty kick. The dragon slowly opened his eyes, and Rupert jumped up and down for a while holding his foot in both hands. The dragon rose grumpily to his feet and peered blearily around him.

'Julia, where is everybody?'

'They've all left.'

'Pity, I was just starting to feel a little peckish. Why is Rupert hopping up and down and muttering to himself?'

'I think it's some kind of folk dance,' said Julia solemnly.

'Oh,' said the dragon doubtfully. He studied Rupert carefully, and then looked away. 'Where's the unicorn?'

'Hiding,' said a melancholy voice from behind a hanging arras. 'Every time Rupert has to speak to his family he ends up in a foul temper, and he takes it out on me.'

'Get out of there, unicorn,' snapped Rupert, hobbling over to lean on Julia.

'See what I mean?' said the unicorn, emerging cautiously from behind the tapestry. 'If you've run out of people to upset, Sire, could we perhaps go now? In case it slipped your attention, we haven't eaten since first thing this morning, and my stomach thinks my throat's been cut.'

'Of course,' said Rupert. 'I'll get you all the grass you can eat.'

'Oh, whoopee,' said the unicorn.

They headed for the shattered doorway, Rupert still leaning companionably on Julia.

'Just my luck,' muttered the unicorn.

'What?' asked Rupert.

'All that effort I put into practising my limp, and nobody even mentioned it.'

Rupert and Julia looked at each other, spluttered with laughter, and led the dragon and the no-longer-limping unicorn out of the Court.

King John watched the last of the dragon's tail slither out of the doorway, and then he sighed wearily and sank back in his throne. Thomas Grey lowered himself cautiously on to the steps leading up to the throne. His knees cracked loudly as he sat down. Both King and Astrologer looked suddenly older.

'Doesn't the Court seem larger without Rupert's friends in it,' said the King.

Grey laughed. 'Not to mention quieter.'

'I like Julia,' said the King. 'She's got spirit. And Rupert seems to have developed a powerful right hand.'

'At least he got that idiot Darius off our backs for a while.'

'Quite,' growled the King. 'That's what you get for making Ministerships hereditary.'

'Not one of my better ideas,' Grey admitted. He yawned widely.

'Don't,' said the King. 'You'll start me off, and there's work to be done yet. At least, I assume there is.'

'I'm afraid so,' said Grey. 'To start with, we've got to change all the arrangements for Harald's wedding.'

King John closed his eyes and groaned loudly. 'As if they weren't costing enough already.'

'And we've got to work out some way of politely informing Baron Oakeshoff that Harald isn't going to many his daughter after all.'

'Pity about that,' said the King. 'Now the Barons will be more trouble than ever. Have we had any taxes from them yet?'

'Not a penny,' said the Astrologer. 'They're not going to pay up as long as they think they can get away with it, and we can't use the Royal Guard to persuade them until the demons stop attacking us.'

'And the Champion expects them to give me an army,' sighed the King.

'Politics never was his strong point.'

'He's loyal to the throne,' said King John. 'That's why I made him Champion. Do you know, Thomas, after all these years he still makes me nervous. There's something almost inhuman about a loyalty that's never questioned. He's killed over a hundred men at my command, and never once asked why.'

'When a Champion starts asking questions, it's time to get a new Champion,' said Grey dryly.

The King laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. 'Life wasn't always this complicated. Do you remember when I first came to the throne, Thomas?'

'Aye, John, must be all of thirty-five years since the High Warlock placed that crown on your head. In those days there was still gold in the coffers, the Barons knew their place, and the Darkwood was just a patch of ink on the maps, little more than a legend.'

'A long time ago, Thomas.' The King tugged pensively at his straggling grey beard. 'Where did it all start to go wrong? I've done my best down the years, but for every problem I solved two more sprang up to take its place. When I came to power the Forest Kingdom was a rich land, a healthy land; a power to be reckoned with. We had such plans, you and I ... Now look at us; two old men fighting our own barons just to hold the Land together.

'We're all that's left of the old order, Thomas. On the day I was crowned, a hundred and fifty knights bent their knees and made the oath of fealty to me. Where are they now? Dead and gone, all of them, lost in one stupid little war or another. All my brave knights . . . Now chivalry is no longer fashionable, and honour is a thing of the past. Times change, and I've lost the ability to change with them.

'It's been so long since I could rest, Thomas. So long since I could sleep at night without my troubles invading my dreams. So long since my poor Eleanor died ...'

Grey leaned back against the King's leg, and they sat quietly together a while; two old friends, remembering happier days.

Shadows filled the Court as night slowly fell. King John stared out across the vast, empty hall with its wood-panelled walls and soaring rafters, and ghosts came to stand before him in their shining armour, swords held aloft as they silently roared their loyalty to the throne. All the heroes of his Realm, the questors and champions, the stalkers and avengers of evil, dead and gone down the many years. King John sat staring at an empty Court, and one by one the ghosts left him, until all that remained was his throne, and his Kingdom.

'You know,' said King John finally. 'It's not so much making bad decisions that bothers me; it's just that I spend days on end weighing up the pros and cons, and I still make the wrong decision!'

The Astrologer chuckled quietly. 'That's why you keep me around, John. I may not be the High Warlock, but my small magics do come in handy now and again.'

'Indeed they do, Thomas.' The King ruffled the Astrologer's hair affectionately. 'What would I do without you?'

They sat together in companionable silence, the King's brooding eyes fixed on yesterday.

'Fifty-five isn't old,' he said suddenly. 'I'm not as young as I was, but I don't feel old.'

'Time catches up with all of us eventually,' said the Astrologer.

'You seem to be putting up a good fight,' said the King tartly. 'Look at you — your back's as straight and your hair as dark as it was forty years ago.'

'I dye my hair.'

'And you wear a corset.'

'Only sometimes.'

'Only when you're chasing a new wench.' The King chuckled evilly. 'Man your age should have more dignity.'

'Every man should have a hobby,' said the Astrologer complacently.

The King laughed, but his habitual frown soon returned. 'What is the matter with the Barons anyway? They've never been this bad before.'

'It's the Darkwood, John. Our wealth comes from mines run by the Barons; it's their gold and silver and copper that keeps our economy afloat. But since the Darkwood has spread its boundaries, more and more of the mines have fallen to the long night. Demons are crawling up out of the pits and spilling into the main workings. Miners are afraid to go down into the dark. Some mines have had to be sealed, for fear of what might emerge from the deepest shafts.'

The King scowled thoughtfully. 'I hadn't realised things had got so out of hand.'

'You can't be expected to keep track of everything, John.'

'Perhaps if I sent the Barons more guards ...'

'No, John, we can't afford to lose any more men. We're thinly enough spread as it is. We can't really spare that troop of guards you're sending with the Champion and young Rupert.'

'I know,' said the King, 'but if we didn't let Rupert have them, I really think he wouldn't go.'

'Yes,' smiled the Astrologer. 'He's finally learning . . .'

They shared a smile, and then the King frowned again, and looked away.

'They'd better bring back the High Warlock,' he said softly. 'After the mess we've made of things, he's our only hope.'

Chapter Three

DUELS

Thin trails of mist curled lazily on the chill morning air as Rupert saddled his unicorn in the courtyard. The dawn sun had barely crept above the horizon, and the sky was still splashed with blood. Not the best of omens for the journey ahead. Rupert grinned tiredly, and then leaned briefly against the patiently waiting unicorn as a yawn stretched his jaw to its limit. According to the water clock he'd had almost six hours' sleep, but it seemed he'd barely laid his head on the pillow before a servant was shaking him awake.

A lukewarm bath and a cold breakfast hadn't improved his temper, and being studiously ignored by his own troop of guards was the last straw. Rupert cursed under his breath as the bitter cold numbed his fingers, making them clumsy on the harness. A buckle slipped from his grasp, and he grabbed awkwardly for it. Although his back was to the guards, he could hear some of them laughing. He flushed hotly as he tightened the cinch, sure he was the butt of their humour. One joke, he thought angrily, just one and I'll feed the man his chain-mail, link by link! Rupert smiled sourly, and shook his head. Not yet out of the Castle gates, and already he was thinking of attacking one of his own guards. He closed his eyes a moment and breathed deeply, searching for some kind of calm. There was a long journey ahead of him, with plenty of time for him and his guards to test each other's measure.

Assuming they survived long enough.

Rupert brushed the thought aside, quickly fastened the last few straps, and then turned and stared casually about him. Half a hundred guardsmen and their mounts milled back and forth in the courtyard, interspersed with hurrying servants and grooms. Flagons of mead and cheap sweetmeats were being warmed over flaring braziers by gaudily clothed hawkers, and here and there small knots of men spoke quietly with hooded priests. A dozen guards were fighting mock duels under the Champion's watchful eye, and the towering stone walls echoed to the ring of steel on steel. Other guards stood and watched, polished their swords with oiled rags, and practised looking evil. Rupert found their obvious competence both intimidating and comforting. He pulled his cloak about him, and stamped his feet to keep warm. His breath steamed on the still morning air. Rupert frowned; it shouldn't be this cold so early in the autumn. The Darkwood must be closer than anyone thought... he let his hand drop to the pommel of his sword. The sooner he got this journey started, the better.

And yet he hesitated, watching the duelling guardsmen thrust and parry, their swords flashing brightly in the gloomy courtyard. Sweat glistened on the guards' faces, and their breathing grew harsh as they drove themselves ever harder, searching for the elusive first blood that would decide the duel. Rupert remembered all too clearly the many times he'd fought in this courtyard, in the early morning chill. Bitter memories surfaced, of standing awkwardly under his tutor's disdainful gaze, wrapped in ill-fitting chain-mail and carrying a sword that seemed far too heavy for his skinny arms. His duelling partner had been a lean, muscular guardsman, almost twenty years his senior and many times better than him. Between them, the tutor and the guard slowly turned the young Prince into a swordsman. He paid for the knowledge with blood and humiliation. Rupert scowled thoughtfully; he might never be the expert his brother was, but he'd learned tricks in his hard school that were often overlooked in Harald's more standard lessons.

Rupert had never given in to the temptation to show off his skill with a sword. Now and again the two brothers would engage in a formal duel, under the Champion's critical eye, and Rupert always lost. It was safer that way. As a merely competent fighter, he was no threat to Harald's position, so he suffered the scars and the jeers silently. But he never forgot them. Rupert's mind drifted back from yesterday, and he studied again the straining, grunting guardsmen as they practised with sword and buckler. He was surprised to find them not nearly as impressive as he'd first thought. They were strong and cunning, but their tactics were limited and their stamina negligible. They were good, but excitement surged through Rupert as he realised that, just possibly, he was better.

Rupert frowned suddenly as he recognised one of his guards, a tall wiry man with dark, saturnine features. Rob Hawke was a Blades-master: a swordsman trained to such a point of expertise that he was unbeatable with a sword in his hand. He was also stubborn, crafty and so insubordinate that only his extremely rare skill with a blade kept him from being expelled from the Royal Guard. Rupert scowled thoughtfully, and wondered how many other bad apples the King had landed him with.

A sharp voice cut across his thoughts, and he looked round to see Harald standing beside the Champion. Rupert studied his brother warily as he realised Harald was wearing full chain-mail and carrying a steel-bossed buckler. He was also smiling.

'Rupert, dear fellow, thought you might fancy a little sword practice before you go, just to warm your blood a trifle. Well, brother, what do you say?'

It's a set-up, thought Rupert disgustedly. He's well armoured and rested. I don't even have a shield.

He glanced round as silence fell over the crowded courtyard. The other duels had been stopped, and the guardsmen were watching interestedly to see what his answer would be. It was obvious that everyone expected him to make some excuse and back out of it. That was the sensible thing to do. Harald intended Rupert to pay in blood for insulting him in front of the entire Court, while simultaneously undermining what little respect the guards had for their new leader. It was a good scheme; any other time it might even have worked. But not this time. For once in his life, Rupert intended to win. He chuckled suddenly at his own eagerness, and for the first time Harald seemed uncertain. Beside him, the Champion remained impassive.

'Thank you, brother,' said Rupert loudly, his voice echoing clearly from the massive stone walls. 'I could use the exercise.'

He turned his back on his brother, removed his cloak, and dropped it over the unicorn's saddle.

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' muttered the unicorn.

'No,' said Rupert cheerfully. 'And I don't give a damn.'

'Sometimes I don't understand you at all.'

'That makes two of us.'

The unicorn sniffed audibly. 'Watch your back, Rupert.'

Rupert nodded, and then strode confidently over to where Harald stood waiting, sword in hand. Rupert's sword whispered from its scabbard as the guardsmen moved to form a circle round the two Princes. 'I seem to have caught you without a shield,' said Harald. 'That's all right,' said Rupert. 'I don't need one.' Harald took in Rupert's relaxed stance and steady gaze, and glanced quickly at the Champion, who shook his head slightly. 'You must have a shield,' Harald insisted. 'It must be a fair combat.'

'It will be,' said Rupert. 'Now do you want to talk, or fight?' An amused murmur ran through the watching guards, and Harald flushed hotly. He sank into his fighting stance with the naturalness of long practice and moved cautiously forward, studying Rupert narrowly over the rim of his buckler. Rupert came to meet him, his trained eyes searching out weaknesses in Harald's stance, potential awkwardnesses that could be exploited. Harald was clearly more used to the stylised techniques of the mock duel than the cut and thrust of a blood fight; he'd grown soft, while Rupert's experiences in the Darkwood had honed his skill to a razor's edge. Rupert grinned broadly as all the old bitterness of having to lose to Harald surged through him. This time, Harald was in for a fight he'd remember for the rest of his life. Rupert's grin widened as he moved lightly forward, his sword licking out to test for holes in Harald's defence.

For a while the only sounds in the courtyard were the stamp and scuff of booted feet on the bare stone, and the occasional rasp of blade on blade. Breath steamed on the chill air as the two brothers circled each other warily, and then Harald lunged forward, his sword flashing in a bright arc for Rupert's unshielded ribs. Rupert parried the cut easily, stepped inside the blow and kicked Harald in the knee. Harald lurched to one side as his leg betrayed him, and Rupert slammed a knee into his gut. Hatald bent forward over his pain, almost as though bowing to Rupert. Air whistled in his throat as he fought for breath. Rupert darted back out of range and allowed his brother time to recover; he'd waited a long time for this victory, and he saw no reason to rush it. The guards had responded to the brief exchange with interested murmurs, and out of the corners of his eyes Rupert could see money changing hands. He grinned tightly, and then his brother came to meet him again. Harald's sword and shield were steady, but he favoured his left leg. Rupert felt a grim laughter stir within him. Harald was already beaten, even if he didn't know it yet. Coldbloodedly, Rupert set out to prove it.

His sword sang through the air as he swung the blade double-handed, and blow by blow, cut by cut, he drove Harald backwards round the circle. Splinters flew from Harald's buckler as Rupert pressed home his attack, his sword flashing past the shield's rim to draw blood from a dozen minor cuts. Harald bobbed and weaved and cut vicously at Rupert's unprotected head and body, but always he was thrown back with fresh blood seeping into his chain-mail, as Rupert showed him every skill and dirty trick he knew. Rupert was the better fighter, and now he and everybody else knew it. The guardsmen applauded and cheered every move, and Rupert laughed aloud as he drove his brother back. A sudden impatience took him, and slamming aside Harald's buckler, Rupert smashed the sword from his brother's hand, kicked his feet from under him, and then set the point of his blade at Harald's throat as he lay helpless on the blood-splashed cobbles.

'Yield,' said Rupert hoarsely.

'I yield,' said Harald quietly, bitterly.

Rupert stared down at him for a long moment, and then stepped back. He'd beaten his brother, just as he'd dreamed for so many years, but somehow it didn't quite feel real yet. The applauding guards fell silent as Harald rose painfully to his feet, his shield arm hanging limply at his side. His immaculate chain-mail was scarred and bloodied, and he left his battered sword where it lay. Blood trickled unnoticed down his face as he smiled coldly.

'I should have had you killed years ago, Rupert. If by some miracle you survive the journey to the Dark Tower, don't come back. I won't make the mistake of fighting fair again.'

He turned his back on Rupert and limped away, slapping aside the helping hands guards offered him. Rupert watched him go. After all the years, all the insults, all the pain, he'd finally beaten his brother. It didn't feel as good as he'd thought it would. He shrugged, and grinned round at his guards. They seemed strangely subdued, almost as though they were waiting for something ... A sudden suspicion flared in Rupert's mind, and he'd just started to turn when a mailed fist slammed into the small of his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. He made it to one knee, and then a steel-clad boot buried itself in his gut. He writhed on the cold ground, sobbing with pain.

'Never drop your guard, Rupert,' said the Champion calmly. 'You know better than that.'

His boot lashed out again, catching Rupert on the hip and sending him rolling into the feet of the silently watching guards. He lurched to one knee and reached for his sword. The Champion's boot slammed down again, but this time Rupert was ready for him. Instead of snatching back his fingers he continued the movement, caught the Champion's ankle in both hands, and twisted him off balance. The Champion fell heavily, and by the time he regained his feet Rupert was waiting for him, sword in hand.

'Now that's more like it,' said the Champion approvingly. His sword licked out to open a shallow cut on Rupert's left cheek, and then the Champion had to jump back out of range as Rupert's blade sheared through the chain-mail over his ribs. The Champion glanced down, and saw blood seeping through his armour.

'Getting old, Champion,' said Rupert thickly. 'There was a time you wouldn't have given me a chance to recover.'

The Champion smiled. 'I'm still good enough for you, boy. Come on, let's see what you can do.'

Rupert moved cautiously forward, his sword sweeping back and forth before him. The two fighters circled each other warily, and then came together in a flurry of steel too fast for the eye to follow. They sprang apart and circled each other again, their steel-clad boots striking sparks from the bare stone. Blood rilled down from a wide cut on Rupert's forehead, filling his eyes with crimson. The Champion had another bloody rent in his chain-mail. Rupert wiped blood from his eyes with the back of his hand, and couldn't parry the Champion's attack in time. Fresh blood trickled down Rupert's sword arm, making his grasp slippery. And so the fight went. Rupert used every trick he knew, all his strength and skill coming together in an exhibition of swordsmanship that had the guardsmen crying aloud in appreciation. Again and again he threw himself at the Champion, his sword a bright blur on the still morning air as it rose and fell, rose and fell. Rupert gave everything he had, and it wasn't enough.

He never stood a chance.

The Champion parried his every blow, allowed Rupert to tire himself out, and then moved in with a flurry of hammering blows that left Rupert lying battered and helpless, face down on the blood-smeared cobblestones. He was dimly aware of the Champion crouching before him, and then tears started from his eyes as a strong hand grabbed a handful of hair and lifted his head up.

'Sorry, Sire,' said the Champion quietly. 'But you should have known better than to beat Harald in public. Next time, you will know better.' The hand released Rupert's hair, and the cobblestones jumped up to meet his face. The Champion's voice seemed to come from far away. 'We ride in half an hour, Sire; I expect you to be in your saddle and ready to leave. If you're not, I'll have you strapped to the unicorn.'

He walked unhurriedly away, and one by one the guards followed him, leaving Rupert curled around his pain. The courtyard chatter slowly resumed. For a long while Rupert just lay there, and then there was the sound of running feet, and two gentle hands were holding his shoulders. He cried out wordlessly, and shrank away from the hands, afraid of more pain.

'Rupert, love, what have they done to you?' said Julia.

Rupert's mind slowly cleared, and he became aware of Julia kneeling beside him.

'What happened, Rupert?'

'I wanted to win,' he said thickly, and spat blood on to the cobblestones. 'Just once, I wanted to win. Help me up, will you?'

Slowly, leaning heavily on Julia's supporting arm, he got to his feet, and she guided him over to the nearest wall so that he could lean against it. His head swam madly, and he stood quietly while Julia cleaned the worst of the blood from his face with a silk handkerchief.

'Waste of good silk, that,' he said, trying to smile.

'Who did this to you?' demanded Julia, her voice shaking with fury.

The Champion,' said Rupert. 'I shouldn't have turned my back on him.'

'I'll kill him!' said Julia, and Rupert quickly grabbed her wrist.

'No! Don't even think it, Julia. He wouldn't kill you, but he'd have no compunction about scarring you a little to teach you a lesson. You're good with a sword, lass, but I'm better, and he walked all over me and didn't even raise a sweat.' He realised he was still holding her wrist painfully tight, and let her go. 'I'm not badly hurt, Julia, except in my pride. He was careful not to do any real damage. I should have known he wouldn't let me get away with beating Harald.'

'You beat Harald?'

'Yeah.' Rupert grinned, wincing a little as fresh blood seeped into his mouth. 'I beat him. I did everything but sign my initials on him.'

Julia laughed, and clapped her hands together. 'Oh, I'd love to have seen that!'

'Bloodthirsty wench,' Rupert growled, and then laughed as she nodded demurely.

'Why did the Champion attack you?'

'Partly to keep me in my place. Partly to undermine my authority with the guards. And partly because he has to prove he's still the best, even after all these years as Champion. As he's got older, he's needed to prove it more and more.'

Julia frowned thoughtfully. 'I think I'll have a word with the dragon about this.'

'Thanks for the thought, but no. I want to beat him myself.' Rupert pushed himself away from the wall and breathed deeply until his head steadied. Pain still simmered in his muscles, flaring up if he moved too quickly, but it was bearable. He'd hurt worse in the Darkwood. He looked round for his sword, and Julia handed it to him without having to be asked. He smiled his thanks, slipped the blade into its scabbard, and then took his first good look at Julia.

Somebody had clearly decided to take the young Princess in hand. Julia now wore a long flowing gown of midnight blue, with gold and silver piping. Diamonds flashed from rings and bracelets and necklaces, and they'd taken away her sword. Her long blond hair had been been piled up on top of her head and carefully arranged in the latest High Society style. Expertly applied cosmetics softened the harsh planes of her face without disguising them. All in all, Rupert thought she'd never looked lovelier. Even though it was a totally unsuitable outfit for visiting a filthy courtyard at the break of dawn. 'I like the dress,' he said solemnly.

'I look like an idiot,' grumbled Julia. 'All I need to finish the job is a cap and bells. The dress is too tight, my shoes are crippling me, and this damn hairdo is giving me a headache. What's more, the thick woolly underwear they forced on me itches like crazy.' She went to scratch herself and only then realised she was still holding the bloodstained handkerchief she'd used to clean Rupert's face. She sniffed, tucked it unconcernedly into her flared sleeve, and glared at the Prince accusingly. 'You were going to sneak off without saying goodbye, weren't you?'

Rupert shrugged awkwardly. 'I don't like goodbyes. They always seem so final.'

'Rupert,' said Julia slowly, 'just how dangerous is this High Warlock?'

'Very. The last messenger we sent him came back transformed.'

'Transformed? Into what?'

'We're not actually sure. Remember the crocodiles that used to live in the moat?'

'You mean whatever ate them is . . .'

'We think so.'

Julia scowled thoughtfully. 'And the High Warlock's our only hope against the Darkwood?'

'Looks like it.'

'Then we're in deep trouble.'

Rupert nodded solemnly, and Julia had to laugh. Rupert grinned, glad he'd finally broken her grim mood.

'Well, Julia, how are you getting on with Castle Society?'

'Settling in. Slowly.'

'Hit anybody recently?'

'No one important.'

Rupert laughed. 'That's all right, then.'

They stood together a while, neither of them sure what to say for the best, and then Julia leaned forward and kissed him. Rupert took her in his arms, and held her close. He could feel her heart beating against his. After a while, he pushed her gently away.

'It's almost time to go, Julia.'

'Yes.'

'I'd take you with me if I could.'

'I understand.'

'Wait for me?'

'Of course. Do you still have my favour?'

Rupert reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a very battered and bloodstained handkerchief. 'My lady's favour. I wouldn't be parted from it for all the Forest Kingdom.' He looked up and found there were tears in Julia's eyes too. He turned quickly away, and stared out across the packed courtyard as he put the handkerchief away again. He heard Julia move in close behind him, felt her breath warm the back of his neck as she spoke.

'No goodbyes, Rupert. Just . . . come back safely. Or I'll never forgive you.'

There was a pause, and then he heard her turn and walk away. He wished there was something else to say, but there wasn't. He put his hand over his heart, and felt the soft pressure of the handkerchief under his jerkin. It seemed the minstrels weren't always wrong, after all. He grinned, and made his way across the courtyard to rejoin the unicorn.

'Are you all right now, Rupert? You look a bit flushed.'

'I'm fine. Fine.'

'Julia's gone?'

'Yes.'

'I like her,' said the unicorn.

'So do I,' said Rupert.

'I had noticed,' said the unicorn, dryly.

Rupert laughed, and put his cloak back on. 'Ready to move out?'

'Ready as I'll ever be. Why isn't the dragon coming with us? I'd just started to get used to him.'

'He's resting. I think the demons hurt him more than he'll admit. The Rainbow should have healed him, but I suppose he's just. . . not as young as he was. Last night, it was all he could do to walk to the stables. I'll miss him, but he's not up to a long journey, let alone fighting off demons.'

'Demons?' said the unicorn sharply. 'What demons?'

'Well, when we go back into the Darkwood ...'

'The Darkwood? Nobody said anything to me about going back into the Darkwood. Right. That's it. Get that saddle off me, I'm not moving.'

'We're only going into it a little way ...'

'So I'll suppose we'll only be killed a little bit. Forget it!'

'Look, unicorn, either we go and fetch the High Warlock, or the Darkwood will come looking for us. It's that simple.'

'There has to be another alternative.'

'Like what?'

'Run away?'

Rupert laughed, and patted the unicorn's neck. 'Are all unicorns as chicken as you?'

'The ones with any sense are. The only reason unicorns are so rare is that most of us haven't the sense to come in out of the rain. Or to stay clear of humans.'

Rupert studied the unicorn thoughtfully. 'You're my friend, aren't you?'

The unicorn shifted his feet. 'Yeah, I suppose so. I've got used to having you around.'

'I have to go back into the Darkwood again. It's my duty.'

'I know,' sighed the unicorn resignedly. 'And I have to go with you.'

Rupert patted the unicorn's neck again. 'Thanks. I'd hate to have to do it without you.' He frowned suddenly. 'Unicorn ...'

'Yes?'

'I just realised ... all this time we've been together, and I don't even know your name.'

The unicorn turned his head slowly, and fixed Rupert with a blood-red eye.

'My name? I'm a slave, Prince. Slaves don't have names.'

The courtyard seemed suddenly colder, and Rupert looked away, unable to meet the unicorn's steady gaze.

'You're not a slave ...'

'No? You think I wear this saddle and bridle by choice? I was taken from my herd by men with ropes and whips. They beat me till they broke my spirit, and then they sold me to you. That's not slavery?' The unicorn laughed bitterly. 'You've been good to me, Rupert. I'm fond of you, in my way. But I'm still a slave, and you're still my master. And slaves don't have names. I used to have a name. When I was free, I had a name.' The unicorn's voice dropped to a whisper. 'One day, I'll have a name again.'

'I'm. . . sorry,' said Rupert lamely. 'I just. . . never thought about it before.' He looked up to meet the unicorn's gaze. 'I led you into the Darkwood, and nearly got you killed. You could have run off and left me any time, but you didn't, because I needed you. You're my friend, unicorn. If you don't want to come with me, you don't have to. But I wish you would.'

Man and unicorn stared at each other.

'Climb aboard,' said the unicorn finally. 'We've a long ride ahead of us.'

Rupert nodded, set his foot in the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. Not back twenty-four hours, and already on his way again. Julia was right, he thought suddenly. We shouldn't have come back to the Castle. We were happy together, out there in the Forest. We didn't know about Harold's marriage contract, or the spreading Darkwood. I could have loved you, Julia. I could have loved you, then.

He sighed and shook his head, and then looked up as the slow clatter of approaching hooves caught his attention. The Champion drew up beside him, astride an armoured charger. The horse stood a good ten hands taller than the unicorn, and carried the heavy armour with nonchalant ease. Impressive, thought Rupert. Great for jousting. But not a lot of use against a pack of demons.

'Expecting trouble, sir Champion?' he asked, solemnly.

'Always, Sire. I take it you're ready to leave?'

'Of course. You did an excellent job, sir Champion. I'm hurt, but not actually damaged.'

'I try to be professional.'

'One of these days . . .'

'You'll what, Sire? Slip poison in my cup, or a dagger in my back? I doubt it, that's not your way. You want to beat me sword to sword, like you did Harald. And you'll never be good enough to take me that way.'

'Don't put money on it,' said Rupert calmly. 'There was a time Harald thought the same.'

The Champion gave him a hard look, but said nothing. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, feeling the change in their relationship, and for the first time Rupert realised that he wasn't afraid of the Champion any more. For as long as Rupert could remember, the Champion had seemed to him the personification of death — a cold-eyed killer with a bloody sword who would one day come for him as he had come for so many others. But not any more. Rupert had gone sword to sword with him under the worst possible conditions, and he'd drawn blood twice. He might have lost the fight, but nobody had let the Champion's blood in over twenty years. The man was good, very good, but he wasn't unbeatable. And one day, thought Rupert, I'm going to prove it. He grinned mockingly at the Champion, who studied him thoughtfully, and then turned his horse away.

'One moment, sir Champion.'

'I'm busy, Sire.'

'I don't give a sweet damn how busy you are, sir Champion — you turn your back on me again and I'll have your head.'

The Champion turned his horse back, and then dropped his reins to leave his sword hand free. A slight smile jerked at his mouth. 'I think you forget your place, Rupert.'

'Do I? Last evening, my father ordered you to accept my authority during the journey to the Dark Tower. Are you going to break your word to your King?'

The Champion sat very still, and Rupert sensed wheels turning behind the impassive face. Then the Champion looked down, and took up his reins again, and Rupert knew that he'd won.

'My word is my bond, Sire,' said the Champion slowly. 'On this journey, you command.'

'Good,' said Rupert, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. 'Because if you try to undermine my authority over the guards again, I'll cut your throat while you're sleeping.'

'Threats aren't necessary, Sire. I gave my word.'

Rupert nodded ungraciously. 'Have you told the men we'll have to pass through the Darkwood to reach the Warlock's Tower?'

'Aye,' said the Champion. 'I've never actually travelled through the long night, Sire. What's it like?'

Rupert let his mind drift back. He remembered fear and pain that weighed on him still, like chains wrapped around his soul. 'It's dark,' he said finally. 'Dark enough to break anyone.'

The Champion waited a while, and then realised Rupert wasn't going to say any more.

'I'll assemble the men, Sire. You'll want to address them before we set out.'

'Do I have to?'

The Champion raised an eyebrow. 'It is customary to brief the men on what dangers they'll be facing, Sire.'

'Oh, yeah. All right, line them up, sir Champion.'

'Right away, Sire.'

The Champion rode off. Rupert watched him bark orders to the aimlessly milling guards, and strove to collect his thoughts. How the hell was he supposed to explain the dangers of the Darkwood to men who'd never even seen it? Most Forestmen never set foot in the long night; the Tanglewood saw to that. Rupert scowled thoughtfully; according to the Champion, the Tanglewood had fallen to the darkness, and demons roamed the Forest Land at will. Rupert shrugged, and let his hand drop to the pommel of the rainbow sword. If all else failed, he'd just have to summon another Rainbow.

The guardsmen slowly assembled before him in ones and twos, their horses stamping and whinnying in their eagerness to be off. Breath steamed on the chill morning air, and the odd shaft of sunlight gleamed golden on shining chain-mail. The guards looked hard and competent, and Rupert knew they'd never understand the true horror of the Darkwood until they met it face to face. It was too personal a horror to bear explanation. But he had to try.

'The Darkwood,'he said finally, 'is dangerous. Always. Even when you can't see the demons, be sure they're watching you. There's no light, except what we take in. There's no usable food or water, except what we collect beforehand. I've passed through the Darkwood twice, and each time it came close to killing me. I had a dragon with me on the second journey, and it didn't make a blind bit of difference.'

He paused and looked about him, the echoes of his voice dying quickly away in the courtyard's silence. The guards stared impassively back, their eyes wary, but perhaps just a little respectful. In all Forest history, no man had passed through the Darkwood twice and survived. And I'm going to try it again, thought Rupert sourly. I must be mad. He smiled grimly at the guards before him.

'It's a hard, bloody journey to the Dark Tower, my friends, and you'll be facing the worst odds of your career. Most of you won't be coming back. But we have to go, the Forest is depending on us to bring back the High Warlock. If we fail, darkness will spread over all the Land, and there'll be nothing left to come back to. If we make it, they'll sing songs about us for ever.

'Anyone who wants, can back out now. The Darkwood's no place for unwilling heroes. But for once in your life, you have a chance to make a difference — the Forest Land needs you. And I need you.'

He looked around, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for their answer. And one by one, the guards drew their swords and held them aloft in the ancient warrior's oath of fealty. Rupert slowly nodded his acceptance, unable to hide how much the gesture meant to him, and half a hundred swords crashed back into their scabbards.

'Sir Champion!'

'Aye, Sire?'

'Let's go.'

Rupert headed the unicorn towards the inner gates. The Champion fell in beside him, and the guards followed close behind in tight formation. The huge oaken doors swung slowly open, and massed hoofbeats shook the thick stone walls as Rupert led his men through the Keep. And then the portcullis lifted, the drawbridge slammed down across the moat, and Rupert and his party rode out into the early-morning mists.

Rupert shivered, and wrapped his cloak tightly about him. He'd been travelling all morning, but though the mists had finally cleared, the day grew no warmer. A dull, blood-red sun glowered down from the dark, overcast sky, ominous with the threat of thunder and sudden storm. A heavy frost had bleached the grass verges of the trail he followed, and the uneven ground was hard and unyielding beneath the unicorn's hooves. Stark leafless trees stood brooding to every side, and silvered cobwebs shrouded what little greenery remained. No animals moved among the trees, and no birds sang. The Forest lay still and silent in that bleak afternoon, and the dull muffled hoofbeats from Rupert's troop of guards seemed an unwelcome intrusion on the unnatural quiet.

Rupert beat his fists together to get the blood moving, but the cold still gnawed at his fingers, despite his thick leather gloves. He'd long ago lost all feeling in his feet. It's barely autumn, he thought dazedly. It's never been this cold so early in the year. . . The bitter wind lashed his face, chafing his cheeks raw. Rupert felt a familiar chill growing in his bones, and knew that the wind had its beginnings in the endless night. The Darkwood's influence moved ahead of it, falling like a blight on land soon to be claimed by the darkness. Rupert started to shiver, and for a long time, he couldn't stop.

The Champion suddenly put up a hand, and the column of guards came to a ragged halt. Rupert reined in his unicorn and stared quickly about him, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

'Why have we stopped, sir Champion?'

'We're being watched, Sire.'

Rupert frowned. 'I don't see anybody.'

'They're here,' said the Champion softly. 'They're waiting for us.'

For a long moment, nobody moved. The guards sat stiffly in their saddles, eyes testing the forest shadows, ears straining for the slightest noise. The gaunt, spectral trees crowded about them, guarding ancient secrets in an impenetrable gloom. The only sound was the whinnying and snorting of the restless horses, and the low murmur of the wind in the bare branches. And then Rupert felt his hackles slowly rise as he made out dim, furtive movements in the shadows ahead.

There was a susurrus of steel against leather as the guards drew their swords. Demons, came the murmur, passing swiftly through the ranks, demons in the shadows. Rupert drew his sword, and swore under his breath as he realised his buckler was still securely fastened to his backpack. He fumbled at the straps, his eyes straining against the gloom ahead. Half a dozen lancers moved forward to flank him and the Champion, light gleaming on the deadly steel shafts. Rupert slipped on his buckler, glanced at the Champion, and then urged the unicorn forward. The troops moved with him, slowly gathering speed.

Demons in the Forest. Demons by daylight. The Darkwood must be closer than we thought.

Rupert shook his head quickly to clear it, and hefted his buckler to a more comfortable position. He realised he could barely feel the swordhilt with his numbed fingers, and tightened his grip. And then a single tiny figure darted out into the trail ahead, and raised both its hands in surrender.

'We give up!' it called plaintively. 'Honest!'

Rupert brought his unicorn to a sudden halt, the guards piling up behind him. A sudden suspicion entered his mind, and a broad grin spread slowly across his face as out on to the Forest trail stepped a great crowd of goblins. Their leader took one look at Rupert and winced visibly.

'Oh, no. Not you again.'

The other goblins peered short-sightedly at Rupert, and then crowded together in the middle of the trail, shaking in every limb. There was a general dropping of weapons, and several of the smaller goblins burst into tears.

'Friends of yours?' asked the Champion.

'Not exactly,' said Rupert. He gestured for the goblin leader to approach him, and the goblin did so reluctantly.

'It's not fair,' he said bitterly, glaring up at Rupert. 'I've spent weeks turning that bunch of knock-kneed idiots into a crack fighting unit. I've taken farmers and herders and leechmen and turned them into warriors. Two days ago we fought off a demon pack. Morale's never been higher. And then what happens? You come along and demoralise the whole damn bunch without even using your sword! It's not fair!'

'Calm down,' said Rupert.

'Calm down? It's not enough that you've become a legend among us, as the only human ever to have defeated a whole pack of goblins. It's not enough that some of that pack are still having nightmares about you. It's not enough that goblin mothers now frighten their children with tales of the nasty human who'll come for them if they're naughty. Oh no, not content with all that, you decide to hunt us down with a whole troop of guards! What are you going to do for an encore — set fire to the Forest?'

Rupert grinned. It was obvious that the goblins he'd scared off had built him up into a mighty hero, to justify their running away. Maybe legends had their uses after all.

'What are you doing so far from your home?' he asked, and the goblin leader scowled.

'The Tanglewood's gone,' he said gruffly. 'The dark came, and demons overran the narrow paths. They wrecked our homes and butchered our families. We ran before them, carrying what we could. Goblins aren't brave; we've never needed to be. It's not in our nature. But after what we've seen, some of us have learned to hate.

'We're an old race, sir hero, remnants of an earlier age. It was a simpler time, then. No humans to make us afraid, no Darkwood to blight our Forest. An age when magic was strong in the world, and cold iron lay safely in the ground, no danger to the small folk. Then man came, using steel against our bronze, forcing us from our ancient homes. We created the Tanglewood with the last of our magic, and made it our new home. Few of us survived the move; we live long and breed slow, and we don't like change.

'We're not fighters, sir hero, it's not our way. We don't even make good footpads, as you no doubt remember. We farm, and tend our herds, and leave the world be. All we've ever asked is to be left alone. But now the night is spreading, and our day is finally over. Once, our numbers were beyond counting. Then there were thousands of us, living in the Tanglewood. Now there are hundreds, and we have no home. So we're going to the Forest Castle. We may not be strong and brave and carry cold steel, sir hero, but we can fight, and if the Castle will shelter our families, we'll defend it with our lives.'

The goblin leader glared defiantly up at Rupert, as if expecting an insult or a blow for his presumption in claiming his people to be warriors. Rupert looked past him and saw that the listening goblins had drawn strength from their leader, and were standing calmly in the middle of the trail, awaiting Rupert's answer. They were not proud or brave, but there was something about them that might have been dignity.

'Go the the Castle,' said Rupert, his voice breaking a little. 'Ask admission in my name; Prince Rupert of the Forest Kingdom. Your families will be safe there, and the King can always use warriors like you.'

The goblin leader stared at him, and then nodded briefly. 'And where might you be off to, sir hero?'

'We're going to the Dark Tower,' said Rupert. To summon the High Warlock.'

The goblin leader's mouth twitched. 'I don't know who I feel more sorry for — you, or him.'

He turned on his heel and marched back to his waiting people. More goblins emerged from the Forest shadows: women and children, carrying what few possessions they had left. The goblin leader coaxed and bullied his people into a single ragged line, and then led them past the silently watching, somewhat bemused troop of guards. Slowly, wearily, the goblins headed down the dirt trail that led to Forest Castle.

'I take it you've encountered these . . . persons . . . before,' said the Champion.

'Several of them tried to kill me in the Tanglewood,' said Rupert. 'I showed them the error of their ways.' He realised he was still holding his sword, and sheathed it.

'I see,' said the Champion. His tone of voice made it clear that he didn't.

Rupert grinned, and then looked down as somebody tugged impatiently at his stirrup. The smallest goblin smiled cheerily up at him.

'Good day, sir hero, remember me? Thought I'd just say thanks. Our glorious leader's pretty damn good at fighting, but he's not much of a one for the social graces. Not that I'll hear a word said against him, mind; it's thanks to him we've learned to kill demons. We saw off a whole pack of them, not so long ago.'

'Wait a minute,' said Rupert slowly. 'You people fought a pack of demons? Where?'

'Place called Coppertown,' said the smallest goblin. 'Chopped them demons into chutney, we did. Not very tasty, mind; all bone and gristle. Now then, don't you worry about the Castle, sir hero, we'll look after it for you. We know all kinds of nasty things to do with boiling oil.'

'Wouldn't surprise me in the least,' said Rupert. 'About Copper-town . . .'

'Nice little place, that. Many's the night me and the lads would steal calves and chickens from the townspeople. Not any more, though.'

'Why not?'

'Demons,' said the smallest goblin. 'Ripped the village's guts out, they did. No more humans. All gone. Can't stop, sir hero, got to catch up with the lads. Have a nice trip.'

'Thank you, sir goblin. But remember, if I hear you've molested one lawful traveller between here and the Castle I'll personally have you strung up by the heels for the moat monster to gnaw on. Got it?'

'Oh sure,' said the smallest goblin. 'Us Forest folk got to stick together. Oh yes. Definitely. Not even one?'

'Not even one.'

'Spoilsport,' said the goblin. He grinned, bowed quickly, and hurried after his friends. The guards watched the goblins depart, and glanced respectfully at Rupert. Anyone who could intimidate an entire pack of armed goblins without even raising his voice was clearly a leader to be reckoned with.

'Coppertown,' said the Champion slowly. 'We could be there by evening.'

'You know the place?' asked Rupert.

'Small mining town, Sire. Eight hundred people live there, including half a company of guards. It's not possible Coppertown could have fallen to the darkness ...'

'The Darkwood must be closer than anyone thought,' said Rupert. 'Eight hundred people . . . We'd better check it out.'

The Champion nodded grimly, and led the way deeper into the Forest.

The sun was sinking fast when Rupert and the Champion rode into Coppertown. No lights glowed in the miners' houses, and the narrow streets were full of shadows. The guards eyed the silent houses warily, and eased their swords in their scabbards. The horses tossed their heads and whinnied nervously. Rupert stared about him as he led his men deeper into Coppertown, and the unshuttered windows stared back like so many dark, unseeing eyes. There was no sign of violence or destruction, but every house lay still and silent and abandoned. Somewhere out in the growing dusk a door banged lazily as the wind moved it, and there was no one to shut it. Rupert signalled for his men to stop, and reined in his unicorn.

'Sir Champion ...'

'Aye, Sire?'

'Hold my unicorn. I'm going to check out one of these houses.'

'I'd be more use guarding your back, Sire.'

Rupert studied the Champion a moment, and then nodded shortly and swung down from the unicorn. There was a general rustling of chain-mail as the guards drew their swords and moved quickly to block off both ends of the street. Rupert unstrapped the lantern from his saddle and struggled to light its candle with flint and steel.

'Rupert...' said the unicorn.

'Ah,' said Rupert, 'you've finally decided to stop sulking and talk to me.'

'I have not been sulking! I've been thinking.'

'About what?'

'You, mostly. You've changed, Rupert.'

'Oh, yeah? How?'

'Well, you used to have more sense, for one thing. There could be any number of demons hiding in these houses.'

'I know,' said Rupert, grinning broadly as the candle wick finally caught. 'That's why I'm going to check one out.' He closed the lantern and held it high as he moved cautiously forward to study the nearest house. The unicorn made as though to follow him, and then stopped and turned away as the Champion joined Rupert before the gaping doorway.

'Ready, Sire?'

'Ready, sir Champion.'

Rupert padded forward, slipped silently past the open door, and then slammed it back against the wall in case there was something hiding behind it. There wasn't. The heavy crash echoed loudly on the still air, and the timbered ceiling creaked in sympathy. Rupert moved away from the door and stared about him, the Champion close behind. Dirty straw matting covered the earth floor, and the bare stone walls were discoloured by lichen and running damp. The smoke-blackened hearth held nothing but a little coal and some ashes. Four mismatched chairs, one obviously a small child's, surrounded a roughly hewn table. Wooden platters had been set, as though for a meal. The whole room couldn't have been more than ten feet square, and the ceiling was so low Rupert kept wanting to duck his head. The smell was appalling.

Rupert wrinkled his nose in disgust. 'How can people live like this?'

'They're a miner's family,' said the Champion, 'which is just another way of saying poor. If a miner doesn't dig enough ore to meet the overseer's quota, he doesn't get paid. If he meets the quota too easily, they raise it till he can't. Wages are low, and prices are high; the overseers run the only stores. A miner digs enough copper in a day to feed his family for a year, but the penalty for stealing ore is death.'

'I didn't know,' whispered Rupert. 'I just never . . . thought about it . . .'

'Why should you?' said the Champion. 'You have your responsibilities, the poor have theirs; that's the way of things.'

'Nobody should have to live like this,' said Rupert flatly.

'We can't all live in Castles, Sire. Somebody has to mine the copper.'

Rupert glared at the Champion, and then they both froze as a door slammed shut somewhere above them. The Champion hurried over to the only other door at the back of the room and pulled it open, revealing a narrow, rickety stairway. He peered up into the dark, and then slowly mounted the stairs, each step creaking loudly under his weight. Rupert glanced round the empty room, and then followed the Champion, sword at the ready.

The stairway led to the second floor: the same tiny room, this time containing two simple beds, separated by a hanging curtain, only half-drawn. The Champion pushed the curtain back to reveal a window, the flimsy wooden shutter banging in the wind. He shook his head, put away his sword, and closed the shutter. Rupert frowned at the two beds; they appeared to have been made up, but not slept in. He thought about looking underneath them, but they were too low to hide anything but a chamberpot. He held his lantern high and stared about him. Something lying on the far bed caught his eye, and he moved over to get a better look. It was a child's toy, a ragged cloth doll with crudely drawn features. Rupert sheathed his sword, and picked up the doll.

'Sir Champion, look at this.'

The Champion studied the doll, and frowned. 'It's well past a child's bedtime.'

'Right. So where is she?'

The Champion shrugged. 'With her family. Whatever happened here, I'd say they left together, of their own free will. There's been no fight or struggle in this house.'

Rupert scowled. 'The goblin said Coppertown had been visited by demons.'

'Goblins,' said the Champion, 'have been known to lie, on occasion.'

Rupert looked at the doll in his hand, and then thrust it under his jerkin and headed for the stairway. 'I want every building in Copper-town searched, sir Champion. Get the guards moving, while there's still some light left.'

'They won't find anything.'

'Do it anyway!'

'Yes, Sire.'

The Champion followed Rupert down the stairs, his silence clearly indicating his disapproval. Rupert didn't give a damn. All right, maybe the goblin had lied to him; certainly demons would have left more traces of their passing. But there had to be some good reason why eight hundred people would just walk out of their homes and disappear into the falling night. Somewhere in Coppertown there was an answer to all this, and Rupert was going to find it.

He stalked through the house and out into the street. The evening was fast becoming night, the darkening sky streaked with crimson from the setting sun. The Champion barked orders to the waiting guards, and soon the town was alive with running figures. The distant sound of banging doors carried clearly on the still air, and lanterns danced through the empty houses like so many will-o'-the-wisps. And one by one the guards returned, having found nothing and no one. Coppertown lay silent and deserted beneath the ebony sky.

'This is a mining town,' said Rupert finally. 'Where's the mine?'

'Just down that road, Sire,' said the Champion.

Rupert shook his head resignedly. 'We might as well check it out; it's the only place we haven't looked.'

'Aye, Sire. It's not far, half a mile at most.'

Rupert looked at him thoughtfully. 'How is it you know this place so well?'

'I was born here,' said the Champion.

A pale sliver of moon shone in the starless night as the Champion led Rupert and the column of guards down a steep hillside. Lanterns hung from every saddle, glowing golden against the dark, the pale light barely sufficient to show the path the Champion followed. Tall crooked shadows loomed menacingly out of the darkness as the company wended its way through the sparse trees. The wind had finally dropped, but the night air was bitter cold. The slope flattened out suddenly, and the Champion reined in his horse.

'This is it, Sire. The mine.'

Rupert held up his lantern, but the dim light hid more in shadow than it revealed. The mine workings looked old; centuries old. A few ancient half-timbered buildings surrounded a main entrance barely wide enough to admit three men walking abreast. The Champion swung down out of the saddle and stood quietly, his cold dark eyes fixed on the entrance. After a while, Rupert dismounted and moved forward to stand beside him.

'I was ten years old when my father first took me down below,' said the Champion quietly. 'The motherlode was running out, and the Barons had cut our wages, to reduce the overheads. My family needed the money, and there was always work for children down the mine. The tunnel that led to the main face was so small my father had to crawl through it on his hands and knees. All I had to do was duck my head. The only light came from the candles in our caps, and the air was thick with dust. That first day the shift was only six hours, but it seemed forever.

'I ran away, that night. I thought I was brave, but I couldn't face another day down the mine. I haven't been back here in over thirty years, but that mine still has a hold on me. Funny, isn't it, after all these years?'

Rupert shot a quick look at the Champion, but he seemed to have finished. The Champion's face was mostly lost in shadow, but it seemed as calm and impassive as ever. Rupert looked away. He didn't know why the Champion was telling him these things; it wasn't as though they were close, or even friends. Rupert studied the mine entrance before him. It was hard to think of the Champion as a boy; a child who laughed and cried and ran away from a darkness he couldn't bear.

'Sir Champion ...'

'We'll check the buildings first,' said the Champion evenly, and moved away to give the orders.

Light soon flared from a dozen torches set around the main entrance. Guards moved silently through the darkness, searching for traces of the missing townspeople. The buildings proved to be empty, but strange scuff marks were discovered in the tunnel leading down from the main entrance. Rupert entered the tunnel and knelt beside the marks, studying them as best he could in the dim light from his lantern. They weren't tracks as such; it looked more as though something indescribably heavy had lain briefly on the tunnel floor, crushing and packing the earth tightly together. Rupert frowned; whatever was responsible for those traces, it definitely wasn't demons. The Champion came back out of the tunnel darkness, and Rupert rose quickly to his feet.

'Have you found anything?'

'Not yet, Sire. They're in the mine somewhere.'

'We can't be sure of that, sir Champion.'

'I'm sure,' said the Champion flatly. 'Something called to them. Something called to the townspeople, and they left their houses to come here, to the mine. Men, women and children; so many they must have had to wait their turn to file through the main entrance. They're down there somewhere, in the dark, waiting for us to join them.'

Rupert glanced at him sideways. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the Champion was cracking up. The man had always been a little unstable, but . . . Further down the tunnel, a guard cried out in horror. Rupert ran forward, the Champion at his side, and the guard came out of the darkness to meet them, his face drained of all colour. He'd lost his sword and his lantern, but he was carrying something in his hand.

'What's happened?' snapped the Champion. The guard stumbled to a halt. His mouth worked, but he couldn't speak.

'What have you found?' asked Rupert. The guard shook his head wordlessly, and handed Rupert a red shoe. Rupert frowned. It was small, too small to be anything but a child's. It seemed strangely heavy in his hand. He looked into the shoe, and then fought back the urge to vomit. The child's foot was still in the shoe, neatly severed at the ankle. The shoe was red from dried blood. Rupert passed the shoe to the Champion, who studied it calmly.

'Did you find anything else?' Rupert asked the guard.

He shook his head. 'I couldn't ... I couldn't see much; it was too dark. But the smell . . . the smell's pretty bad.' He swallowed dryly and stumbled away, heading for the surface.

'He's young,' said the Champion absently. 'First tour of duty. Never struck a blow in anger, like as not. He'll get over it.'

'Yeah, sure,' said Rupert. His stomach lurched as the Champion casually threw the bloodstained shoe to one side, and he quickly looked away. 'Quite a few of my guards seem just as young, sir Champion. I take it they're all equally inexperienced?'

'Pretty much, Sire.'

'No wonder the King let me have them.'

'You're learning,' said the Champion.

Rupert smiled tiredly, and for a moment they stood together, staring down the tunnel into the darkness.

'Well,' Rupert said finally, 'there's nothing more we can do here. Let's get back to the town.'

The Champion frowned. 'Back to Coppertown?'

'It's better than being trapped out in the open,' said Rupert. 'If there are demons here, we'll be safer behind stone walls.'

'They didn't help the townspeople much,' said the Champion. 'Aren't you curious about what's down there in the dark?'

'Not a lot,' said Rupert.

'There could be somebody still alive, deep in the mine.'

'It's not very likely.'

'No, Sire. But it is possible.'

'Yes,' Rupert sighed regretfully. 'It is possible, sir Champion. What do you think we should do?'

'We must go down into the dark,' said the Champion calmly, 'and either save the townspeople, or avenge them.'

Rupert felt a sudden surge of empathy for the Champion. In his own way, the Champion was as scared of the mine as Rupert had been of the Darkwood. And, like Rupert, the Champion wasn't going to be stopped from doing what he felt was right, just because was afraid.

'All right,' said Rupert. 'Tell the guards what's happening, and get me four volunteers to come with us. Have the rest set up a perimeter and mark it with torches. If there are any demons prowling, they'll steer clear of the light.'

'Four volunteers, Sire?'

'This is going to be a scouting party, sir Champion, not an attack force. Time for that when we know what we're up against. And I want real volunteers, mind.'

'Of course, Sire.' The Champion smiled slightly and headed for the exit, to talk to the guards.

Rupert grinned, and then stared down the tunnel into the darkness. The darkness stared back, giving nothing away. Rupert drew his sword, and hefted it. The Rainbow Run seemed a long time ago. I don't have to do this, he thought slowly. It's stupid to risk my life for a few hundred missing townspeople. My mission to the High Warlock is far more important. He sighed regretfully, knowing he didn't really have a choice. No, I don't have to do this. But I'm going to. As long as there's a chance we can save somebody, I can't walk away and leave them to the dark. He studied his sword thoughtfully. If there were demons in the mine shafts, he could always call down another Rainbow.

The Champion came back with four guardsmen, each carrying a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. The extra light served mainly to emphasise the narrowness of the tunnel. Rupert noticed that the Champion had left his lantern behind, in order to have both hands free to carry his massive war axe.

'Ready, Sire?'

'Ready, sir Champion. You know this mine, so you'd better lead the way.'

'Of course, Sire.' The Champion strode calmly down the tunnel, into the dark. Rupert followed close behind him, lantern held high, and the four guardsmen brought up the rear. Rupert stared worriedly at the Champion's back; the man was too determined not to let his old fear of the mine rule him. That kind of single-mindedness could lead to him doing something foolhardy and get them all killed.

The tunnel sloped steadily downwards, and Rupert hunched forward a little to avoid bumping his head on the low ceiling. The walls were pitted and scarred, supported here and there by thick timbers disfigured by moss and rot. Fat clumps of white fungi gathered where the walls met the floor, and a faint sickly-sweet smell tainted the air. Rupert scowled. The smell bothered him; it seemed strangely familiar. The Champion's confident pace soon slowed, and he peered about him almost hesitantly, as though troubled by unwelcome memories. Rupert could hear the guards muttering behind him, and every now and again there was a muffled curse as they lost their footing or forgot to duck their head. Rupert glared into the darkness before him, but the lantern's pool of light didn't extend more than a few feet beyond the Champion.

The tunnel suddenly widened out into a cavern, a good hundred feet in diameter. Set roughly in the centre, a wide shaft fell deep into the earth. Positioned over the pit was a heavy-duty windlass, from which hung a thick, sturdy rope that disappeared down into the shaft. The Champion gestured for the guards to work the windlass, and Rupert realised he was looking at a simple elevator. He moved over to the shaft's edge, and peered gingerly down into the pit. The sickly smell was immediately stronger.

'Smells like something died down there,' muttered one of the guards disgustedly, as he sheathed his sword and helped take the strain on the wheel. The rope snapped taut, and then slowly began to wrap itself around the overhead windlass as the elevator rose reluctantly from the bottom of the shaft. Rupert moved back from the edge, frowning unhappily as he finally realised why the smell had seemed so familiar: it was the same stench of decay he'd found in the Darkwood. He watched the rope gather on the solid steel spindle for several minutes, and tried to visualise how far down the shaft must go. He gave up after a while. The answer disturbed him. He moved over to join the Champion.

'Is this the only way down?' he asked quietly.

'Aye, Sire,' said the Champion. 'One of the guards will go down first, to spy out the situation. Once he's given the all-clear, I'll send back for more guards to work the windlass, and then we can follow him down.'

Rupert scowled. 'I don't like leaving one man down there on his own.'

'You're a Prince,' said the Champion. 'You have no right to risk your life unnecessarily.'

Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked away as the elevator platform finally lurched into view. One of the guards cursed softly, and another blessed himself. The solid-oak platform was scarred and burned as though with acid, and the last few yards of the rope were scorched and discoloured. The guards hurriedly made fast the windlass, and then everybody froze as a sound drifted up out of the shaft, a long, sliding sucking sound, culminating in a deep bass grunt that seemed to shiver through the very stone of the cavern.

Rupert moved forward, and stared grimly at the battered wooden platform. 'Stand ready, sir Champion. I'm going down.'

'No, Sire,' said the Champion firmly. 'It's too great a risk.'

That's why I have to go. Whoever sank this shaft let it fall too far —they've woken something deep in the earth that should never have been disturbed. Cold steel isn't enough against creatures of the dark, sir Champion. You need a magic sword. Like mine.'

The two men stared steadily at each other.

'You swore to follow my orders,' said Rupert softly, and the Champion bowed slightly.

'Step aboard, Sire. We'll lower you a few yards at a time. Sing out if you hit any trouble, and we'll bring you straight back up. If you're too far down to be heard, slap the rope twice with the flat of your sword.'

Rupert nodded, and stepped gingerly on to the platform. The rope creaked, but the scarred wood felt solid enough under his feet. 'Lower away, sir Champion.'

'Aye, Sire.' The Champion joined the guards at the wheel, and the elevator sank jerkily into the shaft.

Rupert carefully placed his lantern on the edge of the platform, so as to have one hand free. The walls of the shaft moved slowly past him, gleaming dully in the pale golden light. Rupert sniffed the close air, and grimaced. The stench of corruption was growing stronger. He remembered the red shoe, and tightened his grip on the rainbow sword. The platform descended steadily into the pit, and the lamplit cavern above was soon nothing more than a shrinking circle of light. Rupert shifted nervously from foot to foot, and tried not to think about how much further he still had to go before he reached the bottom of the shaft. He glanced into a shadowed cavity in the left-hand wall as it rose past him, and then yelled for the guards to stop the elevator. The platform sank another few feet and then slammed to a halt. Rupert grabbed the shuddering rope to keep from falling, and then looked for the cavity, but it now lay just beyond his reach.

'Are you all right, Sire?' The Champion's voice seemed faint, and very far away.

'I'm fine!' Rupert yelled back. 'Raise the platform a little; I've found something!'

There was a pause, and then the elevator rose gradually back up the shaft. Rupert snatched up his lantern and waited impatiently as thr wall cavity fell slowly within reach.

'Hold it!' The elevator jerked to a stop, and Rupert moved forward to peer into the cavity. A human skull, broken and distorted, gleamed yellow in the lamplight. It could have been a recent death, or it could have lain there for centuries; Rupert had no way of knowing. Either way, it was a bad omen. Rupert hefted his sword uncertainly, and then yelled for the Champion to continue the descent.

The elevator fell for what seemed like hours. Rupert clutched his sword so tightly his hand started to ache, and he had to force himself to loosen his grip. The air grew thick and moist, and the cloying sweet stench turned his stomach. Again and again, Rupert told himself there was no chance any of the townspeople could still be alive. But he had to be sure. He glanced back up the shaft, but no trace of the cavern remained, save for a dim speck of light far above him, like a single star on a moonless night. And then the platform slammed into solid rock, and Rupert was thrown to his knees by the impact. The elevator had finally reached the bottom of the shaft.

Rupert called up to the Champion that he'd arrived safely, but there was no reply. Rupert shrugged, and looked about him. A series of tunnels led off from the base of the shaft, each opening barely four feet high. Rupert chose the largest tunnel mouth and crawled gingerly forward on hands and knees, holding the lantern out before him. Moisture beaded the dark stone walls, gleaming brightly in the pale golden light. Rupert scrambled awkwardly on into the darkness, and tried not to think about the vast weight of rock hanging over his head. His back ached from the unaccustomed strain of moving on all fours, and the sword in his hand seemed to grow heavier and more of a nuisance with every bruise it earned him. The tunnel floor was suddenly wet under his hands, and Rupert stopped as a horrid thought struck him. His stomach lurched as he looked down, certain he'd find the stone slick with freshly spilled blood, but there was no trace of crimson in the thick, viscous slime that lathered the floor. Rupert frowned, put down the lantern, and rubbed a little of the stuff between his fingers. The slime was clear as water and very slippery. He brought his fingers to his nose, sniffed cautiously, and then snatched his hand away. The slime stank of death and decay.

The tunnel seemed suddenly full of the stench, and Rupert scrubbed his fingers on his jerkin until he was sure they were clean again. His breathing was harsh and unsteady, and his knuckles whitened as he clutched his lantern and his sword. The familiar stench and the dark crowding around him had thrust him back into the Darkwood, and once again fear threatened to overthrow his reason and leave him lost and alone in the darkness. He flailed with his arms as panic took him, and they slammed into the tunnel walls. The solid unyielding rock was strangely comforting, and he drew strength from its inflexible reality. His breathing gradually slowed to normal, and he even managed a small smile at how close the dark had come to sending him back to the edge of madness. He might still be afraid of the dark, but it couldn't break him. Not just yet, anyway.

He stared down the narrow tunnel before him, and held up his lantern. The floor was covered with glistening slime for as far as he couldd see. Rupert gnawed his lower lip uncertainly. He wanted to go onn, if only to prove to himself that he could, but this was supposed to he a scouting party, and he ought really to go back and tell the Champion what he'd found. The slime worried him. Demons left no such trace to mark their passing. Rupert started to edge slowly back down the tunnel, and then froze. Far ahead in the tunnel darkness, someone was singing.

The voice was male and female, both and neither, and it called to Rupert. It promised light and love, friendship and protection, all he ever wanted and more besides. The voice was sweet and smooth and slick, and Rupert trusted it. The voice called, and Rupert crawled slowly forward, into the slime. His hands slipped and he fell forward, the hard impact driving the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air, and the sweet stench of decay filled his nostrils, shocking him awake.

Rupert froze in horror as he realised what he'd been doing. The voice still sang, beckoning and cajoling, but Rupert fought it, refusing to believe its lies, even when it offered him his most secret dreams. And in the end he won, possibly because he had been lied to so many times before and no longer believed in anything much, not even his own dreams. Rupert lay stretched out on the tunnel floor, covered in evil-smelling slime, and finally understood why the people of Coppertown had left their homes and descended into the depths of the pit.

The voice rose and fell, roaring and wailing as it realised its failure. Rupert clutched his sword, and lay perfectly still. He knew he ought to blow out his lantern and hide in the dark, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. The voice squealed and gurgled and then died away to a horrid sucking sound, ending in the short bass grunt Rupert had heard earlier. The sudden silence seemed to ring in Rupert's ears as he strained to hear more clearly. Far off in the distance, a little girl started to cry.

Rupert swore softly, letting his breath out with a rush. It had to be a trick, and a pretty damn obvious one at that. But there were children missing, and if by chance one had survived, and was wandering lost in the tunnels, looking for help . . . Rupert shook his head helplessly, trapped in an agony of indecision. He remembered the red shoe, and shivered, and then he remembered the child's doll he'd found, still tucked inside his jerkin. He could feel it, pressed against his chest by the tunnel floor. He sighed resignedly, knowing he didn't really have a choice. If there was even the slightest chance the child was still alive, he had to find her, or he'd never forgive himself. He edged slowly forward into the darkness, grimacing as the cold slime oozed between his fingers.

The slime glistened dully under the golden lamplight, and Rupert noticed uneasily that the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were also coated with the stuff. He struggled on, slipping and sliding, and holding his sword blade carefully clear of the slime. The little girl was still crying, a lost, lonely sound. Rupert stopped for a while to get his breath back. Crawling on his hands and knees was awkward as well as tiring, and his back was killing him. He'd been crawling for what seemed like ages, but the crying hadn't drawn any closer. He glanced back the way he'd come, but the tunnel entrance was lost in the darkness. He looked ahead, and frowned; he had to be close to the main workings by now. He suddenly realised the child had stopped crying. He waited, listening, and the silence dragged on. She could be anywhere, thought Rupert. I've got to find her before the voice does.

'Hello?' he called softly. 'Where are you? Don't cry, love, I've come to help ...'

The voice screamed in triumph, and Rupert's blood ran cold as he felt the tunnel floor shudder beneath him. Something was coming, something large and indescribably heavy. A strange pressure built on the air, pressing lightly against Rupert's face as he stared into the dark. He realised there was no child, and never had been. But then he'd always known that, deep down; he just hadn't wanted to believe it. He scrambled backwards down the tunnel, his arms hammering against the tunnel walls in his haste. Whatever owned the calling voice hadn't been able to see his lantern, so it had tricked him into calling out. And now it knew where he was.

He fought his way back to the tunnel entrance, thrown back and forth by the shaking rock beneath him. A deep, throbbing grunt sounded out of the darkness, horribly close, and then Rupert fell backwards out of the tunnel and into the elevator's cavern. The lantern flew from his hand and rolled across the floor, the pale golden light flickering ominously as it came to rest by the elevator platform. Rupert scrambled on to the platform, grabbed the lantern, and screamed for the Champion to pull him up. Wet sucking sounds echoed from the tunnel entrance. Rupert struck the elevator rope twice with the flat of his sword, put down the lantern, and stood ready to face whatever it was that pursued him. The deep bass grunt sounded again, close and horribly eager. The platform suddenly lurched beneath him, and then rose slowly up the shaft.

Rupert yelled for the guards to pull faster, and clutched desperately at his sword. Whatever had called to him in the tunnel was of the dark, and the only answer to darkness was light. He had to have a Rainbow. He took his sword carefully in both hands, and raised it above his head. All his fear and hate and desperation came together in him as he screamed defiance to the dark, but the Rainbow didn't come. The sword was cold and lifeless, and Rupert knew that this time he was on his own. There wasn't going to be any Rainbow. Rupert slowly lowered the sword, and stared at it numbly. No one had ever told him the blade could be used more than once, he'd just assumed it. And he'd assumed wrong. Rupert's hands suddenly began to shake, and he panted for breath as panic welled up within him. Until now, he hadn't realised how much he'd come to depend on the rainbow sword; knowing he had that extra ace up his sleeve had given him a confidence and security he'd never known before. Rupert shook his head violently, forcing back the growing panic. All right, so the sword was useless; he'd just have to face the dark the hard way, that was all. He'd done it before, he could do it again. And then a thick slobbering grunt came from directly beneath him, and something slammed into the underside of the platform, throwing him off balance.

'Pull faster!' Rupert screamed to the guards. 'Pull me up! Pull me up!' The platform lurched beneath him, tipped to one side, and then straightened again as the elevator finally began to pick up speed, leaving the creature behind. Rupert stared anxiously up the shaft as the widening circle of light drew steadily nearer. It was going to be close. He snatched up the lantern and readied himself to jump clear the moment the elevator reached the winch cavern. Deep in the shaft, the creature grunted, hungrily, eagerly.

It's still following me up the shaft, thought Rupert dazedly. What is it? What the hell is it?

The platform burst out of the shaft and into the cavern. Rupert threw himself to one side and hit the ground rolling, somehow still hanging on to his sword and lantern. He lurched to his feet and yelled a warning to the startled guards at the wheel, and then something crashed into the stationary platform from below. The solid wood shattered into splinters as the creature of the dark roared up out of the mine shaft. Silver grey and shining with its own eerie light, it erupted into the cavern and fell upon the guards. They didn't even have time to scream. At first Rupert thought it was some monstrous worm, but then he saw how the shimmering flesh spread out as it surged beyond the confines of the elevator shaft, and he realised the creature had no shape, and simply became what it needed to be to fulfil its purpose. The Champion was at his side, grabbing him by the shoulder and almost throwing him into the tunnel that led to the surface. Rupert snapped out of his daze and sprinted along the tunnel, the Champion close behind. Rupert glanced back once: the glowing pearly flesh had filled the cavern and was spilling into the tunnel after them. Rupert swore harshly, and ran faster. The Champion lifted his lantern to judge the distance ahead.

'We're not going to make it, Sire. We have to stand and fight.'

'It'll kill us!'

'If you've a better idea, I'm open to suggestions.'

Wet sucking sounds echoed behind them, and the creature grunted like some vast hog at its trough. Rupert glared about him as he ran.

'The tunnel supports!' he said suddenly. 'The wood's half rotten anyway; cut through enough of them and the roof will collapse. That should slow the creature down!'

He skidded to a halt and hacked at the nearest support with his sword. The blade sank deep into the rotting wood and stuck fast. Rupert cursed, and worked it free. The Champion sliced clean through the opposite support with one blow of his war axe. Rupert cut again and again at the stubborn timber, and finally sheared it through. The roof creaked once, and a little dust fell into the tunnel. The Champion cut through another support. Rupert glanced back down the tunnel and froze. The creature was fast approaching, surging forward like a flash flood. Frothing and writhing, it filled the tunnel with its eerie grey light. Deep within the semi-transparent flesh floated the limp bodies of the guards, turning slowly over and over, and Rupert finally knew what had happened to the people of Coppertown.

Behind him, the Champion sheared through a thick timber support, and the roof creaked ominously. The sudden sound snapped Rupert out of his reverie, and he ran on down the tunnel to attack another support with his sword. The decaying wood fell apart on the first blow, and the roof sagged. Dust fell in thick streams as the rock overhead groaned and shifted. Rupert and the Champion ran on, and the tunnel roof came crashing down behind them. A thick cloud of dust billowed around them as they headed for the surface, and the sound of falling rock continued for some time.

Rupert staggered out into the fresh night air and sank exhausted to the ground. The Champion stood beside him a moment, breathing evenly, and then moved away to tell the waiting guards what had happened. Rupert sat with his back propped against the half-timbered base of the main entrance, and listened to the gentle rumble of settling stone. He would have been hard-pressed to name a part of him that didn't ache, but he was alive and intact, and that was enough to set him grinning like he'd never stop. He breathed deeply, savouring the clear air after the constant stench of the pit. He realised he was still holding tight to his sword and his lantern. He put the lantern down beside him, and studied the sword thoughtfully. It seemed the magic was gone from the rainbow sword, and in a strange way Rupert was almost glad. The last time he'd stood against the dark, a Rainbow had come down to save him; this time, he'd had to do it himself. And knowing that he'd been able to meant a great deal to him. He considered for a moment giving up the rainbow sword in favour of a blade more suited to combat, but decided against it. The sword had a good edge and a good balance, and he was used to it. Rupert sheathed his sword, and stretched slowly. It felt so good to be alive.

The constant rumbling deep within the tunnel showed no sign of abating, and Rupert frowned despite himself. Countless tons of fallen rock stood between him and the creature of the dark; there was no way in which it could get past such a barrier . . . Rupert grabbed his lantern, clambered painfully to his feet, and stared into the tunnel darkness, a horrid certainty growing within him that the fight wasn't over yet. He thought back to what he'd seen of the creature, and his scowl deepened. It had no shape save that dictated by its surroundings, and when it moved, it frothed and undulated as though its unnatural flesh was some strange mixture of solid and liquid, or perhaps even something else entirely, with the properties of both. In his mind's eye Rupert saw again the solid oak platform burst asunder as the creature smashed right through it without even slowing.

Rupert swore softly, under his breath. He knew the creature was dead, crushed into pulp under tons of fallen rubble. He knew it, but he had to see it himself, to be sure. He drew his sword, held his lantern high, and moved back into the tunnel, squinting through the slowly settling dust that choked the air. The Champion was suddenly at his side.

'Where are you going, Sire?'

'Just down the tunnel a way.'

'It isn't safe, Sire.'

'If that tunnel isn't sealed, none of us are safe. I'm going to take a look.'

The Champion studied him, and then bowed slightly. 'Very well, Sire. Wait just a moment, and I'll detail a few guards to accompany us.'

'No!' Rupert checked himself, surprised at his sudden anger, and when he spoke again his voice was calm and even. 'We took four guards with us on our first investigation of this mine, sir Champion. Now they're dead. I never even knew their names. What's left of that tunnel roof could come down at any minute, and I'll not put any more of my men at risk unless I have to. I'm only going back in because I need to be sure.'

'Then I'll come with you,' said the Champion. 'I need to be sure, too.'

Rupert nodded, and headed down the tunnel into the darkness, the Champion at his side. The tunnel air was still thick with dust, and the roof and walls creaked ominously. Rupert and the Champion soon reached the cave-in: a ragged wall of fallen stone and earth and broken timber. The Champion stared dubiously about him as Rupert moved cautiously forward to inspect the massive barricade. He prodded the wall here and there with his sword, but nothing gave by so much as an inch. Silence filled the narrow tunnel, broken only by the soft whisper of earth trickling down from cracks in the lowering roof.

'Come away, Sire,' said the Champion quietly. 'It's all over.'

'No,' said Rupert. 'I don't think so. I can hear something . . . something moving ...'

He backed quickly away, still staring at the wall of fallen debris, and then a single boulder at the top of the barrier slowly teetered and fell forward into the tunnel. And through the gap it left slithered a long rope of glowing silver flesh. From beyond the barrier came a deafening roar of triumph and bloody hunger, culminating in a vast sonorous grunt. The Champion hefted his war axe uncertainly and glanced at Rupert.

'If the cave-in didn't hurt it, I don't see what more we can do, Sire. Let's get out of here. If we can get to the horses, we might be able to outdistance it.'

'No!' snapped Rupert. 'We have to stop it here! At least the tunnel keeps it to a manageable size; if it reaches the surface ...'

The Champion nodded, and grinned suddenly. 'I never did believe in running away from a good fight. What are your orders, Sire?'

The barrier began to fall apart as glowing silver-grey flesh enveloped the smaller rocks and digested them. More and more of the creature flowed into the tunnel as Rupert glared furiously about for an answer. The creature was of the dark, and the dark must always fall to the light; the rainbow sword had failed him, but perhaps his lantern . . . He darted forward and carefully placed the lantern in the path of a probing silver tentacle. The tentacle ignored the lantern and lashed out at Rupert. He swung his sword double-handed, and it slashed easily through the pallid flesh, meeting only the faintest resistance. Rupert smiled grimly as the severed end splashed to the floor, and then he spun round as the Champion shouted a warning. Broad cracks had spread across the barrier, and the creature was breaking through in a dozen places. Rupert and the Champion fell back, and the creature flowed after them. A silver tentacle rolled over the lantern, engulfing it in a second, and Rupert's heart fell. And then the creature screamed and flung away the tentacle, as the silver flesh burst into flame. The discarded tentacle writhed feebly as the fire consumed it, burning fiercely until nothing remained but an evil stench on the air. Rupert grinned savagely as the answer came to him. Fire — man's oldest ally against the dark.

'Oil lamps!' he yelled to the Champion. 'Get me some oil lamps!'

The Champion nodded quickly, and sprinted back to the surface. Rupert hefted his sword and studied the creature warily by its own eerie light. The barrier blocking the tunnel was riven in a dozen places, and silver-grey flesh oozed through the narrow fissures in a steady flow. Stone and earth and timber creaked ominously as the creature pressed its awful weight against the barrier, and Rupert knew it was only a matter of moments before the mounting pressure would burst the wall asunder, and the creature would come roaring down the tunnel like a flash flood. If the Champion wasn't back by then, Rupert knew that running wouldn't be enough to save him. He started to retreat cautiously down the tunnel, and the Champion came to meet him with a dozen guards, all carrying oil lamps.

'Right,' said Rupert crisply. 'Empty the oil out on to the floor, then go back for more lamps. Move it, there's not much time!'

The guards exchanged glances but did as they were told, and soon the tunnel floor was awash with oil. Deep in the dark, the creature grunted hungrily as the stone and earth barrier heaved and cracked apart. Rupert sent the guards back to the surface, and studied the pool of oil that lay between him and the creature.

'Think there's enough, sir Champion?'

'If not, we'll soon find out, Sire.'

Rupert laughed, and turned to face the Champion. 'Give me your lantern, and then get out of here.'

'Lighting the oil is my job,' said the Champion evenly.

'Not this time.'

The two men looked at each other, and then the Champion bowed slightly.

'I'll wait at the entrance, Sire. Don't be long.'

Rupert nodded his thanks, and the Champion turned and padded silently back down the tunnel. Rupert sheathed his sword, knelt beside the pool of oil, and watched the barrier slowly fall apart. He wasn't really sure why he'd sent the Champion back; he only knew this was something he had to do. If only to prove to himself that he didn't need a magic sword to be brave. The stone and earth of the barrier began to shake, and Rupert opened the lantern and took out the candle stub. He glanced at the pool of oil, and hesitated. If he stooped down to light the oil with the candle, the sudden flames would engulf him too, but if he threw the candle, it would probably go out before it hit the oil. And then the creature roared with triumph as it finally burst through the barrier, and surged down the tunnel towards him.

Rupert wavered uncertainly as the glowing silver tide came sweeping forward, dark shadows that had once been men floating half-digested within the creature's bulk. Some of the shadows were no larger than children. That thought gave him the answer, and Rupert grinned fiercely as he pulled from inside his jerkin the cloth doll he'd found abandoned back in the miner's house. He dipped the doll's head in the oil, stood up, and then touched the candle to the doll's head. It burned steadily, glowing gold and crimson against the dark. Rupert looked up. The creature was almost upon him, filling the tunnel from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Its deep sonorous grunts had taken on a hellish unnerving rhythm that seemed to shudder through his bones. Rupert threw the burning doll into the oil, and then turned and ran for the surface.

Intense heat scorched his back as the oil caught, and the tunnel was suddenly full of light. And then the creature screamed shrilly, so loud that Rupert stumbled to a halt, his hands clapped to his ears. He stared back down the tunnel and saw the creature burning, brighter than the brightest lamp. It writhed and heaved as the fire coursed through it, consuming the creature from within. It tried to retreat back down the tunnel, but the fire followed, and the flames grew brighter still, until Rupert could hardly see for the blinding glare. He turned and ran for the surface again, driven away by the searing heat, and then a vast explosion picked him up and threw him down the tunnel, and all the light was gone.

For a time, he lay still on the packed earth of the tunnel floor, just glad to be alive. His head ached, and his ears rang from the explosion, but otherwise he seemed largely unhurt. He rose painfully to his feet, half choking on the thick, evil-smelling smoke that filled the narrow tunnel, and slowly he made his way back through the darkness, and out into the night. The waiting guards cheered as he stumbled out of the main entrance, and Rupert raised a hand tiredly in response and then sat down quickly before he fell down. The guards laughed, cheered him again, and then moved away to start preparations for the journey back to Coppertown. Rupert leaned back against the entrance wall, and let the tiredness take him. He felt he'd earned a rest, at least for a while. The Champion came and stood over him.

'I take it the creature burned, Sire.'

'Yes,' said Rupert. 'It burned.'

'Do you think it's dead?'

'They say fire purifies . . . No, sir Champion, it's not dead. We've just hurt it, and driven it back, back into the depths, into the dark and secret places of the earth from which it came.'

Rupert rose slowly to his feet, stared briefly into the mine entrance and then turned his back on it. The cold wind blowing was clear and fresh, dispelling the stench of corruption and decay like a passing memory.

'You didn't have to stay and light the oil,' said the Champion slowly. 'That was well and bravely done, Sire.'

Rupert shrugged uncomfortably. 'You did pretty well yourself, sir Champion.'

'I did my duty, nothing more.'

Rupert thought of the Champion's fear of the mine, but said nothing.

'A pity we couldn't save any of the townspeople,' said the Champion.

'It was already too late when we got here,' said Rupert. 'There was nothing we could have done. Not much of a homecoming for you, was it?'

The Champion watched the guards mill back and forth, his face as impassive as ever. 'Forest Castle is my home, Sire, and always has been. What are your orders for the mine?'

'Have the guards bring down the tunnel roof again, sir Champion; I want that entrance completely blocked. I doubt it'll stop the creature getting out, but it should stop it enticing any more victims down into the mine.'

The Champion nodded, and moved away to give the orders to the guards. Rupert watched him go, and let his hand rest on the pommel of the rainbow sword. Now the blade has proved itself worthless as a weapon against the dark, his mission to summon the High Warlock became more important than ever.

The wind seemed suddenly colder. Rupert stared up at the new moon; already it seemed tinged with blue, like the first hint of leprosy.

Chapter Four

ALLIES

Princess Julia paced impatiently back and forth in the Court's narrow antechamber, bored out of her mind. King John had sent for her half an hour ago, but despite all her shouting and kicking, the double doors leading to the Great hall remained securely locked. Julia threw herself into a chair and scowled at the world, fed up to her back teeth. There was no one to talk to, nothing to do, and since they'd taken down all the portraits she couldn't even while away the time witha little target practice. Julia sighed disgustedly, folded her arms, and cursed Rupert to hell and back for riding off and leaving her.

He'd been gone almost three months, and Julia missed him more than she cared to admit. She'd done her best to settle into the Court and its Society, but as so many times before, her best hadn't been nearly good enough. Her willingness to knock brickdust out of anybody dumb enough to insult her twice had earned her a certain grudging respect, but few friends. Those Ladies of Julia's age and station had tried their utmost to make her feel welcome, but they didn't really have much in common with the young Princess. Their main interests were gossip, fashion and the best ways of catching a rich husband, while Julia didn't give a damn about romantic or Court intrigue, threw away her fashionable shoes because they pinched her feet, and threatened to become violent if anyone even mentioned her forthcoming marriage to Prince Harald. She much preferred riding, hunting and sword drill, pastimes which scandalised her peers. It's not feminine, they protested faintly. In reply, Julia said something extremely coarse, and all the young Ladies suddenly found compelling reasons why they had to be somewhere else.

After that, Julia found herself left pretty much alone.

At first, she spent a lot of time exploring the castle. She quickly discovered that the same door needn't lead to the same room twice; that some doors were entrances, some were exits, but not all were both; and that some corridors actually folded back upon themselves when you weren't looking. Julia found all this intensely interesting, but unfortunately she tended to get lost rather a lot, and after the fourth search party King John made her promise not to stray from the main corridors without a guide. And that, for all practical purposes, was that.

Like their master the Seneschal, who governed the day-to-day running of the Castle, the guides shared a strange mystical sense that told them where they were in relation to everything else. This meant that not only could they not get lost, but they knew where any given room was at any given time. In a Castle where directions depended on which day of the week it was when you asked, such gifted people were invaluable, and therefore rather scarce on the ground when you needed them. Julia reluctantly gave up her explorations, and went back to challenging the guards at sword drill.

The King then provided her with a chaperone. Julia quickly discovered that the easiest way to deal with that sweet grey-haired old Lady was to run her off her feet. After three days of running round the Castle at full tilt just to keep Julia in sight, this worthy Lady told the King flatly that the young Princess had no need of a chaperone, as there wasn't a man in the Castle fleet enough of foot to catch up with her.

Which was not to say that nobody tried. The main contender was of course Harald, who seemed to think that their arranged marriage already gave him certain rights to her person, if not her affections. A few jolting left hooks taught him to keep his distance, and sharpened up his reflexes wonderfully, but he seemed to regard it all as part of the game and wouldn't be put off. Julia supposed she was meant to find this flattering, but she didn't. Harald was charming enough when he wanted to be, but when he wasn't flexing his muscles for her to admire, he was dropping heavy hints about his vast personal wealth, and how all the Forest Kingdom would be his one day. In return Julia tried to drop little hints concerning how she felt about him, like hitting him, or trying to push him off the battlements. Unfortunately he still didn't seem to get the message. Julia avoided him as much as possible, and for the most part they settled on an armed truce, with an unspoken agreement never to use the word marriage.

But she was still bored, and even a little lonely. The Ladies-in-Waiting weren't talking to her, the courtiers had disowned her, and the guards wouldn't duel with her any more because it made them look bad when they lost. So, when King John summoned her to Court, she went. It was something to do.

Julia glowered at the closed Court doors, and her hand dropped to her side, where her swordhilt used to be. Her scowl deepened as her hand clutched aimlessly at nothing. Even after all this time she still felt naked without a sword on her hip, but the King had been adamant about her not wearing a sword in the Castle, and she'd grown tired of arguing. And so the sword Rupert had given her in the Darkwood now lay locked away in her bedchamber, unused except for sword drill. Julia sighed moodily. It wasn't as if she needed the sword anyway. And she still had her dagger, tucked securely into the top of her boot.

Julia slouched in her chair, and stared gloomily round the antechamber. She was tempted just to get up and leave, but her curiosity wouldn't let her. King John had to have some good reason for suddenly requiring her presence at Court, and Julia had an uneasy feeling that when she found out what it was, she wasn't going to like it. So she gritted her teeth, and stayed put. She smiled slightly as her roving gaze fell upon the locked double doors again. The carpenters had done their best, but though the sturdy oaken doors had been carefully re-hung, nothing short of total replacement would ever hide the deep scars and gouges left by the dragon's claws.

Julia frowned as the steady murmur of raised voices continued to seep past the closed doors. The courtiers had been shouting at each other when she first arrived, and it seemed they were still going strong. The sound was just loud enough to be intriguing without being understandable, and Julia decided she'd had enough. She leapt to her feet, glated round the sparsely furnished antechamber, and then grinned evilly as an idea struck her. Keep her waiting, would they? She studied the hanging tapestries for a moment, pulled down the ugliest, and stuffed it into the narrow gap between the doors and the floor. She then removed one of the flaring torches from its holder, knelt down, and carefully set light to the tapestry.

It burned well, giving off thick streamers of smoke, and Julia replaced the torch in its holder and waited impatiently for the Court to notice. For a time the flames leapt and crackled to no effect, and Julia had just started to wonder if a little lamp oil might not help things along, when the Court fell silent. There was the briefest of pauses, and then the silence was broken by piercing shrieks and yells of 'Fire!' Julia smiled complacently as through the doors wafted the unmistakable sounds of panic: swearing, shouting and running in circles. The doors flew open to reveal Harald, who nodded to Julia and then emptied a pitcher of table wine over the burning cloth, dousing the flames instantly.

'Hello, Julia,' he said casually. 'We've been expecting you.'

She pushed past him. He grinned and goosed her, and then ducked quickly to avoid the dagger that nearly took his ear off.

'That one wasn't even close,' he chided her, staying carefully just out of reach as he led her through the flustered courtiers. 'Does that mean you're mellowing towards me?'

'No,' said Julia. 'It means I need to practise more.'

Harald laughed, and brought her before the throne. King John glared at her tiredly.

'Princess Julia, why can't you knock, like everyone else?'

'I've been kept waiting for almost an hour!' snapped Julia.

'I do have other business to attend to, apart from you.'

'Fine, I'll come back when you've finished.'

She turned to leave, and found her way blocked by half a dozen heavily armed guards.

'Princess Julia,' said the King evenly, 'your attitude leaves much to be desired.'

'Tough,' said Julia. She glared at the guards, and then turned reluctantly back to the throne. 'All right, what do you want?'

'For the moment, just wait quietly while I finish my other business. Harald can keep you company.'

Julia sniffed disdainfully, hitched up her ankle-long dress, and sat down at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. The marble step was cold, even through the thick carpeting, but Julia was damned if she was going to stand around until the King was ready to talk to her. It was a matter of principle. Harald came and sat down beside her, still keeping just out of arm's reach. Julia smiled slightly, drew her dagger from her boot, and cut tick-tack-toe lines into the carpet between them. Harald grinned, drew a dagger from his boot, and carved a cross in the centre square. King John decided not to notice.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then turned his attention to the three men waiting before his throne with varying degrees of patience. He'd had dealings with Sir Blays before, but the two other Landsgraves were new to him. All three had arrived together, which implied the Barons had finally agreed on a common course of action, but judging from the way the three Landsgraves watched each other all the time it was an uneasy alliance at best. King John smiled slowly, and settled back in his throne. Divide and conquer, that was the way. Get them arguing among themselves, and their own vested interests would tear them apart.

He studied the three Landsgraves carefully, taking his time. It wouldn't do to have them thinking they could rattle him. Sir Blays took the centre position, a short, stocky man with close-cropped grey hair and deep, piercing eyes. Calm, sober and soft-spoken, he cultivated an air of polite consideration, which fooled only those who didn't know him. King John had known him for almost twenty years.

The impressively muscled figure waiting impatiently to the right of Sir Blays had to be Sir Bedivere. Rumour had it he'd killed a dozen men in duels. There were whispers that he'd provoked the duels deliberately, for the sport of it, but no one had said that to the man's face. He was young and darkly handsome, in a self-indulgent way, and the King didn't miss the weakness that showed in Sir Bedivere's puffy eyes and pouting lower lip. Some day he'd be a possible replacement for the Champion; if he lived that long.

The quiet, timid figure to the left of Sir Blays was Sir Guillam, a man so ordinary in appearance as to be practically invisible. Tall rather than short, and perhaps a little on the skinny side, his round, open face had no more character in it than a baby's. His thinning hair was a mousy brown, neatly parted in the centre. His pale grey eyes blinked nervously as he shifted uncomfortably under the King's gaze, and King John hid a smile behind his hand. Sir Guillam was a familiar type: he'd obey whatever instructions he'd been given to the letter, mainly because he wasn't bright enough to do anything else. Such emissaries were easy to confuse, and even easier to manipulate. And then Sir Bedivere suddenly stepped forward, and bowed deeply to the throne.

'Your majesty, if I might beg a moment of your time ...'

'Of course, Sir Bedivere,' said the King graciously. 'You are the new Landsgrave of Deepwater Brook demesne?'

'Aye, Sire; I speak for the Copper Barons.'

'And what do they wish of me this time?'

'Only what they've always wished, Sire — justice.'

A ripple of laughter ran through the courtiers, dying quickly away as the Landsgrave stared coldly about him. Easily six foot six tall, his broad shoulders and massive frame might even have given the Champion himself pause. Sir Bedivere swept the packed Court with a challenging gaze, and then dismissed them all with a contemptuous toss of his head, as not worthy of his attention.

'Justice ...' said the King mildly. 'Could you be more specific?'

'The Copper Barons must have more men, Sire. Demons are overrunning the mining towns, destroying everything in their path. Refugees line the roads, more every day. We can't even feed them all, let alone give them shelter when the night falls. Already, there have been riots in the towns. Most of our guards are dead, killed trying to hold back the demons. What few men we have left can't hope to maintain law and order. The Copper Barons respectfully demand that you send a substantial part of your Royal Guard to help drive back the darkness that threatens us.'

The King stared at the Landsgrave. 'So far, I have sent your masters almost five hundred guardsmen. Are you telling me they're all dead?'

'Yes,' said Sir Bedivere. A shocked murmur rustled through the courtiers.

They died fighting demons?'

'Aye, Sire.'

'How many of the Barons' own men rode out against the dark?'

Sir Bedivere frowned. 'I don't quite see . . .'

'How many?'

'I really couldn't say,' said the Landsgrave shortly. 'A great many guards had to stay behind to protect the town and maintain order ...'

'I see,' said the King. 'My men died, while the Barons' guards stayed safe behind stout town walls.'

'This is all quite irrelevant,' said Sir Bedivere calmly. 'My masters require more men from you; how many troops will you send?'

'I have no men to spare,' said the King flatly.

'Is that your final answer?'

'It is. My men are needed here. The Barons must defend themselves, as must I.'

'They don't have a Castle to hide in,' said Sir Bedivere loudly.

Silence fell across the Court, the courtiers struck dumb by the open insult. Such a remark from a Landsgrave was almost a declaration of treason. Everyone looked to King John for his reaction, and it took all his years of experience and diplomacy to keep his visage calm and unmoved. A quick glance at Blays and Guillam had shown the King that he would find no support there. Their faces and their silence said more plainly than words that Bedivere spoke for all of them. The King had always known that sooner or later the Barons were bound to take advantage of the situation and turn against him, but he hadn't thought it would be this soon. Whatever happened here today, whatever decision he made, the Copper Barons couldn't lose. If he sent them men he couldn't spare, that would be a clear sign of weakness, and they'd just return with even more outrageous demands. If he refused to help, the Barons would use that as an excuse to topple him from his throne, and replace him with someone more to their liking. Someone they could control. Sir Bedivere had been sent for just one purpose; to insult and humiliate King John before his Court, and make it plain to one and all that the real power in the Forest Land now resided with the Barons.

'It's easy to be brave behind high stone walls,' said Sir Bedivere, an unpleasant smile twisting his mouth. 'My masters have only town walls and barricades to protect them from the demons. We demand you supply us with more men!'

'Go to hell,' said the King.

Sir Bedivere stiffened, and for a moment a red glare showed in his eyes, as though a furnace door had suddenly opened and closed. In that swift crimson gleam the King saw rage and hunger and a madness barely held in check, and he shivered, as though a cold wind had blown over him.

'Brave words, from an old fool,' said Sir Bedivere, his voice harsh and strained. 'My masters will not accept such an answer. Try again.'

'You have my answer,' said the King. 'Now leave my Court.'

'Your Court ?' said the Landsgrave. He glanced round at the hushed courtiers and grim-faced guards and men-at-arms, and then laughed, a dark, contemptuous sound. 'Enjoy it while you can, old man. Sooner or later, my masters will send me back to take it away from you.'

'Treason,' said the King mildly. 'I could have your head for that, Landsgrave.'

'Your Champion might,' smiled Sir Bedivere. 'Unfortunately, he's not here.'

'But I am,' said Prince Harald, rising to his feet, sword in hand. The courtiers murmured in approval as Harald moved forward to stand between his father and the Landsgrave. Julia, smiled, and surreptitiously transferred her dagger to her throwing hand, just in case one of the other Landsgraves tried to interfere. Sir Bedivere studied Harald a moment, and then laughed quietly. The red glare came and went in his eyes, and he reached for his sword.

'No!' said the King sharply. 'Harald, please put away your sword. I appreciate the gesture, but he would quite certainly kill you. Please, sit down, and let me handle this.'

Harald nodded stiffly, slammed his sword back into its scabbard, and sat down beside Julia again. She gave him a quick nod of approval, and he smiled sourly. The King leaned forward in his throne, and studied Sir Bedivere narrowly.

'Landsgrave, you have much to leam. Did you really think you could threaten me in my own Court and get away with it? You're a fool, Sir Bedivere, and I do not suffer fools gladly. You now have a simple choice: bow your head to me, or lose it.'

The Landsgrave laughed, and Thomas Grey stepped forward to face him. The Astrologer raised one slender hand, and Sir Bedivere's laugh became a scream as a sudden agony burned in his muscles. He tried to reach for his sword but the searing pain paralysed him where he stood.

'Kneel,' said the Astrologer, and Sir Bedivere fell forward on all fours, tears of agony and helpless rage streaming down his face. The two other Landsgraves watched horrified as the giant warrior cried like a child.

'And now, bow to your King,' said the Astrologer, and Sir Bedivere bowed. King John looked down at the sobbing, trembling Landsgrave, and found no pleasure in the sight. Instead, he felt tired and soiled and just a little sick.

'Enough,' he muttered, and the Astrologer lowered his hand and stepped back beside the throne. Sir Bedivere collapsed, and lay shuddering on the rich carpeting as the pain slowly left him.

King John looked slowly round his Court, but the courtiers for the most part avoided his gaze. Those few who didn't look away showed a profound horror and disgust at what the Astrologer had done in his name. King John sighed, and glanced at the black-clad figure standing patiently beside his throne. The dark, saturnine features were calm and relaxed, with only the faintest of smiles playing around his mouth. Thomas, old friend, thought the King, what's happening to us? We once swore we'd die rather than use such magics as these. The thought disturbed him, and he shook his head querulously, as though annoyed by a buzzing insect. His gaze fell upon Sir Bedivere, struggling to raise himself on one knee. The King gestured to two nearby men-at-arms.

'Help the Landsgrave to his feet.'

'No!' gasped Sir Bedivere. 'I don't need your help!'

Slowly, painfully, he got his feet under him. He rested there a moment, breathing harshly, and then rose clumsily to stand swaying before the throne. His legs trembled uncontrollably but somehow he still held himself proudly erect. Dried tears showed clearly against the pallor of his face, but his steadfast refusal to be beaten by his own weakness lent him a kind of dignity. And then the red glare filled his eyes, and he threw himself at the King. He just made it to the steps when the Astrologer raised his hand and a bolt of lightning slammed into the Landsgrave, hurling him back from the throne. The blinding flash dazzled everyone for a moment, and when they looked again, Sir Bedivere was lying in a crumpled heap some twenty feet from the dais. Where the lightning had struck him in the chest, the intense heat had melted away his chain-mail and seared through the jerkin beneath. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the scorched leather. Sir Blays knelt beside the fallen warrior and checked his pulse and breathing.

'He's alive,' he said finally. 'His armour protected him.'

The King gestured to the two men-at-arms. 'Get the Landsgrave out of here. Have my surgeon attend him.'

The men-at-arms hurried forward, picked up Sir Bedivere between them, and carried him out of the Court. King John shook his head wearily, leaned back in his throne, and eyed the two remaining Landsgraves dourly.

Sir Guillam blinked unhappily at the King and smiled tentatively, obviously out of his depth. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow, and he constantly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like a small child too shy to askhis way to the Jakes. King John frowned, and studied Sir Guillam more carefully. The man couldn't be entirely useless, or the Barons wouldn't have sent him. The King's frown deepened as he considered the various possibilities. Sir Bedivere had already tried to kill him, so Sir Guillam could be a back-up assassin, versed in spells or poisons or curses. He could be a spy, sent to contact any disloyal elements within the Court. He might even be a highly skilled diplomat, behind the timid facade. King John smiled tightly; there was only one way to find out . . .

'Sir Guillam.'

'Aye, Sire?' The Landsgrave started violently, and peered shortsightedly at the King.

'You are new to my Court.'

'Aye, Sire. I'm the new Landsgrave for the Birchwood demesne. I speak for the Silver Barons.'

'And what do they wish of me?'

Sir Guillam glanced furtively at the sternly brooding Astrologer, and swallowed dryly. He smiled nervously at the King, and ran a finger round the inside of his collar, as though it had suddenly grown too tight.

'The Silver Barons also . . . require . . . assistance, Sire. They need, uh . . .'

What little confidence he had left seemed to desert him entirely, and he fumbled quickly for a parchment scroll tucked into his belt. He unrolled it, found he'd got it upside-down, grinned foolishly, turned the scroll the right way up, and read from it aloud.

'My masters instruct me to inform you that they are in dire need of the following: seven troops of guardsmen from your own Royal Guard; four troops of conscript militia; weapons, mounts and supplies for these troops ...'

'That's enough,' said the King.

'There's a great deal more yet,' protested Sir Guillam.

'Really?' said the King. 'You do surprise me. Answer me a question, my noble Landsgrave.'

'Of course, Sire.'

'Why are you here?'

Sir Guillam blinked confusedly, gestured helplessly, and nearly dropped his scroll. 'I represent the Silver Barons, Sire, I carry their words to you.'

'No, Sir Guillam, I meant why did they select you as the new Landsgrave? You don't appear to have had much experience in this line of work.'

'Oh, no, Sire. Before my appointment, I was Chancellor of the Exchequer to Baron Ashcroft.'

The King winced. An accountant, that was all he needed. On the whole, he'd rather have faced another assassin.

'Pass your list on to my Seneschal, Sir Guillam, he'll supply you with whatever weapons and provisions we can spare.'

'There is also the slight matter of eleven troops ...' Sir Guillam's voice trailed away as the Astrologer chuckled darkly. The Landsgrave smiled weakly. 'We could compromise and call it seven ...'

'No compromises,' said the King. 'And no troops. Do you wish to argue the point?'

'Oh, no, Sire,' said Sir Guillam hastily. 'Not in the least. Not at all. Absolutely not.'

He rolled up his scroll, bobbed a quick bow to the King, and then stepped back to hide behind Sir Blays. The King nodded politely to the third Landsgrave, and Sir Blays bowed formally in return. Control and discipline showed in his slow, deliberate movements, and his voice was calm and even as he glared coldly at the Astrologer.

'Your powers have increased since I was last here, sir Astrologer, but don't think to intimidate me. I don't frighten that easily. I am Sir Blays of Oakeshoff demesne. I speak for Gold.'

The King inclined his head slightly. 'You are welcome in my Court, Sir Blays. Do you also demand troops from me?'

'I carry my master's words,' said Sir Blays carefully. 'We must have more troops if we are to stand against the dark. Our borders have fallen to the long night, and already demons swarm across the land like so many rabid wolves. We can't hold out much longer, even the stone and timber of our keeps are no defence against the darkness when it falls. You know my words are true, Sire.'

'Aye,' said the King tiredly, 'I know. But my answer must remain the same, Sir Blays. I have no more men to send you.'

'I will carry your answer to my master,' said the Landsgrave slowly, 'but I tell you now — he won't accept it.'

'He'll accept it,' said the Astrologer calmly. 'He has no choice.'

'There's always a choice,' said Sir Blays. His quiet words seemed to ring ominously on the silence, and for a long moment nobody said anything.

'Very well,' said the King finally. 'You came to this Court to petition my help, noble Landsgraves, and whilst it is not in my power to grant you what your masters desire, I can perhaps offer them a message of hope and comfort. Even as we speak my Champion and my younger son, Prince Rupert, are on their way to summon the High Warlock, that he may return to the Forest Land and set his sorceries against the darkness.'

'You'd bring him back?' asked Sir Blays softly. 'After what he did?'

'It's necessary,' said the Astrologer.

'Desperate situations call for desperate remedies,' said the King. 'I have therefore decided also to reopen the Old Armoury, and draw the Curtana from its scabbard.'

For a long moment everyone just stared at him, frozen in shock as though carved from marble, and then the Court erupted into bedlam. At once everyone was shouting and cursing, fighting desperately to be heard over the deafening clamour. Those courtiers nearest the throne surged forward angrily, and had to be driven back at swordpoint by the men-at-arms. And still the uproar mounted, merging into a solid wave of sound that echoed and re-echoed from the high-timbered ceiling.

Julia stared in bewilderment at the heaving, frightened mass that had once been a Court. Shock and outrage were stamped on every face, underpinned here and there by naked fear. She turned to Harald, who seemed almost as confused as she was.

'Harald, what the hell's going on?' The din was such that she had practically to bellow in his ear to be understood, and even then he just shook his head curtly. She searched his face for an answer, but as the first shock passed his features quickly became an impassive mask. Only the whitening knuckles on his dagger hilt betrayed the depth of his feelings.

'Enough!' thundered the Astrologer, and fire roared up around him, smoking thickly on the stuffy air as the flames sought in vain to consume him. His night-dark cloak belled out like spreading wings, and an awful knowledge seemed to stir within his icy, impenetrable eyes. Silence fell across the Court, broken only by the crackling of the dancing flames surrounding the Astrologer. He glanced round the quiescent Court, and smiled grimly. The leaping flames flickered and went out, and once again Thomas Grey seemed nothing more than a lean old man dressed in black.

'Thank you, sir Astrologer,' said King John evenly. 'Now listen well, my noble Lords and Ladies; I will not tolerate these disturbances in my Court. Any more such outbursts, and my Headsman will earn his pay. I will have order in this Court! Is that clear?'

One by one the courtiers knelt and bowed their heads to their King, and then the men-at-arms, and even the Astrologer himself, until in all the Court only two men remained standing: the Landsgraves of Silver and Gold. Sir Guillam trembled when King John's gaze fell upon him, but although he couldn't meet the King's eyes, he wouldn't kneel. King John knew better than to try and stare down Sir Blays; they'd known each other too many years.

The King leaned back in his throne and studied the two men thoughtfully. There was a time Sir Blays would have taken his own life to prove his loyalty to the Forest Land, or cut down any man who questioned it. Set against his past fealty, his refusal to bow was practically a declaration of war. The King turned his attention to Sir Guillam, and frowned. Scared half out of his wits, and still the man defied him. Why? King John closed his eyes, and sighed tiredly. He knew why. Frightened as he was, Sir Guillam was far more frightened of the Curtana.

I have to do this, King John thought stubbornly. It's necessary.

He opened his eyes and stared out cynically over the sea of bowed heads before him. The sight did not impress him in the least: they bowed because they were afraid of the Astrologer's magic, not because they were loyal. The King smiled grimly. If he couldn't have loyalty, he'd settle for fear. He had a war to wage, and with the darkness pressing closer all the time he could no longer afford to be choosy over which weapons he used.

'Rise,' he growled finally, and the Court scrambled to its feet amid a rustle of silks and the clatter of chain-mail. A rebellious murmur started among a few of the courtiers, only to die quickly away when the King frowned. He smiled sourly, and then turned to glare at Sir Blays, who stared calmly back.

'So, noble Landsgrave, you object to my drawing the Curtana.'

'The Sword of Compulsion has been forbidden to your majesty's line for over four centuries,' said Sir Blays coldly.

'The situation has changed since then,' said the King reasonably. The darkness must be stopped, and since we can't hope to do it by force of arms ...'

'The Curtana is forbidden!' said Sir Blays stubbornly. 'A King rules by the consent of his people, not because he has a magic sword that compels their obedience. We've already seen how your Astrologer uses such power. For all his faults, Sir Bedivere was a warrior; he fought and bled for you in a dozen campaigns. And your pet sorcerer treated him like a rabid dog! Do you think the Barons will stand idly by while you employ such power?'

'When the King wields Curtana, the Barons will do as they're told,' said the Astrologer silkily, and for a long time nobody said anything.

'Your majesty!' said a deep, resonant voice from among the courtiers, and the King groaned silently.

'Yes, Lord Darius!'

'With your permission, Sire, I think I may have a compromise that will satisfy both you and the noble Landsgraves.'

'Very well, Lord Darius, approach the throne. But if this compromise is anything like your last brilliant idea, you'd be much better off staying where you are.'

The Minister for War chuckled appreciatively as he made his way forward, his plump figure moving with surprising grace as he threaded his way through the wary courtiers. He stopped before the throne, took up a position carefully midway between the Landsgraves and the King, and bowed to them both. King John frowned impatiently.

'Well, Lord Darius?'

'It seems to me, your majesty, that Sir Blays and Sir Guillam are mainly concerned about how the Curtana is to be used. If you could perhaps explain a little of your strategy . . .'

'A King doesn't have to explain anything,' said the Astrologer. 'A loyal subject obeys without question.'

'Of course, of course,' said Lord Darius quickly. 'I merely seek to clarify matters, nothing more.'

'It's a reasonable request,' said the King mildly. 'And if it will help to set Sir Blays's mind at rest ...' He glanced at the Landsgrave, who nodded stiffly. 'Very well. As Sir Blays has already pointed out, the nature of the Curtana is to compel obedience. I propose to turn this power on the demons, and force them to return to the darkness from which they came. It's a simple enough solution to the problem.'

'Almost elegant in its simplicity,' smiled Lord Darius. 'Would you not agree, Sir Blays?'

'It might work,' said Sir Blays grudgingly, 'if the Curtana can affect non-human minds. Far as I know, no one's ever tried that before. But even if it does work, what happens to the sword after the demons have been routed?'

'Afterwards, it will be returned to the Armoury,' said the King. 'And there it may stay till the end of time, as far as I am concerned.'

'Indeed, indeed,' said Lord Darius, smiling and bobbing his head and clasping his podgy hands across his vast stomach. 'I fear, however, that the noble Landsgraves will require more concrete evidence of your majesty's intentions.'

'You dare?' roared the Astrologer, stepping forward.

Lord Darius paled, but stood his ground. 'Your majesty ...'

'Let him speak,' said the King, and the Astrologer resumed his position beside the throne.

Lord Darius bowed gratefully. 'When all is said and done, your majesty, a sword is just a sword. Since you agree it should never be used again, might I suggest that once the demon threat has been disposed of, the Curtana should be publicly melted down and destroyed, once and for all?'

The King frowned thoughtfully. 'My instinct is to say no. The sword has been in our family for generations, and might be needed in the future . . . but I see your point. The Curtana is too dangerous a weapon to be trusted with anyone. Would such an answer satisfy the Barons, Sir Blays?'

'It might,' said Sir Blays carefully, 'but I speak only for Gold.'

King John smiled coldly. 'Where Gold leads, Silver and Copper follow. Isn't that right, Sir Guillam?'

The Silver Landsgrave bobbed his head nervously. 'I'm sure my masters will find it an excellent scheme, Sire.'

Then I'll consider it,' said King John. 'You'll have my answer before you leave tomorrow.'

Sir Blays nodded, his face carefully impassive. Thank you, Sire. Our business now being at an end, with your permission Sir Guillam and I will withdraw to our chambers. It's been a long day.'

That it has,' said the King. 'Very well, my noble Landsgraves. You are dismissed.'

Sir Guillam andSir Blays bowed to the throne, turned, and left the Court. The courtiers watched them go, and muttered quietly to each other.

'Be silent,' said the Astrologer, and they were.

'Before I dismiss this Court for the day,' said King John, 'I have a pleasant duty to perform. Princess Julia ...'

'Ah, you've remembered me at last,' sniffed Julia. 'I was beginning to think I was invisible.'

'Julia, my dear, you are never far from my thoughts,' said the King earnestly. 'Harald, I trust you've been keeping the Princess entertained?'

'Oh sure,' said Harald. 'She's getting quite good at tick-tack-toe. A little more practice, and she'll be able to beat me without cheating.'

Julia stabbed at his foot with her dagger, and grinned as he moved it quickly out of range.

'If you've quite finished,' said the King, 'I have an announcement to make.'

'Then get on with it,' said Julia.

The King sighed quietly to himself, and then stared out over the Court. 'My Lords and Ladies, I announce this day the betrothal of my eldest son Prince Harald to the Princess Julia of Hillsdown. I wish them every happiness and all good luck.'

'He's going to need it,' muttered a voice at the back.

Julia was on her feet in a second. 'I'm not marrying Harald!'

'Yes you are,' said the King. 'I've just announced it.'

'Then you can damn well unannounce it!'

'Princess Julia,' said the King, entirely unperturbed, 'you can marry him willingly or unwillingly, but whatever you say and whatever you do, your marriage will take place four weeks from today. Harald is a fine young man and a credit to his line. I'm sure that under his tutelage and discipline, you will become a credit to him and to this Court.'

'I'll kill myself first!'

'No you won't,' said the Astrologer. 'You're not the type.'

Julia glared angrily about her, and then turned her back on them all as she found herself blinking away angry tears. 'We'll see,' she muttered shakily. 'We'll see about this ...'

King John ignored her, and looked out over his Court. 'My Lords and Ladies, I thank you for your kind attention. Court is now dismissed.'

The courtiers bowed and curtsied to the throne, and then riled out slowly through the double doors, unusually quiet and subdued. At a nod from the King, the guards and men-at-arms followed them out.

Julia moved away from the throne, and then looked up to find Harald standing before her. She couldn't seem to work up the energy to hit him.

'What do you want?' she asked tiredly.

'Julia ...' Harald hesitated. 'Do you really love Rupert?'

Julia shook her head slowly. 'I don't know. Perhaps. Why?'

Harald shrugged. 'I don't know. Look, Julia, this marriage is going ahead whether we want it or not. I don't expect you to love me, girl, but am I really such a bad match? I'm not an ogre, you know. Well, not all the time, anyway.' He waited to see if she'd smile even a little, but she didn't. Harald sighed, and shook his head. 'One way or another, Julia, you will be my wife. Get used to the idea. I'll talk with you again, later.'

Julia watched him leave the Court. Her head spun with plans to escape from the Castle, but once outside the walls, there was nowhere to go. By all accounts the Forest Land was overrun with demons. If the dragon had been strong enough to go with her . . . but he wasn't. His wounds still hurt him, and he slept most of the time. Julia swore quietly to herself, but she knew she couldn't just go off and abandon him. Or Rupert, for that matter. Julia scowled. It was all Rupert's fault anyway. If he hadn't brought her back to this Castle and then abandoned her, to go haring off to be a hero again, and get himself killed ...

Julia squeezed her eyes shut, and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She wouldn't cry in front of the King, she wouldn't . . .After a while, she opened her dry eyes and stared unseeingly at the empty Court.

Wherever you are, Rupert, be safe. And get back here, fast.

King John watched the Princess leave, secretly admiring her calm and poise. He waited until the double doors had closed behind her, and then slumped exhausted in his throne.

'That has to be one of the longest sessions we've ever had,' said the Astrologer, lowering himself carefully on to the top step of the dais.

'Right,' said the King wearily. 'I swear this damn throne gets more uncomfortable every day.'

'At least you get to sit down,' said the Astrologer wryly. 'I've been on my feet for the past ten hours. My back's killing me.'

The King chuckled sympathetically. 'We're getting too old for this, Thomas.'

'Speak for yourself,' said the Astrologer, and the King laughed.

They sat for a while in friendly silence, watching shadows gather in the silent Court. Light spilled through the gorgeous stained-glass windows, and dust motes swirled lazily in the golden haze. The King tugged thoughtfully at his shaggy grey beard, and glanced at the Astrologer.

'Nice act you put on for the Landsgraves, Thomas.'

'Thank you, John. I thought it went rather well.'

'Did you have to make Bedivere crawl like that?'

Thomas Grey frowned. 'Come on, John, the man's a killer. The Barons knew that when they sent him. He would have killed you.'

'I know,' said the King shortly. 'But no man should have to crawl as he did. It made me feel . . . dirty.'

'Look,' John, we spent most of last night working on this. The only way to keep the Barons in line is to make them more frightened of us than they are of the dark. Now how am I supposed to scare them if I don't use my powers? It's not as if I hurt the man, John, I just forced him to do what he should have done anyway.'

'And the lightning bolt?'

'Mostly illusion. There was enough power there to knock him cold, but that's all.'

'You're missing the point, Thomas. The whole reason for drawing the Curtana was to prove to the Barons and the Court that we're not helpless against the dark, that we do have more powerful weapons we can use against the demons. After what you did to Sir Bedivere, no one's going to give a damn about the demons. They'll be too busy worrying about whether the sword's going to be used on them.'

'Damn,' said Grey. 'I'm sorry, John, I didn't think . . .'

'As it is, it's touch and go whether we dare draw the Curtana now, never mind the Infernal Devices. If the Barons even suspect we intend drawing those swords as well ...'

'We'll have open rebellion on our hands. I do take your point, John, but we've got to have those swords. The darkness will be here soon, and we can't afford to rely on the High Warlock. We can't even be sure he'll come.'

'He'll come,' said the King. 'You know he'll come.'

There was an awkward silence. Grey cleared his throat uncertainly. 'I know how you feel about him, John. But we need him.'

'I know.'

'Maybe he's changed. He's been away a long time.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'John ...'

'I don't want to talk about it!'

Thomas Grey looked into his old friend's eyes and then turned his head away, unable to face the ancient rage and bitterness and sorrow he found there.

'Tell me about the Infernal Devices,' said King John. 'It's been years since I had to read up on the bloody things.'

'Apparently there were once six of these swords,' said the Astrologer quietly. 'But only three remain to us: Flarebright, Wolfsbane and Rockbreaker. No one's dared draw them for centuries.'

'Are they as powerful as the legends say?'

Grey shrugged. 'Probably more so. Every source I can find was scared spitless by them.'

That's as may be,' growled the King. 'But both they and the Curtana are still sheathed in their scabbards in the Old Armoury, and the Old Armoury is in the South Wing. And we haven't been able to find that since we lost it thirty-two years ago!'

'The Seneschal says he can find it,' said Grey calmly, 'And that's good enough for me. He's the best tracker this Castle's ever had.'

'Yeah, maybe,' said the King. He scratched half-heartedly at his ragged mop of hair, and sighed wearily. 'There are times, Thomas, when I wish your title wasn't just honorary. Right now it would be very useful to have someone who could foresee the future.'

Grey laughed. 'Sorry, John, but my title's nothing more than a legacy from our superstitious ancestors. When all's said and done, I'm just an astronomer. Show me a sheep's entrails and all I could tell you is what kind of soup they'd make.'

The King smiled, and nodded slowly. 'Just a thought, Thomas, just a thought.' He rose stiffly to his feet, and glanced round the empty Court. 'I think I'll turn in now. I get so damn tired, these days.'

'You've been working too hard. We both have. You ought to give Harald more responsibility, let him handle some of the routine matters. He's of an age where he could easily take some of the burden off our backs.'

'No,' said the King shortly. 'He's not ready yet.'

'You can't go on putting it off, John. We won't always be here to guide him, age is creeping up on us.'

'In my case, it seems to be positively sprinting.' The King gave a short bark of laughter and started down the dais steps, waving aside the Astrologer's offered arm. 'I'm tired, Thomas. We'll talk about this tomorrow.'

'John'

'Tomorrow, Thomas.'

The Astrologer watched the King walk slowly across his empty Court. 'Tomorrow may be too late, John,' he said quietly, but if the King heard him, he gave no sign to show it.

'You could be King, Harald,' said Lord Darius.

'I will be King,' said Harald. 'I'm the eldest son. One day, all the Forest Land will be mine.'

'You'll be King of nothing if you wait to inherit the throne.'

'That's treason.'

'Yes,' said Lord Darius pleasantly. 'It is.'

The two men smiled, and toasted each other with their goblets. Harald nodded his acceptance of the vintage, and the Lady Cecelia leaned gracefully forward and filled his glass to the brim. The Prince smiled his thanks, settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and glanced round Darius's chambers. From the tales he'd heard of Darius's lifestyle, Harald had expected lush and sumptuous quarters, buried under thick carpets and rich tapestries. Instead, he found a quiet, sombre, almost austere room whose floor and walls were bare polished wood, warmed only by a single fire. An exit lay hidden behind a massive bookcase, whose shelves were tightly packed with works on politics, history and magic. Harald raised a mental eyebrow. It seemed there was more to the Minister for War than met the casual eye. The Prince sipped at his wine and studied Lord Darius over the goblet's rim. There was a basic squat ugliness to the man's face that all the careful make-up, plucked eyebrows and oiled hair couldn't disguise, and when he dropped his public mask his face set into uncompromising lines of cold determination.

This man is dangerous, thought Harald calmly. He's ambitious and ruthless; a useful combination in any field, but especially so in politics. Probably sees himself as a Kingmaker.

He turned his attention to Lord Darius's wife, the Lady Cecelia. She smiled slowly, and met his gaze with a stare of open appraisal. Hair dark as the night tumbled down over her bared alabaster shoulders, outlining and emphasising her delicately pretty face. Sensuality smouldered in her dark eyes and pouting lips. She had changed from her intricately ornate Court gown into a simple silk wrap that revealed tantalisingly brief glimpses of upper thigh every time she moved. Tasty, thought Harald, and not exactly backward in coming forward, even with her husband present. Not for the first time, Harald wondered what Darius and Cecelia saw in each other. There was no doubt they made a formidable political team, but her affairs with the younger guardsmen were common gossip. Darius must have known, but he never said anything. Takes all sorts to make a world, thought Harald sardonically.

'Well, my Lord Minister for War,' he said politely, 'this is all very pleasant, I'm sure, but what exactly do you want from me?'

Darius smiled at the Prince's bluntness, and sipped unhurriedly at his wine. 'As yet, very little, Sire. But rest assured that my friends have your best interests at heart.'

'Really?' said Harald amusedly. 'How very interesting. I was under the impression your friends had the interests of the Forest Land at heart. That is, after all, why I'm here.'

'By helping you, we help the Land,' said Darius earnestly. 'Your father is no longer fit to be King. He has abandoned the Barons to the darkness, insulted and attacked the Landsgraves in open Court, and now he threatens to draw the Curtana! He must know the Barons won't stand for that. He's all but inviting a rebellion.'

'The Barons need a King,' said Harald calmly. 'They haven't enough men to make their separate stands against the Darkwood, and they know it. Their only hope is an army; a single armed force strong enough to throw the darkness back. They tried bullying the King into giving them more men, only to find he doesn't need their support any more. Assuming, of course, that the Curtana will work on non-human minds. If it doesn't, it'll be too late to try to raise an army. Small wonder the Barons are desperate. If the sword doesn't work, we all go down into the darkness. If it does work, King John could become the greatest tyrant this Land has ever known. With the Sword of Compulsion in his hand, his merest whim would become law. However, with King John overthrown, who would control the army? The Barons don't trust each other, as any one of them could use the army to make himself King.

'So, the barons need a King, but they don't want King John. And that, my Lord Darius, is why you requested my presence here tonight. Isn't it?'

Darius studied the Prince narrowly. 'You show a keen grasp of the situation, Sire. I didn't realise you had such an interest in politics. In the past you've always seemed more concerned with other . . . pursuits.'

Harald laughed. 'But then none of us are always what we seem, are we, dear fellow?' The habitual blandness fell suddenly from his face, revealing hard, determined features dominated by piercing dark eyes. 'I may act the fool, Darius, but don't ever take me for one.'

'Why pretend at all?' asked the Lady Cecelia, frowning prettily.

'It disarms people,' said Harald. 'They don't see me as a threat until it's too late. Besides, it amuses me.'

His face relaxed into its usual lines of vague amiability, but his eyes remained cold and sardonic. Darius smiled uncertainly, his mind racing as he struggled for the right approach to use with this new, unexpected, Prince Harald.

'Your father undoubtedly means well, Sire, but he is an old man, and his mind is not what it was. He listens too much to his pet Astrologer, and not enough to those courtiers whose privilege and responsibility it has always been to advise him. With the darkness already gathering outside our walls, we can't afford a King who'd gamble all our lives on a single magic sword that might not even work. If the King won't listen to reason, he must be made to listen.'

'You're talking about my father,' said Harald softly. 'If I thought you were threatening him ...'

'We're not,' said Darius quickly. 'There's no question of the King coming to any harm.'

'You're forgetting Sir Bedivere.'

'A mistake, I promise you. I don't think any of us had realised just how unstable the man had become.'

Harald looked at him coldly.

'Please believe me, Sire,' said Darius slowly. 'The King will not be harmed. My associates and I have a great deal of respect for what he has achieved in the past. We merely feel that the pressures of his position have grown too great for him, in his old age. The Forest Land needs a younger, more capable ruler. Such as yourself, Prince Harald.'

The Prince just smiled at him. A silence grew between them.

'Do we have your support?' asked Darius. He could feel a cold sweat forming on his face, though the room was comfortably warm. The Prince sitting opposite him wasn't the man he thought he knew, and Darius began to wonder if perhaps he and his friends had made a horrible mistake. One word from this cold-eyed stranger to the Royal Guard, and a great many heads would roll from the bloodstained block before morning. Darius shifted his weight in his chair, casually dropping one pudgy hand on to the hilt of the poisoned dagger he carried sheathed beneath his sleeve.

Harald lifted his empty glass. The Lady Cecelia leaned forward and poured him more wine. Her silk wrap parted slightly, allowing Harald a brief glimpse of her impressive cleavage. Harald sipped at his wine, and smiled sardonically.

'You have my support,' he said finally, 'but for my reasons, not yours.'

'Your reasons?' said Darius uncertainly.

'I want to be King,' said Harald. 'And I'm tired of waiting.'

Darius smiled, and moved his hand away from the dagger. 'I don't think you need wait much longer, Sire.'

'Good,' said Harald. He sipped at his wine thoughtfully. 'Why did you come to me, Darius? Surely Rupert would have been a better choice, he has so much more to gain than I do.'

'Rupert has become an unknown factor,' said Darius. 'His time in the Darkwood changed him. He's become stronger, more forceful, more . . . independent. He's always been loyal to the Land, but he's made no secret of the fact that he puts ethics before politics. A rather naive attitude in a Prince, and altogether untenable in a King. Besides, I don't think he and I could ever work amicably together.'

'He doesn't like me, either,' said the Lady Cecelia, pouting elegantly.

Harald put down his glass and rose to his feet. 'I support you in principle, Darius, but for the moment that's as far as I go. Arrange a meeting for me with your . . . friends, and I'll talk with them. If I'm to commit treason, I want to know who my fellow conspirators are. All of them.'

'Very well,' said Darius. 'I'll have word brought to you when we're ready.'

'Soon,' said Harald. 'Make it soon.'

'Of course, Sire,' said Darius, and Harald left. Darius poured himself more wine, and was surprised to find that his hands were shaking.

'Insolent puppy,' he growled. 'He should be grateful for the chance we're giving him.'

'Kings aren't noted for their gratitude,' pointed out the Lady Cecelia tartly. 'He'll come around. He's young and greedy, and not nearly as bright as he'd like us to think.'

'Don't underestimate him,' said Sir Blays, stepping out from behind the bookcase as it swung slowly open on its concealed hinges. Sir Guillam and Sir Bedivere followed him into the room, and the bookcase swung shut behind them.

'We don't have to worry about Harald,' said Darius. 'He wants to be King, and we're his best chance.'

'This morning I might have agreed with you,' said Blays thoughtfully, sinking into the chair opposite Darius. 'Now, I'm not so sure. I always said there was more going on in that Prince's head than anyone ever gave him credit for, and unfortunately it seems I was right. The old Harald was no problem, we could have handled him. This new Harald — I don't know. He must have realised that once we've put him on the throne, he'll never be anything more than a figurehead for the Barons.'

'Undoubtedly he has,' said Darius complacently, folding his fat hands across his stomach. 'But what can he do? If he betrays us to the Royal Guard, he loses his chance to be King. He might never get another. And once we've placed him on the throne, he'll soon find he needs us more than ever. The odds are that Prince Rupert will be back by then, along with the Champion and the High Warlock. No, gentlemen, Harald needs us, and he knows it. If we work it right, he'll always need us.'

The High Warlock worries me,' said Blays. 'What if he and the Champion decide to overthrow Harald in favour of Rupert?'

'From what I remember of the High Warlock, he won't give a damn who sits on the throne, as long as they do what he tells them. He never was much interested in politics.'

'And Rupert and the Champion?'

'The Champion has always been loyal to the eldest son,' said Darius slowly. 'And he's never had much time for Rupert. I don't think the Champion will be a problem. In fact, with a little persuasion he might even take care of Rupert for us.'

He looked up, and realised Sir Guillam and Sir Bedivere were still standing. 'Do sit down, gentlemen, you make the place look untidy.'

Guillam bobbed his head quickly, and sat down on the edge of the chair nearest him. He smiled briefly at Darius and Cecelia, as though apologising for his presence, his pale blue eyes blinking nervously all the while. Bedivere stood at parade rest, his back straight and his hand near his swordhilt. He made no move to seat himself. Darius studied him narrowly. Bedivere had replaced his damaged chain-mail and jerkin, and apart from a slight paleness to the face, no sign remained of the ordeal he'd suffered at the Astrologer's hands. And yet despite his calm features and relaxed stance, he was no more at ease than a cat waiting at a mousehole. There was a deadly stillness to the man, as though he was merely waiting for his next order to kill somebody. Who knows, thought Darius, maybe he is.

Blays brushed disdainfully at a length of cobweb clinging to his sleeve. 'You really should do something about your bolthole, Darius. The acoustics are appalling and the walls are filthy.'

'It was also very draughty,' said Guillam petulantly. 'The length of time you kept us waiting there, I wouldn't be at all surprised if I caught a chill. What is that place anyway? The tunnel we were in seemed to go on for miles.'

'It does,' said Darius. 'It's a part of the air vents.' He sighed quietly as he took in the Landsgrave's puzzled face, and decided he'd better explain, if only for the sake of good relations. 'Sir Guillam, you must have already noticed that my chambers, like the majority of rooms in this Castle, have no windows. It is therefore vitally important to keep air circulating throughout the Castle, if it is not to turn bad and poison us all. The many vents and tunnels within the Castle walls are designed to draw in fresh air from the outside, and carry out the foul air. Over the years I've spent a great deal of time exploring and mapping the endless miles of air vents within the Castle; more than once they've proved an invaluable asset when it came to ... gathering information.'

'I suppose it beats listening at keyholes,' said Blays sourly.

Darius smiled politely. 'If nothing else, Sir Blays, you must admit that the air vents do provide an excellent escape route for us, should the need arise.'

'Maybe,' said Blays. 'But you'd better do something about that bookcase door, it's far too slow to open and close. In an emergency, it'd be no bloody use at all.'

Darius shrugged. 'The counterweights are very old, and I lack the expertise to repair or replace them. As long as they still serve their purpose ...'

'What about the migration?' said Blays suddenly. 'Will that affect you?'

'I haven't moved from these chambers in fifteen years,' said Darius calmly. 'No one knows the secret of the bookcase but you and I.'

'Migration?' said Guillam, frowning. 'What migration?'

'I'll tell you later,' said Blays. 'Now, Darius—'

'I want to know now!' snapped Guillam.

Darius looked to Blays, expecting him to put the other Landsgrave in his place, but to Darius's surprise, Blays swallowed his irritation and nodded curtly to Guillam. Interesting, thought Darius. It would appear Sir Blays isn't as much in control of things as he'd like everyone to think.

'You have to remember,' said Blays to Guillam, patiently, 'that because the interior of the Castle is so much greater than the exterior, it causes certain unique problems for the occupants. One is the lack of windows and fresh air. Another is that with so many layers of stone between the inner and the outer rooms, there can be extreme differences in temperature within the Castle. The thick stone walls retain heat, so that the innermost rooms are always the warmest. Thus, in summer, the King and the higher members of society live on the outskirts of the Castle, where it's coolest. When winter comes, they move to the centre of the Castle, where it's warmest. Those in the lower strata of society live in a reverse manner. And those who hover somewhere between the two extremes, like Darius, don't migrate at all. Is everything clear to you now, Sir Guillam?'

'It sounds very complicated,' said Guillam.

'It is,' said Darius. 'That's why the timing of our rebellion is so important. With the migration well under way, the general confusion will work to our advantage.'

'Thank you,' said Guillam politely. 'I understand now.'

'Then perhaps we could please get down to business,' said Darius heavily. 'We do have a great deal to discuss.'

'Like what?' said Blays. 'Our orders were to insult and isolate the King and sound out Prince Harald, and we've done that. Far as I'm concerned, the sooner we're out of here, the better. I don't like the company I'm keeping these days.'

'We were also ordered to be discreet,' snapped Guillam, flushing slightly. 'Now, thanks to Bedivere's stupidity, the King is bound to go ahead with the drawing of the Curtana!'

'He would have anyway,' said Blays.

'Not necessarily! We might have talked him out of it.' Guillam shook his head in disgust. 'At least you kept your wits about you, Darius. If the King agrees to the Curtana's destruction, we might yet come out of this ahead.'

'You really think the King will give up the Curtana?' asked Blays incredulously.

'I don't know. Maybe. If we can keep this muscle-bound oaf on a leash, perhaps ...'

'Oh, stop whining,' said Bedivere. Guillam spluttered wordlessly, outraged, and then Bedivere turned and looked at him. 'Be quiet,' said Bedivere, and Guillam was. The crimson glare burned openly in Bedivere's eyes, and Guillam could feel all colour draining from his face. His hands were trembling, and his mouth was very dry. Bedivere smiled coldly, and the madness faded slowly from his eyes, at least as much as it ever did.

'You'll never come closer,' he said softly, and then he turned away from the shattered Landsgrave, and once again stared off into the distance at something only he could see.

Darius studied the silently brooding warrior a moment, and then took his hand away from his poisoned dagger. He sighed quietly. Berserkers were all very well in battle, but there was no place for them in councils of war. When Darius had first been told of Sir Bedivere, having a Landsgrave who could double as an assassin had seemed like a good idea, but now he wasn't so sure. The man was clearly out of anyone's control, and once the rebellion was over, he'd have to go. Assuming Bedivere held together that long . . .

'This meeting that Harald wants,' said Blays, breaking the awkward silence. 'Is it possible?'

'I suppose so,' said Darius, 'but it's a hell of a risk. I don't like the idea of all of us gathered together in one place. If anyone should betray us . . .'

'You can always post men-at-arms to see that we're not disturbed.'

Darius sighed resignedly. 'Very well. But I still don't like it.'

'You don't have to like it,' said Blays shortly. 'Just do it.'

There was a slight pause.

'Would anyone like a glass of wine?' asked Cecelia. Blays and Guillam shook their heads. Bedivere ignored her.

'I suppose King John does have to die?' said Blays slowly, and everyone looked at him.

'You know he does,' said Guillam. 'As long as he's alive, he's a knife at our throats. There'd always be someone plotting to put him back on the throne. He has to die.'

'But if Harald ever suspects ...'

'He won't,' said Darius. 'King John will be killed during the initial fighting, while Harald is occupied elsewhere. Bedivere will do it, in such a way as to throw suspicion on the Astrologer.'

Bedivere stirred. 'Do I get to kill the Astrologer as well?'

'We'll see,' said Darius, and Bedivere smiled briefly.

'I've known John a good many years,' said Blays. 'He's not been a bad King, as Kings go.'

'As far as our masters are concerned,' said Guillam, 'a good King is one who obeys the Barons.'

'Times change,' said Blays sourly. 'And we change with them.' He shook his head, and slumped back in his chair.

'John has to die,' said Guillam. 'It's for the best, in the long run.'

'I know that,' said Blays. 'My loyalty is to Gold, as it has always been. By threatening to draw the Curtana, John threatens my master. I can't allow that.'

'No more can any of us,' said Guillam.

'It's a pity, though,' said Blays. 'I always liked John.'

'He has to die,' said Darius, and there was enough bitterness in his voice that all three Landsgraves looked at him curiously.

'What have you got against John?' asked Blays. 'Your fellow traitors I can understand, they're in it for the power, or the money, or a chance to settle old scores. But you . . .'

'We're patriots,' said Darius coldly.

Blays smiled. 'They might be, but you're not. You're in this for your own reasons.'

'If I am,' said Darius, 'that's my business, not yours.'

There was a ragged whisper of steel on leather as Bedivere swiftly drew his sword and set its point at Darius's throat.

'You've been holding out on us,' said Blays, smiling unpleasantly. 'We can't have that, can we?'

'We need your fellow patriots to ensure that Harald's Court will toe the line,' murmured Guillam, 'but we don't necessarily need you. When all is said and done, Darius, you are a go-between. Nothing more. And go-betweens shouldn't keep things to themselves, should they? I really think you ought to tell us about these other reasons of yours.'

Darius met their gaze unyieldingly. A rivulet of blood ran down his neck as Bedivere pressed lightly with his sword. For a moment the tableau held, with no one giving way. Blays and Guillam exchanged a glance, and Guillam nodded at the terrified Lady Cecelia. Blays grabbed a handful of her hair and bent her head sharply back. Both her screams and her struggles ceased abruptly as Guillam pressed a dagger against her throat. She started to whimper, and then stopped as the blade cut into her skin.

'Well?' said Blays.

'I wanted revenge,' said Darius, so quietly that it took the Landsgraves a moment to understand what he'd said. Blays gestured for Guillam to put away his dagger, and released Cecelia. Bedivere took his sword away from Darius's throat, but made no move to sheathe it.

'I never wanted to be Minister for War,' said Darius. 'I inherited the post from my father. No one gave a damn what I wanted to do with my life, nobody cared that I had no training or inclination for the work. I could have been a sorcerer, I had the talent. I had the power. The Sorcerers' Academy offered me a place even before I reached a man's years. But the King and my father wouldn't allow me to go. I would be the next Minister for War, and that was all there was to it.

'I did my best, to begin with, but somehow my best was never good enough, so after a while I just stopped trying. And the King and the Astrologer and the Champion have taken it in turns to insult and ridicule me because I'm no good at a job I never wanted anyway. After the rebellion, Harald will probably grant me whatever post I want, but that isn't why I've done all this. I want revenge. I want revenge for all the years of abuse I've suffered, for all the insults I've had to swallow. I want to see everyone who ever laughed at me broken and humbled.'

'You will,' said Blays. 'You will.'

'I want to see the King die!'

Bedivere chuckled darkly, and sheathed his sword. Darius nodded his thanks shakily, and then reached out and took Cecelia's hand as she ran over to kneel beside his chair. A spot of blood stained the high collar of her dress, from where Guillam's dagger had nicked her throat. Blays rose to his feet.

'I don't see the need for any further discussion. Lord Darius, arrange for a meeting between Prince Harald and your fellow patriots. The sooner he commits himself to our cause, the better. And make sure everyone attends. It's time we sorted out our friends from our enemies.' Blays smiled coldly. 'I'm sure I don't need to tell you what to do if anyone tries to betray us to the King.'

'I'll take care of any problems,' said Darius.

'I'm sure you will. Good night, my Lord and Lady. Sleep well.'

He bowed slightly, and then turned and left. Guillam and Bedivere followed him out. The door swung slowly shut after them. Cecelia waited a moment to be sure they'd really gone, and then made a rude gesture at the door.

'They think they're so smart,' she said, dismissing the Landsgraves with a contemptuous sniff. 'By the time you've finished working on Harald, you'll be the power behind the throne, not the Barons.'

Darius patted her hand soothingly. 'Let them think they're in charge for the time being, my dear. It does no harm, and it keeps the Barons happy.'

'And after the rebellion?'

'Afterwards, it shouldn't be too difficult to prove to Harald who really killed his father . . .'

Cecelia laughed, and clapped her hands together impishly. 'And with the Landsgraves discredited, who else can he turn to for support, but us? Darius, dear heart, you're a genius.'

Darius smiled, and sipped at his wine. 'Have you been able to entice Harald into your bed yet?'

'Not yet.'

Darius raised a plucked eyebrow. 'Are you losing your touch, my dear?'

Cecelia chuckled earthily. 'I'm beginning to wonder. Court gossip has it that he's infatuated with the Princess Julia. I suspect the novelty of a woman who knows how to say no intrigues him. Still, he'll get over that. And I'll have him in my bed if I have to drag him.' She frowned thoughtfully. 'King Harald. It sounds well enough, and with us behind him he'll be great in spite of himself.'

'I wonder,' said Darius softly. 'We're taking a lot on ourselves. If anything should go wrong ...'

'Dear cautious Darius,' said Cecelia. 'Nothing's going to go wrong. You've planned it all so carefully. What could go wrong now?'

'I don't know,' said Darius. 'But no scheme's perfect.'

Cecelia sighed, rose to her feet, and brushed her lips across Darius's forehead. 'It's been a trying evening, dear. I think I'll go to bed.'

'Ah yes, how is Gregory?'

'Still having problems from when Julia hurt him, but I'm helping to cure that.'

Darius chuckled, and Cecelia smiled at him affectionately. 'Dear Darius. Sometimes I wish ...'

'I'm sorry,' said Darius. 'But you know I've never been interested in that sort of thing.'

'It was just a thought,' said Cecelia. 'We make a good team though, don't we?'

'Of course,' said Darius. 'Brains and beauty, an unbeatable combination. Good night, my dear.'

'Good night,' said Cecelia, and hurried off to her tryst.

Darius sat quietly in his chair, thinking of the meeting he had to plan for the Prince Harald. There was much to do.

What the hell am I doing here? thought Julia as she followed the Seneschal down yet another dimly lit corridor, but she already knew the answer. With so many worries and problems crowding her head, she'd had to find something to do, or go crazy. The Seneschal's expedition to rediscover the lost South Wing had seemed a heavensent opportunity, but she was beginning to have her doubts. She'd been walking for what seemed like hours, mostly in circles, through what had to be the most boring corridors Julia had ever seen. She was beginning to think the Seneschal was doing it on purpose.

He hadn't seemed all that pleased to see her when she'd first approached him about the expedition, but then, the Seneschal rarely seemed pleased about anything. Tall, painfully thin and prematurely bald, his aquiline features were permanently occupied by doubt, worry and a frantic desire to get as much done as possible before everything fell apart around him. He was in his mid-thirties, looked twenty years older, and didn't give a damn. His faded topcoat had seen better days, and his boots looked as though they hadn't been polished in years. He was fussy, pedantic and bad-tempered, and those were his good points, but he was also the best damn tracker the Castle had ever known, so everybody made allowances. Lots of them. When Julia first found him, he was scowling at a large and complex map, while a dozen heavily armed guards waited impatiently and practised looking evil. One of the guardsmen spotted Julia approaching, and tapped the Seneschal on the arm. He looked up and saw Julia, and his face fell.

'Yes? What do you want?'

'I've come to join your expedition,' said Julia brightly, and then watched interestedly as the Seneschal rolled up his eyes and shook his fists at the ceiling.

'It's not enough that the maps are hopelessly out of date. It's not enough that my deadline's been brought forward a month. It's not enough that I've been given twelve Neanderthals in chain-mail as my guard! No! On top of all that, I get lumbered with the Princess Julia as well! Forget it! I'm not standing for it! I am the Seneschal of this Castle and I will not stand for it!'

'I knew you'd be pleased,' said Julia.

The Seneschal seemed torn between apoplexy and a coronary, but finally settled for looking terribly old and put upon. 'Why me, Princess? It's a big castle, there are hundreds of other people you could annoy. Why not go and persecute them instead?'

'Now don't be silly,' said Julia briskly. 'I promise I'll try really hard to be helpful and not get in the way.'

The Seneschal winced. 'Must you? You always do so much more damage when you're trying to be helpful.' He noticed the stormclouds gathering on Julia's brow, and sighed resignedly. 'Oh, all right then. If you must. But stay close to me, don't go off on your own, and please, Princess, don't hit anyone until you've checked with me first.'

'Of course not,' said Julia innocently. The Seneschal just looked at her.

Which was why, some time later, Julia was boredly following the Seneschal down a dimly lit corridor somewhere at the rear of the Castle, and rapidly coming to the conclusion that this had not been one of her better ideas. And then the Seneschal took a sharp right turn, and everything changed. With all its many corridors and halls it was inevitable that parts of the Forest Castle would fall into disuse, and Julia felt her interest reviving as it became obvious that nobody had walked this corridor in years. The wood-panelled walls were dull and unpolished, and thick cobwebs shrouded the empty lamps and wall brackets. The Seneschal called a halt while two of the guards lit the lanterns they'd brought with them, and then he led the party on— down the corridor. Julia drew the dagger from her boot and carried it in her hand. The dim light and the quiet reminded her uncomfortably of the Darkwood.

The corridor eventually branched in two, and the Seneschal stopped the party again while he consulted several maps. Julia moved cautiously forward and studied the two branches. The left-hand fork seemed to curve round and head back the way they'd come, while the right-hand fork led into an unrelieved darkness that raised the hackles on the back of her neck. Julia shook her head to clear it, and made herself breathe deeply. The Darkwood was miles away. A little darkness couldn't hurt her. Julia clutched tightly at the hilt of her dagger, as though for comfort, and smiled grimly. Even after all this time, she still needed a lighted candle in her room at night before she could sleep. Like Rupert before her, the long night had left its mark on Julia. Her heart jumped suddenly as she realised there was someone standing beside her, and then it steadied again when she recognised the Seneschal.

'Which way?' she asked, and was relieved to find that her voice was still steady.

'I'm not sure yet,' said the Seneschal testily. 'According to all the maps, we should take the left-hand branch, but that feels wrong. That feels very wrong. No, to hell with the maps, we have to go right. Into the darkness.'

'I might have known,' muttered Julia.

'What? What was that? I do wish you wouldn't mumble, Princess, it's a very annoying habit.'

Julia shrugged, unoffended. The Seneschal's perpetual air of desperation made it impossible for anyone to take his remarks personally; he was so obviously mad at the world, rather than whoever he happened to be addressing at the time.

'Why are we looking for the South Wing, sir Seneschal?'

'Because, Princess, it has been lost for thirty-two years. That's lost, as in missing, unable to be found, vanished from human ken, absent without leave. It may not have been a particularly impressive Wing, as Wings go, but we were all rather fond of it, and we want it back. That's why we're out looking for it. What else should we do — throw a party to mark the thirty-second anniversary of its loss?'

'No, sir Seneschal,' said Julia patiently. 'I meant, why are we looking for it now? You've managed without it all these years, why is it suddenly so important?'

'Ah,' said the Seneschal, and peered dubiously at the Princess. 'I suppose if I don't tell you, you'll just make my life even more of a misery.'

'Got it in one,' said Julia cheerfully.

The Seneschal sighed, glanced furtively at the waiting guards, and then gestured for Julia to lean closer. 'It's not exactly a secret, but I'd rather the guards didn't know what we're after until they have to. I'm sure they're all perfectly loyal to the King. . . but why take chances?'

'Get on with it,' said Julia impatiently, intrigued by the Seneschal's uncharacteristic nervousness.

'We're looking for the South Wing,' said the Seneschal quietly, 'because that's where the Old Armoury is.'

Julia looked at him blankly. 'Is that supposed to mean something to me?'

'The King intends to draw the Curtana,' said the Seneschal, 'and the Curtana is in the Old Armoury.'

'Got it,' said Julia. 'I'm with you now.'

'I'm so glad,' said the Seneschal. 'Anything else you'd like to know?'

'Yes,' said Julia dryly. 'If this Curtana is as powerful as everyone makes out, how is it that no one's tried to find the Old Armoury before, and take the sword for themselves?'

'Over the years, a great many people have tried.'

'So what happened to them?'

'We don't know. None of them has ever come back.'

'Terrific,' said Julia. 'I notice you didn't tell me any of this before we set out.'

'I thought you knew,' said the Seneschal.

'Assuming we get to the Old Armoury,' said Julia, 'a prospect that seems increasingly unlikely the more I think about it, I take it you will be able to recognise the Curtana when you see it?'

The Seneschal stared into the darkness of the right-hand corridor, and smiled grimly. 'The Curtana is a short sword, not more than three foot in length, and it has no point. Going back several hundred years, it used to be called the Sword of Mercy. It was presented to each Forest King at his coronation, as a symbol for justice tempered by compassion. And then James the Seventh came to the throne. He took the Curtana and set a touchstone within its hilt, a sorcerous black gem that enslaved the minds of all who beheld it. Legend has it that the Demon Prince himself gave King James the stone, but records of that time are scarce. It was a time of murder and madness, in which the Curtana became the Sword of Compulsion; a symbol of tyranny. No one has drawn that blade since James was overthrown, but even sheathed, it's said that the sword has an aura of blood and death and terror. I've never seen the Curtana, Julia, but I don't think I'll have any problem recognising it.'

The Seneschal turned away and glared at the waiting guards, who were peering into the darkness ahead and hefting their swords warily. 'And now, if you've run out of questions for the time being, Princess, I think we should press on, before those Neanderthals start carving their initials into the woodwork.'

He paused just long enough for each guardsman to light his lantern, and then strode confidently forward into the gloom of the right-hand corridor. Damn the man, thought Julia as she and the guards hurried to catch up with the Seneschal. There's a lot to be said for bravery and heroism, but this is getting out of hand. First he tells me horror stories about previous search parties that never came back, and then he goes marching off into the dark without even bothering to send in a few scouts first. Julia scowled, and shook her head. I should never have let them take away my sword . . .

The party's footsteps echoed hollowly back from the dust-covered walls, but even that small sound carried in the quiet. The guards huddled together and held their lanterns high, but still the darkness pressed hungrily against the sparse pool of light the lanterns cast. In the constant gloom it was hard to judge distances, and Julia began to wonder if the corridor had an end, or if the damn thing just went on for ever. She looked back the way she'd come, but. the original junction was already lost to the darkness. There was a faint scurrying sound on the edge of her hearing, but no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn't seem to place where it was coming from. Probably rats, she thought, hefting her dagger. After thirty-two years, they probably think they own the place.

'How can anyone lose a whole Wing?' she asked the Seneschal, more for the comfort of the sound of her voice then because she cared about the answer.

'It seems one of the Astrologer's spells went wrong,' said the Seneschal absent-mindedly, while studying a map in the light of a guardsman's lantern. 'No one's quite sure exactly what he was up to, and since he's still too embarrassed to talk about it, the odds are we'll never find out, but apparently there was a massive explosion, and then in the space of a few moments all the doors and corridors that used to lead to the South Wing suddenly . . . didn't. Those people who were in the Wing were able to get out, but nobody could get in. Legend has it that there were a few people unaccounted for, who never got out.'

'What a horrible thought,' said Julia, shivering despite herself.

'If you don't want to know the answers, don't ask the questions,' said the Seneschal testily. 'Now quiet, please, I'm trying to concentrate.'

Julia swallowed an angry retort, and the Seneschal went back to frowning over his map. The air grew steadily more stifling and oppressive as the party pressed on into the darkness, and Julia glared about her as the faint scuffling noises seemed to hover at the edge of the lamplight. The guards heard it too, and one by one they drew their swords. It's only a few rats, Julia told herself sternly, but her imagination conjured up images of people watching from the darkness. Men and women, grown strange and crazy in their isolation. Children, who'd never known any other world than the South Wing. Julia took a firm grip on her dagger. Even rats can be dangerous, she thought defensively.

And then Julia stumbled and almost fell as the floor lurched violently and dropped away beneath her. The corridor walls seemed to recede into the distance and then return, sweeping in and out in the space of a moment. Her sense of left and right and up and down reversed itself and then spun her dizzily round and round before snapping back to normal. A sudden darkness swallowed the lanternlight, and she could hear voices crying out in fear and anger, but only faintly, as if from a great distance. She felt she had to keep moving, but every step seemed harder than the one before, and her muscles ached with the effort it took to press on. A hideous pressure built within and around her, trying to force her back, but Julia wouldn't give in. That wasn't her way. The pressure reached a peak, but Julia could feel there were people in the darkness with her, helping her to fight back. She drew on their strength, and they drew on hers, and together they threw themselves forward. And then the light came back, and the world was steady again.

Julia sank on to her haunches and breathed harshly as her head slowly cleared. She was exhausted and wringing with sweat, as though she'd been running for hours on end, but when she glanced around she found she was still in the same dark corridor. The only light came from a single lantern, held by a guard crouching beside her who looked almost as bad as she felt. Julia frowned suddenly, and looked back the way she'd come. The Seneschal was leaning weakly against a wall, glowering at one of his maps, but there was no trace of the other eleven guards.

'What the hell happened?' demanded Julia, climbing shakily to her feet after waving away the guard's proffered hand, 'and where are the other guards?'

'The South Wing is trapped inside some kind of barrier,' said the Seneschal thoughtfully, as he carefully refolded his map and tucked it into his coat pocket. 'Presumably set up when the Astrologer's spell backfired.' He glanced down the corridor, but the impenetrable dark gave nothing away. The Seneschal sniffed, and turned his back on it. 'The other guards must still be on the other side of the barrier. Typical. Damn guards are never around when they're needed.'

Julia fought down an impulse to grab the Seneschal by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, and smiled at him reasonably. 'Sir Seneschal, we can't just leave them there . . .'

'Oh, they'll be safe enough, we can pick them up on our way back. It's their own fault, anyway. We broke through that barrier because we refused to be beaten, and because at the end we worked together. The other guards weren't up to that. A pity, but never mind. We've made it into the South Wing, and that's all that matters. The first people in thirty-two years . . . Well, come on. There's no point in standing about here, there's work to be done.'

And with that, the Seneschal grabbed the lantern from the guard's hand and stalked off down the corridor without even a backward glance, leaving Julia and the guard to hurry after him. Julia studied the guard covertly as they followed the Seneschal deeper into the South Wing. He was short and stocky, with a compact muscular frame and heavily muscled arms. All in all, he looked rather like a giant who'd been cut off at the knees. He couldn't have been much more than forty, but there was a certaingrimness to his face that made him seem a lot older. His broad, heavily boned features were capped by close-cropped hair of so light a blond as to be nearly white, and there was a wary watchfulness to his eyes that Julia found reassuring. Whatever happened, this guard wasn't the kind to be caught unawares.

'My name's Bodeen,' he said suddenly. 'In case you were wondering.'

'I hadn't realised I was staring,' said Julia.

'You weren't,' he assured her, 'but there's not much I don't notice.'

'Keep that attitude,' said Julia, 'and we may all get out of this alive.'

They both chuckled quietly, but there was more tension than humour in the sound. The Seneschal stopped, gazed thoughtfully at a side turning, and then plunged into it. Julia and Bodeen followed. The Seneschal led them through a baffling series of twists and turns, down corridors and up stairways, in and out of cobwebbed doors and passages, until the Princess had lost all sense of time and direction. She began to feel strangely disorientated, as though she was standing still and everything else was moving around her.

Bodeen padded silently at her side like a cat on the prowl, his eyes constantly searching for possible dangers. Anywhere else, Julia would have found such behaviour intensely irritating, but ever since she'd entered the South Wing she'd had the feeling someone was watching and waiting in the dark beyond the lantern's light. No matter where she looked, or how quickly she turned her head, she never saw anyone, but still the feeling persisted, gnawing unmercifully at her nerves until she could have screamed from sheer frustration. She clutched her daggerhilt until her knuckles ached, and cursed herself for a fool for ever having volunteered to join the Seneschal's party. She glared at his unresponsive back, and then had to pull up short to avoid crashing into it as he came to yet another sudden halt. He stood still a moment, his head tilted back like a hound searching the air for an elusive scent, and then he slowly lowered his head and turned to face her.

'Something's wrong,' he said quietly.

'How do you mean?' asked Julia, unwilling to voice her own fears aloud, in case they sounded ridiculous.

'I'm not sure.' The Seneschal looked about him, and then shivered suddenly. 'Whatever spell the Astrologer attempted all those years ago, it must have been a damn sight more powerful than he was willing to admit. It's still here, echoing in the wood and stone, trembling on the air.'

'You mean we're in danger here?' asked Bodeen, raising his sword warily.

'Yes. No. I don't know!' The Seneschal frowned unhappily at Bodeen and Julia, as though expecting them to come up with an answer, and then turned his back on them. 'We're wasting time. The Treasury isn't far. Let's get on.' He communed briefly with his inner sense, and then strode confidently down a side corridor, leaving the guard and the Princess to hasten after him or be left behind in the dark.

The silence bothered Julia more than anything, and not just because it reminded her of her time in the Darkwood. The endless quiet seemed to smother every sound, as though the silent wing resented any disturbing of its peace. Bodeen methodically swept the darkness with his gaze, checking every door and passageway they passed, but there was never any sign to show the party was being watched or followed. And yet, in some strange way, it was the very absence of any sign or sound that convinced Julia they were not alone. All her instincts screamed to her of danger, near and deadly, and she knew with a deep inner certainty that something evil watched and waited in the darkness beyond the light. A blind panic welled up within her and she crushed it ruthlessly. She'd be scared later, when she had the time.

The corridor grew suddenly narrower, the walls crowding in out of the dark. The Seneschal's lantern shed a dull yellow glow over faded tapestries and portraits of men and women long dead. He stopped suddenly before a closed, ornately carved door, and frowned thoughtfully. All at once, Julia felt a presence close at hand, something dark and dangerous and horribly familiar. She shot a glance at Bodeen, who was staring back the way they'd come. He hefted his sword with casual competence, but didn't seem particularly worried. Julia glared at the closed door, and shuddered despite herself. There was something awful on the other side of that door, she could feel it in her bones. She licked her dry lips, and hefted her dagger.

'Are you all right?' asked Bodeen quietly.

'I'm fine,' said Julia, shortly. 'I've got a bad feeling about this place, that's all.'

Bodeen nodded unsmilingly. 'It's just the dark. Don't let it throw you.'

'It's not just that! Don't you ever listen to your instincts?'

'All the time. But mostly I trust my eyes and ears, and so far I haven't seen or heard one damn thing to suggest there's anyone in this Wing except us, and a few spiders.'

Julia shook her head stubbornly. 'There's something in here with us. And we're getting closer to it all the time.'

'If you two have quite finished,' said the Seneschal acidly, 'you might possibly be interested to learn that we're almost at the end of our journey. Beyond this door lies the South Tower, and beyond that lies the main entrance to the Treasury.'

Julia frowned. 'Are you sure?'

'Of course I'm sure!'

'Then why have you kept us waiting all this time?'

'Because the door doesn't feel right!' snapped the Seneschal disgustedly. 'I know this door leads to the South Tower, but... I keep getting the feeling that it doesn't!'

'Are you saying we're lost?' asked Julia, her heart sinking.

'Of course we're not lost! I'm just not entirely sure where we are.'

'Terrific,' said Bodeen.

The Seneschal glared at the door, and then reached cautiously for the handle. Julia tensed, and held her dagger out before her. The Seneschal glanced quickly at Julia and Bodeen, and then eased the door open a crack. Bright light flared round the edges of the door, throwing back the darkness. Julia and the Seneschal fell back, startled by the sudden glare, and Bodeen moved quickly forward to stand between them and the door. He waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the new light, and then gave the door a quick push with his foot. It swung slowly open, and Bodeen whistled softly as bright daylight flooded into the corridor.

'Come and take a look,' he said slowly. 'You're not going to believe this . . .'

Julia glared about her warily, before moving over to join the Seneschal at Bodeen's side. Her sense of imminent danger had faded to a vague unease, but she still couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched. Nerves, she told herself angrily, and looked through the door. She blinked dazedly into the light for a moment, and then realised she was looking out into an endless sky. Clouds floated before her, soft and wet and puffy, so close she could almost reach out and touch them. She looked up, and then gasped as her stomach lurched. Far above her, a hundred feet and more, lay the ground. The view was upside down. Julia closed her eyes, and waited for her stomach to settle before looking again. Heights didn't usually bother her, but the up-ended view's casual defiance of the natural order of things disturbed her deeply.

'Interesting,' she said finally, forcing herself to look up at the ground.

'Yes, isn't it,' said the Seneschal happily, and Julia was disgusted to note that not only was he looking up and down with no sign of distress, he was actually smiling while he did it. 'It's a view from the South Tower, Princess, or at least from where the South Tower used to be. If you look down, or rather up, you can see the moat quite clearly. Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. It's not just an illusion, you know. Somehow, within this doorway, space itself has been inverted. I can feel it most distinctly. I suppose if someone were to step through this door, they'd fall up, rather than down.'

'After you,' said Julia, and the Seneschal chuckled. Bodeen stared up at the ground, frowning.

'If the Tower's been missing all this time,' said Julia slowly, 'why hasn't anyone noticed it before? It should have been obvious from the outside.'

'Actually, no,' said the Seneschal, still studying the view. 'The Castle's exterior is mainly illusion.'

'At least now we know what happened to the other parties,' said Bodeen suddenly, and Julia and the Seneschal stepped carefully back from the door before turning to look at him.

'Obvious when you think about it,' said the guard calmly, still staring out into the sunshine. 'Like you, sir Seneschal, they must have decided to enter the Treasury through the South Tower. It was the main entrance, after all. Unfortunately, their trackers weren't in your league. They had no way of knowing this door had become a death trap. So, blinded by the light, they just walked right in and fell to their deaths.'

'But. . . someone would have found the bodies,' protested Julia.

Bodeen shrugged, and turned away from the door. 'Like as not they ended up in the moat, or near it. And the moat monster's always hungry.'

'We can't be sure all the parties came this way,' said the Seneschal. 'And even if they did, I can't believe none of them would have survived the trap.'

Bodeen smiled grimly. 'Maybe there are other traps we haven't found yet.'

For a long moment the three of them just stared at each other, and then the Seneschal shrugged, and turned away to stare through the doorway.

'All right,' said Julia, 'where do we go now? We can't get to the Treasury this way.'

'Actually, I rather think we can,' said the Seneschal. 'I've just had an idea.'

Julia looked at Bodeen. 'Can't you just feel your heart sinking?' Bodeen nodded solemnly.

'The South Tower may be missing,' said the Seneschal, 'but the door that leads to the Treasury is still there. I can see it, just a little further along what is now the outer wall. Even more to the point, there's a stairway that connects these two doors, built on to the wall.'

'A stairway,' said Julia. 'Is it intact?'

'Mostly. The supports that held it in place seem to have vanished with the tower, but it looks secure enough. As long as we're careful.'

'Let me get this straight,' said Julia. 'You expect us to go out that door, crawl along an unsupported crumbling stairway, carefully ignoring the hundred-foot drop, just to reach another door that's probably locked anyway?'

'Got it in one,' said the Seneschal.

Julia looked at Bodeen. 'You hit him first. You're nearest.'

'You won't be in any real danger,' said the Seneschal hastily.

'Damn right I won't,' said Julia. 'I'm not going.'

'Princess Julia,' said the Seneschal firmly. 'I am going. So is Bodeen. If you wish to stay behind and wait for our return, or if you want to try to find your way back through the dark without me, that is up to you.'

Julia glared at him, and then rounded on Bodeen, who shrugged helplessly.

'Sorry, Princess. The Seneschal's in charge.'

Julia turned away in disgust. 'All right, let's get this over with.'

The Seneschal chuckled irritatingly, and moved over to look out the doorway. He craned his neck to get a better view of what lay above the lintel, and then nodded happily. 'The stairs begin directly above the door. The only problem's going to be the gravity switch, but as long as we get a good grip on the lintel first. . . Well, don't just stand there, Bodeen, make a stirrup for me.'

The guard moved quickly forward and cupped his hands together. The Seneschal set his foot in the stirrup, positioned his weight carefully, and then took firm hold of the lintel with both hands. He glanced quickly out of the door, and then nodded to Bodeen. The guard lifted as the Seneschal jumped, and Julia gasped as the Seneschal's body flipped gracefully end over end through the doorway. He shot upwards out of sight, his hands still clinging fiercely to the lintel. There was a long silence, and then the hands suddenly disappeared.

'Are you all right, sir?' called Bodeen hesitantly.

'Of course I'm all right!' yelled the Seneschal crossly. 'Give me a chance to get a little further along the stairs, and then send out the Princess. And tell her to watch her step, it's slippery out here.'

Julia looked at Bodeen, and swallowed dryly.

'Take your time,' he said understandingly. 'There's no rush.'

'What gets me is we volunteered for this,' said Julia, and Bodeen smiled.

'It beats collecting horse manure for the gardens. But only just. Ready?'

Julia nodded, slipped her dagger back into her boot so as to have both hands free, and then set her foot in the stirrup Bodeen made for her. She tried for a firm grip on the lintel, but her fingers slipped on the smooth wood, and she had to stop and rub her hands dry on her dress before she could get a grip she trusted. She took a deep breath, let it slowly out, and nodded to Bodeen. He smiled reassuringly, and Julia jumped.

Gravity changed while she was still in mid-air. Up was suddenly down, and her head swam madly as she found herself hanging by one hand from the bottom of the door. Beneath her kicking feet there was nothing but air, and she didn't dare look down. She reached out with her free hand, and stubbed her fingers on the rough stone of the stairway. She grinned fiercely, grabbed hold, and pulled herself up on to the first step. It was broad and wide and seemed comfortingly solid. She pressed herself against the Castle wall, and looked around. The stairway stretched out before her, jagged and broken and punctuated here and there by yard-wide gaps in the stonework. Some fifty feet away, further down the wall, the Seneschal was crouched before another door, his brow creased in thought.

'Sir Seneschal,' called Julia sweetly, 'I'm going to get you for this.'

The Seneschal looked around unhurriedly. 'Ah, there you are, Princess. I would have come back to help you, but I'm afraid I got distracted by this door. I was miles away.'

'I wish I was,' muttered Julia. The gusting wind tousled her hair as she stared uncomfortably at the view spread out below her. The Forest sprawled greenly across the horizon in whichever direction she looked, and it was hard for Julia to imagine such an ancient and magnificent sight falling to darkness and decay under the long night. She strained her eyes until they ached, but as yet there was no sign of the Darkwood itself. She wondered if Rupert had passed through the darkness yet, on his way to the High Warlock. She tried to remember exactly how long he'd been gone, and felt vaguely ashamed when she found she wasn't sure. Julia scowled, and turning away from the Forest, she concentrated on the stairway before her. One problem at a time. Her frown deepened as she realised much of the stonework was cracked and pitted from its long exposure to the wind and rain, and several of the steps hung at crazy angles from the Castle wall, apparently held in place only by a little mortar and accumulated pigeon droppings.

'Is it safe for me to come out yet, Princess?' called Bodeen plaintively, and Julia started guiltily as she realised how long she'd kept the guard waiting.

'All clear!' she yelled quickly, and scrambled down on to the next step so as to give him more room. She'd barely made it before Bodeen came flying upside-down through the door, somersaulting in mid-air as the gravity changed. His grip on the lintel never even looked like slipping, and in the space of a few moments he was crouching gracefully on the top step, and looking interestedly down at the view.

'Do stop hanging around,' called the Seneschal. 'The Treasury door isn't locked.'

Julia glanced across just in time to see him tug energetically at the door. It opened outwards, nearly knocking the Seneschal from his perch in the process. He quickly regained his balance, stared dubiously into the dark opening, and then jumped into it, flipping head over heels upwards as he went.

That man has nerves of steel, thought Julia. Either that, or absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

She glared at the weathered, rough-hewn steps that lay between her and the Treasury door. There were only a few gaps wide enough to require jumping, but the steps on each side of the breaks looked decidedly precarious. Julia looked down, and then wished she hadn't. The drop seemed to get longer every time she looked. She studied the battered stairway, and cursed under her breath, so as not to upset Bodeen. If the Seneschal hadn't already made the journey, she'd have called it impossible. As it was . . . Julia sighed, gathered up her long dress, and tucked the front and back ends securely into her belt. The wind was cold on her bare legs, but she had to be able to see where her feet were. She glared dubiously at the next step down, and then lowered herself cautiously on to it. The stone creaked warningly under her weight. Julia waited a moment for it to settle, and then moved on to the next step. Slowly she made her way down the stairway, one step at a time, testing each slab of stone carefully before committing her full weight to it. Time and again she stood motionless while the ancient stonework groaned and shifted beneath her, and crumbling mortar fell away in sudden little streams. Julia was aware of Bodeen hovering close behind her, in case she fell, but after a while she had to order him to stay further back. The stone steps couldn't hold both their weights.

The first jump was the hardest. An entire block of six steps had broken away, leaving a jagged-edged gap of some fifteen feet. The steps on either side looked none too secure, and Julia reluctantly decided that her best bet was a running start. She climbed back two steps, took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves, and then launched herself at the gap, trusting to speed and luck to get her safely across. For a brief moment there was nothing but open space beneath her, and then her feet slammed heavily on to the far step. She fell forward and clutched anxiously at the uneven stonework, but the great stone slab barely shifted an inch. Julia let out her breath in a great sigh of relief, and rising cautiously to her feet, she moved down on to the next step to give Bodeen enough room for his jump. He made it easily, landing in a cat-like crouch that barely stirred the stonework. The two of them shared a grin, and then carried on down the stairs, one step at a time.

The wind was rising steadily, a bitterly cold wind that seemed to strike clean through to the bone. Julia couldn't stop shivering, and in her eagerness to get out of the cold she hurried down the last few steps without bothering to check them first. The icy wind tugged and buffeted her as she stood staring at the final gap in the stairway. It was only a yard or so wide, and once over, it was only two more steps to the Treasury door. Julia checked that her dress was still tucked securely in place, studied the distance to the far step, and then jumped the gap easily. The stone gave lightly beneath her as she landed, and then tore itself free from the Castle wall with a roar of rending stone and mortar. Julia threw herself forward, and just caught the edge of the next step as the first slab dropped out from under her. She watched it tumble lazily end over end on its long way down to the dirty green waters of the moat, and tried not to think of how many other people might have ended up there. She clutched fiercely at the rough stone step, and waited for her heart to settle.

'Hang on, Julia,' said Bodeen quietly. Til jump across, and then pull you up.'

'No! Stay where you are, Bodeen!' Already Julia could feel the step shifting. There was no chance of it supporting the guard's weight as well. Slowly she pulled herself up over the edge of the step, stopping every few seconds to let the shifting stone settle. Her arm muscles ached unbearably, but she didn't dare hurry herself. Eventually she was able to hook one knee over the edge and then, with one heart-stopping lunge, she hauled herself up on to the step. For long moments she just lay there in an ungainly heap, feeling the stone creak and groan and grow still beneath her. Her heart hammered furiously against her breastbone, and sweat trickled down her face and sides despite the chill wind. When I get inside, she decided shakily, I am going to brain the Seneschal with the nearest blunt instrument. She eased herself down on to the next step, and only then got to her feet and turned to look back at Bodeen, watching anxiously from the far side of the gap.

'All right, Bodeen, come across. But aim for this step, I don't think the other will take your weight.'

Bodeen nodded calmly, and made the jump look simple. The stone slab absorbed his landing with only the faintest of tremors, and Julia turned her attention to the open Treasury door before her. After all I've been through to get here, she thought slowly, the Treasury had better be worth it. She took one last look at the Forest spread out below, and then stepped through the doorway.

Once again, gravity changed while she was still in mid-air, and she only just got her feet under her in time. She looked around for the Seneschal, and then had to jump to one side as Bodeen came somersaulting in. He landed awkwardly, and Julia put out a hand to steady him. He moved quickly away, and Julia was surprised to note the man was blushing. She grinned as the answer hit her, and carefully rearranged her dress so that her legs were once again modestly covered. Bodeen concentrated all his attention on shutting the Treasury door, until he was sure it was safe to turn round again.

'It didn't bother you on the stairway,' said Julia, amusedly.

'That was different,' said the guard firmly. 'Here, it wouldn't be at all proper. I mean, what would the Seneschal say?'

'Something vexing, no doubt,' said Julia, staring curiously about her. As her eyes grew used to the gloom, she realised they were in a vast hall, illuminated only by the sparse light that trickled past the edges of the many shuttered windows. The timbered ceiling towered above them, choked with cobwebs. Thick streams of the dirty gossamer hung from every surface, though there was surprisingly little dust. Tightly packed bookcases lined the walls, and dozens of chairs stood before dozens of desks, all joined one to the other by their cobweb shrouds.

'I wonder what this place was,' said Julia.

Bodeen shrugged. 'If this was the Treasury, I suppose this could be the old counting house.'

'Right first time,' said the Seneschal, appearing suddenly from a doorway to their left. 'Who knows how many tons of gold and silver and copper passed through this room? The whole wealth of the Forest Kingdom must have passed through here at one time or another.'

Julia's eyes gleamed suddenly. 'Do you suppose,' she said demurely, 'that any of the gold and silver and copper might still be around?'

The Seneschal chuckled. 'Who knows?'

'I'm beginning to be glad I came,' said Julia, and Bodeen nodded solemnly.

'Let's find the Old Armoury first,' said the Seneschal dryly. 'Then perhaps we can consider a little treasure-hunting. This way, Princess.'

Julia grinned, and she and Bodeen followed the Seneschal through the side door into the next room. Julia stopped just inside the door, and wrinkled her nose as the smell hit her. The darkened antechamber would have seemed small and dingy even when it was still in everyday use, but after thirty-two years of neglect the place stank of damp and decay. There were no windows, the only light the familiar golden glow of the Seneschal's lantern. Mildew and wood rot speckled the wall panelling, and what had once been a rich, deep-pile carpet crunched dryly under Julia's feet as she moved slowly into the room. A single chair lay overturned in a corner, cocooned in spiderwebs. The Seneschal turned as though to say something to Julia, and then froze. From somewhere close at hand, quite distinct in the silence, came a furtive scurrying sound. It was too loud and too heavy a noise to be a rat.

Julia drew her dagger, and Bodeen drew his sword. The Seneschal silently drew their attention to the door on the far side of the antechamber that stood slightly ajar, and the three of them crept quietly over to stand before it. The scurrying had stopped as quickly as it had begun, but Julia couldn't help feeling there was something horribly familiar about the sound. It wasn't just that she'd heard it before on her journey through the South Wing, it was as though there was something about the sound she ought to recognise, but was afraid to. Julia scowled, took a firm grip on her dagger, and peered cautiously through the door's narrow gap. All was silence and darkness, Julia glanced at Bodeen, who looked at the Seneschal for his orders. There then followed a short conference between the three of them, consisting mainly of looks, shrugs and scowls, until Julia lost her patience and kicked the door wide open.

The door flew open on squealing hinges, and slammed heavily against the wall. The echoes seemed to go on for ever, but nothing came to investigate the sound, and after a while Julia padded silently into the room, followed closely by the Seneschal and Bodeen. The still air was dank and oppressive, with a faint scent of rot and decay that grated on Julia's nerves. The Seneschal held up his lantern, and then all three gasped as the lanternlight shimmered on gold and silver and precious jewels, scattered here and there across the floor, as a small child might leave toys after growing tired of playing with them. Stout oaken treasure chests lay on their sides, broken open and spilling their contents on to the floor. The lids of the chests had been torn clean away, the wood scored and split as though by claws. Must have used a crowbar, thought Julia dazedly. Well, at least now we know we're not the only ones here. She glanced quickly round, but there was nowhere for anyone to hide in the cramped little room that met her gaze. The Seneschal moved away to check the first of the room's two other doors, and Bodeen quickly sheathed his sword, knelt down beside the nearest chest, and started stuffing handfuls of assorted jewels into his pockets. Julia grinned, and crouched beside him.

'Don't load yourself down too heavily,' she said dryly. 'We may still have to fight our way out of here.'

'Take what you can, when you can; that's always been my motto,' said Bodeen calmly. 'And any one of these jewels is worth more than they pay me in a year. Besides, there's no one here to fight, Princess.'

'Somebody must have broken open these chests,' said Julia. 'And fairly recently, at that.'

'How can you tell?' asked Bodeen, frowning.

'No cobwebs.'

Julia left him thinking that over, and moved away to study a pair of sheathed swords mounted on a wall plaque. If there was to be any fighting, Julia wanted a sword in her hand. She tucked her dagger back into her boot, and brushing away the cobwebs, pulled one of the swords from its scabbard. The blade shone brightly, even in the dim light, and the balance was exceptionally good. She tried the edge on her thumb, and raised an eyebrow when it drew blood.

Behind her, the Seneschal paused at the room's only window, and then tugged at the closed shutters until they swung slowly open on protesting hinges. Light flooded into the room, and the carpeted floor was suddenly awash with dozens of scuttling spiders darting back and forth, driven mad by the sudden light after so many years of darkness. Bodeen yelped shrilly and jumped up on to a chair, but the spiders quickly disappeared into a hundred nooks and crannies. Bodeen looked carefully round to make sure they were all gone, and then climbed down from the chair with as much dignity as he could muster. Julia shook her head wonderingly. So much fuss over a few spiders. Now rats, that would have been different. . .

And then she and Bodeen both spun round sword in hand as the Seneschal cried out in pain and horror. He dropped his lantern as he staggered back from the open second door, blood rilling down his chest, and then the demons erupted out of the darkness beyond the door and fell on him hungrily, swarming all over him like flies on a piece of meat. Julia and Bodeen charged forward, yelling their war cries, and incredibly the demons retreated back into the darkness from which they'd come, leaving their prey behind. Julia and Bodeen hauled the Seneschal to his feet. He was covered in blood and his eyes didn't track, but at least he was still breathing. Julia looked round for the lantern and snatched it up, but the fall had put it out. She cursed briefly, and then helped Bodeen drag the Seneschal back towards the antechamber door. The demons watched from their darkness, but made no move to follow them.

'We've got to get out of here!' said Bodeen shrilly.

'Right,' said Julia evenly. 'Just back steadily towards the door. No sudden moves, nothing that might upset them. Take it easy, and we'll get out of this in one piece yet.'

'But they're demons! You saw what they did to the Seneschal!'

'So what!' snarled Julia. 'Ram a yard of cold steel through them and they'll die just as easily as any man! I ought to know, I've done it before, remember?'

'How many of the damn things are there?' asked Bodeen more quietly, and Julia relaxed a little.

'A dozen, no more.'

'Why aren't they coming after us?'

'Beats me. Maybe the sudden light from the window blinded them, and they don't know how many of us there are.'

'Once they realise, we're in trouble.'

'Right. How much further to the door?'

Bodeen glanced back over his shoulder. 'Nearly there, Princess. How's the Seneschal?'

'I don't know. He's in pretty bad shape.'

'How bad?'

'Bad enough. And he's the only one who knows the way out of here.'

'Terrific,' said Bodeen.

They'd almost made it to the open door when the demons burst out of their darkness. Their eyes glowed blood-red, and their twisted pallid shapes came flying through the dim light like so many misshapen ghosts. Julia and Bodeen threw the Seneschal into the antechamber, and then sprang through after him. Bodeen slammed the door shut in the demons' faces, and then sheathed his sword and hung on to the door knob with both hands to keep them from pulling the door open.

'Lock it!' he yelled to Julia.

'There's no key!'

'How about bolts?'

There were two, top and bottom. They were both rusted into place, and Julia wrestled the top one loose as the door heaved and shuddered under the demons' assault. There was the sound of claws tearing into wood. Julia slammed the top bolt home, and then turned quickly to the bottom bolt. It snapped off in her hand, rusted clean through. Julia and Bodeen looked at each other.

'That door isn't going to hold them long,' said Bodeen quietly.

'It doesn't have to,' said the Seneschal. 'We've got to lead them into the counting room.'

Julia and Bodeen spun round to find the Seneschal getting unsteadily to his feet. His face was pale, and streaked with drying blood, but his eyes were back in focus. Bodeen moved quickly over to support him, and the Seneschal nodded his thanks.

'The demons will break in here any minute. Bodeen, help me through that door into the counting room. Princess, you follow us, but stay in the doorway so that the demons can see you. When they have, you can fall back to join us. Don't let them lose sight of you, but don't let them catch you, either. Got it?'

'Not really,' said Julia. 'Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

'Of course,' snapped the Seneschal testily. 'I always know what I'm doing. Now give me the lantern.'

Julia and Bodeen exchanged a glance. The antechamber door trembled as the demons hammered on it.

'What the hell,' said Julia, handing the lantern to the Seneschal. 'A short life, but an interesting one. Get him out of here, Bodeen. I'll hold the doorway.'

Bodeen nodded curtly, and half led, half carried the Seneschal out of the antechamber and into the counting room. Julia turned back to face the shaking door before her, and Julia hefted her sword uncertainly. Silhouetted against the light, she made an obvious target. She frowned, and then backed away from the groaning door to stand hidden in the shadows of the open counting-room door. She'd let the demons see her when she was good and ready, and not before. And then the straining bolt finally tore itself free from its socket, and the antechamber door flew open. The corpse-pale demons poured into the antechamber like maggots oozing from a game bird that had been left hanging too long. Their eerie pupil-less eyes glowed crimson in the gloom as they peered hungrily about them for their prey. Julia stood very still, and waited patiently for something to come within range of her sword.

The demons sniffed at the still air, and then lowered their misshapen heads to the floor, like so many hounds searching out a scent. The sight might have been funny if it hadn't been so horrible. And then either they found a trail or Julia made a sound without realising, for one by one the demons raised their heads to stare unblinkingly in her direction, and Julia knew the shadows weren't deep enough to hide her. She stepped quickly forward to block the doorway, sweeping her sword back and forth before her. Light gleamed dully the length of the blade. One of the demons leapt forward, and Julia cut it down with one stroke of her sword. The creature fell to writhe silently on the thick carpet, and then the other demons were upon her.

The Seneschal had told her to lead the demons back into the counting room, but Julia knew that once she fell back through the doorway, they'd roll right over her. The narrowness of the door meant the demons could only come at her in twos and threes, but it was only a matter of time before the sheer weight of numbers would wear her down, and she'd have to retreat back into the counting room. And then they'd take her.

Julia swung her sword with all her weight behind it, and demon blood flew on the air as a growing ache built in her muscles. She ripped open a demon's belly with a sideways sweep of her blade, and then had to fall back a step to avoid the clawed hand that narrowly missed her throat. She realised she was no longer protected by the doorway, and fell back again as the demons surged forward. And then Bodeen was beside her, adding his sword to hers.

The demons fell back before the two flashing blades, and Julia leaped aside as Bodeen slammed the door shut in their faces. Julia looked quickly for the bolts, and swore harshly when she realised there weren't any. Bodeen set his back against the door as the first claws began ripping into the wood.

'When I give the word,' he said calmly, 'head for the outer door.'

Julia nodded, and then looked round just in time to see the Seneschal pull the outer door to, plunging the room into darkness. Julia bit her lip and hefted her sword.

'I hope somebody knows what they're doing,' she said loudly, and wasn't all that reassured when the Seneschal just chuckled dryly.

'Get ready, 'said Bodeen. 'I can't hold them . . .'The door surged open a few inches, pushing him back. A clawed hand snaked past the door, glowing palely in the dark. 'Now, Julia! Go now!'

Bodeen jumped back, and Julia ran for the outer door. The demons flew after her, ignoring Bodeen as he hid behind the opened door. Julia got to the outer door and pushed it open. Bright sunlight flooded into the room. The Seneschal grabbed her arm and pulled her to one side, but the demons just stumbled on, blinded by the sudden light. Julia grinned savagely as she finally understood. She attacked the demons from the side while Bodeen harried them from the rear, and it was the easiest thing in the world to drive the nine surviving demons through the door and out into the long drop.

Julia lowered her sword and sank wearily to the floor. Her head ached fiercely, and her arms were as heavy as lead. Fatigue shivered in her legs, and just sitting there with her back pressed against the wall, Julia felt like she could sleep for a week. She shuddered at the thought. It had been bad enough lying in bed at night, knowing that while she slept the Darkwood drew steadily closer, but somehow she'd always thought the Castle's thick walls would keep her safe from demons. It came hard to her, to realise that nowhere was safe any more. Julia clutched her sword fiercely, and wondered if she'd ever dare sleep again.

Bodeen bent over her, and whistled softly as, for the first time he saw the blood on her face and arms. 'Princess, you're hurt.'

'Cuts and bruises, Bodeen, nothing more. Help me up.'

He helped her stand, and then waited patiently as she leaned heavily on his supporting arm until her head cleared. After a while she pushed him away, and turned to the Seneschal, who was busily relighting his lantern with flint and steel.

'How are you feeling, sir Seneschal?'

'I've felt better, Princess.' He finally coaxed his candle alight, and closed the lantern. 'It probably looks worse than it is.'

'You looked pretty bad when we dragged you out from under those demons,' said Bodeen, and the Seneschal grimaced.

'Don't remind me. I thought my time had come.'

'You should rest for a while,' said Bodeen.

'I'm all right,' snapped the Seneschal. 'Don't fuss. There'll be plenty of time to rest when we get back. Right now, I'm more worried about the Armoury. I hate to think how much damage the demons could have caused there. How the hell did those creatures get into the Castle?'

'Somebody let them in,' said Julia simply. 'We have a traitor among us.'

For a moment, they just stood and stared at each other. Bodeen scowled, and the Seneschal shook his head dazedly. Julia smiled grimly.

'Remember the demons who wait and watch outside our walls at night? Well, now we know where they hide during the day.'

'I just can't believe it, Princess,' said the Seneschal slowly. 'Who'd be mad enough to bring demons into the Castle itself?'

'More to the point,' said Bodeen suddenly, 'why bring them into the South Wing?'

The Seneschal's head snapped up, his eyes wide with horror. 'Of course, the Armoury! The bloody Armoury!'

He turned and ran through the side door into the antechamber. Julia and Bodeen exchanged a startled glance, and then plunged into the darkness after him. They followed the Seneschal through dozens of dimly lit rooms and corridors, his lantern bobbing ahead of them like a beckoning will-o'-the-wisp on a moonless night. Julia soon lost all sense of direction, and concentrated on running. She had a strong feeling that if she stumbled or fell, the Seneschal would just leave her behind.

The Seneschal finally came to a halt before a pair of massive oaken doors, easily eight feet tall, and almost as wide. The carved and curlicued wood gleamed dully in the golden lanternlight as he reached out and pushed gently at the left-hand door. It swung smoothly open at his touch, the counterweights creaking loudly in the silence. For a moment the Seneschal just stood there, staring into the darkness beyond the doors, and then his shoulders slumped and all the strength went out of him. He staggered, and would have fallen if Julia and Bodeen hadn't been there to support him.

'What is it, sir Seneschal?'asked Julia, scowling worriedly. 'What's so important about the damn doors?'

'Don't you understand?' whispered the Seneschal, staring sickly at the open door. 'The Armoury's been breached! The Curtana's unguarded ...'

He shrugged free of Julia and Bodeen, and led them into the Old Armoury. Beyond the massive doors lay a towering hall so vast the Seneschal's lantern couldn't begin to light it. Julia started as a suit of armour loomed up out of the darkness, and then relaxed slightly when she realised it was only an exhibit. Dozens of huge display cases lay scattered across the hall, showing swords and axes, longbows and lances, mains gauches and morningstars, in all their variations. Julia peered raptly about her as she moved slowly through the vast, dark hall in her narrow pool of light, awestruck by the sheer size of the collection. Rupert's ancestors had built up the Armoury over twelve generations, weapon upon weapon, until now it would have taken more than one man's lifetime just to catalogue it all. Julia felt her hackles rise as for the first time she realised just how ancient Forest Castle was.

The Seneschal stopped suddenly before a dusty wall plaque, set in a deep recess that hid it from casual view. The single silver scabbard it bore was tarnished and begrimed from long neglect, but there was no sign of the sword it once held. The Seneschal sighed tiredly.

'It's gone,' he said heavily. 'Curtana's gone.'

'But the Sword of Compulsion's our only hope against the demons,' said Bodeen. 'Who'd be mad enough to steal it?'

'Somebody who stood to gain if the Castle fell,' said the Seneschal. 'And these days, that description covers an awful lot of ground.'

'All this way,' said Julia, too tired even to be bitter. 'All this way for nothing. Come on, sir Seneschal, let's get out of here.'

'Of course, Princess. The King must be told.' The Seneschal turned his back on the empty scabbard, and stared out into the darkness. 'Somewhere in this Castle there's a traitor. We've got to find him, Princess. We've got to find him and the Curtana, before it's too late.'

'Perhaps it already is,' said Bodeen quietly. 'Perhaps it already is.'

Julia stared out of the stables at the falling rain, and sighed dejectedly. The afternoon was barely over, but it was already growing dark. The rain had been falling for over an hour, a steady persistent drizzle that wore at the nerves and worked its way down even the tallest chimneys to make the fires splutter and steam. Water gushed from the drainpipes and the overhanging guttering, turning the courtyard into a sea of mud. It dripped through the many cracks in the thatched stable roof, and pattered noisily on the straw-covered floor. The stable creaked and groaned as the rain hit it, and Julia stared out of the open stable door and sighed again, perhaps in sympathy. Behind her, the dragon stirred.

'You should be in your room, resting,' he said sternly.

Julia smiled, but didn't look round. 'I'm all right. A few more interesting scars to add to my collection, that's all. The Seneschal took the worst of it; I don't know how he stayed on his feet long enough to get us out of the South Wing. The surgeon took one look at him and ordered him to his bed, but he wouldn't go until he'd spoken to the King. Bodeen and I were all that was holding him up, but he wouldn't give in. He's a tough old bird, that Seneschal. Didn't pass out until he'd told the King everything he knew and suspected about the Armoury break-in. Bodeen and I carried him back to his rooms. He's sleeping now. Tough old bird.'

'You should get some rest yourself,' said the dragon. 'I can smell the pain and tiredness in you.'

'I couldn't sleep,' said Julia. 'Not yet. I need to talk to someone.'

'What is it this time?' said the dragon gently. 'Someone threatening to make you take etiquette lessons again?'

'Hardly. I've been excused lessons since all my tutors refused to enter the same room as me unless they were granted an armed escort first.'

'What is it, then? What's troubling you?'

'I don't know.' Julia turned away from the stable door, and moved over to sit down beside the dragon. The thick layer of straw softened the earth floor as she leaned back against his huge, comforting side. The falling rain became a pleasant background murmur, and the constant drip of water from the thatch was strangely soothing. The scent of freshly scattered hay hung heavily on the air, rich and earthy, and the dragon could feel Julia's muscles slowly relaxing.

'Dragon,' she said finally, 'what happened to the horses that used to live here?'

'Delicious,' said the dragon solemnly.

Julia elbowed him sharply in the side, and he grunted obligingly, though she doubted he actually felt it. 'You didn't really eat all those lovely horses, did you?'

'No, Julia, I moved in and they moved out. At a gallop, as I recall.'

Julia laughed, and snuggled back against his smooth scales. Sometimes it seemed the dragon was the only friend she had left in the world, an island of calm in an ocean of storms. After Rupert had left, the dragon had wandered aimlessly round the Castle, sleeping where he felt like it, and eating anything that didn't either run away or actively fight back. Eventually he'd settled down in one of the old stables, and showed every sign of staying there as long as someone brought him his meals regularly. The Castle staff quickly volunteered to take care of that, and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Between the dragon's appetite and Julia's sudden rages, they'd never done so much running and dodging in their lives.

'How are you feeling?' Julia asked the dragon, and he shrugged slightly.

'Better, I suppose. Casting the spell to summon the Rainbow Run took a lot out of me. Then the demons, swarming over me, tearing at me with their fangs and claws. And finally I had to breathe fire, and that hurt me, Julia, hurt me deep down inside. By the time Rupert called down the Rainbow I was dying, and it seems there's a limit to how much even the Wild Magic can do. It saved my life, but only time can heal me. I'm going to have to hibernate soon, and sleep until I'm healed. If I can still heal. Magic is going out of the world, and magical creatures like myself are having a harder time of it.' The dragon smiled sadly. 'Or perhaps I'm just getting old, even for a dragon. I haven't seen or heard of another of my kind in over three hundred years. Perhaps I'm the last. The last dragon in the world of men.'

'Three hundred years,' said Julia slowly. 'Didn't you ever get lonely!'

'As a rule, dragons aren't particularly gregarious. We each have our territories and our hoards, and we guard them jealously. But, yes, there have been times this last century when I would have welcomed the sight of another of my kind. It's been so long since I soared on the night winds with my brethren ... so very long.'

'When all this is over, we'll go and look for some more dragons,' said Julia.

'Yes,' said the dragon kindly. 'When all this is over.'

Julia stared up at the thatch overhead, and listened to the falling rain. 'Dragon, do you think there's something . . . wrong with me?'

'No. Why?'

'It's those damn Ladies-in-Waiting. They make me feel like a freak because I don't want to get married and settle down to raising a family. I'm not ready for that. Not yet.'

'Then don't,' said the dragon.

Julia scowled. 'It's just that sometimes . . . sometimes I wonder if they're right. If there is something wrong with me. All my friends and most of my sisters are married, and they seem happy enough. Mostly. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am missing out on something. I just don't see why I have to give up being me to get married. I'm supposed to marry Harald, but all he wants is a combination lover and serving-maid. Well he can forget that for a start. And if he gooses me one more time I'll raise his voice with a well-placed knee.'

She broke off, and frowned thoughtfully. 'You know, that's part of what I mean. If I'd said that to a Lady-in-Waiting, she'd have had a fit of the vapours and called for her smelling salts. Being blunt and direct isn't just unfashionable, it's unfeminine. Do you think I'm un-feminine?'

The dragon chuckled. 'Julia, I'm hardly an expert on human behaviour, but it seems to me that if you'd been just another helpless domesticated female, you'd never have survived the Darkwood. Or your journey through the South Wing this afternoon.'

'Damn right,' said Julia. 'So why can't they just leave me alone?'

'You're a Princess,' said the dragon. 'You have responsibilities. Even I know that.'

Julia sniffed disdainfully, picked up a straw from the floor, and chewed on the end. 'A Princess. And because of that I'm not supposed to think or feel or hope? Because of that I have to take orders from everyone on how to dress, how to talk, how to act? Because of that I have to marry a man I don't love? I'll see them rot in hell first!'

The dragon slowly turned his head to get a better look at her. 'We've finally come to what's really bothering you, haven't we?'

'Yes,' said Julia quietly. She looked at the straw in her hand, and threw it away. 'Rupert should have been back ages ago.'

'It's a long trip, there and back. And from what I've heard, the High Warlock will take a lot of persuading.'

'I should never have let him go back into the Darkwood. You know what that place is like.'

'Yes,' said the dragon softly. 'I remember.' He flexed his wings slightly, and Julia reached up to scratch the recent scar tissue.

'Do you still have nightmares?' she asked suddenly. The dragon shook his head. 'I do, sometimes. Only now I dream about Rupert, dying, alone in the darkness.'

'Rupert can take care of himself,' said the dragon.

Julia sniffed. 'You could have fooled me.'

'Do you love him, Julia?'

Julia stared out the open stable door. 'Looks like the rain's finally going off.'

'You haven't answered my question.'

'I know.'

'Humans,' said the dragon, and chuckled wryly. 'If you care for him, why not tell him?'

'Because he's not here! He went off and left me behind!'

'He could hardly take you with him into danger, could he?'

'He could have if he'd wanted to! I'm as good with a sword as he is! Anything would have been better than leaving me here. He's not coming back, dragon, I know it. The demons finally got him, and I wasn't there to help him ...' Julia pressed her face against the dragon's side, and let the tears come.

The dragon lifted a wing and wrapped it gently round her, holding her close until the tears finally slowed and stopped.

'You're tired,' he said softly. 'Why don't you go back to your room and rest?'

'I don't want to go back to my room,' Julia said to the dragon's side. 'I'm afraid of the dark. Of the demons.'

'Then stay here with me. Sleep. You'll be safe here, I promise you.'

'Thank you,' said Julia, so quietly only a dragon could have heard her. She settled herself against his side, riding his slow breathing, and soon she was asleep.

'Humans,' said the dragon, affectionately. He lowered his great head on to his tail, and waited patiently, watchfully, for the night to pass.

Chapter Five

THE DARK TOWER

Deep in the Darkwood, in the hidden heart of the unending night, there lay a clearing. Far above, the inward-leaning trees bowed down to darkness, mingling and intertwining their gnarled, misshapen branches until the bower was safely protected from the light of day. Phosphorescent lichens spotted the tree trunks, spreading a dull, eerie, blue light. Fungi and oily mosses carpeted the clearing floor, in the middle of which stood a single, rotting tree stump, roughly fashioned into the shape of a throne. And in that darkness, on that corrupt throne: the Demon Prince.

In his way, the Demon Prince seemed human. He resembled a man, but his features were blurred, his delicate fingers ended in claws, and his burning crimson eyes showed no trace of human thoughts or feelings. He looked like a man because it amused him to do so. Once he had looked like something else, and might again, but for now he lived in the world of men. If lived could be applied to a creature that was never born.

Even seated, he was obviously unnaturally tall, and slender to the point of emaciation. His pale flesh had a lambent pearly gleam, and he dressed in rags and tatters of purest black. He wore a battered, wide-brimmed hat, pulled down low over the eyes, and as he sat upon his throne like some terrible gore crow, he gnawed lazily at something that still feebly kicked and squealed. The Demon Prince had no need to eat but he liked to kill, and was compelled by his nature to terrify.

Surrounding the rotting throne, filling the clearing like so many crooked shadows, lay the demons of the Darkwood, abasing themselves before their Lord. They sat or crouched or lay upon their bellies in the dirt, watching if they had eyes, listening if they had ears, or just . . . waiting. They were of the dark, and the dark was patient.

A glowing silver sphere suddenly appeared before the throne, shimmering and pulsating as it floated on the stinking air. The Demon Prince smiled horribly, fresh blood trickling down his chin, and threw aside his meal. Two demons squabbled briefly over the remains. The Dark Lord beckoned languidly to the glowing sphere, and it drifted closer.

'Master,' said a quiet voice from the sphere, and the Demon Prince grinned bloodily.

'Yes, my dear traitor, I await your report.' His voice was soft, sibilant and subtly grating on the ear.

'Prince Rupert and his party approach the boundary of your Kingdom, Master. They intend to pass through the long night on their way to the Dark Tower. You must stop them before they reach the High Warlock. . .'

'He is of no consequence,' said the Demon Prince amusedly. 'No man can stand against the dark. Or perhaps you think otherwise?'

He slowly closed one hand into a fist, and agonised screams echoed from the sphere. The waiting demons shifted uneasily, disturbed at any threat of violence from their Lord. The Demon Prince opened his hand, and the screams died away, to be replaced by laboured, tortured breathing.

'I'm sorry, Master, I ...'

'You forget your place, my dear traitor. Once, you sought power over me, but now your body and soul are mine, to do with as I please. Fail me, and I will transform you into the least of my demons. Obey me in all things, and all the kingdoms of the world shall be yours . . .'

'Yes, Master. I am your most faithful servant.'

'You are my slave.' The Demon Prince rested his chin on his bony hand and stared thoughtfully at the floating sphere. The wide-brimmed hat plunged his face into shadow, an impenetrable darkness in which only his burning eyes still showed. 'Well, traitor, do you have the Curtana?'

'Yes, Master. It's safely hidden, here in the Castle.'

The Dark Lord chuckled quietly, and the demons stirred. 'You have done well, dear traitor. Without that sword, they have no hope against me. I have the touchstone. I have the unicorn's horn. I have my pretty demons. And now, after all the many centuries, the Blue Moon rises, and my time comes round again.'

'But what of the High Warlock, Master?'

The Demon Prince closed his hand, and again screams rang from the sphere. 'For all his learning, and for all his power, the Warlock is just a man. I have faced such men before, and broken them at my pleasure.'

He slowly opened his hand, and the screams stopped. For a time, the only sound in the clearing was the heavy, ragged breathing from the sphere. The Demon Prince smiled.

'Return to my work, slave. Be my eyes and ears at Court. Be my darkness in the heart of their light.'

The sphere shimmered and was gone, and once again darkness lay across the clearing, broken only by the dim blue glow of the phosphorescent lichens. The Dark Lord stared out over his waiting demons, and laughed softly.

'Soon,' he promised them. 'Soon ...'

Prince Rupert reined the unicorn to a halt, and stared grimly at the Darkwood boundary before him. Darkness hung on the air like a curtain, marking the new beginning of the long night. Rupert shivered, and pulled his cloak tightly about him. Lowering clouds hid the midday sun, and the bitter wind was thick with sleet. The air was tainted with the smell of corruption, and the surrounding trees were gaunt and twisted, withered and malformed by the approaching night. Their desiccated bark was flecked and mottled with a dozen kinds of lichen and mould, and dead leaves choked the ancient trail. Behind him, Rupert could hear his guards shifting nervously as they got their first good look at the Darkwood. He frowned, and gestured for the Champion to join him. The sooner he led his guards into the long night the better, before the darkness destroyed what little confidence they still had. Rupert glared through the driving sleet, unable to tear his gaze away from the rotting trees that bordered the Darkwood. He could feel his hands shaking, and the smell of his own sweat was strong in his nostrils. He'd hoped this journey would be easier. He'd already survived the darkness twice. He had a troop ot guards to back him up. But still his breath caught in his throat, and his heart hammered against his breastbone. His hands closed tightly on the unicorn's reins until his knuckles showed white, and he shook his head quickly to clear it. He was going back into the Darkwood come what may, and this time he'd leave the demons a sign to mark his passing they'd never forget.

The Champion guided his armoured warhorse in beside the unicorn, and nodded briefly to Rupert. 'So this is the Darkwood,' he said slowly, a strange excitement stirring in his cold, dark eyes. 'It's everything you said, Sire, and more. It's like a nightmare thrust into the day, a pathway to hell itself.'

Rupert raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the Champion. 'Are you telling me you've never seen the Darkwood before?'

'I'm afraid so, Sire. As Champion, my duties have always kept me close to the Castle, and the Darkwood hasn't been a real threat to the Forest for centuries; the Tanglewood saw to that. I've read all the reports, of course, but ...'

'Yes,' said Rupert. 'I know.'

The Champion studied him closely, as though seeing him for the tirst time. 'And you braved that darkness twice. No wonder you came back changed.' He turned away before Rupert could comment, and brought out a leather map from one of his saddle panniers. Rupert waited impatiently while the Champion unrolled the map, and then he leaned over to point out their position.

'You can see for yourself, sir Champion, we have to go through the Darkwood. There's no other way. Head east, and we come up against rhe Starshade Mountains; west, and we'll have to cross the Bright-water rapids. Either route will cost us weeks of travel we can't afford. But, if our intelligence reports are right, the Darkwood's spread pretty thinly here. We should be able to punch our way through and out the other side in two or three hours, if we're lucky.'

'And if we're not lucky, Sire?'

'Then we won't make it at all,' said Rupert evenly.

The Champion grinned suddenly, and turned to study the darkness waiting before them. 'Has it occurred to you, Sire, that the Darkwood may have been left deliberately thin, as a temptation to travellers?'

'Oh sure,' said Rupert. 'It's almost certainly a trap. That's why speed is so important; we have to get in and out before the demons even know we're there.'

The Champion shrugged resignedly, and rolled up the map. 'A pity. I was hoping I'd get the chance to try my steel against a demon or two.'

Rupert rubbed briefly at the thick scab that marked the right side of his face. 'It's an overrated pastime. If the demons find us, sir Champion, we're as good as dead. All of us.'

'I'm sure they seemed fierce enough when you had to face them alone, Sire, but ...'

'You didn't understand the Darkwood until you saw it,' said Rupert harshly. 'You won't understand the demons until you've seen them gather in the darkness. Now get the men ready to move off, we've wasted enough time talking. I'm not sure how the horses will react to the long night, so to begin with everybody walks, leading their horses on a short rein. Light every lantern and oil lamp we've got, and strap them to the guards' saddles. From the moment we enter the Darkwood every man carries his sword and buckler at the ready, but our only real defence against the darkness will be the light we bring in with us.'

'Don't you think you're being a little over-cautious, Sire?'

'No.'

'Very well, Sire. Which path do we follow through the Darkwood?'

'According to all the legends there's only ever been one path, and that's miles away. No, sir Champion, we hack our way into the Darkwood, and cut out a path for ourselves as we go. It shouldn't be too difficult, those trees are rotten to the core.'

The Champion studied him narrowly. 'If there are any demons nearby, they'll be bound to hear us, Sire.'

Rupert shrugged. 'I've tried stealth, sir Champion. It doesn't work. Our only hope is speed.'

The Champion nodded impassively, thrust the map back into his pannier, and moved away to give the guards their orders. Rupert turned his attention back to the Darkwood boundary, and then had to look away. The darkness brought back too many memories. He looked instead at his guards, already dismounted from their horses and searching for flint and steel to light their lanterns. The men seemed calm enough, but the horses were nervous. They stamped their hooves and tossed their heads, their snorting breath steaming on the chill air. They seemed fascinated by the darkness, but rolled their eyes wildly if any guard tried to lead them closer to the boundary. Rupert frowned, and called to the guards to wrap cloaks or blankets round the horses' heads, to keep the animals from panicking when they were led into the Darkwood.

The guards nodded respectfully, and moved quickly to obey. Seeing the Darkwood close up had impressed the hell out of them, and knowing that Rupert had already been through it twice and survived suddenly meant a great deal more to them than it had. Rupert smiled grimly. The guards might see him as some kind of expert, but he knew better. He swung down out of the saddle and strolled casually among them, talking quietly and calmly, and answering what questions he could about the Darkwood. His answers weren't exactly reassuring, but the guards listened carefully to everything he said, laughed politely at his jokes, and without actually saying anything themselves, made it very clear that they appreciated his not lying to them about the dangers ahead. Several of the men clapped him on the back, and told him they'd had worse leaders. Rupert went back to his unicorn with tears stinging his eyes. He'd never been more proud of his men, or felt less worthy to lead them.

Finally everything was ready, and Rupert leaned against the unicorn's shoulder as he looked his guards over one last time. Lamps and lanterns hung from every saddle, glowing palely in the daylight. Smoke drifted on the air from half a dozen torches. Swords gleamed dully in every guardsman's hand. The horses stirred restlessly, disturbed by the Darkwood's stench, but the thick cloth round their heads kept them manageable. Rupert bit his lip thoughtfully, checking for anything he might have forgotten. Provisions wouldn't be a problem this trip, but he'd had the guards fill their canteens from the nearby brook, just in case. Rupert sighed. Everything that needed to be done had been done. Anything else would just be an excuse, to help him put off the moment when he'd have to go back into the darkness again. The darkness that had laid its mark upon him.

He shook his head angrily, and looked to the Champion, who stood waiting patiently at the Darkwood boundary, his huge double-headed war axe in his hands. The two massive blades flashed brightly as the Champion hefted the axe. He looked at Rupert enquiringly, and grinned when Rupert nodded curtly. The Champion took a firm grip on the axe's oaken shaft and turned to face the darkness. For a moment he hesitated, and then with one swift movement he raised the axe above his head and brought it savagely down on the first Darkwood tree. The steel blade sank deep into the rotting wood, and the stench of corruption was suddenly worse. The Champion jerked the axe free and struck again, shearing clean through the tree. The trunk was hollow, eaten away from within. The Champion worked on, swinging the giant war axe effortlessly, and then he stepped forward into the Darkwood, and the darkness swallowed him. The sound of his axe cutting into rotten wood could still be heard, but only faintly, as though from far away. Rupert gestured to the first half-dozen guards, and they set about widening the new path into the darkness.

Rupert watched uneasily as their swords rose and fell in a steady rhythm, cutting quickly through the decaying wood. The scars on his face ached fiercely, throbbing to the rhythm of the sword blows. He didn't have to go back into the darkness. He could still change his mind, and go the long way round. Rupert clenched his hands until the nails dug painfully into his palms. He'd beaten the Darkwood before, he could beat it again. He had to. If only because his men trusted him to get them through safely. He realised he was holding the unicorn's reins too tight, and slowly relaxed his hands.

'Rupert,' said the unicorn quietly, 'are you sure this is a good idea?'

'No,' said Rupert. 'If you've got a better one, let's hear it.'

The unicorn sniffed, and tossed his head. 'I'm just the transport, who listens to me?'

'Don't start that again,' said Rupert wearily. 'You're my friend, and right now I need all the help I can get. If there was any other way to reach the Dark Tower in time, I'd take it. Do you think I want to go back into the darkness?'

'No,' said the unicorn softly. 'I know you don't. I don't want to, either.'

'We don't have any choice,' said Rupert, his voice not as firm as he would have liked. 'If the Blue Moon rises before we get back, there'll be nowhere to get back to. The High Warlock may be our last chance to stop the long night.'

'The rainbow sword . . .'

'Saved us once. It can't help us again. I tried to call a Rainbow back in the Coppertown mine, when I was being chased by that creature. Nothing happened.'

'Hardly surprising,' said the unicorn. 'How's a Rainbow supposed to get to you when you're hidden away down in the depths of a mine?'

'I thought of that,' said Rupert tiredly. 'I've tried to summon the Rainbow a dozen times since, but nothing's ever happened. What magic there was in the sword is gone.'

'Great,' said the unicorn. 'Just great. I notice you didn't mention this before we got to the Darkwood.'

'Must have slipped my mind,' said Rupert innocently.

The unicorn snorted, and kicked at the muddy trail with his hoof. 'No dragon, no rainbow sword, and we're going back into the darkness. We must be mad. Ah well, if nothing else, maybe we'll find the demon that thieved my horn. I feel naked without it.'

'You're always naked,' said Rupert.

'You can go off people, you know,' said the unicorn.

Rupert chuckled briefly, and then looked up as one of the guards called to him. They'd finished widening the entrance into the Darkwood. Rupert took a deep breath, let it go slowly, and led his unicorn and his men in.

Night slammed down as Rupert crossed the boundary. The wind and the sleet couldn't follow him, but the darkness was even colder, an icy chill that sank into his bones and gnawed at them, until it seemed he'd never feel warm again. As more and more guards crossed the boundary into the Darkwood their lamps and lanterns helped push the darkness back, and Rupert began to breathe more easily. Not far ahead, the Champion and his guards pressed steadily forward in their own little pool of light, slowly and methodically opening up a new trail into the Darkwood. Rupert hefted his sword and stared about him, but the dim lamplight couldn't penetrate far into the endless gloom. Twisted trees glowed golden under the light, and every now and again a crooked branch would stir slightly, though no wind blew in the long night.

'How are you feeling?' asked the unicorn quietly.

'Lousy,' said Rupert. 'I keep feeling we're being watched.'

'We probably are.'

'You're a great comfort. Can you see anything out there?'

'No.'

Rupert scowled unhappily. 'They know we're here. I can feel it. It's just a matter of time . . . With luck, we'll be out of here in an hour.'

The unicorn snorted. 'Since when have we ever been lucky?'

Cutting the path was slow, hard work, and as the company pressed deeper into the Darkwood, their pace soon slowed to a crawl. The Guardsmen crowded together, glancing uneasily about them as the dark, brooding oppression of the long night sank slowly into their souls. Their usual joking and horseplay had vanished, replaced by a wary, watchful silence.

Rupert changed the trail-cutters as soon as they showed signs of tiring, but there was a limit to how fast the guards could fell and drag aside the closely packed trees. The sound of steel cutting into rotten wood was eerily loud in the quiet, but still there was no sign of the demons. The waiting wore at Rupert's nerves, and it was all he could do to stop himself jumping at every sudden sound or movement. The slow march continued, and he began to worry that the candles in the lanterns wouldn't last the journey. He tried to figure out how much oil there was left for the lamps, and then bit his lip when he remembered he'd used most of it to burn the creature from the Coppertown pit. He swore softly, and checked the candle in his own lantern. Less than an inch of stub remained; half an hour, at most. Rupert frowned. Perhaps that was the demons' plan — wait until the company loses its light, and then attack under cover of the darkness. Rupert called for the men to stop and rest, and moved over to join the Champion.

'I really don't think it's wise to stop, Sire,' said the Champion quietly.

'We're using too much light,' said Rupert shortly. 'Either we cut back now, or we'll finish our journey in darkness.'

The Champion nodded thoughtfully. 'I'll order the lamps doused. The lanterns can give us what light we need. When they're exhausted we'll switch back to the lamps.' He looked at Rupert warningly. 'The men won't like it, Sire.'

'They'll like the dark less,' said Rupert. 'Anything's better than the dark.'

The Champion looked into Rupert's haunted eyes, and looked away. 'I'll give the order, Sire.'

He turned away and moved quietly among the guards, and one by one the lamps went out, and the darkness pressed close around the shrinking pool of light. Several of the men stirred restlessly, and a few glanced angrily at Rupert, but nobody said anything. Rupert was too tired and too worried to give a damn. After a while, the Champion came back to stand beside him.

'We have a problem, Sire. We've lost seven men since we entered the Darkwood.'

For a moment Rupert just looked at him, not understanding, and then his blood went cold, rushing through him like a chill wind. 'Seven? Are you sure?'

The Champion nodded grimly. 'There's no trace of the men, their horses or their equipment, no sign to show they were ever with us. They were taken quietly, one at a time, and nobody heard or saw a thing.'

Rupert swore harshly, and kicked at the dusty ground. If the demons had found them already . . . 'From now on the men work in pairs, one cuts trail while the other guards his back. There can't be more than a handful of demons out there, or they'd have attacked us openly by now. It'll take them time to summon more. If we can move fast enough, we might get out of here alive yet.'

'With no sky or stars to guide us, we can't be sure we're cutting a straight path,' said the Champion slowly. 'Press ahead too quickly, and we could end up travelling in circles.'

Rupert looked back the way they'd come. The sparse light showed only a few feet of the trail they'd cut. He shrugged angrily. 'Sir Champion, the way we're spread out we'd soon notice a bad curve in the trail, and we're not going to be in the Darkwood long enough for a subtle curve to make much difference.'

And so the company moved on into the long night. The dark pressed close around them, muffling all sound and dimming the light they moved in. One by one the candle stubs in the lanterns guttered and went out, and were replaced by oil lamps, and still the company cut their way through the decaying trees, with never a sign to show they were any nearer to the Darkwood's far boundary. They lost no more men to the dark, but still Rupert could feel the pressure of watching eyes on his back. The scars on his face throbbed with remembered pain, and only his pride kept him from peering constantly into the darkness. His lantern guttered, and he scrabbled in his backpack for an oil lamp. And then everything hit them at once.

The earth boiled and writhed beneath the company's feet as dozens of corpse-white arms thrust up out of the ground and snatched at the guardsmen's legs, pulling them down to what lay waiting in the burrows under the earth. Long sticky strands of blood-red gossamer uncoiled from high in the rotting trees and lashed down to wrap themselves around the bewildered guards, dragging them with a horrid ease back up into the far branches of the trees, where the lamplight couldn't reach. Blood ran down the tree trunks, and the guards' screams carried clearly on the still air until they were sharply cut off. Small scurrying creatures poured out of the darkness in their hundreds and swarmed all over the screaming horses, eating them alive.

Rupert and the Champion stood back to back, killing anything that came within reach of their weapons. Out of the corner of his eyes, Rupert could see the unicorn rearing up again and again, shaking off the swarming creatures and pulping them under his flailing hooves. In the space of a few moments a dozen guardsmen had been snatched from the trail, but even as Rupert howled his anger the trail before him erupted as a blood-spattered guard fought his way back out of the burrows. More guards followed him, and another man dropped down from the branches overhead, looking eagerly around for something else to kill.

Dark twisted shapes came running and leaping out of the darkness, falling on the guards with fang and claw and glaring hungry eyes. The guards formed a defensive ring round the few surviving horses and the unicorn, and slowly fought the creatures back. Swords and axes gleamed brightly in the lamplight as they rose and fell. Blood flew through the air and ran thickly on the ground. Rupert swung his sword double-handed, grunting and growling with the effort of his blows. For every creature that fell before him another rose to take its place, and Rupert grinned savagely as he cut them down. The darkness had finally given him an enemy he could fight, an enemy that could be faced and defeated. Rupert and the Champion and the guards strove against an enemy that outnumbered them ten to one, and still they wouldn't give in to the dark. They stood their ground and fought side by side, and suddenly the creatures of the dark gave way before them, and faded back into the concealing shadows from which they'd come.

Rupert slowly lowered his sword and looked warily about him. No arms reached up from under the earth, no strands hung down from the trees, and the surrounding dark was still and silent. Scores of the little scurrying creatures lay crushed and broken on the ground, but all the horses were dead, including the Champion's warhorse. Its armour hadn't been much protection after all. The Champion knelt beside his fallen steed and patted its shoulder gently, as though apologising. Rupert looked quickly round for the unicom, who moved slowly over to join him. Angry scratches bloodied the animal's flanks, but otherwise he seemed largely unhurt. Rupert sighed wearily, and leaned against the unicorn's side a moment before turning round to inspect his guards. Of the forty-six men who'd followed him into the Darkwood, only thirty remained. He'd lost seven men while cutting trail, and nine more during the battle. Rupert swore quietly and glared disgustedly at the bloodied sword in his hand. Another Rainbow might have saved his men, but the rainbow sword was just a sword, while the Darkwood was still dark.

The Champion came and stood beside him, leaning casually on his war axe. 'It seems I was wrong, Rupert, demons do hunt in packs after all.'

Rupert smiled tiredly. 'Nine men, sir Champion. We've lost nine more men.'

'We were lucky not to have lost a damned sight more. What are our chances of making a break for it?'

'Pretty low. We can't be far from the boundary, but the demons would be on us before we could cut another foot of trail.'

'We could retreat back down the trail . . .'

The Champion's voice fell away as demons moved forward out of the dark to crouch at the edge of the lamplight. Hundreds of the twisted creatures surrounded the company, and hundreds more moved unseen in the darkness beyond the narrow pool of light. The faint scurrying and slithering sounds carried clearly on the still air as the demon horde gathered.

'They've been waiting for us,' said Rupert bitterly. 'They must have spotted us the moment we entered the Darkwood. We never had a chance of reaching the far boundary. We came all this way for nothing.'

'You've faced the demons before, and beaten them,' said the Champion.

'I had a magic sword then,' said Rupert. 'I don't have it any more.'

'Then we'll just have to do it the hard way.' The Champion laughed quietly, and hefted his war axe. 'Stand ready, guardsmen, this is where we earn our pay.'

'If we win, I want a raise,' said one of the guards, and the others chuckled briefly. Rupert wanted to laugh with them, but couldn't. They were his men, and he'd failed them. He'd promised them a chance to save the Forest Land, and instead he'd led them to their deaths. He looked around at his guards, waiting patiently for their orders, and felt a fierce surge of pride for them. They'd taken the worst the Darkwood could send against them and thrown it back, and now they stood ready to do it again, even though they were hopelessly outnumbered.

Rupert grinned suddenly, proud tears stinging his eyes. Whatever happened next wasn't important. The dark had tried to break him and his men, and the dark had failed, and in the end that was all that really mattered. Rupert looked out at the watching blood-red eyes, and laughed. For all their vast weight of numbers, the demons were still scared to come into the lamplight. They preferred to wait until the light ran out before attacking again. And then Rupert's laughter broke off short as an idea struck him, an idea so obvious he could have kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier.

'The lamps!' he yelled joyously, whirling on the startled Champion. 'The bloody oil lamps! That's our way out! Guards, take the oil canisters and spread a circle of oil around us. Use the reserves first, but if that's not enough start emptying lamps until it is. Well don't just stand there, move it! We're in with a chance after all!'

The guards jumped to obey. Beyond the lamplight the demons stirred restlessly, and Rupert grinned so hard his jaws hurt.

'Get the idea, sir Champion? All we have to do is wait for the demons to attack, and then set light to the oil. The Darkwood trees might not burn, but the demons will. It won't stop them for long, but it should hold them back while we cut our way out of here. We can't be that far from the boundary.'

'It's not much of a chance,' said the Champion carefully.

'I know,' Rupert admitted cheerfully, 'but at least it's a fighting chance.'

And then the demons surged forward out of the dark. Rupert yelled to the guards, and a dozen torches dipped into the oil. Bright yellow flames roared up, throwing back the dark. The first demons to reach the blazing oil plunged straight into the flames and were consumed in a moment, and behind them came more demons, throwing themselves at the leaping flames like moths at a lantern. They began to smother the fire by the sheer number of their bodies, and more creatures of the dark used the charred bodies of the fallen as stepping stones from which to hurl themselves at Prince Rupert and his company. A nice try, thought Rupert resignedly as he cut down the first demon to reach him, but not good enough. He realised he was going to die, and was surprised to find he felt more annoyed than anything. There were so many things he'd intended to do, and now never would. He'd never even told Julia that he loved her. He could feel her favour beneath his jerkin, pressing lightly against his heart.

The demons came swarming out of the darkness, and Rupert raised his sword and stepped forward to meet them.

But even as the demons pressed eagerly forward, the flames leaped suddenly higher. The oil had reached the surrounding trees which caught alight and blazed like torches. Rupert backed away from the searing heat, and his men moved back with him. The demons slowed to a halt, confused and uncertain. Rupert stepped back another pace, and a blinding light filled his eyes. For a moment he thought the flames had overtaken him, but all around him he could hear his men crying out in joy and relief. Rupert knuckled at his watering eyes and laughed breathlessly. They were safe. They'd reached the boundary of the Darkwood.

His sight quickly returned. It was late afternoon, shading into evening. Rupert looked blankly at the sinking sun. When he'd led his company into the Darkwood, it had been barely midday.

Time moves differently in the Darkwood.

Rupert swallowed dryly, and watched the last of his guards stumble out of the darkness and into the light. The demons didn't follow. Rupert couldn't see past the Darkwood boundary, but he knew the demons were there, watching. He turned his back on them and grinned at his men, and only then did he realise how small his company of guards had become. He counted them slowly. Twenty-five. Twenty-five men out of fifty. Rupert looked away. He felt sick.

'Don't take it so hard,' said the Champion.

'Why not?' said Rupert bitterly. 'Half my men are dead. Some leader I turned out to be.'

'You've not done so badly. Given the odds we faced, it's a wonder any of us survived. If it hadn't been for your quick thinking, we'd all have been dead long before we could reach the boundary. All right, you lost half your men, but you saved the other half. No man could have done more. All in all, I'm quite pleased with you, Rupert. I'll make a Prince of you yet.'

Rupert looked at the Champion warily. 'I'm just a second son, remember?'

'I remember,' said the Champion. He turned away to stare at the Darkwood boundary. 'We can't hope to fight our way back through the darkness, but there isn't time to go round it. One way or another, we have to convince the High Warlock to return with us.'

Rupert nodded tiredly. 'Get the men ready to move out, sir Champion. One more mile, and then perhaps we can rest for a while.'

'Rest?' said the Champion. 'At the Dark Tower?'

'Right,' said the unicorn, moving in beside them. 'From what I've heard of this Warlock, we might have been safer in the Darkwood. Just how powerful is the High Warlock anyway?'

'Hopefully, powerful enough to stop the demons in their tracks and banish the darkness,' said Rupert.

'But how far can we trust him?'

'About as far as you can spit into the wind.'

'Great,' said the unicorn. 'Absolutely bloody wonderful. Why don't we all just kill ourselves now, and get it over with quickly?'

'Come on,' said Rupert affectionately, taking the unicorn's reins in his hands. 'You'll feel better once we're moving.'

'Don't put money on it,' growled the unicorn. 'I have a bad feeling about this.'

Rupert shrugged. 'Legends don't impress me as much as they used to. The High Warlock left the Court when I was very young, but I can still remember the wonderful fireworks he made for my fifth birthday party. The rockets that flared against the night, and the Catherine wheels that looked like they'd spin for ever. He told me stories, and tried to teach me card tricks. You were at Court even then, sir Champion, you must have known him. What was he really like?'

The Champion hefted his war axe, his eyes cold and distant.

'He was a traitor, Sire. A traitor, a coward and a drunk.'

Rupert stumbled doggedly on through the freezing slush, head down to keep the sleet out of his eyes. The wind howled around him, tugging at his hood and cloak and buffeting him from every side. Rupert growled and cursed and hung on tightly to the unicorn's reins. Every third step he looked at his right hand to make sure the reins were still there. The cold had taken all the feeling from his fingers, despite his thick gloves, and he didn't want to get separated from the unicorn. Rupert slowly raised his head and peered slit-eyed into the rising storm. There was still no sign of the Dark Tower.

And last month it was still summer, he thought disgustedly. What the hell's happened to the weather?

He staggered and almost fell as the raging wind changed direction yet again, and the unicorn moved in close to try to shield him from the worst of the storm. Rupert patted the unicorn's neck gratefully, and glared into the swirling snow. He was worried about the unicorn. The animal was moving more and more slowly as the cold seeped into his bones, and even wrapping him in blankets hadn't helped much. Icy crystals glistened in his mane and tail, and his harsh breathing was becoming as unsteady as his footing. Rupert knew that if they didn't find shelter soon, cold and exhaustion would take their toll, and the unicorn would just lie down in the snow and die.

The storm had fallen on Rupert and his company only a few minutes after they'd left the Darkwood behind them. Dark clouds had gathered as they watched, and the chill evening air grew bitter cold. Rain fell in torrents, quickly turning to sleet as the company pressed on into the rising storm. The wind rose, howling and raging, and still Rupert led his men on. He hadn't come this far just to be beaten by the weather.

He stamped his feet down hard with every step, trying to drive a little warmth into them. The snow fell thickly, filling the air. It was cold, and getting colder. Every now and again Rupert caught a brief glimpse of the blood-red sun, hanging low on the sky, and tried to force himself to move faster. Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, the demons would be loose in the Land. He looked back over his shoulder. His guards were trudging steadily after him, huddling together to share their body warmth. The Champion walked by himself, as always. Hoarfrost had covered his armour in silver flurries, but of all the company the cold seemed to affect him the least. His hack was straight, his head erect, and his massive legs carried him tirelessly on through the deepening snowdrifts. Rupert frowned. He ought to have found the sight inspiring, but somehow he didn't. There was something almost inhuman about the Champion's calm refusal to bend to the wind. Rupert looked away, and stared back the way they'd come. The wind dropped suddenly, and the snow parted, taunting him with a brief glimpse of the Darkwood, covering the horizon like a monstrous shadow. Rupert scowled, and turned his back on it.

And then the storm stopped. Rupert staggered on a few paces, before stumbling to a halt. He slowly raised his head and looked around him, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. The grass at his feet was summer green, untouched by sleet or snow. The sky was the deep blue of a summer evening, and the air was still and calm. He was standing at the edge of a wide clearing, bounded on all sides by a solid wall of flying snow. And one by one, as Rupert watched, his guardsmen stumbled out of the snow and into the summer, leaving the cold behind them. Rupert sank wearily down on to the soft grass, and stretched out his legs before him. Pins and needles savaged his hands and feet as the circulation slowly returned.

'Sanctuary,' he said slowly. 'We've found sanctuary, unicorn.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' said the unicorn. 'Look over there.'

Rupert followed the unicorn's gaze. In the centre of the clearing, atop a small hillock, stood a tower. Some forty feet tall, it was built entirely from a dark grey stone, battered and eroded by the passage of time. Ivy crawled across the stonework, and hung like curtains over the shuttered windows.

'The Dark Tower,' said the Champion quietly. 'I always imagined it would be taller.'

Rupert looked up, startled, and then scrambled to his feet and glared at the Champion. 'Will you stop sneaking up on me like that! My nerves are bad enough as it is.'

'Sorry, Sire,' said the Champion calmly.

One of these days . . . thought Rupert, and then shook his head resignedly. 'All right, sir Champion, get the men settled and check we haven't lost anyone to the storm. I'll tell the High Warlock we're here.'

The Champion bowed slightly, and moved away to take charge of the small knot of guardsmen, who were warily studying the Dark Tower with their swords in their hands. Rupert smiled grimly, he knew exactly how they felt. He pushed back his hood, and beat the snow from his cloak. He eased his sword in its scabbard, and sighed softly. He was just putting off the moment when he'd have to face the High Warlock, and he knew it. He also knew he daren't put it off any longer. The evening was still pleasantly warm in the clearing, but the light was fading fast. While there was obviously some kind of magic holding back the storm, there was no guarantee it was strong enough to keep the demons out once night fell. He had to get his men safely under cover, and there was only one way to do that. Rupert sighed again, pushed back his cloak so that it wouldn't get in the way of his sword hand, and started slowly up the slight incline that led to the Dark Tower.

'Watch your back,' called the unicom quietly, and then lowered his head to crop tiredly at the thick grass.

Rupert circled the tower twice, but although he counted no less than seventeen of the shuttered windows, there was no sign of any door. The windows themselves varied from less than a foot in width to over a yard, the lowest of them set into the brickwork a good five or six feet from the base of the tower. Rupert stopped in front of one of the lower-set windows, and frowned thoughtfully. The High Warlock had always been somewhat . . . eccentric.

Not to mention drunken and bad-tempered. During his many years at the Forest Castle, the High Warlock's excesses had been almost as legendary as his magic. His main interests had always been wine and women, not necessarily in that order, and an uncomfortable regard for the truth, none of which had endeared him to Castle Society. When King John finally exiled the High Warlock, everyone for miles around breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and stopped locking up their daughters and their wine cellars. Rupert bit his lip, scowling. For as long as he could remember, no one had ever talked openly about why the High Warlock had been exiled. He'd been a resident at Court since Eduard's time, and had been a tutor to King John; apart from Thomas Grey, the Warlock had always been the King's most honoured adviser. And then Queen Eleanor died.

Within the hour, the High Warlock had gathered his few possessions and ridden off into the Forest. As soon as he heard, King John summoned his Court and read the Edict of Banishment upon the Warlock. Tears of anger and despair streamed down the King's face as he formally denied the High Warlock food or water, friendship or lodging, within the boundaries of the Forest Land. It wasn't long before travellers brought the news that the High Warlock had settled in an old border tower, on the far side of the Forest. Rupert could still remember the look on his father's face when the Champion had finally confirmed the news. At the time he'd been too young to understand the emotion he'd seen so clearly, but looking back, he now recognised it as helpless rage. The Warlock had defied the Edict, and there was nothing the King could do about it. He did try, for his pride's sake.

He summoned magicians to him from the Sorcerers' Academy, but all their spells and curses came to nothing against the High Warlock's power. He sent a troop of guards to tear down the Warlock's tower. They never came back. And so, finally, the King turned to other matters, and the Warlock was left to himself. Time passed, and dark tales grew about the Dark Tower, and the magics the High Warlock practised there. But though there were many tales, there were few facts, and as the long years passed and the Warlock never left his tower, he gradually faded out of history and into legend, becoming just another bogeyman that harried mothers could use to frighten their children into obedience.

He was a traitor. He was a traitor, a coward and a drunk.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he dropped his hand to his swordhilt as he looked quickly round. The Champion stared past Rupert at the tower, and smiled coldly.

'Snakes have their holes, rats have their nests, and the Warlock is still in his tower. He never did care much for the light of day. Have you found the door, Sire?'

'There doesn't seem to be one, sir Champion.'

The Champion raised an eyebrow, and then reached up and knocked loudly on the shutters of the nearest window. For a long moment nothing happened, and then the shutters flew open to reveal a grey-haired old man dressed in sorcerer's black. He glared impartially at Rupert and the Champion, yelled 'Go away!' and slammed the shutters in their faces. Rupert and the Champion exchanged glances.

'We're going to be polite,' said Rupert determinedly. 'We can't afford to be left stranded out here when night falls. Try again.'

The Champion nodded, and knocked on the shutters. 'Please come out, sir Warlock, we need to talk to you.'

'No!' came the muffled reply.

'If you don't come out, we'll come in and get you,' said the Champion calmly.

'You and what army?'

'Us and this army.'

The shutters flew open again and the High Warlock looked past Rupert and the Champion at the twenty-five guards gathered together at the foot of the tower's hillock. Rupert glanced back at his men, trying to see them as the Warlock would. Their armour was battered and bloodied, but they hefted their swords with a grim competence. They looked tired, disreputable, and extremely menacing; more like bandits than guardsmen. The Warlock sniffed, and fixed the Champion with his gaze.

'This your army?'

'Yes.'

'Get them off my lawns or they're all frogs.'

The Warlock slammed the shutters again. Rupert turned to the Champion.

'Now what do we do?'

'Well,' said the Champion, thoughtfully, 'first, we get the army off his lawns.'

Rupert glared at the Champion's departing back. There were times when he wondered just whose side the Champion was on. He sighed, turned reluctantly back to the closed shutters, and reached up to tap on them politely.

'Sir Warlock? Are you still there?'

There was no answer, and the shutters remained firmly closed. Oh great, thought Rupert disgustedly, we've upset him now. He looked back at his men. Under the Champion's orders they'd sheathed their swords and moved away from the tower. They were now standing at parade rest and trying hard to look harmless. They weren't being noticeably successful. Rupert glanced up at the darkening sky, and his frown deepened into a scowl. Night was almost upon them. Already the air was growing colder, and it seemed to Rupert that the swirling wall of snow was just a little closer to the Dark Tower than it had been. He hammered on the shutters with his fist, but still there was no reply. Rupert swore harshly. He was damned if he'd let his men face the dark again while there was shelter at hand. He studied the closed shutters thoughtfully. They didn't look all that strong. He grinned suddenly, and carefully inserted his sword between the two shutters. It was a tight fit at first, but Rupert leaned on the sword and it slid gradually in until the crosshilt stopped it. He waited a moment, listening, but there was no reaction from the Warlock. Probably stomped off in a huff, thought Rupert hopefully. He always did have a rotten temper. Rupert hesitated, remembering the transformed messenger who now guarded the Castle moat, and then shook his head fiercely. His men needed shelter.

He grasped the swordhilt firmly with both hands, and slowly leaned his weight against it. He knew he daren't put too much pressure on the blade in case it snapped, but try as he might, the shutter wouldn't give. Rupert glanced up at the evening sky. The last of the light was fading away. He glared disgustedly at the shutters, and threw his full weight against the swordhilt. The right-hand shutter flew open, and Rupert fell flat on his face. He lay still on the thick grass, his heart beating frantically, but long moments passed and there was no reaction from inside the tower. He scrambled to his feet, hanging grimly on to his sword, and looked cautiously through the open window.

The room was a mess. Crude wooden tables and benches lined the walls, all but buried under assorted alchemical equipment. Glass retorts and earthenware beakers covered every available surface, including the bare earth floor. Half the room was taken up by a battery of stacked animal cages, each filled to bursting with noisy occupants. There were birds and monkeys, rats and salamanders, and even a few piglets. The smell was appalling. A large wrought-iron brazier squatted commandingly in the middle of the room, its coals glowing redly. And everywhere, scattered throughout the room, a forest of interconnected glass tubing that sprawled across the wooden tables, crawled along the walls, and spread its roots and tendrils wherever it could force a space.

There was no sign of the High Warlock. Rupert sheathed his sword and pulled himself up on to the narrow window sill. He glared down at the crowded table-top below him, and carefully lowered himself into the largest gap he could find. He winced as glass cracked and shattered under his boots, and jumped hastily down on to the floor. The room seemed much bigger from the inside. It was easily thirty feet in diameter, and brightly lit by a single glowing sphere hanging unsupported on the air, just below the high raftered ceiling. Rupert frowned. From the size of the room, it had to be the entire first floor of the tower, but there didn't seem to be any way of reaching the other floors. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling, but no obvious way of getting to it. He shrugged, and moved cautiously round the room, fascinated by the various magical paraphernalia. The caged animals studied him curiously as he passed, and one sad-eyed monkey reached out to him past the bars of its cage, as though mutely beseeching Rupert's help. He smiled guiltily at the monkey, and moved on. A clear liquid pulsed continuously through the glass tubing, occasionally emptying out into carefully positioned beakers. Rupert leaned forward to sniff at one, and then stopped as his foot kicked against something on the floor. He stooped and picked it up. It was a human skull, with the lower jaw missing. Rupert put it down on the nearest bench, and dropped his hand to his swordhiit.

'I don't recall inviting you in,' said a mild voice above him, and Rupert's heart jumped as he looked up at the ceiling. A sturdy rope ladder hung down from the open trapdoor and, as Rupert watched open-mouthed, the High Warlock climbed agilely down it to join him. Seen close up, the Warlock wasn't particularly impressive. He was a short man, his head barely coming up to Rupert's chest, and his black sorcerer's garb only accentuated his bony, slender frame. Deep lines etched his narrow face, and his eyes were vague. 'What are you doing here?' he asked Rupert pleasantly. 'And why are all those soldiers cluttering up my view?'

'We need your help,' said Rupert cautiously. The Warlock seemed to have entirely forgotten his previous bad temper, and Rupert didn't want to upset him again. 'The Darkwood ...'

'Terrible place,' said the Warlock. 'It's so dark.' A glass of white wine appeared in his hand from nowhere. 'Care for a drop?'

'Not right now, thank you,' said Rupert politely.

'It's good stuff,' insisted the Warlock. 'I brew it myself.' He waved his free hand at the glass tubing, and then leaned forward confidentially. 'I put a dead rat in every new barrel, to give it a little body.'

Rupert decided not to think about that. 'We can talk about the wine later, sir Warlock, right now I need your help.'

The Warlock smiled crookedly. 'Do you know who I am, young man?'

'You're the High Warlock,' said Rupert. 'The last hope of the Forest Land.'

The Warlock looked at Rupert sharply, all the vagueness gone from his eyes. 'Don't you people ever learn? I don't give a damn about the Forest Land. Your whole stinking little Kingdom can rot in hell for all I care! Now get out of here! Get out of my home and leave me in peace, damn you.'

'That's no way to speak to your Prince,' said a cold voice from behind Rupert. He looked quickly round, and was relieved to find the massive figure of the Champion filling the open window. The Warlock glared at the Champion, and then all the strength seemed to run out of him. He lifted his wine glass to his lips, but it was empty. His mouth worked, and he threw the glass away.

'Why can't you leave me alone?' he whispered. 'Just go away and leave me alone.'

'If it was up to me,' said the Champion, climbing carefully down from the window sill, 'I'd leave you to hide in your hole until hell froze over. Unfortunately, the King needs you.'

'I'm not going back,' said the High Warlock flatly. 'And there's not a damn thing you can say that will change my mind. There's nothing to call me back to the Forest. Nothing at all.' He stopped suddenly, and for the first time looked closely at Rupert. 'The Champion said you were a Prince. Are you really one of John's boys?'

'I'm Rupert. The younger son.'

'Of course, Rupert. I thought you looked familiar.' The Warlock's face softened. 'You look a lot like your mother.'

'I have twenty-five men outside,' said Rupert. 'Will you give them shelter from the night?'

'They're safe enough out there,' said the Warlock. 'No demons can pass my wards. Your men can camp outside tonight, and leave in the morning. Of course, you're welcome to stay here, Rupert. It's been a long time since I last saw you.'

'Twenty-one years,' said the Champion. 'Twenty-one years since you turned traitor.'

'I'm not a traitor! I was never a traitor!' Bright crimson spots burned on the Warlock's cheeks as he stepped forward to glare up at the Champion, his hands clenched into fists. 'I left because I chose to! For more than forty-five years I watched over the Forest Kings, keeping the Land from harm. I was John's protector when you were still learning which end of a sword to hold! Why I finally decided to leave is my business, not yours. I gave forty-five years of my life to the Forest Land, you've no right to ask any more of me.'

Take a good look, Sire,' said the Champion, calmly, to Rupert. 'There was a time, long ago, when this drunken old fool was a hero. The most powerful magician the Forest Land had ever known. His deeds are legendary. There are dozens of songs about him, you probably know some of them. There were even those who said he had the makings of a Sorcerer Supreme. But somewhere along the line, he decided to throw it all away. He turned his back on his duty, and frittered away his magic on fireworks, illusions and pretty baubles for the ladies. He could have inspired a generation, but he preferred to spend his time getting drunk and chasing the tavern whores. The High Warlock of legend — a coward and a renegade who betrayed his King when his King most needed him.'

'It wasn't like that!' screamed the Warlock. 'You bastard, it wasn't like that at all!'

The Champion laughed. The Warlock howled wordlessly with rage, and a pure white flame roared from his outstretched hand, smashing into the Champion's chest and throwing him back on to the crowded table-top under the window. Glass tubing shattered as the Champion crashed into it and lay still. Blood ran from his nose and mouth. The nearby animals screamed shrilly, and ran to and fro in their cages. The Champion stirred, and reached for his sword. The Warlock gestured again, and crackling white flames sprang from his fingertips to press the Champion back against the tower wall. Rupert drew his sword and started forward. The Warlock blasted him off his feet without even looking round. Rupert tried to get up, and couldn't. All he could do was watch helplessly as the Warlock's balefire slowly lifted the Champion from the table and pinned him to the wall a good twenty feet above the floor.

'I never liked you,' said the Warlock. 'You and your precious duty. You don't know the meaning of the word! What did duty ever mean to you, except as an excuse to kill people? Well, there's no King to protect you now, sir Champion. I've waited a long time for this ...'

Rupert looked frantically round for his sword. Already the Champion's chain-mail was glowing cherry red under the relentless heat of the balefire. Individual links sagged and ran away in tiny rivers of molten steel. Rupert finally spotted his sword, lying just out of reach under a nearby table. He gritted his teeth and dragged himself forward inch by inch until he could reach the blade. His head still buzzed angrily from the knock it had taken during the fall, but he could feel his strength rushing back as he wrapped his hand round the familiar swordhilt. He grabbed the table edge and pulled himself to his feet. The High Warlock had his back to him, intent on his victim. The Champion's eyes were closed, and he didn't seem to be breathing. Rupert staggered forward and set the point of his sword against the Warlock's back.

'Let him down,' he said harshly. 'Let him down, now.'

'Go to hell,' said the Warlock. 'No man calls me a traitor and lives.'

'I'm your Prince,' said Rupert. 'In my father's name, I order you to release his Champion.'

The balefire vanished, and the Champion floated slowly down, to a gentle landing on the table-top below. Rupert pushed the Warlock aside, and ran forward to examine the Champion. His chain-mail had melted and fused together, and the leather jerkin beneath had been charred and consumed by the intense heat, but the bare flesh under the gaping hole was completely unharmed. The Champion's breathing was calm and even, and already he showed signs of returning consciousness. Rupert turned to stare at the High Warlock, who shrugged uncomfortably.

'A simple healing spell. He'll be all right in a while.'

'Would you really have killed him if I hadn't stopped you?'

'Probably not,' said the Warlock. 'I always was too soft-hearted for my own good. Not to mention extremely loyal to your father. You fight dirty, Rupert.'

'Of course, I'm a Prince.'

They shared a crooked smile. Two glasses of white wine appeared in the Warlock's hands. He offered one to Rupert, who accepted gratefully. After all he'd been through, he felt he deserved a drink. He took a good sip, and raised an appreciative eyebrow.

'Not a bad vintage, sir Warlock.'

The High Warlock smiled modestly. 'One of my more useful spells. Now, Prince Rupert, what brings you to the Dark Tower after all these years?'

'The Darkwood,' said Rupert. 'It's spreading. We think the Demon Prince has returned.'

The Warlock stared into his glass. 'Damn,' he said quietly. 'Oh, damn. How fast is it spreading?'

'Half a mile a day, when we left. Of course, with the Blue Moon rising ...'

'Wait a minute, wait a minute!' The High Warlock closed his eyes briefly, as though in pain. 'Are you sure about the Blue Moon?'

Rupert stared at him. 'Haven't you looked at the moon lately?'

'I haven't been outside this tower in twenty-one years,' said the Warlock. 'I've never felt the need.'

He gestured with his free hand, and he and Rupert rose slowly into the air until they were on a level with the open window. Outside, night had fallen. Stars shone brightly against the dark, and the waiting guardsmen had built themselves a fire, but the main light came from the three-quarters moon. It hung fat and swollen on the night, its lambent flesh mottled with thick blue veins. The Warlock stared, horrified, at the tainted moon. Clearly shaken and confused, it was some time before he could tear his gaze away and turn to look at Rupert.

'I didn't know,' whispered the Warlock. 'I should have known, but I didn't. What else have I missed?'

He frowned worriedly as he and Rupert sank gently back to the floor. 'I'm sorry, Prince Rupert, I seem to have lost touch with what's been going on in the world. Has it really been twenty-one years? Where did all the time go? Ah well, that's what being a drunken hermit does for you. I suppose your father sent you to bring me back to Court? Yes, I thought so. Typical of the man. Wait until things have got completely out of hand, and then dump the whole damn mess in my lap and expect me to work miracles. So help me, if it wasn't my neck as well I'd just sit back and let him stew in his own juices. Unfortunately I can't do that, and he knows it. Despite all I may have said and done, the Forest is my home, and I can't turn my back on it. It'll be strange, going back to my old quarters in the Castle, after all these years. I hope they've been redecorated, I never did like the colour scheme. I take it John has lifted the Edict of Banishment?'

'Of course,' said Rupert, glad to get a word in at last. 'He needs you, sir Warlock.'

The High Warlock grinned suddenly. 'And I'll bet that sticks in his craw something horrible! Aye, well, I suppose we'd better get a move on, it's a fair way back to the Forest Castle. The sooner we make a start, the better.'

'You want to leave now?' said Rupert. 'While it's still night? We wouldn't make it to the Darkwood! Sir Warlock, my men are in no condition to fight demons. They must have time to rest, and regain their strength.'

'Not to worry,' said the Warlock airily. 'We won't have to go back through the Darkwood, I know a short cut.'

Rupert gave him a hard look, and then froze as a cold angry growl came from somewhere behind him. Rupert spun round sword in hand, and then dropped into his fighting stance, as with a clatter and a crash the Champion jumped down from the table the Warlock had left him on. His face was flushed with rage, but his eyes were cold and dark. He smiled grimly, hefted his sword once, and advanced slowly towards the High Warlock.

'You're a dead man, sorcerer,' said the Champion. 'You should have killed me while you had the chance.'

'Oh hell,' said the Warlock tiredly. 'I'd forgotten about him. Would you care to explain the situation to him, Rupert, or shall I turn him into something less aggressive? Like a dormouse.'

'He'll listen to me,' said Rupert quickly. The Warlock shrugged, and wandered off to talk to the animals in their cages. The Champion started after him, and Rupert moved hastily forward to block his way. 'Sheathe your sword, sir Champion. The High Warlock has agreed to help us against the Darkwood.'

'Get out of my way, Rupert.'

'We need his magic.'

'He tried to kill me!'

'Yes,' said Rupert slowly. 'If I hadn't stopped him, I think he probably would have killed you. But even if he had, and you lay dead and cold at my feet, I'd still bargain with him. He's our only hope against the darkness, the only chance for survival the Forest has. And that makes him more important than you or I will ever be. So sheathe your sword, sir Champion. That's an order.'

The Champion growled something under his breath, sheathed his sword, and glared at the Warlock, who was rummaging through the clutter on one of the far tables and muttering to himself.

'The High Warlock was an old man when I first came to Court,' said the Champion. 'He'd have to be in his nineties by now. How do we know he's up to helping us against the Darkwood?'

'I'm not,' said the Warlock, without looking round. 'But I will be. Ah, that's the one.' He picked up a wooden beaker, sipped cautiously at the frothing liquid it contained, and pulled a face. 'One of these days I'm going to have to work on the taste.'

He glowered at the beaker, and drained it in several hasty gulps. He then slammed the beaker down on the table, screwed up his face and bent forward, clutching at his chest. Rupert ran over to the Warlock and grabbed his shoulders as he collapsed against the table, shivering and shaking. Rupert winced as he helped support the Warlock's weight; there was nothing left of the man but skin and bone. And then Rupert felt his hackles rise as the Warlock's flesh writhed under his hands. He snatched his hands away, watching disbelievingly as new bands of muscle swelled and crawled over the Warlock's bony frame. His shoulders widened and his back slowly straightened, the vertebrae cracking and popping like wet logs in a fire. Rivulets of black ran swiftly through the thickening grey hair. The Warlock sighed deeply and straightened up, and Rupert watched in awe as the Warlock tugged casually at his beard until it came away in his hands, revealing fresh baby-smooth skin glowing with health. A thick mane of jet black hair fell to his shoulders, and all that remained of his beard was a rakish black moustache. His back was straight, his frame was muscular, and all in all he looked no more than thirty years old at most. He grinned broadly at Rupert.

'Not much use being able to transform things if you can't do it to yourself as well, eh, lad?'

Rupert nodded speechlessly.

'Now then,' said the Warlock briskly, 'I suppose you're here about the Darkwood.'

'We already told you that,' said Rupert.

'Did you? My memory isn't what it was. I really should do something about that, but I keep forgetting. Anyway, our main problem isn't the Darkwood, it's the Demon Prince.'

'We figured that out for ourselves,' said Rupert.

The Warlock fixed him with a steady glare. 'Interrupt me again and you're an aardvark. Got it?'

Rupert nodded silently. He wasn't altogether sure what an aardvark was, but he had a definite feeling he wouldn't enjoy finding out first-hand.

'The Demon Prince,' said the High Warlock thoughtfully. 'Evil that walks in the shape of man, the never-born, the soulless. One of the Transient Beings, the stalkers on the edge of reality. His power increases as the Blue Moon rises, but if we can get to him before the Moon is full. . . before the Wild Magic is loosed in the Land ...' The Warlock's voice trailed away, and his shoulders slumped. He suddenly looked very tired, despite his new youthfulness. 'Listen to me, I'm talking as though we actually stood a chance against the Demon Prince. Even at my peak, I was never that good. And I'm a long way from my peak. My power stems from the High Magic, but the Darkwood is of the old, Wild Magic.'

'What's the difference?' asked Rupert.

The High Warlock smiled grimly. The High Magic can be controlled, the Wild Magic owes no allegiance to anything save itself.' He stopped suddenly and shrugged, frowning. 'Ah hell, I don't know, there's always the Infernal Devices in the Castle Armoury. They could make a difference.'

For the first time Rupert realised that, when it came to the Darkwood, the mighty and awesome High Warlock was just as scared and uncertain as he was. 'You show me a way to fight the darkness, and I'll follow you anywhere,' he said impulsively. 'Even if it means going back into the Darkwood.'

The Warlock looked at him, and then grinned suddenly. 'Practical, aren't you?'

Rupert grinned back. 'I've had good teachers.'

'All right,' said the Warlock decisively, 'let's give it a try. Who knows, we might get lucky.'

'Can we go now?' said the Champion. 'We've little enough time as it is.'

'Oh sure,' said the Warlock amiably. He glanced at Rupert. 'Race you to the window?'

'Wait a minute,' said Rupert. 'Just out of curiosity, sir Warlock, why aren't there any doors?'

'Windows are easier to defend,' said the Warlock craftily. 'And besides, I never needed a door, till now. I never went out.' He paused to peer wistfully round the crowded room. 'What a mess. I always meant to get organised one day, but I just never got round to it. I suppose I'd better put the animals into hibernation before I go. Kinder than ... ah well. It's all for the best, I suppose.'

He sniffed and shrugged, and walked towards the nearest window. 'You know, Rupert, I should never have left the Sorcerers' Academy. I was quite happy there, changing gold into lead.'

'Shouldn't that be lead into gold?' asked Rupert.

'Why do you think I had to leave?' said the High Warlock.

The wall of swirling snow pressed close around the Dark Tower, and the still night air was bitter cold. A fresh silver frost covered all the grass and sparkled on the ancient brickwork of the tower. The Warlock was leaving, summer was over, and already the bleak midwinter laid claim to the land so long denied it. Every now and again, Rupert glimpsed strange dark shapes moving purposefully through the howling blizzard, watching and waiting for the High Warlock to step outside the protection of his remaining shields. Rupert scowled, and rested one hand on the pommel of his sword. His guards were tired, battered and bloodied from their trip through the Darkwood, and now he had to ask them to do it again. The Warlock had said something about a short cut, a way to avoid the long night, but Rupert knew better. The maps were clear enough. There was only one route that would get his people back to Forest Castle before the Full Moon, and that was the way they'd come. Through the Darkwood.

'I'm hungry,' said the unicorn.

'You're always hungry,' said Rupert. 'How can you think of food at a time like this?'

'Practice,' said the unicom. 'What are we waiting for now? I hate hanging around like this.'

'Well, not to worry. We'll be heading back into the Darkwood soon enough.'

'On second thoughts, let's hang around here for a while.'

Rupert laughed briefly, and patted the unicorn's neck. 'It shouldn't be so bad this time, we'll have the High Warlock with us.' He looked up and saw the sorcerer approaching. The Warlock was drinking wine and singing a bawdy song. The unicorn studied him carefully.

This is the High Warlock? Our great hope against the Demon Prince?'

'Yes.'

'Then we're in big trouble.'

'Shut up,' growled Rupert, and moved quickly forward to greet the Warlock.

'Ah, Rupert,' said the Warlock vaguely, draining his goblet. 'Are your men ready to leave?'

'Yes, sir Warlock. They're good men, you can rely on them to protect your back once we enter the Darkwood.'

'I'm sure I could,' said the Warlock. 'But luckily that won't be necessary. We're not going back through the Darkwood. I'm going to transport us straight to the Forest Castle.'

Rupert's heart sank. His mouth was suddenly very dry. That's your short cut? A teleport spell?'

'Got it in one, dear boy.'

Rupert tried hard to hold on to his rising temper. 'Possibly I'm mistaken, sir Warlock, but as I understand it, there are an awful lot of things that can go wrong with teleport spells.'

'Oh, hundreds of things,' said the Warlock. 'That's why nobody uses them any more. Except in emergencies.'

'Sir Warlock,' said Rupert slowly, 'I did not lead my men clean across the Forest Kingdom and through the long night itself, just to throw their lives away on a sorcerer's whim! Look at you, the state you're in they'd be safer facing the demons.'

The Warlock looked at him steadily. 'Prince Rupert, if there was any other way to reach the Castle in time, I'd take it. But there isn't. A teleport's our only chance.'

'A teleport could get us all killed! Look, if it was just me and my men, I'd risk it, but I can't allow you to put your life at risk. You're the last hope of the Forest Land, sir Warlock. With you gone, there'd be no one left to stand against the darkness.'

'Don't rely on me,' said the Warlock. 'That's a good way to get killed.' His voice was soft and tired and very bitter. 'I've lived too long with myself to harbour any illusions, Rupert. I'm nowhere near as powerful as I used to be, and I never was as powerful as the legends had it. I could have been, but I threw it all away on wine and women, just like the Champion said. I make no apologies, I had my reasons. Good ones. But don't be under any illusions about my magic. I can't just snap my fingers and make the Demon Prince disappear. What magic I have is at your disposal, along with whatever knowledge and low cunning my tired old mind still retains. If I can get us to the Castle in time, I think I can help. But I'm not indispensable to your fight, Rupert, I'm not that important any more. I never was, really.'

Rupert shook his head slowly. 'I don't doubt your magic, sir Warlock, it's that goblet in your hand that worries me. Anybody can make a mistake when he's the worse for drink.'

The Warlock smiled crookedly. 'I'm not much of a sorcerer when I'm drunk, Rupert, but I'm worse when I'm sober. There are too many memories in my old head, too many unhappy memories. It's only the wine that keeps them quiet. The Champion was right, you know, I could have been a Sorcerer Supreme. I could have been a hero out of legend. Unfortunately, I just wasn't up to it. Not everybody is. When all is said and done, I'm not the stuff heroes are made of. I'm not particularly brave, or clever. I have a talent for magic, I've studied the Art all my life, but your family always expected so damn much from me! Every time some new magical menace appeared, they'd send me off to deal with it. Never mind the risk to my life! Every ogre and demon and natural disaster . . . Eventually, I just got tired. Tired of the responsibility, the pressure, of being scared all the time. That's when I started drinking. It helped, at first. And still your family piled more and more responsibility on me, until finally I broke under the weight of it. Simple as that. And then I fell in love with a Lady who turned out not to care for me, and . . . Well, it's a familiar enough story, I suppose.

'Look, Rupert, what I'm trying to say is... this is a kind of second chance for me. Don't ask me to stop drinking, because I can't. But if you'll trust me, I'll give you everything I've got. My word on it.'

Rupert looked steadily at the High Warlock. All the sorcerer's new youthfulness couldn't disguise the tired, defeated set of his shoulders, but still he held his head high, his pride ready to stand or fall by whatever answer Rupert gave. The Prince smiled, and reached out to clap the Warlock lightly on the shoulder.

'Prepare the teleport spell,' he said gruffly. 'It'd be a long hard struggle, fighting our way back through the Darkwood. I'd rather get my men home safely.'

'Thank you, Sire,' said the Warlock. 'You won't regret this, I promise you.'

Time passed, and the night wore on. The blue-tainted moon shone brightly down as the Warlock chivvied the guardsmen into a small, compact crowd. At first, the guards hadn't been all that impressed by the Warlock, with his wine-stained robes and absent-minded airs, but after seeing what the Warlock had done to the Champion's chain-mail in a fit of pique, they developed a new respect for him. The Champion moved over to join Rupert and nodded at the High Warlock, who was sitting cross-legged in mid-air, staring at nothing.

'You musn't go ahead with the teleport, sire. We can't trust him.'

'I've made my decision, sir Champion.'

'He's a traitor and a drunkard. He—'

'Shut up!'

The Champion blinked in surprise, taken aback by Rupert's sudden anger.

'I don't want to hear another word from you,' said Rupert quietly. 'Go back to your men and stay there. That's an order.'

The Champion looked at him steadily for a long moment, and then he bowed slightly and moved away to take his place among the guardsmen.

'Was that really necessary?' said the unicorn.

'Yes,' said Rupert shortly.

'There are times,' said the unicorn, 'when you sound a lot like your brother.'

The blizzard pressed closer, its solid wall of snow devouring the clearing inch by inch. The demons watched and waited in ever-increasing numbers, impervious to the