Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

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