Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

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.