Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

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