Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

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 absentminded 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 unrelenting cold and the howling wind.
    Hoarfrost enveloped the Dark Tower in an icy cocoon, and shimmered whitely on the men's armour.
    Rupert's breath steamed on the freezing air, and his bare face ached from the cold. A light snow began to fall within the clearing. And then, finally, the High Warlock dropped his feet to the earth and nodded briskly to Rupert.
    'Sorry about the delay, Sire, just checking the arrival coordinates. Get the decimal point wrong, and we might all appear several hundred feet above the ground. Or even under it.'
    The guardsmen exchanged glances.
    'Start the teleport,' growled Rupert hurriedly, and the Warlock nodded.
    'Very well, sire. If you and the unicorn would care to stand just here, beside me . . . thank you. And now, we begin.'
    He raised his arms in the stance of summoning, and his gaze became fixed on something only he could see. For a long moment, nothing happened. The Warlock's brow furrowed as he concentrated. Outside the clearing, the wind raged and the storm intensified. And then the air within the clearing seemed to dance and shimmer. A deep sonorous tone shuddered through Rupert's bones, on a level almost too deep for hearing. The ground shook beneath his feet. Space itself ripped apart before the Warlock, revealing a wide silvery tunnel that seemed to fall away for ever. The Warlock rose slowly into the air, and then, one by one, Prince Rupert, the unicorn, the Champion and the guardsmen left the ground behind them and followed the Warlock into the tunnel.
    The rip in space slammed together and was gone, with no trace to show it had ever been there. The last of the Warlock's shields collapsed and fell apart, and the howling storm, unfettered at last, swept forward to swirl helplessly around the empty Dark Tower.

Chapter 6
    TRAITORS TO THE CROWN
    'But, darling . . .'
    'Get the hell away from me or I'll flatten you.'
    King John sighed tiredly. Harald and Julia were at it again. The King leaned back in his throne, and tried to pretend he couldn't hear the raised voices outside his Court. He had more than enough to worry about without having to deal with his potential daughter-in-law as well. A dozen petitioners from the outlying farms waited patiently before him, leaning tiredly on their great longbows, their homespun clothes battered and begrimed with the dirt and dust of long days on the road. They'd arrived on foot little more than an hour ago, pounding determinedly on the closed Castle gates as night fell early across the Forest.
    On hearing the nature of the news they bore, King John had cursed softly to himself, and granted the farmers a private audience. And now they stood before him in the empty Court: tall, broad-shouldered men with sturdy muscular bodies formed by continuous back-breaking work from dawn to dusk. There
    was nothing soft or weak about the harsh planes of their faces, but in their haunted eyes the King saw a naked fear and desperation that chilled him to his bones.
    'Julia, my sweet, if you'll only let me ...'
    There was the sound of fist meeting flesh, followed by a pained if