Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

right into their hands. The only reason for their visit had been to insult and humiliate him before the farmers, to make it clear to them who wielded the real power in the Forest Land these days. The King frowned worriedly. The Landsgraves had moved beyond treason and into open rebellion, secure in the belief that he wouldn't dare have them arrested for fear of starting a civil war. They might just be right, at that. He couldn't fight the invading demons without the Barons' support, and they knew it. The King swore silently to himself. There must have been some way he could have avoided all this, but without the Astrologer at his side to advise him . . .
    He shook his head wearily. These days, the Astrologer was his only link with his widespread forces. His
    guards and militia were scattered all over the Land, fighting to hold back the dark. By using his magic, the Astrologer could get messages to the various troops much faster than any horseman or carrier pigeon.
    Unfortunately, there was so much communications work for the Astrologer that he had little time for anything else. King John didn't dare call him away from that duty, much as he wanted to. The Astrologer had become indispensable.
    In the meantime, events in the Land went from bad to worse. Until he had to cope by himself, King John hadn't realised how much he'd come to depend on his old friend. There were taxes to be set, tithes to be gathered; all the endless paperwork of running a Kingdom, that never stopped even when the Land was under siege. It had been bad enough when he'd just had to sign the damn stuff . . .
    He'd managed to unload some of the more routine matters on to his Seneschal, but with the Darkwood pressing ever further into the Forest, each new day brought more news of refugees on the march, fleeing the approaching darkness with whatever possessions they could carry on their backs. Horses were in short supply, and the guards had commandeered all carts to carry what little of the harvest had been gathered in. The long strung-out trails of homeless people were sitting targets for looters, outlaws and demons. Guardsmen protected the main roads as best they could, but there just weren't enough men to go round.
    In the towns, prices soared as food grew scarce. Guards had to be diverted from the roads to put down riots. No matter where the king sent his men, it never seemed to help. They were always too little, too late. Even with his Astrologer and his Champion to help it would have been a logistictan's nightmare, but without them, the King could only stand and watch as his Kingdom slowly tore itself apart.
    He sighed, and gently massaged his aching temples. Some days his crown seemed heavier than others.
    How had he come to rely on the Astrologer so much? There was a time he'd had dozens of advisers and favourites to stand as a buffer between him and his Court, the Barons, and all the other troubles of his reign. But over the years all the ones he'd liked and trusted had either died, or fallen away, or been proven base and false, until now only his Astrologer and his Champion remained, to stand at his side and help him bear the weight of kingship. And neither of them was here now when he needed them.
    The sheer querulousness of that thought sobered him suddenly, and a cold rush of shame ran through him. The Astrologer was working himself into the ground keeping the communications moving, and the Champion had rode unhesitatingly into the Darkwood in search of the High Warlock. If they could do so much in defence of the Realm, how could he, as King, be expected to do any less? King John frowned, and beat gently on the arm of his throne with his fist. Rupert and the Champion were months overdue, and with every day that passed, the chances of their ever returning grew steadily fewer. As far as the Court was concerned, everyone on that ill-fated expedition was dead, and had been for some time. The King sighed quietly, and finally admitted to himself what he couldn't admit in public: that Rupert and the Champion wouldn't be coming back. The admission hurt him strangely. Deep down, he'd still somehow clung to the belief that the High Warlock would return from exile, and drive back the demons and the darkness with his sorcery, and all would be well again. It came hard to the King to realise he'd wasted so so much hope on any empty dream.
    'Your majesty?' said one of the guards uncertainly, and King John snapped out of his reverie to find the farmers'