Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

deputation still standing patiently before him. The King stared at them blankly, shocked at how long he'd kept them waiting while his mind wandered.
    'I'm sorry,' he said quickly. 'The Castle migration began last week, and I have much on my mind. What exactly is it that you want from me?'
    The farmers looked at each other, and finally one middle-aged man stepped forward from their midst to be their spokesman. He was plainly ill at ease in the grandeur of the Forest Court, and he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, which were large and awkward and tattooed with ground-in dirt from working the earth all his days. But when he finally began to speak, the King forgot all these things, and saw only the simple dignity of a man weighed down with pain, yet still unbroken and unbowed.
    'I am Madoc Thorne, of Birchwater demesne,' said the farmer slowly. 'I farm twelve acres, as my father did before me, and his father before him. The land is yet kind to my family, though we must work it hard and long to make our living, and still pay our taxes and our tithes. For nigh on seven generations my family has raised the corn and gathered it in, harvest after harvest. It was my intention some day to hand this on to my eldest son, as it was handed on to me, but I no longer have any sons. The plague has taken them from me.'
    King John shuddered suddenly, as though a cold wind had blown over his grave. 'The tales are true, then. Plague has come to Birchwater.'
    'And passed beyond, Sire, spreading faster than a bushfire fanned by the wind. Through all of Birchwater demesne, there's not a town or a village or a hamlet that hasn't felt its touch. Four hundred dead, to my certain knowledge, and ten times that number lie trembling in their beds, racked with pain as their fever slowly consumes them. Nothing helps, not prayer, nor medicines, nor magic. Men, women and children are struck down without warning, and waste away to nothing as their families watch, helpless.
    Livestock fall in their byres, never to rise again. Corn stands rotting in the fields, blighted by the early winter, because there is no one left to harvest it.
    'I had four sons, your majesty, four fine sons who worked the land beside me. Good boys, all of them.
    So far, I've had to bury two of them, and their mother. The other two cannot leave their beds. By the time I return home, it seems likely I'll have to dig another grave. That's why we've come to you, Sire, because we couldn't sit at home and do nothing while the plague takes our families, wasting the flesh from their bones and twisting their limbs till they cry out from the pain of it.
    'We're not young men, you and I, your majesty. We've seen hard times before, and know the hardest time passes eventually. But this time, if you cannot help us, I fear no one will be left to see its passing.'
    There was a long silence, as King John searched for something to say. The farmer had told his tale with a simple honesty that was almost brutal, sparing himself nothing to be sure the King understood what was happening in Birchwater. The King understood only two well. The plague had appeared out of nowhere less than a month ago, starting at the Darkwood's boundaries and then spreading outwards with ferocious speed. At first it was thought that rats carried the disease, and then blame fell upon the refugees, but as more and more deaths were reported in all corners of the Land, it soon became clear that there was only one possible source for the contagion — the demons were carrying it out of the Darkwood.
    And now the plague had come to Birchwater, less than a week's travel from the Castle.
    'I will send you priests and surgeons,' said the King finally. 'As yet they have no cure to offer, but they can perhaps ease the pain of a victim's passing. I can't guarantee how many will reach you, I no longer have enough men to safeguard the highways. The demons . . .'
    'The demons! It's always the demons!' Madoc Thorne stared desperately at the King, tears of rage and despair starting to his eyes. 'Without a cure, what use are priests and surgeons to us? Send us men, Sire, men who can fight, and will teach us to fight. If we can't defend our homes from the plague, we can at least defend them from the demons that carry it. A bow can only do so much! I know the Barons have
    always forbidden us training in the sword and the axe, but it's our only chance to stop the plague and turn it back!'
    King John looked at his hands, so that he