Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

wouldn't have to look at the farmers. How could he tell them that all their long journey, all their sacrifices, had been for nothing? He sighed briefly, quietly, and lifted his great leonine head. He sought for some comforting words with which to cushion his answer, but as he met the farmers' hopeful eyes, he knew he couldn't lie to them.
    'My friends, I cannot help you. I have no men to send you, either to guard your fields or train you in the arts of war. The Barons no longer heed me, what men they have they will not relinquish. I've had to strip this Castle of guards just to keep the main highways open. I have no shortage of weapons, you are welcome to as many as you can carry, but I cannot spare one man to go with you.'
    The farmers stared at the King, and then at each other.
    'Is that it?' said one of the youngest farmers, moving forward to stand beside Madoc Thorne. 'We came all this way, fighting off outlaws and footpads and creatures of the dark, leaving our families and our farms unprotected, just to hear you say there's nothing you can do?'
    'I'm sorry,' said King John.
    The young farmer started forward, his fists clenched, but Thorne grabbed him by the arm and held him back. 'That's enough! Leave the King be, he's said his piece. He could have lied to us, told us everything'd be all right, but he didn't. He told us the truth. We may not like it, but at least now we know where we stand.'
    'Aye,' said the young farmer. 'We know that.' And he turned away, so that no one could see he was crying.
    Thorne let him go, and stared awkwardly at the King. 'He meant no offence, Sire. He hasn't been himself since he lost his wife and both his babies to the demons.'
    'I'd help you if I could,' said the King.
    'We know that,' said Madoc Thorne. 'Sorry to have troubled you, your majesty. It's clear enough you've worries other than ours. If you could have your men sort out a few weapons for us, we'll head back to Birchwater come the morning.'
    'Of course,' said the King. 'I'll detail some guards to escort you the first few miles.'
    'No, thanks,' said the farmer politely. 'Reckon we can manage on our own.'
    He bowed his head briefly, and then he turned and left the Court. And one by one the farmers bowed to their King, and followed their spokesman out. King John sat on his throne and bowed to each farmer in turn, and the naked pity in their eyes as they looked on him hurt worse than anything they could have said. They had fought their way through the darkness to reach him, they had defended him against the Landsgraves, but when they turned to him for help, he had none to offer them. He had failed them, but they forgave him, because he was their King. And troubled as they were, there was still room in their hearts for pity at what he had become, a tired old man who couldn't cope. One by one the farmers left the Court, and the King watched them go, knowing that with the morning's first light they would be on their way back into the Forest, going home to die with their families. The last man closed the doors
    quietly behind him, but the sound echoed on the silent Court as though he'd slammed them.
    'Your majesty,' said one of the guards, and the King waved him to silence.
    'Go after the farmers,' he said brusquely. 'Both of you. Find them quarters for the night, and have the Seneschal issue them with whatever weapons they choose. Then find the Commander of the Royal Guard, and tell him I want to see him. Tell my son I'll see him and Julia when I'm ready, and not before.
    Now get after those farmers. Move!'
    The guardsmen bowed quickly, and left the Court in silence.
    King John leaned back in his throne, and stared out over his empty Court. Outside, night had fallen, and darkness pressed against the stained'glass windows. The many-candled chandeliers spread a golden glow across the Court, and a roaring fire blazed in the huge fireplace, but still the shadows gathered up among the rafters, and there was a chill to the night air that would take more than a simple fire to dispel.
    The King stared grimly about him, trying to see his Court as it must have looked to the farmers. A quiet horror filled him as for the first time in a long time he saw the Court as it was, instead of how it used to be. The timbered floor hadn't been waxed in months, the portraits and tapestries were blackened and begrimed by smoke from the fire, and even the marble dais upon which his throne stood was cracked and chipped. And under all the superficial