Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

were impassive, but their eyes were cold and distrustful, and they held their swords at the ready as Harald approached them. They inclined their heads slightly as they recognised the Prince, but made no move to step aside. Instead, the taller of the two guardsmen indicated with his sword a small table to his left. Harald moved forward, and picked up a plain black domino mask from a pile on the table. He looked at the guardsmen, and raised an eyebrow.
    'With the compliments of Lord Darius,' said the guard. 'A Masked Ball, in your honour, Sire.'
    Harald chuckled softly. 'Masks, how delightfully apt. But I don't think I'll bother, myself.'
    He tossed the mask back on to the pile. The guard sheathed his sword, picked up the mask, and held it out to Harald.
    'The Lord Darius was most insistent, Sire,' said the guard. 'Nobody gets in unless they're wearing a mask.'
    'He'll make an exception in my case,' said Harald. 'Now stand aside.'
    The guard smiled, and shook his head slowly. 'I take my orders from the Lord Darius,' he said calmly.
    'Just as you do, Sire. Now put on your mask.'
    'And if I don't?'
    'Then I'll put it on for you . . . Sire.'
    Harald hit him just below the breastbone with a straight finger jab, and all the colour went out of the guard's face. He bent slowly forward, as though bowing to Harald, and then fell to lie still on the floor.
    The other guard lifted his sword and stepped forward, only to freeze in place as the point of Harald's sword pricked his throat. The guard lowered his blade, and tried hard not to swallow. He'd heard the Prince was good with a sword, but he'd never seen anyone move that fast ...
    'Who do you take your orders from?' asked Harald, his voice calm and quiet and very dangerous.
    'You, Sire,' said the guard. 'Only you.'
    'Glad to hear it,' said Harald. He stepped back a pace, and sheathed his sword. 'Open the door for me, guardsman.'
    'Yes, Sire.' The guard glanced quickly at his companion, who was still lying on the floor, curled helplessly around the bright agony in his chest, and then moved forward and knocked twice on the door.
    There was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn, and the door swung smoothly open. Harald stepped over the fallen guardsman and strode unhurriedly into Lord Darius's quarters.
    All conversation stopped as Harald entered the Hall. The great babble of voices died quickly away to nothing, the musicians stopped playing, and the dancers froze in their places. Even the roaring flames in the huge open fireplace seemed muted by the sudden silence. Harald stopped just inside the doorway and looked about him. A vast sea of masks stared impassively back.
    Darius's Hall wasn't all that large, as Castle Halls went, and the two or three hundred people present filled it comfortably from wall to wall. The number was about right for a Castle party, large enough to be impressive without being intimidating, but somehow the masks made a difference. Simple black domino masks predominated, but at least half of Darius's guests had chosen to wear their own individual masks.
    Ornate and bizarre, gorgeous and grotesque, the masks watched Harald with a fixed intensity that came close to unnerving him. Their unmoving expressions, their exaggerated glees or sorrows or snarls, were so far from anything human as to be almost demonic. Directly before Harald, to his left, a white-faced Pierrot stood arm in arm with a horse-headed mummer. To Harald's right, a grinning Death leaned companionably on the shoulder of a shrieking Famine. A Fish stared goggle-eyed, and a Cat winked.
    And everywhere, simple black dominoes and painted faces and lorgnettes of beaten gold and silver.
    Harald stared at the masks, and the masks stared back.
    And then the sea of false faces suddenly parted, as two figures came forward to meet him. A little of Harald's tension drained away as he recognised Lord Darius and the Lady Cecelia, and he moved his hand away from his swordhilt. Darius wore long, heavy robes of dusty grey, whose cut and style fought in vain to make him appear slimmer. His mask was a black silk domino. Cecelia wore an ornate ball gown
    of blue and silver, studded with semi-precious stones, which covered her completely from neck to ankle without concealing any of her splendid figure. Silver bells hanging from her cuffs and hem chimed prettily with her every movement. Her mask was a dainty lorgnette of beaten gold on a slender ivory handle.
    Darius bowed to Harald, and Cecelia curtsied. Behind