Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

there people stood up to get a better look. The murmur ran swiftly back and forth, growing louder all the time, building to a roar. Within seconds everyone in the courtyard was on their feet and advancing on Rupert, laughing and cheering and chanting his name over and over again. Rupert's guards moved forward instinctively to protect him, and Chane and his men-at-arms were quick to join them, forming a human barrier between Rupert and the heaving, cheering throng. Rupert shrank back against the Castle wall, staring about him in bewilderment as the crowd pressed forward against his line of guards. Everywhere he looked there were shouting, cheering faces, many streaked with tears. Some of the refugees were actually jumping up and down with joy.
    Rupert looked to the Champion.
    'What the hell is going on here?'
    The Champion smiled. 'Apparently we were all given up for dead long ago, and with your mission to the Dark Tower a failure, what hope was there for the Forest Kingdom? But now here you are, back from the long night at the last possible moment, bringing with you the legendary High Warlock, who will of course put everything to rights again with one wave of his hand. You're the answer to all their prayers, Sire.'
    Rupert snorted. 'Are you going to tell them the bad news, sir Champion, or shall I?'
    The Champion smiled dourly. The refugees were pressing forward again, paying no attention to the guards' warnings, or their drawn swords. The crowd's voice was slowly changing, becoming desperate and angry. Rupert wasn't just a returned hero, he was also their Prince; they wanted to know where he'd been, what had happened to him, why the journey had taken so long, why he hadn't returned in time to save them from the darkness. They didn't see the blood and tiredness on him, they saw only the hero and saviour they wanted to see, the miracle-worker who would throw back the demons, defeat the long night, and make everything the way it used to be. Their voices became querulous and demanding, and they pushed and shoved at one another, jostling the guards and reaching out to try to touch Rupert himself, to compel his attention. The crowd's voice changed yet again, becoming harsh and ugly as the refugees slowly realised Rupert wasn't making them the promises they wanted to hear. Different factions tried to outshout each other, some pleading for more food or water for their families or their livestock, others demanding living quarters inside the Castle, away from the dark. Their voices rose and rose as they demanded hope and comfort and answers Rupert didn't have. He tried to talk to them, to explain, but they were too busy shouting to listen. Rupert couldn't really blame them; he was so tired and confused that his explanations didn't make much sense even to him. The refugees surged angrily back and forth, their cheering excitement of only a few moment before gone, as though it had never been. The guards looked to Rupert for orders as the crowd pressed forward yet again.
    'Get the hell away from me!' roared the Prince, and drew his sword. The guardsmen immediately fell into their fighting stance, and waited for the order to attack. The men-at-arms levelled their pikes, and the
    Champion hefted his war axe thoughtfully. The blood-smeared blades and heavy pike-heads gleamed dully in the torchlight as the refugees fell suddenly silent. The uncertain hush lengthened as Rupert glared round at the sullen faces ranked before him.
    'I'm tired,' he growled, finally. 'I'm going up to my chambers now, to get some rest, and anyone who disturbs me will regret it. I don't care what your problems are, they can all damn well wait until I've got some sleep. Now get out of my way, or I'll have my guards open up a path for me.'
    There was a long, strained silence.
    'Ever the diplomat, eh, Rupert?' said an amused voice, and Rupert looked over the heads of the crowd to see Harald walking unhurriedly down the steps from the main entrance hall. He strode casually among the refugees, positively oozing reassurance and competence, and weary as he was, Rupert had to admire the performance. Harald's calm voice promised everything but committed him to nothing, and yet it seemed to satisfy the refugees, who slowly drifted back to their fires and their animals, muttering to each other and shaking their heads dolefully. None of them so much as spared a glance for Rupert.
    Their returning hero had let them down by being only human. Rupert watched Harald moving