Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

moved reluctantly over to the wardrobe blocking his doorway.
    Outside, his visitor knocked again, putting some muscle into it.
    'Who is it?' growled Rupert, indulging himself in a long slow stretch that set his joints creaking.
    'The Champion, Sire. You're needed.'
    Since when?thought Rupert sardonically. 'All right. Wait a minute.'
    He put his shoulder to the wardrobe, and the massive piece of lurniture slid jerkily back to its original position. Thick welts in the rugs before his door showed where the wardrobe had stood while he slept.
    Rupert stooped and carefully turned the rugs over, to hide the markings. If word got out that he had to barricade his door before he could sleep, he'd never hear the end of it. Rupert unbolted and unlocked the door, taking his time about it. Whatever the Champion wanted to tell him, the odds were it wasn't going to be anything he wanted to hear. He finally pulled the door open, and glared unsympathetically at the waiting Champion.
    'This had better be important, sir Champion.'
    'I see you're feeling better, Sire.'
    Rupert just looked at him. The Champion shook his head sadly.
    'You can't still be tired, surely? You've had almost four hours' sleep.'
    'Four hours?' Rupert looked around for something heavy with which to brain the Champion, and then gave up on the idea as being too much of an effort. He leaned wearily against the door jamb and stared disgustedly at the Champion, who looked, as always, calm and rested and ready for anything. 'All right,
    sir Champion, tell me the bad news. What's happened while I've been resting?'
    'Not a lot, Sire. The demons are still waiting outside our walls, and the King and the High Warlock have done nothing but scream abuse at each other since they met.'
    'Great,' said Rupert. 'Just great.'
    'So,' said the Champion casually, 'I thought it might be a good idea for you to go down to the Court and talk some sense into them.'
    'And what makes you think they'll listen to me?'
    'You have immense personal knowledge of the Darkwood, Sire. No man has ever passed through the darkness as many times as you have, and returned to tell of it.'
    'And?'
    'And,' said the Champion, 'you're quite possibly the only remaining member of the Court who doesn't have his own axe to grind.'
    'It's worth a try, I suppose,' grunted Rupert, dourly. He moved back to the bed and buckled on his sword belt. He'd worn it for so long he felt undressed without the familiar weight on his hip. All in all, he did feel a little better for his four hours' sleep. The stiffness was gone from his left shoulder, and he could barely feel the new scar tissue pulling when he moved his arm. He was still tired, but he could handle that.
    He'd had a lot of practice, recently. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair, pulled his jerkin straight, and then looked down at his blood-soaked clothes. Four hours of restless sleep had not improved their appearance. Rupert thought about changing into clothes more suitable for the Court, and then thought Forget it. If the Court didn't like it, tough. He settled his sword belt comfortably, and strode over to the patiently waiting Champion.
    'All right, let's go.'
    The Champion glanced at Rupert's gory attire, and his mouth twitched. 'Well, that should get their attention, Sire, if nothing else.'
    'Good,' said Rupert, and strode out of the door.

    Prince Rupert and the Champion paused in the Court antechamber, and shared a wry smile. Even with the great double doors securely closed, the roar of raised voices within the Court came clearly to them.
    Rupert shook his head, stepped forward and threw the doors open. A solid wave of sound came rushing over him as he stood in the doorway staring about him, a vast animal roar of naked fear and fury. The courtiers had finally seen the darkness of the long night, and that sight had sent them to the edge of madness. The Lords and Ladies of the Court milled back and forth with shrill voices and wild eyes, moving from one faction to another in the same muddled, apparently aimless way that bees move from flower to flower. Other courtiers huddled together in sullen, frightened knots, and would listen only to their own comforting lies. Every man in the Court wore a sword at his hip, even those who had obviously never drawn a sword in anger in their lives. And everywhere there were raised voices and shaking fists, and faces made ugly by rage and fear and open hysteria. The Darkwood had come to Forest Castle.
    At the far end