Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

oil. Rupert shook his head mournfully. For all their good points, there was no getting away from the fact that the goblins had absolutely no sense of honour or fair play. They should do very well in the coming battle. The High Warlock was sitting at the bottom of the main entrance steps, drinking wine straight from the bottle.
    Rupert started down the steps towards him, only to stop short when he realised the Warlock's eyes were unfocused and far away. There were fresh wine stains on his robes, and he swayed slightly from side to side in time to some old song he was singing quietly to himself. Rupert watched the Warlock a while, and felt a little of his hope go out of him. With so much at stake, he'd been depending on the Warlock to stay sober and keep his wits about him, but apparently that had been too much to ask. Rupert's hands closed into fists, and then opened again. It wasn't the Warlock's fault he wasn't the man the legends had made him out to him. It's not as if he was the only one to let me down, thought Rupert tiredly. He remembered Julia, hanging on Harald's arm at Court. You'd think I'd have learned by now, I can't depend on anyone but myself. Rupert continued on his way. He walked right past the Warlock, but the Warlock didn't even notice.
    Rupert threaded his way through the packed crowd, nodding and smiling absently to those who spoke or called to him. He knew he ought to be doing his bit as a Prince by rallying the army with pep talks and rousing speeches, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to do it. The words would have turned to ashes in his mouth. Harald would have handled it easily enough; he'd have clapped the guardsmen on the back and told them comforting lies, and promised the farmers and the traders honour and glory in battle, with undying fame for those who fell. Rupert moved on through the crowd, his face set in tired, brooding lines. He'd fought the demons too many times already to harbour any illusions about the forthcoming battle. There was nothing but the dark, and the creatures that lived in it, and the things you had to do to defeat them; with little honour, and damn all glory for the quick or the dead.
    The crowd finally thinned away as Rupert approached one of the old stables. The huge, rambling structure seemed unnaturally quiet and deserted, as though recently abandoned. All the windows had been boarded over, and the single great door was locked. Icicles hung in clumps from the guttering, and inches of snow lay undisturbed on the window sills and door frame. Rupert took out the key the Seneschal had given him, and unlocked the door. It swung slowly open at his touch, the warped frame protesting quietly with a series of brief creaks and groans. Rupert put away the key and stood in the doorway, looking into the gloom. Everything was dark and still and silent. He stepped back a pace, took a torch from its bracket by the door, and then slowly entered the stable.
    'Dragon?' he called softly. 'It's me, Rupert.'
    There was no answer from the darkness. Rupert held the torch high, and at the rear of the stable dark
    green scales shimmered dully in the unsteady torchlight. Rupert slowly approached the sleeping dragon, shadows stirring uneasily around the pool of light he moved in. The air was dry and dusty, with a strong musky smell hanging over everything. The dragon lay curled in a circle in a nest of dirty straw, his head resting on his tail, his wings wrapped around him like a huge emerald blanket. The massive wings moved slightly, continuously, in time with the dragon's slow breathing. Rupert put the flaring torch in a nearby wall bracket, and then crouched down by the dragon's head. The great golden eyes were closed, and the wide grinning mouth hung slightly open. Rupert reached out a hand, hesitated, and then tapped gently on the creature's bony forehead.
    'Dragon? It's Rupert, I need to talk to you. I need your help.'
    The dragon slept on, undisturbed. Rupert crouched among the filthy straw and stared forlornly at the sleeping creature. A sudden wave of despair swept over him. Deep down, he'd believed the dragon at least would be there beside him when the time came for him to go out and face the Darkwood again. I should have known better. . .First Julia, then the High Warlock, and now the dragon. He had no claim on any of them, and wouldn't have used it if he had. But it would have been nice if just one of them could have been there at his side. So that he wouldn't have to