Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

face the dark alone. Rupert sighed quietly, and the memory came to him of the dragon standing tall and proud in the Darkwood clearing, spilling a liquid fire on to the demons, destroying them by the dozen with his fiery breath. And then he remembered the dragon lying sprawled and broken in that same clearing, one wing half torn away, golden blood streaming down his side. The dragon, dying in the dark, because Rupert had led him into the Darkwood, and the dragon had trusted him.
    'Sleep on, my friend,' said Rupert quietly. 'I've no right to ask any more of you.'
    He got to his feet, took the torch from the wall bracket, and walked back to the stable door. He hesitated in the doorway, and looked back at the sleeping dragon. He wanted to say goodbye, but didn't.
    He turned and left the stable, locking the door securely behind him. Darkness filled the stable again, the only sound the slow steady burr of the dragon's breathing.

    The High Warlock leaned back on the entrance steps, glowered about him, and look another drink from his bottle. The wine was a losuy vintage, but he couldn't be bothered to change it. He was doing his best to get drunk, but somehow it just wasn't working. He could feel the wine lying sullenly in his belly, while his mind remained stubbornly alert. His eyesight was a little blurred, and his legs a little unsteady, but all the old tormenting memories were with him still. More or less. The Warlock frowned, and shook his head irritably, trying to remember the words of the song he'd been singing, but somehow they eluded him.
    He hated it when he couldn't remember things like that. Hated it. More and more there were gaps in his memory where there never used to be; little things, for the most part, but gaps nonetheless. Getting old , he thought sourly. Too many years gone by. Or too much booze. Or both. Yes, probably both. He took another drink from the bottle, spilling wine down his chin. He wished he could remember the words of the song. Eleanor had always loved that song.
    They had stood together on the balcony, watching the fireworks splash colour across the night skies.
    Behind them, in the Great Hall, the Victory Ball was well under way. A light summer breeze swirled the Warlock's robes, and toyed lazily with Eleanor's hair. Her hair was the colour of corn, and she wore a dress of blue and gold, but he couldn't remember her eyes. Minstrels were playing the song in the background, almost drowned out by the constant chatter of the courtiers. The Warlock watched the fireworks closely. He'd planned the display down to the last detail, but there was always time for something to go wrong. Temperamental things, fireworks. A rocket burst against the night, its fires spilling
    out to form the shape of a lion's head. The Warlock smiled, and relaxed a little. Eleanor put her arm through his, and snuggled up to him. He couldn't remember her eyes.
    The fireworks are very beautiful.
    Thank you, your majesty.
    Must you be so formal, sir Warlock? On a night like this, there should be no formalities between friends.
    Call me Eleanor.
    As you wish, Eleanor.
    That's better. Now, won't you tell me your name?
    To know a sorcerer's name is to have power over him.
    I'm sorry. I didn't know that.
    No reason why you should.
    Oh, look at that rocket! It's a waterfall; how clever of you. Isn't it a wonderful night, sir Warlock?
    Indeed it is, Eleanor.
    I don't think I've ever been happier. John is coming home victorious from the Border War, the harvest is safely gathered in and stored, and . . . and my best friend in all the world has given me such marvellous fireworks for my birthday! It almost feels wrong to be so happy. And the minstrels are playing my favourite song! Dance with me, sir Warlock. Please.
    I'm . . . not sure that would be proper, Eleanor. The Court. . .
    Then dance with me here, on the balcony. Just the two of us, alone.
    Her perfume filled his head as they danced together, hand in hand, face to face, their bodies moving slowly, gracefully to the dimly heard music. Fireworks blazed silver and gold upon the night. When he kissed her, her lips trembled but her arms were strong.
    He couldn't remember her eyes.
    The High Warlock stared at the half-empty bottle in his hand, and cursed himself bitterly for ever having left the Dark Tower. He should never have come back to Forest Castle. He'd been safe in his tower, with his booze and his work, hidden away from the world. Safe from his past, his memories, and all