Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

you carry a magic sword yourself. ' Julia stopped suldenly, and looked at Rupert thoughtfully. 'The rainbow sword, I'd forgotten all about it. Why can't we use that against the darkness? It worked before, remember?'
    Rupert shook his head. 'I've already tried, Julia. It doesn't work any more.' Julia's face fell, and for a moment they stood together in silence. Julia glanced out of the stable door. 'Rupert, I can't stay much longer. My women are waiting for me.'
    'Yes, I watched you drilling them. They looked . . . promising.' Rupert smiled suddenly. 'I don't know, lass, it hardly seems fair to send you out into the dark, carrying an Infernal Device and leading a company of fighting women. I mean, we just want to kill the demons, not terrorise them.'
    Julia laughed. 'I'll make you pay for that, after the battle's over.'
    'Promise?'
    'Promise.'
    They looked at each other steadily. Rupert reached out and took Julia's hands in his.
    'Julia, whatever happens ... I love you, lass. Never doubt it.'
    'I love you, Rupert. You watch your back, when we finally get out there.'
    'Right. And after we've won ...'
    'Yes,' said Julia. 'There'll be time for lots of things, after we've won.'
    They kissed once, lingeringly, and then Julia turned and walked out of the stables, back to her waiting women. Rupert watched her go, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace with himself. He reached inside his chain-mail vest, and from under his jerkin he brought out a crumpled, battered handkerchief spotted with faded bloodstains. 'My Lady's favour,' he said softly. He touched the cloth to his lips, and then tucked it carefully back into place, over his heart.

    'Lancers; mount up! Gate keepers; stand ready!'
    The Champion's voice came roaring across the courtyard, and for a moment the voice of the crowd fell silent, before rising again in a bedlam of shouted orders and whinnying horses. Rupert breathed deeply, straightened his shoulders, and led the unicorn out of the stables and into the courtyard.
    The Champion sat astride a massive, evil-eyed charger, the torchlight gleaming ruddy on his freshly-polished armour. Impressive and invincible, he towered above the milling crowd, a hero out of legend. He gestured impatiently with his war axe, and a hundred lancers urged their horses forward to take up their position behind him. The couched lances stabbed proudly up at the starless night sky, their gleaming shafts bedecked with brightly coloured ribbons and ladies' favours, like so many brilliant banners. The guards and men-at-arms moved in behind the lancers, laughing and joking and passing round flasks of wine. They stamped their feet against the cold, and glanced at the closed gates with eager anticipation, glad that the waiting was almost over. And behind them, bringing up the rear, came the courtiers and farmers and traders, uncomfortable in their ill-fitting armour, but quietly determined not to be found wanting when the time came. Men and women stood side by side, carrying swords and pikes and hand-axes, and no one thought it strange. Women wore fighting for the same reason as men —
    because they were needed, because there was no one else.
    Rupert mounted his unicorn, and slowly made his way through the crowd to take his place at the head of the army. A handful of guardsmen appeared out of nowhere and formed themselves into an honour guard around him. Rupert bowed his head to them, and the the guards he'd brought back from the Darkwood saluted him with their swords.
    'What the hell do you think you're doing here?' demanded Rupert. 'You should be taking it easy in your barracks, you're walking wounded.'
    'If we can walk, we're not wounded,' said Rob Hawke. 'That's the orders. Besides, why should you have all the fun? We were just getting the hang of killing demons when you dragged us back into the Castle.'
    'You know the odds are stacked against us,' Rupert began, and then had to break off as the guards laughed derisively.
    'When haven't the odds been stacked against us?' grinned Hawke. 'We're getting used to that.'
    'Doomed!' moaned another guard. 'We're all doomed!'
    Several of the guards started wailing a funeral dirge, but quickly grew bored and changed it to an upbeat tempo. People around them stared at the guards, and then looked hastily away. Rupert couldn't speak for laughing. By the time the small party reached the Castle gates, he was leading his men in a bawdy marching song in which the word doomed appeared at