Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

have believed possible,' said Harald calmly. 'That's why I threw away my scabbard.'
    Julia opened her eyes and looked at him. The scabbard was gone from Harold's back, and it seemed to Julia that he stood a little taller without it. Their eyes met for a moment, sharing a knowledge they would never tell anyone else; of how close they had come to being seduced and overpowered by the swords they'd carried. After a while, they looked away. Perhaps because they didn't want to be reminded; they just wanted to forget.
    'Do you think the Warlock will be able to wake the dragon?' asked Harald.
    'I don't know. The dragon's been hibernating for months. Rupert thinks he may be dying.'
    'Well, Rupert has been known to be wrong, on occasion.'
    Julia looked at Harald steadily. 'You would have shut those gates on him, wouldn't you?'
    'How many more times, Julia? It was necessary. Somebody had to defend the Keep, so that the gates could be shut.'
    'Then why didn't you do it?'
    Harald smiled. 'I never was the heroic type.'
    'So I've noticed,' said Julia, and getting to her feet, she walked away in search of Rupert.
    Rupert leaned back against the locked stable door, and waited impatiently for the others to join him. It was still bitter cold in the courtyard, and he was beginning to wish he'd gone into the Castle proper and found himself a good thick cloak. He beat his hands together and blew on them, and then crossed his arms tightly across his chest. Cold. Always cold, these days. He looked hopefully round the bustling courtyard, but there was still no sign of any of the others. I don't know why I bother being on time, thought Rupert bitterly. Nobody else ever is . He drew his sword and put himself through a series of simple exercises, but the numbing cold made him awkward, and his lack of depth perception kept throwing him off. He finally gave up in disgust, and slammed his sword back into its scabbard. Like it or not, his days as a swordsman were definitely over. Maybe he should take up the axe instead; it was a lot harder to miss with an axe.
    He gently ran his fingers over his sealed eyelid, and swore softly. His eye was gone, but it still hurt. He flexed his left arm and shoulder, and sniffed dourly. He supposed he should be grateful that at least something was working right again.
    He frowned, remembering the way the unicorn had looked, lying sleeping in the stable. The groom had dosed the animal with a sleeping draught. He assured Rupert the unicorn would recover from his wounds eventually, but there had been more hope than conviction in the man's voice. Rupert sighed tiredly. Long before the unicorn could wake from his drugged sleep, the final battle would be over, one way or another.
    He looked out across the crowded courtyard, and smiled as he spotted a familiar goblin hurrying past, carrying a bucket of steaming pitch almost as big as he was. Rupert called after him, and the goblin looked back, startled. He grinned broadly on seeing Rupert, and came back to join him. He dumped the bucket on the ground beside them, swearing horribly at the pitch when it looked for a moment as though it might slop over the sides. He started to offer Rupert his hand, but saw the condition of it just in time, and decided on a snappy salute instead.
    'Hello, Princie,' said the smallest goblin cheerfully. 'How you doing?'
    'Not so bad, considering,' said Rupert. 'I just wondered if you knew how your friends got on in the battle. I got separated from the main bulk of the army early on, and I rather lost track of things.'
    'They all died,' said the goblin matter-of-factly. 'Every single one of them. They did their best, but goblins weren't made for fighting, or being brave.'
    'I'm sorry,' said Rupert. 'I didn't know.'
    'Our leader died with them,' said the smallest goblin. 'He insisted on leading his men into battle. He was never really happy as leader, but he was all we had. He tried hard. Poor bastard; he never really got over the death of his family in the first demon raid.'
    'So who's leader now?' asked Rupert.
    The smallest goblin grinned broadly. 'Me, of course; who else? I may not know much about fighting and heroics, but I'm a dab hand when it comes to dirty tricks and booby traps. Now then, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get this bucket up to the battlements before the pitch cools off. Wait till those demons try climbing up the outer walls; they won't know what's hit them!'
    He chuckled nastily, grabbed up his bucket, and scurried back