Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

fine husband. And remember, he will be King one day.'
    'If there's a Kingdom left,' said the Champion.
    Everybody jumped. The Champion had moved silently forward to stand on Rupert's right. He'd left his war axe behind, but he now carried a sword on his hip.
    'I see you're still good at sneaking up on people,' said Rupert.
    The Champion smiled. 'One of my most useful talents.' He turned and inclined his head slightly to King John. 'Your majesty, we do have a serious problem to discuss. The Darkwood—'
    'Can wait a minute,' said the King peevishly. 'I haven't finished with Rupert yet. Rupert, you were supposed to bring back the valuable parts of a dead dragon and at least some of his hoard. Haven't brought back any gold?'
    'No,' said Rupert. 'There wasn't any.'
    'What about the dragon's hoard?'
    'He collected butterflies.'
    They all stared at the sleeping dragon. 'Only you, Rupert,' said the Champion quietly. 'Only you ...'
    'Haven't you brought back anything of value?' asked the King.
    'Just this,' said Rupert, drawing his sword. Everyone studied the gleaming blade warily.
    'It has a strong magical aura,' said the Astrologer dubiously. 'What does it do?'
    'It summons rainbows,' said Rupert, just a little lamely.
    There was a long pause.
    'Let's talk about the Darkwood,' said King John. 'Suddenly, it seems a preferable topic of conversation.'
    'Suits me,' said Rupert, sheathing his sword.
    'Time is running out, your majesty,' said the Champion earnestly. 'We've already lost three of the outlying villages to the demons, and every day more of the Forest falls under the shadow of the long night. The trees are dying, and rivers are fouled with blood. Babes are stillborn, and crops rot before they can be harvested. Demons run ahead of the Darkwood, slaughtering all in their path. My men are dying out there, just to buy us a little more time. I respectfully beg your permission to levy the Barons and raise an army. We must make a stand against the darkness, while we still can.'
    'So you keep telling me,' said King John testily, 'but you know as well as I that the Barons won't supply me with men for an army, for fear I'd use it against them. The way they've been acting lately, I just might.
    No, Sir Champion, an army is out of the question.'
    The Champion shook his head stubbornly. 'I must have more men, your majesty.'
    'The Royal Guard—'
    'Aren't enough for what needs to be done!'
    'They'll have to be,' said the King flatly. 'All my other guards and men-at-arms are scattered across the Kingdom, protecting my people and keeping the roads open. Shall I recall them to build you an army, and leave the villages and towns to be overrun by the darkness?'
    'If need be,' said the Champion evenly. 'You don't cure a disease by treating its symptoms. The demons are born of darkness; the only way to stop the long night spreading is to lead an army into the Darkwood and destroy its heart.'
    Rupert's stomach turned suddenly as he realised what the Champion was saying. If the guardsmen were recalled, that would leave the villages unprotected, and the demons would roll right over them. A cold sweat beaded his brow as he remembered leaping, clawing demonkind surging into the Darkwood clearing where he and Julia stood back to back, swords in hand. He remembered waiting to die, and hoping it would be quick. The demons were of the dark, and knew nothing of honour or mercy. Villagers armed with scythes and pitchforks wouldn't stand a chance against the darkling tide that swarmed ahead of the Darkwood. Blood would fly on the night air, and the screams would last till morning . . .
    'There has to be another way,' he blurted out, glaring at the Champion's impassive features.
    'There is,' said Thomas Grey. 'When might of arms is not enough, there is still Magic.'
    The Champion smiled contemptuously. 'Same old song, Astrologer. All your prophecies and illusions won't rid us of the Darkwood; sooner or later, it always comes down to cold steel.'
    'You talk as if the dark were some wild animal, to be despatched with sword and lance,' snapped the Astrologer. 'Darkness can only be dispelled by light: white magic against black, reason against ignorance.
    Send an army into the Darkwood, and you'll never see it again.'
    They stood glaring at each other across the throne. The Champion stood proud and tall in his gleaming chain-mail and yet his broad, muscular frame seemed almost dwarfed by the dark, imposing presence of the black-clad Astrologer, whose icy