Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

resignedly. Tired or no, it was time he was on his way.
    'Unicorn! Where are you?'
    'Here,' said a polite voice from the deepest of the shadows.
    'Are you coming out, or do I come in there after you?' growled the Prince. There was a slight pause, and then the unicorn stepped diffidently out on to the trail. Rupert glared at the animal, who wouldn't meet his gaze.
    'And where were you, while I was risking my neck fighting that demon?'
    'Hiding,' said the unicorn. 'It seemed the logical thing to do.'
    'Why didn't you help?'
    'Well,' said the unicorn reasonably, 'if you couldn't handle the demon with a sword and a full set of armour, I didn't see what help I could offer.'
    Rupert sighed. One of these days he'd learn not to argue with the unicorn.
    'How do I look?'
    Terrible.'
    'Thanks a lot.'
    'You'll probably have scars,' said the unicorn helpfully.
    'Great. That's all I need.'
    'I thought scars on the face were supposed to be heroic?'
    'Whoever thought that one up wants his head felt. Bloody minstrels . . . Help me up, unicorn.'
    The unicorn moved in quickly beside him. Rupert reached out, took a firm hold of the stirrup, and slowly pulled himself up out of the mud. The unicorn stood patiently as Rupert leaned wearily against his side, waiting for his bone-deep aches to subside long enough for him to make a try at getting up into the saddle.
    The unicorn studied him worriedly. Prince Rupert was a tall, handsome man in his mid-twenties, but blood and pain and fatigue had added twenty years to his face. His skin was grey and beaded with sweat, and his eyes were feverish. He was obviously in no condition to ride, but the unicorn knew that Rupert's pride would force him to try.
    'Rupert ...' said the unicorn.
    'Yeah?'
    'Why don't you just . . . walk me for a while? You know how unsteady I am in this mud.'
    'Yeah,' said Rupert. 'That's a good idea. I'll do that.'
    He reached out and took hold of the bridle, his head hanging wearily down. Slowly, carefully, the unicorn led him past the motionless cocoon and on down the trail, heading deeper into the Tanglewood.

    Two days later, Rupert was back in the saddle and fast approaching the boundary between Tanglewood and Darkwood. His aches had mostly died away, thanks to a pouch of herbs the Court Astrologer had forced on him before he left, and though more than once he found himself wishing for a mirror, the wounds on his face seemed to be scabbing nicely. All in all, Rupert was feeling a little more cheerful, or at least only mildly depressed.
    He was supposed to kill a dragon but truth to tell, nobody had seen one in ages, and they'd pretty much passed into legend. Rupert had become somewhat disenchanted with legends; they seemed to dwell on the honour and the glory and miss out the important parts, like how you killed whatever it was without getting killed yourself. 'Because your heart is pure' isn't a lot of help when you're up against a dragon. I bet mine breathes fire , thought Rupert dismally. He was working hard on a great new rationalisation that would let him turn back almost honourably, when his bladder loudly called itself to his attention.
    Rupert sighed and steered the unicorn over to the side of the trail. That was another thing minstrels never mentioned.
    He quickly dismounted, and set about undoing the complicated series of flaps that protected his groin.
    He only just made it in time, and whistled nonchalantly as he emptied his bladder against a tree trunk. If his diet didn't improve soon, he'd be the only hero going into battle with his flies undone ...
    That thought decided him, and as soon as he'd finished what he was doing, Rupert set about discarding his armour. He'd only worn the damn stuff because he'd been assured it was traditional for anyone setting out on a quest. Stuff tradition , thought Rupert happily, his spirits soaring as piece by piece the battered armour dropped into the trail's mud. After a little thought, he decided to hang on to the steel-studded boots; he might want to kick someone. Clad finally in leather jerkin and trousers and his best cloak, Rupert felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. Admittedly he also felt decidedly vulnerable, but the way his luck had been going recently, he'd only have rusted up solid anyway.
    'I hate grass,' said the unicorn moodily.
    Then why are you eating it?' asked Rupert, buckling on his sword belt.
    'I'm hungry,' said the unicorn, chewing disgustedly. 'And since we ran out of civilised fodder weeks