Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

humiliation. Rupert scowled thoughtfully; he might never be the expert his brother was, but he'd learned tricks in his hard school that were often overlooked in Harald's more standard lessons.
    Rupert had never given in to the temptation to show off his skill with a sword. Now and again the two brothers would engage in a formal duel, under the Champion's critical eye, and Rupert always lost. It was safer that way. As a merely competent fighter, he was no threat to Harald's position, so he suffered the scars and the jeers silently. But he never forgot them. Rupert's mind drifted back from yesterday, and he studied again the straining, grunting guardsmen as they practised with sword and buckler. He was surprised to find them not nearly as impressive as he'd first thought. They were strong and cunning, but their tactics were limited and their stamina negligible. They were good, but excitement surged through Rupert as he realised that, just possibly, he was better.
    Rupert frowned suddenly as he recognised one of his guards, a tall wiry man with dark, saturnine features. Rob Hawke was a Bladesmaster: a swordsman trained to such a point of expertise that he was unbeatable with a sword in his hand. He was also stubborn, crafty and so insubordinate that only his extremely rare skill with a blade kept him from being expelled from the Royal Guard. Rupert scowled thoughtfully, and wondered how many other bad apples the King had landed him with.
    A sharp voice cut across his thoughts, and he looked round to see Harald standing beside the Champion. Rupert studied his brother warily as he realised Harald was wearing full chain-mail and carrying a steel-bossed buckler. He was also smiling.
    'Rupert, dear fellow, thought you might fancy a little sword practice before you go, just to warm your blood a trifle. Well, brother, what do you say?'
    It's a set-up, thought Rupert disgustedly. He's well armoured and rested. I don't even have a shield.
    He glanced round as silence fell over the crowded courtyard. The other duels had been stopped, and the guardsmen were watching interestedly to see what his answer would be. It was obvious that everyone expected him to make some excuse and back out of it. That was the sensible thing to do. Harald intended Rupert to pay in blood for insulting him in front of the entire Court, while simultaneously undermining what little respect the guards had for their new leader. It was a good scheme; any other time it might even have worked. But not this time. For once in his life, Rupert intended to win. He chuckled suddenly at his own eagerness, and for the first time Harald seemed uncertain. Beside him, the Champion remained impassive.
    'Thank you, brother,' said Rupert loudly, his voice echoing clearly from the massive stone walls. 'I could use the exercise.'
    He turned his back on his brother, removed his cloak, and dropped it over the unicorn's saddle.
    'Are you sure this is a good idea?' muttered the unicorn.
    'No,' said Rupert cheerfully. 'And I don't give a damn.'
    'Sometimes I don't understand you at all.'
    'That makes two of us.'
    The unicorn sniffed audibly. 'Watch your back, Rupert.'
    Rupert nodded, and then strode confidently over to where Harald stood waiting, sword in hand.
    Rupert's sword whispered from its scabbard as the guardsmen moved to form a circle round the two Princes. 'I seem to have caught you without a shield,' said Harald. 'That's all right,' said Rupert. 'I don't need one.' Harald took in Rupert's relaxed stance and steady gaze, and glanced quickly at the Champion, who shook his head slightly. 'You must have a shield,' Harald insisted. 'It must be a fair combat.'
    'It will be,' said Rupert. 'Now do you want to talk, or fight?' An amused murmur ran through the watching guards, and Harald flushed hotly. He sank into his fighting stance with the naturalness of long practice and moved cautiously forward, studying Rupert narrowly over the rim of his buckler. Rupert came to meet him, his trained eyes searching out weaknesses in Harald's stance, potential awkwardnesses that could be exploited. Harald was clearly more used to the stylised techniques of the mock duel than the cut and thrust of a blood fight; he'd grown soft, while Rupert's experiences in the
    Darkwood had honed his skill to a razor's edge. Rupert grinned broadly as all the old bitterness of having to lose to Harald surged through him. This time, Harald was in for a fight he'd remember for the rest of his life. Rupert's