Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

line of work.'
    'Oh, no, Sire. Before my appointment, I was Chancellor of the Exchequer to Baron Ashcroft.'
    The King winced. An accountant, that was all he needed. On the whole, he'd rather have faced another assassin.
    'Pass your list on to my Seneschal, Sir Guillam, he'll supply you with whatever weapons and provisions we can spare.'
    'There is also the slight matter of eleven troops ...' Sir Guillam's voice trailed away as the Astrologer chuckled darkly. The Landsgrave smiled weakly. 'We could compromise and call it seven ...'
    'No compromises,' said the King. 'And no troops. Do you wish to argue the point?'
    'Oh, no, Sire,' said Sir Guillam hastily. 'Not in the least. Not at all. Absolutely not.'
    He rolled up his scroll, bobbed a quick bow to the King, and then stepped back to hide behind Sir Blays. The King nodded politely to the third Landsgrave, and Sir Blays bowed formally in return. Control and discipline showed in his slow, deliberate movements, and his voice was calm and even as he glared coldly at the Astrologer.
    'Your powers have increased since I was last here, sir Astrologer, but don't think to intimidate me. I don't frighten that easily. I am Sir Blays of Oakeshoff demesne. I speak for Gold.'
    The King inclined his head slightly. 'You are welcome in my Court, Sir Blays. Do you also demand troops from me?'
    'I carry my master's words,' said Sir Blays carefully. 'We must have more troops if we are to stand against the dark. Our borders have fallen to the long night, and already demons swarm across the land like so many rabid wolves. We can't hold out much longer, even the stone and timber of our keeps are no defence against the darkness when it falls. You know my words are true, Sire.'
    'Aye,' said the King tiredly, 'I know. But my answer must remain the same, Sir Blays. I have no more men to send you.'
    'I will carry your answer to my master,' said the Landsgrave slowly, 'but I tell you now — he won't accept it.'
    'He'll accept it,' said the Astrologer calmly. 'He has no choice.'
    'There's always a choice,' said Sir Blays. His quiet words seemed to ring ominously on the silence, and for a long moment nobody said anything.
    'Very well,' said the King finally. 'You came to this Court to petition my help, noble Landsgraves, and whilst it is not in my power to grant you what your masters desire, I can perhaps offer them a message of hope and comfort. Even as we speak my Champion and my younger son, Prince Rupert, are on their way to summon the High Warlock, that he may return to the Forest Land and set his sorceries against the darkness.'
    'You'd bring him back?' asked Sir Blays softly. 'After what he did?'
    'It's necessary,' said the Astrologer.
    'Desperate situations call for desperate remedies,' said the King. 'I have therefore decided also to reopen the Old Armoury, and draw the Curtana from its scabbard.'
    For a long moment everyone just stared at him, frozen in shock as though carved from marble, and then the Court erupted into bedlam. At once everyone was shouting and cursing, fighting desperately to be heard over the deafening clamour. Those courtiers nearest the throne surged forward angrily, and had to be driven back at swordpoint by the men-at-arms. And still the uproar mounted, merging into a solid wave of sound that echoed and re-echoed from the high-timbered ceiling.
    Julia stared in bewilderment at the heaving, frightened mass that had once been a Court. Shock and outrage were stamped on every face, underpinned here and there by naked fear. She turned to Harald, who seemed almost as confused as she was.
    'Harald, what the hell's going on?' The din was such that she had practically to bellow in his ear to be understood, and even then he just shook his head curtly. She searched his face for an answer, but as the first shock passed his features quickly became an impassive mask. Only the whitening knuckles on his dagger hilt betrayed the depth of his feelings.
    'Enough!' thundered the Astrologer, and fire roared up around him, smoking thickly on the stuffy air as the flames sought in vain to consume him. His night-dark cloak belled out like spreading wings, and an awful knowledge seemed to stir within his icy, impenetrable eyes. Silence fell across the Court, broken only by the crackling of the dancing flames surrounding the Astrologer. He glanced round the quiescent Court, and smiled grimly. The leaping flames flickered and went out, and once again Thomas Grey seemed nothing more than a