Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

taunting him with a brief glimpse of the Darkwood, covering the horizon like a monstrous shadow. Rupert scowled, and turned his back on it.
    And then the storm stopped. Rupert staggered on a few paces, before stumbling to a halt. He slowly raised his head and looked around him, the sudden silence ringing in his ears. The grass at his feet was summer green, untouched by sleet or snow. The sky was the deep blue of a summer evening, and the air was still and calm. He was standing at the edge of a wide clearing, bounded on all sides by a solid wall of flying snow. And one by one, as Rupert watched, his guardsmen stumbled out of the snow and into the summer, leaving the cold behind them. Rupert sank wearily down on to the soft grass, and stretched out his legs before him. Pins and needles savaged his hands and feet as the circulation slowly returned.
    'Sanctuary,' he said slowly. 'We've found sanctuary, unicorn.'
    'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' said the unicorn. 'Look over there.'
    Rupert followed the unicorn's gaze. In the centre of the clearing, atop a small hillock, stood a tower.
    Some forty feet tall, it was built entirely from a dark grey stone, battered and eroded by the passage of time. Ivy crawled across the stonework, and hung like curtains over the shuttered windows.
    'The Dark Tower,' said the Champion quietly. 'I always imagined it would be taller.'
    Rupert looked up, startled, and then scrambled to his feet and glared at the Champion. 'Will you stop sneaking up on me like that! My nerves are bad enough as it is.'
    'Sorry, Sire,' said the Champion calmly.
    One of these days. . . thought Rupert, and then shook his head resignedly. 'All right, sir Champion, get the men settled and check we haven't lost anyone to the storm. I'll tell the High Warlock we're here.'
    The Champion bowed slightly, and moved away to take charge of the small knot of guardsmen, who were warily studying the Dark Tower with their swords in their hands. Rupert smiled grimly, he knew exactly how they felt. He pushed back his hood, and beat the snow from his cloak. He eased his sword in its scabbard, and sighed softly. He was just putting off the moment when he'd have to face the High Warlock, and he knew it. He also knew he daren't put it off any longer. The evening was still pleasantly warm in the clearing, but the light was fading fast. While there was obviously some kind of magic holding back the storm, there was no guarantee it was strong enough to keep the demons out once night fell. He had to get his men safely under cover, and there was only one way to do that. Rupert sighed again,
    pushed back his cloak so that it wouldn't get in the way of his sword hand, and started slowly up the slight incline that led to the Dark Tower.
    'Watch your back,' called the unicom quietly, and then lowered his head to crop tiredly at the thick grass.
    Rupert circled the tower twice, but although he counted no less than seventeen of the shuttered windows, there was no sign of any door. The windows themselves varied from less than a foot in width to over a yard, the lowest of them set into the brickwork a good five or six feet from the base of the tower. Rupert stopped in front of one of the lower-set windows, and frowned thoughtfully. The High Warlock had always been somewhat . . . eccentric.
    Not to mention drunken and bad-tempered. During his many years at the Forest Castle, the High Warlock's excesses had been almost as legendary as his magic. His main interests had always been wine and women, not necessarily in that order, and an uncomfortable regard for the truth, none of which had endeared him to Castle Society. When King John finally exiled the High Warlock, everyone for miles around breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and stopped locking up their daughters and their wine cellars.
    Rupert bit his lip, scowling. For as long as he could remember, no one had ever talked openly about why the High Warlock had been exiled. He'd been a resident at Court since Eduard's time, and had been a tutor to King John; apart from Thomas Grey, the Warlock had always been the King's most honoured adviser. And then Queen Eleanor died.
    Within the hour, the High Warlock had gathered his few possessions and ridden off into the Forest. As soon as he heard, King John summoned his Court and read the Edict of Banishment upon the Warlock.
    Tears of anger and despair streamed down the King's face as he formally denied the High Warlock food or water, friendship or lodging,