Hawk looked down at the messenger, kneeling patiently before him, and then glared quickly about him. No one seemed to be paying any special attention, but this was Haven after all, and the North Side, too, where absolutely nothing went unnoticed or unremarked by someone, if only because you never knew what might turn out to be valuable information later on. Hawk found his hand had dropped to the axe at his hip, and he moved it determinedly away. No amount of violence was going to get him out of this dilemma. It was the name that had thrown him, the damned name. No one had called him Rupert in a very long time. He’d been a different person then, leading a different life in a very different world, one he thought he’d escaped forever. He should have known better. The past never really lets go of you, and family ties are the strongest of all.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Fisher, scowling down at the kneeling man. Her voice sounded calm enough, but then, it took a lot to shake Fisher, and always had. Even when she’d been Princess Julia of Hillsdown.
“I am Allen Chance, Your Highness,” said the messenger. “I believe you knew my late father, the Champion of the Forest Land.”
“Never mind who he is!” snapped Hawk. “Details can wait till we get him off the street. You, Chance—get up. I never did like people kneeling to me. And no more of that Your Highness stuff, either. Isobel and I are Captains of the city Guard, and we have a reputation to live down to.”
The messenger rose gracefully to his feet and smiled charmingly. “As you wish, Sir Rupert.”
“Oh hell, we have got to get him off the street,” said Fisher. “God knows I don’t want to hear whatever it is he’s come all this way to tell us, but we’re going to have to talk to him. And the last thing we need is an audience. Did you come alone, Chance?”
“No, he bloody didn’t,” said a deep growling voice behind them. Hawk and Fisher looked around, and there facing them was the biggest dog they’d ever seen. His great blocky head was on a level with their waists, and his long powerful body swelled with muscles under gleaming dark brown fur. Half of one ear was missing, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, not at all friendly grin. He had large, sharp teeth. Lots of them.
“Stone me, it’s a talking wolf,” said Fisher.
“I am not a wolf!” The dog sounded very certain, and not a little annoyed at the very suggestion. “Wolves are stupid, irresponsible, and they run in packs because they’re afraid of their own shadows. I am a dog, and proud of it. Chance is my companion, and I’ll thank you to adopt a much more respectful tone when addressing him. And if you even look like threatening him, I’ll bite your arms off up to the elbows, just for starters.”
Hawk was pretty sure the dog meant it. He tried a calming smile on the animal, who didn’t look at all impressed. Hawk wondered if he should try and pat the dog’s head, but one look at the great teeth was enough to make him abandon that idea. He wasn’t too sure just what kind of dog it was. The coat varied in color from all shades of brown, to black at the head and white at the large paws. The face suggested half a dozen breeds, all of them unhappy at the mix. If every dog in the world had gotten together for one great canine orgy, a dog like this would probably be the result.
“This is my companion,” said Allen Chance, moving forward to stand beside the dog. “His name’s Chappie. He was watching my back, or more accurately yours, just in case. We weren’t actually all that sure how you were going to take being discovered after all these years.”
“But he can talk!” said Fisher.
“And very nicely, too,” said Chappie. “I pride myself on my diction. And just so everybody’s very clear about this: I am not Chance’s dog. He is my companion. I do not wear a collar, fetch sticks, or come when called if I don’t bloody feel like it.”
“How did you learn to talk?” said Hawk.
The dog shrugged. “I used to live with the High Warlock, in his Dark Tower. You hang around with a crazy magician long enough, you learn to talk. It’s no big deal.” The dog padded slowly forward, and Hawk and Fisher had to fight down a strong urge to back away. Chappie sat down and scratched briefly at his ragged half ear with a back foot. “We have met before, but you wouldn’t remember me. I was just a pup then. Just another of the High Warlock’s animal experiments. There were lots of us once. Now hold still so I can sniff your crotch, piss up your leg, and otherwise act objectionable. It’s all part of my doggy charm.”
“I think we’ll pass on that, thanks,” said Hawk. He looked at Chance. “That dog has too much personality for his own good.”
“I know,” said Chance. “Trust me, I know.”
“We have got to get this pair off the street and out of the public eye,” said Fisher. “They are just too weird, even for Haven.”
“Right,” said Hawk. “Our lodgings are too far. Where can we take them that’s nearby and private? Somewhere we can be reasonably sure of not being overheard.”
“The Dead Dog Tavern,” Fisher said immediately. “It was pretty decent drinking before that last hygiene scare.”
“You want to take us where?” said Chappie ominously. “If this is the kind of establishment that has dog on the menu, I will personally demolish it, set fire to the ruins, and piss on the ashes.”
“It’s just a name,” said Hawk. “Now shut up and stop attracting attention, and I’ll get you a biscuit or something.”
“Well, whoopie,” growled the dog, but made no other objection as Hawk and Fisher took Chance by the arms and hurried him off down a side alley. No one around seemed particularly surprised. They were used to seeing Hawk and Fisher hustle people away, whether they wanted to go or not. The dog took one last look around, muttering under his breath, and then followed the others into the alley.
The Dead Dog was a nearby watering hole, seedier than most, which took some doing in the North Side. You could only get in by intimidating the doorman, and the establishment prided itself on its bad reputation. You got no frills, fancies, or comforts at the Dead Dog; just good booze at reasonable prices, guaranteed privacy, and bar snacks if you were feeling adventurous. Two large and burly bouncers with muscles on their muscles kept the peace. There were isolated tables with clusters of chairs, and plenty of shadows for people to disappear into. It was never really full and never really empty, and the constant murmur of conversations rose and fell like the tides of the sea. Someone was planning a revolution, someone was planning a bank job, and someone was getting the shaft, though he didn’t know it yet. Just another day in the North Side.
No one looked around when Hawk and Fisher barged in with Chance between them, though Chappie drew a few uncertain glances. The bouncers drew back just a little to give the two Guard Captains plenty of room. Then they looked at Chappie and drew back even more. Hawk and Fisher chose a table in a particularly dark and distant corner, and sat down with Chance between them. Chappie turned around a few times and then lay down at Chance’s feet.
The messenger peered about him into the gloom as those people sitting nearest Hawk and Fisher got up and moved away to other tables. The crowded room was a hot and sweaty place, with many kinds of mostly legal smoke drifting on the still air. A row of shrunken heads with sewn-together eyelids hung over the bar by their hair. Rumor had it they were all that remained of those who hadn’t paid their bar bills. Chance looked back at Hawk and exhibited polite distress.
“You used to drink here regularly, Your Highness? What happened, did you lose a bet or something? This looks like the kind of place where plagues start. There aren’t any rats here, are there? I can’t stand rats.”
“I like them,” said Chappie. “Crunchy.”
“No rats,” said Fisher. “If any hang out here, they get sick and die.” She looked around her. “Mind you, this place has definitely gone downhill since we were last here.”
“How can you tell?” asked Chance.
“Right,” growled Chappie. “I’ve been down sewers that had more ambiance, not to mention better company.”
Other people sitting nearby got up to move to other tables. Hawk didn’t blame them. Part of him wished he could, too. But if Harald was dead … Hawk had always understood duty. Especially where his family was concerned. He leaned forward and fixed Chance with his best glare.
“All right, this is as private as we’re going to get. Talk to me, Champion’s son. But don’t take anything for granted. We may be who you think we are, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we care to be reminded of it.”
“Damn right,” said Fisher. “We had good reasons for leaving the Forest Land, and I doubt very much that it’s changed. Even if Harald is dead.”
“You are sure about that?” asked Hawk. “I’m damned if I’m going to be dragged all the way back home on a rumor.”
“The King is dead,” said Chance. “I’ve seen the body.”
“Damn,” said Hawk softly. “I never cared much for him, but he was still my brother.”
“He was murdered four months ago,” said Chance. “No one knows how or why or who. That’s why I was sent to find you.”
“We were close once,” said Fisher. “He wasn’t all bad.”
She broke off as the innkeeper strode over with a bottle of the very best wine and three glasses. He slammed them down on the table one after the other, just to show he wasn’t intimidated, then he glared down at Chappie, who glared right back at him.
“No dogs!” said the innkeeper. “I’m allergic.”
“Really?” said Chappie. “What a coincidence. I’m allergic to fat, stupid innkeepers with piggy little eyes. Now piss off, or I’ll bite off your balls and gargle with them. Better still, piss off and come back with something tasty and meat-based. I’m definitely feeling peckish.”
The innkeeper blinked a few times, gave Hawk his best martyred look, and then disappeared quickly back behind his bar. Chappie looked smug as he laid his head on his paws. Chance looked down at him accusingly.
“You can’t be hungry already. It’s only a few hours since dinner.”
“I have a large and fast-moving metabolism, and a very low boredom threshold,” said Chappie, not looking up. “Blame the High Warlock; he designed me.”
“Well, try and wait till we get back to our lodgings,” said Chance. “I don’t want you eating the kind of muck they undoubtedly serve here. I’ve got something special waiting for you back at the lodgings.”
“Oh, I’ve had that,” said the dog, licking his chops reflectively. “Ate the lot. All gone.”
“That was for this evening!”
“Who’s to say this evening would ever come? Live for the moment, that’s my motto. We could all die at any minute. Especially now that we’re in Haven. I never wanted to come here in the first place. Poxy bloody hole. When are we going hunting rabbits again, Chance? You promised we could go hunting rabbits again.”
“All right,” said Hawk. “I give up. You have my complete attention, sir dog. Let’s start with your history. What did you mean when you said we’d met before?”
The big dog sighed patiently. “Try and keep up with the rest of us, Your Ex-highness. Remember your first visit to the Dark Tower, when you came to enlist the High Warlock’s aid against the encroaching darkness of the long night? Well, if you cast your mind back, you might just remember that the Tower was packed to the rafters with animals. The High Warlock always had a whole bunch of animal experiments going on, mostly for the company, I think. He had a great deal of curiosity about the natural world, a whole lot of magic, plus a complete lack of scruples when it came to asking, What if? I was born there, the only survivor from my litter, and I was managing my first few words almost before I could walk. Mostly complaints about the quality of the food.
“And then you came along, full of heroics and high ideals and all those other things that get you humans killed well before your time, and suddenly nothing will do but he’s got to go rushing off to fight in the Demon War. He couldn’t take his animals with him, so he put us all into hibernation till he returned. Not that any of us were consulted, of course. One minute I’m getting on with some important scratching and wondering what’s for dinner, and the next minute it’s a whole different season, and he’s come back to the Tower to die.” Chappie paused, his great dark eyes far away, fixed on yesterday. “I always thought he’d live forever. Powerful bloody magician like that. But no. He used up all his magic fighting your war, and what was left of him didn’t last long.
“I saw you again, when you and blondie here came to say good-bye, before leaving the Forest, and he gave you that axe. He was dying even then, but he put on a good show for you, so you wouldn’t be upset. Once you were gone, he let all of us loose. Most went charging off into the woods and the wide world, keen to find some trouble to get into, but I stayed. I thought somebody should. The High Warlock ate a good meal, drank most of a bottle of wine, settled himself in his most comfortable chair, then he went to sleep and never woke up. Not a bad way to go, I suppose. I waited till he was cold, just in case anything … unusual happened, and then I left the Tower and set off to see the world. Eventually I met Chance, and hooked up with him. It’s a dog’s life on your own.”
“We heard he died,” Hawk said quietly. “We never knew how.”
“What happened to the other animals?” asked Fisher. “Were they all as smart as you?”
Chappie sniffed loudly. “Of course they weren’t as smart as me! I’m a dog. But they were all pretty special, one way or another. They’ve been loose in the Forest for some time now, spreading their genes and generally improving the local wildlife, and making life hell for the local poachers.” The dog sniggered. “If you go down to the woods today, you’d better go in disguise and be bloody well armed. There’s toads that can spit lightning, deer that can be in two places at the same time, and one particular bunch of teleporting squirrels have been driving the trappers into nervous breakdowns. Sadistic little buggers, squirrels. I’ve always said so. Mind you, rabbits are worse. Bastards!”
“So the High Warlock went easily,” said Hawk. “I’m glad. He looked pretty frail the last time we saw him. And very tired. He’d been through a lot, because I asked him to. I hope he made it to heaven, for all his faults.”
“All dogs go to heaven,” said Chappie cheerfully. “It’s in our contract. We agree to be your best friends, and try to keep you out of trouble, and in return for that arduous job, we all get a guaranteed place in paradise. Cats go to the other place, and serves them bloody well right. Probably feel right at home there, tormenting the sinners.” He stopped suddenly, distracted by the one man still sitting at a nearby table. He’d pushed away his plate with half the food still on it. The huge dog stared at the meal as though mesmerized, and then lurched to his feet and advanced on the table. The customer looked around and found himself almost face to face with a huge dog. He went pale. The dog cleared his throat. It sounded a lot like a growl. The customer went very pale. Chappie looked meaningfully at the food on the plate. “You’re not going to leave all that, are you? Perfectly good food, going to waste? There are millions starving in Cathay!”
The customer looked at the dog, almost afraid to move. “I’m … really not very hungry. Couldn’t manage another bite.”
“Well,” said Chappie, “I suppose I could help you out. Rather than see good food go to waste. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Oh, no. Go right ahead. I’m sure there’s somewhere else I have to be. Very urgently. If you’ll excuse me …”
He made a dash for the door. Chappie wolfed down all the food on the plate and then licked it clean before padding contentedly back to collapse at Chance’s feet. The messenger looked at him sorrowfully.
“You have no shame, do you, Chappie?”
“Of course not. I’m a dog. You tell these people your story, while I have a little nap. And don’t embellish it. I’ll be listening.”
Chance sighed and turned back to Hawk and Fisher. “I am the son of the late Champion of the Forest Kingdom. His only child. I don’t think my father liked women much. Or men, come to that. Apparently he encountered my mother while searching the taverns for the High Warlock, when he was off on one of his drinking binges. He wasn’t usually that hard to find. Just look for a window with fireworks coming out of it. Anyway, by the time the Champion found him, the Warlock had passed out cold. It had been a long night, so the Champion made arrangements for them both to spend the night at the tavern. I get the impression he’d had to do this before. My mother was working there, as a tavern slut. She got the Champion drunk … and nine months later presented him with a rather unexpected son. Me. He wouldn’t acknowledge me at first, though he sent my mother money for my upkeep, in return for her silence and keeping her distance.
“When I was ten, he came for me. No warning. Just this huge, terrifying figure in heavy armor whom everyone, including my mother, bowed low to. He took me away with him. We spent the best part of a week traveling, and I don’t think he spoke ten words to me. He finally dropped me off at St. Jude’s, a very well-regarded and even more expensive private school on the border between the Forest and the kingdom of Redhart. He rode off without saying good-bye. I never saw him again.
“I inherited his broad shoulders and a tendency to rather more muscles than is usual, but not his killer’s rage. My red hair and green eyes came from my mother, along with my somewhat calmer disposition. I never saw her again, either. The school wouldn’t let her visit, and she died before I was old enough to leave. Tavern sluts don’t tend to live long lives. My father died during the Demon War, but of course you know that. You were there.
“I was twelve years old and all alone. King Harald sent me my only inheritance, the Champion’s great double-headed axe. I couldn’t even lift it then. There was no money; what little my father left went to settle his few debts. Luckily he’d paid my tuition fees in advance, and I was able to stay on at the school. They supplied bed and board at no cost, in return for the privilege of having a legend’s son attending their school. I left the moment I’d graduated, because I wanted to be my own man, not just someone’s son.”
Chance paused for a moment and took a long drink from his wineglass. It was a very poor vintage, all piss and vinegar, but he politely pretended not to notice.
“I wandered here and there, discovering the world and looking for my place in it, and finally ended up where I always knew I would—at the Forest Castle. King Harald was very gracious, but he made it abundantly clear he had no use for a Champion. He’d abolished the post. Instead he offered me a new position, that of King’s Questor. Basically, my job is to be the reasonable voice at Court, to see all sides of every argument and provide a disinterested voice where necessary. Answerable only to the Throne, I have the authority to settle all arguments and disputes, by force if necessary. I am an arbiter, a judge, defender of lost causes, and the court of final appeal. I serve no single cause or faction, only justice. This has made me very unpopular in certain quarters, which I take as a sign that I’m doing my job right. I have to say, I much prefer being Questor rather than Champion. I admire my father’s legend, but I don’t want to become him.”
He drank more wine while Hawk considered what Chance had said and what he hadn’t. If Chance had been twelve at the time of the Demon War, he had to be twenty-four now. Which made Hawk feel old, but he decided he wasn’t going to think about that just now. He’d heard about St. Jude’s School. It was famous for being the toughest school in the Forest Kingdom, or out of it. The pupils had to learn to be even tougher, just to survive it. If you failed a course, they sent your remains home in a sealed coffin. The school mascot was a werewolf, and the swimming pool had crocodiles in it. Rupert’s father, King John, had often threatened to send him and his brother, Harald, there, when they were getting out of hand or had displeased him greatly, and it was one of the few threats that actually brought them in line.
St. Jude’s would make a man out of you, or kill you trying. The school specialized in turning out legendary heroes, great scholars, and famous leaders of men. And not a few first-class villains. Only the truly exceptional survived to graduate from St. Jude’s.
Men like Allen Chance.
“What academic qualifications did you end up with?” Fisher asked, just to show she was keeping up with the conversation.
“I have degrees in law, philosophy, literature, and military strategy,” said Chance diffidently.
“And a fat lot of use any of them were when it came to getting you a job,” said Chappie from under the table. “I notice you didn’t mention you only went to the Forest Castle because you were desperate for any kind of salaried position.”
“I would have gotten around to that,” said Chance, a little snappily. “There’s a lot of unemployment in the Forest Kingdom, struggling as it is to recover from the long night and the Demon War, and I was … overqualified for most positions. The point is, I was very happy being King’s Questor. I served Harald faithfully, and I hope well, for four years. I always considered myself to be a reasonable man first, and a warrior second, and the position enabled me to be both.”
“Tell them how you got the job,” said Chappie.
“Look, who’s telling this story? Do you want to tell it?”
“Then get on with it,” said the dog. “And hurry it up. I’m getting hungry again.”
“There were other applicants for the position of Questor,” Chance said carefully. “Many of them famous men, already building their own legends. Quite a few were St. Jude’s men. But they all had political backing and not-so-secret agendas. All I had was my late father’s reputation, which frankly was as much a hindrance as a help. Everyone agreed he’d been one hell of a fighting man, but the Champion had always been famous in his distaste for all kinds of politics. There were even those who murmured that his sanity wasn’t all that it might have been, too. It quickly became clear to me that either I found some backing of my own, or I might as well leave before I was asked to go.
“And that was when the Landsgraves of Gold and Silver and Copper came to me. Their position at Court was much reduced from what it had once been, and they saw in me a chance to regain influence and power. They provided me with all kinds of dirt on my rivals, and those we couldn’t discredit, I challenged to duels. Most withdrew from the competition rather than face the Champion’s son. But I still killed some good men, just because they wouldn’t back down. In some ways it seems I am my father’s son. So, I became King’s Questor as a result of blackmail and spilled blood. Not at all the bright and glorious future I’d envisaged for myself at the Forest Castle.
“But once appointed Questor, the first thing I did was to reveal the Landsgraves’ plotting. They were banished from the Court in disgrace, and I was able to establish myself immediately as a truly impartial Questor, and a bit of a bastard to boot. King Harald found the whole business highly amusing. The Landsgraves swore revenge, of course. For a time I had to have my own food taster, but after I killed the first half dozen assassins the Landsgraves sent after me, they pretty much gave up. They had gambled and failed, and no one at Court had much time for a bad loser. I was Questor, and I had proved I was my own man, but my betraying of the Landsgraves isolated me at Court. No one would be my friend, or even my ally. No one but the King.”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Hawk. “Tell me how my brother died.”
“It’s been four months since the murder,” said Chance. “And still no one knows how it was done, or why, or by whom. Cause of death was a single blow from a knife or short sword, directly into the heart, in the King’s private chambers. No weapon was ever found. There were no signs of any struggle. Some have whispered darkly of suicide, but they can’t explain the missing murder weapon. The most thorough investigations have failed to turn up any clue, or any clear motivation that would single out a specific culprit.
“Strictly speaking, the murder should have been impossible. King Harald was guarded on all sides by armed men, all of whom were examined under truthspell, all of whom saw and heard nothing suspicious. The King was also protected by strong magical wards, courtesy of the Magus, through which only the Royal Family could pass; and the queen was very definitely in Court at the time of the murder, in front of hundreds of witnesses. But someone got to the King anyway, silent and unseen as a ghost.
“The longer the investigation went on without any result, the more gathering tensions threatened to tear the Court apart. So I volunteered to go out into the world and bring back the legendary Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, in the hope that once again they would save the Forest Kingdom in its time of greatest need. As the Champion’s son, I was indirectly a part of that legend, so my offer was accepted. And here I am, and here you are.”
Hawk stirred unhappily. “Trust me, Chance; there’s nothing legendary about Isobel or me. We just … did what we had to. Over the years we’ve heard many variations of the story, of the legend, of what we did in the long night. Most of them expanded and distorted by minstrels and saga writers till I hardly recognize us anymore. Minstrels have always preferred a good story to the truth, and romance over reality. His strength is as the strength of ten, because his heart is pure, and all that bullshit.”
“Traveling players have been presenting the great romantic drama of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia for years,” said Fisher, nodding. “And not once did I ever get top billing. Sometimes the names were the only things they did get right. We saw the Great Jordan’s version once. Can’t say I was impressed.”
“The songs and stories always make it sound as though we defeated the Demon Prince all on our own,” said Hawk. “Through the goodness of our hearts. That the whole country rose up to follow me, as its natural leader. That I could have been King, but heroically gave up the Throne for my legendary love of Julia. That I tamed the dragon by taking a thorn out of its paw. It was nothing like that.
“It was running and fighting, and stumbling from one desperate crisis to the next, with no guarantee we’d live to see another hour. It was wading through blood and guts, and seeing good men and women die all around you. For us, the long night was very dark; darker than you can imagine. We all came close to breaking, to going mad from the sheer horror of what we faced. You don’t know the whole truth of what happened in the long night, Chance. No one does. Only Julia and I remain of those who were there at the end, and even after twelve years, we still don’t sleep well at night sometimes.”
“Hush,” said Fisher. “Hush.”
A thought struck Hawk, and he gave Chance a hard look. “What happened to the Rainbow sword I left behind? Is it still in the Old Armory?”
“Oh, yes,” said Chance. “And much revered. Though no one seems too sure just what it actually does. According to some versions of the legend, you called down the Rainbow through your own inherent goodness.”
“How come it’s always his inherent goodness, and never mine?” said Fisher plaintively.
Hawk shook his head slowly. “It’s only been twelve years, dammit. How could the truth have been forgotten so quickly?”
“Be fair,” said Fisher. “It was a hell of a mess then, especially at the end. We only knew what was going on because we were right there in the thick of it all. Everyone else only saw their own small part of it. And like you said, most of the people who did know the truth are dead and gone. Maybe that’s for the best. The legend is probably a lot easier to live with than the truth would ever have been.”
“And afterward,” said Hawk, “no doubt dear Harald had the story rewritten by his minstrels, to play up his part in it. A King rules as much by his reputation as his armed forces. And people have always needed their heroes. Since we weren’t around to tell our side of things, we ended up being tailored for the traditional roles of hero and heroine. I can’t help feeling we’d be a terrible disappointment in the flesh.”
“You should hear what they say about the High Warlock,” said Chappie, scratching briskly at his ribs with a back foot. “They’ve conveniently forgotten all about his boozing and his wenching. Or the romance he’s supposed to have had with your mother.”
“Chappie!” chided Chance quickly. “Sorry about that, Your Highness.”
“It’s all right,” said Hawk. “There are always stories. I know about them. How could I not? But whatever happened between them was over a long time ago, and no one knows anything for sure now. The only people who could have told us the truth are all dead. Now it’s just another story—of no more importance than the ones they tell about Rupert and Julia. Truth becomes history becomes legend, and the real people at the base of it all are soon forgotten.”
“But… you did destroy the Demon Prince,” said Chance. “That much at least we can be sure is true.”
“Actually, no,” said Fisher. “The Demon Prince was a Transient Being. All we could do was banish him from the world of men. He’ll be back someday. Some evils are eternal.”
For the first time Chance seemed taken aback, even shocked. “But … all the deaths, all the destruction of the Forest Land … and it’s not over?”
“It’s over for now,” said Hawk. “Settle for that. That’s the trouble with legends; we demand they have a neat, comforting ending. The truth is rarely that obliging.”
“What about my father?” asked Chance. “Are any of the legends about him true? Did he fight heroically and die bravely?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hawk. “That was true. He was a great warrior, and a true hero, and he gave up his life defending the Castle, and his King. Bravest damned thing I ever saw.”
Chance nodded slowly, looking down at the wine glass on the table before him, and then he clearly decided to change the subject. “So; how did the two of you end up here, in Haven? And why are you both masquerading as commoners when you’re Royal born? Even here, in the arse end of the world, surely such an inheritance would bring you social and economic advancement.”
“It’s a long story,” said Hawk.
“No surprise there,” said Chappie. He was lying on his back now, paws in the air, eyes closed. “Try for the condensed version, or I’ll heckle you.”
“We left the Forest Kingdom and headed south,” Hawk started. “We wanted to start new lives, as new people. Free ourselves of the baggage of our past. And contrary to what you may have been told, Harald and I did not part amicably. Julia and I were determined to put ourselves well out of his vindictive reach.”
“The King has always said you left with his blessing,” said Chance.
“Like hell,” said Fisher. “He wanted me as his wife, and he wanted Rupert dead so he wouldn’t be any challenge to the Throne. We left him lying unconscious in a pile of horseshit in the stables.”
“I didn’t want the Throne,” said Hawk. “But there were any number of people and factions who would have made me King if I’d stuck around. The Forest Castle just wasn’t big enough for Harald and me; one of us would have had to kill the other, eventually. And I didn’t want that. For all the anger and bitterness between us, he was still my brother, and we had fought side by side in the Demon War. He was a hero, in his way. So we left the Forest Land. After one last stop at the Dark Tower, to say good-bye to the High Warlock.”
“I remember that,” said Chappie’s voice from floor level. “He prophesied that one day you would both return to the Forest Kingdom.” The dog snorted loudly. “Hardly a difficult one, that. Unfinished business has a way of creeping up on you, evade it as you may.”
“He gave us gifts,” said Hawk. “He gave me my axe, to replace the sword I could no longer wield. I was a first-class swordsman in my time, even gave your father a run for his money, Chance, but all that changed when a demon clawed the eye right out of my head. You can’t be much of a swordsman with damn-all depth perception. But axes don’t depend on subtlety; all you need is a strong right arm and a certain amount of bloody-minded determination. And this axe has other attributes, too; it cuts through magical protections. Mostly.”
“He gave me a gift, too,” said Fisher. “I could have had a magical weapon as well, if I’d wanted. But I wielded one of the damned swords, the Infernal Devices, in the Demon War, and that was more than enough for me. I still remember the evil blade called Wolfsbane. It nearly ate my soul. So instead, I asked for a prophecy. I asked the High Warlock whether Rupert and I would always be together. And he said yes; until the day we died.”
“I never knew that,” said Hawk. “I never asked what you asked him; I figured that was your business. I’m touched. But I could have told you the same thing, if you’d asked.”
Hawk and Fisher held hands across the tabletop, smiling into each other’s eyes, and for a moment Chance caught a glimpse of Rupert and Julia, and their legendary love.
“The High Warlock told us we’d never see him again,” said Hawk. “We’d already guessed that. He looked old and tired, and so frail, a gust of wind could have blown him away. Magic ate him up and spat him out, destroying him even as he’d used it to destroy his enemies. He probably could have saved himself even then, if he’d really wanted to. He could have regenerated himself one more time. But I think … he was allowing himself to die. Magic, Wild and High, was going out of the world, and he knew it. There was no room left for the kind of man he’d been. He’d had one last great adventure, and I think he wanted to go out on a high, while he was still remembered as a hero of the Demon War, rather than the bitter recluse he’d been before I found him. All his old friends, and all his old enemies, were dead and gone, and Julia and I were leaving, too. He was alone.”
“He had me,” said Chappie. “But he said it was well past time I struck out on my own. After all his animals had left, and he was dead, the Dark Tower sealed itself around him, the many windows disappearing one by one, and the Tower became his tomb. But then, it always was, wasn’t it?”
“We took the unicorn Breeze back to his own kind,” said Fisher. “Back to the herd he’d been taken from, so long ago. Rupert had promised him that. It took a while, but we found them in their hidden valley; and no, I’m not going to tell you where. The few people who knew, who captured Breeze, are all dead, and their knowledge died with them. Let it stay that way. Breeze is happy now, running free with the unicorns. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
Hawk looked down at Chappie, seeing how he stayed close to his companion, Chance, and he remembered how close he and Breeze had been.
“The hero always has a companion in his travels,” Hawk said finally, smiling down at the upside down dog. “I had Breeze and you have Chappie.”
“I beg your pardon,” the dog said immediately. “He doesn’t have me; I have him. And a bloody nuisance he is, sometimes. I only stick around because God only knows what trouble he’d get into if I wasn’t there.” The dog rolled over onto his side, sniffed at the air, and was suddenly back up on his feet again. He padded over to a table and stared accusingly at the occupant. “You’re never going to eat all that, are you? It’s not good for you. Here, let me help you out.” And the dog ate everything on the plate. The table’s occupant watched him do it, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment. The dog licked the plate clean, and then swaggered back to sit beside Chance again. “You know, the food’s terrible here. And such small portions.”
Fisher couldn’t keep from grinning as she looked at Chance and the dog. “How the hell did you two get together?”
“I took a thorn out of his paw, gave him a bowl of milk, and he’s been with me ever since,” said the dog. “Actually, we both got a little too close to the Darkwood, for reasons that seemed good at the time, and ending up fighting a bunch of demons together. We made a good team, so I let him hang out with me. Now tell me what happened to the dragon. He was always my favorite part of your legend. Was he really as big as they say?”
“Bigger,” said Hawk. “Thirty feet long if he was an inch, and God alone knows how many tons in weight. He was the last of his kind, the last dragon in the world of men. Wild magic personified. He was already dying when he left the Castle with us. He hung on just long enough to reach his old cave in Dragonslair Mountain, and then he just laid down and waited for Lady Death to find him. He was very old, older than the Forest Kingdom itself, and he had suffered so very much in its defense. He’d flown to the top of the mountain; the rest of us had to get up there the hard way. By the time we arrived, he was fast asleep, surrounded by all his precious things. Watching him die was like watching all the wonder going out of the world. Afterward we set a fire in his cave, as he’d asked. He didn’t want his dead body being plundered for the valuable hide and organs.”
“I remember the fire,” said Chance. “You could see it burning at the top of Dragonslair for days, like a great beacon in the night. What happened to his hoard? Was it tons of gold and silver and precious jewels, as everyone said?”
“It was butterflies,” said Fisher. “He collected butterflies. He had dozens of cases of the things, all carefully mounted and labeled. I never did figure out how he caught them. I mean, I can’t see a thirty-foot dragon chasing across the fields in hot pursuit, brandishing a bloody big butterfly net. Well, actually I can, but I very much prefer not to.”
“He was good at sneaking up on things,” said Hawk.
“He’d have to be,” said Fisher. “Anyway, his butterflies burned with him.”
“Dammit, isn’t anybody you knew still alive?” asked the dog.
“Well, the goblins were fine when we left them,” said Fisher. “Every bit their usual obnoxious selves. Are they still making a nuisance of themselves in the Forest?”
“Surprisingly enough, no,” answered Chance. “The fate of the goblins is something of a mystery. They disappeared into the woods soon after you left, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since. Their old home, the Tanglewood, never grew back. No one’s sighted a goblin anywhere in the Forest Land for years, and mostly everyone’s just rather relieved. I mean, they were …”
“Yes,” said Hawk. “They were. But still they fought beside us in the last great siege of the Forest Castle, and not one of them broke or ran. I was always very proud of the appalling little creatures.”
“Move it on,” said the dog impatiently, “Or we’ll be here all bloody night. Your companions are gone or dead, and you’re traveling out of the Forest with a sackful of jewels you liberated from the Castle. What happened next?”
“The jewels didn’t last long,” said Fisher. “Rupert always did have a soft spot for a hard-luck story. He gave it all away, little by little, for this cause or that, trying to do good or just help people who needed it. A whole lot of it went to hiring an army of mercenaries. Not one of our better decisions. There was this Prince we met, who’d been thrown off his throne, and out of his own country, so that a bunch of bad guys could seize control and run things their way. As you can imagine, this struck something of a chord with us, so we put together an army of mercs for hire, led them into battle, and put the Prince back on his throne. Only to discover that he was an even bigger bastard than the ones we’d overthrown for him.”
“Right,” said Hawk. “Our first clue came when he had us both arrested, dragged off in chains, and thrown into the dungeons. Where we met a very interesting class of people, most of whom had very interesting stories to tell us about just why the Prince had been chucked out in the first place. We escaped from the dungeons, took to the hills with our own mercenaries snapping at our heels, and used most of what was left of our money to fund a popular uprising that threw the Prince out of power again. He was beheaded this time, and a distant cousin took power, saying all the right things … but at the end of the day there were a lot of dead people, a country devastated by civil war, and not a lot of real change to show for it all. We stayed out of politics after that.”
“With most of the jewels gone, we didn’t have much choice,” said Fisher. “I don’t think we’re meant to have money.”
“We used what was left to buy passage on a ship sailing down the coastline to the Southern Kingdoms,” said Hawk. “The Revenge wasn’t exactly a luxury ship, and the crew were one step up from pirates, but we didn’t have a lot of choice. There aren’t many ships or crews brave or foolhardy enough to risk the long journey down the coastline, past the Deadlands.”
“What are they like?” asked Chance, leaning forward eagerly. “The Deadlands, I mean. There’s hardly any real information about them, even in the great libraries at St. Jude’s.”
“What are they like?” Hawk repeated. “Hell on earth. Centuries ago, or at least so long ago that no one now can say when with any certainty, two wizards fought a duel. The last great clash of Wild Magic in the world of men. The wizards’ names and motivations are lost to us, but their battle destroyed thousands of miles of territory, leaving it horribly transfigured. Whole countries and their populations were wiped out, their very names lost to history and legend. To enter the Deadlands even now is to die, slowly and horribly.
“We only ever saw the edges of it, from a distance, but that was more than enough to shake us. The land … it’s never still, never settled. Mountains rise up and then fall again, great cracks open and close, and tides move slowly across the disturbed earth. Awful things live there, bigger than houses, howling and screaming in voices loud as thunder. Life still somehow survives in the Deadlands, but it is altered and transformed by terrible unseen energies. It’s not life as we would recognize it.”
“There were things in the sea, too,” said Fisher, frowning as she remembered things she’d put a lot of effort into forgetting. “Just swimming in the dark waters by the coastline had been enough to change the life there in harsh, unnatural ways. The crew of the Revenge might have been pirates once, but we had good cause to be grateful for their swordsmanship when things came crawling up the sides of the ship at dead of night. They were pale as corpses because their skin never saw the sun, and they had no eyes because they had no need of them in the dark depths of the sea. They had spikes on their spines and mouths stuffed with jagged teeth. They moved as silently as ghosts and fought like demons, but they screamed like men when they died.”
“There was a kraken half the size of the ship,” said Hawk. “Red as a rose, with long barbed tentacles that wrapped around the bow of the Revenge and tried to drag it under. And once we saw a serpent, huge and magnificent, three times the length of the ship. It swam in circles around us for over an hour, raising its great feathered horsehead high into the air to look down on us small things. It was every color of the rainbow, and it looked at us with eyes that knew every secret in the sea …”
“Most ships that make the long voyage down the coastline never reach their destination,” said Fisher. ‘The Deadlands have a long reach.”
“Anyway,” said Hawk, “eventually we ended up here, in Haven, pretty much broke and with nowhere else to go. So we looked around, thought we could do some good here, or at least make a difference, so we settled down as city Guards. We thought we were needed.”
Fisher sniffed loudly at that, but had nothing else to add.
“How did you find us?” Hawk asked. “I thought we’d covered our tracks pretty well.”
“It wasn’t easy,” said Chance. “Not least because you don’t look at all like your official portraits. When I first saw you, back in the Devil’s Hook, I barely recognized you.”
“Hold everything,” said Fisher. “There are official portraits of us? Where?”
“In the great Hall of the Forest Castle,” said Chance. “Huge things, almost nine feet tall, painted by the most fashionable portrait artists in the North. No expense was spared for the two legendary heroes of the long night. There are statues, too. Lots of them, all over the Forest Land. Some of the peasants even leave offerings before them, even though that’s officially discouraged.”
“Oh, I’ll bet,” said Hawk.
“But of course, since neither of you were available to sit for your portraits, the artists had to work from people’s descriptions, and their memories,” said Chance. “So not surprisingly, the end results were rather … idealized. To be honest, about the only things they got right were your hair colors. Still, I never expected the likenesses to be that good. I’d seen the official portrait of my father, the Champion, and I knew that couldn’t be accurate. No one could have that many muscles on their upper torso and still stand upright.
“You covered your trail pretty thoroughly, but luckily I didn’t have to follow that. I had a magical gem from the Old Armory, the Crimson Pursuant, that was designed specifically to track down and recognize members of the Forest Royalty. It brought me right here, to you. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, I think I would,” said Hawk. “Not least because I never knew such a thing existed.”
Chance took a small leather pouch from his belt, pulled it open, and spilled out onto his palm a small polished ruby. It lay on his palm like a drop of blood. It seemed perfectly unremarkable, until Hawk leaned forward for a better look, whereupon the ruby blazed with an inner fire, pulsing like a heartbeat. Chance closed his hand around the ruby and dropped it back into the pouch. Hawk looked quickly around him, but everyone else in the tavern was ostentatiously minding their own business.
“King Harald left instructions in his will,” said Chance, putting the leather pouch away, “that in the event of his death, this gem was to be taken from the Armory, and used to track you down, or your heir, so that the Forest line could continue if anything happened to Prince Stephen.”
“He could have tracked us down at any time,” said Fisher. “He just chose not to.”
“He should have sent you sooner,” said Hawk, almost glaring at Chance. “When he first realized he was in danger. Then we might have got back in time to save him.”
“He would rather have died than beg us for help,” said Fisher. “But he knew his duty, to his Kingdom and his son. He knew Rupert would have to return, to avenge his killer’s death.”
“He would have done the same for me,” said Hawk. “How long have you been looking for us, King’s Questor?”
“Oh, almost a week now,” said Chance.
Hawk and Fisher stared at him incredulously. “A week?” said Hawk. “It took us months to get this far south!”
“Well, yes,” said Chance. “But you took the long way, down the coastline. I came through the Rift. You have heard of the Rift, haven’t you?”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “Just rumors,” said Hawk slowly. “We’re pretty cut off from the mainstream down here. Tell us about the Rift.”
“It’s the greatest wonder of the modern age!” said Chance. “A sorcerous gateway, an opening in space itself that has linked the north with the south for the first time in centuries. You step through the Rift in the north, and step out of the Rift in the south. Simple as that. And vice versa, of course. The Deadlands are no longer a barrier between north and south. All kinds of trade and other interactions have been going on for years now.”
“We never knew,” said Hawk. “We could have gone home anytime.”
“If we’d had a reason to,” said Fisher. “Who created this … Rift?”
“The Magus,” answered Chance. “The High Warlock’s successor at Forest Castle. A sorcerer of great and subtle powers. He came to Harald’s Court to announce the High Warlock’s death, and proclaim himself the Warlock’s chosen successor.”
“I could have told them that was a lie,” said Chappie from under the table. “And I did, later. But no one ever listens to me.”
“Not now, Chappie,” said Chance.
“See what I mean?”
“The Magus proved his worth and his power by opening the Rift,” said Chance. “Though it took him nearly a year to set the spell up. After that, he was the darling of the Court. Officially, the Magus has sworn fealty to King Harald and his line, but unofficially he’s never closed his door to anyone. If you can afford it, or if you’ve got something or someone he wants, you too can have the Magus perform a wonder on your behalf. He never worked openly against the King, but no one was ever too extreme or too unpopular to be denied the Magus’ ear. Still, the Rift was everything he promised it would be, and more. Trade and other influences have transformed the Forest Kingdom almost beyond recognition in the last ten years.”
“What’s the Magus like?” asked Fisher, frowning.
“Spooky,” said Chance.
“Too bloody right,” agreed the dog on the floor. “Makes my fur stand up on end every time he’s anywhere near. Do you have any idea how painful that is? And he smells wrong.”
“Let’s put the Magus to one side, just for the moment,” said Hawk. “Tell me about Harald. What happened to him after we left and he became King?”
“King Harald married Princess Felicity of Hillsdown,” said Chance. “He was obliged to marry one of Duke Aide’s daughters under the terms of a contract signed long ago by your father, King John, and since Princess Julia was … no longer available, he married the next in line. Felicity. It was a magnificent wedding. Everyone came. Everyone who was anyone, from the Forest and Hillsdown. Or maybe it just seemed that way; the Castle was packed solid for months on end with friends and relations. The servants ended up sleeping in the stables. King Viktor and Queen Catriona came all the way from Redhart, just to bless the wedding. The new Royal Couple seemed happy enough, and everyone said they looked very well together. Even so, it was still a number of years before Queen Felicity gave birth to their only child, Stephen.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Fisher, shaking her head. “Felicity is Queen of the Forest Land? That idiot? There is no God, there is no justice …”
“Do I take it you and she never got on?” asked Hawk, amused.
“I have had fungal infections I thought more highly of. Felicity was and no doubt still is a bitch of the first water, with no principles and even fewer scruples. She did everything I ever did and a whole lot more, and never once even looked like getting caught. She always found someone else to carry the blame and take her punishments. Sometimes me. She slept with everything that breathed, plotted treason with anyone stupid enough to trust her, and never did a day’s work in her life. She used to have servants following her around all the time, just in case she dropped something.”
“Well,” said Hawk. “At least she and Harald had a lot in common, then.”
“She is vile, evil, and appalling! She is no more fitted to be Queen of the Forest Kingdom than one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse! In fact, they’d probably do less damage in the long run!”
“I’m assuming this wasn’t a love match,” said Hawk, ignoring Fisher’s raised voice with the ease of long practice. “How did Felicity and Harald get on?”
“They were always polite enough in public,” Chance said carefully. “And if there were lovers or dalliances, they were both very discreet. But servants will gossip, and some stories arose often enough to become more than credible. Apparently their rows could go on for hours, and they weren’t above throwing things. Sometimes large, heavy things with points on them. And it wasn’t unknown for them to go days on end without speaking to each other except in public ceremonies. I’m amazed they cooperated long enough to produce an heir.”
“I have a nephew,” said Hawk. “How about that.”
“He stands to inherit the Forest Throne when he comes of age,” said Chance. “If he lives that long. For the moment, his mother rules on his behalf, as Regent. Of course, you also have a claim to the Throne, Prince Rupert. You could replace the Queen as Regent, or even put aside your nephew and take the crown for yourself, for the good of the Kingdom. Have you any children of your own, to continue your line?”
“No,” Fisher answered quietly. “It never seemed to be the right time.”
“Our lives have always been … complicated,” said Hawk. “Not to mention constantly bloody dangerous.”
“Tell us more about how Harald was murdered,” said Fisher. “I still haven’t heard anything that explains why Hawk and I have to go back. Don’t you have your own investigators? And what about the Magus? If he’s such a hot-shit sorcerer, why can’t he tell you who the murderer is?”
“That last is a very good question,” said Chance. “Especially since the magical wards protecting the King were designed and maintained solely by the Magus, who swore there wasn’t another living sorcerer with enough power to break or penetrate them. He’s been conspicuously silent about that since the murder, except to say that his wards were still intact after the murder. Which was supposed to be impossible. The whole thing seems impossible. There was a small army of guards watching every entrance to the King’s private quarters, but no one saw anything. Harald was on his own for less than an hour. One of the guards heard him fall, looked in, and found the King already dead, with no one else present. And now you know as much about how Harald was murdered as anyone else. And that’s after months of investigative work.”
Hawk and Fisher were both frowning thoughtfully. “Sounds like a variation on a locked room murder mystery,” said Hawk. “They’re always bastards. Were you present in the Castle when my brother was killed, Chance? Did you see anything unusual?”
“Unfortunately, the King had already sent me on a mission to the Darkwood, sometime previously,” said Chance. “That’s when I met Chappie, and we fell in together. I wasn’t there when my King needed me.”
“Were there any other sorcerers present who could confirm the Magus’ wards were unbroken?” asked Fisher.
“Oh, the Castle’s crawling with magic-users these days,” said Chance. “But they’re all pretty low level. Anyone with any real magical abilities was killed off during the Demon War. We don’t have anyone powerful enough to challenge the Magus.”
“Then the next obvious guess has to be that the Magus was somehow involved in the murder,” said Hawk. “He might even be the murderer.”
“Then why bother with a knife?” asked Fisher.
“Misdirection?” Hawk suggested.
“A lot of fingers have been pointed at the Magus,” said Chance. “Mostly when he’s not around. The Magus is a very powerful figure at Court. But he’s never shown any direct interest in politics, or in gaining political power for himself. He’s currently the main protector of the Queen and her young son. Along with Sir Vivian, High Commander of the Castle Guard. They watch each other pretty closely. Vivian and the Magus have never liked or trusted each other.”
“I remember Vivian,” said Hawk, just a little coldly. “He was a Lord then. And a traitor. He plotted to murder my father.”
For the first time Chance looked openly shocked. “I never heard any of that before! The legend has it that Vivian gave up his Lordship to fight beside and protect the peasants during the long night. King Harald granted him a knighthood on his return to the Castle after the War.”
“You don’t want to believe everything you hear in legends,” said Fisher. “A lot of things happened during the long night that only the inner circle ever knew about. Vivian plotted to kill one King when he thought his duty drove him to it. Who’s to say he wouldn’t try again, with another King?”
Chance shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Sir Vivian is one of the greatest heroes in the Forest Kingdom, looked up to and respected by all. Everyone knows the legend of the Hellstrom brothers, Vivian and Gawaine, defenders of Tower Rouge. King John knighted both of them for that, and later made Vivian a Lord. How could such a man be a traitor?”
Hawk smiled tiredly. “You’d be surprised what duty and necessity can drive a man to. But you’re right. The Vivian I remember would have more reasons than most to protect Harald. Tell me about the Queen. Felicity. Isobel doesn’t seem to think too highly of her. How do you see her position in all this?”
Chance hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She was fond of King Harald, in her own way. For all their arguments, they always stood together against any threat from outside. If she’d wanted him dead, she’d had plenty of opportunities before, and knowing Felicity, she would have had no trouble in making it look like an accident, or even a purely natural event.”
“But right now she’s ruling the Forest as Stephen’s Regent,” said Fisher. “A monarch in all but name.”
“Her powers are severely limited as Regent,” said Chance. “If enough factions got together, they could remove and replace her with another Regent. So far, the factions are too busy fighting each other, but …”
“Who backs the Queen?” Hawk asked.
“Sir Vivian has sworn himself her protector, on his blood and his name. He’s taken his failure to protect the King very hard. And there’s the Magus.” Chance frowned. “But that’s about it. Everyone else has their own agendas, or ambitions. The Queen has an abrasive personality, and is more respected than liked.”
Fisher snorted. “I can believe that.”
“Most people who currently accept her as Regent, or at least don’t openly oppose her, do so out of loyalty to the young King-to-be, Stephen. But the Prince is not immune from danger. There are many factions in the Court, some of them quite extreme, desperately trying to turn the situation to their own advantage. The most obvious being Duke Alric of Hillsdown. He is currently visiting Forest Castle, along with a company of his soldiers. He couldn’t bring any more than that for fear of being seen as an invasion, but he could call his army into the Forest at any time, and everyone knows it. Officially, he came to offer comfort and support to his grieving daughter, but she hasn’t done a lot of grieving, not in public anyway.”
“You can forget the comfort part,” Fisher said flatly. “My father never gave a damn for anyone but himself. He’s never been anything more than a coldhearted, endlessly scheming politician, whose only use for his children was as pawns in his ambitions. He used up four wives producing his nine daughters, and never missed any of them.” Fisher smiled coldly. “But the joke was on him. His daughters were never supposed to be anything more than possessions that he could marry off in return for power and influence outside Hillsdown. Daddy always was ambitious to be more than just a Duke. But with no sons to cramp our style, we daughters blossomed in our own right. And we had all learned from dear Daddy to be just like him. Though, of course, in my case he had the last laugh, when he signed my death warrant.”
She was almost spitting out the words at the end, shaking with rage and bitterness. Hawk put a comforting hand on her arm, but she barely noticed, eyes lost in yesterday.
“Anyway,” Chance said awkwardly, “he’s made it clear he wishes to see the Forest and Hillsdown become one Kingdom again, as it used to be long ago, before the original Starlight Duke led his rebellion and made Hillsdown into a separate nation. When Stephen becomes King, he will have a legitimate claim to the Thrones of both the Forest and Hillsdown, since the Duke has no son of his own to inherit. Of course, this is just another reason why a great many people would rather see Stephen dead right now. The main political factions—”
“If I were you, I’d send for another round of drinks,” interrupted Chappie, lying on his back on the floor again. “This is going to take some time.”
“It’s not really all that complicated,” Chance said quickly. “It’s just that the Rift has made it possible for all kinds of new philosophies, political and religious, to reach the Forest Kingdom for the first time. In particular, the doctrine of democracy and constitutional monarchy has seized the imaginations of many. In fact, the democrats would be by far the biggest faction, if they weren’t hopelessly split into dozens of quarreling splinter groups, all with their own dogmatic dogmas and agendas. Essentially, you have Sir Vivian preaching slow cautious change and reform; the Landsgrave Sir Robert Hawke, who wants a purely figurehead monarch and an elected Parliament; and the Shaman, who preaches fire and brimstone politics, and the removal of the current powers-that-be by force. The only thing they can all agree on is that they don’t want Queen Felicity as Regent.”
“I knew there was another reason why we got out of politics,” said Fisher. “It makes my head hurt.”
“Oh, it gets worse,” said Chance. “You have to understand, the population of the Forest Land has changed dramatically in nature since you left. A large proportion of the original population was wiped out during the Demon War. After the long night ended, there was a massive influx of people from Redhart and Hillsdown, to take over the abandoned farms and land, and all the jobs that needed to be filled to keep the Kingdom’s business infrastructure going. Even with the new immigrants the Forest Land came perilously close to famine and bankruptcy. The Forest needed help and couldn’t afford to be fussy about the forms it came in.
“As a result the Forest population is much more … varied than it used to be. The newcomers brought their own ways and traditions with them—political, religious, and social. The ground was ripe for change. This situation was further complicated by the opening of the Rift. A lot of people took one look at the devastated Forest, compared it with the freedoms and luxuries of the southern Kingdoms, and voted with their feet by immigrating south through the Rift. The Forest lost a hell of a lot of people before King Harald put guards on the Rift, to stop the outpouring. He also set up a Customs barrier, laying a heavy duty on all goods coming through from the south. Which was a good and a bad thing. Good because the revenues are helping to repair the damaged Land, and bad because goods are now much more expensive in the north than in the south. Much of the Forest is still dead and blighted by the long night. Its regeneration needs all the help it can get. But as a result, a great deal of the Land’s food has to be imported from the south, which makes it expensive. And hungry people tend to think with their bellies.
“King Harald was one of the few surviving heroes of the Demon War. That was about all that kept the Land from open revolution. Now he’s gone …”
“What about the Darkwood?” asked Hawk. “Is it still limited to its original boundaries?”
“Oh, yes. It’s quiet now. There’s no Tanglewood to be a barrier anymore, but demons rarely venture outside the darkness these days. When they do, we mostly just shoo them back in.”
Fisher raised an eyebrow. “Since when is the Forest soft on demons? Evil bloody things; they killed a lot of good people. Including your father.”
“You don’t know,” said Chance slowly. “I did wonder if the truth about the demons had traveled this far south.”
“What truth?” Hawk asked.
“I’m sorry,” said Chance. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. After the Blue Moon and the long night had passed, and the Demon Prince had been … banished, all that had been touched by the Wild Magic returned to normal. Including all the dead demons, who changed back into dead people. Did you never wonder where all the thousands of new demons were coming from? Every man, woman, and child who perished in the long night rose again, transformed into demons, in all their many monstrous forms. That’s why demons always killed their prey. They were making new demons.”
“Oh, God,” said Hawk. “I never thought … we were all fighting our own family and friends, and killing them again.” He looked almost angrily at Chance. “Could we have turned the demons back into people? If we’d known, back then?”
“You didn’t know,” said Chance. “You couldn’t know. And no one’s come up with a cure in the past twelve years. Though the Magus insists he’s working on it.”
“All that time we spent killing demons, always thinking we were doing the right thing,” said Hawk. “If we’d taken our fight straight to the Demon Prince, defeated him earlier … how many people might we have saved from being living nightmares?”
“Hush,” said Fisher, putting a hand on Hawk’s arm. “Hush. We didn’t know. We had no way of knowing then. Change the subject, Chance. Tell us about the Castle. Anything new happening there?”
“Oh, yes,” said Change. “After the Demon Prince disappeared, the last traces of the astrologer’s old spell vanished with him, and the once missing, now returned South Wing became entirely normal again. However, something else appeared, right in the middle of the Castle. The Inverted Cathedral. This gets kind of complicated, but bear with me. A lot of this is only recently rediscovered knowledge, dug out of the oldest sections of the Castle libraries; knowledge forgotten, and perhaps repressed, for centuries.
“The Cathedral existed before the Castle. It was built long ago, so far back that history becomes legend becomes myth. In those far-off days, the building of Cathedrals was both an art and a science. Cathedrals were constructed for a specific reason: direct communication with God. The whole structure, the very shapes, angles, and stresses, all had meaning and purpose. The finished building was designed to resonate, like some gigantic tuning fork. When people worshiped in their Cathedral, the structure took their voices and their faith and sent them flying up to God, in one great more-than-human sound. And God would hear, and send his love and grace back, transmuted down the long tower of the Cathedral into a form the people could accept. Direct communication with God.
“They say in those days the power of Good radiated from the Cathedral, bathing all the Forest land in its sanctity, so that the Forest and its people grew straight and true, strong and sure in the love of God.
“So of course it all went horribly wrong. Somebody with a hell of a lot of magic, and I use the word hell advisedly, inverted the Cathedral. Instead of soaring up into the sky, the great structure now plunged down into the earth. And what had once sent prayers up to God, now sent mortal voices down to … what? And who was listening? The sanctity was gone from the Forest, and new darker influences spread across the Land. The first Forest King ordered the Forest Castle built around the Inverted Cathedral, to contain it and guard it, and then used magic to keep the Cathedral subtly out of phase with the rest of the Castle, sealing it off forever in its own private place. No more worship there, from anyone to anything.
“Even so, just the presence of the spell was enough to account for the Castle’s singular physical nature, whereby its interior is far larger than its exterior. But something in the long night, in its coming or its ending, broke the old spell, and the Inverted Cathedral has returned.
“The first investigative team that King Harald sent in didn’t come back. Neither did the second, the third, or the fourth, even though each team was increasingly larger and better armed. The Magus wouldn’t even go near it for all his vaunted powers. Only one man returned, from team five. He was quite mad. He’d met and spoken with something that destroyed his mind. Since then, he has only ever spoken three words. The Burning Man.”
“And the significance of that?” asked Fisher after a moment.
Chance shrugged. “Your guess is as good as anyone’s. The Magus tried to interrogate the man and lurched out of his room only a few minutes later, trembling and vomiting. The madman’s been kept in strict isolation ever since, for his and our protection. King Harald declared the Inverted Cathedral off limits to absolutely everyone, and had the Magus set up powerful protective wards to keep the damned structure strictly isolated. There are currently teams of scholars reading their way through every old library in the Land, in shifts, searching for more information. Meanwhile, there are strange lights in the sky, strange voices deep in the earth, and livestock have been born with two heads, speaking unknown languages.”
“Jesus,” said Fisher, shuddering suddenly despite herself. “And people are still living in the Castle, with that thing in their midst? How do you stand it?”
“How did you cope with the missing South Wing?” asked Chance. “Remember, we’ve had twelve years to get used to it.”
“If we’d known, we would have come back,” said Hawk. “We thought all the evil was destroyed. We should have known better.”
“What about the Infernal Devices?” Fisher asked suddenly. “There was a rumor a few years back that one of those damned swords had returned.”
“Yes,” said Chance. “Wolfsbane. Luckily it wasn’t around for long, and did no real damage before it was lost again. There’s been no report of Flarebright resurfacing since it was lost in the long night, and Rockbreaker was destroyed.”
“We know that,” said Fisher. “We were there. The Demon Prince broke the damned sword across his knee. I heard it scream as it died.”
This time it was Chance’s turn to shudder. “I’ve heard all the legends, but every now and again it strikes me hard. You actually met the Demon Prince, the personification of darkness upon the earth. What was he like?”
“I don’t remember anymore,” said Fisher. “I put a lot of effort into forgetting. But still, sometimes, I see him in my dreams.”
“The past rarely lets go of you,” said Hawk. “And the future never stops making demands. Right, Champion’s son?”
“There’s only a little more to tell,” said Chance.
“Good,” said a voice from under the table.
“The Landsgraves of Gold and Silver and Copper aren’t what they were,” said Chance. “With such a reduced population, the Forest was faced with a much smaller tax base, which meant Harald was forced to ask Redhart and Hillsdown for help in rebuilding. He paid for this aid by selling off a large proportion of the Land’s mineral rights. I was the Landsgraves’ last desperate grasp for power, and with that failure, their day was over. There is only one Landsgrave now; Sir Robert Hawke. One of the many now fighting for democracy and peasants’ rights.
“His main opponent is that enigmatic personage, the Shaman. He was a solitary hermit for many years, living deep in the Forest, far from anything even approaching civilization, wanting only to be left alone. But slowly he gained a reputation as a holy man and a spiritual leader, and the peasants went to him for help. He had a strange kind of magic, and a desperate need to be of use. One day last year he just strode right into the Forest Castle and said he’d come to demand fair treatment for the peasants, or else. The guards tried to throw him out, and he turned each and every one of them into small, green, stupid hopping things. The Magus went to meet him, they stared at each other in silence for a while, and then the Magus turned and walked away, saying there was nothing he could do. The King refused to meet with the Shaman, so he set up camp in the great courtyard, preaching peasants’ rights to anyone who’d stand still long enough.”
“I hate would-be saints,” said Hawk. “Every one I ever met was a royal pain in the arse.”
“One last piece of dispiriting news, Your Highness,” said Chance. “As I’m sure you remember, most of the Forest’s fighting men died during the long night. In order to maintain an army strong enough to dissuade Redhart and Hillsdown from invading while the Forest was still vulnerable, Harald called in a large number of mercenaries. The bulk of the Forest army is currently composed of professional fighting men from a dozen countries, with no ties to the Forest Land but their pay packets. They’re a continuing drain on the Forest economy, and very unpopular. Harald used them mostly to keep the peasants in line and enforce the new taxes.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” said Hawk.
“Are you really thinking about taking on a whole army?” said Fisher.
“Why not? We’ve done it before.”
“I know! I still have the scars.”
“Are you saying you’re willing to return to the Forest Land, Your Highnesses?” said Chance.
“It seems we’re needed,” said Hawk. “I’ve always understood my duty. And I have my nephew’s safety to think of. But if we are going back to the Forest, it won’t be as Prince Rupert and Princess Julia. Those names carry too much baggage. We’ll go back as Hawk and Fisher, two investigators authorized by Rupert and Julia to find Harald’s murderer and take care of business. I’ll write us a letter to that effect. I’ve still got my Royal seal somewhere.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Fisher. “I’ve no wish to go back to being Princess Julia again. Far too limiting. Besides, I’m not who I used to be.”
“No one ever is,” said Chance.
“Which is sometimes a blessing,” said Hawk. “But I’ll tell you this: If we really are finally leaving Haven for good, we’ve got a lot of business to clean up here first.”
“Right,” said Fisher.