Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (32 page)

The image vanished, and the Crypt was still and quiet again. Hawk and Fisher both let out long, slow breaths. “Well, that last bit was pure Harald,” said Hawk. “Manipulative as ever.”

Fisher frowned. “What do you suppose he meant by beware your father’s legacy? What legacy?”

Hawk shrugged. “I have no idea. No doubt we’ll find out, in time. Poor bastard. He didn’t look like a happy man, did he? He spent his whole life plotting and preparing to be King, invested all his hopes and dreams in it. And then his dream betrayed him by coming true.”

The Magus sat at ease in his quarters, slumped bonelessly in a comfortable chair. He wore a simple white tunic and trousers, and there was no sign anywhere of his great night-dark cloak. Without it, he looked surprisingly ordinary. He watched the chessboard set out on the small table before him, frowning slightly as the black and white pieces moved back and forth on their own, darting across the board with dizzying speed. The Magus watched the patterns carefully as they developed, and when the game finished, the pieces reset themselves and started all over again.

On the other side of the spacious, airy room, a human-sized and entirely naked Lightfoot Moonfleet was admiring herself in a full-length mirror. Her arms and legs were unusually long, and she had too many ribs, and there was something subtly disturbing about the way her bones knit together; but still, she was the most beautiful woman currently inhabiting Forest Castle, and Lightfoot Moonfleet knew it. In the mirror her reflection was modeling a series of different outfits and combinations for her approval. Styles and looks and colors came and went, blinking in and out too fast for the human eye to follow, until Lightfoot finally settled on the day’s look. She snapped her fingers imperiously and the image before her settled on a tight black dress that ended just above the knees, with generous cutouts to show bare flesh in interesting places. Long black boots and evening gloves finished the look. Lightfoot was in a devilish mood. Her hair fluffed out like a dark dandelion, and dark eye makeup and vivid bloodred lips sharpened her face nicely.

“A little obvious, not to mention downright sluttish,” said Lightfoot crisply. “Just the look I had in mind. You can go now.”

Her reflection in the mirror stuck out her tongue at her, and vanished. Immediately Lightfoot Moonfleet was wearing the outfit she’d chosen, right down to the exact shadings of color on her face. She stretched slowly, as luxurious and unself-conscious as a cat, wriggled a few times to settle her dress, and then she turned to observe the Magus at his chess.

“So, which side are you playing today?”

“Both, as always,” said the Magus without looking up. “I like the outfit. Quite understated, for you. Now prepare yourself. Company’s coming.”

Lightfoot looked around quickly. “Who is it? Can I jump their bones?”

“It’s the good Captains Hawk and Fisher. They’ve been down in the Crypt, and spoken with the dead King. And now they’re coming here, expecting answers to their questions.”

The faerie smiled. “They don’t know you very well yet, do they?”

“Oh, I have answers for them. Whether they’ll fit the questions, I have no idea. It’s hard to see the ties of destiny around Hawk and Fisher. The Wild Magic has touched them deeply, on levels they probably don’t even know about. Perhaps they will be able to understand me, after all. They are no strangers to the weird and the uncanny, or the fields beyond.”

“Will they be able to get to the truth?” asked Lightfoot, striding over to stand beside the Magus. “Will they find out who killed Harald?”

“Who cares if they discover the truth?” said the Magus calmly. “What matters is that they go into the Inverted Cathedral, and face what must be faced there. Harald could have done it, if he’d been the hero he claimed to be, or the King he wanted to be. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t, which is why we’re in the mess we’re in now.”

“Harald was afraid,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. “Just like everyone else would be, if they knew the truth.”

“Heroes feel fear,” said the Magus, watching sadly as the black pieces on his board decimated the white, moving inexorably towards checkmate. “They just refuse to be ruled by it.” He leaned forward suddenly, and swept all the pieces from the board with a slap of his hand. They fell to the bare floor, and lay there twitching for long moments, before finally lying still. The Magus leaned back in his chair, his face entirely calm and composed. “Hawk and Fisher must go into the Inverted Cathedral. There’s no one else left.”

“What about the Questor, Allen Chance?”

“A good man,” the Magus admitted. “Perhaps too good. He thinks too much. There’s not enough of his father in him. Not nearly enough ruthlessness. And he has too much to live for. That can weaken a man’s resolve. No, Hawk and Fisher have always been ready to do what was necessary, and to hell with the cost and the consequences.”

“And if they’re not up to it?”

“Then the Blue Moon will come into its power again, the Transient Beings will be released from their long confinement, and there will be hell on earth.”

“Abandon all hope …”

“Quite. Come in!”

The knock at the door came just after he’d spoken, and there was a bit of a pause before the door opened, and Hawk and Fisher came in. They looked quickly about them, as though studying a potential battlefield, and then advanced together on the Magus. Lightfoot moved to stand a little closer to him. The Magus nodded politely to his guests without getting up, and Hawk and Fisher nodded briefly in return as they came to a halt before him.

“Nice trick with the door,” said Hawk. “But it must take all the fun out of Christmas.”

“I don’t celebrate,” said the Magus. “I find all that remorseless sweetness and light a bit trying.”

Fisher looked at the chess pieces on the floor. “Bad loser, Magus?”

“I never lose. It’s bad for the image. How was the Crypt?”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “How did you know we were just there?” asked Hawk sharply.

“I’m the Magus. I know things. That’s my job. Did Harald have anything interesting to say?”

“Don’t you know?” asked Fisher.

“Oh, I don’t know everything. Think how boring that would be. I’m not omnipotent, just very well informed. I set up the spell for Harald, but whatever words he left behind him were strictly between Harald and his conscience. Assuming he had one.”

“He was your King,” said Fisher. “Show some respect.”

Lightfoot Moonfleet stirred uneasily at the sudden cold anger in Fisher’s voice, but the Magus just inclined his head slightly, as though acknowledging a point. “Did the King have anything to say that might help to identify his murderer?”

“Harald didn’t point a finger at anyone in particular,” said Hawk. “I was more interested in what he
didn’t
say. There was nothing in what he clearly intended to be his last message to suggest he thought his life was in danger. He felt under threat, but by forces in general rather than any specific person.”

“I thought so,” said the Magus. “If Harald had considered any person a threat to his life, he would have had them arrested and worried about obtaining evidence later. At the very least, he would have had me investigate them. Come in!”

Once again, his words preceded the knock on the door. It swung open with a crash as one of Duke Alric’s men stalked in, striding across the room like he was on the parade ground. He crashed to a halt before Hawk and Fisher, ignoring the Magus and the faerie. He wore a Hillsdown guard’s uniform, complete with chainmail vest, and his right hand rested on the swordhilt at his side as he barked out his message to Hawk and Fisher. His voice was like his face—arrogant, offensive, and condescending.

“Hawk, Fisher, you are hereby commanded by the Starlight Duke to attend him at his quarters, there to be questioned by him on certain matters … on certain matters appertaining to … to …”

The guard slowly turned his head. It was clear he didn’t want to, and equally clear he had no choice in the matter. The Magus was looking at him. Still talking, the guard turned his head in slow painful jerks until his eyes met the Magus’ gaze. The guard’s words trailed away to nothing. He looked deep into the Magus’ eyes, and whimpered. And then the hold over him was gone, and he turned and ran, fleeing the room as though all the demons in the Darkwood were after him. He shot out the doorway, and the sound of his departing feet quickly died away. The Magus gestured lightly, and the door shut itself. Hawk looked at the Magus, making a point of meeting his gaze squarely.

“What the hell was
that
all about?”

The Magus shrugged easily. “He was being a bit of a bore, so I stared him down. Of course, if you feel you must break off our little chat, to do as the Duke ordered …”

“No,” said Fisher firmly. “The Duke can wait. And don’t think you can impress or scare us with tricks like that. We don’t scare easily.”

The Magus considered her for a moment, then smiled. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose you do. The Darkwood was very dark, wasn’t it?” He looked at Hawk. “Didn’t your hair used to be blond? Or was that your partner? I have an excellent memory, but sometimes it’s so good, it remembers things that didn’t happen. That’s one of the problems with seeing the future, when the future’s always changing.”

“You can see the future?” Fisher asked.

“Through a glass, darkly. Never enough to be of any real use, just enough to confuse and disturb me. Some things are more inevitable than others. And people do confuse the issue so.”

The Magus rose suddenly to his feet, startling Lightfoot into falling back a pace, and then he walked over to look out the open window, as though forgetting they were there. Lightfoot took a few steps after him, and then stopped.

Fisher leaned in close beside Hawk. “That blond hair remark was a bit pointed. Do you think he—”

“If he did, he’d have said so. He loves showing off his knowledge.”

Fisher frowned uncertainly. “Is it me, or did his eyes used to be gray, not blue?”

“God, I’m glad you said that. I thought so, but … Hold everything. Look at that.”

They both looked at the Magus’ feet, which were hovering a good two inches above the floor.

“Oh, don’t mind that,” said Lightfoot Moonfleet. “He has a lot on his mind just now, and sometimes he forgets things. Like gravity.”

“What exactly are you looking for, sir Magus?” said Hawk, after the sorcerer had spent some time staring out the window in silence.

“My cloak,” said the Magus absently. “It’s off hunting somewhere, and I do worry about it when it’s out on its own. There are dangerous things abroad in the Forest these days. It used to be the cloak was one of them, but—ah, here it comes.”

He stepped back, smiling fondly as his cloak came flapping in through the open window like a great black bat. It swooped around the Magus twice, as though greeting him, and then flapped off to settle in a corner. It stood upright, trembling slightly, and then made a series of loud and quite disgusting digestive noises. The Magus shut the window.

“What exactly does your cloak hunt?” asked Hawk.

“Oh, anything that can’t run away fast enough, basically,” said the Magus, coming back to join them. His feet were back on the floor again.

“Including people?” asked Fisher, looking dubiously at the cloak.

“Oh, no,” said the Magus. “Not anymore.”

He sat down again and looked sternly at Hawk and Fisher. “We must talk. There are things I have to tell you. Some of them you may already know, but that’s destiny for you. First, the Rift that links north and south. I created it. The last great spell of Wild Magic in the world of men. There will never be another to match it. Magic is going out of the world, and is flexing its muscles in a few desperate last shows of might. But as man thrives, and spreads across this world, making it his own, magic will whither away, replaced by the more useful science, which is more suited to man’s nature. Science always works. Its principles are logical. Man is at heart a rational creature, and wants a rational world, where rules are always followed and everything makes sense. The Wild Magic was slowly replaced by High Magic, a more structured form that some men could tame to their use, but even that is fading now. Most people’s minds just aren’t flexible enough to deal with magic.”

“What about this new Chaos Magic that’s based on mathematics?” Fisher asked. “Supposedly that’s the way of the future.”

“Rubbish!” snapped the Magus. “Chaos Magic is just a pathetic halfway attempt to produce a magic that works like science. Neither one thing nor the other. It’s based on a few good ideas, but it will soon be swept away by science that everyone can understand and be taught. No, within the next dozen generations or so magic will be gone, and the world will be a safer, duller place. All the myth and wonder of the world will be replaced by gadgets and mechanisms. Clever, but essentially soulless. No dragons, no unicorns …”

“No demons, no Demon Prince?” asked Hawk.

The Magus looked at him sharply. “Good. Yes. You grasp the point. As man learns to control his world through science, so the greater threats to his existence will be banished. You banished the Demon Prince through the Wild Magic of the Rainbow, but he can still return. He is a Transient Being, one of the never-born, the soulless, the stalkers on the edge of reality, a living personification of an abstract idea. As such, he can never be destroyed, as long as magic exists. Ideas are immortal. But replace magic with science and he cannot return, because this whole plane of existence would be closed to him and his kind. He could no longer exist here; the scientific laws of the universe would not permit it.”

“The Transient Beings?” asked Fisher. “You mean there are more beings like the Demon Prince?”

“Of course,” said the Magus. “For every abstract concept, idea, or myth, some magical being exists to personify it. That’s part of the present magical nature of reality. Which brings me, naturally, to the Blue Moon.”

“It does?” Hawk asked. “Slow this down, Magus, I’m having trouble hanging on.”

“Right,” said Fisher.

“The Blue Moon,” said the Magus patiently. “You never did think very much about its nature and its purpose, did you? What it was, what it was for?”