Once In a Blue Moon (33 page)

The Sombre Warrior rode his great black charger some way ahead of the carriage, while his six personally chosen bodyguards and outriders surrounded the carriage in a great circle. Keeping an eye out, ready for anything. The Sombre Warrior was wearing full battle armour and a great featureless steel helm that hid his face from the world. The helm had no eye or mouth slits, but the Sombre Warrior still saw and heard everything, thanks to a special enchantment provided by King William’s pet sorcerer, Van Fleet. For services rendered. It had to have been hot as hell inside the armour and the helm, but Catherine had never seen the man remove his helm for a moment, even to take a drink. Sometimes she wondered if the Warrior was still just a man, after all.

The driver lashed the horses from his high seat, driving them on; he was determined to reach the Forest Castle before night fell. He really didn’t want to still be travelling through the Forest when it got dark. He’d heard all the stories. Only a generous bonus and direct orders from the King had persuaded him to take the job in the first place. He had an axe set to one side of him, and a crossbow and quarrels to the other, and neither comforted him as much as he’d hoped.

Catherine and Gertrude chose an open window each, and peered out of the jolting carriage at the passing scenery as best they could. And almost despite themselves, they were impressed. The great Forest was nothing like the small and carefully tended woodland of Redhart. The trees here were huge, reaching way up into the sky, with trunks so broad it would take half a dozen men to get their arms round them. The leaves were a blaze of colours, burning gold and bronze, falling in sudden flurries upon the carriage as the vibrations of its approach shook them loose. Birds sang so loudly they could still be heard above the constant thunder of the carriage wheels, and all kinds of wildlife slipped back and forth between the trees, sometimes pausing to watch the carriage pass, eyes gleaming brightly from the darker and more concealing shadows.

And then Catherine’s heart lurched as she saw shining shapes rushing between the trees ahead. Far enough away for the moment that they were just shapes, but drawing steadily closer. Ghostly, almost human, riding gleaming demonic horses. Appearing and disappearing in the gloom between the trees. Catherine and Gertrude fell back into the carriage, well away from the open windows. Catherine yelled out a warning, but the Sombre Warrior already knew. He’d already signalled to his outriders, who moved in close around the carriage, their horses plunging along so near that Catherine felt she could have reached out the window and touched them. The Sombre Warrior drew his great sword, and almost in the same moment all six riders had weapons in their hands. None of them looked worried. In fact, they gave every appearance that they were looking forward to seeing a little action, at last. The shimmering ghostly riders were really close now—twenty of them, maybe more. Shining skeletons riding spectral horses, their bones gleaming fiercely in the gloom among the woods. Catherine forced her head back out the open window to get a better look, and to call out to the Sombre Warrior.

“What are they?”

“Attackers, your highness,” said the Sombre Warrior, his voice sounding clearly and calmly from under his featureless helm. “Do not concern yourself. My men and I will protect you. We’ve been waiting for someone to show up.”

“Are they demons?” said Gertrude, from inside the carriage.

“No,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Demons don’t ride. They really should have waited till it got darker. They’d have looked more impressive, more convincing, set against the night. But they couldn’t wait. They had to hit us now, before we got too close to the Castle and could call for reinforcements.”

“You know what those things are?” said Catherine, half leaning out the carriage window, screwing up her face against the dust. Gertrude tried to pull her back inside, but Catherine elbowed her and Gertrude fell back with a squeak.

“Of course I know, your highness,” said the Sombre Warrior. “They are attackers. Men, painted with stripes of white phosphorous, to look like skeletons. It’s an old smugglers’ trick, out on the moors of Redhart. They should have realised . . . some tricks don’t travel. Sewell!”

“Aye, sir?” said the outrider nearest the Sombre Warrior.

“You’re our best archer. Pick one of those fellows and stick him with an arrow. Let’s see if we can’t make a skeleton bleed.”

Sewell grinned, put away his sword in favour of a bow, and aimed and loosed an arrow in one swift movement. One of the leading skeletons lurched suddenly backwards, punched right out of his saddle. He fell from his horse, hit the ground hard, and didn’t move again. His horse just kept going.

“You see, your highness?” the Sombre Warrior said easily. “Mounted attackers in spooky outfits. Nothing more. Driver! Bring the carriage to a halt!”

The driver looked round uncertainly. “You what? Stop here, with them? Don’t you think we should make a run for it and leave these spooky bastards behind?”

“No,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Much easier to defend a stationary target.”

“But my orders were to keep the Princess out of danger at all costs!”

“She’ll be safer here with me,” said the Sombre Warrior. “Now you follow my orders, and bring this carriage to a halt right now, or I’ll have Sewell shoot you out of your seat and take your place.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but then, he didn’t have to. The driver swore fiercely and hauled in on the reins, bringing the horses and the carriage to a straining, shuddering halt. The six soldiers formed a wall between the carriage and the attackers, and then looked to the Sombre Warrior for orders. And then they all looked sharply back, as the carriage’s back right wheel bowed outwards, as the rear axle cracked loudly in two. The wheel fell away, and the whole carriage lurched to one side. Catherine and Gertrude cried out. The Princess fell back inside the carriage, and the two women grabbed each other for support. The Sombre Warrior just nodded.

“Sabotage. From before we left Redhart. Whoever organised these attackers was taking no chances. Imagine what might have happened if we had tried to make a run for it. Lots of people die in carriage accidents, with no one obvious to take the blame. Just what the King’s enemies wanted: the Princess dead, no marriage, no Peace agreement. Somebody put a lot of thought into this.”

The skeleton riders came charging in, howling and screeching and waving glowing swords, like the fiends they pretended to be. The Sombre Warrior led his men in a charge to meet them. The two sides slammed together in a wild and thrashing melee of clashing steel, thrusting weapons, and rearing horses. Swords and axes rose and fell, and blood flew on the air in sudden jets and flurries. The whole thing didn’t take long. The skeleton riders were seriously motivated, and presumably very well paid, but the Sombre Warrior and every one of his men were professional soldiers, veterans of a hundred border skirmishes. They cut and hacked the skeleton riders out of their saddles with swift, brutal blows, threw them screaming to the ground, and rode on. Blood and gore soaked into the soil, and the screams of the wounded and the dying were all very human sounds. The attackers never stood a chance against such practiced warriors.

But one skeleton rider did somehow manage to break away from the battle, and he drove his horse straight at the carriage. The driver saw the attacker coming, jumped down from his post, and ran screaming into the trees. The skeleton rider laughed aloud and went for the open carriage window, brandishing a big butcher’s blade of a sword.

“He left us!” Lady Gertrude screamed, clutching at Catherine. “The driver ran away and left us!”

The skeleton rider steered his horse right in beside the open window and leaned in close, drawing back his sword for a thrust at Catherine, who was staring straight at him. It felt like she had all the time in the world to study him. Up close his costume was an obvious fake, the illusion utterly unconvincing. Just a man, with shining silver painted onto a dark costume and white skull makeup on his face. She could even make out the sweat dripping off his chin, his fierce eyes and grinning mouth. He couldn’t have been much older than her.

His sword all the way back, he tensed, and Catherine lunged out of the window and plunged a long dagger into his right eye. He screamed shrilly. The force of Catherine’s blow shoved the blade through the eyeball and on into the brain, where it buried itself half inside the man’s head. Blood and tears exploded from the ruined eye socket, and the rider slumped forward in his saddle. Catherine hung on to the dagger and jerked it back out. The attacker swayed in his saddle, then fell slowly sideways, crashing to the ground. The horse started to shy away but stopped as it realised it was dragging a body behind it, one foot still caught in the stirrup.

Catherine fell back from the window, and sat down heavily on her cushions. Her face was grim and set. She watched thick, dark blood drip from the blade of the dagger she was holding. Lady Gertrude sat very still, staring at Catherine as though she had never seen her before.

“What have you done, my precious? What have you done?”

“What needed doing,” said Catherine. “It seems I am my father’s daughter, after all.”

The Sombre Warrior came riding back. He glanced briefly at the dead man on the ground by the carriage, swung down from his horse, and moved quickly over to the carriage window. He looked in, his featureless steel helm filling the gap.

“Is all well here, your highness? Is either of you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” said Catherine. “Fine! So’s she. The other attackers . . . ?”

“Dead, every one of them. My apologies, your highness. I don’t know how that one got past us.”

“It’s all right,” said Catherine. Her voice was more or less steady. “I took care of him.”

“So you did, your highness,” said the Sombre Warrior. If anything, he sounded a little amused.

“Where did you get that ugly dagger, my poppet?” said Gertrude, finding her voice again.

“One last present from my Malcolm,” said Catherine. “He thought it might come in useful.” She wiped the blade on the cushion beside her, with single-minded thoroughness, until it was clean enough to disappear back inside the tall boot under her long travelling clothes.

“Did you happen to see what happened to the driver?” said the Sombre Warrior.

“He ran away!” said Gertrude, still a bit shrilly. “He ran away and left us!”

“He won’t have got far. My men will find him and bring him back,” said the Sombre Warrior. “In the meantime, I’m afraid you’ll both have to disembark from the carriage for a while, my Princess and my Lady. We have to work on the axle, and re-set the wheel, before we can travel any farther. Which will be difficult, without the proper tools. But we should be able to bodge together something that will last long enough to get us to the Castle.”

“We can’t stay here overnight!” said Gertrude. “This is the Forest, you know!”

“Yes, I know. We’ll have everything ready in an hour or so, my Lady.” The Sombre Warrior did his best to sound reassuring. “Take a short walk. Stretch your legs. Don’t go far.”

“Understood,” said Catherine. She pushed open the carriage door and jumped down. She breathed in the fresh Forest air, heavy with the scents of trees and leaves, grass and flowers, and all sorts of wildlife. A rich, heady brew, full of life and a rough vitality. Catherine smiled briefly, and felt a little of the cold and the tension go out of her. She realised Gertrude wasn’t with her, and turned to look back into the carriage. Gertrude was sitting as far from the open door as she could get, shaking her head firmly.

“Come on, Gertrude,” said Catherine. “You’ve been complaining about how cramped the carriage is for ages. A stiff walk in the fresh air will do you good.”

“Here?” said Gertrude. “In the Forest?
Are you crazy?
My Princess . . .”

“I’m going for a walk,” said Catherine. “You can sit here on your own and sulk if you want to.”

She strode away from the carriage. Somebody inside the carriage said something very bad, and entirely unladylike, and then Gertrude scrabbled out of the carriage door. The Sombre Warrior offered her his arm, to help her down, but she ignored him. She jumped down and ran after Catherine, who was already off the trail and walking among the trees. And then the Princess stopped abruptly, as she realised she was walking across the bloody earth of the recent battle. Ahead of her, the soldiers were stripping the dead attackers of anything valuable, and joking easily with one another as they looked for clues to their opponents’ identities. Catherine looked at the dead men and felt just a little guilty that she didn’t care they were all dead. They’d attacked her, tried to kill her; and they deserved everything they got. The man who tried to kill her . . . got what he deserved. She didn’t feel guilty at all. The Sombre Warrior came to stand beside her. Catherine discovered she felt surprisingly safe and secure in his presence. Like having a really big guard dog you could depend on. She looked up at him and saw her own face reflected in the gleaming steel helm. Catherine wasn’t sure she recognised the face staring back at her. It looked . . . cold.

“These weren’t just brigands, or road bandits, your highness,” said the Sombre Warrior quite calmly. “My men have found signs, indications, about the bodies that confirm what I suspected. These men were soldiers from Redhart. They must have followed us through the dimensional door, before it was shut down. There are those in Redhart ready to do anything to prevent your marriage, and the Peace agreement.”

“They would have killed us all, wouldn’t they?” said Catherine. “But if this was arranged in advance, we’re talking treason!”

“So we are, your highness. Some factions want a war. At whatever the cost.”

“Have you any idea . . . have your men found anything on the bodies to suggest who gave them their orders?” said Lady Gertrude. She’d come forward to stand beside Catherine, and take the Princess’ hand in hers. Gertrude’s hand seemed very small and cold to Catherine, so she held it tightly. Gertrude’s face was pale and confused, and she couldn’t look at the dead bodies directly.