Once In a Blue Moon (73 page)

“God save all here,” said Jack. “I am here as an envoy from King Rufus.”

“We know you,” said Christof. “The one man they could send that we would listen to. You’ll pardon if we seem a little overawed. It’s not every day we come face-to-face with a living legend.”

Jack made a dismissive gesture. “I gave all that up long ago. I’m just a man of God now, hoping we can find a way to avoid mass slaughter.”

No one said anything. They were all studying Jack Forester, and thinking pretty much the same thing. It was hard to accept that this mild-mannered old man had once been one of the most dangerous men alive. You don’t expect living legends to retire and give it all up and grow old. The man before them looked small and diminished, even fragile. And yet, there was still something about him. Jack Forester had a presence; and so did the great sword hanging down his back.

Jack looked past them all, to Leland Dusque, smiling and standing alone. The two men watched each other silently for a long moment, and then Jack turned sternly to Prince Cameron.

“How can you ally yourself with the Stalking Man? With Hell’s presence on Earth? Don’t you know the things he’s done?”

“This is war,” said Cameron, entirely unmoved. “I know the stories. Everyone does. That’s what makes him such a useful weapon.”

“And you’re in no position to cast the first stone,” said Dusque. “That is an Infernal Device on your back, isn’t it?”

Everyone looked at Jack sharply as they heard the old name, their faces full of shock and horror.

“I thought they were all gone!” said Christof. “All the stories agreed: the three Infernal Devices were lost or destroyed in the last part of the Demon War!”

“No,” said the Champion. “There were other swords, some said, kept secret by the Forest Kings, all these years . . .”

“And you’ve brought them back into the world,” said Cameron.

“What other choice did we have?” said Jack.

“Am I the only one who sees an opportunity here?” said Van Fleet. “He’s brought us an Infernal Device. Why not just take it for ourselves?”

“What makes you think the sword would let you take it?” said Jack. “The Infernal Devices have always chosen their own wielders.”

There was an uncomfortable moment, broken when Jack took a step forward, smiling easily on all present.

“There’s no need for any unpleasantness. I am an envoy, with a simple message. The war can end now, before anyone gets hurt. Go home; let the diplomats talk and find a way to renew the Peace agreement that everyone worked so hard on. You must see that is in everyone’s best interests.”

“You’re right,” said the Champion. “It can all end now. Just give us the Princess Catherine. Return her to us, and then we can all go home.”

“We’re not holding her,” said Jack. “She has chosen to stay of her own free will.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” said the Champion.

“The Princess did volunteer to go back,” said Jack. “She was ready to do that to stop a war. But look around you, sir Champion. Do you think these men would turn back if Catherine walked into this tent right now? No. They came here to fight a war, and that’s what they’re going to do.”

The Champion looked around, at Christof and Staker, and most especially at Cameron, and he fell silent.

The Stalking Man came forward then, and everyone else fell back despite themselves. Heaven and Hell’s chosen stood face-to-face, and it was as though they were the only ones in the tent.

“I know your story,” said Jack. “I know your tragedy. I know why you became the Stalking Man. But can you honestly say it has made you happy, or even content?”

“Some things are more important,” said Leland Dusque. “Even a harsh comfort is better than none. And revenge does have a savour all its own.”

“I can help you,” said Jack.

“I don’t want your help,” said Dusque.

Jack sighed quietly. “No. You never did.” He turned away to face Prince Cameron. “Be honest, your highness. Even if I brought Catherine here myself, would you stop? William wants this war, though I don’t know if anyone really understands why. He’d still order you to continue, wouldn’t he?”

Cameron nodded slowly. “It’s all gone too far to stop now. This war’s been a long time coming. It has to run its course.”

“Not necessarily,” said Jack. “I have a special reason for being here. I have been authorised by King Rufus to suggest that we settle this conflict the old honourable way—through a contest of champions. One man from each side, one match; winner take all. No need for a long, drawn-out conflict and the destruction of two countries.”

“No!” General Staker said immediately. “This just shows how desperate they really are! They can see they’re no match for our army. We don’t need to risk everything on a gamble like this . . . We can win this war!”

“You said it yourself, General,” said Cameron. “Laying siege to Forest Castle could take months. By which time the Forest armies will be here. And nothing is ever certain on the battlefield . . . No, I like this suggestion. Let’s get this done, here and now. So only one man has to die.”

Everyone else at the table was nodding; they liked the idea, because they knew who their champion would be. Prince Cameron. The man who had never lost a fight.

Malcolm Barrett nodded too, though somewhat reluctantly. As the King’s official Champion, he felt he should be the one to fight. But honour demanded that he step down in favour of the legendarily unbeaten Broken Man.

There followed a certain amount of negotiation, between Jack and Cameron, on the details of the duel, and then they both formally agreed. Malcolm said he would escort Jack back through the troops. Jack was about to say that wasn’t necessary, when he saw that the Champion wanted to speak with him privately, so he just smiled and nodded to everyone, and left the tent with Malcolm.

•   •   •

O
utside the tent, the two men walked a little away so they could talk privately. The surrounding soldiers looked on, hunched in small groups around their steaming camp-fires, but they had no desire to get involved. A little of Jack’s reputation went a long way. The rain had died away to a slow drizzle, and the air was heavy with the scents of the Forest.

“Is Catherine all right? Really?” said Malcolm.

“Of course she’s all right,” said Jack. “She’s fine. She’s where she wants to be, with the man she loves.”

“I can’t believe that,” said Malcolm.

“But you do,” said Jack.

“I don’t care!” said Malcolm. Heads came up, and people looked around, disturbed by the raw emotion in his voice, and Malcolm made himself calm down. No one said anything. He was, after all, the Champion. Malcolm sighed, and looked out into the trees so he wouldn’t have to look at Jack’s understanding face. “You’re right. Catherine doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t matter anymore. It’s all gone too far for any of us to back down. It’s a matter of honour.”

“You mean pride,” said Jack, not unkindly.

“Send your champion here to fight,” said Malcolm. “So Cameron can kill him and you can surrender.”

He went back into the tent, passing the Stalking Man coming out. Leland Dusque came over to stand with Jack. The two men nodded to each other.

“Are you really still using that Dusque name?” said Jack. “It’s so contrived. I can never take it seriously.”

“Better than using my real name and embarrassing my father,” said Dusque.

“I was never embarrassed,” said Jack. “Horrified, saddened, but . . . I do hear about the things you do. I keep hoping you’ll come to your senses and give it up. Do you really think this is what your mother would have wanted?”

“Those forest brigands had her for three days,” said Dusque. “And after everything they did to her, I couldn’t bear to look at her body. Had to have a closed casket for the funeral. Because you weren’t there, to save her.”

“I was on the other side of the Forest when I heard,” said Jack. “I got there as fast as I could.”

“It wasn’t fast enough.”

“I know. I tracked down all the brigands I could find and killed them. It didn’t bring your mother back. That was one of the reasons why I gave up being the Walking Man.”

“And so you ran away to join the monastery, so you could hide from the world,” said Dusque. “I went to an old church in Redhart, near where Mother was born, and there I found a very different book from yours. I became the Stalking Man, the wrath of Hell in the world of men. And I tracked down every brigand you let get away and killed them all.”

“All of them?” said Jack.

“Every last one, Father.”

“Good. Thank you, son.”

“I didn’t do it for you!”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“Yes,” said Dusque. But he looked away as he said it. “Why did you never marry my mother?” he said finally.

“Mercy’s mother left me because I was never there,” said Jack. “I did my best to avoid commitment after that.”

“If you’d married her . . .”

“I still wouldn’t have been there when she needed me,” said Jack. “Do you think I’ve never thought about that? If I had been there, perhaps I could have saved her from the brigands. Perhaps I could have saved you, from this . . .”

“I don’t want to be saved,” Dusque said coldly. “I enjoy my role as Hell’s champion.”

“You don’t seem particularly happy,” said Jack. “Give it up, son. Lay down your burden and walk away. Like I did.”

“You were never strong enough,” said Dusque. “You never really embraced your role, as I have. I’ll never give it up.”

“I thought that, once,” said Jack. “But it’s the only way you’ll ever know peace.”

“Peace?” said the Stalking Man. “It’s overrated.”

He turned away and went back into the command tent. Jack looked after him for a moment, and then made his way slowly back through the enemy lines, to Forest Castle.

•   •   •

J
ack Forester stood before King Rufus on his throne, in the great empty Court, and made his report. There were no politicians present, no courtiers. King Rufus had decided he didn’t need them. The Seneschal was there, standing at the King’s side. Prince Richard and Princess Catherine, Hawk and Fisher, and Chappie. They all listened carefully as Jack told them everything that had happened inside the command tent.

“I suppose it all went as well as we could have hoped,” said the King. “Pretty predictable that they’d choose Cameron as their champion. But we still have to decide on our choice.”

“We haven’t had an official Champion since Prince Rupert’s time,” said Richard, not looking at Hawk and Fisher. “Queen Felicity had her Questor, Allen Chance . . . but that position was dropped as Parliament took more power for itself.”

“Why are we still arguing about this?” said Hawk. “It’s me. It has to be me.”

“No,” said the King. “I should do it. I am young and strong again. I was made strong just for things like this.”

“But the King cannot place himself in danger!” insisted the Seneschal. “What if they just kidnapped you? Threatened to execute you? We’d have no choice but to surrender.”

“Then I should do it,” said Richard. “Cameron is a Prince of Redhart; he should be faced by a Prince of the Forest.”

“Same objection,” said the Seneschal.

“You can’t, Richard,” said Catherine. “Cameron would kill you. He’s unbeatable. Everyone knows that. He’ll kill whoever we send.”

“That’s why it has to be me,” said Hawk. “Because I have a long history of winning against people everyone said couldn’t be beaten. And, you’ll notice, I’m still here.”

“Damn right,” said Fisher.

“Very well then,” said King Rufus. “Let us set one unbeatable fighter against another.”

He called Richard forward so he and the Seneschal could discuss what might happen after the fight. Hawk and Fisher moved a little away. Hawk carefully removed the Rainbow Sword and gave it to Fisher.

“Keep it somewhere safe,” he said. “Just in case.”

“No,” Fisher said immediately, trying to give the sword back to him. “I don’t want it. You might need it!”

“Not in this fight. I can’t take it with me, Isobel. In case I don’t come back.”

“You can beat him!” said Fisher. “You’re a living legend! He’s just a cautionary tale.”

“I’ve beaten all kinds,” said Hawk. “I’ve been very lucky. But everyone’s luck runs out sometime. So, just in case . . . keep the sword. Because the Demon Prince is still out there, somewhere . . . and the Rainbow is the only thing that might stop him.”

“I’ll hold on to it for you,” said Fisher. “And give it back to you when you return.”

“Yes,” said Hawk.

“If he does kill you,” said Fisher. “I will never surrender. Even if the whole Forest Kingdom bends its knee to Redhart, I will never give in. I will kill them all, one by one, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

“You always were a sore loser,” Hawk said fondly.

“I’m going with you,” said Chappie, butting Hawk in the hip with his great head. “Just to see fair play.”

“What do you know about fair play?” said Hawk, patting the dog’s head and pulling at an ear.

“Absolutely nothing,” said the dog. “That’s the point. I know every dirty trick there is; they won’t be able to sneak anything past me. You always were too honourable for your own good.”

•   •   •

A
n hour or so later, Hawk and Chappie entered the trees at the edge of the clearing and moved cautiously forward into the Forest. It was raining heavily now, coming down hard, turning the ground muddy and treacherous underfoot. The Redhart soldiers huddled together around their camp-fires, protecting them with their own bodies. They barely stirred as Hawk and his dog passed, just watched them go by with cold faces and colder eyes. There were soldiers everywhere Hawk looked, filling the Forest, and he realised for the first time just how big an armed force Redhart had brought to take Forest Castle. Hawk smiled easily at all of them, radiating a cheerful confidence, because he knew that would upset them most.

It didn’t take Hawk long to reach the new clearing Cameron had had hacked out of the Forest. A great open circle, surrounded by roughly cut stumps, some still oozing fresh sap. A beaten-earth circle, cleared of roots and stones; already turning to thick mud. It was an ugly place, a ragged wound in the body of the Forest. Casual emotionless destruction to make a place for someone to die. Hawk stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked it over. His disapproval must have shown in his face, because one of the soldiers came forward to sneer at him.