Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) Read Free Page A

the complicated series of flaps that protected his groin. He only just made it in time, and whistled nonchalantly as he emptied his bladder against a tree trunk. If his diet didn’t improve soon, he’d be the only hero going into battle with his fly undone …
    That thought decided him, and as soon as he’d finished what he was doing, Rupert set about discarding his armor. He’d only worn the damn stuff because he’d been assured it was traditional for anyone setting out on a quest.
Stuff tradition
, thought Rupert happily, his spirits soaring as piece by piece the battered armor dropped into the trail’s mud. After a little thought, he decided to hang onto the steel-studded boots; he might want to kick someone. Clad finally in leather jerkin and trousers and his best cloak, Rupert felt comfortable for the first time in weeks. Admittedly, he also felt decidedly vulnerable, but the way his luck had been going recently, he’d only have rusted up solid, anyway.
    “I hate grass,” said the unicorn moodily.
    “Then why are you eating it?” asked Rupert, buckling on his sword belt.
    “I’m hungry,” said the unicorn, chewing disgustedly. “And since we ran out of civilized fodder weeks ago …”
    “What’s wrong with grass?” Rupert inquired mildly. “Horses eat it all the time.”
    “I am not a horse!”
    “Never said you were …”
    “I’m a unicorn, a thoroughbred, and I’m entitled to proper care and attention. Like oats and barley and …”
    “In the Tanglewood?”
    “Hate grass,” muttered the unicorn. “Makes me feel all bloated.”
    “Try a few thistles,” suggested Rupert.
    The unicorn gave him a hard look. “Do I even faintly resemble a donkey?” he inquired menacingly.
    Rupert looked away to hide a grin, and discovered a dozen goblins had moved silently out of the shadows to block the trail. Ranging from three to four feet in height, scarecrow thin and pointed-eared, they were armed with short, rusty swords and jagged-edged meat cleavers. Their ill-fitting bronze and silver armor had obviously been looted from human travellers, and their unpleasant grins suggested only too clearly what had happened to the armor’s previous occupants. Furious at being caught so easily off-guard, Rupert drew his sword and glared at them all impartially. The goblins hefted their weapons, and then looked at each other uneasily. For a long moment, nobody moved.
    “Well don’t just stand there,” growled a deep voice from the shadows. “Get him!”
    The goblins shifted unhappily from foot to foot.
    “Have you seen the size of that sword?” said the smallest goblin.
    “And look at those scars on his face, and all that dried blood on his armor,” whispered another goblin respectfully. “He must have slaughtered a dozen people to get in that much of a mess.”
    “Probably chopped them into chutney,” elaborated the smallest goblin mournfully.
    Rupert swung his sword casually back and forth before him, light flashing the length of the blade. The goblins brandished their weapons in a half-hearted way and huddled together for comfort.
    “At least get his horse,” suggested the voice from the shadows.
    “Horse?” The unicorn threw up his head, rage blazing from his blood-red eyes. “
Horse?
What do you think this is on my brow? An ornament? I’m a unicorn, you moron!”
    “Horse, unicorn; what’s the difference?”
    The unicorn pawed the ground, and lowered his head so that light glistened on his wickedly pointed horn.
    “Right. That does it. One at a time or all at once;
you’re all getting it!
”
    “Nice one, leader,” muttered the smallest goblin.
    Rupert shot an amused glance at the unicorn. “I thought you were a sensible, logical coward?”
    “I’m too busy being angry,” growled the unicorn. “I’ll be afraid later, when there’s time. Line these creeps up for me, and I’ll skewer the lot. I’ll show them a shish kebab they won’t forget in a hurry.”
    The goblins began