Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

boundary.
    'Even assuming that I am daft enough to go looking for a woman whose main interest in life is forcibly separating people from their Hood,' said Rupert, dubiously, 'give me one good reason why she should agree to help me.'
    'Apparently,' said the Astrologer, cryptically, 'she was rather fond of your grandfather.'
    Rupert studied the Astrologer suspiciously and pressed him for more details, but he refused to be drawn.
    Rupert trusted the Astrologer about as far as he could spit into the wind, but since he hadn't a clue of how else to find a dragon . . .
    Gnarled, misshapen trees loomed menacingly out of the gloom as Rupert rode deeper into the endless night. The only sound was the steady rhythm of the unicorn's hooves, and even that seemed somehow muffled by the unrelenting dark. More than once Rupert reined the unicorn to a sudden halt and stared about him, eyes straining against the darkness, convinced that something awful lurked just beyond the
    range of his vision. But always there was only the dark, and the silence. He had no lantern, and when he broke a bough from one of the dead trees to make a torch, the rotten wood crumbled in his hand. With no light to guide him, he lost all track of time, but eventually the closely packed trees fell suddenly away on either side, and Rupert signalled to the unicorn to stop. Ahead of them lay a small clearing, its boundaries marked by the glowing fungi. In the middle of the clearing stood a single dark shape that had to be the Night Witch's cottage. Rupert glanced up at the night sky, but there was no moon or stars to give htm light, only an empty darkness that seemed to go on for ever.
    'Are you sure this is a good idea?' whispered the unicorn.
    'No,' said Rupert. 'But it's our best chance to find a dragon.'
    'Frankly, that doesn't strike me as such a hot idea either,' muttered the unicorn.
    Rupert grinned, and swung down out of the saddle. 'You stay here, while I check out the cottage.'
    'You're not leaving me here on my own,' said the unicorn determinedly.
    'Would you rather meet the Night Witch?' asked Rupert.
    The unicorn moved quickly off the trail and hid behind the nearest tree.
    'I'll be back as soon as I can,' Rupert promised. 'Don't go wandering off.'
    'That has to be the most redundant piece of advice I've ever been offered,' said the unicorn.
    Rupert drew his sword, took a deep breath, and moved cautiously out into the clearing. His soft footsteps seemed horribly loud in the quiet and he broke into a run, his back crawling in anticipation of the attack he'd probably never feel anyway. The Witch's cottage crouched before him like a sleeping predator, a dull crimson glow outlining the door and shuttered windows. Rupert skidded to a halt at the cottage and set his back against the rough wooden wall, his eyes darting wildly round as he checked he hadn't been followed. Nothing moved in the ebony gloom, and the only sound in the endless night was his own harsh breathing. He swallowed dryly, stood quietly a moment to get his breath back, and then moved over to knock, very politely, at the cottage's door. A bright crimson glare filled his eyes as the door swung suddenly open, and a huge bony hand with long curving fingernails shot out and grasped him by the throat. Rupert kicked and struggled helplessly as he was hauled into the Witch's cottage.
    The bent old woman kicked the door shut behind her, and dropped Rupert unceremoniously on to the filthy carpet. He sat up and massaged his sore throat as the Night Witch cackled fiendishly, rubbing her gnarled hands together.
    'Sorry about that,' she grinned, 'all part of the image, you know. I have to do something fairly nasty every now and again, or they'll think I've got soft. What are you doing here, anyway?'
    'Thought you might be able to help me,' husked the Prince.
    'Help?' said the Night Witch, raising a crooked eyebrow. 'Are you sure you've come to the right cottage?' The black cat crouched on her shoulder hissed angrily, and rubbed its shoulder against the Witch's long grey hair. She reached up and patted the animal absentmindedly. 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you into a frog,' she demanded.
    Rupert showed her his sword. The Witch grinned nastily.
    'Sheath it, or I'll tie it in a knot.'
    Rupert thought about it a moment, and then slipped the sword into its scabbard. 'I believe you knew my grandfather,' he said carefully.
    'Possibly,' said the Night Witch airily. 'I've known many men in nine.