The White Road of the Moon

by Rachel Neumeier

  Meridy agreed but turned in a half circle, uncertain. It was all very well to determine that they had to find Herren and then climb down here to do it, but now it seemed rather another thing to walk openly up and down before all the cells looking for him. The guards couldn’t be so very unalert as to fail to notice someone doing that, and anyway, what about other prisoners? If any of them called out, that would probably draw the guards’ attention too.

  Meridy looked at Diöllin, who flickered away without hesitation, down the corridor away from the guard station. Twice the ghost princess paused, clearly uncertain, but then she went on. The corridor angled around as it got farther from the guard station; not a normal angle, but a gentle curve followed by an abrupt jog to the left; it was obvious this whole level of the dungeon had once been part of the caverns. It was much darker down that way, with fewer lanterns and some of those not lit. Diöllin vanished from sight entirely among the dim shadows. Meridy hoped the princess would find her brother in one of the cells that lay around that curve, that Diöllin hadn’t been completely wrong about where he’d been put. They all just had to trust that Diöllin always could find her little brother.

  She was shivering. Well, it was cold. There was nothing to be afraid of. There were only three guards, after all, and Niniol was right here. Though she didn’t quite know how she might draw him into the real with neither smoke nor dust nor strong light to work with. She realized now that she should have brought a handful of dust with her. Though without better light, dust might not help much. How stupid not to think of that earlier.

  Then Diöllin came back and waved, and Meridy let her breath out and tiptoed in that direction.

  “They’ve got him in the farthest cell!” Diöllin whispered indignantly when Meridy reached her. “And you know who’s imprisoned with him? Roann Mahonis! In the farthest cell of the lot! It’s outrageous!”

  Meridy stared at her, wanting, suddenly and astonishingly, to laugh. The princess had explained that the cells nearest the guardroom were the least damp and best furnished, and got the first and best food and the first and cleanest water, and were therefore by far the most desirable, on the limited scale of comfort that the upper dungeons offered. The seneschal, and even more the young prince, surely ought to have been given one of the better cells, but anybody could see that would have made breaking out much more difficult, that the fact the two were imprisoned together was a huge, unlooked-for stroke of good fortune. Meridy had never hoped for so much luck. Diöllin, too, must realize how amazingly lucky they’d been. She’d just forgotten for a moment.

  “That sounds extremely convenient to me!” Meridy whispered. “I suppose your mother thought she’d guard them both at once, since they’re both important, but to me it sounds like the hand of the God has stretched out over us. This way we’ve a chance of getting them both out right now! Listen, we can trust the seneschal, can’t we? You’re sure?”

  “Roann Mahonis? Of course we can!” Diöllin declared indignantly. “No one more!”

  “Oh! You’re in love with him!” Meridy realized she should have guessed long before. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “I am not,” protested Diöllin, drawing herself up. “I am not in love with anybody. Anyway, it’s impossible; he might be a seneschal, but he’s only a petty lord—my father would never permit…Anyway, I’m right. We can trust him. Lord Roann is the most faithful, the cleverest—”

  Niniol made a curt gesture, cutting her off. “Your Highness, we don’t care! With luck it’ll make the man more trustworthy rather than less. Now hush, both of you! The God grant I never again have to slip by a guard post with a couple of prattling children, living or quick!”

  Diöllin, with a resentful sniff, fell silent. Blushing, Meridy waved for her to lead the way, but Niniol brushed past the princess, disappearing into the darkness around the angled corridor. Meridy gave Diöllin her best stern look, one she had copied from Aunt Tarana, and followed.

  There weren’t many cells in this direction, which was surely a good thing—the fewer restless or wakeful prisoners they passed, the better. Meridy couldn’t stop herself from peering into each cell as she passed it, with a horrible, irresistible curiosity. No one seemed awake, but some of the cells held shapeless heaps of rags, which must really be prisoners tucked down on their thin pallets. It was awful. These dungeons were dark, and cold, and frightening, and Meridy didn’t want to leave anybody here, even though she knew that was foolish.

  But it was still awful.

  Between the poor lighting and the barely suppressed terror, she was afraid she would never have found Prince Herren by herself. Meridy passed two cells and then another and another, at odd intervals, plainly set into natural alcoves rather than carved out according to any deliberate plan. As she passed the next-to-last cell, she became aware of a low scratching sound emanating from the final one in the row. It was a peculiarly stealthy sound, which was not quite the same as merely not being loud. She glanced at Diöllin, who shrugged as though to say, Well, yes, but what did you expect? The princess said, her inaudible voice sounding a little defensive, “I did tell you. Roann is clever.”

  Sneaking forward the last little distance, Meridy saw that this sound was in fact being produced by the seneschal, who, so far from being resigned to his imprisonment, was engaged in the unpromising task of defeating the lock of his cell. For this purpose, he was using a piece of straw and a bent length of wire, and it was the pressure of the wire against the iron of the lock that she had heard. Herren, tucked against the wall on a pallet, was visible only as a lump beneath several blankets. A brazier stood at the foot of the pallet, coals glowing dully, so evidently the princess-regent had not wholly disregarded the surviving heir’s well-being.

  Niniol strode ahead and stood outside the cell, his hands on his hips, watching the seneschal’s efforts with a somewhat nonplussed expression. Now he turned his head and gave Meridy a sardonic look. “He does seem resourceful, I’ll grant,” he observed.

  Meridy nodded. She wasn’t sure she thought fiddling around with that wire was exactly useful, but at least it showed a lot of determination.

  Meridy had been sufficiently silent on her approach that Lord Roann had not become aware of her, and priest or not, he obviously wasn’t a witch because he hadn’t heard the ghosts. Thus, he was still working on the lock even when she was only a few feet away. The lock was, of course, on the outside of the cell door, with the key meant to be inserted from the front, and this made it difficult to achieve any sort of access to the keyhole from within the cell. Lord Roann’s hands and arms were therefore pressed rather awkwardly against the bars, his fingers twisted to what must have been the point of pain in order to use straw and wire against the lock.

  As Meridy watched, he dropped the wire. It fell on the floor outside the cell door. Judging by the strict patience with which the seneschal knelt on the floor and began to try to fish it back within reach with a length of straw, it was not the first time that this particular accident had occurred.

  Unable to resist the temptation, Meridy whispered, “Let me get that for you,” and picked up the wire.

  Lord Roann, with a stifled exclamation, first recoiled in shock and then stood up, peering through the dim light as well as he could. Of course he had no idea who Meridy was. He plainly couldn’t see Diöllin, who had slipped through the bars to hover protectively over her brother. The princess tried to touch Herren’s shoulder and stroke his hair, but of course she couldn’t. Giving up, she came back and tried to lay her hand on the seneschal’s arm, but she couldn’t do that either. From the way she turned to glare at Meridy, she was obviously frustrated. “You didn’t have to scare him!” she said.

  The seneschal jerked and turned, searching for Diöllin. His lips shaped her name—Meridy couldn’t have mistaken it. He had plainly not only heard her voice but recognized it, soundless though it had been. His eyes were dark, but despite the poor light, Meridy was certain they weren’t black.
She raised her eyebrows at the princess. “Just how many anchors do you have?”

  The seneschal gave Meridy a swift, gauging look and said to Diöllin, in a low, tense voice, “Ah, Liny! You’ve found a true anchor, then, a witch who can keep you safe in the world. You trust her?”

  “She’s braver than you’d think, and her manners are decent, for a village girl.”

  “Oh, thank you so much,” Meridy said drily, though actually from Diöllin that seemed a near paean.

  Diöllin ignored her, laying her imperceptible hand on the seneschal’s arm, looking into his face. “Roann, I’m so sorry. I would have told them it wasn’t your fault, only I couldn’t, and they wouldn’t have listened anyway.” Then she gave Meridy a haughty look. “If he can serve as an anchor, that’s all to the good! He’s not heavy enough in the ethereal to keep me safe from Tai-Enchar, but he’s heavy enough to keep me from getting lost, at least unless I get too far away from him. You have to agree, it’s much safer for me to be anchored by a dozen different people than to allow myself to be lost. Anyway, I’m not—Roann isn’t—and besides, it hardly matters now.”

  Meridy had to agree that a dozen anchors couldn’t be too many for a ghost who’d caught Tai-Enchar’s eye. Stepping closer to the door of the cell, she informed Lord Roann, “Diöllin and I came here to rescue you. Well, Herren, but here you are, too—isn’t that lucky?”

  Lord Roann took a breath to collect himself. “I admit, I’d welcome a more practical option than picking the lock with that bit of wire. But, listen…” His eyes searched her face, assessing.

  Meridy felt the strength of his gaze and knew he saw more than she liked. Certainly he must see the Southern blood, obviously running far stronger in her than in the folk of these northern cities. And even in this dim light he could hardly miss her black eyes.

  But he said only, “You’re a witch, of course, and you’ve bound Diöllin. How could you dare? And how could you dare bring her here?” His voice, neutral on the first few words, sounded increasingly outraged. He went on fiercely, “Don’t you realize how dangerous this is for her?”

  “I brought her,” Diöllin corrected him. “I asked her to bind me, so don’t fuss! I need you, Roann—I mean, we all need you, of course! It’s true! Don’t argue.” She said to Meridy, casting her eyes upward, “He always argues. But he’s not such a fool as to argue about something stupid now.”

  Lord Roann opened his mouth but closed it again without speaking. He took a deep breath instead, probably, Meridy guessed, counting to ten. Or a hundred.

  He was not as tall a man as Meridy had expected, and not as handsome. Once she’d realized that Princess Diöllin was in love with him, she had instantly imagined a man more like the unbelievably handsome Lord Taimonuol. But Roann Mahonis was only middling tall and middling good-looking. His hair, cropped sensibly short, was brown and wavy, not golden and smooth; and his face was round rather than aristocratically chiseled; and his hands, where they gripped the bars, were broad and strong, like the hands of a farmer or craftsman. And he was old; over thirty, Meridy thought.

  But his gaze was intent, alert, intelligent. She could see how a girl might be impressed by the strength of it.

  Leaning forward, he murmured, “Who are you? A witch, obviously, but not one of Tiamanaith’s. If you’ve protected Liny—Her Highness—then I’m grateful. But it is dangerous for her here. Don’t you know there’s always at least one witch among the guardsmen? If one of them, an experienced adult, contested you for Diöllin, do you think you could hold her and keep her safe?”

  Meridy glared at Diöllin. “Why, no, I don’t think Diöllin mentioned about the witches.”

  “You have to get her away again immediately! Look, let me wake His Highness—he’s a little thing, he may be able to fit between the bars, there’s a gap against the far side where the wall’s uneven. You can take him and get out—”

  “Not without you!” declared Diöllin.

  The seneschal flinched and turned back, saying in a low, intense voice, “I’m not—it isn’t—what matters is that you get His Highness clear away.”

  “Yes, and then what? I need you, Roann! I don’t trust Lord Taimonuol! And Perann’s all very well, but he can’t get the court behind him the way you can. You’re the one we need.” She added plaintively, “Oh, it’s been so awful, Roann! My mother—”

  “I know,” the seneschal said to her gently. “I know.”

  Niniol rolled his eyes. “Ah, young love. Perhaps we might open this door sometime soon?”

  But Diöllin was already going on and of course Lord Roann hadn’t heard Niniol at all. “Roann, what happened?” the princess asked. “How could it have happened?” Her voice was low and pained.

  Lord Roann’s hands moved restlessly across the bars, as if he sought some obscure comfort from the cold metal. But he only shook his head. “The beast seemed under control to me. I’d have suggested a stallion, myself. Fire horse stallions are straightforward, mostly; if they hate you, they show it. A mare can seem easy until she suddenly bites your throat out. Your father did seem to have gentled her. I suggested another month or so to be sure, but you remember how your mother said a showy gesture at the harvest conclave would let your father take precedence over the other princes—”

  Diöllin clutched her hands together, shivering with distress. “She did? I didn’t know that she suggested that.”

  “That’s right. There was that trouble with Larian of Moran Tal putting on airs at the spring conclave, you remember. If your father had a fire horse under bridle, well, so much for Larian. I thought your father could perfectly well wait for spring, but he wanted to show his beast off this fall. Even so”—and though he did not raise his voice, he leaned forward and spoke with intensity—“Prince Diöllonuor was not careless, and I certainly did not slice the girth half through. Nor did the stable master. I think now—” He cut that off, looking at Diöllin.

  “You think it was my mother,” whispered the princess. “I think so too. Except it wasn’t her at all. Not by then. It was a sorceress, a long-dead sorceress. She took her.”

  Lord Roann bowed his head, but to Meridy’s astonishment he did not seem surprised. “I’m sorry, Liny. Your mother was never…We didn’t get on. As you know. But this spring, she seemed…though I couldn’t see how any witch or sorceress could dare do what it seemed might have been done. I spoke to your father, but he wouldn’t hear me.”

  “You guessed? You didn’t tell me.”

  “Ah, Liny, I wasn’t certain; how could I be? Then, that day, the girth broke on the beast’s first good plunge, which it shouldn’t have. I saw her face when it happened, and I knew. But then you—” He stopped, rubbing a hand hard across his mouth.

  “I don’t remember,” Diöllin said, shuddering. “I don’t remember that part.”

  “I wish I could forget.”

  “I think we can all imagine,” Niniol said, almost gently, though he also added, “But we should save all the tales for later, surely. Tell them to stop all this babble and let’s get moving, eh?”

  Meridy nodded emphatically. “You’re right. Oh, hush, Diöllin; you know Niniol’s right.” She could see the shadows of bruises on the seneschal’s face, though, and asked worriedly, “But can you walk, Lord Roann? Can you, um, climb?”

  “What? You’re hurt? They beat you?” said Diöllin furiously. “How dare they?”

  Lord Roann smiled. “I must admit, I have been a little obstreperous. I didn’t realize I might have to walk, or climb.” He reached out a little, then drew back, as though remembering that he couldn’t touch Diöllin’s hand. He settled for giving Meridy a short nod instead. “I promise you, I would be delighted to walk, run, climb, or crawl out of this place—but if it’s going to take more than a moment, then it’s too dangerous. What’s important now is protecting Herren. Listen to me: you can leave me here—that’s all right. Diöllin will know whom you should talk to, whom you can trust. It’s His Highness who needs to be taken o
ut of here—”

  “Is he all right?” asked Meridy. “Shouldn’t he have woken by now?”

  Lord Roann glanced over his shoulder toward the young prince, frowning. “They’ve been giving him a drug. Sweetleaf, I’m nearly certain. Her Highness commanded it, fearing, I think, that he’d begin issuing commands of his own and manage to get someone to listen….”

  Meridy frowned, guessing that the actual purpose of the drug, which encouraged deep and dreamless sleep, was to keep a boy like Herren away from the eye and the attention of Tai-Enchar, whose realm lay almost entirely in dreams and memory.

  Turning, Lord Roann went swiftly across the cell and knelt beside Herren’s pallet. Diöllin fluttered anxiously around him as he gathered the boy up and came back to the front of the cell, where he scowled intently at Meridy. “If you can open the door…,” he murmured.

  “Yes—yes, of course we can open it.” The princess flitted toward Meridy but whirled back again as her brother, rousing at last, began to try, vague and wavering as he clearly was, to stand on his own.

  Lord Roann laid a finger across Herren’s lips, supporting the boy as he struggled to get his balance. Herren didn’t fight him; he didn’t make a sound. It was terrible that so young a boy should have learned such caution even when he was drugged and half conscious, but he slung an arm over Lord Roann’s shoulders and blinked silently around to see what was happening.

  “Hush!” Roann murmured. “Sit here—or stand if you like, but softly. Can you do that?”

  Herren rubbed his face hard, trying to wake up. Meridy thought again how old he seemed for an almost-nine-year-old—how steady and quiet, though his face was white with nerves and he was surely sick with the drug. She thought his hands were trembling, but she could hardly blame him for that. Hers were too, a little.

  “Here, Your Highness,” Lord Roann whispered. “That gap by the wall—”

  Herren laid a hand on his arm, and the seneschal stopped, looking down at him. “I need you,” the prince told him in a low voice, firm for all he could hardly stay on his feet. “Liny, are you—you’re here, aren’t you? Can you open the door?” He looked at Meridy. “Do you—do you have a key?”