Douglas Niles - Prophet of Moonshae

The way was known to him, not as an heir to the family home but because he had followed his older brothers on more than one occasion when Gwyeth or Currag had entered these secret chambers. Only those of Blackstone blood were shown the true secrets of the great manor, and yet the earl hadn't chosen to include his third son in these confidences.

Hanrald knew, however, that these passages connected most of the important bedrooms and guest rooms of the house to each other. He also knew that, in the winding catacombs far below his feet, dark torture chambers existed, cells that would never acknowledge the light of day. Until now, he had accepted his father's explanations that such places were no longer used. Now, however, he wasn't prepared to accept anything the earl told him at face value.

Tonight his mission did not call for an investigation of those catacombs. Instead, he followed the narrow corridor for no more than forty paces, coming to an aperture that he knew was concealed on the other side by the back wall of a great fireplace. .

… the fireplace that warmed the anteroom of his father's private chambers. This, he knew, would be the location of any clandestine meeting. He placed his faint candle far back along the passage so that no telltale glow would reveal him through a chink between the stones.

As Hanrald knelt by the secret door, stuffing a hand over his nose to stifle an impending sneeze brought about by the dusty nature of his surroundings, he heard a deep voice that he recognized as belonging to his father, Earl Blackstone.

Gently the knight pushed at the stone slab that formed the door. A faint crack of light washed through the narrow gap, and the voices came to his ears more clearly.

Surprisingly, the first words he heard dearly came from neither his father nor his brother. Instead, a third man spoke, his voice a forceful hiss.

"You yourself must journey to the palace. She will employ your aid, willingly enough I shall ensure, and the furtherance of our plans shall be guaranteed."

"But what of the High Queen? Surely she will not allow her daughter to direct the affairs of the kingdom," spoke the Earl of Fairheight.

"She lies all unknowing," replied the strange, hissing voice. "The younger princess is in fact the voice of the crown in Callidyrr."

"Mayhaps she'll be more of a feminine wench than her sister." This crude growl, Hanrald knew, issued from his brother, Gwyeth. His blood surged at the insult to the Princess Alicia, but he forced himself to restrain his temper.

"She is comely, but you would do well not to press her for advantage," whispered the strange voice, with a strong hint of menace. "For her powers of magic are great, and he who gives her offense will not live to see many sunrises."

Hanrald grinned in silent pleasure, picturing the expression on Gwyeth's face. His brother would surely be displeased by such a warning, yet-especially in view of his humiliation from the magic of Keane-the older son would take no risks where sorcery was concerned.

Then the concealed knight scowled, wishing he dared push the secret portal open farther to catch a view of the stranger who spoke with his father and brother. Yet he had already taken a great risk by opening the small crack, and further movement might reveal itself in the room by sound or even sight.

"I depart tomorrow, after I make arrangements to tend the duchy," continued the earl. "You, Gwyeth, will remain in charge of the cantrev. Also, I place in your hands the matter of this Moonwell's destruction. See that it is accomplished quickly, without fanfare."

"What of Hanrald?"

The eavesdropping knight stiffened as he heard his brother speak his name.

"I don't trust him with knowledge of our plans. I'll dispatch him on a hunt, which should serve to keep him occupied and uncurious. By the time he returns, the thing will be done."

"Splendid." Once again the visitor spoke, and this time his voice was muffled, as if he spoke through a cloth, or perhaps a deep hood. "When you next see me, it will be in the halls of Caer Callidyrr itself!"

Hanrald heard a whooshing sound, as if a wind blew through the room beyond the door, and then his brother cursed. "By the gods! Why can't he leave by the door like a normal man?"

"You have answered your own question," replied his father, his voice once again a low rumble. His tone, however, was not displeased. "Now I must prepare. I have much to do before I ride."

Hanrald heard the door to the anteroom open and close. No further sound reached his ear, and as his taper grew low, he crept back to his own chamber to ponder on what he had heard.

Followed by the column of northman warriors, Alicia and her companions led their horses at a walk down the steep mountain trails. Persistent rain often covered the trail with spattering rivulets of muddy water, making the footing treacherous and the pace slow.

Brandon walked beside the princess, while Tavish and Keane trailed a bit to the rear. The Ffolk knew that Newt buzzed somewhere around them, but after a stern rebuke from the princess in the morning, the faerie dragon had reluctantly pledged to refrain from practical jokes. Instead, he had become invisible and gave no clue as to his location.

The hulking Wultha walked, close behind the magic-user, squinting at him with his tiny eyes and often scratching his head, as if still trying the grasp the events of the previous night. Nevertheless, the huge man's manner was friendly, even respectful, to the mage, a fact Keane found reassuring in the extreme.

Brandon had posted scouts on either flank of the column, so their progress was of necessity slow. Yet this didn't seem to annoy the prince, for he talked with Alicia of the wonders of his realm, as if they had all the time in the world.

"The march will take several days," explained the prince. "We're closer to Callidyrr than Gnarhelm."

"It will be pleasant to see some of your realm," replied Alicia honestly. She wondered if her enthusiasm came from the prospect of new scenery-especially masked by rain, as it had been so far-as much as from the company of the rugged warrior at her side.

"You have never been to a city of the north?" inquired Brandon somewhat awkwardly. He didn't know why, but his usual bluff self-confidence was held firmly in check by the presence of the beautiful auburn-haired woman beside him.

"No. I have seen Corwell, and Westphal on Snowdown-and the towns of Callidyrr, of course. I've even seen Waterdeep and some of the wonders of the Sword Coast. But never have I been among your people, our neighbors."

"My father's lodge is the greatest building north of the mountains!" Brandon proclaimed, his arms spreading expansively. "And Gnarhelm has many great captains, each of whom dwells in his own splendid lodge! But the bay and the shipyard truly make the city the place that I love."

Alicia, for her part, enjoyed listening to the prince of the north. She felt a sense of growing peace. The attack of the iron golem seemed like a distant nightmare, and even the billowing gray clouds overhead couldn't darken her mood. The wind whipped full into their faces, and frequent showers doused them, but she pulled her cloak tightly about her and enjoyed the snug comfort of her wrap. Then, as the latest squall passed away, she uncovered her head again as Brandon spoke to her.

"Your father is a great king," said the prince of the north. "My kinsman, Grunnarch the Red, has spoken very highly of him."

"I know the Red King," Alicia responded, inordinately delighted that she had found some common ground with Brandon. "He has visited Callidyrr several times. My father says that he is a ruler of vision and courage."

"Aye, many times over. It was no easy task to persuade his warriors to go to the aid of the Ffolk a score of years ago."