Silver Moon

"I must see King Robert."
It was more of an order than it was a request. The Yeoman was certainly not impressed with the man standing before him; he was tall and painfully thin, spindly legs and long, almost elegant fingers. He was dirty. Mud splattered all over him was excusable, the greatest of silks could be sullied in a day of riding. The clothes, though, underneath were as dingy as anything the Yeoman had seen before. The man's leather jerkin was torn and old, stained and tattered. A tunic which must have once been white was underneath, in shreds.
"He is busy, he cannot be seen," the Yeoman said stiffly. He didn't think that he liked the man standing in front of him.
"Oh, is that so?" asked the man, narrowing his eyes. "Well, I believe it shan't much matter. My message is much more important than anything the King could at present be doing."
Quite suddenly, the Yeoman realized who this man was. He was a man of the Duke of Wentshire, a good friend of the King and Queen. Shifting his focus in a flash, and saving face at once, he said, "Sir, I think he can be summoned, I meant no disrespect, only to say he may be busy."
The man frowned, not believing all of what the Yeoman had said, but the Yeoman turned and went to the door of the entry hall, which was to his right. They stood under an enormous wooden awning in front of the castle's main entrance. A moment earlier, the Yeoman would have been surprised that the man had passed by the guards at the keep, but now he cursed himself silently for being stupid. He pulled the door open and poked his head into the entry chamber. It was gaily lit, with two gargantuan chandeliers and tall green and silver colored tapers set on tables. A stray lady, leaning on the arm of a servant boy who seemed to be supporting her drunkenness, walked through the hall with a silly smile his way. The guard stepped up the stairs into the main section of the room, catching a young boy by his arm as he ran by.
"Page, go and fetch His Majesty."
"Sir?"
"The King, knave! Fetch him or I'll make use of this." He poked at the dagger at his waist. It wouldn't have cut a thick piece of mutton, of course; the Yeoman were there for their strength not their weapons. He shook his finger at the page who quailed and hurried away towards the Great Hall where the King was holding a masque in honor of his daughter the princess.
The Yeoman turned back to the great oaken doors and pulled them open, ushering the man outside in from the elements. The Yeoman led the way through the hall and to the right. They were in the front, southern, wing of the castle, and the royal apartments were across the inner courtyard, in the donjon. The King would want to see his friend privately, the Yeoman felt, and the entire palace was filled with courtiers and various other guests not oft there with the King's courtiers, but who had appeared for the revelries of the Princess's birthday.
"If you shan't object greatly, milord, I shall take you to an anteroom. His Majesty ought soon to be with you, milord."
"Thank you, but hurry. It's terribly important. There's word, sir, that Celia is come for the Key of Dan--"
"Sir, it is not for me to know your business," the Yeoman snapped, feeling rude but following court etiquette.
The man nodded with a frown, but it was an amicable, understanding frown. The Yeoman bowed out of the room, and shut the door behind him. He began the long journey back to his post at the front doors of the castle, yawning widely. It was nearing midnight, dark in the dank corridor off the main gallery. He poked the small stub of a candle in his pocket between his fingers and lighted it with a bit of magic, a teeny bit of magic but as much as the Yeoman could ever muster. He cast the light around the chill corridor--this far north and this late in the night it was often chill, so much that you could see your breath hang in the air when exhaling.
There was a bang-bang to the Yeoman's left. He threw the candle's light towards the sound and frowned a deep frown, squinting his eyes to see what it might have been. He looked up the corridor, faintly lit by five tall sconce lights, and there was nothing there. Looking the way he would soon walk, he saw it empty.
There was an enormous crashing sound. The Yeoman jumped high in surprise. In the depths of his mind he had expected no more sounds at all, and to simply go back to his sleepy watch. Fearing some drunk had broken something in the next room, he began down the hall, searching for the door to the room where the noise had been. He kept going. And going. There were no doors on this side of the corridor, and the Yeoman realized why as he saw, some distance ahead, moonlight filtering into the corridor. It was an outside wall.
The Yeoman was uneasy. There was something not quite right. He found a set of spiral stairs and hurried up them, finding, as he had hoped, a vantage point to nearly the entire castle in the high stair tower. He peered through the deep slit window out into the moonlight. Down below there seemed to be some great mass of bushes, which he knew weren't normally there. He squinted in the darkness and tried to determine some shape out of the dark shadows. He climbed across the six feet of stone and looked closer. He gasped and quickly withdrew back into the tower.
Whatever the man had been speaking of, some Celia seeking a Key of some sort, was here.
The guard raced down the stairs, skipping half of them and flying down the corridor. A lump of melted wax lay on the floor where he had left it, forgotten. He flew around three corners, up a flight of stairs, another turn and was to the royal apartments. He knocked on the door surreptitiously and waited. Someone must be here, he thought. His ears perked up and listening intently, he heard loud sounds from the Great Hall and knew that he would not go there or even near it. He rapped again against the door and then lost all caution, kicking the door five times in rapid succession before it fell in, in two second's time.
"Sir!" said the Queen, standing a few feet back from the door, obviously having been making her way to let him in. He shrugged his shoulders and gripped her hand. Then he saw the small face behind her and gripped the little Princess's hand also.
"Madams, we must leave! Now, immediately, don't waste a tenth of a second."
He threw them both out of the door, the Queen looking vastly insulted and the seven-year-old princess looking rather excited.
"What is it, yeoman?" she asked intently. "Is there trouble?" She looked hopeful.
"More than you can ever imagine." She almost looked gleeful.
The Yeoman pushed them down the hall, then gave that up as the Queen tried to brake her feet against the flagstones.
"No! What is it?" she asked.
"Just run and I shall say." He took the Queen's hand in his right and the Princess's in his left and ran. As they flew through the castle, the Queen tripped, and let go of the Yeoman's hand. Taking her cue, the Princess dropped his hand also and ran as fast as she could. The Queen ran full speed with her slippered feet, leaving the Yeoman gasping for breath, surprised at how much vigor the queen had and how much talent the Princess had for running. He hurried ahead of them, though, knowing precisely where he had been told to take the royal family in case of such an emergency.
"What is it?" asked the Queen again.
"Someone's broken into the castle, madam, and I fear has attacked the masque. I do not know who . . . perhaps one named Celia. And I do not know why, but I know you to be in grave danger."
"Have you magic?" the Queen asked between breaths.
"Very little."
"Then ‘tis Wild Magic, sir that gives you that knowledge of the danger. It is true, I feel it with the Seven's Magic."
"I feel it, too," declared the Princess, though both the Yeoman and Queen were sure she did not know what she was speaking of.
"Here."
The Yeoman looked at the wall for a moment before touching a stone on the wall and muttering a word of magic. A door appeared behind a tapestry, which had surely not been there before. The Yeoman pulled it aside and the Queen opened the door, pulled her daughter through and then went through herself, with the yeoman behind. He tapped the door and it disappeared. A dull light appeared in the utter darkness, and both the Queen and Yeoman were surprised to see it came from the Princess.
The room was very small, perhaps four feet on any side. It was square, with a long shaft of moonlight filtering from a very high slit window. It stank of old straw and mold. There was a dripping sound telling that the roof of the room needed repairing.
"Where are we?" said the Queen, shivering.
"The Burrow."
"The which?" said the Queen. "Come now, I know every nook of this castle, I have all the days that I've had the pleasure of living been living in this palace. I have not ever been to this place."
"Only the senior of the Yeoman know of it, madam, for your own safety."
"My own safety?" The Queen seemed, in the low light, very petulant.
"Madam, now is no time to be tetchy. We must save both of your lives." He turned to briefly study the stones of the wall they had entered through to try and see if there could be escape through there if it was necessary. He glanced around and found another very low door, pulled it open, ushered the other two through and shut it behind him, barring it with a thin portcullis.
This room was larger and seemed capable of habitation. The light followed them, illuminating a stone bench wide and thick enough to sleep upon. It was wet and mossy, but a few moth-eaten blankets were piled atop it. The windows were lower and a bit wider. Everyone shivered.
"This is wonderful," sighed the Princes. She seemed to be enjoying herself. There was a thud in the other room. The Yeoman went deathly pale, though neither the Queen or Princess saw it, for just then the Princess's light went out.
"Oh!" said the Princess in great surprise. "That was rude."
The Yeoman shushed her quietly. She nodded in the dark, and the Yeoman saw it. He groped around on the floor, looking in the hay. The Queen watched disinterestedly, then the Princess stooped down and whispered, "Is this what you are looking for, mister?"
The Yeoman nodded and picked up the trapped doors's handle, dusty and dirty and grimy and covered in hay. He flinched as a splintering in the other room announced that the thing which had broken into the castle had entered the room beyond. The Queen pointed him to the door with a gesture, but he was already there. It bounced with a great force against it. The Queen grabbed the Princess's shoulders and lowered her down through the hole of the trapdoor. The Princess almost laughed, but didn't; the Yeoman and her mother seemed worried, so she kept quiet. She stood aside and looked up. Her mother paused at the edge as the door broke in two pieces. Then her eyes widened so large that the Princess thought they might pop out and roll away. She jumped into the hole, bringing darkness with her as she shut the trapdoor. The Princess was silent and moved not even a muscle.
Up above her head there was a great scraping sound. The Yeoman was screaming, but not in pain. The Princess was glad he was not dead. She looked and saw in her own faint magic light that she was in a tunnel. She frowned, unsure of where it might lead. But her mother would know, she felt, as she waited for instructions. Above her there was a metallic scraping and another yell, but this one was pained. The Princess queried, "Mother, ought we not to do something?"
There was no answer. The Princess gasped and kept herself from yelling. She saw her mother crumpled beneath the trapdoor, unconscious. She had caught her dress-it was torn--and knocked her head very hard on the lip of the trapdoor. The Princess felt tears rolling down her cheeks. This seemed much less fun now. She grabbed her mother's shoulders and began to drag her away from the trapdoor. Further. Further. It was only fifteen seconds before the Princess heard the trapdoor begin to be broken away by the thing on the other side. She had only moved her mother three feet.
The Princess wailed in pain as her mother's ring cut through the soft skin of her palm. She dragged her further, but the queen was nearly three times the size of her young daughter, certainly not big for her seven years. She pulled and tugged but her arms were tired. She didn't know what was to be done--her mother always said what was to be done. Looking and seeing that the trapdoor was failing, she made a quick childish decision. She leaned down and pecked her mother on the cheek.
"I'm sorry, Mama. I love you."
She stood up and began running as fast as her tiny legs would carry her. Her head felt hot and clammy and her palms tingled. Her bottom lip was quivering uncontrollably and the tears could not be stopped. Now she was afraid, terrified that the thing behind her wasn't a dream, that it might hurt her. The thought didn't occur to her that it might kill her or her mother, because to her mind that wasn't possible.
She came to what must have been the end of the tunnel. A ladder rose from the floor and she began climbing. Behind her, something had entered the tunnel, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She climbed higher up the ladder, and then her head struck painfully against something solid. It was another trapdoor, but the Princess could see moonlight on the other side. She pushed but it wouldn't move. She began to panic, her mind a blur of tears. She pounded. She pounded until her fists bled, but it wouldn't move. And the thing was near her.
A wave of nausea overcame the Princess, and she wretched, losing what little she had eaten for supper. She glanced behind her, forgetting the fear in her pain. But then her eyes wouldn't move back. She was caught by the green of those eyes, flaming so bright with hate in the darkness, creating a greenish cast to her own face. She stared a moment too long before she wailed in terror and began banging again, the figure below gliding ever closer. Suddenly her fists met air, and she was tugged out of the hole by a very strong arm. Her feet hit the ground and she ran, not looking back. She ran and ran and ran, much longer than ever she had run in her life, all the times put together not equaling it. She felt the warmth of lights, glowing in their torches along the wide cobbles of the street, and kept running.
Finally, the Princess's legs collapsed from under her. She fell forward and found herself on the side of a very wide and empty street. She blinked away tears, hoping she was in her bed.
A warm hand touched her shoulder. The Princess jumped nearly two feet high in fright.
"I'm sorry," said a sad voice. "I did not mean to startle you."
The Princess looked up into the face of a rather short woman, with long mousy hair and pale, translucent coloring. The woman stooped down and wiped away the Princess's tears.
"My mother!" the Princess blustered.
"I know, dear. I know."
The woman cried hot tears on the Princess's head. The Princess melted into the woman's arms and knew she was safe there, truly safe.

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