Moonshine Court

Set in Galhadranon in the reign of Lord Regent Rasaden Delwyth

“I’ve thought of a new game, Bry!”

Those were the first words out of Beradon’s mouth, husky with excitement. I nodded patiently, not taking my eyes off my needlework. My twin brother was always thinking of games, games that started off nicely and safely, and ended up getting everyone involved, himself included, in trouble. It was a gift, I supposed.

“It’s a moonshining sort of game,” Beradon continued breathlessly, his longish chestnut hair hanging in strands over his face. He brushed it distractedly out of his eyes. “We play the monarchy- not the Regent or anything like that,” he assured me as my eyes darkened with alarm, “the monarchy we used to have, you know? Kings, queens, dukes, counts…” he trailed off, looking at me, his twin sister uncertainly. I had dropped my needlework in astonishment, and I knew my eyes, hazel like Beradon’s, were wide with shock.

“Don, don’t you pay attention to anything nowadays? Do you realize how risky it is to remind people of the old government? Do you remember what happened to Lord Arden and Lady Allenor? A life sentence in prison!”

“Yes, I know, but the Regent can’t hurt us, we’re children!” I stared at him, astounded.

“Do you honestly think our age matters to Delwyth? He can’t do anything official, but that won’t stop him! And even if he doesn’t try anything on us, what about Mum and Da?” I appeared to have struck a nerve, and so I plunged ahead. “We can’t possibly risk their safety, or Berenneth’s.” At this, my twin rallied his thoughts and continued.

“Of course not, but do you want Neth to grow up like this, never knowing anything or anyone but the Regent?” Slowly, I shook my head. “Bry, this is the only way we can do something! Something important for a change! Don’t you want that?” I nodded.

“Of course I do, Don, but this is still far too hazardous!” At this last, Beradon grinned wryly.

“Is anything not, these days?”

“Not really, no; point taken…” I sighed, and then looked Beradon intently in his matching hazel eyes. “All right. I’ll play.” Beradon whooped and turned a cartwheel, and I shook my head at his antics. “You’re going to break your neck someday, you know,” I informed him.

“You say that every time, and so far you’ve been wrong.” Smiling, I again shook my head, and allowed Beradon to escort me from the parlor.

***

The first thing to do, of course, was to find other players. So, after changing into suitable riding-clothes (me willingly, Beradon under duress), we, with the help of innumerable numbers of grooms, stablehands, footmen and the like, saddled up our favorite mounts (Beradon’s, a bay mare by the name of Renath, and mine, a golden palomino mare with white socks and face, called Lasaren), and cantered in the direction of Keranoth Hall, where Demeren, a good friend of my brother’s, lived.

Luck was with us; Demeren was home. A smiling footman led us to the Green Salon, where Demeren was presently occupied in constructing a bridge out of cards.

“Dem-” Beradon began, but Demeren interrupted.

“Just a sec,” he called, eyes focused intently on his precarious structure. Delicately, holding his breath, Demeren eased the final card into place, and then, extracting his hand, turned around to greet his visitors.

“Hallo, Don, Bryelle,” he grinned, nodding at us, “here, sit down, sit down,” he gestured to several chairs, upholstered in green velvet. When we had settled ourselves in the proffered chairs, Demeren himself also sat, across from us. “Now, what brings you two here? Bit far for a jaunt, isn’t it?” Beradon nodded, then leaned forward and explained his game. Demeren’s fair brows lifted, and his blue eyes sparked inquisitively.

“A royalty game, you say? What’re you calling it? Moonshine Court?” He chuckled softly, pleased with the name.

“You interested?” Beradon’s question sounded offhand, but his eyes were serious. Demeren’s eyes twinkled.

“Anything against the Regent is good with me! I’ll play.”

***

We three visited several more manors, our number growing as more boys and girls joined Beradon’s game. When the recruiting was finished, we ten, led by Beradon, trooped into Eresaneth Forest, our various horses picking delicately over the uneven ground. My twin was heading for the old ruins of the first castle built by our ancestors, the Liedri Fortian, literally: old stronghold. He had thought it to be a fitting place in which to play the game. I did not entirely approve, thinking it to be sacrilegious, in a political sort of way, but I pushed my thoughts and doubts aside and concentrated on the gnarly splendor of the woods.

Gnarly is the right word, I mused, gazing in wonder up at the massive trunks. Branches split off at irregular intervals; leaves in differing shades of rust, brown, orange, or fiery gold came fluttering and spinning down from unknown heights, catching and reflecting glints of sunlight, and drifting finally to the forest floor. Here, knotted roots clutched and burrowed into loamy soil made all the richer by the falling leaves. Nature’s cycle was especially evident in autumn, when the trees shed their leaves in preparation for winter, their foliage providing warmth and food, even in death.

Our little party reached the ruins at about one sand-turn past midday. We dismounted, tethering our horses within easy reach of the long, succulent grass, all that remained of the once sculpted gardens and courtyards of the old castle.

Even in its derelict state, the Liedri Fortian still managed to convey the tumbled majesty that was in evidence in all of the ancient architecture. Crumbling walls and towers built of mottled pink and gray marble soared far up into the encroaching canopy. In some places, particularly persistent branches had, in the course of thousands of years, gnawed and wormed their way through even the most stubborn rock, adding to the deconstruction war had begun. Ivies and other vines had also contributed, sending threadlike roots and tendrils through all the little chinks in the masonry, and then expanding with their natural cycle of growth until the stone and mortar finally gave in and broke. It was a solemn place, a testament to the implacable, impersonal finality of nature.

Clambering over the rubble, we headed for what remained of the old Council Chamber. Many of the tall, thin windows were bereft of glass, but in some still hung the glittering, multicolored shards that in times past had depicted many scenes of heroic deeds or fantastical patterns and deigns. Much of the domed roof had fallen in, but the remains still offered reasonable shelter from the elements, and although one end of the massive stone table had been shorn off completely (probably by a falling chunk of the roof), what remained still stood firm. Large, irregularly shaped blocks of marble offered convenient chairs and smaller tables for the would-be nobles (even Beradon did not yet dare to actually sit at the old table; it was a sacred thing, and he did not wish to incur the wrath of the Gods).

Beradon chose a smallish lump of greenish-white marble as his seat, and the rest of s found similar seating arrangements. When we were all seated, my brother began to speak.

***

“You all know the basis of the game; now I will tell you the rules:

“Firstly, everything that goes on here will stay here. I don’t want any of our doings discussed when play is over- it all stays behind these walls.”

“Such as they are,” Demeren put in. Beradon grinned t him.

“Such as they are,” he agreed. “Secondly: if you have any dispute concerning the game- any question or doubt-come to me. I will hear your complaint, and if I can’t resolve it, you may present it to the group in a meeting, and we’ll vote on what to do.

“Third: if, for some reason, I cannot be present at gameplay, Bryelle is in charge. She is my twin, and knows how my mind works best.”

“Such as it is,” I murmured, eliciting laughs from those who heard my comment. Beradon gave me a mock-glare, and continued with his rules when the laughter had faded.

“Fourth and lastly: should any of our doings become known to an unwelcome party” here he looked at me pointedly, “gameplay will be abandoned immediately. The props, etcetera, will be destroyed, we will say nothing about it to anyone, and will act as if it never existed.”

Several of the players, upon hearing this, exchanged nervous glances.

Finally, a girl raised her hand: Arilly Nerandus, niece to Lady Allenor Sirianth.

“By an ‘unwelcome party’ you mean the Regent.” It was nor a question.

“Yes, and anyone in his pocket,” my twin clarified. Arilly nodded, twisting a strand of honey-blonde hair around one slim ivory finger, deep in thought.

“Does anyone else have a question?” Beradon’s query was answered by the deep silence following it. “All right, then,” he continued, “now we’re going to pick roles.” He fished in his kyeshan, or belt-pouch, and drew forth several battered pieces of parchment. Each strip bore a title, written in his scrawling hand: King/Queen, Vizier, Mage, Duke/Duchess, Count/Countess (of course, there were two each of the double types, so that a boy couldn’t pick Queen, or a girl get Lord). Beradon rifled through them, removing several and stuffing them back into his kyeshan.

He looked around, and then his eyes alighted upon Myriandel Oriel, who wore a woven straw hat over her dark curls.

“Myri, can I borrow your hat?” Myriandel regarded my brother with some suspicion.

“What, may I ask, do plan to do with it?”

“Fish,” my twin replied innocently. Myrianel stared at him, scandalized.

“Not with my new hat, you aren’t!”

“I’m joking, Myri! Can I use it to put the names in?” Myriandel agreed, although reluctantly.

Beradon folded all the titles so as to hide the writing, and dropped them into the hat. After swishing hem around thoroughly, he held the bowl out to Arilly, who was on his left.

“Shut you eyes,” he instructed her, “and pick a piece of paper.” Arilly obeyed, reaching into the hat with a bejeweled hand, stirring the slips around, then choosing one. She drew it out, unfolded it, and proclaimed,

“Queen.” I grinned at her, her green eyes crinkled up as she smiled back, and passed the hat to the next person.

***

Around the circle it went: Demeren became the Count; Gwythe Casmen picked the King. Coralee Ilsamen chose the Marquise, Danthes Cenel the Duke; Myriandel drew the Duchess, Tyran Menales the Marquis. I selected the Countess, my brother got the Vizier, and, lastly, Reia Erethi was left with the Mage.

“All right,” my brother began when we had finished the drawing, handing Myriandel back her hat, none the worse for wear. “Here’s how we’ll sit at the table.”

At hearing this, Reia jumped to her feet, quivering with shock and horror.

“Beradon Daredsyethe, you cannot possibly mean for us to sit at the actual council table,” she cried in ringing tones. Reia’s face was flushed with righteous anger. “That’s- that’s –that’s blasphemy! That table was built by our ancestors, by the will of the Gods! Built so that the King and Queen and their council could justly gov-” at this point Beradon cut her off.

“Yes, yes, so they could justly govern the land- but that’s not exactly happening right now! And from the looks of things, it’s going to stay that way for a while.” My twin looked at the assembled face, searching for something in their eyes. “We need to take responsibility for Galhadranon- for her people! We can’t go on like this! There will be an uprising, and we will need to be ready for it! Maybe it’s a good idea to let the Gods know we’re serious!” Some dark glances were exchanged, but we, as a group, stood up and crowded around the great stone table. My brother spoke.

“Arilly and Gwythe, you two sit at the head of the table- Gwythe on the right. Reia, you sit at the Queen’s left hand. I’ll sit on the King’s right.” As he announced our places, we moved to fill them; some standing, some sitting if they were lucky enough to have a nearby rock. “Danthes, you’re next to Reia. Myri, you’re by me. Bry, you’re by Danthes, Dem, you’re across form Bry. Tyran, you sit by Bry, Coralee, you’re by Demeren.” When we were all in our places, my twin spoke four words that I would remember for all my life: “The game has begun.”

***

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. For several days, we worked together to make the Liedri Fortian a livable place: moving as much a we could of the rubble from the Council Chamber; hacking and trimming back the omnipresent vines and weeds into a semblance of order; building/weaving vine walls and mats, in hope of creating a wind-proof shelter. We, during this time, had our work cut out trying to make excuses for why are clothes were, in turns, muddy, burnt, covered in dust and grit, full of pitch and sap, chopped and mangled almost beyond recognition… we learned to take extra clothes with us in saddle-bags, and to carry soap and cloths with us to wash away the brunt of the dirt.

Then, we set about gathering the essential props: chairs, cushions, rugs, tables, candles, lanterns- all sufficiently battered; we didn’t want to ruin new furnishings- and, most importantly, matches!

Getting these took some doing.

Glossary of Galhadranon Words

fortian: (fore-tee-ihn) n, ¹ fort, stronghold, castle; ² capital, center of commerce or trade; ³ adj, strong, undefeatable, tenable, defended; ⁴ part of the name of the first palace built in Galhadranon by Grendas the Conqueror in year 1034 Imperial (the Liedri Fortian)

kyeshan: (kee-shaan) n, ¹ belt-pouch, a man’s purse or wallet; ² name of a famous leatherworker in the reign of Adenias the Just in year 876 Imperial

liedri: (lee-ae-dree) adj, ¹ ancient, archaic; ² first, primary; ³ part of the name of the first palace built in Galhadranon by Grendas the Conqueror in year 1034 Imperial (the Liedri Fortian)