Once Upon an Autumn Eve Page 15

  Liaze’s eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep as she gave the horses over to the hostler. Wearily she trudged into the inn and engaged a room. Before going upstairs, she had a meal, and, given her rations over the past several days, the “adequate” food tasted rather scrumptious to her palate, as did the “tolerable” wine.

  She barely got through her hot bath without falling asleep, and when she collapsed onto her bed, slumber came on instant feet.

  It was nigh noon when next she awoke. She found her undersilk garments and leathers cleaned and ready to wear, and her boots polished and well aired. She washed and dried and took care of her feminine needs and got dressed.

  Down to the common room she went, and though the hour was late, she broke her fast with delicious eggs and rashers and well-buttered toast and honey and tea, a splendid meal to her mind. Afterward, she looked about for the innkeeper, but he was nowhere to be seen, and so she walked out to the stables and spoke to the horses and stroked them.

  The hostler told her to take care, for the black was untrustworthy. “Why, he had a ruckus with another stallion, but when they were moved to stalls at opposite ends they both settled down. Even so, tried to nip me, he did,” said the man. “I dodged just barely in time.”

  “I tap him on the nose when he gets feisty,” said Liaze. “That puts him in his place. You should do the same.”

  “Oh, no, not me,” said the stableman. “I just keep a sharp eye on them all . . . and never let down my guard.”

  Liaze laughed and then frowned and after a moment said, “As a hostler, you must know of all the comings and goings hereabout.”

  The man lifted his chin in modest pride. “I suppose I do.”

  “Well, then, know you of a witch nearby?”

  “Witch?” The hostler flinched back from Liaze and made a warding sign. Then he vehemently shook his head. “I don’t have any doings with witches, mademoiselle, and don’t ever plan to.”

  “Neither would I,” said Liaze, “but I have a score to settle with one.”

  The man relaxed a bit, yet he looked at her warily, as if she were someone ready to nip him. Finally, he said, “Non, mademoiselle. I know of no witches nearby. None afar either.”

  “Whom would I talk to about such?” asked Liaze. “Someone who is familiar with the area.”

  The hostler’s brow furrowed and then cleared. “Claude, I think.”

  “Claude?”

  “The innkeeper. He speaks with folks from all over. Buyers who come for the honey in season. Oui, Claude is the one.”

  “Ah, I see. But he seems to be absent for the nonce,” said Liaze.

  “Goes fishing this time of day. Down to Honey Creek. Trying for the big trout that hangs out in the deep pool. Ha! As if anyone will ever catch that lunker. But he’ll be back come midafternoon. Till then you’ll have to deal with Odette.”

  “Odette?”

  “The serving maid, though I doubt she knows ought about witches.”

  “Merci, um . . .”

  “Paul, my lady,” said the hostler, touching the bill of his cap.

  “Merci, Paul. I’ll wait for Claude to return.”

  Liaze stepped away from the stalls and went outside, and she walked through the village streets, noting in passing a small café, and a dry-goods store with a milliner and tailor in residence. There was a barber who also seemed to be a chirurgeon, and across the street a—Liaze stopped in her tracks—a bookshop. A bookstore in a hamlet this small? Luc told me there was one in the village he and León delivered cordwood to, an establishment that never seemed to do any business, but for Luc’s own.

  Liaze stepped over to the store, and when she looked in, the place was empty, abandoned, though the sign above yet proclaimed it to be the COIN DU LIVRE—the Book Nook.

  Next door was a shoemaker-and-leatherworker’s shop. Liaze stepped in and a man with an awl and a length of belt in hand looked up from his bench. “May I help you, mademoiselle?”

  “Oui. The bookstore next door: has it always been empty?”

  “Non, my lady. Only recently did the owner—Jaquot—move away. I don’t blame him. I mean, even though he appeared to be prosperous, it seemed he never had any customers, but for that Luc boy.”

  Liaze’s heart leapt into her throat, and tears filled her eyes, and for a moment she could not speak. Finally she managed, “Luc? Luc was here?”

  “Oui, demoiselle, but not for a while.” The man lay down his awl and belt and stepped around the table. “Are you well?”

  Liaze took a deep breath and said, “Oh, yes, monsieur.”

  “Here, mademoiselle,” said the leatherworker, and he offered her a dipper of water.

  “Merci, monsieur,” said Liaze, sipping a bit from the hollowed-out gourd. Again she took a deep breath. “I am looking for Luc; a witch snatched him up and flew away.”

  The man made a warding sign and said, “A witch, you say? We know nothing of witches in this town, only that some are vile and others are not. Ah, mademoiselle, but if Luc has been taken, then Léon needs to be told this dire news.”

  “Léon, his foster sire, is he nearby?”

  “Oui. A half-day walk down the road and off into the woods.”

  “Tell me how to get there.”

  Dusk was drawing down on the land, when, astride Nightshade and towing Pied Agile and the geldings, Liaze came into the clearing where stood a small, one-room cote, with a modest horse barn off to one side.

  She rode to the cottage and dismounted and tied Nightshade’s reins to the hitching post near the door. Then she stepped to the planked panel and knocked.

  A tall, redheaded man bearing a lantern opened the door. He raised the light on high for a better look, and surprise filled his pale blue eyes. “Might I help you, mademoiselle?”

  “Armsmaster Léon?”

  He glanced at the silver horn at her side and looked at Nightshade nearby and frowned. Finally he answered, “Oui.”

  Liaze followed his gaze and said, “I have come about Luc.”

  “Luc? Has something happened to Luc?”

  “Oui.”

  The armsmaster blanched and moved aside, and Liaze stepped in through the doorway.

  24

  Secrets

  Clearly beset by anxiety, still Léon stepped to the hearth and swung a kettle over the flames. Then he took down two mugs from a cupboard and fetched a small jar of honey as well, and placed them on the table, where Liaze sat. He spooned tea leaves into a pot covered with a cozy and set it beside the cups. Liaze could see that with these small domesticities Léon was calming himself for whatever news was to come.

  Finally, he sat across from Liaze and placed his hands on the table. Then he looked at her and nodded.

  “Luc has been taken away by a witch,” said Liaze.

  Léon clenched a fist, his knuckles white, but otherwise made no move. At last he said, “But why?”

  “Perhaps you can better answer that than I,” said Liaze.

  Léon sighed and leaned back in his chair and looked at Liaze as if assessing her. “What is your interest in Luc?”

  “He is my betrothed,” said Liaze. “And I am out to find him.”

  Léon raised an eyebrow. “Your betrothed?”

  “Oui.”

  “How came this to be? I mean, when did you meet him? And where? And under what circumstance?”

  “I met him when he fell off his horse,” said Liaze. “And as to where, it was in the Autumnwood. And the circumstances were that a raiding party of Redcap Goblins and Trolls were on my grounds and coming toward my château. Luc, though wounded in a running battle with them, sounded the warning, and we managed to repel the marauders.”

  “Have you any proof of what you say?”

  “I have his horn and Deadly Nightshade and much of Luc’s gear. I also know that you raised Luc, but you are not his true sire, but a foster sire instead. I know you disguise yourself as a simple woodcutter when you are anything but. Too, I know about Luc’s tu
tors and his training in arms and armor and combat, and in etiquette, and dances, and other such courtly things.”

  “What does he wear about his neck?”

  “A blue stone set in silver on a silver chain.”

  Léon nodded, and the kettle over the fire began to steam. He got to his feet and swung the bronze pot-arm from over the flames and took the kettle from it, and poured steaming water into the teapot. He replaced the kettle on the arm and sat down. As the tea steeped, again Léon nodded to himself as if coming to a decision.

  “You are right, my lady, in that I might know why a witch has stolen Luc away from you. And if I am correct, it does not bode well for him.”

  “Tell me,” said Liaze.

  “First, my lady, you have the advantage of me: you know my name, but I—”

  “Liaze of the Autumnwood.”

  “Liaze,” repeated Léon, absently, as if his thoughts were not on her name. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. Again he nodded to himself. “Luc’s real sire was Comte Amaury du Château Bleu dans le Lac de la Rose et Gardien de la Clé. But Amaury was slain in combat, yet he left behind Comtesse Adèle and his newborn son: Luc.

  “A year after Amaury’s death, Adèle married Guillaume, a vicomte with ambitions of being a duke or a king, and, with hopes of becoming a full comte, his marriage to Comtesse Adèle was a step along that royal road.

  “But Luc was and is the rightful heir, as evidenced by the gemstone the boy wore about his neck, an amulet given to the wee babe by Amaury just before he rode to battle.”

  Léon paused and poured tea through a strainer into the mugs, and offered honey to Liaze. She spooned in a dollop and stirred it, then gave over the jar and utensil to Léon, who did likewise.

  Leaving his cup sitting idle, Léon continued: “Guillaume would have none of that, for as long as Luc was alive, the vicomte could never become the comte of Château Bleu. Furthermore, his three-year-old brat of a son could not inherit the title unless Luc were dead.”

  A dark look came over Léon’s face, and he said, “In Guillaume’s retinue was an unsavory man by the name of Franck, and he wished to take my place as armsmaster of the hold. Guillaume and Franck always had their heads together whenever Comtesse Adèle was seen cooing over Luc, and I knew then that ill deeds were afoot, and I said so to the comtesse. Yet she did not believe that Guillaume could harm such a sweet child, and she nearly dismissed me. So I kept quiet and watched.

  “One night to take air I came to the battlements and saw the ward was absent, all men gone. I turned to go to the guard quarters, but then I saw someone galloping across the causeway, and he had a bundle in his arms.

  “I ran to the stables and took the courier horse, for it was always saddled, and over the downed drawbridge and across the causeway I raced after. Ah, my lady, to make a long story short, I came upon Franck in the woods just as he was preparing to slay Luc, for that was the bundle Franck bore. Even as he drew his knife to kill the babe, I threw my dagger and saved the boy. Ere Franck died he cursed me, and said that there were more who were prepared to carry out Guillaume’s wishes.”

  Léon drew a long shuddering breath and tried to master his relived rage, for as he had told the tale, Liaze could see he had experienced it again.

  Léon stared into his cup of tea, yet lost in the memory, and he growled, “Guillaume.”

  Liaze nodded and said, “What a wicked stepfather he was.”

  “Indeed,” said Léon, looking up from his cup and across at her. “Because of him, I knew the child would never be safe as long as Guillaume was in the castle, and so I rode away with the babe in my arms.

  “And though I hid Franck’s corpse in the bushes and under brush and leaves, I knew that it would be discovered by the trackers’ dogs. But since they would not find Luc, I also knew that Guillaume would send killers after the child, at that time not quite a year and a half old. By devious ways, up streams and down and over stone, to throw trackers and dogs off the scent, with the lad I came here, where I took on the guise of a simple woodcutter in this place far from Luc’s rightful home—the Blue Château on an isle in the middle of the Lake of the Rose.

  “By happenstance, a trusted former soldier of mine—Jaquot, a courier—was living just up the road in the village of Honey Creek. Through him, I did send word to the comtesse that Luc was safe in my care. By this time, in the aftermath of the stolen child, she had discovered what Guillaume had done, for she heard him talking to one of his henchmen. Still she could do nothing to oppose him.

  “Further, she told me that I had been blamed for the taking of the child, and that ‘brave’ Franck had gone after me, but that I, in a dastardly act of murder, had stabbed him the back. She said that Guillaume had placed a price on my head, and the man who killed me could claim the reward.”

  Léon gritted his teeth and said, “And so, I am a murderer and fugitive in my own realm.”

  The armsmaster fell silent and stared bitterly into his tea, but after a moment he sighed and said, “Regardless, I raised the lad as my own, making certain to teach him all I knew of arms and armor and combat and other such things. And the comtesse secretly sent funds for me to hire tutors, and to set up a bookstore in the village so that the child could broaden his knowledge. She wanted him raised as a proper gentleman, knowing all the noble arts of a man of his station, and I did my best. Why, I even hired etiquette advisors and dance instructors so that he would be completely at home in any court in Faery.”

  As Léon paused to take a long draught of tea, Liaze said, “You did very well, Sieur Léon. Luc is truly a noble gentleman.”

  Léon turned a hand, palm up, and a fleeting smile showed he was pleased by her remark. Even so, it was immediately replaced by a worried frown. After a moment he said, “Throughout the years, by Jacquot—who took on the guise of a bookstore owner in Honey Creek—I sent secret reports to the comtesse of Luc’s progress.”

  “Ah,” said Liaze, refreshing her own tea and Léon’s.

  Nodding his thanks, the armsmaster continued: “When Luc came into his majority, the comtesse sent Deadly Nightshade with arms and armor as a gift, for both she and I would have him become as was his true sire: a worthy chevalier and a comte, as Luc was meant to be.

  “I sent him on errantry, to gain experience, for before he can face that man who would be a comte and more, Luc must needs win his spurs in single combat or in the battle of war and become a true knight, and then would I tell him of his rightful heritage.”

  Liaze raised a hand to stop his words and said, “But he is a true knight, Armsmaster Léon. He accounted for more than twenty Redcap Goblins in battle and slew a Troll as well, and he alerted my manor to the oncoming threat. I knighted him myself.”

  Léon frowned. “And just who are you to have done so?”

  Her voice taking on imperious authority, Liaze declared, “Je suis Princesse Liaze de la Forêt d’Automne, la fille du Roi Valeray et la Reine Saissa. And in my demesne I am the sovereign, the absolute ruler, and knighting someone who has proved himself in battle is mine to do.”

  Léon rose from the table and went down on one knee. “Princess Liaze, I beg your—”

  Seeing the man humble himself before her, of a sudden Liaze relented and softly said, “Kneel not to me, Armsmaster, for we are not in my court, but in yours instead.”

  Léon resumed his seat and took a long drink of tea. Then he looked at Liaze, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and he whispered, “My Luc, a knight.”

  Liaze smiled and nodded. “Indeed, he is. You trained him well, Armsmaster.”

  Léon shyly bobbed his head, and then took a long sip of his tea.

  “My friend,” said Liaze when he set his cup down, “you started this tale by saying you might know why a witch snatched up Luc and flew away with him.”

  “ ’Tis a guess on my part, yet perhaps it is Guillaume who hired her to find the blue gem, and he chose a witch to seek it out, for Guillaume needs it to claim the ran
k of comte in that demesne.”

  “I see,” said Liaze. “And when the witch scried out the jewel, she found Luc wearing it.”

  “Perhaps,” said Léon. “Perhaps.”

  “It is a worthy guess, Armsmaster, one most likely to be.—Ah, then, that’s why the Redcap Goblins and Trolls were after him. They were the witch’s minions sent for the silver-set stone.”

  Léon faintly smiled. “Even should she recover it, little does Guillaume know that only the true heir can wear the amulet. It will not benefit a usurper. Comte Amaury told me this in confidence, for there is some deadly secret concering the amulet that he would not reveal.—Once I tried to remove the talisman for safekeeping, and it nearly did me in.”

  Liaze nodded and said, “As we discovered in Autumnwood Manor when we were tending to Luc’s wounds.”

  Léon got to his feet, the man seeming somehow relieved now that the secret he had kept so many years had finally been told. “Well, Princess, let me tend to the horses, and then we’ll have a meal and talk about how Luc came to you, and why you are riding alone rather than in a retinue, and how you and I are going to rescue Luc.”

  “I’ll help with the horses, Armsmaster,” said Liaze, “and tell you what you want to know, as well as why you cannot go on with me, though you can help me plan what next to do.”

  “. . . And so you see, I yet have trials ahead. And Lady Skuld said I must go alone, but for the howling one.”

  “But, Princess,” said Léon, “perhaps you have already ridden with fear when you came through the Forest of the Oaks.”

  “Oui, I admit I was fearful in that place, yet I think had any been with me—a retinue of warriors—they would not have been slain by fear, as Lady Wyrd said would happen.”

  Léon sighed in agreement. “There is that. Men have nothing to fear in the Forest of Oaks. Only women.”

  Liaze nodded and neither one spoke for a while, and then the princess asked, “Have you seen any crows flying over?”