Once upon a dreadful time ou-4 Read online

  Again Borel growled in frustration, while Alain took in a deep breath and blew it out. Celeste and Liaze sighed in resigned acceptance, and thus was the matter once again decided.

  “Still, there is something we can do,” said Camille, “and that is to try to puzzle out the meanings of these redes. If we succeed, then it should gain us considerable advantage, else the Sisters would not have told them to Laurent, Blaise, and Roel.”

  Sieur Emile turned to Valeray. “Why those three? I thought only your get received messages from the Fates. So why have they spoken to my sons, rather than to your children?” Valeray turned up his hands in puzzlement, but Saissa said,

  “The Three Sisters have appeared before others, large gatherings for one, so choosing your sons seems no odd event.”

  “Yet,” said Camille, “in every case where they did so, one or more of your children were present, Lady Saissa.”

  “You were alone when they appeared to you, Camille,” said Valeray.

  “Oui, but I came upon them along the shores of the River of Time, where it is said they dwell. -Oh, no, not quite true, for Skuld in her guise of Lady Sorciere, the Lady of the Mere, came to me ere I set out on the quest to find Alain.”

  “Yet that was on the estate of Summerwood Manor,” said Alain. “Mayhap that’s why she appeared.”

  “Argh!” growled Borel. “Who knows the ways of the Fates?

  Not I, my friends, not I.”

  A silence fell among them, and then Liaze peered at Luc’s message now in hand and said, “What I’d like to know is the significance of the Reaper’s words. ‘My Lord, I will come when the time is right.’ That’s what he said to Luc.” Liaze turned to Valeray. “Papa, do you know ought of what this means, and do these words carry special import?”

  Valeray shrugged. “All I know is in the last war with Orbane, there were reports Moissonneur seemed to be waiting for some special event, yet what that might have been, or this time might be, I cannot say, and he has never spoken ought of it.”

  “Hmph,” grunted Borel. “Mayhap the next time I gut and spit conies for him I’ll ask. -But for me, it’s what Skuld said in the Winterwood that gives me pause.

  “Swift are the children of his namesake, That which a child does bear.

  “Those words have sent something skittering about in my mind, yet I cannot catch hold of it.”

  Borel glanced at Celeste and she turned up a hand and shrugged. Then she said, “Urd’s rede to my Roel is the most mysterious of all, I think:

  “Yet can ye but touch the deadly arcane, The least shall set ye free.

  “I wonder just what that might mean.”

  None had an answer for Celeste.

  “You know the most dreadful things said by the three Fates?” asked Liaze. “It was their parting words.”

  Liaze turned to Borel and he looked at the message he held.

  “Skuld said to Laurent, ‘If you do not give this message to the one for whom it is intended, then all will be lost forever.’ ” Liaze then looked at Alain and he peered at his missive.

  “Verdandi told Blaise, ‘Heed my rede, all of it, and make certain you do not send word prematurely, else the world will be fallen to ruin.’ ”

  Liaze then looked at Celeste, and she glanced at her message. “Urd said, ‘If you do not solve this rede, Roel, then all as we now know it to be will come to a horrible end.’ ”

  “Oh my,” said Simone, and she peered ’round the table from face to face to see nought but grim visages looking back.

  Dragonflight

  In the light of a waxing crescent moon, Ziv popped from icicle to frozen pond to ice-clad limb to-

  What’s this?

  The Ice Sprite sensed in the distance afar a great frozen mass, more than he had ever felt before.

  ’Tis a long jump, but-

  Of a sudden he was there. How far he had flashed, he had no notion, and he found himself in a vast conglomeration of ice. Ah, a glacier. He cast about with his Ice-Sprite perception.

  Its mass was nearly beyond his comprehension. Oh, my, we’ve none this size in the Winterwood. Ziv peered out through the frozen surface; there were mountains all ’round.

  Ziv was far from his home and well into his mission of spreading the warning to all who could understand his unspoken language: the shaman of the snow-dwellers; the sages of the reindeer herders; the wise women of the seal- and whale-hunters; the ice-talkers of the high-mountain dwellers; others.

  Too, he looked for Raseri, for Rondalo, for Lady Chemine. Yet he thought they wouldn’t be found in the icy reaches where Sprites of his kind travelled.

  But even as he rejected his chances, he saw a great winged shape slide across the arc of the sinking moon and toward one of the peaks. Could it be the Drake he sought? Dark and ruddy it seemed, with splashes of ebon blackness glittering here and there among its deep crimson scales. Its vast leathery wings were stretched out wide as it turned through the air as if to come to a landing on that particular mountain crest.

  Ziv threw his senses toward the apex, seeking ice thereon.

  . .

  “Ha!” roared Raseri as he glided toward the rocky pinnacle.

  “That was a pleasure, eh?”

  Rondalo lifted an eyebrow. “Pleasure? My friend, your ideas of pleasure are somewhat strange. Exciting, oui, but pleasure?” He shifted his spear onto his back by its sling. “Methinks in the future, should we encounter another Giant, ’twould be best not to set his hair on fire.”

  The Dragon laughed. “Did you see how clumsily he cast boulders at us?”

  “Had he better aim,” said the Elf, “we would now be in his cook pot.”

  “Where is your sense of adventure, Rondalo?”

  “Adventure is one thing; foolhardiness another.”

  “Pah,” snorted Raseri as he spiralled down toward the snowy crag. “What about the time you set an entire aerie of Great Eagles ’pon us? I suppose that was adventure and not folly.”

  “But you yourself agreed we needed a tail feather.”

  “Oui, but I was going to politely ask, rather than jerk one out and run.”

  Both Rondalo and Raseri roared in laughter, and the Drake came to a landing atop the crest, where the Elf dismounted.

  From the worst of enemies to the best of friends these two had come, thanks to Camille some five years past.

  Tall and lean and fair-haired, Rondalo cast back his cloak and unlaced the front of his breeks. As he relieved himself he said, “I think we ought to be on hand when Vicomte Chevell sails. We can help him rid Faery of the corsairs of Brados.”

  “Hmph!” snorted Raseri. “You and I alone could rid the seas of that menace.”

  “Oui, but taking the fortress-either by stealth or with siege engines-is a straightforward though perilous task for many men afoot, a more suitable job for Chevell’s marines than one Dragon and a lone lancer.”

  “Forget not your bow, Rondalo.” Raseri then raised a forefoot and flexed its dark, saberlike claws. “I think I could gut that bastion of theirs.”

  Rondalo began relacing his leathers. “Mayhap you could, though they say the stone is two or three strides thick. Still, here is my thought: we can destroy more corsairs at sea much quicker than Chevell’s entire fleet, and that, my friend, is a better charge for you and me to take on.” Yet flexing his claws, Raseri growled, but said nought.

  Rondalo adjusted his cloak and said, “I think it’s time we were- Ho, what’s this?”

  Within a patch of clear ice wedged in a crevice a tiny figure gestured wildly.

  “An Ice Sprite,” said Rondalo. “Raseri, can you speak his tongue?”

  “Elf, I am a Dragon,” replied Raseri as he slithered ’round to peer into the crevice. “I have the gift of all tongues.” Raseri made a gesture.

  The Sprite replied.

  Raseri made more gestures.

  Again the Sprite responded, this time with a long series of gesticulations.

  Raseri bellowed in rage,
flame shooting out. The Sprite quailed at this blast of fire, but remained in the icy crevice.

  “What is it?” asked Rondalo.

  “Ready your bow, Rondalo, we must go, and now,” spat the Dragon. As the Elf strung the weapon, Raseri made another series of motions to the Sprite, and it replied with a single gesture and vanished.

  Using the elbow of Raseri’s right foreleg as a mounting block, Rondalo leapt to his perch at the base of the Drake’s neck. A double row of great barbels, soft and flexible, ran from Raseri’s head to his shoulders. Rondalo grasped the pair before him and said, “Ready.”

  With a roar, the Dragon sprang into the air.

  Aloft, Rondalo called out, “What said the Sprite?” Raseri growled and said, “The witch Hradian has obtained a key to the Castle of Shadows, and even now might be on her way to the Black Wall of the World. King Valeray asks us to intercept her ere she can set Orbane free. That’s where we are headed.”

  High across Faery did the Dragon soar, over the glacier and icy bleak mountains below and beyond a shadowlight border to come into a realm of lush jungle, with widely scattered clusters of leaf-thatched huts in clearings virtually the only thing to break the endless sea of green. Across this verdant ocean he flew to pass through another twilight marge.

  O’er a land of rivers he passed, dotted here and there with lakes, to come to another tenebrous bound.

  Cultivated fields passed beneath, and both Rondalo and Raseri travelled in grim silence, but for the beat of the Dragon’s tireless wings. Villages they sped over and tiny campfires, these latter seemingly nought but sparks, so high were the Drake and Elf.

  The crescent moon sank below the horizon, yet onward they flew, now under stars alone. They passed a marge to come into a storm-laden sky, and Raseri soared up and up until he was above the rage, and lightning flashed below, the roar of thunder to follow.

  Through looming walls of twilight they flew, Faery borders, eight, nine, more.

  Yet Raseri’s wings never seemed to slow. .

  . . And the night aged. .

  . . And the dawnwise sky began to brighten.

  Finally, Raseri said, “Just one more twilight wall, Rondalo, and then we’ll be in the realm at the far side of which there looms the Black Wall.”

  “What if the witch is not there?”

  “Then we wait.”

  “What if she’s gone beyond and into the Great Darkness?”

  “I will fly therein, and if we find her, we will slay her. If not, then we will set ward on the wall, and slay her when she comes nigh.”

  “Can you see in the Great Darkness?”

  “It is the one place where even the sight of Dragons is muted somewhat. Still, if she is within, she will be on a course toward the Castle of Shadows, and that course I know.” Rondalo unslung his bow, and on toward the nearing twilight border the Dragon flew as the sun broached the rim of the world.

  Prospect

  After an overnight stay at Sieur Emile’s manse in the Springwood, Avelaine set out with a small escort of her father’s retainers for the coastal city of Port Mizon in King Avelar’s realm, for she was going home to her husband- My handsome and daring Vicomte Chevell.

  The group rode at haste, remounts in tow, for Avelaine was now anxious to return; with the bodeful incidents of the last few days-the witch Hradian’s spying and her trickery to freely obtain the key to the Castle of Shadows to set loose the wizard Orbane-and with the threat of war looming, Avelaine on her journey from the Castle of the Seasons had come to realize just how hazardous a place Faery could be. And with her newfound comprehension, she felt the urgency to return to her truelove Chevell. It would not be erelong before he set out to lead the king’s fleet to destroy the corsairs of Brados.

  It was yet early morn when she and her escort came upon Springwood Manor, and there she paused to find her brother Roel to bid him au revoir and to caution him to take care. She found the manse in a state of activity as the staff bustled here and there, preparing for the arrival of raw recruits to be trained in the art of combat and war. Too, the smiths and bow masters were hard at work to make weaponry for various members of the warband and the houseguard to take to various villages in the Springwood, where they would call the nearby men together and prepare them for battle as well.

  Roel broke off from his planning and came running downstairs to the welcoming hall to greet Avelaine. “Avi, the king sent a falcon and said you were on your way. It is good to see you. Will you stay this eve?”

  “No, Rollie. I must get back to my Chevell, for I’ve come to realize just how dreadfully dire many things have become.

  And of a sudden I grasp that this sea venture my love embarks upon, instead of being the lark he would make of it, is hazardous in the extreme. And if war is to be visited upon Faery, then I would be at his side in the time we have left. Oh, Rollie, I’m afraid I thought with the death of the Changeling Lord and our escape from his realm, that the rest of Faery would always be charming, with wee people popping out from under bushes, and Sprites flying here and there, and Elves and Fairies and other such being nought but good.”

  “Avi, Faery is indeed a marvelous place, but a perilous one as well. Yet I hope you never lose your sense of wonder at the splendid things herein. Even so, you are right: Chevell’s mission is a hazardous one, and you do need to be with him ere he sets sail. Still, can you not at least stay for a meal?”

  “Non. As soon as the horses are watered and given some grain, we are off for the sunwise border.”

  “Take care where you cross, little sister, else you just might fall in the ocean.”

  She laughed. “I well know the place, brother of mine, to make entry into King Avelar’s realm. Unlike you, I’ll cross at leisure, rather than while running for my life; hence do I plan to stay out of the rolling waters of that sea where you and Celeste nigh went for a swim, yet, thanks to the Fates, you did not.” Now it was Roel who laughed, but then he sobered. “Speaking of the Fates, little sister, I met one on the way here.”

  “You did?”

  “Oui. And so did Laurent and Blaise. Did you not get the messages we sent?”

  “Non. I was already on the way.”

  “Ah, well then, let me tell you what they said. . ”

  . .

  “. . and so you see, their redes are quite puzzling. Have you any glimmer of what they might mean? — Other than the obvious, that is?” Avelaine shook her head. “Non, Rollie. But, oh, what terrible words they spoke.” Roel sighed and nodded in agreement. “The coming days might be grim, Avi, and here you are with child; you must needs take care of yourself.”

  “I know, Rollie, I know.”

  A grizzled retainer came into the manor and stood nigh and waited to be recognized. Avelaine turned to him. “Oui, Malon?”

  “The horses, they be ready, Vicomtesse.”

  Avelaine nodded, and, following Malon, she and Roel walked out to the forecourt. Another retainer led a horse to her.

  Avelaine took Roel by the hands and said, “You are the one to take care, Rollie, for if it comes to the worst of it, you will be in battle.”

  Roel shrugged, and then he fiercely embraced his sister and kissed her on the forehead, and she kissed him on the cheek.

  She mounted up and, with a bright smile, wheeled about and rode away, finally letting tears spill down her cheeks.

  Roel watched her go, his vision blurred by tears unshed, for well he knew that perhaps this would be the last time they would see one another. And when she and her band disappeared into the surrounding woodland, Roel turned on his heel and ran back into the manor, where men were making ready for war.

  . .

  Lady Michelle sat at breakfast with Sieur Laurent. She looked across the table and said, “It seems you have things well underway.”

  “Oui, yet there is much to do-training, equipping, forging, fletching, and the like. All the other manors are doing likewise.

  Yet I feel we are at somewhat of a disadvantag
e, for I know nought of this foe and his manner of battle, and I think that my brothers are just as ignorant of his means as am I. Perhaps even Luc has no knowledge of this wizard and his method of waging war. Tell me, my lady, what can you say of Orbane? What is his aim?”

  Michelle turned up a hand. “I know only that of which my father has spoken, for I was not yet born when last Orbane inflicted his evil upon Faery. Still, he and his armies of Goblins and Bogles and Trolls came close to conquering all.” Michelle fell silent for a moment, but then added, “-Oh, as to his aim, this I do know: Camille says the Fates told her if Orbane gets loose, he would pollute the River of Time, yet what that might mean, I cannot say.”

  “River of Time?”

  “Oui. It seems that somewhere in Faery, time flows in a silvery river, and along this flow is where the Three Sisters fashion the Tapestry of Time: Skuld weaving what she sees of the future; Verdandi fixing present events into the weft and warp of the fabric; Urd binding all forever into the past.”

  “Hmm. .” Laurent paused for a sip of tea, and then said,

  “Where is this river?”

  “That I do not know.”

  “Then where does it empty into the ocean?”

  “Again, I do not know, yet Camille speculates it flows out of Faery to spread over the mortal world, for time itself does not seem to touch Faery, though some say it originates herein.”

  “And so, polluting the River of Time would harm the mortal world?”

  “If Camille is right, then I suppose it would.” Laurent clenched a fist. “We must not let that happen.” A sad smile passed over Michelle’s face, and she nodded but said nought.

  Laurent frowned and said, “The riddles of the Fates said nought about any River of Time.”

  “But they did speak of conflict,” said Michelle, who had heard of the redes upon reaching her manse. “And I fear for the lives of all the young men should war come.” Laurent pushed out a hand of negation. “My lady, we will not strip the Winterwood of all vigorous young men, for some must stay to defend the realm, as well as to care for those who need tending.”