Once upon a Spring morn ou-2 Read online

  “I did not think so at the time,” said Roel. “I thought him dark and sinister. . certainly not fair. But then I was a youth, a boy, and what might have seemed vile to me might seem fair to a demoiselle.”

  “Whatever it is,” said Celeste, “we shall have to be on our guard and hesitate not, though what we must do at that time is not certain at all, nor why it would seem a terrible cost.”

  “Perhaps we need to slay it,” said Roel.

  “Or perhaps capture it,” countered Celeste.

  “Or perhaps let it go altogether,” replied Roel.

  “What if it isn’t a person or a being, but an object, a thing?” said Celeste.

  “Such as. .?”

  “A gem, a crown, a weapon, a flower, a painting: something, anything, we might think beautiful, but could be wicked instead.”

  Roel sighed. “There are so many things in the world and in Faery that are beautiful, my love, at the pinnacle of which are you.”

  Celeste smiled and said, “I can be quite wicked, you know.”

  “Indeed,” said Roel, grinning, and on they rode.

  It rained all that darktide, but the next morning dawned clear and bright. Leaves were adrip and the air freshly washed, and Roel looked on in amazement as a troop of tiny beings-each person no more than an inch tall-came marching out from among the roots of a nearby grove and paid homage to Princess Celeste. They did so at the edge of the coppice, some bowing, others curtseying, and they presented her with a bouquet of tiny lavender flowers. One hung back to keep a wary eye on the men and the horses, for a single misplaced boot or hoof could easily destroy at least half of their wee band.

  Celeste set the tiny bouquet behind her right ear, the soft violet hue in contrast to her pale blond hair. The princess in turn presented the tiny folk with a thimbleful of pepper poured upon a leaf. They bowed and curtseyed, and then several of them lifted the leaf up above their heads, and they all marched back among the roots whence they had first appeared.

  “What were they, my love?” asked Roel.

  “They have their own name for themselves,” said Celeste. “Twyllyth Twyg, it is, but most folk call them Twig Men. They prize pepper above all.” Roel looked toward the place where they had gone and shook his head. “Why, they could ride mice or voles as their steeds, could they tame them.”

  “They sometimes do, Roel,” said Celeste.

  “Twig Men. .,” mused Roel, and again he shook his head with the wonder of it all.

  The cavalcade rode onward, the band pausing at the noontide to feed and water the horses and take a meal ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 81

  of their own. It was in midafternoon when they came upon the twilight border looming upward among the trees of the Springwood.

  Anton sent scouts left- and rightward, and then the remainder of the cavalcade rode nigh the marge and dismounted.

  “Now we must find the proper crossing point, my love,” said Celeste, “for, if you’ll recall Vidal’s words, this bound is particularly complex.”

  “I believe he said it was ‘tricky,’ ” replied Roel.

  “Tricky indeed,” said Celeste. “To reach Port Mizon, we must find the lightning-struck remains of a large black oak; ’tis there we need cross. We will wait here while the scouts fare along the bound. A bugle will sound when one finds the tree.”

  “Why not simply ride through and then, if it is the wrong place, ride back?”

  “Oh, cheri, one of the crossings leads to a land of flowing molten stone; another leads to a great fall; still others lead to realms just as perilous. We need cross at the place that will not put us in jeopardy, and-” Celeste’s voice was lost under ululation, and a flood of Goblins and Bogles and monstrous Trolls came charging from the shadowlight. Above the onrush flew a crow crying, “Revenge, revenge.” Celeste sounded her silver horn, even as men leapt to the backs of their steeds. Roel on his black drew Coeur d’Acier and took his shield in hand. Celeste drew her bow from its saddle scabbard, and nocked an arrow and let fly. It pierced the breast of one of the eight-foot-tall Goblinlike Bogles.

  Even as the creature crashed to the ground, a monstrous Troll leapt over the corpse and rushed at Celeste.

  Roel charged forward, Coeur d’Acier cutting a bloody swath through the Goblins. He intercepted the Troll and gutted the twelve-foot-high monster.

  Men of the warband lanced and hacked and flew arrows, only to be met in turn by cudgel and warbar and spear and arrows in return.

  “Revenge, revenge,” skreighed the crow, now circling above Celeste, and here the Goblins and Bogles and Trolls charged, surrounding the men protecting the princess, and clawed their way toward her.

  “Celeste! Celeste!” cried Roel, and he turned and drove his black toward her grey, taking down a Troll in his way, Coeur d’Acier keen and bloody.

  With men all about her in melee, Celeste did not chance loosing an arrow, and she slipped the bow across her shoulders and drew her long-knife.

  Now a Bogle crashed its way through the men, and with a massive smash of his great club he slew Celeste’s horse. She leapt free even as the grey tumbled to the ground. The Bogle loomed above her; he swung his bludgeon up to strike, but the blow never fell, for Coeur d’Acier took off his head.

  “Celeste,” cried Roel. He reached down and she grabbed on to his sword arm and swung up behind him.

  Now with sword hewing and shield bashing and Celeste’s long-knife slashing, Roel spurred his black forward through the melee and up a slope toward the shadowlight border, seeking higher ground.

  Above them, “Revenge! Revenge!” cried the crow, yet marking the princess’s whereabouts.

  Roel’s black screamed, and fell to its knees, a Goblin arrow jutting from one eye. Roel and Celeste sprang free, and they fought their way through Goblins and on up the slope, but Trolls and Bogles lumbered after, their great strides overtaking.

  “Revenge!” cried the crow above, but of a sudden it squawked and tumbled from the air, a crossbow quarrel through its breast.

  Still Roel and Celeste fled onward, a horde in pursuit.

  “Know you where this goes?” cried Roel.

  “Nay, I do not,” cried Celeste in return.

  “Celeste, we must chance it,” called Roel, bashing a Goblin aside and running onward, with the princess slightly arear and on his flank, her long-knife slathered with dark grume.

  Up the slope they ran and into the twilight, Goblins and Bogles and Trolls in chase.

  Dim it became and then darker, and Roel hissed,

  “Angle leftward-we’ll lose them in the gloom.” On they ran, deeper into the border, the shadowlight becoming ebon as they blindly fled.

  Headlong they ran, recklessly, shouting pursuit behind them. Now rightward they angled and raced straight on and past the pitch-dark midpoint, to hurtle out into empty space and plummet downward, plunging into blackness below.

  10

  Gone

  Princess! cried the searchers. Princess Celeste!

  “Did no one see where she went?” called Anton.

  Men looked at one another in concern, yet none had followed her flight, for they had been caught up in the battle.

  “Here is her horse,” shouted Deverel, scrambling upslope toward the downed mare. Quickly he reached it and called, “Its skull is crushed.”

  Anton made his way among slain Goblins and Bogles and past a massive and gutted Troll. As he reached the dead horse, nearby a weak voice called out,

  “C–Captain.”

  Some yards away young Marlon lay wounded, and Anton stepped to him and shouted for Gilles.

  “Captain,” whispered Marlon, “she leapt free of her grey, and Sieur Roel fought his way to her, and she swung up behind. They went on toward the bound.” The youth pointed.

  Bearing his kit, Gilles arrived, his hands bloodied from treating others. He knelt beside Marlon. “Deverel, help Gilles,” snapped Anton.

  As Deverel moved to aid the healer, Anton strode in the direction Marl
on had pointed. Within yards he came upon Roel’s caparisoned steed lying dead. He swept his gaze wide, but he saw nought immediate to indicate where Celeste and Roel had gone. Then Anton knelt and closely examined the ground. Ah, tracks, and many.

  “Verill, to me,” he cried.

  When Verill arrived, Anton pointed and said,

  “Spoor.”

  “Goblins, Bogles, Trolls,” said Verill after but a glance, “and they are running. Mayhap to escape; mayhap in pursuit.”

  “See you any sign of the princess among them? Or Sieur Roel?”

  Now Verill studied the tracks closely, and he followed them upslope, moving slowly. “Ah! Here’s a man’s step.

  Possibly Sieur Roel’s.” After a moment he said, “And here the princess’s. Captain Anton, they are running, and I ween the Goblins and Bogles and Trolls are in pursuit.”

  “Merde!”

  On went Verill, Anton following, and into the twilight bound they went. “Lantern. I’ll need a lantern,” said Verill.

  Anton stepped out from the boundary and called to Merlion, and quickly he brought a lantern to the two.

  But, as with all light, its glow dimmed in the mystical dusk of the marge. Even so, Verill managed to follow the wide swath of the pursuers within the shadowy bound. Long did he track, covering a considerable distance. He found where Roel and Celeste had jinked to throw off the pursuit, and yet those chasing had eventually followed. And then through the ebon central part they all had sped-princess, chevalier, and pursuers.

  “Get me a rope,” said Verill, and I’ll see what is on the far side.”

  “I’ll call a Sprite,” said Anton.

  “That might take a while,” said Verill, “and I can cross now.”

  Merlion ran back to the battleground, now nearly a half mile away, eventually to return with a line and two more men. They tied the rope about Verill and all took hold, and he stepped through the ebon wall.

  The line snapped taut.

  “Haul back!” cried Anton, and, straining, they pulled Verill back through.

  “ ’Tis a drop, but I think I hear waves,” reported Verill. “We will need a Sprite.”

  Out from the bound strode Anton, and he took his clarion in hand and sounded a call. Then again he called, and eyed the forest surround, and waited.

  After a long while, a tiny diaphanous-winged being came flying among the trees. No more than two inches tall and naked she was, and she made straight for Anton, who held his horn on high. She landed on the bell of Anton’s clarion; he lowered the trump and she looked up at him.

  “Mademoiselle Sprite,” said Anton, “we need your aid.”

  “I am Tika,” she replied, brushing back a wisp of her brown hair. “And you are. .?”

  “Anton, armsmaster and warband leader of Springwood Manor.”

  In that moment, more Sprites came winging, all in answer to the horn call. And some were greatly disturbed, for they had flown above the slaughter ground.

  Anton waited until all the newcomer Sprites had settled on nearby branches. Then he said, “Tika, Princess Celeste is missing”-the wee Sprites gasped in alarm-

  “and we need you, all of you, to see what lies beyond the marge, so that we might go to her aid.”

  “Where did she cross?” asked Tika, the Sprite familiar with aiding humans at the boundaries.

  “We think ’tis there where stands my man Verill,” said Anton, pointing.

  Verill raised his hand.

  Tika turned to the waiting Sprites and spoke rap shy;idly, and she and they darted in a widespread line toward the twilight wall.

  “Nought but ocean where the tracks cross?” cried Anton in dismay.

  “Oui,” replied Tika, her voice choking in pent grief, the gathered Sprites nodding in agreement, even as tears glittered against their tiny cheeks.

  “Empty,” said another of the Sprites, a russet-haired male.

  “We found no one at all,” said a third, a dark-haired female, tears flowing. “Just waves rolling o’er the deeps.”

  “There was a floating cudgel,” said Tika, her voice breaking.

  “Cudgel?”

  “Like those borne by Redcaps,” said Tika, gesturing in the direction of the slaughter ground.

  “No one swimming? No one calling for help?” asked Verill.

  “Non,” said Tika, bursting into sobs, her folk all weeping. “I’m afraid. . the princess. . and her knight have drowned.”

  “Captain,” said Verill, choking on his own tears,

  “mayhap they were swept through the bound elsewhere and are safe.”

  “Non,” said Tika, gaining control. “From the place of the tracks, we flew through the bound repeatedly both dextral and sinister, and always we came back into the Springwood; and we searched, and they are not herein.

  And back nigh that horrid battleground whence you said the Trolls and Bogles and Redcaps had first come, beyond the bound there is nought but wide, empty desert, and farther along the marge lies the realm of King Avelar, and the princess is not in either.” Tika burst into tears again, yet after a moment she managed to say, “Captain Anton, the princess and the chevalier, they most assuredly drowned.”

  Anton turned away, and peered at the shadowlight, and then he sighed and said, “Tika, I need you and the Sprites to bear word to Steward Vidal at Springwood Manor.”

  Her voice choking, Tika managed to ask, “And your message, Armsmaster?”

  Anton sighed and said, “Tell him that during an attack by Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls at the sunwise twilight bound, Celeste and Roel crossed over and fell into an ocean and were drowned.”

  Yet sobbing, Tika nodded, and then she and the Sprites darted away.

  His own cheeks wet with tears, Anton gathered the men and told them what the Sprites had found. And then, with men weeping, and with the most severely wounded riding on travois, back toward Springwood Manor they all turned. And they bore with them the trappings from Celeste’s grey and from Roel’s black, as well as a slain crow pierced through by a crossbow quarrel.

  11

  Pursuit

  In but a heartbeat and before she could scream, Celeste crashed down onto a canted surface that rang like hardwood, and- “Uff!” — she fell forward to her hands and knees. Her long-knife was lost to her grip and went skittering away in the blackness. Floundering to her feet, “Roel, Roel,” she called, but then she was grabbed from behind, and a rough hand was clapped over her mouth.

  Celeste wrenched to and fro, and tried to stomp her heel onto the foot of whoever or whatever had her in its grasp, but she could not break free.

  “Quiet, or I’ll snap your neck,” came a hissed command, and whoever had her twisted her head to one side.

  Celeste stopped her struggle.

  “My Lord Captain,” the being said, keeping his voice low, “I have one here. A female, by the feel of her.”

  “There’s another over here, my lord,” someone else said, also in a hushed voice. “I think he’s dead.” Roel dead?

  Celeste moaned, but then fell silent as the grip on her mouth tightened in threat.

  “Oi, now, wait a moment. He’s breathing. I think he’s just unconscious.”

  Thank Mithras, Roel’s alive.

  Footsteps neared on wood, but stopped, and the surface Celeste stood on slowly rose and fell. She smelled a salt tang in the air, and she heard the rush of water. A ship. I’m on a ship.

  Her eyes now beginning to adjust to the darkness, Celeste could make out a dim shape standing before her.

  “Madam, if my lieutenant takes his hand from your mouth, will you keep your voice down?” Celeste managed a restricted nod.

  “She agrees, My Lord Captain,” said the one who held her.

  “Then do so, Lieutenant.”

  The person took his hand from her mouth, yet held her tight, and in that very same moment and in the near distance there sounded terrified screams and roars and splashes.

  “What th-?” breathed the one
who held her.

  “Goblins and Ogres and Trolls, Captain,” said Celeste. “They were in pursuit of us. Now release me so that I might tend my consort.”

  “Consort? Who are you?”

  Momentarily, Celeste hesitated, for she did not wish to be held for ransom. But then from nearby there came a groan. Roel. She took a deep breath and said,

  “Celeste, Princesse de la Foret de Printemps.”

  “Princess of the Springwood?”

  “Oui. Now again I say, release me so that I might tend my consort.”

  “Tell me something few know of your pere,” said the captain.

  Does this man know my sire? “Thief,” said Celeste.

  “Release her, Lieutenant.”

  Set free, Celeste turned in the direction of the groan, and in the darkness she could just make out the shape of something or someone-presumably Roel-lying on the deck, with someone kneeling at hand.

  As she made her way toward the supine figure, the lieutenant said, “My Lord Captain, with those screams, surely we move not in secret any longer.”

  “Mayhap not,” replied the captain. “Nevertheless we will hew to our course.”

  “But, Captain, the men grow ever more fearful, for should we cross over the bound-”

  “I know, Lieutenant. We could crash the ship into a mountainside, or burn in a fiery flow, or plummet over an escarpment, or any number of other terrible disasters. Yet heed, if we are to overtake the corsairs, spring upon them unawares, then this is the best course. ’Tis a trick I learned from my freebooter days. Helmsman, just make certain the very ebon wall remains immediately on our port beam. That blackness is the midpoint we dare not cross.”

  “Aye, aye, my lord,” replied another voice, the helmsman, no doubt.

  Even as Celeste dropped to her knees beside Roel, for surely it was him, he groaned awake. “Wha- Oh, my jaw.”

  “Keep your voice low, beloved,” said Celeste.

  “Celeste?”

  “Oui.” She removed Coeur d’Acier from his grip and took his hand in hers and squeezed.

  “I think my chin slammed into the edge of my very own shield,” said Roel. “Where are we?” Celeste looked about, her eyes now fully adjusted to the dimness. She could just make out the dark-on-dark silhouettes of railings and the helm and men and masts and sails and rigging. To the immediate port side there loomed a pitch-black wall. “On the stern of a ship, cheri.”