“Might I have some water for me and my horses?” Liaze asked.
“Indeed you might,” said the woman, gesturing toward the side of the house. And as Liaze rode past: “Oh, my, you’re a fille,” declared the woman, stepping down from the porch and walking alongside. “I thought you a warrior, dressed as you are and riding that big black horse.”
“Would that I were,” said Liaze, glancing back in the direction she had come. “It would have made things easier.”
“Oh, you didn’t pass through the Forest of Oaks, now, did you?”
“Indeed I did,” said Liaze.
The woman’s brown, golden-hued eyes flew wide. “Oh, you poor child, did they keep you long?”
“They did not keep me at all,” said Liaze, reining Nightshade to a halt at a watering trough, an axle-driven, bucket-chain pump at one end atop the stone rim of a well.
“Then you are certainly warrior enough, or very skillful, or extremely fortunate,” said the woman.
“I think the Fates themselves were watching over me,” said Liaze, dismounting, a faint smile on her face.
As Liaze turned the wheel-crank ’round and ’round to spill water into the trough, the horses crowded forward, though on their long tethers the geldings gave Nightshade considerable leeway.
With the vessel three-quarters full, Liaze stopped turning the wheel and ducked her head under the surface next to Pied Agile and, after a moment, came up sputtering.
“Oh, dear,” said the woman. “Let me get you a towel.” She rushed to a side door and into the house and quickly returned with a soft cotton cloth.
Liaze patted her face dry and then briskly rubbed her hair, wincing occasionally, for her yanked-upon scalp was yet tender, especially where strands had been torn loose.
The woman said, “Would you like a cup of hot tea and perhaps a bite to eat?”
“Oh, I would treasure it,” said Liaze.
The woman eyed the packhorse goods and said, “Well then, why don’t you give your animals a bit of grain while I prepare, and then you can tell me what in Faery you were doing coming through that most dreadful Forest of the Oaks.-Oh, and I am Madame Divenard, but at times my sisters-one on each side-call me Midi, as can you.”
“And I am Liaze of the Autumnwood,” replied the princess.
“Well and good,” said Midi, smiling. She turned and hastened toward the house, calling back over her shoulder, “Now hurry, for I shan’t be long.”
“… And that’s why I had to come through the oaks,” said Liaze. She took the last bite of buttered and honeyed biscuit, and washed it down with bracing hot tea.
“Well, my dear, that’s quite a tale. And, oh, from what you’ve told me, you’ve crossed the four twilight borders that your Sir Luc rode going the opposite way.”
“Did Luc come past your croft?”
“If he did, Liaze, then it was when my sisters and I were busy elsewhere.”
Liaze’s face fell, and she sighed. “Always before, I had confirmation that Luc rode this way, what with Caillou and Matthieu’s corroboration. But now it seems…” Liaze’s words fell to silence.
Madame Divenard reached across the table and patted the princess on the hand. “Fear not, Liaze, from what you tell me, the black follows the way.”
Heartened somewhat, Liaze asked, “Do you know of any witch living nearby, or of a woodcutter-an armsmaster-named Leon?”
“Non, but someone in the village might know,” said Midi.
“Village?”
“Oui,” said Midi, gesturing in the direction Liaze had been faring. “Ruisseau Miel is but an afternoon’s ride hence. You go down my lane until you reach the main road, and then follow it onward till you come to the town. A sign will point the way.”
Liaze stood. “Then I’ll be going now, for if someone there might know of a witch or a woodcutter, I-”
“But Liaze,” protested Midi, looking up at her, “you have had little rest and a terrible experience in the Forest of Oaks. Surely you can stay here one night and catch up on your missing sleep.”
“Non, Madame Divenard. My horses and I can last long enough to reach this town you speak of; it is there we will rest.”
Midi sighed and stood, and then brightened. “It has but one inn, L’Abeille Occupee, with quite a good stable. Its kitchens are, um.. adequate, and the wine, eh… tolerable. L’Abeille is where the honey buyers stay when they come in the honey season.”
“Then, merci, madame, I shall always be grateful for this respite you have given me.”
Midi smiled and said, “And I shall be certain to tell my sisters of this venture of yours… as far as it goes, that is. And, oh, Liaze, may you find what you seek.”
Liaze and Midi stepped from the farmhouse and to the horses, and Liaze removed the nosebags and packed them away, and let the horses have another small amount of water. Then she mounted up on Nightshade and bade Midi “Au revoir,” Midi replying in kind. The princess wheeled the black about and rode to the lane and onward.
And when she had gone from sight, the lush farm fields and the large farmhouse faded away, and the matronly woman, smiling to herself, silently vanished as well.
Dusk was falling when Liaze reached the small village of Ruisseau Miel, and as she rode down the main street, she saw a signboard proclaiming a rather modest inn to be L’Abeille Ocupee-a depiction on the board of a honey bee at work echoed the name of the inn.
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 cafe, 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 Leon 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 Leon needs to be told this dire news.”
“Leon, 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 Leon?”
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 Leon 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 Leon 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.
Leon 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.
Leon 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.”
Leon 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 chateau. 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 tutors 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.”
Leon 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 Leon 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 Leon, 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 Chateau Bleu dans le Lac de la Rose et Gardien de la Cle. But Amaury was slain in combat, yet he left behind Comtesse Adele and his newborn son: Luc.
“A year after Amaury’s death, Adele 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 Adele 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.”
Leon 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 Leon, who did likewise.
Leaving his cup sitting idle, Leon continued: “Guillaume would have none of that, for as long as Luc was alive, the vicomte could never become the comte of Chateau Bleu. Furthermore, his three-year-old brat of a son could not inherit the title unless Luc were dead.”
A dark look came over Leon’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 Adele 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 gallo
ping 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.”
Leon 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.
Leon 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 Leon, 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 Chateau 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.”
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