“Why else have you come?” asked Borel, stepping forward.
Slowly Urd turned her head toward him and canted it to one side. “Just as when once I met you by a stream, ever bold, I see. Questioning the Fates, are we?” And then she cackled in glee.
Borel pushed out a hand in negation, and Michelle looked at him quizzically.
“I believe what my son means,” said Valeray, “is—”
“We know what he meant,” snapped Urd, and she turned to Skuld.
“Yes, we came to give warning,” said Lady Wyrd, “and it is this: for a while there will be peace, yet upon a dreadful time yet to come you will all be needed, as will others. Heed me. Stand ready and relax not your guard, for there will be a—Ah, but I cannot directly reveal what I have seen, yet know that one among you will be the key.”
“The key?” asked Camille.
Skuld looked at her and smiled and said, “The key.”
“So peril yet comes,” said Valeray, his words a statement, not a question.
“It does,” said Skuld.
“Be ready,” said Verdandi.
“And on guard,” added Urd, and her gaze swept across the gathering to momentarily stop upon Luc, and then moved to Camille.
And the sound of looms swelled and then vanished, and the Sisters Three vanished as well.
The gathering stood stunned for a moment, but then Valeray lifted his glass and, with a rakish grin, said, “Here’s to interesting times!”
To interesting times! cried they all.
“I do not understand what you are referring to,” said Simone, peering into her now empty cup and setting it back upon the saucer.
“Oh, Simone,” said Michelle, “Lady Wyrd said, ‘One among you will be the key,’ and Liaze’s Luc has the key, and Lady Urd’s gaze rested upon him just before the Three Fates vanished. Hence, perhaps that’s what she meant when she gave us that warning.”
In that moment a gong sounded.
“Ah,” said Valeray as the distant echoes died, “dinner, my lads. Let us hurry and fetch the ladies from the green room and get to the board, else the chef will be most upset.”
As they filed out from the armory, Blaise said, “I think Laurent is right: let’s hunt down this bitch Witch Hradian and kill her outright. Then Orbane will have no acolytes at all, none to attempt to set him free.”
As the ladies waited to be collected, Camille and Avélaine took up the cups and saucers and moved to the sideboard. “You are with child?” asked Camille softly.
Avélaine glanced down at herself. “Oh, does it show?”
“Non, it’s just that I saw you place a hand across your waist when the peril of an unseen being was mentioned.”
“Ah. You are observant, Camille, and, oui, I am with child. I was going to announce it at dinner tonight.”
Camille gripped Avélaine’s hand and said, “Splendid.”
“Oh, but I wish Chevell were here when I speak of it.”
“He does not know?”
“Non. I wasn’t positive when I set out from Port Mizon, but now I know for certain.”
“Regardless,” said Camille, squeezing Avélaine’s fingers. “I am so happy to have Duran, and you will find a babe of your own to be a pleasure, too.”
“Where is the wee prince?”
“Perhaps asleep by now. When last I saw him he was with his bonne d’enfants having a bath.”
“He seems a happy child.”
“Oh, he is,” replied Camille, smiling.
In that moment, the king and princes and chevaliers arrived and swept the women out from the green room and toward one perhaps brighter.
They sat about a long table, one of oak, and in a grand dining room. The chamber itself was all of gold, broken here and there by white: golden velvet paneled the walls, and white bellpulls dangled at each corner; upholstery of a golden fabric and patterned with a scatter of tiny white flowerets cushioned the golden-oak chairs; white sideboards trimmed in gold stood along the walls. White lanterns in golden sconces cast a yellow-white aura over all. The ceiling above was white, with golden crown molding all ’round. The dinnerware was white porcelain rimmed with gold, and the white utensils were edged with gold as well.
The meal began with an appetizer of escargot and a small glass of pale white wine—“Ah, an Autumnwood vintage; some of Liaze’s best,” declared Valeray, hoisting his goblet on high toward her. The others followed suit, and Liaze inclined her head in response.
As they supped upon the snails, Simone looked across the table and asked Camille, “Why is it you have a small sparrow in your pocket?”
“Oh, Scruff, you mean,” said Camille, touching a finger lightly high on her bodice where the wee bird drowsed. “He is a trusted companion, and I wanted him with me at our meeting even though he is asleep.”
“Is he magical in some manner?”
“You might say so. He was loaned to me by the Lady of the Mere, to be my companion as I looked for Alain. It seems he can sense danger and deception, and he certainly proved to be of great aid.”
“This Lady of the Mere: who might she be?”
“Ah, the Lady of the Mere, she has many names: Lady Sorcière, Lady Wyrd, Lady Skuld, She Who Sees the Future.”
“This is one of those Michelle spoke about, one of the Fates?”
“Oui.” Camille gestured toward Valeray and Saissa and said, “It seems this family is somehow caught up in the intrigues of the Three Sisters.”
“Ensnared is more likely,” said Valeray.
“Granted,” said Camille. “But without them I would never have rescued Alain.”
“Nor I Michelle,” said Borel.
“Nor I Luc,” said Liaze.
“Nor would Roél and I have released Avélaine and Laurent and Blaise,” added Céleste.
“Nor would have I discovered the whereabouts of King Valeray and Queen Saissa,” added Camille last.
“Here’s to the Fates,” cried Blaise, hoisting a glass, “else Laurent and I would be statues still.”
“Hear, hear,” said Valeray, and he hoisted his own and downed the drink.
Simone raised her glass as well, but tremulously added, “But who is to say that the Fates didn’t have a hand in precipitating those crises from which you all were rescued.”
The escargot was followed by a creamy bisque of trout, along with another of Liaze’s white wines, this a vibrant gold, one that would stand up to the richness of the soup.
The talk turned to that of the tourney, and of the games and jongleurs that would surround the gala events—an échecs tournament, lawn bowling, croquet, ladies’ archery, minstrels, jugglers, stilt walkers, and the like, and it was during this happy converse that Avélaine announced she was with child.
“Is it true, Avi?” asked Roél.
“Oui,” replied Avélaine. “A little new vicomte or vicomtesse is on the way.”
Laurent and Blaise and Roél leapt up from their seats and rushed to Avélaine’s side and handed her up from her chair and, somewhat cautiously, embraced her. Émile, too, hugged his daughter, and Simone wiped tears of happiness from her own eyes.
“I suppose Chevell is strutting about like a peacock,” said Roél.
Avélaine laughed and said, “He will be when I tell him.”
“Ah, little sister, he does not know?” asked Laurent.
“Non, Laurent. I only became certain this past sevenday or so.”
“Ah, then, he will be so jealous that he wasn’t here at this time,” said Blaise.
Valeray made a toast, and all echoed his words: “Vive le nourrisson à venir!”
Amid joyous talk, the bisque was followed by venison in a light splash of a white cream sauce, with a sautéed medley of green beans and small onions and peas, all accompanied by a hearty red wine well aged in a cool cellar.
In addition, the servers brought out a wide platter of baked pheasants basted in honey, and still another of the white wines, this one light saffron in color. Acco
mpanying the entrée was a bowl of sautéed mushrooms and a sautéed medley of carrots and parsnips and red beets.
“Ah, my favorite,” said Borel, as the venison was brought to the board. “Merci, Maman,” he added, looking down the long table to where his mother sat at the far end.
Saissa smiled and signaled that she would have pheasant instead.
Yet even as they settled into the main meal, eventually the talk took a more serious turn as once again they spoke of the mysterious and malignant intrusion of something or someone upon their daily activities:
“And you think this acolyte, this Hradian, is at the root of it?” asked Émile.
“Oui,” replied Borel. “After all, my sire and his get are the ones she would hold responsible for the downfall of their plans: imprisonment of Orbane, the ruination of her schemes against my sire and dam and her plans for the Summerwood, and the deaths of her three sisters—Rhensibé, Iniquí, and Nefasí, in that order.”
“First was Rhensibé,” said Michelle. “Torn to shreds by Borel’s Wolves.”
“Then came Iniquí,” said Liaze, “kicked into everlasting fire by Deadly Nightshade, Luc’s warhorse.”
“Finally, Nefasí,” said Céleste, “slain by a god-made arrow.”
“And you three are responsible?” asked Simone.
“No more so than those three acolytes,” said Borel.
“In each case, Simone,” said Saissa, “the witches themselves had done terrible deeds and were about to do more: Hradian had changed one of my sons into a Bear and would mate him with a Troll; Rhensibé was about to slay Michelle and Borel with her very own poisonous claws; Iniquí would have drawn Céleste into the fire and would have let Luc die of exposure on a dark mountain afar; likewise was Nefasí set to kill your son Roél and would have slain Céleste, and the Lord of the Changelings would have left Laurent and Blaise as statues and used Avélaine as a brood mare. It was only because of these brave souls sitting here that none of that came to pass. It was Valeray’s deed that led to Orbane’s downfall, and it was Camille who upset Hradian’s schemes. And as far as the three slain acolytes, it was Borel who had called his Wolves, and Liaze who commanded Deadly Nightshade to attack, and Céleste who loosed the gray arrow, and these things spelled the end of Rhensibé and Iniquí and Nefasí. So is it any wonder that Hradian would seek vengeance?”
“Oh, non, Lady Saissa, that I understand,” said Simone. “It’s just that I wish none of it had come to pass, especially now that Avélaine is expecting.”
“Oh, Maman,” said Avélaine, “had it not come to pass, then I would never have met Chevell, and you would not have a grandchild on the way. And of course, we could not let that happen, now, could we?”
“Ah, young love and young mothers to be,” said Valeray, beaming at Avélaine, and then at Alain and Camille, at Borel and Michelle, at Liaze and Luc, at Céleste and Roél, and finally at his own Saissa. But then he sobered and raised his glass to them all and grimly said, “As declared apast by the Three Sisters, dreadful events lie ahead. Perhaps these ominous sensings the women feel are signs that those events are nigh upon us. Regardless and as I said once before, here’s to interesting times.”
To interesting times, said they all, though tears stood in Simone’s eyes and those of Saissa as well.
6
GlAmours
Now, where is that other gown?” snapped Hradian, searching among the musty clothes in the meager loft. “No, no, not that one, nor this one. Ah, here is the one. The same as I wore to Summerwood Manor five and some years agone. Such pretty danglers and lace, like smoke streaming. But it won’t do to wear it again as it is. No, I’ll have to cast a glamour over it, something to match—”
A deep-throated plaintive croak sounded.
Hradian turned and looked down at the doorway. “What is it, Crapaud?”
Another croak, this one with a needy edge.
“Oui, you may seek your breakfast, but return quickly; I have a duty for you.”
The monstrous toad—nearly the size of a bushel basket—hitched about and waddled to the verge of the flet and toppled off to plop into the scum-laden water.
Hradian swung her attention back to the garment and sniffed the cloth. She didn’t smell ought, for her nose was completely inured to the reek of swamp bottom, and if the same malodor clung to the gown, it would escape her notice. “Bah,” she growled, “whether or no, it’ll air out on my flight, especially if I ride low o’er the desert.”
Down the wall-ladder she clambered, the gown over her shoulder. When she reached the floor, she slipped into the black dress and covered her nakedness. For perhaps the third time in her life she wished she had a mirror to admire herself, but mirrors are tricky things, and open to someone spying in upon her. Of course the surface could be covered with the right kind of impenetrable cloth, or the mirror could be turned to face the wall, or kept in a tight closet by itself for occasional and limited viewing; but still if a mage were powerful enough, he could launch an attack through the speculum itself whether or no the device was hidden, or covered, or in use. No, no mirror had she nor would she ever, except for a bowl filled with inky liquid, and that but a temporary tool to spy upon her enemies. Instead she had to be content with looking down at herself only to see—“This won’t do”—that her grimy toes peeked out from the hem. “Shoes, yes shoes.” Hradian found her cracked leather slippers and tied the laces and hissed, “One day, and soon, my love, you’ll have nought but the finest soft footwear, of fur and satin and cloth and suede and whatever else you wish.”
Hradian then scrabbled through her belongings and finally found what she wanted: a small pouch on a thong. She slipped the potion vial into it and secured the top and hung it about her neck.
Then, because the journey would be a lengthy one, she shoved a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread into a small rucksack and looped the strap over her head and shoulder. Looking about and deciding she needed to carry nothing else, she took up her besom.
“Crapaud! Crapaud! Where are you?”
There came a squashy splop out on the flet, and the bloated toad, dripping water, waddled to the doorway. Part of something wiggling and slimy—the hindquarters and tail of a large newt? a lizard? something else altogether?—dangled from the corner of Crapaud’s wide mouth, the toad trying to gulp it down, while the partly swallowed thing fought to extract itself.
“Crapaud, watch over the house,” commanded Hradian.
Crapaud emitted a croak, and in that same moment the thing escaped. But as it darted for the water—schlakk!—Crapaud’s long tongue snatched it up.
Without waiting to see if the thing was swallowed or not, Hradian mounted her twiggy broom and flew away, the trim and danglers from her dress flowing out behind her like ragged shadows melting away.
As soon as she was above the drifting miasma of the swamp, Hradian took a quick glance at the morning sun. “Must hurry, must hurry,” she muttered, and she goaded her besom to greater speed. “They will be well started by the time I arrive. A simple glamour will do at first, but then . . .” With the wind of her passage whipping through her black hair, Hradian broke into laughter as she sped toward her destination.
Twilight bound after twilight bound she crossed, and the sun rose up the sky. And in the marks after the sun passed through the zenith, Hradian cast her first glamour and then crossed another bound. In the forest below were any observing, unless they had Fey sight, they would see nought but a crow winging starwise. And even had they Fey sight, still they might see nought but a tremulous aura about the dark bird.
A candlemark or so and a twilight bound later, in midafternoon the crow spiralled down to come to rest in a leafy forest.
Moments later, with a second glamour cast, a small girl, bearing a bouquet of wildflowers, stepped out from the trees and onto the green grassy field.
7
faire
As Émile shoveled eggs onto his plate to go with the rashers and toast and jam, he asked, “V
aleray, is there anyone else, other than this Hradian witch, and perhaps her master Orbane, who might wish to see you and your get dead?”
Valeray shrugged. “None I can think of.” Then he looked at Saissa and grinned. “Oh, there are some lords and ladies and mayors and such who might yet hold a grudge against me for deeds long past when I was yet a thief. But I would think those resentments not enough to send someone or something spying, especially someone or something unseen.”
They sat outside on a balcony overlooking the tournament field, with its many tents where jongleurs and merchants and participants and fest-goers had come to entertain, to sell their wares, to enter the contests, or to otherwise engage in the faire. Smoke from fires rose in the morning air as those gathered broke their own fasts, or cooked specialties to sell to others—with hogs on spits and slabs of ribs and sides of beef roasting; with various fish and fowl turning and frying as well; with pots of beans and meats and soups dangling above the fires and bubbling; and breads and sweets and other such fare baking—all of them wafting their aromas across the way to entice the milling throng. A minstrel’s voice rose in distant song accompanied by a lute, and a piccolo ran a rising scale and then fell silent.
Midst the tents lay a large open arena with tiers of seats on one side for the king and his invited guests. Opposite the tiers and on a gentle rise a fence set the boundary for others to gather and watch and cheer for their favorites. In between lay the tourney field, where most of the events would be held: archery, dueling, the caber toss, the hammer throw, the discus, the foot races, and others. On the field as well stood the lists, where knights mounted on chargers would run—shields up, lances couched—in attempts to unseat one another.
And overlooking it all from their distant high terrace, King Valeray, Queen Saissa, Sieur Émile, and Lady Simone sat at breakfast.
Once Upon a Dreadful Time Page 6