“When he finishes his match, take him aside and speak softly,” said Céleste.
In the mustering shadows of the gathering dusk, Luc and Borel and Alain stepped into the courtyard, and, as if anticipating the need, waiting stood Borel’s Wolves. Bearing a lantern, out over the bridge spanning the dry moat they went, and across the great grassy clearing toward the dawnwise end of the arena, where stood Luc’s tent, his pennant—a red rose on a blue field—flying in the twilight above.
When they reached it and stepped inside, Borel spoke strange words to the Wolves—a mixture of growls and half-formed gutturals—and he struck several postures. The pack spread wide, their noses in the air and to the ground.
“What did you tell them?” asked Alain.
“I reminded them of Rhensibé, and asked if there was a similar scent herein.”
“Ah,” said Alain, and he watched as ’round the interior the Wolves snuffled, their lantern-cast shadows sliding against canvas. Slate growled at the threshold of the entrance and looked up at Borel.
“He senses something,” said Luc. “Is it the smell of a sorceress?”
“Perhaps,” said Borel, and he growled another word.
Slate gave a deep-throated rumble.
Borel grunted and said, “Slate thinks it is somewhat like that of the witch he and the pack tore asunder.”
Luc groaned.
Again Slate growled, and he rumbled and postured, Borel frowning, watching carefully. Finally, the Wolf fell silent.
“What did he say?” asked Alain.
“It is indeed Hradian,” said Borel.
Out from the tent loped the Wolves, and ’round to one side, with Borel and Alain and Luc following.
“How do they know it’s Hradian?” asked Luc.
“Slate said, ‘Bitch two-legs bad, rock den bad, trees bad, wind bad, leader gone, bitch two-legs gone.’ ”
“How does that point to Hradian?” asked Luc.
“It had slipped my mind,” said Borel, “but the pack had encountered Hradian before.”
Alain’s eyes widened in recall. “Ah, oui, when you went to her cote near the blighted part of the Winterwood, and she used one of Orbane’s amulets to send you flying away on a black wind and into imprisonment in a Troll dungeon.”
“Then the ‘bitch two-legs bad’ is Hradian?” asked Luc.
Borel nodded. “Given the context, it can be no other.”
At the side of the tent the pack milled about.
“Merde!” spat Borel. “They’ve lost the trail. Too many people have come this way, and their taints overlie Hradian’s.”
Alain stooped down and took up a small vial and held it up to the light of the faire. “Hmm . . . ocherous dregs inside.” He handed the vial to Luc. “Mayhap this contained some sort of potion Hradian used to fool you.”
As Luc looked at the container, Borel turned to Alain and asked, “Brother, think you the Bear can winnow her spoor from the others?”
Alain turned up a hand. “Mayhap.” He frowned in concentration, and a darkness gathered about him, enveloping him, his shape changing, growing huge, brown, with long black claws and ivory fangs, and it dropped to all fours, and where Alain had been now growled a great Bear.
Back to the entrance shambled the Bear, and he snuffled at the ground, then he lumbered out to the side of the tent, and, nose to the ground, took off at a lope toward the dawnwise entrance of the arena, but the moment he got there, again he turned, and he made his way toward the stalls and tents of the merchants. Through the lantern-lit midst of the faire went the huge dark brown creature, Borel and Luc at his side, the pack of Wolves ranging aflank and arear, and people, some screaming, others crying out in fear, scattered this way and that to get out of the path of this monstrous animal and his grey savage escort, as well as the two princes.
And riding across the grass and toward this strange assortment came a gallop of horses, some with torch-bearing riders thereon, still other steeds trailing on tethers. And they angled toward the Bear and the Wolves and the two striding men.
The Bear broke free of the faire, and with its nose yet to the ground it headed toward a distant stand of trees as stars began glimmering above.
Roél and Laurent and Blaise and Regar rode nigh, but the horses reared and skittered and belled out at the reek of the Bear, and it was all the riders could do to retain control of the animals—all but Deadly Nightshade, that is, for that horse was inured to the scent, having campaigned against the Changelings in the presence of the Bear.
And still the animal lumbered on, now entering the forest, trees darkly looming up left and right and fore. In a stand of wildflowers, the Bear came to a stop, where it cast its nose this way and that, only to roar in rage and then plop down to sit among the blossoms.
A dark shimmering came upon the beast. Luc marveled as swiftly it changed, altering, losing bulk, gaining form, and suddenly there before them sat a man, a prince: Alain.
“This is where the oldest scent lingers,” said Alain, gaining his feet. “And indeed it is Hradian’s, for the Bear remembers her from the time the mages came to try to break the curse, for she was among them. I followed the trail backwards, or rather the Bear did so, and this is where it begins. It ends there beside your tent, Luc.”
Borel glanced at Luc and said, “Then she flew her besom to this place, and walked through the faire to the arena, but then turned and went to your pavilion, where she became Liaze and fooled you into turning over the amulet.”
Luc clenched a fist. “But why did no one see her passing through the faire, and why did she go to the arena before coming to my tent?”
Alain frowned, and then his face brightened. “She needed to see what Liaze was wearing; that’s why the stop at the arena.”
“Glamour,” said Borel. “She must have looked like someone other than herself to slip through the faire unnoticed. I mean, had any one of us been on the faire grounds then she would have been in jeopardy. A spell would conceal her true form.”
“But I embraced her,” said Luc. “It was Liaze, I vow. Could a glamour transform her into my truelove?”
Both Alain and Borel shrugged.
Roél came striding into the forest, his torch held high. He looked at the trio. “Well?”
“Here’s where she entered the faire grounds,” said Alain. “Here the trail begins. It ends at the side of Luc’s tent. I fear she is no longer in this demesne.”
“The crow?” asked Roél.
“Most likely,” said Borel.
“Come,” said Alain. “Let us go speak with Father, for now Hradian has the key, and, if she knows how to use it, then all of Faery is in peril, for with it she surely will set Orbane free.”
With Wolves ranging fore and aflank and aft they strode toward the sward where Laurent and Blaise and Regar waited with the horses. With the Bear now gone, the animals had settled by the time the four men emerged from the woods.
“The witch has flown,” said Borel to those three as he mounted. “We go to see the king and break the ill news.”
Even as they set out for the castle, through the dark from dawnwise a tiny Sprite came winging.
12
Affirmation
“ nd you think it was Hradian?” A “Papa, we are not certain of that at all,” said Camille.
Valeray shook his head and sighed in resignation. “Still, who else would be after the key?”
“Indeed,” said Liaze, “who else?”
“And she took on your shape?”
“Oui. Luc thought it was me and gave over the amulet to keep it safe.”
“And this crow . . . Hradian, too?”
Camille nodded. “You saw Scruff pursue it, Papa, and Regar said it had a dark aura about.”
“Still, it might have been a Changeling,” said Valeray, “dark aura or no.”
They sat in a side chamber off the grand ballroom, did Liaze, Céleste, Camille, and Valeray. The room itself was appointed in blue and served as a private
chamber for intimate gatherings of the king and a handful of his guests; hence it wasn’t as if the royalty had rushed off in panic, but instead had momentarily retired, perhaps simply to talk over their échecs matches and relax.
“And this Regar, he’s the grandson of the Fairy King?”
Camille turned up a hand. “So he implied.”
“Then that would make him a prince.”
“Borel introduced him as such,” said Céleste.
From beyond the closed door there came muted applause as, no doubt, someone had achieved a clever victory.
Valeray stood. “Let us return to the matches, for I would not have our absence noted. Besides, there’s nought we can do until the scouting party returns, and that might be awhile, for they could be on a long chase.”
Camille got to her feet. “You go, Papa, and Céleste and Liaze, too, for since I lost my first match, I will keep watch and let you know when Alain and the others get back.”
Valeray looked at her in mild surprise. “You lost?”
“Oui. After Scruff’s agitated display, I could not concentrate.”
Liaze nodded and glumly said, “Had we only known what upset him so, mayhap we would still have the key.”
Camille made her way to one of the upper balconies. She stood in the warm summer night and looked out over the faire and the people within.
Camille frowned, for the usual sounds of laughter and music did not ring. Instead she heard excited chatter—So much for keeping them calm. I wonder what got them so stirred—and many stood on the far edge and peered toward the forest.
Camille looked beyond the grounds, and, there at the verge of the woods, torches cast light on seven horses and three riders, and they seemed to be waiting. Deeper within the forest itself, a light gleamed, yet dark boles of trees and cast shadows obstructed the view, and so Camille could not tell what was occurring therein.
It must be Alain and the others. Oh, please, Mithras, let them all be safe.
Even as she watched, the glimmer within the woodland began to move, and shortly a borne lantern and a high-held torch showed four men and Wolves emerging. Who they are I cannot tell, though with the pack at hand, one of them must be Borel.
The four mounted up, and they slowly rode back toward the castle, the Wolves ranging fore and aflank and aft.
They do not seem to be tracking ought. I think they return from a fruitless search.
She watched as they rode through the gathering, and the crowds gave way before them, especially before the Wolves, and voices called out, but the men rode grimly on and did not reply.
Little do the people know the calamity that has befallen this day, with disaster to follow if Orbane is set free.
Over the bridge and into the courtyard and toward the stables the riders and Wolf pack fared, and Camille stepped back from the balcony and into the castle proper and went down the spiral stairs, making her way toward the ballroom to signal Valeray and the others that the men had returned.
One at a time, so as to not alarm the échecs contestants, the royalty slipped from the grand ballroom to make their way up to the war chamber high in a tower central to the castle, a room with windows overlooking all approaches to the holt. Camille stepped out first, and she swiftly went to the stables and led the men to the chamber, where they awaited the arrival of the others, and one by one they drifted in: Liaze, Céleste, and finally Saissa and Valeray.
Both the king and queen looked upon Regar in puzzlement, and Borel said, “Sire, Dam, this is Prince Regar of the Wyldwood, grandson to the Fairy King. He went with us on the search.”
Valeray frowned and then his eyes lit in recognition. “Ah, I remember: you are the bowman who nearly won the contest at archery. Welcome, Prince.”
Regar bowed and replied, “Bastard prince at best, my lord, for the Fairy King did not wed my grandmother.”
“Nevertheless,” said Valeray, “in my halls you are a prince.” He gestured toward the broad map table. “Let us be seated and speak of what you found.”
As soon as all were ensconced in chairs, Valeray turned to Borel and said, “What came to pass?”
Borel glanced at the others and said, “While Roél and the others were gathering the horses, Alain, Luc, the Wolves, and I went to Luc’s tent at the dawnwise end of the arena, and there we . . .”
“. . . and that’s when the Bear came to the end of the trail.”
Saissa said, “The Bear and the Wolves went through the center of the faire?”
“Oui, Maman.”
“I imagine that startled them.”
“Oui, Maman, yet there was no other way to follow the imposter to the source.”
Regar looked at Alain in wonderment, and Alain smiled and shrugged a shoulder.
As the vial made its way ’round to Luc, to be slipped back into the pocket of his waistcoat, King Valeray sighed. “And so, to summarize what you have told me: Hradian came to ground in the woodland, went through the heart of the faire unnoticed, perhaps in a glamoured form; she paused at the dawnwise end of the arena and took on the guise of Liaze, mayhap using a potion; then she inveigled the amulet from Luc, after which she fled.”
“Oui, Papa,” said Alain, with Borel and the others nodding in glum agreement.
“Given the word of the Wolves and that of the Bear,” said Camille, “it was no Changeling that Scruff flew after, but instead it was Hradian in the shape of a crow, or glamoured to look like a crow, when she took flight, amulet in hand.”
In the pall that followed, Luc slammed a fist to the table and exclaimed, “What a fool am I!”
“Non, Luc,” said Valeray. “Fooled, oui; a fool, non.”
“But I thought it peculiar that Liaze would ask for the key,” replied Luc. He shook his head and added, “I should have known it was not my truelove, but an imposter instead.”
Even as Liaze reached out and took Luc’s hand, there came a tapping at the door, and servants entered bearing a tea service and a platter of small appetizers. They were followed by the steward of the Castle of the Seasons, a tall and spare blue-eyed man with dark hair touched by silver, who asked, “My lord, will you be dining herein?”
“Non, Claude. As before, we will be in the gold room. Set an extra plate for Prince Regar.”
“Oui, my lord,” said Claude, and he signaled the staff and they withdrew.
As Queen Saissa poured, and they passed the filled cups around, along with the appetizers—sautéed mushrooms stuffed with a light cheese—King Valeray sighed in resignation. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but that we must raise our armies and alert the realms and notify the Firsts.”
“The Firsts?” asked Regar.
“The first of each Kind to appear in Faery,” said Valeray. “They were critical in defeating Orbane the last time, for they could raise whole armies; even so, Orbane alone held them off until we found a way to banish him to the Castle of Shadows in the Great Darkness beyond the Black Wall of the World.”
“Ah, I see. And if I understand correctly, this talisman the witch did steal, it is the key that will unlock him.”
“Oui.”
There came a discreet tap at the door, and, at Valeray’s call, Claude entered. “My lord, there is someone who urgently requests an audience. He says he has—”
His iridescent wings but a blur, into the chamber hurtled Flic, the tiny Sprite darting this way and that. “My lord Valeray, my lord Borel, my lady Céleste,” called the tiny Sprite, and for a moment he seemed confused as to which person he should address—Valeray the king; or Borel, his old companion; or Céleste, the princess of the Springwood. Finally, he landed before the king. “In the Springwood,” Flic gasped, “the Springwood, my lord—”
“Take a deep breath, Flic,” said Valeray, “and gather your wits.” Valeray then turned to Claude. “How did he come?”
“Through the grand ballroom, my lord, calling out for you or Prince Borel or Princess Céleste.”
Valeray sighed and said, “Claude
, make certain the guests therein are not alarmed by his appearance and obvious distress. Allay any fear they might have.”
“Oui, my lord,” said the steward, and he withdrew.
Puffing and blowing, at last Flic managed to quiet his panting, and, with a final deep breath and slow exhalation, he bowed and said, “My lord.”
“Now, Flic, this news you bear,” said Valeray, smiling.
“My lord, the witch Hradian—Fleurette and I think it was she—is within the Springwood; she flies sunwise.”
“As we thought,” groaned Luc.
Flic puckered his brow and turned toward the knight. “You knew she was there?”
“We were somewhat certain that she had left my demesne,” said Valeray. He looked at the gathering and said, “And given what we now know, it seems likely the witch you saw was indeed Hradian.”
“Are you positive that it was Hradian in my demesne?” asked Céleste. “Could it have been a different witch?”
“Mayhap, my lady,” said Flic. “Yet the one we saw fits the description given Fleurette by Lady Camille, and the one Lord Borel told to me: a knot of darkness streaming shadows.”
“With that depiction,” said Camille, “I agree: Flic and Fleurette saw Hradian.”
“Oh, and there is this,” said Flic, “the witch seemed to be talking to a great flock of crows—dreadful savages that they are—and they scattered in all directions, and then she flew away.”
Valeray frowned. “Speaking to crows?”
“Oui, but I know not what she said.”
“Why would she be speaking to crows?” asked Regar, and he looked about the table and saw only frowns of puzzlement.
After a moment Borel asked “Where is Fleurette?”
“She and Buzzer are in this demesne, just this side of the dawnwise bound, Lord Borel. Though a day late, we were on our way to the faire, and we had just settled for the night, what with Buzzer needing to sleep when the eventide begins to flow.”
“Exactly where did you see the witch?” asked Céleste.
“In the Springwood nigh your starwise border. The racket of the crows awoke us, and Hradian was on a tor talking to them, the flock swirling about and listening.”
Once Upon a Dreadful Time Page 9