Once Upon a Dreadful Time

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “Right now?”

  “Oui.”

  “But Buzzer needs nectar, and I could use a sip or two.”

  “Worry not, my love, for honey awaits.”

  Fleurette frowned. “The Fairy King? But did you not tell me he was capricious and might give us an onerous duty to perform?”

  “Oui. But dire events are afoot, and all must answer the call. —Now come, for Prince Regar and Sieur Blaise await.”

  “Blaise I know, but who is this Regar?”

  Flic leapt into the air. “I’ll introduce you.” He sped downward, Buzzer winging after, and, with a sigh, Fleurette followed.

  In the courtyard, four knights and a bastard prince, along with four guides—one from each of the Forests of the Seasons—all of them buckled in armor and strapped with weaponry, waited for attendants to bring horses and remounts from the stables. Standing at hand were King Valeray and Queen Saissa, Princesses Céleste and Liaze, Prince Borel and Michelle, Prince Alain and Camille, Sieur Émile and Lady Simone and Vicomtesse Avélaine. Nearby a pack of Wolves lolled upon the cool granite of the courtyard.

  “Ride with care,” said Valeray, “for we know not what traps Hradian might have set.”

  “Sire,” said Alain, “they go in haste.”

  “Oui,” said Valeray, “I know, I know: safety and haste oft are strangers to one another. Even so, even agallop, it pays to keep an eye toward what might be dangers ahead.”

  “Damn!” blurted Borel, “but I would go, too, were it not for these closing ceremonies four days hence.”

  Slate and the pack lifted their heads and looked expectantly at Borel, the Wolves eager to be away from this great stone den.

  “Ah, my brother,” said Alain, “what could you do in the Winterwood and I in the Summerwood that Sieurs Laurent and Blaise will not already have under way by the time we reach our respective manors?”

  Borel merely growled and turned up his hands in a sign of exasperation.

  “Right,” said Alain.

  Saissa said, “My son, e’en though the alert will be sounded in this realm on this day, still we must put on a show of normality here at the faire, for morale purposes if nought else.”

  “Oui,” growled Borel, “but do all of us have to be present for the closing?”

  “King, queen, princes, and princesses, and even prince Duran,” said Saissa, “as it has ever been.”

  Borel drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, and Michelle took him by the hand and smoothed out his clenched fingers. Borel looked at her and fleetingly smiled, and with his other hand he made a signal to Slate. The big male Wolf dropped his head, the pack following suit.

  The attendants brought horses, remounts tethered behind, and at that same time Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer arrived and settled to the cantle of one of the saddles, and, after a welcoming of the tiny femme and the bee, Flic introduced Fleurette and Buzzer to Prince Regar.

  Regar slapped a tricorn upon his simple bronze helm and said, “Lord Borel and Lady Michelle assure me that when you are not flying this is your customary mode of transport.”

  “Indeed it is, my lord,” said Flic. “And now about some honey, Fleurette and Buzzer need to break their fast, and I could do with a nip myself.”

  Regar smiled and pointed up to his three-cornered hat and said, “Even now there is a dollop in place along the back brim of this cocked chapeau.”

  Flic laughed and sprang into the air, and he and Fleurette and Buzzer darted to the tricorn and the meal thereon.

  With tears in her eyes, Lady Simone stepped forward and embraced in turn her three sons, Avélaine following. And Céleste kissed Roél, even as Liaze kissed Luc.

  And then all the men mounted up and rode out over the bridge, and, with each following a guide, Laurent headed starwise and Roél dawnwise, while Blaise and Prince Regar—with his two sprites and a bee aboard—fared sunwise and Luc duskwise. They spurred the horses and away they galloped, warriors running in haste on their separate but allied missions.

  From a corner of the parapets above, where the ones left behind had rushed to, they watched until the riders finally vanished among the trees beyond.

  “May Mithras ward them all,” said Saissa, and the others nodded in mute agreement.

  Moments passed in silence, then Borel sighed and looked at Michelle. “Ah, well, tomorrow morn I will send you and my warband on to the Winterwood, and then follow after the faire is done.”

  Michelle nodded. “I understand.”

  “But I do not,” said Avélaine.

  Michelle smiled and said, “Lady Avélaine, were I to wait, I would merely slow the prince down on his journey home.”

  Avélaine looked at Borel, an unspoken question in her eyes, and he said, “With remounts for me, I can travel to Winterwood Manor in but a day.”

  “I see,” said Avélaine, but then she frowned and said, “Yet, my lord, you would go alone?”

  “I will not be alone, for my Wolves will be at my side.”

  “Can they keep up?”

  Borel barked a laugh. “Ah, Lady Avélaine, my Wolves, if let run free, could be there in even less time. Non, they will easily hold pace with the horses.”

  “Speaking of leaving,” said Céleste, “I think it would be wise, Lady Avélaine, were you and half of my warband to start out for Port Mizone on the morrow as well.”

  Avélaine frowned in puzzlement. “But why?”

  Céleste held up two fingers and said, “Two reasons.” She ticked down the first finger. “Your husband, Vicomte Chevell, readies a war fleet to go after the corsairs, and I would have you to your home ere he sets sail on that mission.”

  “And the second reason?”

  Céleste ticked down the remaining finger. “You are with child, and we know not when Hradian might strike, and so I would have you safely away, not only from here but also well beyond the Springwood, for we are her deadly enemies, and she would like nought more than to see us slain, and I would not have you and your unborn be caught in the storm to come.”

  In spite of Avélaine’s protests to the contrary, all agreed this was the wisest course. Avélaine continued to protest, but finally Valeray said, “Lady Avélaine, must I command it done?”

  Avélaine curtseyed and said, “No, my lord, I bow to your will.”

  And Sieur Émile stepped forward and embraced Avélaine and whispered, “My daughter, I am loath to see you go, yet it is best for you and Lord Chevell and the child now in your womb.”

  And Avélaine looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes, and she whispered in return, “Oui, Papa, I know.”

  And even as it was decided, Sprites came winging toward the Castle of the Seasons in answer to the bugled call.

  “Crows, you say?”

  Valeray nodded at the tiny, black-haired femme. “Oui, Peti.”

  “And Flic and Fleurette saw this witch, this Hradian speaking to them?”

  Again Valeray nodded. “We reason she set them at the starwise bounds of the four Forests of the Seasons to ward against the alarm being spread from here by Sprites. Flic suggests that you fly at night when the crows are asleep.”

  Peti sighed and said, “Ah, oui, at night, when the silent owls are awake instead, and just as dangerous.”

  Beside her, a brown-haired male Sprite said, “I know this Flic. He bears a silver épée, less likely to snap in twain than thorns we at times use to defend ourselves.”

  “You use thorns?” asked Émile.

  “Oui. Though usually our quickness alone is enough to cope with crows and such, there are occasions when a long slender thorn is a better way to deal with a foe.”

  The Sprite turned to Valeray. “If you provide us with épées like Flic’s, we would appreciate having them. Regardless, thorns or silver, we can not only spread the alarm throughout Faery, we can deal with the crows as they sleep on their perches.”

  “Mais oui!” exclaimed Peti. “You have hit upon it, Trit. And we can enlist the aid of the Root Dwel
lers in dealing with the crows in the night.”

  “Root Dwellers?” asked Avélaine.

  “The wee folk we saw on our journey here,” said Céleste, holding one hand above the other to indicate a being some few inches to a foot tall. “They live among the roots of the trees.”

  “Ah, those,” said Avélaine. “I remember.”

  Valeray looked at Saissa, and she said, “We’ll round up all the pins and needles and such that we can find.”

  “But there will not be enough to supply all Sprites throughout all of Faery, much less of this realm,” said Céleste.

  “Indeed not,” said Trit, “yet I know where grow many of the right kind of thorns, and they will serve.”

  “The Ice Sprites of the Winterwood need no thorns,” said Borel, “for, living in ice as they do, they are well protected from crows.”

  “Speaking of the Winterwood, Lord Borel,” said Peti, gesturing at her naked form and that of Trit, “we cannot long bear the cold, dressed as we are, or, rather, undressed I mean.”

  Trit turned up a hand and said, “But we can stand it long enough to pop over and find one of our cold-weather kindred and pass on the message and then pop back.”

  “Fair enough,” said Borel. “And as for the other cold realms, the Ice Sprites will then travel through those frozen demesnes and pass on the alarm.”

  As Borel fell silent, Camille looked at Peti and added, “If perhaps Hradian enlisted crows only to ward the starwise bounds of the Forests of the Seasons, there to keep you and the other Sprites herein from spreading the word, then once you fly beyond, there will be none to stop you. Hence, mayhap you will only need weapons nigh those four borders.”

  “If that’s true,” said Valeray, “Hradian must have great confidence in those birds to stop the Sprites from sounding the alarm.”

  “Crows are quite dreadful,” said Trit, “and massing an army of them is perilous beyond compare.”

  “For us, that is,” said Peti.

  “But if you fly at night,” said Valeray, “perhaps you can avoid the worst.”

  “Mayhap,” said Peti. “Regardless, we will fly, enlisting more and more Sprites throughout Faery as we go, and the warning will spread and spread like wildfire. What message is it you would have us bear, my lord?”

  “That a means for freeing Orbane has come into the witch Hradian’s hand, and for the realms to prepare for his escape. Tell them as well that we will send word as to where to assemble should that event come about.”

  “And how will you know where that might be?” asked Trit.

  Valeray smiled and said, “With you and your kind to act as our scouts, how can we not know?”

  Trit smiled and bowed and said, “At your service, my lord.”

  Valeray looked ’round at the others. “Is there ought else we should add to the message?”

  “Oui, my lord,” said Camille, and she turned to Peti. “Tell all Sprites not only to cry the alarm, but to find Raseri and warn him as well, and ask him to fly to the Black Wall of the World and there to wait and intercept Hradian and slay her ere she can free her master.”

  “Raseri the Dragon?” asked Trit.

  “Oui, for he is quite deadly, and has the best chance of stopping the witch. Too, he might have with him Rondalo the Elf, and he wields bow and spear and sword. If Rondalo is not with Raseri, he might know where the Drake flies. There is this as well: Lady Chemine, Rondalo’s mère, perhaps also can speak of Raseri’s whereabouts. She lives on a tiny island near the city of Les Îles, at the confluence of four great rivers.”

  Peti nodded and said, “This then is our mission: to spread the alarm and seek the Dragon, and then to act as scouts.” She looked at Valeray, and he inclined his head in assent. “Very well, my king, as you have commanded, so shall it be done.” She then turned to Saissa. “Now, my queen, let us to the needles and pins, for there are crows to slay.”

  15

  Messengers

  It was ere midmorn when Laurent and his guide, Édouard, gal-loped through Valeray’s starwise twilight border to emerge running sunwise in the Winterwood, snow flying from shod hooves and flinging out behind. From warmth to cold they passed in but strides, and even as they hammered among the barren trees, a great squawking murder of crows rose up into the chill air. Yet though the crows filled the surround with racket, they let the men pass unmolested. And as the riders and their remounts plunged on, the crows settled back to the stark branches, their black eyes awatch on the twilight border, as if waiting for other beings to come hurtling through.

  And the knight and the guide galloped on, into a realm sleeping under blankets of snow and claddings of ice.

  At times within this woodland there were storms and blizzards or gentle snowfalls, days bright and clear and cold, or gray and gloomy, or dark days of biting winds howling and blowing straightly or blasting this way and that, or freezing days with hoarfrost so cold as to crack stone, or days of warm sunshine and partial thaws and a bit of melt, or of snowfalls heavy and wet, or falls powdery and dry. It could be a world of silence and echoes, of quietness and muffled sounds, or of yawling blasts and thundering blows. It was wild and untamed and white and gray and black, with glittering ice and sparkling snow, with evergreens giving a lie to the monochromatic ’scape, and never were any two days the same.

  And under a winter-bright sky, across this icy realm did a chevalier and his guide race, a track left behind in the snow. As they ran, within the sheathings of the ice-clad trees and in icicles and in the frozen planes of streams and pools, Laurent could see wee beings following their progress, some to merely turn and look and note the passage of the riders and remounts, while others somehow shifted from ice-laden rock to ice-clad tree to icicles dangling down as they kept pace with the two, or gleefully raced ahead. These were the Ice Sprites: wingless and as white as new-driven snow, with hair like silvered tendrils, their forms and faces elfin with tipped ears and tilted eyes of pale blue. They were completely unclothed, as all Sprites seemed to be, and they had the power to fit within whatever shapes the ice took. And their images wavered and undulated and parts of them grew and shrank in odd ways and became strangely distorted as they sped through the uneven but pellucid layers of frozen water, the irregular surfaces making it so, rather as if they were passing through a peculiar house of mirrors, though no reflections these, but living beings within.

  “Édouard!” called Laurent, even as he reined to a halt, “let us change mounts.”

  The guide, a skinny, dark-haired youth, galloped on for a few more paces ere bringing his steeds to a stop.

  As they changed saddles and gear from one mount to another, Laurent said, “Tell me, can you speak to these Sprites?”

  “Oui, Sieur Laurent. All of Lord Borel’s household can do so.”

  “And can they travel to other realms?”

  “Oui, Sieur, if it has ice.”

  “Then call one to you, and tell them to spread a message of warning among all Ice Sprites and other beings throughout this cold realm and others alike. Also, I would have them search those demesnes for a Drake named Raseri and bear a message to him as well. Too, have them alert the staff of Winterwood Manor that we are on the way.—Oh, in addition, they are to bear word to the Root Dwellers as well.”

  Édouard glanced ’round and noted a Sprite in an icicle at hand. Then the youth turned to Laurent and asked, “Very well, Sieur, and what might these messages be?”

  Roél and his guide Dévereau pounded through Valeray’s dawnwise border to find themselves running sunwise in the Springwood. And as they splatted through a chill stream, a great flock of crows flew up and ’round, cawing and milling as the pair raced past. Yet once the riders had gone onward, the dark birds settled back among the greening limbs and again took up their ward of the twilight marge and waited for promised tasty morsels to come.

  On into the land of eternal springtime sped a knight and his guide, a place where everlasting meltwater trickles across the ’scape, wher
e some trees are abud while others are new-leafed, where early blossoms are abloom though some flowers yet sleep, where birds call for mates, and beetles crawl through decaying leaves, and mushrooms push up through soft loam, and where other such signs of a world coming awake manifest themselves in the gentle, cool breezes and delicate rains.

  As they galloped onward, Roél kept a sharp eye out for crows, and when they had travelled a league or so, but for the area right at the marge, he had not espied any of the black birds the rest of the way. “Dévereau, let us stop and not only change mounts, but call the Sprites to us. It seems Hradian did not take into account the greed of her guardians, and they are all massed at the border awaiting the arrival of the winged messengers of Valeray’s demesne.”

  A moment later, dismounted, Roél raised his horn to his lips and blew a summoning call. He then switched his saddle to a remount, as did Dévereau. And even as he finished, a Sprite landed upon a nearby limb and said, “Yes, my lord?”

  Through Valeray’s sunwise border galloped Blaise and Regar and their guide Jérôme, along with Regar’s tricorn passengers—Flic, Fleurette, and Buzzer. And when they emerged from the twilight, they found themselves running sunwise in a sunlit forest. And an enormous flock of crows flew up and ’round, crying out in alarm. Flic and Fleurette hid themselves against the enshadowed upturned brim of Regar’s cocked hat, as onward careered the horses. Soon they were past the gauntlet of dark birds, and onward into the woodland they raced.

  And it was a domain graced by eternal summer, a realm of forests and fields, of vales and clearings, of streams and rivers and other such ’scapes, where soft summer breezes flow across the weald, though occasionally towering thunderstorms fill the afternoon skies and rain sweeps o’er all. But this morning was clear, and under cloudless skies they ran, a cool breeze blowing athwart.

  Both Flic and Fleurette kept a keen eye on the limbs of the trees and the air above. And almost immediately they noted an absence of crows, for those killers were massed at the starwise border, it seemed. After running a league or two, Flic called out, “Prince Regar, see you any of the murdering black birds?”