“Ha!” roared Raseri as he glided toward the rocky pinnacle. “That was a pleasure, eh?”
Rondalo lifted an eyebrow. “Pleasure? My friend, your ideas of pleasure are somewhat strange. Exciting, oui, but pleasure?” He shifted his spear onto his back by its sling. “Methinks in the future, should we encounter another Giant, ’twould be best not to set his hair on fire.”
The Dragon laughed. “Did you see how clumsily he cast boulders at us?”
“Had he better aim,” said the Elf, “we would now be in his cook pot.”
“Where is your sense of adventure, Rondalo?”
“Adventure is one thing; foolhardiness another.”
“Pah,” snorted Raseri as he spiralled down toward the snowy crag. “What about the time you set an entire aerie of Great Eagles ’pon us? I suppose that was adventure and not folly.”
“But you yourself agreed we needed a tail feather.”
“Oui, but I was going to politely ask, rather than jerk one out and run.”
Both Rondalo and Raseri roared in laughter, and the Drake came to a landing atop the crest, where the Elf dismounted.
From the worst of enemies to the best of friends these two had come, thanks to Camille some five years past.
Tall and lean and fair-haired, Rondalo cast back his cloak and unlaced the front of his breeks. As he relieved himself he said, “I think we ought to be on hand when Vicomte Chevell sails. We can help him rid Faery of the corsairs of Brados.”
“Hmph!” snorted Raseri. “You and I alone could rid the seas of that menace.”
“Oui, but taking the fortress—either by stealth or with siege engines—is a straightforward though perilous task for many men afoot, a more suitable job for Chevell’s marines than one Dragon and a lone lancer.”
“Forget not your bow, Rondalo.” Raseri then raised a forefoot and flexed its dark, saberlike claws. “I think I could gut that bastion of theirs.”
Rondalo began relacing his leathers. “Mayhap you could, though they say the stone is two or three strides thick. Still, here is my thought: we can destroy more corsairs at sea much quicker than Chevell’s entire fleet, and that, my friend, is a better charge for you and me to take on.”
Yet flexing his claws, Raseri growled, but said nought.
Rondalo adjusted his cloak and said, “I think it’s time we were—Ho, what’s this?”
Within a patch of clear ice wedged in a crevice a tiny figure gestured wildly.
“An Ice Sprite,” said Rondalo. “Raseri, can you speak his tongue?”
“Elf, I am a Dragon,” replied Raseri as he slithered ’round to peer into the crevice. “I have the gift of all tongues.”
Raseri made a gesture.
The Sprite replied.
Raseri made more gestures.
Again the Sprite responded, this time with a long series of gesticulations.
Raseri bellowed in rage, flame shooting out. The Sprite quailed at this blast of fire, but remained in the icy crevice.
“What is it?” asked Rondalo.
“Ready your bow, Rondalo, we must go, and now,” spat the Dragon. As the Elf strung the weapon, Raseri made another series of motions to the Sprite, and it replied with a single gesture and vanished.
Using the elbow of Raseri’s right foreleg as a mounting block, Rondalo leapt to his perch at the base of the Drake’s neck. A double row of great barbels, soft and flexible, ran from Raseri’s head to his shoulders. Rondalo grasped the pair before him and said, “Ready.”
With a roar, the Dragon sprang into the air.
Aloft, Rondalo called out, “What said the Sprite?”
Raseri growled and said, “The witch Hradian has obtained a key to the Castle of Shadows, and even now might be on her way to the Black Wall of the World. King Valeray asks us to intercept her ere she can set Orbane free. That’s where we are headed.”
High across Faery did the Dragon soar, over the glacier and icy bleak mountains below and beyond a shadowlight border to come into a realm of lush jungle, with widely scattered clusters of leaf-thatched huts in clearings virtually the only thing to break the endless sea of green. Across this verdant ocean he flew to pass through another twilight marge.
O’er a land of rivers he passed, dotted here and there with lakes, to come to another tenebrous bound.
Cultivated fields passed beneath, and both Rondalo and Raseri travelled in grim silence, but for the beat of the Dragon’s tireless wings. Villages they sped over and tiny campfires, these latter seemingly nought but sparks, so high were the Drake and Elf.
The crescent moon sank below the horizon, yet onward they flew, now under stars alone. They passed a marge to come into a storm-laden sky, and Raseri soared up and up until he was above the rage, and lightning flashed below, the roar of thunder to follow.
Through looming walls of twilight they flew, Faery borders, eight, nine, more.
Yet Raseri’s wings never seemed to slow. . . .
. . . And the night aged. . . .
. . . And the dawnwise sky began to brighten.
Finally, Raseri said, “Just one more twilight wall, Rondalo, and then we’ll be in the realm at the far side of which there looms the Black Wall.”
“What if the witch is not there?”
“Then we wait.”
“What if she’s gone beyond and into the Great Darkness?”
“I will fly therein, and if we find her, we will slay her. If not, then we will set ward on the wall, and slay her when she comes nigh.”
“Can you see in the Great Darkness?”
“It is the one place where even the sight of Dragons is muted somewhat. Still, if she is within, she will be on a course toward the Castle of Shadows, and that course I know.”
Rondalo unslung his bow, and on toward the nearing twilight border the Dragon flew as the sun broached the rim of the world.
29
Prospect
After an overnight stay at Sieur Émile’s manse in the Spring-wood, Avélaine set out with a small escort of her father’s retainers for the coastal city of Port Mizon in King Avélar’s realm, for she was going home to her husband—My handsome and daring Vicomte Chevell.
The group rode at haste, remounts in tow, for Avélaine was now anxious to return; with the bodeful incidents of the last few days—the witch Hradian’s spying and her trickery to freely obtain the key to the Castle of Shadows to set loose the wizard Orbane—and with the threat of war looming, Avélaine on her journey from the Castle of the Seasons had come to realize just how hazardous a place Faery could be. And with her newfound comprehension, she felt the urgency to return to her truelove Chevell. It would not be erelong before he set out to lead the king’s fleet to destroy the corsairs of Brados.
It was yet early morn when she and her escort came upon Springwood Manor, and there she paused to find her brother Roél to bid him au revoir and to caution him to take care. She found the manse in a state of activity as the staff bustled here and there, preparing for the arrival of raw recruits to be trained in the art of combat and war. Too, the smiths and bow masters were hard at work to make weaponry for various members of the warband and the houseguard to take to various villages in the Springwood, where they would call the nearby men together and prepare them for battle as well.
Roél broke off from his planning and came running downstairs to the welcoming hall to greet Avélaine. “Avi, the king sent a falcon and said you were on your way. It is good to see you. Will you stay this eve?”
“No, Rollie. I must get back to my Chevell, for I’ve come to realize just how dreadfully dire many things have become. And of a sudden I grasp that this sea venture my love embarks upon, instead of being the lark he would make of it, is hazardous in the extreme. And if war is to be visited upon Faery, then I would be at his side in the time we have left. Oh, Rollie, I’m afraid I thought with the death of the Changeling Lord and our escape from his realm, that the rest of Faery would always be charming, with wee people popping out fro
m under bushes, and Sprites flying here and there, and Elves and Fairies and other such being nought but good.”
“Avi, Faery is indeed a marvelous place, but a perilous one as well. Yet I hope you never lose your sense of wonder at the splendid things herein. Even so, you are right: Chevell’s mission is a hazardous one, and you do need to be with him ere he sets sail. Still, can you not at least stay for a meal?”
“Non. As soon as the horses are watered and given some grain, we are off for the sunwise border.”
“Take care where you cross, little sister, else you just might fall in the ocean.”
She laughed. “I well know the place, brother of mine, to make entry into King Avélar’s realm. Unlike you, I’ll cross at leisure, rather than while running for my life; hence do I plan to stay out of the rolling waters of that sea where you and Céleste nigh went for a swim, yet, thanks to the Fates, you did not.”
Now it was Roél who laughed, but then he sobered. “Speaking of the Fates, little sister, I met one on the way here.”
“You did?”
“Oui. And so did Laurent and Blaise. Did you not get the messages we sent?”
“Non. I was already on the way.”
“Ah, well then, let me tell you what they said. . . .”
“. . . and so you see, their redes are quite puzzling. Have you any glimmer of what they might mean?—Other than the obvious, that is?”
Avélaine shook her head. “Non, Rollie. But, oh, what terrible words they spoke.”
Roél sighed and nodded in agreement. “The coming days might be grim, Avi, and here you are with child; you must needs take care of yourself.”
“I know, Rollie, I know.”
A grizzled retainer came into the manor and stood nigh and waited to be recognized. Avélaine turned to him. “Oui, Malon?”
“The horses, they be ready, Vicomtesse.”
Avélaine nodded, and, following Malon, she and Roél walked out to the forecourt. Another retainer led a horse to her.
Avélaine took Roél by the hands and said, “You are the one to take care, Rollie, for if it comes to the worst of it, you will be in battle.”
Roél shrugged, and then he fiercely embraced his sister and kissed her on the forehead, and she kissed him on the cheek. She mounted up and, with a bright smile, wheeled about and rode away, finally letting tears spill down her cheeks.
Roél watched her go, his vision blurred by tears unshed, for well he knew that perhaps this would be the last time they would see one another. And when she and her band disappeared into the surrounding woodland, Roél turned on his heel and ran back into the manor, where men were making ready for war.
Lady Michelle sat at breakfast with Sieur Laurent. She looked across the table and said, “It seems you have things well underway.”
“Oui, yet there is much to do—training, equipping, forging, fletching, and the like. All the other manors are doing likewise. Yet I feel we are at somewhat of a disadvantage, for I know nought of this foe and his manner of battle, and I think that my brothers are just as ignorant of his means as am I. Perhaps even Luc has no knowledge of this wizard and his method of waging war. Tell me, my lady, what can you say of Orbane? What is his aim?”
Michelle turned up a hand. “I know only that of which my father has spoken, for I was not yet born when last Orbane inflicted his evil upon Faery. Still, he and his armies of Goblins and Bogles and Trolls came close to conquering all.” Michelle fell silent for a moment, but then added, “—Oh, as to his aim, this I do know: Camille says the Fates told her if Orbane gets loose, he would pollute the River of Time, yet what that might mean, I cannot say.”
“River of Time?”
“Oui. It seems that somewhere in Faery, time flows in a silvery river, and along this flow is where the Three Sisters fashion the Tapestry of Time: Skuld weaving what she sees of the future; Verdandi fixing present events into the weft and warp of the fabric; Urd binding all forever into the past.”
“Hmm . . .” Laurent paused for a sip of tea, and then said, “Where is this river?”
“That I do not know.”
“Then where does it empty into the ocean?”
“Again, I do not know, yet Camille speculates it flows out of Faery to spread over the mortal world, for time itself does not seem to touch Faery, though some say it originates herein.”
“And so, polluting the River of Time would harm the mortal world?”
“If Camille is right, then I suppose it would.”
Laurent clenched a fist. “We must not let that happen.”
A sad smile passed over Michelle’s face, and she nodded but said nought.
Laurent frowned and said, “The riddles of the Fates said nought about any River of Time.”
“But they did speak of conflict,” said Michelle, who had heard of the redes upon reaching her manse. “And I fear for the lives of all the young men should war come.”
Laurent pushed out a hand of negation. “My lady, we will not strip the Winterwood of all vigorous young men, for some must stay to defend the realm, as well as to care for those who need tending.”
There came a polite cough, and Michelle turned to see the steward of the Winterwood—a dark-haired, light-blue-eyed, slender man—standing at the entrance to the overlook chamber.
“Arnot?”
“Princess, an Ice Sprite has brought word that Raseri and Rondalo were located late yesternight, and even now they are on their way to the Black Wall of the World.”
Michelle cried, “Wonderful!” and clapped her hands. “We must get word to the king, as well as to the other manors.”
“I will send falcons, my lady.”
“Oh, do so immediately, Arnot.”
Arnot inclined his head and then hurried away.
Michelle turned to Laurent. “How utterly splendid. Perhaps it won’t come to war after all.”
“We cannot be certain of that, my lady, even though this is indeed good news.”
In midmorn, a hawkmaster rushed down from the falcon-tower mews, a message capsule in hand. He hurried to the yard where King Valeray and Sieur Émile and the warband were looking over the first group of recruits.
“A message, my lord, from the Winterwood.”
Valeray opened the capsule and drew out the tissue-thin scroll. Moments later he whooped. Sieur Émile and the others looked at him. “ ’Tis marvelous news: Raseri and Rondalo are on their way to the Black Wall of the World to intercept Hradian.”
Sieur Émile smiled, but then grew somber. “Let us hope they get there in time.”
“Indeed,” said Valeray. “Now I must take these good tidings to the others.”
Valeray found Céleste and Saissa and Borel in the grass court getting ready to set out to pass among the faire-goers, for with the arrival of men to undergo training, uneasy was the mood. Upon hearing this, Saissa insisted that she and others go among the folks and reassure them, for as she said, “They should enjoy themselves while they can.”
Upon hearing the falcon-borne message, Saissa asked, “When were they found?”
“Yesternight, late,” said Valeray.
“Then, by now they might have reached the Black Wall. We can but hope for their success.”
“May Mithras watch over them,” said Céleste as she looked past Borel to see three-summers-old Duran running across the sward, his toy horse Asphodel in hand.
30
Darkness
awn came to the village that lay a league or two from the DBlack Wall of the World, and a young man bearing a knapsack and a walking stave came down to the common room of the inn where he ate a hasty meal. He then paid his fare and set out ere the sun broached the horizon.
Up the hill past the hamlet he hied, and over the crest, and just beyond he threw off the glamour concealing him . . . and Hradian mounted her besom and sped toward the ebony darkness looming into the sky.
With one hand she clutched the amulet that would set her master free, and she gloated over her vic
tory in obtaining it in the manner she had, and she reveled over the vengeance she would exact from Valeray and all his get for the deaths of her sisters.
On toward the Black Wall she hurtled, and her heart began to pound, for beyond that towering shade a dreadful darkness lay, and had it not been for her sister Iniquí she would not have known the way to the Castle of Shadows, and to get lost in the blackness would spell her doom. Only incredible fortune would allow someone astray therein to find his way back unto Faery. Yet Iniquí, unearthing ancient scrolls and tomes and a grimoire or two—perhaps one of them even Orbane’s—had studied the darkness and the castle within, and she not only had found a description of the key—the amulet—she had also found the way to and from the dreadful prison, a straight course, oui, but one at an angle to the wall itself: down and leftward was the way. This sinister and sinking path she had shown to her sisters, and now Hradian was the only one left of the four acolytes—But I will make those murderers pay, and dearly. Oh, but the revenge my master will visit upon them will be so very sweet. And I will be the one to loose him upon them as well as upon the entire world.
Just before Hradian reached the blackness, she took a sight on the sun, whose limb just then rose o’er the rim of the world, and she arced leftward and downward.
Oh, Sister Iniquí, let me pray to the gods of Enfer that the way to the castle remains true, and it has not drifted from its place in the Great Darkness beyond.
And, gritting her teeth and trembling, into the blackness she plunged.
She could see nought beyond the tip of her broom in the darkness nigh absolute. Yet on she hurtled, the strain of keeping her flying spell active causing beads of sweat to gather on her brow and runnel down her face. For the Great Darkness seemed to sap magical energies, and not long could even the most powerful of warlocks or witches or wizards withstand the depletion. And as to the darkness itself, it stretched away in all directions—sinister, dextral, forward, hindward, upward, downward—the blackness extending outward forever, its limit unreachable, no matter the course but one.
And within this Great Darkness floated a castle, supported by nought, a castle it is said of many dimensions, but Iniquí’s scrolls and tomes and grimoires did not tell how this was known. Oh, they did speak of a Keltoi tale-teller who told of it in a riddle, yet how such a place had come to be—a Castle of Shadows in the Great Darkness beyond the Black Wall of the World—none could say. And it was a terrible prison— inescapable, it was claimed. Yet e’en could one win his way free, then what? Unless he knew the course, the single way to escape the darkness, and the means to follow it, he would be lost forever. Might as well remain in the castle, instead.
Once Upon a Dreadful Time Page 16