“Oh, no,” said Luc, taking a sip of wine and setting the goblet down. “And here is the mystery to that: one day, not long past, a horse—the black—appeared at my foster père’s doorstone. It was accoutered with a fine saddle and trappings, and laden with clothes and arms and armor and a silver horn and a small pouch of gold. In one of the saddlebags we found a note written in a fine hand saying that the goods and the horse—Deadly Nightshade is his name, for he is trained for combat—were for me. Whence they came, I know not, nor did my foster father, it seems.
“Léon then taught me just what a combat-ready steed can do and the commands to give, and after a bit more training—me and the horse together—he insisted that I go and seek my fortune, faring forth on errantry. As much as I hated to leave him alone, I did so, riding with my back to the sun, as Léon did advise.”
“What did you do with the note?” asked Zacharie, taking up a bit of cheese to clear his palate.
“My foster father kept it, saying that he would one day set forth on a journey to find the benefactor, but that I was to ride this direction, he said, for perils lay along the other, and I needed more seasoning ere I took them on.”
“Hmm . . .” mused Liaze, spreading clotted cream upon a scone. “I suspect he knew more than he told you.”
“I thought so, too, but who am I to question my sire, foster or no?”
“Regardless,” said Zacharie, now pouring himself a goblet of wine, “we are glad you came, for if the Redcaps and Troll had been on their way here, and they just happened to see you as a victim of opportunity, then your fair warning no doubt saved lives.” Zacharie raised his glass in salute.
“I wonder,” said Luc. “Oh, Goblins are Goblins, but why would they be on their way here? Have you wronged them in some manner?”
“Not directly,” said Liaze. She took a sip of tea, then said, “But we have clashed with their masters—or mistresses I should say.”
“Mistresses?”
“Oui,” said Liaze. “Have you ever heard of Hradian, Rhensibé, Iniquí, Nefasí, or Orbane?”
“Orbane, certainly,” said Luc, “but he is a man, a dark wizard. These others, they are all women?”
At Liaze’s nod, Luc said, “Regardless, I know nought of them. These clashes you spoke of . . .”
“There are, or were, four sisters, four witches, four acolytes of the wizard Orbane, all sworn to set him free from his imprisonment in the Castle of Shadows in the Great Darkness beyond the Black Wall of the World. These witches blame my sire—King Valeray, who was a cunning thief at the time—and his companion—Lord Roulan, a swordsman of considerable merit—for Orbane’s eventual downfall.”
Liaze paused to take a bite of scone and a sip of tea, and Luc said, “I thought it was the Firsts who entrapped Orbane.”
Liaze nodded. “Oui. You are correct, but they did it through Orbane’s own wizardry.”
“How so?”
“Disguised as a hag, my father tricked the witch Nefasí into allowing him into one of Orbane’s castles, where he stole two clay amulets imbued with the wizard’s own powerful magic, and when he and Lord Roulan gave these to the Firsts, they were used to cast Orbane into his imprisonment.”
“Nefasí is one of those you named, right? One of the acolytes?”
Liaze nodded. “Hradian, Rhensibé, Iniquí, and Nefasí: they are the four—or were the four—acolytes, but now are just three, for Rhensibé is dead.”
“Slain by Prince Borel’s Wolves,” declared Rémy. “Tore her apart, they did, and a more deserving death no one ever had.”
“Prince Borel?” asked Luc.
“My brother, eldest of Valeray and Saissa’s get,” said Liaze.
“Whether or no I have siblings, I cannot say,” said Luc, a bit chapfallen.
“There are four of us,” said Liaze. “Borel, myself, Alain, and Celeste, to name us in birth order. We rule over four principalities: respectively, the Winterwood, Autumnwood, Summerwood, and Springwood.”
“This, then, is your demesne,” said Luc.
“Oui.”
Zacharie frowned into his wine, and then looked up. “My lady, I have a thought.”
Liaze gazed at him, a query in her eyes.
“Just this: there are four witches and four of you. Hradian was indirectly responsible for the curses laid upon Alain, and Rhensibé was behind Borel’s plight. That leaves Nefasí and Iniquí, as well as you and Celeste. If the acolytes are out for revenge on King Valeray, mayhap they think to accomplish such through his four children. Hence, perhaps this Goblin and Troll attack was meant to be a raid on Autumnwood Manor after all, and Sieur Luc just happened to get in the way.”
7
Heart
They sat in silence for a moment, pondering Zacharie’s words. Finally, Liaze said, “Perhaps you are right, but then again, that does not explain why they came back to the willows when they heard the Redcap call out.”
“Mayhap they did not want a deadly foe at their back,” said Rémy, “and by the count of their slain, Luc is a deadly foe indeed.”
“Nightshade dealt death blows to some of them,” said Luc, “for he is trained to lash out at the enemy when I command him to attack—Night, attaques!”
“ ‘Night’? I thought his name was Deadly Nightshade,” said Liaze.
Luc smiled. “It is, Princess, though most of the time I simply call him Nightshade, but the note said I was to use Night for his combat commands; it is quicker than calling out the full of his name. Regardless, that’s how I breached their last encirclement after my sword broke. They gave way before his flailing hooves, but only after three were slain.”
“Ah, then, he truly is Deadly Nightshade,” said Liaze.
Luc smiled and nodded and said, “Yes, in combat.”
“We saw that on your backtrail,” said Luc. “ ’Tis a fine steed you have.”
“Did you find my spear, my helm?”
“Non. You had a spear?”
“It’s lodged in a Troll somewhere. From horseback I lanced him through and through, and couldn’t free the shaft before the others came at me again.”
“Formidable!” said Liaze.
Luc grinned at her, his teeth even and white, and she again felt a thrill rush through her, caught by his eyes as she was.
“We must not have backtracked far enough,” said Rémy.
“W-what?” asked Liaze, breaking her gaze from Luc’s.
“I said, Princess, we must not have backtracked far enough,” repeated Rémy.
“Oh. Right. Send a warband first thing on the morrow. Have them look for the helm as well.” She turned to Luc. “Where did you lose it, sieur?”
“It must have been when I was struck across the brow by what I believe was a flung cudgel. It was just after I sounded the warning. I saw the lights of your manse, and I knew I must needs alert whoever was within. And then the cudgel struck me.
“The next I knew, I was on the ground somewhere by running water. That’s where I saw the Nymph.”
“Nymph?” said Zacharie.
Luc grinned again and caught at Liaze’s eyes with his own. “The beautiful princess here, though in a different state of dress.”
Liaze cast her gaze down and away, and she could feel redness creeping up her neck and into her face, and she wondered if she were blushing all over, even unto the ends of her feet.
“I thought her a Water Nymph, an angel, a dream come true.”
Liaze’s racing heart hammered in her chest, as of a caged bird seeking escape, and she thought it might burst free in joyous flight. Perhaps Zoé is right: perhaps this is the man I have been waiting for, and he has come at last. Something . . . something—she knew not what—welled up from deep inside and shook her soul, and she felt her eyes glisten, as if she were preparing to shed tears.
“My life was saved several times that night,” said Luc. He raised a hand and ticked off a count on his fingers, turning them down one by one: “Once by my spear; many times by my swor
d; once by Nightshade; once by my helm, for surely the cudgel would have done me in had I been bareheaded.” He looked at the princess and smiled and turned down the last of his fingers and said, “And once by an angel true.”
After a moment of silence, “Harrumph!” Zacharie cleared his throat and said, “Well, my boy, I think it’s time I escorted you to another hot bath and then back to your bed. I promised Margaux we wouldn’t keep you overlong, for, as she said, you need your rest, and you must recover from the battering you took.” He looked at Liaze and said, “By your leave, Princess?”
Liaze glanced at Rémy and when he shrugged she nodded to Zacharie and looked at Luc and smiled, but said nought, for she was not certain she could trust her voice.
Groaning softly, Luc stood, and he stepped to the princess and bowed. She extended her hand and he kissed her fingers. Zacharie and Rémy were on their feet, and they bowed as well. Rémy said, “Shall I escort you somewhere, Princess?”
She shook her head and managed to say, “Non, Rémy. Close the door after you leave, for I would be alone to think.”
“As you wish,” said Rémy.
The three walked away, Luc erect and pacing slowly, a slight limp in his step, Zacharie at his side. Rémy strode ahead to the portal and held it open as they passed through. And then they were gone.
Sipping white wine, Liaze sat in the blue room for a considerable time, fanciful dreams spinning in the air.
8
Pyre
Finally, Liaze stood and stepped into the corridor, where she found late-afternoon sunlight shining in through the hallway window. Oh, my, but the day has fled as I gathered wool, dreaming of what might be. But I still know little of this chevalier, this Luc. Charming, yes, and witty, and I thrill at even his glance, yet though I think not, still he could be nought but a fortune hunter after my demesne. Are you afraid, Liaze, because it happened once before with someone you briefly thought to be noble? Afraid? Nay. Cautious? Yes, for I cannot let my longing for true love blind me to what is real. Hence, I will have to genuinely come to know Luc ere I can see him for what he is: a flatterer, a cad, a rake, or someone just as he seems. Still, he called me his angel when he knew me not and was addled, and mayhap in that state he was speaking his heart, rather than trying to sway me.
Liaze suddenly realized that she had been standing before the window and seeing nought outside. Movement caught her eye, and she watched as a pony-drawn flatbed cart crossed her line of vision, a man leading the little steed. On the cart were three or four corpses of Goblins. What—? Ah, oui. Rémy and the warband are preparing to burn them.
Liaze turned and walked toward the welcoming hall, and there she found her head gardener waiting on one of the marble benches along the window wall. He leapt to his feet and doffed his cap from his fair locks and bowed.
“What is it, Georges?”
“My lady, when they burn the corpses on the pyre they’ve piled up downwind, there at the edge of the woods, it will leave a great scar on the ground, and the grass and plants thereunder, having burnt down roots and all, will not come anew. What would you have me put in their place?”
“What would you suggest, Georges?”
“Armsmaster Rémy thinks we should leave it barren as a warning to all who would do harm, but I says that such a thing won’t work, for how would som’n know that that’s what it means? Were it mine to decide, I think I’d plant one of the hollies in that place, say, black alder winterberry. I mean, Margaux says that we need such, for when the bark be boiled with other of her simples, a draught taken every morning is very effectual against the jaundice, dropsy, and evil dispositions of the body. Besides, those bright red berries among the glossy green leaves will look nice out there.”
“Then holly it is,” said Liaze.
Georges grinned and bowed again, then slapped his cap back on and headed for the door.
Liaze turned and went up the stairs and to her quarters and summoned Zoé.
“Yes, my lady?”
“I would have you go to Margaux and see if Sir Luc will be fit enough to dine with me this eve.”
“Oh, Princess, isn’t he just perfect? I mean for you, of course. But if you don’t want him, you can cast him my way.”
“Zoé, Zoé, run and see what Margaux has to say.”
Zoé bobbed a curtsey and then was out the door.
Now what will I wear?—Oh, speaking of wear . . .
Liaze stepped to one of the bell cords and tugged.
As the princess stood at the threshold of her extensive closet, peering at the manifold selection of gowns, there came a tapping on the outer door. “Entrez,” Liaze called out, and a woman, red-faced from hurrying, came into the room.
“Ah, Sabine. Good.”
“My lady,” said Sabine, curtseying. “You summoned.”
“Oui. It occurred to me that our guest, Sieur Luc, needs a wardrobe, for all he brought with him was what he could carry upon a single horse. I would have you and your seamstresses outfit him. He will need clothes to suit formal affairs, clothes for riding, clothes for work should he take that into mind, though the riding and work garb can come last, for he will not be ready for strenuous—” Liaze’s words came to a halt as the seamstress meekly held out a hand.
“What is it, Sabine?”
“Princess, Zoé already has us working on such . . . the cobbler, too. We took Sieur Luc’s measure this morning. And we have some formal wear for him even now.”
Liaze slowly shook her head and smiled unto herself and said, “I should have known.” She looked up at Sabine and said, “Carry on.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Sabine, curtseying, and then the seamstress withdrew.
It was only after Sabine had gone that Liaze realized her own unspoken assumption with the making of such a variety of clothes was that Luc would stay a long while.
“Have you someone back home waiting for you, Luc?”
“Léon, Princess.”
Luc sat at one end of a long black walnut table, Liaze at the other end. He was dressed in a dark blue that matched his eyes—trews and shirt, that is—though his silver-buckled belt was black as were his silver-buckled shoes.
At the other end of the table Liaze wore pale green—gown, bodice, slippers, stockings and shoes, and pettiskirts—and once again Zoé had woven ribbons through her auburn hair, the ribbons pale green as well.
“I meant anyone other than your foster père,” said Liaze.
“Non. I have not known many other people, certainly none long enough to become fast friends.”
“No children of your age as you were growing up? Oh my, how sad.”
“We lived a league and a mile from the nearest village, and for as long as I can remember it was only when we went to sell wood did I meet any other children. Even then, I did not form any lasting friendships, for my père and I were in town but for brief moments, long enough to off-load the wood and buy a few provisions and to borrow a book or two.”
“The village had books?”
“Oui. There was a small bookseller there. How he survived, I cannot say, for many in the town could not read. Yet he was always happy to see me, even though we only borrowed and did not buy.”
“Did not Père Léon pay him a fee?—In wood, if nothing else.”
“Not that I ever saw,” said Luc.
“A mystery, that,” said Liaze, frowning. “A bookseller who doesn’t sell books and earns no fee for loaning them.”
“I believe that he saw how eager I was to learn,” said Luc. “Perhaps it gave him joy.”
They ate in silence for a while—medallions of veal in a white cream mushroom sauce, along with crisply sautéed green beans and squash, as well as croissants and goblets of a hearty red wine. And as they dined, Liaze watched her guest. Finally, she said, “Your foster père must have been quite a teacher, not only in reading but also in etiquette, for your manners are impeccable.”
“Oh, Léon did not teach me to read, nor drill me in manners o
f etiquette. His forte was in arms and armor, and the hewing of wood. Instead a number of teachers—itinerants, all—for years came and stayed with us throughout the winters. They treated my père with deference, and always called him Armsmaster, and often engaged him in hushed conversations.” Luc barked a laugh. “I thought they were speaking of my progress, and I was determined to not let Léon down. Regardless, they are the ones who saw to my education, teaching me the lot: from reading to writing to ciphering to courtly manners and more, much more, even though most of the time all I wanted to do was learn everything I could of arms and armor and go ahunting in the woods. Yet Léon insisted I not shirk my studies, and told me that these other things I simply must learn, for I would need them one day. And so, from late autumn to early spring, I spent much of my waking time in lessons.” Again Luc laughed. “Why, there was even a dance teacher who came, and he taught me the quadrille and the minuet and the reel and the other dances of the court, though I never got the chance to put them to use, except in practice.”
“Oh, Luc,” said Liaze, smiling broadly, “how splendid. When you are well, we shall have to put your training to use here, for I have a penchant for organizing dances.”
Luc smiled and said, “I would be most happy and honored to dance with you, Princess, if I can remember how they went.”
“Oh, la!” said Liaze. “It’s rather like riding a horse: once you learn, you can take it up anytime thereafter.”
“Then I shall give it my best,” said Luc.
Again silence descended upon them as they concentrated on their food. But then Luc set down his knife and looked up at Liaze and raised his goblet in salute and said, “Here’s to père Léon, for I just realized: you are the Princess of the Autumnwood, and this is indeed a court. And so my père was right: I did need to learn to dance, else I would not have the pleasure of squiring an angel upon a ballroom floor.”
Liaze was glad that she had deliberately chosen to eat in this formal dining room, rather than the intimate one she had briefly considered, else she did not know what she might have done at that moment—something spontaneous, no doubt.
Once Upon an Autumn Eve Page 5