Once Upon an Autumn Eve

by Dennis L McKiernan

  “Ha! They say that revenge is a dish best served cold, and here we are on an icy mountain . . . cold indeed, how fitting.”

  Iniquí put a hand behind one ear in a pretense of listening. “What’s that you ask? Why did I steal your lover and put him here to die? Ha! Little did I know it would come to this.

  “Hear me: Vicomte Guillaume, he who would be a full comte, asked me to find the rightful heir—Luc his name—and slay him and recover the trinket about his neck. Yet when I saw Luc in my black mirror and realized what this so-called trinket was, I knew that fool of a vicomte had no idea of its true worth nor what it was for. What’s that you ask? What is the trinket? Fool, it is a key forged in the hidden fires of this very spellcast mountain, a key struck by the enemies of my master to open one of their other creations—the Castle of Shadows beyond the Black Wall of the World.”

  Iniquí laughed and said, “Ah, by the look of horror in your eyes, I see now you understand, for with that key I will free my master.”

  The name Orbane hissed through Liaze’s thoughts, and she would have groaned had she the power to speak. Yet she did not.

  “Oh, now your gaze turns desperate,” said Iniquí, gloating. “You would slay me if you could, but you cannot, for I am a sorceress dire. And, oui, it is Orbane whom I will free.”

  Iniquí glanced at Luc, his faint breath puffing white in the frigid air. Then she turned to Liaze and snarled, “But you, you fool, you have set me back, and I will have to start all over, for the stone cannot be taken by force; it either must be freely given or released by the natural death of the wearer”—Iniquí laughed—“and what better way to die a natural death than by very slow exposure, and what better place than this?”

  Iniquí gestured about. “Indeed, this is the only place where he must die, here on this mountain, else the amulet will not be empowered for one who is not a natural heir or one to whom the amulet is freely given, for, as I said, here it was forged in the hidden fires.”

  There came to Liaze’s ears a barely audible clicking and a fluttering of air. Yet Iniquí did not seem to notice, wrapped up as she was in her triumphant monologue.

  “But you, Princess, I can slay out of hand, for you and your family have been thorns in the sides of my master and my sisters and me; and your brother killed my sweet Rhensibé, and so it is only fitting that I, Iniquí, return the favor.”

  The witch stepped back, and she began chanting, the words arcane and somehow causing the very air to tingle. Yet, underneath the intonations, Liaze could still hear a faint clicking and fluttering.

  Of a sudden a great crevasse split open in the mountain between the sorceress and the princess, and fire roared up from the depths below, lighting the ebon sky above a deep crimson, as of a spill of old blood. On the far side of the split, Nightshade snorted and backed away.

  Across the crevasse from Liaze, Iniquí laughed, and over the roar she gleefully said, “Incredible, isn’t it, that a mountain can be so cold, and yet have unquenchable fires raging within, eh?”

  Iniquí reached a clawed hand out toward Liaze and sneered, “I will beckon you into the fire, sister of my sister’s killer, and there is nought you can do to stop me.”

  She made a single gesture . . .

  ... and Liaze jerked a single step forward.

  Iniquí laughed in scorn and made another gesture . . .

  ... and Liaze wrenched forward another step.

  Iniquí made a third gesture . . .

  ... and Liaze jerked ahead again . . .

  ... and now she stood poised on the very brink of the crevasse, and, as if sensing a victim, searing fires roared up from the depths.

  And, as Iniquí flexed her black-nailed fingers for the final beckoning—

  —Twk on Jester, the bird madly flapping, leapt up the final few feet of the slope and onto the flat. And at a single word from the Pixie, the rooster crowed.

  Even as Iniquí hissed in surprise and twisted a gesture toward the Pixie and the bird, the enthrallment upon Liaze lessened, and a moan escaped her lips, and she realized that she could speak. It was then that the words of Lady Doom echoed in her mind:Remember war; loose the cry,

  So ye and y’r love will not die.

  And suddenly the meaning came clear, and though she could not move, still she could shout a command, and she cried out, “Night, attaques!”

  Iniquí glanced at Luc yet lying unconscious upon the black slab, and she laughed and said, “Fool, your knight is entirely too weak to—”

  —in that moment, a golden-shod forehoof of Deadly Nightshade crashed into the back of Iniquí’s skull—the stallion rearing and lashing out upon Liaze’s command—and, shrieking, Iniquí pitched forward into the raging crevasse. Yet she somehow managed to catch hold of a ledge, but from below the roaring blaze engulfed her, and she screamed and screamed as her dress and hair caught fire. Terror filled her gaze, and she shrilled in agony, and then her body itself burst into flames, and the flesh of her fingers charred and sloughed away. She could no longer hold on, and, howling in dread, into the fiery depths she plunged.

  The fires died down, and with a jolt the crevasse slammed shut, Liaze falling backwards upon the cold glass surface. But Iniquí’s spell had died with her death, and the princess’s enthrallment vanished.

  38

  Recovery

  “I didn’t know whether it would work, Princess,” cried Twk. “I didn’t know whether it would work,” the Pixie both weeping and laughing at one and the same time.

  Liaze scrambled to her knees and looked at Twk. “Oh, Twk, you and Jester saved us, for I could not speak until the rooster crowed.”

  And then Liaze’s eyes widened, for gold coins had been tied to each of the chicken’s clawed toes.

  Liaze began laughing wildly even as tears ran down her face.

  Twk joined her, the Pixie also weeping in joy and relief.

  Jester ruffled his feathers and crowed once again.

  To one side Luc groaned. Liaze, suddenly sober, spun ’round and scrambled to Luc’s side. His eyes fluttered and Liaze grasped his hand. “Oh, my love, waken. Please waken.”

  Luc mumbled something in his semiconscious state.

  Liaze said to Twk, “He is so cold, so very cold; we’ve got to get him down from this mountain. A fire, we’ll need a fire.”

  “There is scrub below,” said Twk, “but little else.”

  “It will have to do,” said Liaze, and struggling, she managed to get Luc to his feet, the chevalier barely of aid.

  Liaze called Nightshade to her, and the black came trotting. Groaning, lifting, heaving, and shouting at Luc to help, and finally calling for Nightshade to kneel, Liaze at last got Luc across the saddle, bellydown.

  “Princess,” said Twk, “would you mind carrying me and Jester back with you? I think my rooster is completely tuckered out.”

  Liaze lifted the gold-shod chicken and Twk to Nightshade’s back, and then she packed away the decanter and took up the lantern and mounted behind the saddle and held on to Luc, and said, “All right, my boy, take us down,” and she turned the stallion toward the way below and gently heeled him in the flanks.

  Liaze gave the black his head, and to the edge of the flat and onto the slopes of the glass mountain they fared, Nightshade sliding the first twenty or so feet where the glass was steepest, but thereafter his footing was sound, for on precious steps of gold he went.

  And as they went down, Twk said, “It was a wild idea, my riding Jester up, for, even though they say a cock’s crow reaves power from witches and such, I thought it only true at dawn, as it was with Lord Fear. I didn’t know whether it would work at night. I didn’t know what was happening between you and the witch atop this mountain, but I thought if I could help, it might give you a chance to spit her with your long-knife, or to put an arrow through her heart.”

  “Jester’s crow was just barely enough to let me speak,” said Liaze.

  “I am glad you did, Princess, for that motion the witch ma
de at me and Jester, well, I was beginning to feel numb all over.”

  “No doubt ’twas sorcery,” said Liaze.

  “Oh, my,” said Twk, “I’ve never been enspelled before, and I hope to never be again. Thank Mithras, you called Nightshade to attack.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able if not for you and Jester,” said Liaze. “Yet how did you know to come?”

  “Well, Gwyd and I saw the witch fly down on her besom, and Verdandi said I would be needed at a critical time, and this seemed a critical time to me. And Verdandi’s sister Urd said that it was a fine thing I had done to train Jester to crow on command; I think she was telling me then and there that a cock’s crow would do the trick.”

  “It did, Twk, it did. But the gold on Jester’s feet, how did—?”

  “Oh, Princess, back when Urd spoke her rede, I thought it only applied to you, but then I realized it could include me as well. ‘Precious steps will get ye there, / As up black glass ye steeply fare, / Do not dismount as ye try, / Else by fire ye will surely die.’ That’s what Urd said, and I was standing there when she said it, and I had Jester as my mount. Gwyd tied on the gold coins, and up my rooster and I started on our precious steps. Yet it was too slick, and I almost quit, but then Jester started flapping, and he flapped and flapped and flapped, and between precious steps and flailing wings finally we made it, almost too late it seems.”

  “I heard you coming,” said Liaze, “but I didn’t know what I was hearing. Your arrival was a complete surprise to me.”

  “A surprise to the witch, too,” said Twk, laughing. “Who was she?”

  “Iniquí,” said Liaze. “One of Orbane’s four acolytes, though now but two remain.”

  “Hmm . . .” mused Twk. “It seems those four are banes to you and your brothers and sister.”

  Liaze nodded. “That’s exactly what Zacharie said.”

  “Zacharie?”

  “My steward of the Autumnwood.”

  “Ah.”

  Both Liaze and Twk fell silent, and Jester had tucked his head under one wing and was asleep, as on down the mountain they rode.

  At last they came to the bottom, and Gwyd had a fire going and hot tea steeping.

  The Brownie and the princess managed to get Luc down from the horse, and they placed him on warm blankets next to the fire and covered him with more.

  Liaze accepted a cup of tea from the Brownie, and she slumped down next to Luc and said, “Oh, Gwyd, I am so weary my very teeth hurt.”

  “Then sleep, Princess,” replied Gwyd. “I’ll make certain something warm gets in t’your Luc. You, m’lady, need sleep.”

  The next morning Liaze was wakened by a gentle kiss, and she opened her amber eyes to look into eyes of indigo. “Oh, Luc,” she murmured, and reached up and embraced him and held him tightly and wept.

  “Chérie,” said Luc, reaching for another biscuit, “when I awakened at the foot of this dark mountain, I knew not how I had gotten here, for the last I remember was being snatched out through the window, there at Autumnwood Manor. Yet Gwyd and Twk have told me some of the story, but neither one knows the full of it, and they said to wait for you to recount all.”

  Along with Gwyd and Twk, they sat by the fire breaking fast; Luc was on his fourth helping of biscuits and honey and jerky and hot tea.

  “It is a long tale, Luc, but first I must tell you this: I met your foster sire Léon, and he told me who your true parents are.”

  Luc’s eyes widened in surprise, but he said nought.

  “Luc, you are Comte Luc du Château Bleu dans le Lac de la Rose et Gardien de la Clé.”

  Luc choked on his sip of tea, and after he had gotten control of his breathing: “What?”

  “I said, you are Comte Luc du Château Bleu dans le Lac de la Rose et Gardien de la Clé. Léon was going to tell you just as soon as you had won your spurs,” said Liaze.

  “My spurs,” said Luc. It was a statement and not a question.

  “Yes, your knighthood, and I told him that you had more than won them in combat with the Trolls and Goblins in my demesne.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Your true père was Comte Amaury, and your mère is Comtesse Adèle. Your père was slain in a skirmish when you were but a newborn. A year later, your mère wedded Guillaume, a vicomte with ambitions. He also had a three-year-old son whom Guillaume wanted to be heir to the title of comte after Guillaume had obtained it for himself. Guillaume had a henchman in his retinue—one Franck—and in the night Franck stole you away and took you to the woods to slay you.”

  “Oh, my,” said Twk, “what a wicked stepfather.”

  Liaze nodded. “That’s exactly what I said to Léon, Twk.”

  “Go on, Princess,” said Gwyd. “What happened next?”

  “Fortunately, Armsmaster Léon saw Franck riding away with Luc, and he followed on the would-be assassin’s heels into the nearby forest.” Liaze turned to Luc. “Just as Franck raised his blade to kill you, Léon spitted him with a dagger, and before Franck died he told Léon of Guillaume’s guilt, and that there were more men ready to carry out Guillaume’s order to kill the rightful heir.

  “Léon knew that you would never be safe with the vicomte at the Blue Château, and so he fled away with you, Luc, far away, where he took on the guise of a woodcutter.”

  “What of my mère?” asked Luc.

  “Léon sent word to her by a former armsmate—a trusted courier—but by that time Adèle on her own had discovered Guillaume’s perfidy, but she had no direct proof, and he had put his own men in key positions. Hence, she could do nought to bring him to justice.

  “However, she is the one who—via the same trusted courier—provided the funds for your complete education. Oh, Luc, she wanted you to be raised to become a comte, and the teachers Léon hired have well seen to that.”

  Luc frowned and gestured at Deadly Nightshade, and then at his arms and armor. “Is she the one who—?”

  “Oui, Luc,” said Liaze. “She sent the horse and accoutrements for you on the day of your majority.”

  Luc nodded and said, “And I am to become a comte.”

  “You are already one,” said Liaze. “It is your birthright.”

  Luc nodded and said, “Then it only remains for me to claim it.”

  “Won’t that lead t’fightin?” asked Gwyd, “even t’war?”

  “Not necessarily to war,” said Luc. “If Guillaume disputes me, I can challenge him to trial by combat.”

  “What of his son?” asked Twk.

  “Him, too,” said Luc, shrugging. Luc then turned to Liaze and asked, “Is Guillaume yet alive?”

  “Oui,” she said, “or at least he was two moons ago, for he is the one who asked Iniquí to locate you.”

  “Iniquí?”

  “Oui. She is the witch who bore you away, and—” Of a sudden, Liaze’s eyes widened in revelation. “Oh, now I understand.”

  “Understand what?” asked Gwyd.

  “The meaning of Luc’s title,” said Liaze. “Luc, not only are you a comte, you are le Gardien de la Clé—the Keeper of the Key.”

  “Key? What key?”

  “You wear it about your neck, Luc. It is the key to the Castle of Shadows beyond the Black Wall of the World. That is what Iniquí was after, for with it she would set free her master Orbane.”

  Gwyd sucked air in between clenched teeth, and Twk cried out in alarm. “She would loose that monster upon Faery again, lass?” asked Gwyd.

  Liaze nodded. “She was one of his acolytes.”

  “Dead and gone,” said Twk, glancing at Jester, the rooster scratching away at the cold soil. “Two are left.”

  Luc sighed. “You need tell me the whole of this tale. But first I would ask this: where lies this blue château, this lake of the rose?”

  “Ah, that,” said Liaze. “I know the way there from here, for I rode o’er it with Lord Fear and the Wild Hunt on the way to this black mountain. I marked it well, the way between, and I will take you there. But
, heed me, Luc, you are yet weakened by your ordeal, and until you are fully recovered I would not have you face the one who seeks your death.” Liaze pointed back in the direction she had ridden to get to the mountain and said, “There is a town across the border yon, and there we will stay until you once more have your strength and are ready to face this usurper.”

  Luc smiled and said, “As you will, my princess. As you will.”

  Two evenings later they rode into the town, Liaze on Pied Agile, Luc on Nightshade, and Gwyd and Twk on two of the four geldings, for they had found the one that had been lamed—now fully recovered—placidly grazing on the shores of the lake near where they had left him.

  They took two rooms at Le Renard Noir—the Black Fox—the single inn in town: Gwyd and Twk and Jester in one; Liaze and Luc in the other. They took warm baths, and Luc shaved, for he now had two days’ growth of beard; while he was enspelled on the black mountain, his whiskers had grown not at all. Afterward, they ate a sumptuous meal, and Gwyd and Twk both imbibed heavily of wine—Gwyd three bottles and Twk several thimblefuls—and they had to be borne to bed.

  That night as well, though Luc yet felt the ordeal of his ensorcellment, he and Liaze made sweet and gentle love. “ ’Tis a bewitchment of a different kind,” said Luc.

  They stayed at the Black Fox for an entire fortnight, and every day Luc took to the yard behind the inn and drilled with his sword—his movements like those of a dancer, or of a feral cat, graceful and powerful, whether measured or rapid, whether slow or swift.

  And many of the townsfolk came to watch, for they had never beheld a true knight ere then, and they oohed and ahhed to see him at swords and long-knives.

  Some tried their hand at staves and quarterstaffs with the chevalier, but always they ended up in the tavern, holding aching hands and arms, ribs and heads, and drinking to his health and his prowess.