Once Upon a Winter's Night

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Camille looked at Rondalo. “But what of your sworn oath of vengeance?”

  Rondalo turned up a hand. “You showed me the way around it. If I never visit Raseri’s lair, I need to fight no Dragon. But even if I do go to his lair, I think the only combat we may do is a game or two of échecs.”

  Raseri raised his head up and looked about and then hissed, “More iron bearers come running.”

  “Kolor and the burial detail, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Big Jack.

  “Oh, Jack, would you tell him, tell them, to stay away. The iron affects Rondalo . . . Raseri, too, it seems. It twists the aethyr, warping it, bending it, or so I was told.”

  As Big Jack rushed off, Rondalo looked at Camille in surprise. “You know of iron’s effect on the aethyr?”

  “Not really. It was what Captain Andolin said, when he and the West Wind left Leport because the North Wind with its crew of iron-bearing Dwarves was even then coming into the harbor. Caused an ache, he said.”

  “And a disorientation,” said Rondalo, grimacing. “Still, even had we known of the iron, we would yet have come.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you did,” said Camille, “for both of you are my friends, and my heart rejoices to see my two friends have set an old enmity aside and have become comrades. Even so, how did you find us here?”

  Raseri said, “Flying well above the River of Time, I followed the faint trace of your taste to Leport; there I landed upon the headland, and Rondalo went down to speak with the inhabitants, for I believe they all hid under their beds at the sight of me.”

  Rondalo smiled and said, “Harbormaster Jordain told me that you were striving to reach Troll Island beyond the Sea of Mist. I went back up to the headland, where Raseri waited, and the only island either of us knew that lay beyond those baleful waters was this one, Orbane’s stronghold of old.”

  Alain’s eyes flew wide in startlement. “Orbane? This was Orbane’s isle?”

  As Raseri and Rondalo both nodded, Camille said, “Olot said his former master had been cast into the Great Darkness; that was Orbane. And the carved O above the gate . . . I thought it was for Olot, but instead it must signify Orbane.”

  She turned to Alain. “Oh, love, don’t you see, that explains how the Trolls came across the Seals of Orbane, the seals which they used to curse you. Olot must have found the seals after Orbane was gone.”

  Rondalo said, “Yet it still does not explain how the Trolls came to know the way of their working, for the Trolls have no magic of their own. I think they must have had help from a mage, someone skilled in the art.”

  Camille took Alain’s hand. “Perhaps the same someone who cast sleep upon you, my love, or so I do think happened the night you held my note, and most likely the night before.”

  Alain’s grey eyes turned grim. “If it is true that a mage aided the Trolls, we need search the citadel for him.”

  Camille frowned. “Search we should, yet I think no mage is here, for surely he would have attended the wedding were it so.”

  “Mayhap you are right,” said Alain, “yet if there is no mage here now, he may one day return, and we must be ready.” He paused a moment and then added, “I’ll ask Big Jack and Kolor and his crew to help me search the castle, and if we find no mage, then we’ll stand ward against his return.”

  Camille nodded and said, “When we search we must be alert for someone streaming tatters and tendrils of shadow, for that is what I saw when the Goblins came to Summerwood Manor, and again when I believe you were bespelled by sleep.

  “Yet, heed, a mage is not all we need to seek, for Lord Kelmot told me there were seven Seals of Orbane. Two were used to curse you, Alain—one by Dre’ela and one by Olot, all to gain control of the Summerwood—but what of the other five? Surely those we need to find.”

  Alain said, “Agreed. And if any are found, they must be destroyed.”

  Raseri growled. “I wouldn’t be so quick to destroy them, Prince Alain, for they do have some good uses.”

  “How can anything that curses be good?” asked Camille.

  Raseri turned his yellow eyes upon her and said, “Two were needed to trap Orbane in the Castle of Shadows; I know, for I was there.”

  Camille’s eyes flew wide at this bit of news, but Alain said, “Then that leaves three.”

  “I would help you search,” said Rondalo, “but the iron—”

  Camille laid a hand on the Elf’s arm. “I would not have you nor Raseri be anguished any longer. Alain and Big Jack and the iron-bearing Dwarves and I can deal with that which is yet to be done, and I would ask you to go away from here and to a distant place of comfort.”

  Raseri gazed at Camille and Alain and said, “But I would fly you both back to the Summerwood.”

  “We will sail back with Captain Kolor on the North Wind,” said Camille.

  “Then I would suggest, my lady,” said Rondalo, “that you sail around the Sea of Mist rather than across it. They say there’s a monster within.”

  “There is,” said Camille, grimly. “It took thirteen of Kolor’s best down into the sea.”

  “One day you will have to tell me that tale,” said Rondalo. “It sounds like one the bards should sing.”

  “I would hear it as well,” said Raseri. “But not here amid the twist of iron.” Then he looked at the Elf and shifted a wing. “Rondalo?”

  Rondalo reached out and took Camille’s hand and kissed it. Then he bowed to Alain and said, “You are fortunate indeed.”

  Alain nodded, then gripped Rondalo’s hand, and said, “Come to Summerwood Manor, my friend, for, as a bard, you must hear her sing.”

  Rondalo quirked a smile and winked at Camille and said, “He’s not yet heard your tale, eh?”

  Camille laughed and said, “Not yet, Rondalo, but soon.” Alain looked at Camille and then Rondalo, once again reservation in his gaze.

  Then Rondalo strode up the ramp and mounted Raseri, and the Dragon said, “I, too, will come to Summerwood Manor, when it is time.” Then Raseri looked at the stone castle and a small lick of fire curled from his mouth. “It’s been long since I did battle with one of magekind, yet I will return now and again to see if a mage is about.”

  Rondalo grinned and his hand went to the pommel of his sword. “I will accompany you, fell Drake.”

  “Done and done,” said Raseri. Then he looked down at Camille and Alain and said, “Shield your eyes.”

  Camille and Alain each put a hand to forehead, and with thunderous flapping of his leathery wings, Raseri took to the air, dust and sand and small pebbles swirling and pelting about in the courtyard below.

  Raseri circled once and again, then came swooping in low o’er the wall, and he called out, “Had I known that this was the place east of the sun and west of the moon, you could have been here much sooner.”

  Booming with laughter, up he flew and up, spiralling into the sky, and then he arrowed away and was soon lost to sight.

  When the Dragon was gone, Big Jack and Kolor and the Dwarven burial crew came in through the gate. And Kolor looked at Camille and Alain, and asked, “What did he have to say?”

  Alain took a deep breath and then exhaled. And he replied, “He told us this was Orbane’s stronghold, and three of the cursed seals are missing, and there may be a mage about.”

  That night, Camille and Alain took to one of the abandoned houses in the small seaport town, and they lay down together for the first time in a year and a day and a whole moon beyond . . . yet even as they kissed, even as a wee bit of fire kindled in the heart of each, both Camille and Alain fell asleep of weariness.

  The next dawning, though, after grain and a cup of water had been set out for Scruff, Alain took Camille gently in his arms and kissed her long and deeply, she returning his ardor. And they explored one another most thoroughly, Alain quickening, Camille softening, fire running through their loins. He slipped inside her, and she rose to meet him, and in the sharing did they complement and fulfill one another and become complet
e themselves.

  Scruff paid no heed to the gasps and moans of either, nor of Camille’s calling out of “Oh, Alain. Oh, Mithras, sweet Mithras.”

  A moon altogether they searched the citadel—Orbane’s former stronghold—with the Dwarves tapping on walls and floors and lintels and mantels and stairwells and corners and book-cases and desks and other such, looking for hidden panels, secret doors, disguised caches and catches and levers, without any success. Yet in some chambers in the towers they discovered scrolls and tomes and alembics and astrolabes, and containers of minerals and powders, and boxes of dried plants and flasks and vials of liquids, and crystals and stone tiles marked with runes, and jars of various animal parts, many suspiciously like those of Humans and perhaps of other beings, and five decks of arcane cards somewhat like those Lisane had used, though these held symbols and depictions that to Camille seemed somehow obscene. In a room far below, past the dungeons deep, they found more scrolls and tomes, pamphlets as well, along with mortars and pestles and mineral salts and burners and the like. Too, there was evidence—water and a sleeping pallet and food partially eaten, food gone stale but not moldy—that this room had of recent been used, yet by whom, none could say.

  But of shadow-streaming mages and clay amulets—the Seals of Orbane—they found nought whatsoever.

  In that same moon the citadel itself was cleansed of all traces of Goblins and Trolls, the former slaves discovering a large and unused supply of soap with which to wash down the floors and walls and tables and counters and all other surfaces the Trolls and Goblins had defiled. Much of the bedding had to be burned, as it was clearly beyond redemption, though stores of cloth were discovered, and the Summerwood seamstresses set about making new sheets and coverings.

  In that moon as well, the former slaves declared Alain and Camille to be the new prince and princess of L’Île de Camille, for that is what they now called it.

  Finally, Alain decided that they had searched all they could, and he gathered together the populace, and he asked them what they would.

  “My lord,” said one of the former slaves, “I and mine would stay, for in spite of ill memories the isle itself is quite pleasant, with rain aplenty and good soil and fair weather for the most. With its bountiful sea and plentiful crops, we could find no better were we to return whence we came.”

  Calls of agreement sounded throughout.

  Alain looked at Lanval. “My lord,” said the steward, “I have spoken with the staff of Summerwood Manor, and we would return with you. Captain Kolor says there is room on the Nordavind for the forty-eight of us who survived, fifty counting you and Lady Camille.”

  Camille glanced at Kolor, and he grinned and said, “We’ll be a bit crowded, but she’ll take that many back to the distant shores.”

  Alain nodded and then said, “Is there aught any would add?”

  A woman stepped forward and curtseyed. “My lord, who will govern us? Who will have the final say if you and Lady Camille are not here? You are our prince and princess, and we would have you stay.”

  Now a clamor of agreement rose up among those remaining.

  Kolor looked at Alain. “ ’Tis a worthy addition to your holdings, Prince Alain, for long have mariners needed a seaport in these remote waters. I ween it would be bustling with trade in a trice, were it to become known to explorers and captains far and wide.”

  Alain looked at Camille, and she said, “Appoint a steward until we can send someone in our stead.”

  Now another clamor arose, and finally the woman turned and raised her hands and quiet fell. Then she said to Alain, “We don’t want someone in your stead, my lord and lady, though a steward we will abide. Have you no kindred to send to watch over us as we wait your permanent return . . . or even an occasional visit to this far-flung outpost of yours?”

  “My kindred are all watching over principalities of their own,” said Alain. Then he smiled and glanced at Camille and said, “Yet there is a youth who is kindred of Camille who would make a splendid prince regent once he is trained.”

  Camille’s eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to Alain and said, “Giles?”

  “The climate seems right,” said Alain, smiling, “with its warm days and cool nights. And from what you say of him, he has the temperament and humor to be kind and gentle. Too, if he is as clever as you, well then, who could ask better?”

  Camille smiled and nodded, but then frowned. “But who will train him, who be steward here until Giles is ready, assuming he even takes up your offer?”

  Now it was Alain who frowned. “Even after Giles is trained, he will need a right-hand man.” The prince looked over at Jules, the lad’s own right hand gone. “Or perhaps a left-hand man.” Alain stepped to the boy. “Jules, would you train as steward of this isle, to serve Prince Regent Giles?”

  Jules grinned and dipped his head. “Indeed, my lord prince.”

  Alain smiled and then turned and faced Lanval, and said, “There is one whom I would trust to train—”

  Lanval thrust out a hand of negation. “My prince, there is a better choice.” Lanval turned to Andre the gardener and said, “Will you, old friend, come out of retirement and train both of the lads? After all, it was you who trained me and then took to your flowers. Besides, they need a good gardener here, for the fields have improved considerably since you took a hand.”

  Andre shook his head, then said, “Very well, Lanval. Very well, my prince. But I would return to Summerwood Manor once the lads have reached their years and are well prepared.”

  Camille stepped forward and kissed Andre on the cheek. “I will miss you, my friend,” she said. “Train them well and quickly, for I look forward to your return. There is much that needs tending in the gardens of Summerwood Manor.”

  Camille then stepped to Jules and embraced the boy and whispered, “I could think of no better companion for my brother Giles.”

  “Done,” said Alain, then he looked about. “Is there aught any would add?”

  Big Jack cleared his throat, and when Alain nodded his way, Jack said, “Someone who knows arms and armor needs t’ stay and teach these folk how t’ defend themselves, not only from sea brigands, but also from th’ mage, should he return. Now there’s plenty of tulwars and scimitars and spears left, and so I’m thinkin’ that I’ll stay behind, at least until these folks are ready.”

  Alain grinned and said, “Well and good, Jack, and so shall it be. You will make a splendid armsmaster.”

  Big Jack nodded and then added, “But I do have one request, Prince Alain.” Then Jack looked at Kolor. “I would ask that the North Wind come back in a year and a day and a moon beyond and take me on as crew, for in spite of my spewing my guts now and again, with what other mates can one take on Goblins and Trolls t’ lay them by th’ heels.”

  Kolor raised an axe and said, “I would welcome you and Lady Bronze, and so shall it be done.”

  And thus it was decided: Jack would stay as warchief for a year and a day and a moon, and Andre would remain as steward, with Jules as his understudy, and, if agreeable to the lad, Giles would be sent and be trained as Prince Regent of L’Île de Camille.

  Another fortnight passed ere all was ready, and with tears in her eyes, Camille bade au revoir to Jules and Andre and Big Jack, and when she kissed the big man on the cheek, she whispered, “Thank you, Jack, for doing to Olot what my Alain could not, for with one blow of Lady Bronze you set him free.”

  Big Jack shuffled his feet, his own eyes brimming, and he managed to choke out, “My lady, should you ever have a want, all you need do is ask.”

  Then the Nordavind set sail, with sixty-seven Dwarves aboard, along with forty-nine souls of the Summerwood, counting Alain and Camille and Scruff.

  They did not sail through the Sea of Mist, but went around instead.

  All in all it took seventy-two days to reach a port on the far distant shores, Kolor dropping anchor at the town of Atterrage in the Bay of Abri, for it was much closer to the Summerwood than ot
her ports in Faery.

  They spent a week in Atterrage, resting and arranging for transportation. Alain also arranged with Kolor to return to this port on his way to get Big Jack, some ten moons from then, and take on Giles as a passenger and deliver him to the L’Île de Camille, or to give passage to whomever Alain chose as regent-in-training should Giles not wish the task.

  Finally came the day of departure, with the Nordavind going one way, and the household of Summerwood Manor going another. With tears in her eyes, Camille bade au revoir to Kolor and crew, and just as Big Jack had vowed, so too did Kolor pledge that should Camille ever need him and his crew again, they were at her beck. She kissed the Dwarven captain on the cheek, and then stepped back to Alain.

  And Camille and Alain stood adock in the dawn and watched as the North Wind once again blew out over the waters. And when they could no longer see the ship, they sighed and turned about and left the sea behind.

  Two fortnights after, as dusk drew down on the land, a train of ten red coaches came curving up the oaken lane and unto Summerwood Manor, and to Camille’s wondering eyes, the place stood warmly lit by lanterns of welcoming. As Camille and Alain alighted from the lead coach, tiny Lord Kelmot strode forth to greet them, a lynx padding at his side. Scruff, asleep in Camille’s pocket, took no note of the cat.

  As the other red coaches disgorged their passengers, “Welcome home, my lord and lady,” said Kelmot, with a wee, sweeping bow. “I was told you were on your way.”

  Alain bowed and Camille curtseyed in return, and Camille said, “But how, who—?”

  “ ’Twas a message from Lady Sorcière,” said Kelmot, “delivered by Jotun the Giant, though he was very small when I spoke with him, yet quite a bit larger when he left. Regardless, my lord and lady, welcome home.” Kelmot stepped aside and gestured Camille and Alain within.

  Alain offered Camille his arm, and together they entered the manse, Lanval and the staff following after. And they found the place well lighted and clean and set to rights, the damage of the wind all gone.